Chapter 1
“That’s so cool!”
Peter sighed for what felt like the millionth time that evening. Leaning from his silk-spun-hammock, he grabbed the web shooter and flipped it the right way up and away so Ned wouldn't accidentally take a cartridge of salicylic acid to the face. “Don’t break anything.”
“I know, I know. I promise I won’t.”
“'Cause if you do, Mr. Stark’s going to flip out on me.”
“I know. I won’t break anything.” Ned balanced the shooter in a very precarious position and gave a thumbs up. “See? I’m your Guy in the Chair. I got this.”
Ned pulled the Spider-Man mask back down over his face, narrowing and widening the lenses as he took in the shooters' specs. “Hook web, timer web, venom web...ooooh, what's thaat...”
“Tony Stark, Ned."
“Rightrightright, sorry Pete."
Peter let his legs dangle over the edge of the hammock as he watched his best friend act like a kid in a candy store. He knew the inventory by heart—Karen, the suit's AI, did monthly management to keep his multiplying inventions in check.
Karen was chill. She didn’t report everything to Mr. Stark anymore, unlike FRIDAY. She was good to talk to and even gave him sweet, but often completely unhelpful, life advice.
***
Example: Just last weekend, Peter as Spider-Man was debating back-and-forth whether or not to check out the back alley a few blocks down, just a little bit outside of his usual stomping grounds, when his spidey-sense pinged him to the new, shadowy figure on the rooftop to his right.
Slowly, he turned, careful to keep his fingers poised over his web-shooters. Thanks to the suit’s night-vision, the figure on the opposite rooftop was in stark relief: a tall-ish guy, maybe 5’10”, 5’11”, built solid and muscular. His clothing looked less like cloth and more like a red kevlar-hybrid of some sort.
His face, like Peter’s, was hidden beneath a mask studded with two nubs on top, like tiny ears, or even horns.
With a pitter patter, Peter's little fanboy heart started dancing a jig. Oh sweet Jesus, it was Daredevil.
This was the Daredevil, the original vigilante of New York City. Yeah, his methods were sometimes...dubious, but he was AWESOME in Peter’s suddenly ten-year-old mind.
“I wonder what he would do if I asked for an autograph?” Peter asked, mostly to himself, then giggled.
Karen chose this exact moment to say, “He has many fans, but most of them are intimidated by him. It would probably make him feel admired if you asked.”
“No, Karen, I was kidding,” Peter hissed back, waving her off. It was one thing to mutter to yourself in civvies—just another Wednesday in the City — but the last thing he needed was someone to see Spider-Man flailing and whispering on dark rooftops at night. “I’m just gonna go over and say hey.”
“Would you like to rehearse your speech?” Karen teased. “You are awfully funny when you rehearse speeches.”
“Oh my God, Karen,” Peter groaned. “Tell Mr. Stark to turn off Baby Monitor Protocol already.”
“No can do, Peter. Go talk to him. It'll build your networking skills."
He swung over to the building, landing lightly on the concrete. Daredevil stiffened slightly but didn’t move from his perch on the roof.
Peter cleared his throat. “Uh. Hey.”
Daredevil slowly swiveled on his heel, lip curled. “Who the hell are you?” he growled.
“Um.” Maybe this wasn’t the best time to ask for an autograph. “I’m Spider-Man. Big fan.” Ugh, he sounded so nerdy.
Daredevil relaxed. “Oh. Okay. Hi, kid, what’re you doing outside Queens.”
Peter stiffened at “kid,” but tried not to let it show. “I’m, uh, patrolling. Also, I love how you tied up those guys robbing the bank last week. Really...uh, efficient of you.”
“I didn’t tie them up,” Daredevil replied evenly. “I knocked them out and stacked them by the precinct.”
“Right. That’s what I meant.”
Long awkward pause. Dangit, Karen. I will never listen to you ever again. “I’ll, uh, just go.”
“Okay, kid. Mind that strained shoulder.” Before Peter had time to question what the hell that was about, Daredevil turned his back and resumed his rooftop vigil. Peter lingered awkwardly for a moment, then turned and webbed away.
***
From then on, he took advice from Karen sparingly.
“This suit is so cool,” Ned sighed, flopping back on the bed. “You’re so lucky you get to hang with the Avengers.”
“Yeah.”
“Why aren’t you more excited about it? Aren’t you guys friends?”
“Yeah, sorta, but they don’t know about...” Peter waved at himself, not really sure how to phrase it. “All of this.”
“What?” Ned asked, not looking at Peter as he focused intensely on the shooters. “That you’re a huge nerd?”
Peter sighed and flopped back into the hammock. “No, Ned. Not that.”
“Oh.” He heard as Ned set down the shooters. “They don’t know?”
“No.”
Peter’s deep dark secret wasn’t really that secret. Anyone who’d known him for more than a few years (i.e. Flash, Ned, a handful of other kids at his school) had known “Peter” for a short while.
Now, Peter was decidedly a guy. Always been one, not that the rest of the world saw it that way. They could only see past what his body said, and if the meat-sack looked girl-ish, then well, shit, he’s gotta be a girl, right?
Coming out to Aunt May had been the single most heart-stopping relief of his life. After cowering in the looming shadow of whatifwhatif for years, the inevitable moment of courage arrived and his vocal chords just...shut down. Typical, Parker.
But May, wonderful, perceptive May, who bore the warmth of a thousand suns, and amazed him every day that passed—she hadn’t rushed him, and instead took him out for ice at Moretti's, waiting patiently for him to crack.
And he did, the moment they got back to the apartment. She wrapped him in a sturdy embrace and subjected him to the most beautiful lecture he’d ever gotten in his life.
“You’re my nephew,” she said. She said nephew. “I love you no matter what.”
Then, after everyone had cried it out, she sat him down and they stumbled through all of the surgery options, hormones, and clothing choices the Internet had to offer.
People at school weren’t so kind. There was the sudden touching: shoving him into lockers, tripping him in the hallways, grabbing his chest as “proof that he wasn’t a boy.” The list goes on.
The last one didn't fly too hot with the private school admin, but the ice out that followed was almost worse.
Ned was so incredibly cool. When Peter told him, he gave Peter a high five, congratulated him, then began ranting about Star Wars.
Warmth bloomed in his stomach whenever he thought about it. He loved Ned.
Slowly, the novelty of having a transgender punching bag started to wear off. Only a few kids transferred over from his middle school, including Ned (thank God) and, most unfortunately, the number one culprit, Flash Thompson himself.
Flash hadn’t outed him to Midtown yet, but Peter knew it was only a matter of time.
Then Mr. Stark introduced him to the Avengers, and it seemed like it was a chance to start over. He altered the measurements for his suits, hacked a little of the vital reports, and prayed.
Maybe he was being paranoid, but if his idols, his teammates, found out and didn't like what they saw, well. That bright future had no place for him.
Plus, it wasn’t technically lying by omission if nobody thought to ask, right?
He was a very bad liar, and was fairly sure Natasha and Clint could see right through him but were just being quiet to be nice.
Maybe they all were just being nice. Maybe they all knew.
No, that was paranoia. They had no reason to know.
Suddenly, his spidey-senses shrieking dragged him out of his funk as Ned exclaimed, “Web grenades? What’s this do?”
Peter lurched out of his hammock toward his friend. “Nonono, don’t do that—“
FWISH.
A small capsule of webbing shot across the room. Peter pitched forward mid-lunge, leg snarled in his little cocoon, and missed the capsule by inches. It richocheted off the light-bedframe-desk and hit the rug.
WHOOM!
The capsule exploded, sending a sticky net of webbing ballooning over the floor. One strand hit the door. Another clung to the wall. Yet another missed Peter’s foot by inches. Ned reeled back on the bed with a high-pitched squeak of alarm.
A quiet moment, and then: “So that’s what it does,” Ned murmured.
***
“Tell me how you met Mr. Stark.”
The two were sitting in the alcove of Peter’s bed, waiting for the webbing to dissolve. It felt a bit like a blanket fort, Ned's phone, a steady glowing moon webbed to the ceiling.
“No, Ned. I’ve told you a million times.”
“Just tell me again,” Ned pleaded.
“No.”
“Please.”
“Dude.”
“Pleeeeaaassssee—“
“Fine.”
“Hey May.”
Peter unlocked the door to his apartment and without turning his head made a beeline straight for the kitchen. God, he was starving and there was leftover Indian in the fridge with his freaking name on it.
“Mmm,” she replied. “Hey. How was school today.”
“Okay.” He set his bag on the counter along with the DVD player he’d found lying around at the station. Which was great since his old one was an ancient wreck that scratched up all his discs. He'd lost count the number of scifi movies that had fallen victim to the silicon claws of doom. “This crazy car parked outside...”
Wait, what?
His brain screeched to a halt like one of those vintage vinyl tapes that he’d always wanted because they were cool but could never afford. SKRREEET.
Because on his couch, next to normal, everday Aunt May was Tony Stark.
He was hallucinating. Tony freaking Stark could not be sitting on his couch in his dingy apartment. It wasn’t happening. Yeah, his eyes were telling him it was real, but his brain kept sending big red error messages to the rest of him.
The hallucination turned toward Peter as if just noticing him. “Oh,” said Hallucination Stark, “Mr. Parker.”
Dazed, Peter pulled out his earbuds. “Um... What-What are you doing...?” Get your shit together, Peter. “Hey!” Definite voice crack there. “I’m-I’m-I’m Peter.”
“Tony.”
Forming words. How did you do that again? Peter couldn’t remember.
“What are you- What are you - What are you doing here?” He crossed his arms in front of him awkwardly. Arms in front? Arms behind? Legs??? Play it cool, Peter. Play it cool.
God, he was failing miserably.
Mr. Stark (quite possibly an LMD) replied in a nonchalant tone, “It’s about time we met. You’ve been getting my e-mails, right?”
Tony...winked(?) at Peter, who was too dumbfounded to much more than gawp like an overgrown koi.“...Yeah, Yeah.”
“Right?”
“Regarding the...” Uh...
May leveled an accusatory glare at Peter. “You didn’t tell me about the grant?”
“About the grant.” Yeah, totally. The grant. What grant, again?
Tony chimed in, “The September Foundation.”
“Right.” Whatever otherwordly plan was at work had stranded Peter back at the station.
“Yeah. Remember when you applied?” Tony nudged.
“Yeah.” No.
“I approved, so now we’re in business.” He looked at Peter as if Peter were in on the secret, when in fact he was busy drowning in utter shock.
May glared at him some more, the kind of hurt look that said Peter Parker you dropped the freaking ball. “You didn’t tell me anything. What’s up with that? You keeping secrets from me now?”
Peter felt kinda bad for a second before he remembered he had nothing to feel bad about. “Why, I just, I just... I just know how much you love surprises, so I thought I would let you know... wh... Anyway, what did I apply for?”
“That’s what I’m here to hash out,” Tony confirmed.
“Okay. Hash, hash out, okay.”
Tony began droning on about something else, but Peter wasn’t listening. This had to be the weirdest fever dream since the spider bite, and he was very sure it was a dream. It was simply too good to be true: Tony Stark knowing his name, Tony Stark acknowledging his paltry, insignificant existence, asking about "business," whatever that meant. Would be kind of disappointing when he woke up, though.
“—date loaf is exceptional.”
“Let me just stop you there,” Peter said. Maybe it wasn’t the best idea interrupting the man supposedly about to hire him, but he had questions. Many, many questions not being answered, starting with the most important of all: “Is this grant, like, got money involved or whatever? No?”
Tony nodded like it was obvious. “Yeah.”
Peter remained skeptical. “Yeah?”
“It’s pretty well funded.”
And the gears started churning. This could change everything for him, for May. Internships mean money, and money means more allowances for the two of them. May could finally take a vacation. He could finally pay her back for everything she had done for him, and maybe start paying for his own T-shots. “Wow.”
Tony shrugged. “Look who you’re talking to.” Then he turned to May. “Can I have 5 minutes with him?”
May looked at Peter with a look that said, Are you okay with this? Peter nodded. She turned back to Stark. “Sure.”
***
Peter sat back on his heels. “And that’s it.”
“That’s it? Tony Stark just shows up in your apartment, asks if you’re Spider-Man, you say yeah, and he's all like, okay, yeah, super, and flies you to an international conflict in Germany?!”
“Yeah, pretty much.”
The sigh Ned let out was blissfully riddled with envy. “That’s so cool.”
“Yeah.” Peter had to admit that Ned's favorite phrase, albeit overused, was right on the money this time. “It’s pretty cool.”
They sat there for a moment in comfortable silence.
“Oh!” Ned piped up suddenly. “Don’t forget to get May to sign the papers.”
Wait, what? “Papers?”
“Yeah,” Ned replied, shooting at him with a weird expression. “The permission form.”
“...Right! The permission form.” Peter frantically scrambled to remember what Ned was talking about. No dice. “For what again?”
“Have you been in a coma for the last two weeks?” Ned asked him, sounding genuinely appalled. “Everybody's been talking about it nonstop.”
“About what?”
“The field trip, Peter,” Ned sighed. “To the Avengers Tower.”
“Wait, what?!”
Aww, shit.