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Curiosity killed the cat, and Rhodey knew he was no exception to the saying. He looked up from his book; Sam’s less-than-subtle whisper easily caught his attention — even if they hadn't been the only two occupying the common lounge, he would've heard it.

The fact Sam was standing right behind the sofa didn't help.

Rhodey arched an eyebrow. “This a ‘we’re going to better ourselves and society’ kind of idea, or ‘we’re going to get in a shit load of trouble’ kind of idea?”

Sam paused, briefly considering his answer.

“Could be either one. I’m leaning more towards the latter." A smile broke out on Sam's face. "Definitely the latter.”

Rhodey pulled a face — deliberation pinching his brows more than anything — before he set his book down on the coffee table and removed his heavily braced legs from the ottoman.

“Meh," he gave in, "I could use some fun.”

A couple of hours later, and the longue was no longer occupied. The Avengers compound was fairly quiet, even with of the bouts of employees wandering the main sections of the building.

It was rare that the facility was ever not buzzing with flourishing activities. Outside on the grounds, SHIELD soldiers trained, mechanics worked on jets and helicopters; while normal day-to-day activities kept pace.

Inside, meetings filled the conference rooms and technicians of all kind worked at their computer stations.

It was the type of inactivity Natasha relished in. The noises could get too stressful, even for somebody like herself. The calm never came often but when it did, she made the time to enjoy it.

A day without a SHIELD assignment was a day worth enjoying.

Still, she never let her guard down. The knife in her hands made delicate chops on the strawberries below her, each slice of a berry an addition to her fruit salad. The kitchen of the Avengers lounge was quiet —  had been for hours.

So when heavy footsteps drew near, she heard them long before they entered the room.

“Tony." Natasha never even raised her head when she spoke, still chopping away at the strawberries. “I didn’t expect to see you around here today.”

Tony waltzed into the room with a confidence that felt as fake as his smile, straightening his suit jacket and pulling his shoulders back in a way that felt all-too-exaggerated.

Though Natasha only looked with the corners of her eyes, it was obvious he was trying harder than usual with his demeanor.

“Aww honey, I’m hurt." Tony approached the kitchen island, standing near the edge and not far from her. "Disappointed in my glorious presence?”

Each chop of her knife slowed down as Natasha stared at him, immediately recognizing something as being off.

She had known the man for a while now; long enough to know that Tony Stark spoke solely with his personality — one larger than the Hulk’s. His physical appearance didn’t mean anything so long as he held onto his overly strong persona. He could be wearing a potato sack for clothes and still own the room.

This felt fake as plastic.

“I’m sorry, did you just call me ‘honey’?” Natasha didn’t hide her sharp tone. Any sharper and it'd give the knife a run for its money.

Tony smiled — a cocky, goofy grin that seemed more comical than anything else. He leaned casually and yet awkwardly against the kitchen island, popping a strawberry in his mouth with ease.

“Come on sweet cakes, what’s the problem?” he asked, forcefully licking his lips. “You don’t want some of this billionaire thickness?”

Natasha let loose one hard chop on her fruit before almost losing grip on the knife. Like blown out tires, her mind sputtered and her mouth almost failed to connect with her vocal chords.

Tony licked his lips again, and she didn't hesitate to give him a long once-over.

"Is there something I should be made aware of?" Natasha arched an eyebrow, high. "Maybe something the team should know? Perhaps a lab accident involving chemicals that may have killed your remaining functioning brain cells?”

Tony continued to grin, the corners of his mouth pulled tightly to each of his ears.

“No, nothing that I can think of,” he drawled on, his voice low — sultry. Comically sultry. Natasha's grip on the knife managed to get even tighter. “But why don’t you and go I someone more…private. You can sit on my lap, and we can discuss the first thing that pops up.”

Natasha's eyebrow nearly hit the ceiling.

“I’m sorry," she made sure to look him straight in the eye — glistening knife in hand and all. "I’m not much for small talk.”

Tony didn’t miss a beat. “If you wait, it’ll grow on you.”

“Okay, Stark," Natasha pointed the sharp-edged knife straight at him. "What the fu—?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Tony stumbled back, hands defensively in the air — waving frantically in a way that was definitely not Tony Stark.

Natasha didn't need to see that to know better. But she kept the knife pointed at him anyway, enjoying the way it gleamed underneath the kitchen skylight.

And the way Tony had taken enough steps back to almost double the length of the island. 

“Chill for a second, Nat," he insisted, hands still waving. "It’s me."

Natasha resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

"Whoever 'you' might be," she made a face, her suspicion and confusion mingling into one, "you’re acting like a complete douc—”

Hysterical, downright obnoxious laughter came from down the hallway. Natasha spun her head around, finally lowering the kitchen knife to the table but keeping her hand on it nonetheless.

“No, no — it’s me, Nat.” Tony immediately brought both hands to the side of his head, pressing down firmly on the bone behind his ears. For a moment, it looked like he was touching nothing but skin. His fingers even tangled in the hair near his earlobes.

It was when Natasha turned her gaze back to Tony that she could see the flicker of lights that followed his touch — all sorts of blue, pink, and purple static filling the kitchen with a light show far too similar to one of Tony Stark's inventions.

Inventions.

Natasha's face fell flat. Of course.

“Just me, Nat." Sam clicked off the sides of the pure, crisp, white helmet. With a shaky smile, he lifted it off and away from his head. "Just a prank.”

Natasha knew long before the holographic image disappeared what had happened. All the while, the laughter still howled from the hallway, only increasing by tenfold as the scowl on her face grew harder.

“That — that was worth it!” Rhodey stumbled into the kitchen, bent over with his hands around his stomach in a fit of laughter. “Oh god, I wish I had recorded that.”

“Be glad you didn’t,” Natasha hissed in his direction. “I’d have to kill you if you did.”

“Oh, lighten up.” Sam extended the helmet out to her, the white metal catching the sunlight from above. “You’re free to have a turn with it. It’s actually quite a hoot.”

“Quite a hoot?” Natasha repeated, her brows furrowing tightly. “No, thanks, I’m good. Besides, something tells me you didn't get permission to 'play' with that." 

The way her words dripped with disapproval didn't go unnoticed by either men. The two fell silent, Rhodey's laughter dying off while Sam self-consciously tucked the helmet underneath his arm.

"It's fine, Nat," Rhodey tried to brush it off, fighting off the urge to smirk again. "I know Tones. He's done far worse things."

"Stark won't even be back until later tonight." Sam defended, his lack of eye contact telling her that not even he believed his own lie. "He won’t even know it was gone.”

Natasha hummed, deeply. And continued on for a long time after that.

“Well, that explains why you were involved,” she said, her words directed right towards Rhodey.

Rhodey knew better than to respond. Innocent until proven guilty, after all. And the way he stood, like a dog with his tail between his legs — Natasha figured he'd rely heavily on that presumption.

After all, they both knew he had the codes to get inside Tony's lab. Even Tony knew he had the codes to get inside Tony's labs.

Neither of them decided to comment on it.

Still, as idiotic as both boys were being — and Natasha would stand by that, they were behaving like children — they were also right. Tony had Stark Industries business to deal with, and from the memo’s sent out, he didn’t plan to return to the compound until late in the evening. His comings-and-goings from the facility were much easier than hers, seeing as she was an official SHIELD employee and he — by much fight of Nick Fury's — was not.

After the whole Accords debacle, she considered a feat they were all able and willing to keep each other updated on their whereabouts, in any sense of the matter. It was double the feat that Tony was willing to room so frequently in his quarters within the compound. The excuse of not being eager to replace his once renowned Malibu mansion hadn't held up well as time went on. But like most things, Natasha observed only, keeping her comments to herself.

The memo's seemed to set off her memory — in the handful of exchanged schedules between the team, she remembered that Barton had made them aware he’d be by today for sparring.

And he still owed her after eating her entire stash of unsalted almonds last weekend.

“Actually, you know…" It was Natasha's turn to smirk. "Let me see that for a minute.”

World History was his least favorite class.

It used to be P.E, but the spider-bite fixed that dilemma.

Peter chewed on his bottom lip, flipping through the pages of his textbook and typing the occasional note on his laptop next to him. The sun was setting outside of his bedroom window, highlighting the duct tape that kept his laptop in one piece, and his foot tapped with the growing desire to sneak out and patrol the city.

Studying about Caste, Helot and the treaty of Kanagawa was a snooze-fest after fighting a 65 foot-tall Ant-Man and defeating a gang of alien tech smuggling criminals.

Peter suddenly shoved his books away with an overly exaggerated groan.

“Man, I am so over this!"

May finding out his secret was both the best and worst thing to happen to him. At least now, he didn’t need to sneak around and stress over her discovering the truth.

The downside was — well, she knew the truth. And it was far harder to sneak out and skip school work whenever she was around.

It was crazy to think about how it was only six months ago she'd learned the truth. Peter leaned back in his chair, remembering just how stressed out they'd both been back then.

Not long after that, and Peter discovered just how bad of a lecture Mr. Stark ended up sitting through.

Embarrassed didn't properly describe how it made him feel — humiliated, maybe, but even that barely touched the surface. It was a whole new emotion worth printing in the Guinness World Records.

Honestly, Peter had all but expected to never see the billionaire again after that. He certainty wouldn't have blamed the man, not after the earful May gave him.

So when Peter started getting weekly invites to the compound, surprised was also an emotion that didn't properly describe how he felt.

Him and Mr. Stark were spending more time together than he ever thought imaginable. It became such a part of his 'new normal' that Peter felt weird when he didn't get a text saying Happy was coming by to pick him up for the night.

Granted, it was usually just a couple hours in one of Mr. Stark's many labs at the Avengers compound, usually tinkering on his suit — sometimes Tony's suits, those nights were awesome. But still.

It was crazy to think things were so different six months ago.

So yeah, May finding out certainly had its pluses and minuses. Keeping up his grades for her wasn't hard; in fact, science and math came easily to him.

It was the boring subjects like damn friggin’ World History that frustrated him. He couldn’t retrain that information to save his life.

As if on cue, Peter's ever-wandering mind was interrupted by the pestering beep of his cell phone. Text messages lit up his screen, caught by the corner of his eye.

Wearily, Peter reached out to grab the device, nearly knocking over a half-empty cartoon of Thai food in the process.

Peter furrowed his brows, typing furiously with one thumb on the touchscreen as his other hand reached for the chopsticks to his Thai food.

A beep arrived with the next stream of messages. Peter chewed on a mouthful of Khao Pad as read through them.

Peter shot up in his seat, knocking over the cartoon of Thai food along the way.

Immediately opening the link, the live footage from Times Square began to play through his phones speakers. He panicked as the volume came through full-blast, quick to slam on the buttons that lowered the sound.

Doing a quick double take behind him, he made sure his bedroom door didn't leak out any of the noise — May was still rummaging around in the kitchen, which meant she hadn't heard.

He really hoped she wasn't trying to cook meatloaf again.

Peter made sure the door was closed before he turned up the volume a bit, just enough for him to hear it.

" —— you're just tuning in, we're live from Times Square, New York where it appears police are currently at a stand-off with some sort of...I'm not too sure, Kelly, he looks to be costumed character? The run-of-the-mill Elmo and Power Ranger performers that work Times Square say they've never seen this magician before. Whatever he wants, he seems to be hostile enough that the NYPD have stepped in."

"Mark, be careful, we've received word that this magician is indeed not an employee and very well could be a threat to the civilians surrounding you."

Ned wasn’t lying. In the middle of Times Square was a man causing havoc, the police having no luck in detaining him. He was surrounded by uniformed officers, all holding their guns high and ready to take action if needed.

It was the sparks and fog that had Peter worried. Whatever tricks the guy wanted to perform, it could really injure innocent civilians — and that was far from cool.

Peter stumbled into his red and blue suit as quickly as he could, his feet tripping over sprawled t-shirts and boxers that laid neglected on his bedroom floor. With one smack of his open palm, he hit the spider emblem in the middle. The fabric constricted tightly around him, conforming around every inch of his body.

He moved as stealthy as possible when opening his bedroom window, leaping out with a strand of webbing that swung him into the streets of Queens. One after another, the spider webbing connected to buildings and rooftops of the city, gliding him along for the ride with the sun setting brightly behind him.

All the while, his phone continued to vibrate from within his backpack.

“This is your final warning!” The police officer shouted with his gun raised high in the air, held tightly between his two hands. “You are under arrest! Drop any and all of your weapons — surrender yourself immediately!”

Times Square was already a place of chaos; between the tourism, businesses, and packed people, there was never any room for casual strolling or window shopping.

The frightened civilians huddled behind police barricades only made matters worse for the situation. Some used their cell phones to record the scene unfolding, some just tried their best to get away.

The man standing center of it all didn't seem eager to lose his audience.

“What do you think, gentlemen?” The costumed man asked, his voice slightly muffled behind the glass helmet resting on-top of his head. “Did I make a grand entrance? The legend before me always said — make a memorable entrance!”

“NYPD, you are under arrest! We will fire in three, two —”

Before the police could even consider pulling their triggers, a blanket of smoke fell over the ground and spread high into the air. Women screamed and pulled their children back in fear, and the police began to shout orders into their radio's.

It didn’t take long for everyone to realize it wasn’t hazardous — though the on-goers continued to screeched in panic.

“Whaaaatt? No way, a free magic show?" Spider-Man came swinging from the sky, latching onto the digital Coca-Cola screen and dropping to the ground with practiced ease. "Just when I thought my night was gunna be boring!”

A brief round of applause greeted him. Followed by a very cranky "Leave it to the police, Man-Spider!"

Peter furrowed his brows beneath his mask. "It's Spider-Man."

"Whatever!" the voice yelled back.

Peter dropped down from the Coca-Cola sign with a roll of his eyes.

“Hey, you know, I think you need a permit to perform out here." Peter walked through the crowd with ease, most splitting the way for him. "You might want to —”

Before he could finish his quip, a fist-sized ball was tossed his way. Peter quickly shot a web from his hand, catching it before it could land and swinging it high into the air.

"Up and at 'em!"

Not a second later and the ball exploded, creating a spectacular lightning storm in the sky.

Peter threw both arms over his head to protect himself.

"Holy —!" Peter watched, in shock, as sparks combusted high above them; raining down with a flicker of electricity. "Was that a bomb —!?"

"Spider-Man, we have this under control!" an officer yelled.

"We got this, Spider-Man!"

"Yeah, Man-Spider!"

Peter bit his tongue, using every ounce of self-control he had not to yell at the officers that they so clearly did not have this under control.

As if the bomb that just exploded wasn't enough to say that.

“Dude, if you want an audience for your show, you might wann amake sure you don’t kill them first!” Peter's mouth gaped open beneath his mask as the lightning storm from above simmered away, his mechanical eyes blinking twice to clear the sparks from his lenses.

“Ahhh, Spider-Man." The man emerged from the thick mist, his arm in the air and the other gripping his wrist with profound sense of cockiness. "I’ve heard quite a lot about you.”

Peter made a face —not that anyone could see beneath his mask. "You have?"

If the costumed man made a face, Peter also couldn't see it.

“You seem to be the latest trick here in New York," he said, gesturing to the crowd around them. "But I shall have you know that I have a few tricks up my sleeve as well!”

Before Peter could say a word — 'cause c'mon, that deserved a well thought out quip — the strangely dressed man tossed four playing cards out in his direction.

Each stuck to the ground around him — front, sides and back.

Peter noted that one was a King, the other was a Joker. He didn't give himself time to look at the rest — immediately shooting a web into the air for a getaway.

For once, he wasn't fast enough. With a blink of his eyes, his surroundings started to change — bit by bit, second by second.

All around him.

Times Square disappeared.

“Wh—...what…huh!?” Peter spun around, frantically looking at the glass cage that surrounded him. Only his reflection stared back — the eyes to his suit went as wide as they could go, close to breaking if they grew any larger. “Karen, what is this!?”

“Neurotoxin!?" Peter immediately dropped from the billboard. "Holy cow — we need to get everyone out of here!”

Peter was already on it.

“You guys gotta get everyone out of here!" he shouted, waving his arm frantically at the police officers. "This dude’s gas could be danger—!”

A white light flashed across Peter's eyes, blinding him all at once.

First an electricity bomb, then a fog bomb — of course this dude had to go all extra and release a flash bomb.

Peter's enhanced senses couldn't handle the sudden exposure. His pupils dilated and his eyes burned, struggling to readjust as the world slowly reappeared to him.

Blinking furiously — the eyes of his mask copying what he did — he only noticed the clenched fist coming towards him before it was too late.

One hit to the jaw.

"What the —!"

A pile of mist, and then a hit to the back of his head.

"Oh, come on!"

Another cloud, and a hit to his stomach.

"Oo-fph!"

The fog was becoming thicker, and no matter how hard Peter strained his eyes, he couldn’t see through it. His senses were dulled, almost muted — Peter knew he didn't have a full grasp on his spider-sense yet, but it wasn't ever this bad.

Stumbling off to the side, Peter failed to get a hold on his surroundings. Frantically, he looked around for any sign of where his attacker was coming from. Each time he turned his head, the guy was suddenly somewhere else, somewhere different.

As if he just 'poofed!' his way there.

“This dude is really playing it up!” Peter shouted, and to no one in particular.

“Yeah, ya think?” Peter huffed, rubbing at his jaw. “Very mysterious of him.”

He could hear each gas bomb — mist ball — whatever it was called — as they dropped to the ground. They shattered like glass but left no residue, only emitting a heavy blanket of fog in its wake.

Peter's mind began to feel hazy and filmy, his normally heightened senses completely failing him — and at the worst possible time, just his luck.

Nope. That was just his luck.

Karen's voice began to cut in and out, a heavy static filling his ears before going completely silent.

“Karen!?” Peter tapped both sides of his ears, then went ahead and smacked at both sides of his head, watching as the HUD display in his mask began to flicker in and out. “Karen, what’s going on!?”

Nothing.

“NYPD, I repeat, can you hear us? NYPD, come in!”

"Oh my god, this is YouTube gold. Is anyone getting this? Is anyone filming this?"

“Dude, my cell phone won’t turn on!”

"Mine either!"

“Look at the billboards! Holy shit, everything is shutting off!”

Peter listened all around him to the multiple conversations, taking note of everything occurring. He spun on the heels of his feet, watching as the billboards shut off — one by one, Times Square went dark. Police radios went quiet, and those in the crowd panicked at the dark screens of their cell phones. 

As if it couldn't get any worse, the gas bombs littered on the ground left them all in a thickness of fog that not even Peter could see through.

"What the..."

Things became eerily quiet. Twice fold without the technology to hum around them.

Peter's skin stayed cooled and his nerves calm — nothing was alerting him to any danger.

No spider-sense. No noise.

Nothing.

“You put on some show, Spider-Man.”

Fish-tank man emerged through the dense mist, his voice causing Peter to visibly jump — and by jump, he nearly reached the billboards from high above.

“I admire that.” His voice echoed through this glass helmet, lined with reverberations that seemed surreal. Peter cocked his head to the side — could he even breathe in that thing?

“Yeah, well, you’ve given me some migraine, and I don’t admire that,” Peter retorted, pointing to the crowd of officers behind him. “Why don’t you give up the mysterious act and turn yourself in? I hear the Metropolitan Correctional Center has good turkey sandwiches. Just ask Officer Dayton, I was hanging out with him last week after turning in a bunch of muggers downtown!"

The man laughed.

Peter wasn't sure why he was laughing.

And he didn't like how the laughter got louder as time went on.

“Quieres defender a la pequeña araña inocente?” he asked, the words rolling right off his tongue.

“Ohhh, Spanish practice!" Peter crackled his knuckles — he could play that game. "I could use this."

A finger tapped his chin as he thought of what to say next. All the while, Times Square got darker — not even a street lamp miles away gave them any light.

"Estás causando problemas," Peter tried to say — it wasn't his fault Spanish was right up there with World History. "Deja ir el misterio.”

Slowly, the man’s figure disappeared within the fog, his salute barely visible in the clouds that held on thicker than the darkness.

“Til our next show, Spider-Man.”

Peter's face quickly fell flat.

"Hey, wait!" Peter shot web after web to grab hold of him, each ending up nothing but a wasted attempt. “Dude, wait! You can't — come back!” 

Peter continued to shoot webs, each falling to the ground with nothing for them to stick onto. By the time he reached where the man had stood, he'd long since been gone.

"Damn it!” he cursed, letting his arms smack down by his hips with exasperated agitation.

At the same time, his HUD began to flicker and fizzle, with the lights and billboards around him following suit.

One by one, light returned to Times Square. Cell phones began ringing, and the police radios all sounded up.

“No, he got away. I repeat, he got away. Location unknown. Spider-Man intervened and let him get away.”

Peter shot his head behind him where the officers began speaking into their radios, each response panicked and flustered. With the smog dissipating, others began resuming cell phone recordings of the incident. He could see himself on multiple screens, he could hear the muffled laughter and more than anything, he could hear the frustration from officers and civilians.

"Wow. I can't believe that just happened."

"I can. That's what we get for letting these spandex freaks stick their noses where they don't belong!"

"Oh come on, he was trying to help."

"No, that's why I was Pro-Accords. They don't need to help, the men in blue have this handled!"

"Do they, Janet? I mean..."

"Shut up, Brad."

“Oh, are you kidding me…” Peter face-palmed into his gloved hands — hiding his face as if the giant LED billboards weren't capturing him in high definition.

How rude.

Deciding it was best not to stick around for the aftermath, Peter shot out a web and jumped into the air, leaving Times Square in a hurry. He didn't stick around for whatever aftermath awaited him — both figuratively and literally.

As he swung sky-scrapper to sky-scarper, his suit began humming back to life. It wasn't long before his HUD was back in full-view, just a few blocks away from Times Square, going on to map his way through New York.

"Awesome," Peter miserably drawled out, swinging low before throwing a web up high. "Just in time. I'm going back home."

The sun was gone by now, just residue of pink and orange left in the sky. Which meant he probably missed dinner, which meant May would know he snuck out. And if having New York up his ass wasn't bad enough, now he got to deal with the repercussions of his aunt.

“No, Karen.” Peter sighed, both hands latching onto a strand of web as he swung through the city. "Can’t say I did.”

“Avengers — gather ‘round! I have a very, very important message to give you.”

The team sat around on the couches and chairs of the common longue, some snickering while others full-fledged laughed.

'Nick Fury' walked towards them in the middle of the room, a long leather coat flapping behind him.

Even Steve managed to smile — as small as it was — with both arms folded across his chest.

“Yes, sir?" Steve said in the most false-firm tone he could manage.

“I wanted you all to know.” 'Fury' cleared his throat. “That I — Nick Fury — am the most useless person on this planet!”

“Sir!" Natasha feigned a gasp. "You absolutely are not!”

“No, hear me out.” His hand lifted in the air. “I truly am. I am arrogant, harsh, cruel and demanding. I respect the hell out of you Avengers, you guys going out there and doing things I could never imagine myself doing. Why, I would break my back doing such things! Because I'm old, of course. You all are wonderful, amazing, talented heroes. You deserve to be told that, every day — every minute of every day. I have eight extra weeks of vacation time for you all!"

Bouts of laughter bounced around, Clint going as far as to slap his knee as he physically fought for air. The group leaned back in their seats; drinks in their hands, food spread across the tables. The air was light and the humor was abundant, a friendly vibe between them that hadn’t been felt in a long time.

Steve didn't overlook that much. He let his smile grow a little wider.

Suddenly, Rhodey slammed his beer bottle on the coffee table.

“I’m not buying it,” he said, a firm shake of his head following suit.

'Nick Fury' immediately furrowed his eyebrows.

"Not buying it? Why not?"

“I don’t know, it’s not…” Rhodey shrugged, his hand flapping in the air without a firm gesture to go by. “It's not black enough.”

"Oh, shit." Clint choked on a laugh, right along with his drink — which spit right into the air.

If 'Fury' could look anymore pissed, now was the time.

“What the hell do you mean it’s not 'black' enough?” 'Fury' exclaimed. “You’re telling me it’s not black enough?”

“Man, I’m not trying to insult." Rhodey reached for his beer again. "I’m just saying —”

“I’ll fix that for you. I got a solution for that.” 'Nick' audibly cleared his throat, straightening his back as he went on to say, “I respect the motherfuc—”

“Now now, language, sir.”

The voice cut through their laughter like a razor sharp knife.

Immediately, the room fell quiet. Clint even froze half-way reaching for his drink, ultimately deciding to abandon the cup all together.

'Nick Fury' spun around just in time to see Tony at the doorway; his shoulders held back and his posture tense. The three piece suit only made his glare all the more intimidating.

“We don’t want to offend the Captain here, do we?” Tony cocked his head to the side, hands in his blazer pockets as he walked towards the group — feet so heavy on the floor they may as well have caused an earthquake.

'Nick' shook his head, “Tony, man, we were just—”

“Take it off,” Tony demanded — voice low and highly strung.

There wasn’t any hesitation. Pressing his finger behind his ear, the helmet was released. The image of Nick Fury flickered away in a brilliant light show, leaving just Sam to stand in front of Tony — and looking every bit a dog with their tail between their legs as Natasha figured he'd be.

“Look...we were just having fun,” Sam defended, offering the helmet to Tony without another word.

Tony snatched the helmet right from his hands.

“Having fun? That’s what this is to you?” Tony looked back to the others, the hand not holding his helmet gesturing to them all. “This was locked away. Mind telling me how it got here?”

Leaning forward on the couch, Rhodey let out a heavy sigh. “Tony —”

“Yeah. That’s what I thought,” he bit back, shaking his head right in Rhodey's direction. "You've lost lecture privileges for the next year, pooh-bear."

Rhodey held both hands in the air with defeat.

“Tony, no one meant any harm, really." Steve set his drink on the coffee table and stood from the couch. "They were having fun, that's all —”

“It’s my stuff, Rogers. Dangerous stuff," Tony snapped, far harsher than what came before it. The tension as Steve approached him could've been seen from space. "It was taken without permission, and quite frankly, I’m shocked you even went along with it."

The look Steve proceeded to give Sam was enough to make Lady Liberty ashamed.

"Sam, you told me —”

Sam shook his head. "Technically I didn't say —”

Steve turned right back to Tony. “I had no idea it was taken without your permission.”

Tony rolled his eyes at them both.

“Of course you didn’t. Little Mr. Perfect over here.” He rubbed his temples with one hand, setting the helmet down on the console table near the entryway. “You know, if you’re going to —”

FRIDAY’s voice boomed through the ceiling.

Clint frowned, slowly standing from the sofa. “Times Square?”

Not a single person didn't exchange looks — expression of concern mixing with the confusion that none of the facility alarms had been set off, none of their communication devices had been activated.

After all, SHIELD knew how to get in touch with them when needed. Strobes, klaxons, the whole deal. It was partially a SHIELD compound, after all. And they spared no expense of it.

And yet, it was calm.

“Great." Tony rolled his eyes. "And here I was hoping we didn’t need to fire up the Quinjet this week. Let’s —”

For every bit of relief the others felt, Tony took on their apprehension. Hearing that Spider-Man was involved didn't make things better.

Not for him.

Not when Manhattan was notQueens, where Peter insisted he’d stay local.

Who was he kidding, the kid never did listen to what he said.

Without a second thought, Tony began typing on his smartwatch, bringing up live footage of the attack from the small device. The moment it appeared, he enlarged it with his fingers for the others to see.

The holographic video played out in front of them, showing a fight between the spandex wall-crawler and some freak wearing a fish-tank for a helmet.

“They just keep getting weirder and weirder,” Rhodey mumbled under his breath, easily saying what they were all thinking.

Tony pulled a face. Weird wasn't a strong enough word; if the fishbowl didn't do the trick, the cape most certainly did.

All the while, New York got a free show of Spider-Man having his ass handed to by him by the latest traveling circus attraction.

“We should get down there,” Tony insisted, his eyes darting between the two fighting figures on the screen.

Steve shook his head, taking place next to Tony; standing with his arms folded over his chest.

“I don’t know about that," he mentioned, intently watching the news footage. His head titled slightly to the side. "Looks like Queens has it handled pretty well.”

Tony kept his mouth shut. Whether it was because he was too busy watching the live news footage, or too busy ignoring Steve — neither could be determined for sure. But he bit his tongue either way, and all for the best.

Steve didn’t know that Queens was actually a young teenager barely climbing over the introduction of puberty, and at Parker's request, it needed to stay that way.

He wanted to trust that the kid had it handled, but as the news footage continued to capture the freakish magician beating the crap out of Spider-Man, he had a unsettling feeling even a man with a cape was outside of Spider-Man's forte.

Unfortunately, one masked freak was way below the Avenger’s pay scale. Even though both the police and Spider-Man struggled to detain him, it still wasn't an incident they'd typically get involved in.

And doing so could out Parker to the team. Which was a headache Tony did not want to deal with.

A horde of aliens falling from the sky, abolishing HYDRA, Ultron — those were Avenger level threats. A drunken Times Square employee? Not so much.

At least so he thought, right until the news footage captured a thick fog that flooded all of Time Square.

Only for the video to cut into a fit of static.

“FRIDAY?” Tony asked, tapping against his watch — and then again when the static didn't clear away.

Tony didn’t waste a second.

“Alright, well, I’m checking it out.” Tony was fast on his heels, heading out the door before Rhodey could even consider following him.

Steve, on the other hand, was already chasing him down.

“Hey, hold up, Tony,” he called out, one hand pressing into the air as if it could stop the man. “Since when do you go after small things like this?”

“Small things?" Tony spun around to face him, nearly smacking into the door-frame along the way. "You call all of Times Square shutting down a small thing?”

Steve held that one hand in the air, his palm outward.

“Okay, not small, but look — Queens has this handled." Steve looked back to the static of news footage before turning back to Tony. “You’re the one that recruited him, right? You trust him, right?”

Once again, Tony kept his mouth shut. Any response he had died on his tongue — a tongue he bit so hard that his molars were close to leaving cuts inside his mouth.

Tony locked eyes with Steve, and said nothing. There was nothing he could say. Parker's identity was a secret from the team. The kid wanted it to stay that way. Admitting that he did trust him but he was still too young to handle these kind of fights on his own — well, that would've been opening a whole can of worms.

They both looked to the ceiling, and Steve cocked his eyebrow high.

“See? Queens had it handled all along.”

If FRIDAY could clear her throat, Tony had a feeling she would.

Tony glared at Steve, the stress lines around his eyes growing deep.

For what it was worth, Steve looked pacifying about the whole ordeal.

“Who knows how thick that fog was,” he tried to defend. “It could have happened to any of us.”

Tony didn’t bother responding, turning his back on him and briskly walking away. He whipped his cell phone out of his pocket and hit speed dial on the only phone number that mattered in the moment.

“Not to him,” he muttered, whipping out his cell phone from his pocket and dialing the only number that mattered in the moment.

Peter took his time swinging back home, sluggish and sulking from his defeat. Normally a long web-swing would help clear his mind; a form of mediation he had come to love. But by the time he had reached Queens, a pounding migraine had formed against his temples.

His brain felt like an over-used stressed ball.

“God, Karen, my head is killing me,” he mumbled, his eyes squeezing shut as he swung down from a tall building.

Peter groaned, attaching his last web onto May's apartment complex, and pulling himself forward in the air. “Trust me, that’s my plan.”

Sticking to the brick wall of the building, he snuck his way to the eighteenth floor where he and May lived, his window still cracked from his earlier exit. All he wanted to do was plop down in his bed, forget his problems and call it a night.

If luck was on his side, May wouldn't bother him about the Times Square incident after he got some sleep.

A beat went by.

Peter ultimately shook his head, knowing full well that the AI couldn’t see the movement.

“No thanks, Karen,” he finally answered. “I can talk to him later—”

“What!?" Peter’s eyes went wide. "No, I said — ohh, heyyyy, Mr. Stark.”

Tony’s face brightened up his HUD screen. While Peter wasn’t expecting him to look happy, he also wasn't expecting pissed off. 

And Mr. Stark looked pissed off.

“Tomorrow’s headlines: Spider-Man thwarted by local street magician.”

The greeting was harsh and cold, but not unlike him.

Peter sighed, leaning against the brick wall behind him, held up by the tips of his toes and back of his fingertips.

“Listen, Mr. Stark, I can explain —”

“What the hell, kid?" Tony was walking down some hallway, his face bobbing in and out of view. "You get tossed around a little bit and suddenly that’s enough to let a criminal get away?”

“I didn’t let him get away!” Peter insisted, unsticking one hand so he could wave it in the air — again knowing nobody could actually see him. Or could Mr. Stark see him? He'd have to ask about that later. “I couldn’t see, he just vanished and —”

“You couldn’t see? So you’re telling me whatever Party City paraphernalia this crook has can cut through your sixth sense — am I still talking to the guy who said his ears, eyes and nose were dialed up to eleven after some sort of, what was it — oh, right. Radioactive spider bite?” Tony retorted.

“Yes — yes, Mr. Stark, and that’s the problem!" Peter nodded — too fast, too much. His head hurt tenfold at the bobbing. "Normally I would totally be able to see through all that stuff. It’s never been an issue before! I don’t know, whatever he was using…it was strange. It knocked out all the power — everything!"

“And your freaky sixth sense?" Tony's eyebrow went high. "What's that all about that?”

“My spidey-sense?” Peter asked.

There was a pause.

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that," Tony settled on saying.

Peter rolled his eyes.

“It wasn’t going off,” he explained.  “Everything was just…muffled. I tried catching him, but—”

“Kid, you can’t let those type of people get away." Tony shook his head with a sigh. "He’s obviously got some form of technology that could be dangerous, especially if he can knock out all of Times Square. And I don’t know what his gimmick is with the fish-bowl helmet, but it could be a clear sign of psychosis. We don't mess with crazies."

“I didn’t let him get away, Mr. Stark!" Peter's voice squeaked as he tried to defend himself. "Karen went down and —!”

“Leave him up to the big kids now, got it?”

“What? No! I—I can handle him, I—!”

“I’m serious, kid. He shows up again, you let the Avengers handle it,” Tony reprimanded.

Peter fumbled, considering his next words. “Well, I’m kind of sort of an Avenger, so —”

“Uh, no,” Tony quickly corrected him, his index finger taking up half the screen. “You explicitly said ‘no’ to my offer, and ‘no’ to my suit, and can remain your friendly little neighborhood Spider-Man while the big boys take care of the big bads. Capiche?"

“Mr. Stark —!”

“It’s past your bedtime, Pete. Goodnight.”

The video feed cut off before Peter could even take another breath, let alone say goodbye.

Frustrated, he mumbled a few curses under his breath as he snuck in through the window to his bedroom, very quietly climbing the walls as to not worry May.

Not that it would matter. She’d see the news eventually, and get an earful no later than she did.

It seemed like, if Mr. Stark wasn’t criticizing his work, May was upset that he even did the work.

And New York? Well, that went without saying after the events in Time Square.

He’d never win.

Too tired to change into proper pajamas, Peter hit the spider emblem on his chest and shrugged his suit off, kicking it under his bed with neglect. He knew he should be treating a multi-millionaire dollar suit with better care, but he just didn't have the energy right now.

Stomach first, he plopped down on his twin mattress, clad only in his boxers as he pulled his blankets up to his neck. Letting out a totally manly groan along the way — it absolutely didn't crack in pitch somewhere towards the end.

His head was killing him. Like a little bomb trying to implode from the inside, hitting directly behind his skull. Peter moaned into his pillow, all but ready to sleep away the stress and humiliation of the day.

Briefly opening his eyes, he was greeted with the sight of school textbooks and his laptop, ‘World History: Patterns of Interaction' open in an almost mocking way.

“Ugghh!” Peter flopped over to the wall, shoving a pillow over his head in an attempt to block out the world around him.

He’d deal with the repercussions tomorrow. Right now, he just wanted to sleep.