Letting Peter loose and gifting him the suit hadn't been proven a mistake so far. Crime rates fell by twenty percent the first three months he was active… so said the report FRIDAY had compiled for him. Tony tapped the side of his glasses and the matrixes cascaded, luminescent green numbers against a black background. One thing that made Tony nervous was the tiny radius in which Peter's activities were localised. If somebody were really serious about tracking him down, he'd be outed before he could say "Assemble". He'd give it to Peter though, for somebody who had to make it back to the dinner table before seven every evening, kid tried to cover as much ground as he could.
And what was up with all the YAs' craving to be internet sensationalists? Even by Tony's standards, the idea of making vlogs of himself taking names and kicking ass was kind of pushing it. Not that he'd advise Peter that the most expedient way to up view counts was to start taking off clothes.
May would defenestrate him.
Anyway, at least Peter was taking the stay-close-to-the-ground bit of the "internship" seriously. The details of what he did had always been a little vague – ha, who was he kidding? Peter made sure everything – down to the chipped third-tooth-from-the-left of the baddie-of-the-week was included in his report to Happy. At least he now knew that the best churro in town was on 37th in Flushing.
"Boss, have you seen this?"
Tony propped his feet up on the coffee table. "Did he save a poodle from the tree? About time. Listen, I've to go back to the 'shop for a bit –"
Happy shove his phone right under Tony's nose and the video was already playing. It looked like a recording from a traffic camera, and he focused on the corner deli shop because – blink and he'd miss it – a purple beam just shot right through the front door. The explosion that followed soon after took out the neighbouring shops as well, everything going up in flames and ashes.
"Where was Parker when this happened?"
"The bank opposite the junction."
"What was he doing there? Any visuals?"
"… Yes. Scroll down."
It was the most one-sided fistcuffs in the history of bank robbery. All partakers wore goofy masks, so identification was impossible. Gloved. No fingerprints. Their choice of weaponry was interesting, though. Nothing he ever seen before, and he was Anthony freaking Stark.
"Send Damage Control."
"Already did. They've secured the perimeter. Parker hasn't logged in, though. Uh," another phone rang from Happy's pocket to the tune of "Hush, Little Baby". "OK," Happy's thumb did a quick swipe, "He's fine. Four unidentifiable guys wearing the uh, Avengers mask were using weird gizmo to rob ATMs."
"Did he grab one of those laser guns?"
"One of the shots went wide and hit the deli opposite. The owner and his… cat, were caught in the crossfire, so he left the bank to pull them out." Tony's features pinched, and he stood up to pace his office. "When he returned, the robbers were gone."
"Sure. Ask Damage Control if they recovered anything suspicious. Get a copy of everything from their forensics."
Happy nodded, and returned both phones to his jacket. "And make no mention of the kid?"
"Say we saw the footages and got curious."
"Yes, Boss."
Truth was, having Peter on the ground serve another purpose.
"FRIDAY, play back the robbery recorded from the Spider-Man suit."
Before anyone asked, no, Peter didn't know there was such a thing as a body camera sewn onto the suit. And no, Tony had no intention of telling him that either. All part of the Training Wheel Protocol. The video played out as Peter reported. Tony tutted at the robber donning Cap's mask – he'd always hated those little wings sticking out of his head. So tacky. But finally, he had clear visual on the alienware Peter spoke about. They glowed purple, eerie. And he thought they looked familiar.
"Christ."
But, of course. He'd seen them countless of times in his sleeps, and he felt those purple beams shoot right through him, through Steve, Bruce – everyone. He saw those gems on Chitauri's weapons – their signature power source.
How did lowly robbers get their hands on them in the first place?
"Boss," FRIDAY intoned with all the enthusiasm an AI could ever possibly muster. "It's time for your flight to Pondicherry."
That. He would have all of twenty freaking hours to brood on the plane about the how and why would people bother to reverse engineer alien tech to rob some ATMs in Queens. The same reason why he couldn't understand people with access to infinite knowledge at the tip of their fingers would choose to gawk at cat videos.
Guess imagination really was the limit.
As he was stuffing his face with gulab jaamun and pani puri, and wondering if someone from DODC was smuggling tech to sell on the black market, or if the common people had taken the liking to squirreling away alien stuff before enforcement arrived, or if Steve and everyone else had a roof above their heads, or food to eat, or –
Point was, despite all that, he couldn't help worrying about Peter. The suit had its defences, he made JOCASTA Peter's co-pilot, and Happy was babysitting him. The kid was in good hands.
Did Howard ever worry about him like this? In between running SHIELD and Stark Industries, did he ever spare a minute to think if his son had had lunch, or done his homework?
"Boss," FRIDAY chimed into his ear. He had an earpiece on, in case it was the end of the world – what he called his normal Tuesdays. "The parachute on Spider-Man's suit has self-deployed."
He choked on his banana chip. "What? What's he up to?"
"Mark IX had been sent to his last coordinates. Would you like to connect to its com line?"
"Might as well."
His lavender shades immediately turned darker, and he realised it was only New York's night sky. Piggybacking on a suit like this was marginally exciting – until to his horror, it did a sharp turn and started plummeting towards a large body of water.
"Oh, God – FRIDAY, what is –" A waiter in flamingo pink saree offered him a tray of crackers, and he expertly schooled his expression to one of mild disinterest. "No, dear. Thank you."
"You're welcome, Boss," FRIDAY chimed again in his ears.
The suit made impact and it got even darker, mud and pebbles clogging his view.
"Location?"
"Meadow Lake, Flushing Meadows Corona Park –"
"Why are we in submarine mode, FRIDAY? Where's Parker?"
"… Safely acquired. His vitals are steady. We're pulling up."
And light came back. If he bowed his chin a bit, he could see a bit of red Spandex with printed black webbing. Unprompted, Peter's stats came up on his screen. Maybe he should buy Peter all sorts of insurance because at this rate, even a genius-billionaire would go bankrupt just financing his medical bills.
The suit dropped Peter on a playground net climber, and hovered some seven feet off the ground.
This was all so new to him, he realised. Never in his forty-something years of living that he'd find himself in a position to lecture somebody less than half his age. Rugrats had… never really been part of the equation. Anyway, this particular one was talking about people selling alien weapons in the open. Boy, what bedtime stories had May been telling the kid in those crucial developing years?
The cops would never take this case.
"Don't engage them," Tony said into the mic pinned to his lapel. He waved at Deepinder Goyal from afar – now he got a hankering for more of that gulab. "Report this incident to the police. Tell them what you see, and that's it. Drop the case. Let them handle it."
But, Tony remembered how it was like to be fifteen.
"Happy, download the latest recording from Parker's camera. Then, make sure he goes to the doctor, and then, the cops."
"… Yes, Boss."
And, scene. He'd committed one full hour at this lovely ceremony, he'd shaken all the hands that needed to be shaken, sampled everything available of the trays. Time to tap out. Now all that was left to do was to convince Ross – in the best, diplomatic way possible – about meeting halfway with the supers. Like what Peter was doing. He wandered the ground, worked covertly in anonymity collecting info.
The most valuable informant a government could ever want.
Better that than fugitives on the run.