Chapter Text
At first, Tony’s conversation with Steve reassured him—they were of the same mind when it came to Peter. The whole team was. If all went well, the battle would be short. The mission was simple enough: find bad-guy, trap bad-guy in a box. Boom. Done. No need for Peter to be fighting.
That didn’t happen.
There was a trap. Of course there was a trap. Nothing ever went as planned, so why did Tony expect it this time? Peter sensed it before anyone else. Not that Spider-sense was ever all that specific about these things. No, that’d be too easy. Peter also had exactly the amount of self-preservation instincts one would expect from a teenage vigilante. Which meant he offered to hold off the threat—just himself and Steve.
God, Tony was going to kill Steve.
Except...he wasn’t.
Because when thousands of drones burst from the street, when all the team’s tech went haywire, when Friday shut down when Tony was flying dead in the air—Steve got Peter out.
Tony rebooted. He flew close to the ground in case of another unfortunate shutdown. Meanwhile, Steve fended off drones. He barked orders at the team. He dragged Peter into a coffee shop and kept him safe.
Now, Tony stood in front of Peter and Steve. The dinky coffee shop around them looked as if it’d been hit by a bullet-riddled hurricane. Asphalt and battle grime streaked both their faces.
“Mr. Stark!” Peter vaulted over the counter and slammed into Tony’s chest. His sweater was torn, and his hair was askew. Gruesome trails of dried blood carved their way down either side of his head. But he was alive. “Are you okay, Mr. Stark? I heard the tech went down, and Captain America said you’d be fine, but—”
He squeezed the kid back. “I’m fine, kid.” Tony could never have prepared for how his heart hammered when Peter was in peril or how much relief he felt to have him in his arms, in one piece.
He should’ve dumped Peter in Yellowstone when he had the chance.
Peter pulled away. He looked up at Tony, anticipation in his eyes. “What now?”
“Friday, run a scan for injuries.” He took Peter’s chin and tilted his head to each side. His ears were red and irritated, but the blood was all dried, no longer fresh. That was good news. It meant they’d stopped bleeding. Of course, the fact that they’d started bleeding in the first place was less good news.
“That’s not what I meant,” Peter muttered.
“Mr. Parker has perforated eardrums due to his enhanced hearing,” Friday said. “The injuries are healing, and I sense no further concerns besides minor abrasions.”
Tony looked at Steve. He probably owed him some sort of thank-you, but he was a little too petty for that.
Steve just nodded. He understood. “We’ll have to re-evaluate our battle plan.” Straight to the point. Exactly how Tony remembered him. “I’m thinking we pair Queens with Clint. His webs are good long-range weapons, and you fliers aren’t going to be able to get any of the high-up drones without risking your tech going down and falling.”
All Tony’s thankfulness evaporated. “Peter’s done. He’s benched.” How could Steve want to throw him out there again? After all that had happened?
“You’ll need to convince him of that.” Smug bastard.
“Good luck with that,” Peter added because he was an equally smug, much smaller bastard.
“I hate you both right now.”
“No, you don’t,” Peter said.
He didn’t.
Steve stepped closer to Tony, his body language relaxed but still in full Leader Mode. “I’m going to join Sam in coordinating civilian safety with the emergency personnel. You and Rhodes take out as many drones as you can. Your attacks have the widest area of coverage. Stay close to the ground. Don’t go any higher than you can walk away from if you fall. I want Friday to keep looking for Tim.”
They were officially calling the bad-guy Tim now. Tony couldn’t even be mad. Peter was right—it beat Gaseous Doom.
Peter scrunched his brows in thought. “He has argon in the chemical composition of his gas bombs, right?” He looked up. The way his eyes searched Tony’s face for approval...that always threw him off.
“He does.”
“I noticed it in the formula in your notes because it’s a noble gas.” Of course Peter stole his notes before sneaking along. Why wouldn’t he have? Little shit. “It must’ve been hard to get it to combine with any other elements. And it only exists in trace amounts in the atmosphere, so any unusual amounts will stand out. It’ll make him easier to find.”
Huh. “You’re right.”
Peter’s chest puffed at Tony’s praise.
“Wow,” Steve said, impressed.
Tony had been comparing Peter to Steve this whole time, but he forgot how much like himself Peter was, too. He had the best traits of both himself and Steve—with a reckless streak to rival the entire Avengers team and a whole lot of Peter Parker flair thrown in.
Maybe Tony couldn’t have anticipated how much he’d care about this damn kid, but in retrospect, it wasn’t surprising at all.
“Friday, start a scan of the town for argon. Anything unusual, report it to me.” He turned to Peter. “Good thinking, kid.”
Peter beamed.
Steve grabbed Peter’s shoulder. “One last thing,” he said. “You and Clint are our eyes in the sky. Our fliers are grounded if Tim can take out our tech. That means we need you, and you need to be careful. We can’t afford for you to get taken out. You’ve done good. Now stick to our directions. Your webs are our long-range weapons, so keep your distance from the drones. Stay where someone can see you. Let us know if anything goes wrong.”
Peter nodded, his expression solemn, his jaw tight.
Steve was clever in his own way, too. Sometimes Tony forgot that. He was putting Peter in a position where he’d feel useful but still be above the battle, far from it. Safe.
When this was over, he’d have to thank Steve Rogers.
(Tony really didn’t want to do that).
Mr. Stark dropped Peter off at the tallest point in Fort Wolf. At only four stories, it had nothing on New York. Still, Peter could see the edge of town from here—where the buildings ended and a single, winding road drowned in a sea of farms. It would’ve been a beautiful sight if not for the looming cloud of murder bots.
They looked like the spy droid on Hoth from Empire Strikes Back. Red light, black body, rounded shape. Unlike spy droids, however, these bots had massive guns.
Hawkeye knelt behind the lip of the roof, tugging arrows from his quiver and firing them briskly. Each drone they hit exploded in a startling flash of fire and noise. Ear rattling, piercing noise .
“Good, you’re here,” Hawkeye said. He swiveled and launched another arrow. Boom! Peter flinched. Man, that was gonna get old fast. “We’re working our way from the top down. Go for the highest first. Unless, of course, you see one targeting a civilian, then get that one first. Hopefully, you won’t see that, though. Everyone should be inside, thanks to you.” He sounded more serious now than he did on the Quinjet.
“And try not to run off this time,” a familiar voice said. Peter startled. He turned to find Black Widow crouched behind the h-vac unit, fiddling with a wiry radio. She had the same amused smirk from earlier plastered to her face. “Stark’s gonna kill me if I lose you twice.”
“You can do your little scurry-along-the-buildings thing if you want, though,” Hawkeye said. “Just don’t go too far.”
Peter nodded. He didn’t know Black Widow would be up here with them. To be honest, he wasn’t sure why she was—it felt like they needed as many people on the ground as possible to help emergency workers—but Captain America seemed to have a plan, so he went with it.
“I’m trying to get in touch with Nick Fury,” she said, reading his question. “Shield might be down, but he’s still got his uses. I can do this from anywhere, but here provides cover.”
“Actually, she’s here because you’re here,” Hawkeye told Peter. “You falling off the ceiling is the most entertaining thing to happen on a mission since Vienna.”
Peter gapped. “Really?”
“Do not bring up Vienna,” Black Widow growled.
Clint ignored her. “How did you get on the ceiling anyway?”
“That’s one of my powers. I stick to things like a spider.”
“Huh.”
“I will gut you if Steve or, God forbid, Sam finds out about Vienna,” Black Widow said. Then she turned to Peter, her voice turning sweet. “Take off that sweater. It’s too baggy. It’ll get caught on something.”
She was treating him like a little kid. All the Avengers were. It was annoying, but Peter supposed that’s how adults were. Besides, he didn’t wanna piss off Black Widow. So, he tugged the sweater off and handed it to her.
“I can’t believe Stark let you into battle wearing that thing,” she muttered. “I’m going to kill him later.”
“Over a sweater?”
She flashed a dangerous smile. “Amongst other things.”
Peter designed his webs to subdue criminals without hurting them, not to be used as projectile weapons against drones. So, he was a little out of his comfort zone here. But isn’t that what those inspirational life coaches would suggest? Get out of your comfort zone! Live life to the fullest! Use your spider webs to take down an army of drones!
Maybe not that last bit. This probably wasn’t what Johnny McJoe had in mind during his Ted Talk.
He was doing alright, though, all things considered.
Thwip! One drone down. Thwip! Thwip! Two more. The buildings weren’t hard to jump between. They were close together in the center of town. Lots of roof space to run. If he missed, well...Peter could handle falling one or two stories.
It was the noise he couldn’t handle. His ears were healing, but they still hurt with every little explosion. Every bang. He tried not to let that show.
“What do you think drones are made of?” Peter wondered aloud as he leaped to a new building. He found a drone that drifted too high and shot it down. “I’m thinking carbon fiber, like Mr. Falcon’s wings.”
“Excuse me,” Falcon said over the comms, “Did he just call me Mr. Falcon?”
“That’s your name?”
“My name is Sam.”
Peter shrugged, but Falcon couldn’t see that. He latched a string of web onto another drone and hurled it like an Olympic hammer toss into two more. With a flip (because, c’mon it, the Avengers were watching), he landed on a fourth drone and smashed it into the roof of Town Hall. The sound stabbed at Peter’s ears. A high-pitched whine. He stumbled for a moment, regaining his bearings.
“Hey, Spidey,” Black Widow said. “You good?”
“Yeah,” Peter said, panting. “Yeah, I’m good.” His ears rang. There were still so many drones out there. Where was Tim? How were they supposed to find him in all this?
Then, Peter had an idea. One the Avengers would not like because they were too busy treating him like a five-year-old.
In fairness to them, it was a horrible idea.
“You need backup?” Black Widow said. “You’ve been quiet.”
Instead of answering that question, Peter blurted, “If Tim hid his drone army in the sewers, do you think he met any of the Turtles down there?” Because apparently, he was incapable of containing his inner nerd for more than five seconds.
Falcon, it seemed, was equally incapable of not commenting on that. “What the fuck?”
“Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles,” Peter clarified. “I guess they live in New York, don’t they? So they wouldn’t be here.”
“Maybe they have cousins in Montana,” Hawkeye suggested.
“Don’t encourage him, Barton,” Mr. Stark said. “You never answered the question, kid. Do you need backup?
Peter was already on his feet, running after a new set of drones. “I’m good.” He webbed a few together, sending them spinning to the ground.
His plan was simple: if his Spider-sense noticed the drones in the sewers when no one else did, when not even Mr. Stark’s radar detected them, then he could use it to find Tim. The more his spider-sense went off, the closer he must be. Like a game of hot and cold.
Definitely a bad plan. But...better than any of Tim’s bombs going off.
Tony flew low, spraying repulsor blasts across the battlefield at the drones. The light arched across the area, vaporizing the flying bastards in its path.
He kept tabs on Peter’s location. It wasn’t easy. Even with a tracker on him, he moved so fast and in such erratic patterns that it was disorienting to try and follow. At least he knew Peter was still alive. The kid could not shut up.
“Got anything on our friend Timothy yet, Fri?” Tony said.
“Something’s interfering with my sensors.”
Great. Just wonderful. “Any idea what that something is? Or where?”
Silence. Of course she didn’t.
“Hey, Tones,” Rhodey swooped by, firing at a drone Tony hadn’t noticed on his tail. “Are you off your game?”
“Course not.” He launched another blast. “Why would you say that?”
Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Spider-man’s silhouette swan dive off a building and onto a drone. It yanked at his stomach.
Tony’s next blast missed entirely.
“Gee. I don’t know. Why would I say that?” Rhodey’s guns took out the drones that Tony missed.
“Ha ha,” Tony deadpanned. He blasted a row of drones to their left to punctuate the fact that he was focusing just fine.
Instead of running across the buildings, Peter was now swinging from drone to drone, webbing them to each other. It was clever—they tangled themselves up and crashed into one another—but also, Tony would have a heart attack if the damn kid didn’t get his feet on a solid surface soon.
“Hey,” Rhodey said, voice stern but grounding. “We gotta focus here, okay? I know you’re worried, but you can’t get off track. A lot of people are counting on us.”
Rhodey was right. He couldn’t afford to divide his attention right now. If Tim got off even one of his bombs, it’d be a mass tragedy. Besides, Peter was with Clint and Natasha—they could handle him. Probably.
(Who was he kidding? It’d take an army to handle Peter Parker).
A whoosh of metallic wings sounded behind them. “I wouldn’t worry too much,” Sam said. “Your kid did kick everyone’s ass in Germany.”
“You mean he kicked your ass,” Rhoedey said. There was no bite to his words. Only teasing.
Tony tried not to groan. “Aren’t you supposed to be with Cap, Wilson?”
“Just passing through. Steve wanted me to let you know that our comms are getting screwy. A lot of emergency vehicles aren’t working, so I’m gonna check that out.”
“Great. Thanks for the info. Now go do whatever it is you do, and leave us alone.”
Sam rolled his eyes. “Redwing already went down. We’re lucky none of our flight suits have gone down yet.” He was looking at Rhodey now. “Careful out there, man.”
“You too,” Rhodey said.
Sam nodded and flew off. Tony couldn’t help but sneer.
“Can you two keep your gross reconciled friendship out of my face?” He said, only once Sam was out of earshot. It was meant to come out as a joke, but it didn’t.
“It wasn’t his fault, you know. What happened to me.” Rhodey’s voice was quiet.
Tony knew.
Peter’s spider-sense went off. Danger! Danger! A deep chill down his spine, a tugging in his mind. His body wanted to escape, but he had to swallow that impulse. He started running toward it.
“Guys,” he yelled, “I think I found Tim!”
“What?” Mr. Stark sounded panicked. “Kid, you need to—”
Just as he leaped off the roof, a high screeching ruptured the air. Concrete slammed into his back as Peter tumbled gracelessly onto the ground. He curled in on himself, covering his ears. His hands were warm and wet again—more blood.
The eyes of his suit spasmed. The display on his lenses flashed between different settings before going blank. Then, the sound turned off. Peter felt no relief, though, as his Spider-sense continued to scream.
“I wouldn’t bother calling for backup if I were you,” someone said. “Your comms are down.” Gray eyes hovered over Peter. There was something unsettling about them—as if he were trapped in a thick, blinding fog. A heavy gas mask obscured the rest of the man's face. He held a clicker in his hand, which he must’ve used to send out that awful noise.
“Timothy,” Peter sneered.
“What did you just call me?”
Peter rolled to his feet and fired a web at Tim’s belt. There were canisters on it—the bombs. If Peter could get those away from Tim, then subdue him, there’d be no need to kill him. It was convenient.
Too convenient. Tim didn’t even fight it as Peter pulled the belt toward him. Peter looked down at the belt in his hand, then back at Tim. He let out a long, drawn out sigh. “This is a trick, isn’t it?”
“You’re very clever.”
“Where are the gas bombs?”
“Bombs?” He chuckled. “There’s no bombs. There’s only me.”
Tim evaporated. His body spread through the air, dissipating into a thick cloud of green smoke. It flew right at Peter. It got in his nose, down his throat, in his eyes. He was choking. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t see. He did the only thing he could think to do—slammed Mr. Stark’s fidget cube on the ground, trapping them both inside.