The Trials and Tribulations of Spider-Man, the People's Hero

“What’re you gonna do?” Ned asked his best friend desperately, looking to the secret superhero for guidance. He and Peter were gripping each other for strength, as if they were each other’s proverbial rocks in the midst of disaster. 

Peter’s wide eyes were fixed on the water creature looming above them. “I left my suit in the hotel room,” Peter hissed urgently out of the corner of his mouth.

“Oh, man,” Sam snickered, “you really weren’t kidding about that Parker Luck, were you?”

Peter did not look nearly as entertained as Sam did. “I wish I were,” he replied.

Bucky shook his head in disbelief, half-amused and half-concerned. “Jesus,” he huffed. “Even after your aunt put your suit in your luggage, you didn’t end up having it on hand when you needed it. Man, kid, you have really bad timing.”

“I know.” Peter nodded miserably. “In my defense, how was I supposed to know our trip would be hijacked by a water monster?”

“Fair point,” Bucky acknowledged. After a delayed moment, he narrowed his eyes shrewdly, catching on to Peter’s wording. “Wait a second. Hijacked your ‘trip’? Why do I suddenly get the feeling that this won’t be the last we see of this… thing, whatever it is?”

Because it won’t be. Or, at least, it isn’t the last of its type. He couldn’t bring himself to say that, though, the words stubbornly lodging themselves in his throat, so instead he plastered on a smile that tasted too plastic, too fake, too bright. “You can call it an Elemental,” he offered, addressing the latter half of Bucky’s questions. “That’s the name I was told to refer to them as.” Even though I now know that they’re just illusions. 

Peter’s explanation only made Bucky’s narrow-eyed glare sharpen. “Told by who?” he asked astutely. “And—‘them’? Are there more?”

Peter pressed his lips together, refusing to say more on the matter. 

“Well, there was the other monster—Elemental—at the beginning of the footage,” Scott speculated. “The one made of rocks? Maybe that’s what Peter meant.”

“Right,” Bucky grumbled under his breath, but his gaze remained fixated on Peter. “Maybe,” he conceded, but his voice was skeptical, unconvinced. His eyes swarmed with suspicion as he tracked Peter’s movements across the room.

A panicked whine erupted from the back of Ned’s throat. "Why!?" the teenager demanded.

“Because I’m on vacation, Ned!” Peter answered, audibly frustrated and harried. “Everyone’s gonna see my face—just get them out of here!”

“Oh, Pete,” Rhodey breathed. He smiled, a little bittersweet and yet inexplicably proud, and murmured to himself, “Tony was right. You really are the best of us all.” Even now, when you should be relaxing and having fun on vacation, you’re stepping up. It isn’t your job—it shouldn’t be—but here you are. Looking out for the little guy.

“Tony did say that, didn’t he?” Pepper whispered beside him. Unbidden, her lips twitched into a smile of her own. “He always had faith in the Spider-Kid.”

“He should be there,” Rhodey muttered. Their eyes met, commiserating on the absence of the Tony they knew together. “He always wanted to be the one to guide Peter—to mentor him.”

“He was.” Pepper blinked, and if it weren’t for the lights from the TV dappling her face, the lone tear that traced down her cheek would have gone unnoticed. “He is,” she corrected herself. “Even now, he…”

She couldn’t finish her sentence, but she didn’t need to. Rhodey’s eyes filled with understanding and agreement. Even in Peter’s future, where Tony was gone, Tony’s memory still carried Peter along, still drove Peter to greater heights, still molded Peter into a better hero. 

(Privately, Rhodey doubted Tony’s memory would ever leave Peter.)

Without waiting for a response, he pushed Ned towards the stairs, where Betty and MJ were waiting with frantic expressions. “Go!” Betty beckoned them forward.

Ned seemed to hesitate for the briefest of moments, wavering between his survival instincts and his loyalty to his best friend. His decision was made for him when Peter insistently shooed him away, shouting, “Just go!” 

As though to punctuate Peter’s advice, the creature smashed a hand into a nearby building, sparking screams everywhere Peter turned. Ned finally fled, following the two girls away to safety. 

“Watching all of this with the information I now know makes everything so much clearer,” MJ muttered. “No wonder you didn’t run away with us. And here I thought you were just being a reckless, self-sacrificial idiot who wanted to make sure everyone else made it to safety first.”

“He was being a reckless, self-sacrificial idiot,” Ned pointed out.

“True,” MJ agreed. “But at least he’s an idiot with super strength.”

“Guys,” Peter complained, “I’m right here. I wasn’t being that stupid. I had the power to help, so—”

“So you did,” Happy finished. His smile was immeasurably fond. Proud. 

“Still an idiot,” MJ maintained, scowling at her boyfriend. 

Peter huffed. “Am not,” he argued. “Besides, I thought you already knew I was Spider-Man. Why is this a surprise?”

MJ shrugged. “I was only about 67% sure,” she reminded him. “Although this did cement that theory a little more. Knowing you, though, not having powers wouldn’t have stopped you from trying to help somehow. Being a hero—it’s who you are in your bones.”

Peter fought off a flinch. He knew she was trying to be supportive; he knew she thought she was telling the truth, but…

He hadn’t wanted to help. When Fury had first tried to recruit him, he’d balked at the mission and eagerly foisted it on Beck, a relative stranger. He’d been so desperate to have a normal trip and spend time with his friends—with MJ—that he’d shirked his duties as Spider-Man. 

(He’d been scared, was the truth. He’d failed on Titan, and then he’d failed against Thanos a second time, and it had cost him the life of his mentor. He’d failed and failed and failed, and when the opportunity to prove himself came, he’d been too terrified of letting people down yet again to do the right thing.

He’d been terrified of letting himself down.)

Hearing MJ’s words of praise—something she rarely doled out—only reminded him of his decision and sent a wave of shame crashing down on him. He wasn’t worthy of her praise, not when he’d neglected to step up until he was forced to. What kind of a hero chose a vacation over saving people?

(Oh, if only he knew.)

Peter shook his head. He dreaded MJ’s reaction—everyone’s reaction—when they finally found out what a fraud he was. Would they be ashamed of him, too? Or just disappointed, he thought, and felt sick to his stomach. They’d be right.

He exhaled shakily, pushing the suffocating guilt away before it could drown him. “Aww, Em,” he teased, trying to make himself grin and enjoy the moment while it lasted, “I didn’t know you looked up to Spider-Man.”

MJ’s soft, earnest gaze darkened at once. “Shut up, Parker,” she groused. “You’re confusing me with Flash.”

Peter burst out laughing and—for the moment, at least—felt his fears dissipate. MJ always seemed to know how to lift his spirits, even when she didn’t realize his spirits needed lifting. 

Peter seemed to visibly relax as his friends left the scene, reducing any risk of them getting hurt. Unfortunately, his relief didn’t last long as the creature continued to wreak havoc in the canals, causing water to shatter windows, overflow nearby buildings, flood into the streets, and crash back down into the canals with enough force to capsize a boat. 

As the crowds screamed in a panicked haze, Peter frantically helped people up the stairs, urging them to hasten along. “Get out of here,” he called out. “Go!” 

Despite the anxiety brimming in his voice, there was an expression of fixed determination on his face as he turned back around to face the creature—only to find it rearing towards him in a swirl of gushing water. 

“Oh, my god!” he cursed reflexively, stumbling back. He scrambled up the stairs and barely made it around the corner, ducking behind a solid wall, before a fist made of water smashed into the building he had just been standing in front of.

Chaos ran rampant through the streets of Venice as the creature continued to ravage its surrounding buildings, leaving the streets in ruins. All around Peter, dozens of people were screaming as they tried to find shelter from the monster.

Panting, Peter seemed to come to a decision. He frantically knocked his wrists together until a smooth mechanical hiss erupted, signaling the activation of his webshooters. “Come on,” he whispered to himself, taking a quiet moment to steel himself and find the bravery he needed before he pivoted around the corner, backpack still clinging to him, and flung his wrist outwards in his signature move. A string of webbing rocketed towards the creature—

The creature—the Elemental—continued to roar and swing its watery fists around, completely unfazed as Peter’s webbing dissolved in its midsts. 

Peter stared on, looking exasperated and, strangely enough, befuddled—almost as if he hadn’t expected that outcome.

“Peter,” MJ groaned loudly, eyes twinkling in a way that told him she was only teasing. It was a look he loved on her. “Peter. Are you kidding me? It’s literally made of water, you absolute numbskull. How are you on the Academic Decathlon team again?”

“She’s got a point, kid,” Tony agreed. “What did you think would happen?”

Peter’s lips tugged into a frown. The truth was—

“Maybe he wasn’t thinking,” Natasha theorized contemplatively. Clint barked out a laugh beside her, but Natasha hardly noticed, her narrowed eyes scrutinizing Peter’s expression on the screen. As far as she could tell, the teenager looked genuinely surprised. 

“What I meant is, maybe it was instinctive,” Natasha clarified, interrupting Clint’s laughter as she put two and two together. “You did say you had a sixth sense, right? At first glance, your decision to shoot webs at a water creature seems ridiculous, but what if there’s more to it than meets the eye? Did your… ‘danger sense’ tell you to shoot the Elemental?”

Peter blinked, surprised to hear Natasha’s analysis. Truthfully, he hadn’t given the Water Elemental much thought after the battle ended—an avoidance that had only been magnified by the revelation that Beck was the real villain all along. After Beck’s betrayal, he’d tried to forget the Elementals altogether, haunted by how completely and thoroughly he’d been duped. 

Thinking about it now, though, with his newfound insight into the Elementals being nothing more than illusions—and certainly not made of water—Peter wondered if Natasha had a point.  

“I thought we established that his sixth sense wasn’t working, though,” Shuri argued. “It didn’t help him when his aunt threw a banana at him.”

“Perhaps it only fails to work in the presence of someone he trusts,” Vision suggested. “It is clear that Mr. Parker feels safe in the presence of his aunt.”

“So the sixth sense is, what, conditional?” Shuri pondered.

The three fell quiet, each mulling over the possibilities. Peter, too, stayed silent as he processed their thoughts on his own. They all had a point, but—

Peter also knew that it wasn’t the only time his sixth sense had let him down. It had refused to work time and time again, up until the final showdown with Beck. Or rather, he realized, until Happy knocked some sense into me.

Happy was the one who’d ultimately reminded him of who he was when he felt like he’d lost sight of Spider-Man. And when he’d been on the verge of giving up, Happy had been there to tell him that Mr. Stark, at least, had had faith in him—even if he could no longer have faith in himself. 

It was that, in the end, that had helped him believe in himself again and remember why he fought. 

“Kid?” Happy nudged him gently. “You good?”

Peter blinked himself back to awareness. He glanced at Happy and found himself unwittingly smiling at the man. 

Startled, Happy tilted his head, eyebrows arched as if to say what’s on your mind? 

Peter shook his head, his smile softening. “Yeah,” he whispered, and he meant thank you. “I’m good.”

Happy smiled back at him finally, and Peter hoped he could hear what Peter couldn’t say. Happy reached out and squeezed his elbow briefly, and Peter thought that maybe Happy could—maybe Happy understood anyway.

Anytime, kid.

The Elemental turned away from Peter at last, setting its sights on a crowded bridge in the distance. Peter whipped his head around, horrified, as countless civilians rushed to freedom on the bridge, their petrified shrieks audible from where he stood. As the water monster began to make its way towards the bridge swarming with innocent lives, Peter’s eyes widened and he took off running. “Oh no, you don’t,” he hissed to himself.

Within seconds—split-seconds—Peter was at the edge of the canals. He didn’t even hesitate before leaping onto the first pillar sticking out of the water. He quickly traversed the canal, making his way from pillar to pillar in a series of coordinated jumps. When he reached the last pillar available, he grabbed a long pole and catapulted across the sky onto the roof of a boat. Once he had his feet back on solid ground, Peter used the pole as leverage and launched himself up onto the bridge.

As soon as he arrived, he crouched before a man sprawled out on the ground and hurriedly helped him up. “You okay?” he checked, not even waiting for an answer before he ushered the man away. “Get out of here. Go!”

The man gratefully scurried away. Now alone on the bridge, Peter barely had enough time to whirl around and face the oncoming threat before he was sent hurtling backwards as water slammed into the bridge. 

Peter grunted in pain as his back collided with the other side of the bridge. He hadn’t managed to avoid the water completely this time, leaving him soaking wet against the pale white of the bridge. His clothes, backpack and hair were all completely drenched. 

“Jesus,” Rhodey swore. 

Tony grunted in agreement. “Kid, you are not equipped to fight a moving ball of water,” he grumbled. “Please get to safety.”

“Oh, please,” Pepper snorted. “That kid is too much like you to go into hiding when there’s a chance he could help someone.”

Tony made a choked, incoherent noise of protest.

Pepper smiled wryly. “You’re both too selfless for your own good,” she complained, but when Tony met her eyes, he saw only fondness in that stare. 

“I— that’s not…” he tried to protest. I’m not a hero, not really, he wanted to say, and he heard his father’s voice echoing his condemnation. He heard Captain America’s voice driving the point home. I’m not selfless. 

(He wanted to be. He wished Iron Man was enough to make up for his sins, to erase the blood on his hands, to right his wrongs.

He knew it wasn’t—knew he’d never be able to attain absolution for all the innocent lives that had been claimed by his weapons—but he wished nonetheless.) 

Pepper’s gaze was gentle. Understanding. “You are,” she said, firm and unyielding, and it left him breathless. He wanted, more than anything, to believe her. 

But there was another voice in the back of his mind, full of resentment and disgust, that drowned out Pepper’s reassurances. The only thing you really fight for is yourself, the voice hissed, cold and unrelenting in its judgement, sharp like the tip of an icicle. Steve Rogers’ hateful, accusatory glare flashed in his mind. You’re not the guy to make the sacrifice play, to lay down on a wire and let the other guy crawl over you.

Tony inhaled sharply. As much as he tried to pretend Steve’s words hadn’t gotten to him, they had. He was Mr. Good and Righteous, after all, the American icon his father had idolized for years. He’d grown up being compared to Steve day after day.

And in his father’s eyes, he’d paled in comparison.

(In Steve’s eyes, too, it turned out.)

Even now, after they’d gone into battle and emerged victorious together, he still couldn’t quite shake off Steve’s initial, immediate disapprobation. The good captain’s venomous words continued to cling to him like second skin.

“Tony.” Pepper’s voice drew him out of his self-loathing. He lifted his stare reluctantly. When she saw that she had his undivided attention, she nodded, slow and certain, and repeated: “You are selfless. You’ve done so much good.” Her voice carried with it the conviction of a thousand women, and Tony couldn’t understand why.

(What had he done to deserve her faith? To deserve her, period?)

Tony bit back a vehement denial and tried to block out the echo of Steve’s recrimination. He swallowed down the part of him that agreed with Steve—the part of him that was saturated with the memory of Afghanistan, of his name on those weapons laying claim to innocent lives, of Yinsen’s lifeless eyes and the bloodstained ground. 

He hid his trembling hands under his thighs and contorted his face into something that resembled a smile. 

“Well, it comes with the job description, doesn’t it?” he asked rhetorically, nodding in acceptance as if the words didn’t taste like poison on his tongue. 

Pepper quirked an eyebrow at him, and he let the smile widen on his face. (His smile was like the ice frozen over the surface of a lake: fragile and brittle, as if the slightest touch could shatter it into a million pieces and expose the unfathomable darkness inside him.) A lifetime of being in the public eye had taught him how to act as if he was everything they expected him to be. He made use of that experience now to lie through his teeth and pretend that everything was picture perfect, even as Steve’s voice continued to rattle in his skull like his own death knell— 

You’d better stop pretending to be a hero, Steve Rogers snarled, the heat behind his words undeniable—

—“Yeah, I’m pretty sure it does,” Tony concluded, forceful and dissonant. He cleared his throat loudly to hide the stiffness in his expression. “Iron Man, selfless Avenger. It’s practically a requirement.”

(He’d always been a good liar.)

Peter coughed up water with a groan as he tried to catch his breath. Slowly, he lifted himself up onto shaky feet just as a familiar—to the audience, at least—ray of green light appeared from above the creature. The Elemental gave a pained groan as the green light beam hit its watery body.

Peter twisted his head around, searching for the source. Up in the sky, a cloud of green mist phased into existence. The trail of mist veered towards Peter, approaching with a rumbling sound before it stopped mere meters away. 

From out of the mist appeared the same man from the beginning of the footage, still garbed in his elaborate suit and cape, still donning his distinctive glass bowl as a mask. Just like earlier, the glass bowl was clouded over with mist, preventing anyone from seeing the man’s face behind it. 

“Oh, thank god,” Steve exhaled. “At least you’re not fighting alone anymore.” Even if we aren’t there—for some reason, he added to himself with an unnoticeable frown. 

Peter was barely able to silence the snort before it left him. Thank god? he echoed to himself. I’m not sure gratitude is what I would go with. Sorry to disappoint you, Cap, but Beck didn’t exactly show up to save the day. None of this would have even happened if it weren’t for Beck.

Peter stared, wide-eyed, as the caped man hovered boldly in front of the water creature, fists outstretched and swirling with the signature forest green of his misty powers.

Shaking it off, Peter glanced around desperately until his gaze finally landed on a gold-and-blue jester mask lying conspicuously on the ground.

“Oh, god, you didn’t,” Shuri whispered, horrified and transfixed all at once.

Peter reddened with shame. “I did,” he confirmed, sounding miserable. “That was… not my best idea.”

“No kidding,” Shuri snickered. “A jester mask. What is this, a masquerade? If your classmates saw you, they’d have to be fools not to recognize you. I mean, you’re not even changing your clothes.”

Peter groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Don’t remind me.”

While Peter was searching for a disguise, the man in the cape was putting up a valiant effort against the Elemental. He attacked the creature with his green beams, all the while dodging attacks with flips and loops in the air. He was eventually overpowered, a forceful blow from the creature sending him plummeting into the canals.

The creature roared victoriously, water bubbling up all around him as if in triumph. In the middle of his impromptu celebration, the caped stranger—hero?—reemerged from the water and shot up towards the monster.

He was in the middle of another struggle with the creature when Peter’s voice piped up from behind him. “Excuse me, sir!” the teenager called out. The caped man craned his neck around and spotted Peter popping up above the roof of a nearby building, hanging on by only the palms of his hands. “I-I can help! Let me help! I’m really strong, and I’m… sticky!”

“Well,” Scott chuckled, “that’s one way to put it.”

Shuri was laughing so hard she was wheezing. “‘I’m… sticky,’” she echoed through her laughter, eyes tearing up. She slapped her knee and mouthed again, I’m sticky. Oh, my god.

T’Challa frowned disapprovingly at his sister before adding his two cents: “All your powers, and the best you could come up with was I’m really strong and I’m sticky ?”

Peter shrugged helplessly.

“Peter has a thing for understatements,” Happy snorted, unapologetically throwing him under the bus. “He’s too modest for his own good. ‘Really strong’ is hugely underplaying his abilities.”

The man didn’t so much as bat an eye. “I need to lead it away from the canals!” he shouted back, abruptly flying through the building Peter was hanging off of. 

The water creature promptly followed in a burst of air, causing the roof to cave in on itself. 

“What the fuck?” Tony cursed, nearly jumping up from his seat in frustration. His own insecurities vanished in the face of the danger onscreen-Peter found himself faced with. “Christ, that recklessness is going to get the kid killed.”

Steve couldn’t even find it in himself to reprimand Tony for his vulgar language, gaping uselessly up at the screen and at the man who he had just thought was a godsend. He’d been relieved that someone had finally showed up to lend Peter a hand, and yet the first thing this stranger did was lure the Elemental straight towards Peter.

He shook his head in disapproval. “What is he doing?” he muttered to himself. “I know he needs to lead it away, but… surely, there’s a better path.”

“Sure,” Happy griped under his breath, too quiet for anyone but Peter to hear. “If you aren’t purposely targeting Peter, that is.”

Peter patted Happy’s knee commiseratingly.

Unlike the Avengers in the audience, onscreen-Peter simply took it in stride, rolling off and lunging onto a different roof.

As the caped man began maneuvering his way through alleyways, the Elemental always hot on his tails, Peter trailed after them on his webs. He landed in a crouch on one of the nearby roofs, watching with narrowed eyes as people scrambled out of the way of crumbling walkways and bridges. 

“Never mind. That recklessness is going to get everyone killed,” Tony amended himself with an indignant scowl. “Who even is this guy?”

The question settled in the air. When no one answered, Tony wasn’t the only one who turned to look at Peter Parker and co., huddled together and exchanging meaningful glances; everyone turned to stare.

Tony frowned. “Hap? Peter and kids?” he pressed, ignoring Ned and MJ’s immediate eye-rolls. “Who is he?”

Peter shivered, unable to reply, too busy staring at the image of Quentin Beck on the screen. This is the face that plagues my nightmares, he thought. 

He swallowed heavily. He doubted he would ever forget Beck’s face—or the illusions that accompanied his memory of Beck. He’d never be free of the hell Beck put him through.

“Mysterio,” he said finally, croaking out the answer. Tony’s eyes narrowed shrewdly, but Peter actively sought to avoid his gaze. “He goes by Mysterio.”

“Doesn’t really answer my question, kid,” Tony remarked sarcastically. He had a whole slew of other questions for the kid to answer, but something told him Peter would refuse to say anything more on the matter. He squinted. “You do know his real identity, don’t you?”

“Unfortunately,” MJ muttered, too quietly for anyone to catch.

Peter just shrugged. “You’ll find out eventually,” he said vaguely, and if his expression was conflicted, it was because his mind refused to shut up about how they’ll find out you never deserved Tony’s trust—and you certainly never deserved the world’s faith. Honestly, he just wanted to forget Quentin Beck ever even existed. He wanted to forget he’d ever been stupid enough to trust that man. 

But he couldn’t erase his actions. He couldn’t rewrite history. The only thing he could do was do better next time. 

“‘Eventually’,” Tony quoted with an exasperated eye-roll. “Did no one ever tell you how impatient I get, kid? God.”

Peter shrugged again. (On one hand, he did know. He knew all too well that Tony Stark and ‘patience’ didn’t exactly go hand-in-hand.) (On the other hand, though, Mr. Stark sometimes was patient—with him, at least.)

(...He didn’t want to think about how this Tony Stark had no reason to be patient with him. Didn’t want to think about how this Tony Stark didn’t know him—didn’t care.)

Tony blew a breath out of his mouth. “God,” he repeated. “Okay, fine. ‘Mysterio’ it is, then.” He huffed, muttered what a dumb name to himself, and sat back to continue watching.

Peter swung into action, gracefully flipping into the center of a collapsing building and shooting out multiple webs in quick succession. He was a flurry of movement, and the audience all watched enraptured as, in a matter of moments, Peter was using his webbing to hold the building together.

“Damn,” Tony whistled, his annoyance at Peter’s secrecy completely forgotten and replaced by begrudging awe, “that was impressive. Where’d you learn to do that?”

Peter had to squash down the instinctive way his mind wandered to the infamous Staten Island Ferry ordeal. He shuddered at the thought of that disaster. He’d gotten far better at holding things together since then, but nevertheless he’d never be able to leave that memory behind. 

The people’s petrified screams and his own rising terror as the two halves of the ferry swayed and tilted and split apart continued to torment him to this day. He could still feel the agonizing stretch in his arms and his ribcage as he was pulled apart by force.

(He could still remember Mr. Stark’s wrath, too. No matter how many new memories he’d formed with Mr. Stark, no matter how many smiles or hair ruffles or pats on the back Mr. Stark had given him, he’d never forget how it felt to let down his mentor—his hero. 

Every you did good, kid was accompanied by the echo of a different tune—of Mr. Stark’s disappointment and what if somebody had died tonight? Different story, right? ‘Cause that’s on you.

Every I’m proud of you felt tainted by the memory of Mr. Stark shaking his head, of Mr. Stark’s dark eyes and I wanted you to be better. I’m gonna need the suit back.

And now every time he went out there, it was with the knowledge that he’d failed once before haunting his every action. 

It was with the thought that he’d proved himself once before, too. 

It was with the whispers of if you’re nothing without this suit, then you shouldn’t have it chasing at his heels, and with the broken record of come on, Spider-Man biting back.)

(Staten Island would never leave him. The memory of that day stayed with him always.

His first failure—and, later, his first triumph.)

If this was his Mr. Stark, he’d roll his eyes and joke, has your old man memory finally failed you, Mr. Stark, or have you just shut out the memory of Staten Island forever? He’d bump shoulders with his mentor and remind him, assuaging the guilt Peter knew stayed with him, I learnt from you. You taught me to trust myself instead of relying on technology completely. He’d offer Mr. Stark a smile and say, You made me a better hero.

But this wasn’t his Mr. Stark, so instead of a smile, it was a grimace that graced his face. “Uh, practice?” was all he could offer as an explanation, his voice weak and unsteady. He was unable to so much as look Tony—Tony, not Mr. Stark, because he had to distinguish between the two lest he go insane—in the eye.

Tony frowned. (He felt like he’d been doing a lot of that lately.) “Right,” he said skeptically. “Practice. Sure.” 

There was so much he was missing, and Tony knew it. He knew it in the way Peter refused to meet his gaze, in the way Happy stared at him like he was seeing a ghost whenever he thought Tony wasn’t paying attention, in the way Ned and MJ sometimes shot the Avengers distrustful looks. 

The gap between 2012 and 2024 was a wide one—too wide—and Tony had no idea how to bridge it. Twelve years was, evidently, plenty of time for things to go horribly, horribly wrong.

Elsewhere, Mr. Harrington and Mr. Dell were leading a small group of Midtown students through the streets of Venice.  

“The Da Vinci Museum,” Mr. Dell enthused, following Mr. Harrington’s lead as they herded the students down a stairway. “This is why we’re here in Venice!”

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.” Clint’s jaw dropped. “There’s an honest-to-god water monster ripping through the streets of Venice, and your class is out touring right now?”

“Uh…” Ned stammered.

“How on earth are your chaperones missing this?” Clint fumed. “Or, if they aren’t, what the hell are they thinking?”

Ned and MJ both had nothing to say in defense of their teachers.

Mr. Harrington had a map flipped open in front of him, occasionally referring to it as he tried to find their intended destination. Finally, he slowed to a stop. 

“Oh, this is it!” he announced, lowering his map. After a beat of silence, he blinked in dismay. “It’s closed.”

“Oh my—"

“Are you serious—”

“What – what do you mean it’s closed?” Mr. Dell stammered, taken aback. He squinted. “‘Till when?”

“November,” one of the students replied, standing in front of a sign by the front doors of the museum along with Brad.

Mr. Dell turned to his colleague, exasperated. “You didn’t check the website?” he demanded.

Mr. Harrington blinked again. “Oh, that’s a good idea,” he noted dumbly.

“Good grief,” Scott bemoaned. He wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry at the group’s situation. He settled for shaking his head. “This is a disaster.”

“I’ll say,” Clint grumbled, still irritated, being one of the only ones who actually had children who might go on field trips in the future.

Before anyone else could say anything in response, the caped man appeared from behind them. He was closely followed by a blast of water, leaving yet another wreck in their wake as the Midtown group fled in a panic. 

As the civilian crowds scattered, running for their lives, the water monster pursued the caped stranger vehemently, clawing at him and tearing down buildings in the process. Every time the stranger dodged, the water creature’s fist would slam into a different structure—on one memorable occasion, the creature knocked into a lofty bell tower, causing the side of the tower to become spiderwebbed with cracks. 

Hero and villain continued to battle it out in a flurry of watery attacks and emerald blasts, seemingly heedless of the damage occurring all around them. 

Watching from a rooftop, Peter caught sight of the bell tower’s crumbling state and—alarmingly—the group of people standing directly under the tower.

“Oh, come on!” Peter groaned, the bells hanging from his jester mask jingling slightly. He shook his head and leapt into action, swinging his way towards the tower. 

“I swear,” Hill sighed, “this new guy—whoever he is—does not know the meaning of damage control.”

Fury snorted. “He fits right in,” he snarked.

As the Avengers quickly devolved into a debate over who caused the most material damage—Bruce obviously won, hands down—and Tony promptly added that he was the one who had to pay the bills every time one of them ‘screwed the pooch’, MJ leaned in towards her partners-in-crime and muttered, “I think that was the point.”

Peter and Ned nodded in sync.

“Maximum effect and all that, right?” Peter asked rhetorically with a self-deprecating sigh. “And we walked right into his trap.”

The trio of lamenting teenagers never once noticed the way Loki straightened abruptly in his seat, eyes narrowing in response to their whispered conversation. Maximum effect? Trap? They didn’t notice the alarmed look he shot them either, or the suspicion that graced his face as he refocused on the screen.

No, they didn’t notice Loki’s reaction at all, too preoccupied with their regrets to remember who else was close enough to hear their hushed whispers.

In the streets below him, the Midtown group were running to a canopied area, bodies slightly hunched over as if to keep out of sight. “Stay low, kids,” Mr. Dell cautioned as he led the way, the water creature visible beyond the canopy. “We’ll be safe here!”

The group skidded to a stop, each of them dropping into a crouch so as to stay hidden.

“The fight is… literally right there,” Clint choked out. “What is he talking about? ‘Safe’? Is he delusional?”

Natasha patted his shoulder sympathetically, knowing better than anyone where his worries came from. She wished she could take a moment to comfort him—even if only to whisper a quick your children are safe, Clint, they’re okay—but she knew better than to let her guard down, even if only for a second.

She settled for a quick squeeze, letting her actions convey her reassurance.

Up above, Peter shot a web at the bell tower, swinging around it while simultaneously applying copious amounts of webbing to keep the tower from falling apart completely. With one last swing, Peter landed on the top of the tower, ducking under the rusted bell to get to the other side. 

“Quick thinking, kid,” Bucky praised. 

Scott nodded in agreement. “At least someone’s worrying about the collateral damage.”

Peering out over the edge, Peter took off his mask and watched, panting, as the caped hero valiantly fought the water monster, hands glowing green.

The hero flew around the monster, shooting out his signature beams every few seconds. In a fit of rage, the Elemental’s fist shot out towards him—only for the hero to dodge at the last second.

The water monster’s fist abruptly collided with the bell tower once more, destabilizing it completely and undoing Peter’s efforts. 

“I— you’ve gotta be shitting me,” Tony grumbled. “It’s like he’s trying to bring the fight to the tower. Jesus.”

Loki’s eyes widened momentarily, cutting to Tony in a burst of realization. It’s like he’s ‘trying’? he repeated to himself. He couldn’t help but think of MJ, Ned and Peter’s hushed exchange earlier—MJ’s bitter that was the point and Peter’s resigned maximum effect and all that. 

Shit, Loki thought, gritting his teeth. Who could he be, to make Peter refuse to say anything about him to Stark? What… what does he want? 

The prospects did not look good.

At the top of the tower, Peter staggered as the ground beneath his feet began to shake and fall in response to the tower’s slow collapse. Peter moved away from the edge and determinedly shot a web at each of the two buildings on either side of him. Firmly planting his feet on the ground—using his stickiness to his advantage—Peter stood firm, refusing to be pulled down. As a result, the tower slowed to a stop, held up only by Peter’s web and his own brute strength.

Unfortunately, the fight made its way towards the bell tower again, and the water monster and Mysterio both crashed into the side of the tower. 

As the tower began to fall once more, Peter found himself being pulled forward by the momentum—his head slammed into the bell, making it ring and leaving him to fall backwards with a startled yell.

“Shit,” Loki hissed, his face pinched like he was the one who’d just been tossed around like a battered rag doll. “Fucking hell.”

He turned to the child beside him with his heart in his throat, tension underlining his movements. A hit like that probably would have barely fazed him, but he knew that Midgardians were a hell of a lot more vulnerable than he was. He’d exploited that same fact just recently as he’d tried to enslave Midgard, the memory of Thanos’s ruthless stare keeping him obedient even from a galaxy away, but now —as he watched Peter suffer a hard hit to the head—he was far from grateful for the Midgardians’ mortality.

(For Peter’s mortality.)

“Parker, you…” Loki trailed off, unsure how to finish the sentence. The words you were hurt and are you better now and I should kill them both for putting you in harm’s way and you shouldn’t be in harm’s way danced on his tongue.

Unspoken or not, Peter seemed to hear his sentiments. “Don’t worry,” Peter reassured. Loki opened his mouth to deny it—he was a god, the God of Mischief in fact, and gods didn’t worry—but couldn’t bring himself to shoot Peter down. “I’m fine. That was nothing.”

Loki frowned. That was not nothing, he wanted to argue. It shouldn’t be nothing. You shouldn’t be used to getting injured. You’re practically a newborn! 

(A heartachingly good and selfless newborn.)

“Yeah,” Ned piped up. “Peter’s tough. There’s no need to freak out.” Yet.

Loki scoffed, pouring as much feigned offense as he could into the sound. “I’m not ‘freaking out’,” he denied with a hiss. 

Ned raised his eyebrows, clearly not buying it. “If you aren’t freaking out, then what’s with the dagger?” he challenged.

Loki blinked, startled, and turned to Peter for answers. Your friend’s crazy, he was tempted to say, but Peter just gestured at Loki’s lap. Loki looked down and found himself staring at his favorite gold-hilted dagger lying innocuously on his lap, his fingers curled around the handle with familiarity. The dagger—shimmering with residual seidr, a manifestation of his magic—rested in his subconscious grip as if it had always been there.

“Oh,” Loki mumbled. He vehemently did not blush—he’d always had an excellent poker face—but the tips of his ears were tinged a vivid scarlet. 

Ned snickered, a little smug.

Loki cleared his throat pointedly and willed the dagger to disappear with a flick of his wrist—which, naturally, only prompted even more laughter from the Spiderling’s friend.

Before Loki could flay Ned alive (or at least threaten to—he probably wouldn’t actually make good on that threat, not when it would upset a certain Midgardian), said certain Midgardian shifted slightly and nudged Loki’s elbow with his own. “Ned’s right,” Peter said. “I am tough. It comes with the territory—and the spider bite. I barely even felt that.”

Loki cleared his throat again. Hummed. Muttered a quiet, embarrassed okay.

Peter hummed back and returned to his original position, leaving it at that. Okay, he echoed. Okay.

(Physically, Peter was okay.

Inwardly, mentally, emotionally? He felt a long, long way away from it.

Maybe one day, he thought, and snuck a glance at Tony, flanked on either side by his friends. Maybe one day.)

Still dizzy from the impact, Peter groaned from where he laid on the floor, arms still spread out on either side of him and holding on to the webs.

All of a sudden, Peter was yanked forward, his body sliding across the length of the floor as the tower started to topple over with renewed urgency. Peter’s knees came up as a last-minute, reflexive attempt to stop his momentum, but that only caused him to sit up and hit the bell with his head a second time.

As he fell back again, blinking away the pain, his hands were terrifyingly empty—the sudden, jerky movements had caused the webs to slip out of his grip, leaving the tower to continue its downward descent with no more resistance.

Shaking his head, Peter shot out two new webs, planting his feet onto the pillar at one of the corners of the tower. Bending over slightly, he spread out his feet and held on fast, trying to hold the tower up all by himself now. The effort it cost him left him gritting his teeth and groaning to himself, eyes squeezed shut.

The camera zoomed out, showing the bell tower barely hanging on at a slanted angle, attached to a nearby building by a thin line of webbing. 

“Holy crap.” Sam blinked. He blew out a shaky breath, the beginnings of a hysterical laugh bubbling up his throat. “Damn, kid, are you… are you holding up an entire bell tower? On your own, with nothing to support its weight? Shit.”

“I know you said you had super strength, but that’s insane!” Scott added enthusiastically. “That’s— wow. Just… wow.”

“Even I’m impressed,” Steve admitted. “I’m not sure I’d be able to carry the weight of that tower on my own.”

Bucky pursed his lips, unwittingly flashing back to Leipzig, to a red-clothed hand stopping his punch and firm fingers closing around his metal fist, to Spider-Man’s cheerful voice prattling in his ear—You have a metal arm!? That is awesome, dude!

The memory faded, and Bucky turned around and squinted at Peter. “Just how much can you lift?” he asked, genuinely curious.

"I’m curious as well," Thor chimed in with an intrigued hmm. "You refused to answer me earlier, but I think I'd really like to know now."

Peter flinched, the phantom taste of dust and rubble heavy on his tongue. Toomes’ laughter rang in his ears, a sound he still heard in his nightmares. “Let’s just say,” he started, eyes downcast, “that bell tower isn’t the first building I’ve had to hold up.”

Bucky’s eyes widened—not so much at the admission, but rather at the look on Peter’s face, eyes glazed over and haunted. It was a look he knew well; a look he recognized from seeing it in the mirror far too many times. It was the look of someone plagued by living nightmares, Bucky thought.

He shuddered to think of the type of nightmare that could have left a mark on a child so deep that Peter was still tormented, even after an encounter with the Titan responsible for the destruction of half the universe.

Nearby, Mysterio and the water monster were still duking it out. The monster managed to land a hit on Mysterio, slamming him into the ground with a loud grunt. Mysterio regained his bearings quickly and rose to the air once more, green mist swirling around him. One hand motion later, he’d somehow summoned a shining triangular symbol in the air. 

Behind the water monster, a larger version of the same symbol manifested out of thin air. From the center of the triangle, a miniature tornado of green mist emerged, surging towards the monster. Mysterio seemed to be controlling the tornado, which wrapped itself around the Elemental’s ‘neck.’

“Huh,” Thor hummed. “I suppose he is more than just a colorful light show, after all. That’s… a fascinating attack. I wonder what else he’s capable of.”

“Yeah, but, does this mean he had that up his sleeve this entire time?” Rhodey demanded. “Why didn’t he do that from the beginning?”

“Dramatic effect, Uncle Rhodey,” Peter sighed to himself. “Dramatic effect.”

Unbeknownst to him, Loki’s keen ears caught his muttered commentary. Dramatic effect, huh? he echoed with a frown. The more he heard Peter and his companions talk about Beck, the more he was beginning to dread finding out who exactly the mysterious ‘hero' was.

But besides that… ‘Uncle’ Rhodey? Loki’s eyebrows hiked up his forehead. He’d known Peter must have been close to the Stark from his timeline—there was no denying the grief that Peter carried with him even now, after all. And Loki wasn’t about to forget Peter’s heated rant about Tony Stark being his ‘role model’ anytime soon, but… 

Uncle, huh. Loki thought of Stark’s friendly, almost brotherly—not that he would know, he couldn’t help but think bitterly—relationship with James Rhodes and settled his face into a pensive frown. 

Loki knew Peter and Stark weren’t related—not biologically, at least. The Tony Stark of 2012 clearly did not recognize Peter as his son (yet). But the way Peter looked at Stark and ‘Uncle’ Rhodey both…

Huh.

Loki took Peter in with thoughtful eyes, considering him as if for the first time. There was no questioning that Peter cared about Stark; there was no denying the irreparable mark Stark’s absence left on Peter. From that alone, Loki could tell that Peter and Stark had shared a relationship founded on compassion and unconditional familial love—a type of relationship so foreign and unfamiliar to Loki himself. 

Loki didn’t recognize the look in Peter’s eyes; he knew he’d never had that same look himself.

Odin had never been much of a father to him, after all. He and Peter might be similar in that they both had fathers unconnected to them by blood and biological obligation, but their relationships with their (emotionally) adopted fathers were clearly worlds apart.

EDITH focused on the Midtown group, who were still watching the fight from beneath their canopied hiding place. They all seemed to be at the edge of their seats, hoping for Mysterio’s victory. Flash Thompson, notably, was filming the entire fight on his phone.

T’Challa squinted. “Is he – is he filming this?” he asked incredulously. He shot his sister a pointed look out of the corner of his eye, unable to help but think of the last time Shuri had recorded him during battle.

Shuri stuck her tongue out at him. “Research purposes, brother,” she reminded him defensively.

Ned offered a sheepish shrug. “People our age don’t really have the best survival instincts,” he admitted.

“Case in point: our resident spiderling,” Happy drawled.

Ned chuckled, ignoring Peter’s offended hey! without remorse. “You can say that again,” he said. “As for Flash, well… Flash is Flash. To be fair, there wasn’t really anything else he could’ve done. It’s not like he could’ve helped. ”

“He should’ve put his phone down and just hid,” T’Challa pointed out with a disapproving frown. His sister could be just as reckless when she wanted to be, much to his displeasure. Shuri smacked his arm in exasperation, clearly hearing the unspoken taunt directed at her, but he ignored her easily. “Like everyone else is doing.”

Ned bit his lip to keep himself from saying anything else. You don’t know Flash, he wanted to say—unlike Shuri, he didn’t realize the real point behind T’Challa’s remark—but he didn’t have the right to accuse T’Challa of ignorance when the truth was that Ned didn’t know Flash, either—not really. 

No one did. 

Flash was popular, but at the same time, he didn’t really have anyone at his side—not like Ned had Peter. In the end, Flash’s social media presence was his life.

Ned and Peter had spent months observing Peter’s childhood bully out of sheer confusion after Flash’s pseudo-apology to Peter following the second Blip. And in time, they’d realized that while other students turned to their peers for comfort, Flash turned to his followers. While others shared inside jokes and secrets with friends, Flash shared dozens of videos with his followers with a falsely cheerful smile on his face and a lively tune in next time to stay up-to-date!

Flash’s day-to-day routine revolved around his videos and his Flash Mob. He prided himself on his ability to keep his viewers updated on the goings-on of the world. And that included Mysterio’s battle against his own creation.

Ned shook his head. I post stupid videos daily for people to like me, Flash had said in a rare outburst of honesty that fateful day in London, and those words had been filled with an insecurity Ned hadn’t realized Flash was even capable of.

No, T’Challa didn’t know Flash, but neither did Ned.

“Who is that guy?” one of the students demanded.

“I don’t know,” Brad Davis replied, “but he’s kicking that water’s ass!”

They all watched eagerly as Mysterio howled with the effort of detaining the water monster. With one last incoherent scream, Mysterio redoubled the size of his tornado before it disappeared completely in a burst of water and mist. 

Peter, meanwhile, was not having as much luck with his task. His face contorted in agony as the weight of the tower finally seemed to be hitting him, causing him to scream aloud. The tower continued to crumble, Peter’s webs breaking apart.

As Peter struggled to keep the tower above ground, Mysterio unleashed another wave of energy at the water monster, finally vanquishing the Elemental. The Elemental dissolved with one final watery explosion, throwing Mysterio backwards and sending the tower crashing to the ground. 

Peter’s webs snapped in two and he hurtled downwards with a soundless scream.

All at once, the tower hit the ground with a resounding clang, Peter buried amongst the ruins.

“Holy shit,” Tony breathed, lurching forward in his seat as he felt his heart plummet to the ground. “Shit. Peter.”

“Damn, kid,” Rhodey hissed. Quiet though it was, his voice was guttural with horror. “That was not a short fall. Are you…?”

“It looks worse than it felt,” Peter reassured. “I was fine, I promise.” I was fine then, at least. That was far from the worst thing Quentin Beck did to me. 

Rhodey squinted at him disbelievingly, no doubt remembering all of the major injuries Peter had hidden over the years. “Really?”

Peter gave Rhodey a shaky smile and pointed at the screen. “Really,” he confirmed. “You’ll see. I’ve had worse.”

Tony flinched, a reflex that would have gone unnoticed if not for the fact that Peter had already been looking in his general direction.

“God,” Rhodey sighed, dragging Peter’s attention back to him, “that does not make me feel better.”

Peter huffed a laugh. “Then you aren’t going to enjoy watching the rest of this at all,” he warned half-heartedly. “Just a heads up.”

Rhodey groaned.

The dust began to settle and the water began to evaporate as Mysterio landed gracefully to the cheers of the emerging crowds. He basked in their applause for a moment, broad-shouldered and caped as he faced his audience—as if like a king greeting his subjects.

While his fellow Midtown students and teacher showered Mysterio in applause, Peter got up on shaky feet and dug out his gift to MJ. Uncapping the case, he laid eyes on the black dahlia necklace and found it unbroken—as flawless as it had ever been. 

He sighed in audible relief.

“Aww, Pete,” Happy teased. “You’re just head over heels, aren’t you?”

Peter flushed and looked down, desperately avoiding both Happy’s and MJ’s eyes.

“God, you are adorable,” Shuri told him, completely deadpan. “You just fell from a bell tower, and instead of checking yourself over for injuries, the first thing you do is fuss over the necklace. Precious.”

Peter’s blush deepened. “I wanted it to be perfect,” he muttered defensively. He dared to peek at MJ out of the corner of his eye, relaxing minutely when he only saw her smiling fondly.

“It was perfect,” MJ reassured, voice a hushed whisper for his ears, and his ears only. She gripped the pendant through her shirt again, the way she always did whenever she needed to feel grounded. Touching her necklace—touching Peter’s gift to her—reminded her that she would never be alone, no matter where she was, because a part of him would always be with her.

It was cheesy, maybe—not at all her style—but that was just how it made her feel. Safe in the warmth of Peter’s affection. She let that warmth wash over her now, filling her face with a smile reserved for Peter alone.

“It is perfect," she affirmed.

Mysterio, for his part, saluted the crowd before twisting around and rocketing away dramatically, a cloud of green smoke trailing after him.

“God,” MJ breathed, clutching her necklace tighter, “it was all just a show to him, wasn’t it?” She shook her head, anger and shame tangling in her mind, and scoffed. 

(Loki silenced a sharp inhale and an alarmed demand of what the hell are you talking about, who is this Mysterio and what did he do to you?)

Peter nodded jerkily. “Yeah,” he whispered. “Yeah. We…”

“We never saw it,” MJ finished. “None of us saw it, Peter—it wasn’t just you.”

Peter ducked his head, embarrassed to have her call him out on his self-blame and self-loathing. It was a familiar cocktail by now—a taste he’d become acquainted with after he’d watched his mentor’s life drain away before his eyes.

“Right,” he mumbled, but he didn’t sound convinced. Maybe MJ was right—maybe everyone had been fooled—but it didn’t change the fact that he was the one who’d spent time in close quarters with Beck and still believed him. 

There had been signs, hadn’t there? There must have been signs—he’d just been too blind and too desperate for another mentor, for a guiding hand on his shoulder and a patient smile and kind eyes, to see anything beyond the lie.

That was on him.

As Mysterio disappeared into the distance, EDITH promptly switched scenes to the hotel Peter was staying in. The Midtown students were gathered in the downstairs lounge, watching a news report on the battle and the mysterious hero on the TV.

“It’s aliens,” Ned insisted, shaking his head. “It has to be.”

“Buzzfeed says there’s a sailor named Morris Bench who was exposed to an experimental underwater generator and got hydro powers,” Flash announced, reading off his phone. 

MJ looked at Flash incredulously from where she was perched on the stairs. “Yeah, you should definitely believe everything you read on the internet,” she said sarcastically.

“Spider-Man could take him,” Flash said, ignoring her.

“Really, kid?” Sam drawled. He looked like he was on the verge of a laugh. “Your bully is a fan of your alter ego? That kind of irony is just…” he shook his head, snickering silently. “God, it’s damn near comedic is what it is.”

“I’m glad you’re having fun at my expense,” Peter deadpanned, but the tiny grin on his face betrayed his own amusement. 

“I’m pretty sure Flash is the captain of the Spider-Man Fan Club at our school,” Ned added thoughtfully. “Flash is a die-hard fan.”

MJ snickered. “Ain’t that the truth.”

Peter shot them both a half-hearted glare. “I still can’t believe that’s a thing,” he said. “And if it is a thing, I’m disappointed you aren’t the captain, Ned.” He mimicked a wounded look, hand on his chest and eyes wide with exaggerated betrayal. “What happened to being my number one fan?”

Ned just rolled his eyes, not even fazed by Peter’s theatrics. “Sorry, bud,” he said without an ounce of genuine regret, “but even I can’t hold up to Flash.”

Peter sniffed. “I guess I need a new best friend.”

“You two are complete idiots,” MJ grumbled without any real heat behind her words. “Some people are actually trying to watch the footage, you know.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Peter waved his hand dismissively. “You love us, really.”

MJ snorted. Peter beamed.

(Ned sighed, and, when asked by Loki, confirmed—completely exasperated—that yes, they’re always like this, and yes, it’s exhausting.)

“What do you think it is?” Mr. Harrington, on the other side of the room, asked his fellow chaperone as he nodded at the TV. 

“You know, being a man of science…” Mr. Dell started, and then paused for a moment for emphasis, “witches.”

Shuri and Tony, naturally, both cracked up immediately.

Bruce just looked dumbfounded. “I… I have no words.”

Ned grinned. “Classic Mr. Dell.”

Off to the side of the lounge, Peter was on the phone, far away enough from the cluster of students and teachers to go unheard. “No, no, no, no,” Peter was saying frantically. “We wanna stay. We wanna stay.”

May Parker’s voice came through the phone: “It’s a good thing that I packed your suit, huh?” As she spoke, EDITH switched footage to a shot of May in her office, back in New York. A life-size Spider-Man cutout stood behind her. “I can’t believe you forgot it.”

The video switched back to Peter, whose eyes fluttered closed in mild annoyance. “Yeah,” he lied. 

“Oh, Aunt May…” Ned couldn’t help but laugh. “‘Forgot,’ huh.”

“Yeah.” Peter shrugged. “Obviously I was trying to intentionally leave it behind, but… Aunt May was just trying to be helpful. She thought she was doing the right thing.”

“Right. She wanted you to have Spider-Man with you on your trip, even though… even though what you needed was a break. To be a normal kid.” Ned ducked his head in shame, his laugh dying abruptly in his throat. “She wasn’t the only one. I – I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

“Wait, what?” Peter balked. “What on earth are you apologizing for?”

Ned twitched. “I wanted you to have your suit, too,” he pointed out. He couldn’t help but remember his instinctive reaction to seeing the water monster erupt from the canals—he’d instantly thought where’s the Spider-Man suit?—and he flushed. He hadn’t even been thinking about Peter himself.

“Ned…” Peter looked at him in wide-eyed surprise. “Ned, no,” he said firmly. “Don’t – don’t be sorry for that. Aunt May was right, in the end. You were both right. Spider-Man isn’t a part-time job I can drop over the summer; it’s a lifestyle.” If only he’d accepted that sooner. “Danger is everywhere, and Spider-Man should have been there.”

“P-Peter?”

Peter shook his head furiously. “I was being selfish,” he said, hushed and contrite. “I was excited for the trip because I wanted a chance to…” to leave Spider-Man behind, to forget my responsibilities, to live. 

But he couldn’t say any of that, not to Ned. At the end of the day, he’d always told Ned the cool version of events. He’d never dared to tell Ned any of the gory details—the nightmares, the serious injuries, the traumas that Spider-Man left behind. 

To Ned, Spider-Man was the ‘ultimate life.’ Spider-Man was a hero to Ned, nothing less, and Peter selfishly wanted things to stay that way. He wanted one person, at least, to see only the glamor, the fun. He didn’t want Ned to have to worry about him—he didn’t want to burden Ned with the harsher realities of being Spider-Man.

(He knew Ned knew, though, deep down. They both tried to ignore it, to pretend that side didn’t exist, but sometimes it was impossible to avoid. He knew Ned did worry, more than he liked.

Peter didn’t think he’d ever forgive himself for what he’d done to his friends; for forcing them to see into the tragedy behind the flawless superhero facade. This was his cross to bear, and yet he’d dragged them into it.)

Peter sighed. “I wanted to distance myself from the superhero life,” he admitted finally, finding the remnants of a smile deep inside him and unearthing it. “I didn’t want to think about powers or super-suits or Avengers or anything like that. I just wanted to…” he trailed off uncertainly, shrugging.

“To be you?” Ned offered, blinking rapidly to stave off an oncoming wave of tears.

Peter nodded tightly. “Yeah,” he agreed. But I can’t. I forsook that right the second I took up the mask.

“Peter…” Ned hesitated.

“Beyond that, I didn’t think I had it in me to be a hero again—without Mr. Stark,” he rushed to say before Ned could try to comfort him. He didn’t deserve Ned’s understanding, not after what had happened during Fury’s first attempt to recruit him. Not after SHIELD had shown him what had happened—or what they believed had happened, at least—to Beck’s Earth and he’d still turned his back on his own Earth. Not when he’d said no.

Ned pursed his lips, and Peter blustered on, “But with or without Iron Man, there was one thing Beck was right about—the people need a hero.”

Ned sucked in a sharp breath. Peter averted his eyes and looked away from his best friend’s searching gaze.

“You were already a hero,” Ned pointed out desperately, ignoring Peter’s visible discomfort. He just wanted to make Peter see himself the way Ned saw him. 

Peter didn’t bother to argue—but he didn’t agree, either. He shifted in his seat, pointedly turning away from Ned, and thought privately to himself, Not a good enough one. Beck showed me that. I was just playing at being a hero. I need…

I need to be better. (I will be better.)

“So, who was that guy that you were with?” May asked, frowning. “Was that Mr. Strange?”

“Doctor Strange, May,” Peter corrected, closing his eyes again. From the look on his face, it was clear this was a debate they often visited. 

“Who the hell is Doctor Strange?” Tony asked, scrunching his nose up in distaste. “What kind of superhero name is that?”

“It's his real name, apparently,” Happy remarked.

“...you’re shitting me,” Tony chortled. “Seriously?”

Happy nodded, completely straight-faced. “He used to be a doctor—a neurosurgeon, I think—before an accident drove him down the superhero path,” he recalled. 

“A neurosurgeon?” Bruce blinked. 

“Supposedly, he was the best of the best,” Peter offered, still vehemently avoiding his best friend’s searching gaze. He forced his lips into a teasing grin, but he could tell that Ned wasn’t fooled. Ned knew him well enough to see through the charade and into the well of doubt bubbling up his throat: into their hushed argument—the people need a hero and you were already a hero—that still lingered on both their minds. 

Peter cleared his throat forcefully. “Which explains why he has an ego to match yours, Mr. Stark.”

Tony scoffed. “Impossible,” he denied, but he was grinning as well.

“Oh, yeah,” Peter confirmed. His eyes twinkled with barely suppressed laughter. “His sass would give you a run for your money, too.”

Tony scowled. Before he could refute that, though, Bruce interjected, “Wait, wait, wait—‘Dr. Strange’? Are you talking about Stephen Strange?”

Happy arched an eyebrow. “Yeah,” he said warily. “Huh, I guess maybe there’s a reason for his ego after all, if you recognize his name.”

“How did a skilled neurosurgeon become a superhero?” Bruce asked skeptically.

Happy and Peter exchanged a glance. When Peter turned back to Bruce, he had a crooked smirk on his face. “You know, Mr. Dell wouldn’t have been too far off if it had been Doctor Strange,” he said.

“...He’s a witch?” Bruce blinked.

Peter burst out laughing, and the charade felt real, this time. “Don’t let him hear you say that,” he said, a broad grin twisting his lips even as Happy rolled his eyes beside him. “No, he’s not a witch exactly, but… he’s kind of a wizard? Well, he calls himself a Master of the Mystic Arts, but really, that’s just fancy for ‘wizard’.”

“Jesus Christ,” Bruce muttered to himself. “I can’t believe things are going to get weirder than they already are. How did this become my life?”

Steve patted his shoulder sympathetically. 

“Doctor Strange,” Peter repeated. “And, um, no. I don’t know who that was. It was a new guy. I was trying to help him, but—”

“—Hey, Happy,” May’s voice cut him off. “No, that’s my lunch. Don’t eat that one.” In her office, May twisted around and gestured rapidly at the lunch Happy was currently diving into. 

Peter froze. “Happy’s there?”

“Oh, dear.” Tony laughed. “Happy, I can’t believe you’re visiting Peter’s aunt at her workplace.”

“Yeah, Hap, that’s serious,” Rhodey added, seamlessly joining in on Tony’s fun with an effortlessness that spoke of over a decade of friendship. Even now, disconnected by several years, they seemed perfectly in tune with one another.

Happy twitched in a mixture of annoyance and embarrassment. “I’m serious,” he pointed out. “Have you two ever known me to joke?”

Rhodey tilted his head. “Good point,” he conceded, then smirked. “Forehead of Security.”

Tony choked, wide-eyed. Forehead of Security? he mouthed in delight.

Peter fought off a giggle and mimed high-fiving Rhodey, who winked at him.

Happy clamped a hand over Peter’s mouth to stop him from laughing, scowling indignantly. “No, don’t laugh, Parker, that wasn’t funny. Jesus Christ,” he sighed, “you guys are terrible.”

“Yeah, it’s Happy,” May replied, a goofy smile on her face. She shrugged and raised her eyebrows at Happy, who shook his head frantically and mouthed ‘no.’ Ignoring him, May carried on, “He’s here. He came by to volunteer.”

In Venice, Peter looked utterly gobsmacked, his eyebrows furrowed and his jaw hanging open. 

“And, uh, he’s hanging around the office,” May’s voice added. She approached Happy with her phone. “And he wants to say hi.”

“I don’t want—” Happy started in an insistent whisper, but as May continued to offer the phone to him, he reluctantly called out, “Hi, Peter.”

Rhodey and Tony both cackled with laughter, prompting Pepper to shake her head disapprovingly at the two of them. 

“Suck it up, Hap,” Rhodey teased, ducking to avoid Pepper’s half-hearted whack over the head. “If you meant what you said about being serious, you gotta make nice with the nephew.”

Happy grumbled incoherently at them both.

“Don’t worry,” Peter said, only half-joking as he grinned up at his ‘babysitter’-turned-ally, “you’ve already won me over.”

Happy reluctantly smiled back. 

On the other side of the sofa, Ned and MJ exchanged a knowing glance, both of them thinking of the same thing: Happy Hogan, hands clenched into fists and eyes squeezed shut, blurting out I’m in love with Spider-Man’s aunt!

“Hey, Happy,” Peter replied cautiously, an audible questioning lilt to the greeting.

May nodded encouragingly at Happy, who just withheld a groan and said, “I’m sorry, I’m working real hard here. I gotta do a – a leaflet drop.”

May was smiling indulgently at him.

In the audience, Peter turned to the side and pretended to retch obnoxiously.

“What’re you doing…?” Peter began.

“I’m glad you’re having a good time,” Happy interrupted. “Don’t worry, I’m really taking care of your aunt.”

May ‘aww'ed silently and blew Happy a quick kiss—

“Oh, gross,” Peter whined, “I did not need to see that.”

“…Shut up, kid.”

—before retracting the phone. Walking back towards her desk, she refocused on Peter. “So, uh, how’s the plan going?” she changed the subject quickly, voiced hushed. 

In his hotel lounge, Peter glanced sideways, catching Brad’s eye amongst the group of students. Turning away again, Peter hedged, “There’s been setbacks, for sure.”

“Don’t overthink it. Just trust your instincts and you’ll be fine,” May advised.

“I know,” Peter sighed. “Love you. Bye.” 

“You should listen to your aunt,” MJ murmured, smiling with her eyes. The sheer fondness in her gaze struck Peter breathless. “She knows what she’s talking about.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” MJ nodded, determinedly not blushing. “You’ll be fine—plan or no plan—because it’s you.” It’s always been you, she thought.

Peter smiled back, inwardly thrilled at MJ’s quiet admission—and dark theatre or not, MJ felt the whole world light up around his smile.

As Peter finished off his phone conversation, the camera’s attention darted to the students. “Who is that guy?” Betty asked, eyes narrowed as she peered up at the TV, where an Italian newscaster droned on in the background of a clip of Mysterio firing his green blasts.

“He’s like Iron Man and Thor rolled into one,” Brad offered.

Peter froze. It was just a harmless comment, an innocent observation, but it was also so much more. 

Brad was right. Beck’s MO resembled the other Avengers’ too much to be coincidence—his flight patterns, his offensive attacks, everything had a touch of Mr. Stark and Thor and even Dr. Strange mixed in. 

Beck had clearly known what he was doing, by imitating Iron Man’s powers. Already, he was trying to gain Peter’s trust by reminding him of his mentor; already, he was weaving a web of lies that would eventually draw Peter in and entrap him.

Peter had been naturally drawn to Beck, who might as well have been a mirror of his late mentor—not just in battle, but also outside of it. Beck had emerged, donning the mask of a mentor when Peter had needed one most. He’d used Peter’s grief for Mr. Stark against him.

The entire time, Beck had been pulling the strings. Beck had pulled every string.

(Why hadn’t he seen it? Why had he allowed himself to be sucked in?)

Flash just scoffed. “He’s all right. He’s no Spider-Man.”

“What is it with you and Spider-Man?” MJ asked with a snort.

“What? He’s just awesome, okay?” Flash retorted defensively. “He protects the neighborhood and, you know, he’s inspiring. He inspires me to be a better man.”

“Oh,” Steve breathed, wide-eyed. Oh. Oh. 

Without meaning to, his mind flashed back to his earlier epiphany about how Spider-Man showed up everyday to patrol. He bit his lip and thought of Happy’s words, the same words that had been running through his mind like a broken record since he’d first heard them—Peter’s there for them. If nothing else, realize that the people need heroes like Spider-Man.

Flash’s words only reaffirmed Happy’s declaration. Witnessing Peter’s influence on people who didn’t know him personally as Spider-Man, on people who saw Spider-Man as an icon, was breathtaking in every possible way. 

He inspires me to be a better man, Flash had said. 

He inspires me.

For some reason, Steve doubted that the Avengers had the same profound, deep impact on the ordinary people. The Avengers were heroes, sure, but could they inspire change in the same way Spider-Man did?

Steve had a feeling he already knew the answer.

Peter had finally joined the group of students, catching the tail-end of Flash’s mini-speech. He slowed to a stop beside the staircase where MJ sat.

Flash, noticing Peter’s arrival, cocked his head towards him, earnest sincerity disappearing behind a facade of arrogance. “‘Sup, dickwad?” he greeted with a drawl. “Thought you drowned,” Flash joked, turning back to the TV with a wink at Peter.

“Oh,” Tony hummed thoughtfully, startled by Flash’s wink. He remembered Peter’s fervent denial when he’d demanded to know if Flash was bullying him. At the time, he hadn’t understood why Peter had tried to defend Flash against Tony’s accusations, but now…

There was something soft—an undercurrent of understanding, maybe, or even friendly teasing—underlying Flash’s rude remarks. The sign of a truce in the lilt and intonation of dickwad. A playful, easygoing undertone in the nuances of his voice as he’d quipped thought you drowned. The hint of an inside joke in the way his lips had upturned at the corners and he’d winked at Peter.

Hmm. Not a bully, huh? 

Tony sought Peter out and found the kid rolling his eyes in something that could only be interpreted as fond exasperation. Maybe there was a reason why Peter had felt the need to defend Flash. Maybe there was more to Flash than met the eye after all.

On the TV, the newscaster was in the middle of delivering her report in Italian.

“Sounds like his name’s Mysterio,” Brad remarked after a while, catching the name on the rolling headline. 

MJ squinted at the screen. “L’uomo del Misterio is Italian for ‘man of mystery’,” she corrected. Brad was nodding like a lost puppy, gazing at her with an impressed, reverent grin on his face. “They don’t actually know who he is.”

“Mysterio…” Ned tested out the name.

After a beat, Ned and Betty chimed in at the same time: “Cool name.” 

Another beat of silence ensued as the two realized what had happened. They turned towards each other, identical lovesick grins on their faces. “Babe!”

“Oh, god, you two are so sweet you’re going to give me cavities,” Rhodey cooed.

“Sure, the kids are adorable and all,” Tony snarked, “but really? That’s where you guys got the name Mysterio from?”

MJ nodded. “Yep,” she said, not bothering to hide her distaste for the stupidity of the name.

“Hey,” Peter said, “you know how I feel about Brad, but you can’t deny that it’s at least a catchy name.”

“Of course you’d like the name,” MJ said indulgently. “You’re the same guy who thought Spider-Man was a good idea.”

“It’s not like I came up with my name either,” he defended himself. 

“Oh, yeah,” MJ said sarcastically, “because ‘real superheroes don’t choose their names; their names are chosen for them.’”

Peter preened. “Exactly. And who am I to say no when ‘Spider-Man’ just fits?”

“Parker, you are a strange mix of humble and self-congratulatory,” Loki remarked.

Ned tittered. “That’s what you get from a Gen Z hero,” he joked, shooting twin finger guns at the Norse god.

On the other side of the room, Peter turned towards MJ and struck up a conversation. “So, how much of that did you actually see?”

“Not much,” MJ replied, facing him as well. “I was… running.”

“Right, me too,” Peter said quickly—too quickly. He nodded a little rapidly. “I was also running…” he paused, and then tacked on as if to clarify, “away.”

Bubbling, boisterous laughter permeated the room. 

”Nice try, Pete,” MJ teased. “You need to work on your poker face a bit, but I appreciate the effort.”

Happy shook his head, unsure whether he should be amused or embarrassed by Peter’s complete inability to lie to the object of his affections. “You shouldn’t have clarified that part,” he admonished. “Any normal”—Peter huffed in annoyance—“person would automatically assume you’d run away from danger. You just made yourself look more suspicious.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Peter suppressed a pout. He’d always known he was a lousy liar—everyone told him so, from Aunt May (you can’t lie to save your life, Petey, she chuckled, ruffling his hair teasingly, it’s one of the things I larb most about you) to Mr. Stark (band practice, kiddo, really? That’s the best you could come up with?) to even the Black Widow (Jesus, Spiderling, how the hell do more people not know your secret identity? All right, that’s it, I’m going to show you mercy and teach you how to be a better liar).

So yeah, he was a lousy liar. Aunt May had always been proud of his transparency, his tendency to land on the side of the truth. 

(She’d been proud until she’d walked in on him dressed head-to-toe in his Spider-Man suit, eyes wide and horrified like those of a deer caught in headlights.

After that, well—she’d found herself proud of something else entirely. After an appropriate amount of yelling at him and Mr. Stark both, of course. She certainly hadn’t let them off easy, but…

Peter would never forget the day, almost two months after she discovered the secret of his extracurriculars, when she’d finally sat him down and heaved a heavy sigh—as if she carried the weight of the world on her shoulders—and whispered, I know I can’t keep you from being Spider-Man forever, and I know… I know that Spider-Man is a part of who you are, beyond the flashy suit and the high-tech AI and all of the other accessories. God knows I wish I could stop you—just the thought of you going out there and possibly meeting the wrong end of a knife scares the hell out of me, but I know I – I can’t. I can tell you won’t give Spider-Man up for anything, and I think… I think I get it. Especially after Ben. I’m terrified, but that doesn’t mean I’m not so, so proud of you for fighting for everyone who can’t, so I promise I’ll let up on the grounding, okay? Or I’ll try to, at least?

She’d smiled at him, then, strained and weary and tremulous, and Peter had felt a piece of his heart chip away. It continued to do so every day since, as more and more worry lines etched themselves onto May’s face. It had been a long time—far too long—since he’d seen her smile a real smile, bright and joyous and carefree, unburdened by the constant worries of what if.

What if he never made it home?)

MJ just stared, eyebrows raised.

“So, Paris tomorrow,” Peter tried instead, desperate to break the awkwardness before MJ could turn away again. “Go to the Eiffel Tower. Should be great.”

“Yeah, I read it was secretly built as a mind control antenna to create an army of the insane,” MJ pitched in. 

Peter froze. “Oh,” he croaked out, face contorting in a mixture of worry as he reevaluated his plan.

But MJ was looking at him with a secretive grin. “Which is why it’s my favorite destination on the whole trip.”

Peter’s face broke out into a relieved grin. 

MJ grinned back.

After an extended moment, they seemed to realize they were simply staring at each other with dumb smiles on their faces and abruptly averted their eyes in sync.

“Aww,”—Rhodey grinned, pretending to wipe away a tear—“look at you, Pete: all grown up, making a move on your crush. It feels like just yesterday you were a little kid swinging around Queens in a onesie.”

Peter pouted petulantly. “I was not a little kid,” he said sulkily, putting on his best, most intimidating scowl. Judging by Rhodey’s laugh, it was not very intimidating. “And I wasn’t in a onesie!”

“Sure, kid, whatever you say,” Rhodey humored him. When Peter wasn’t looking, though, the amused look on his face sobered. I wish Tony were here to see this, he couldn’t help but think. He snuck a glance at the Tony that was here, and a wry smile climbed up his face at the sight of 2012 Tony’s half-entertained, half-conflicted expression.

(This Tony hardly knew Peter. Rhodey could tell he was already beginning to care about the kid and grow attached—he didn’t think he knew anyone who’d met Peter and hadn’t grown attached—but they were still practically strangers. 

This Tony hadn’t spent hours upon hours walking Peter through dozens of physics and engineering equations; he hadn’t spent consecutive nights binging various TV shows and movies; he hadn’t started stocking up on Fruit Loops and apple juice simply because they were Peter’s favorite; he hadn’t taught Peter how to properly tie a tie twenty minutes before Peter’s first Stark Industries gala; he hadn’t learnt Peter inside out.

This Tony had never called Peter his kid.)

His Tony, though…

He’d be so pleased to see Peter interact with the girl of his dreams, Rhodey mused, just like a proud dad. The image that brought to his mind was such a stark contrast to his last memory of his Tony, eyes blood-shot and face gaunt, that he couldn’t help but sigh ruefully—wistfully. His Tony was still mourning his kid, wishing he could see Peter again and drinking himself to oblivion every morning he woke up to find himself in a world where Peter was gone.

The thought of his Tony, desperately missing their Peter, felt like a punch in the gut. 

Rhodey looked away, unable to bear the sight of a Tony who was both his best friend and yet not, a Tony who didn’t know what it felt like to have and to lose Peter, a Tony who was missing so many years.

(It felt like a betrayal. His Tony had lost his kid. This one didn’t even recognize Peter as such.)

Rhodey inhaled shakily. We’ll fix it. When we get home, we’ll make things right, he vowed to himself. Now that we know it’s possible… we’ll fix everything, the right way—without losing anyone else. (Especially not Tony.) We have to.

He’d do anything to bring a smile back to his best friend’s face. (He’d do anything to give Tony hope again.)

Another scene change later, Peter and Ned were standing in an empty hallway. “What are you gonna do about the water monster?” Ned asked.

“Nothing,” Peter replied with a nervous chuckle. “It’s dead.”

When Ned just continued to stare at him, eyes narrowed and clearly unconvinced, Peter quickly added on, “Besides, that Mysterio guy’s all over it. Look... I just wanna spend some time with MJ,” he insisted, heading towards their shared room, toothbrush in hand. “We were talking about Paris and... I think she really likes me.” He turned to Ned with a shrug and a shy, embarrassed smile at the admission. 

MJ blushed furiously, but when Peter turned to her with a shit-eating grin, she hastily masked her embarrassment with an unamused expression.

“I was right, wasn’t I?” Peter crowed.

MJ scrunched her nose up at him. “It would be really awkward if you weren’t,” was all she had to say to that.

“That’s nice,” Ned commented with a grin of his own, following Peter into their room. “Reminds me of when Betty and I first fell in love. I had just finished my first fruit cobbler, right—?”

Before he could finish his storytelling, he was interrupted by a tranquilizer dart in his neck. He slumped over and collapsed onto his bed with a loud thud. The bed springs squeaked under his weight. 

Peter, startled, immediately turned around from where he had been brushing his teeth. He stared openmouthed at his unconscious best friend.

“Oh, my god!” 

“Jesus—”

“What the heck!?”

Ned inhaled sharply, mind torn between horror at seeing himself lying seemingly lifelessly in a hotel room in Venice, and delight at being shot by a superspy who also happened to be the Director of SHIELD.

“No, seriously, what the heck!?” Sam repeated. “How did—? Who—? What just happened?”

Ned flinched at the sound of Sam’s startled exclamation. He could sense Sam’s, and everyone else’s, stares on him and frowned, lowering his head and ardently avoiding their unasked questions. 

He didn’t have any answers. Well, technically, he did, but…

All he knew came from Peter, eyes wide as he bounced giddily on his bed, half out of shock and half out of anxiety, and whispered in a hushed voice, Nick Fury was here! Nick Fury shot you with a tranq gun! Nick Fury wants to recruit me for a big Avengers-level mission. Nick Fury!

Nick Fury?

Nick. Goddamn. Fury.

Holy crap!

I know, Peter had hissed. He'd looked as if he still couldn’t quite believe it himself. Holy crap.

So yes, Ned might have the answers, but they weren’t his to tell. This was Peter’s story; Ned barely even remembered this night. All he remembered was waking up to a shaken best friend and oh my god, Ned, you will never believe what just happened!

(What Peter had really been thinking, racked with guilt and self-loathing, was you will never believe what I just did.You will never believe what I just turned down. You will never believe what a monster I’ve become.)

(Ned should have known, back then. He was Peter’s best friend. He’d been Peter’s best friend since they were just little kids running around the playground, blind to the future their paths would lead them towards.

He should have known. Should have realized Peter felt disconnected from the superhero life; should have realized Peter resented himself for that disconnection. It shouldn’t have taken Peter spelling it out to him—outright saying I didn’t think I had it in me to be a hero again, without Mr. Stark—to open his eyes.

He was Peter’s best friend. His wingman, his brother, his guy in the chair. How could he have not known?)

This was Peter’s story, because Ned hadn’t known. It should be Ned’s story, too. Ned should have been there—for Peter, and with Peter. Isn’t that what being a Friend of Spider-Man means—being there? Peter’s busy saving us all, but he needs saving, too.

He couldn’t stop thinking about how he should have known. And about how he would know, next time. He wouldn’t let Peter suffer in silence again. 

Ned exhaled a long, drawn-out sigh. “Wait and see,” he said to Sam, letting his lips quirk upwards into a gleeful grin. He knew Peter was afraid of burdening them—Ned and MJ and Aunt May and even Happy—with fearing for his life every night. He could at least put on a smile for Peter, if that was what it took to convince him he was not, and could never be, a burden. “Just you wait. You’re about to witness the coolest experience of my life, hands down.”

“Being shot is a cool experience?” Scott wrinkled his brows.

Peter, on the other hand, snorted. “I thought you said finding out I’m Spider-Man is the coolest experience of your life,” he pointed out.

“Nah, being shot definitely outranks Spider-Man,” MJ said nonchalantly, flashing Peter a teasing smirk. 

Peter stuck his tongue out at her, and she burst out in uproarious laughter.

“I wasn’t ‘shot’ shot,” Ned reminded for Scott’s benefit. “It was just a tranq gun.” Nick Fury’s tranq gun! I was tranqed by a spy. That’s practically the definition of awesome. “And really? Come on, break it up, you two,” he groaned. “Stop flirting or I swear, I’m going to throw up.”

“That was flirting?” Clint asked incredulously.

“Oh, yeah,” Ned said with an eye-roll. “I forgot you guys don’t understand MJ-speak. See, when she says, being shot outranks Spider-Man, what she actually means is, being shot outranks Spider-Man, but it doesn’t outrank you because Peter Parker outranks Spider-Man, too. ”

Clint blinked.

MJ huffed and flicked Ned’s forehead in annoyance. “Shut up, Ned,” she complained. “Stop exposing me. I have a reputation to maintain, you know.”

“Your reputation is already a goner,” Peter scoffed.

“Translation: you don’t need to maintain a facade in front of me, MJ, I like you as you are,” Ned chimed in, adopting an exaggeratedly high-pitched voice as he imitated Peter.

Peter’s jaw dropped. “What’s up with that voice?” he protested in lieu of arguing Ned’s interpretation. “I do not sound like that! And why does your version of me have a higher voice than your version of MJ, anyway?”

Ned winked at Peter, an easy grin on his face. “Face it, Peter. You’re a puppy. An overexcited and overeager puppy. Therefore, the voice. Also,” he added thoughtfully, “MJ would strangle me if I tried to give her a squeaky, overly girly voice, and I’m more scared of her than I am of you.”

“You do realize I’m the only one of us with actual powers, right?”

“A puppy, Peter,” Ned reminded him. “You’re about as intimidating as a puppy.”

“Alright, alright, all three of you need to break it up,” Happy interjected, clapping a hand over Peter’s mouth before the crime-fighting teenager could argue. “We have more footage to get back to, and we don’t have all day.”

“Actually, I think EDITH’s point is that we do—”

“Ned,” Happy said in his trademark ‘Be Warned’ voice. Ned wisely clamped his mouth shut, and Happy nodded in satisfaction. 

As he glanced around the room, Happy’s satisfaction only grew. The trio might not have realized it, but their effortless banter had helped return the room to its tentative calm. Instead of the shock and worry that had previously been on their companions’ faces, there was now only amusement.

“You’re a very difficult person to contact, Spider-Man,” a familiar voice interjected into the apprehensive silence, immediately replacing amusement with renewed shock.