Here we go again! This one took way too long to write, I'm sorry. I wanted it to be good and not just post it for the sake of posting.

Warning: Swearing

Huge thank you to EndofthePage for actually reading the entire thing and motivating me to keep going!

Enjoy my take on a social media story!

(Sorry, I'm a mess - I don't have any idea how to fix the DM bit of this story. If you want to have proper formatting, head on over to my AO3 page. There, the DM bit actually makes sense.)


Going Viral

Dread.

That was all he could feel at that moment. It was coursing through his body, tightening muscles and clocking veins, especially the important one leading to his heart. Or the one coming from his heart. Ah, probably both. Because he could as well be dead now, it didn't matter anymore as what would await him as soon as he left his flat would be hell on earth. He just knew it.

And it didn't help to read the previews of Ned's messages popping up on his already too hot phone that sounded like a mixture of confusion, panic and excitement. Peter wasn't sure which one dominated.

But as he stared at the tweet that had been posted hours ago, he felt his clocked-up heart stutter anew.

Peter Parker PBParker

- Phew! That was one hell of a patrol tonight. Keep your heads up, New York! -

973k likes 4.1M retweets

He would die of heart failure. He just knew it.

*~*Spidey*~*

A whole lifetime and a healthy heart earlier…

*~*Spidey*~*

"What do I need to do to get Tony Stark to lend me a thousand bucks?"

Peter stopped in his tracks and stared at Ned, who was looking way too serious for his liking.

"Excuse me?" Peter all but squeaked – emphasis on 'all but'; he didn't squeak, he was Spider-Man – and shook his head disbelievingly.

"What? Dude, I need that Lego Millenium Falcon and there's no way I can buy that from my own money, let alone ask my parents to give me a thousand dollars. And I doubt we could pitch together because, sorry, dude, but you're broke."

"Thanks."

Ned shrugged, unphased by Peter's reaction. "And so am I. So I need alternatives and since my best friend knows a billionaire…"

Students of all classes walked past and around them as the young superhero failed to react.

After a few seconds of bewildered staring, Peter took a deep breath and continued walking down the hall to his locker, Ned hot on his heels.

"Peter, please!"

"No way am I gonna ask Mr Stark for money!" Peter exclaimed and opened his locker door a bit too strongly. The metal hit the locker beside it so hard that the twisty code knob pushed a dent into the grey material. Peter winced.

"But, dude! Seven thousand five hundred and forty-one pieces!"

"Not even for seven thousand—" he paused and slowly turned back to his now beaming friend. He knew he'd lost just as well as Ned did. "Come again?"

"Seven thousand five hundred and forty-one pieces."

"Dude!"

"I know!"

"That's insane!"

"I know!"

"You guys are losers."

They turned around to see Michelle Jones stand in front of them, a neutral expression on her face that wasn't showing any emotion. Ever.

It freaked Peter out. It always had, it always would. The girl was a mystery not only to him but to Ned as well. (And who was he kidding, to the whole school as well. Even Flash was scared of her and that was saying something.) They'd had many a night in which they should have been building a newly broken-apart Lego set but had instead mused about their classmate.

His friend didn't get it – and was slightly appalled by it as he had once told him – but Peter was intrigued by Michelle Jones. There was something about her constantly insulting everyone around her – including him – that pulled all the right triggers. Ned said he had a masochistic side to him he hadn't known about, but that was utter rubbish. Peter had told him so, but Ned had only raised his eyebrows and had listed situations in which Peter, as Spider-Man, could have gotten away without any broken ribs or bruised ego if he had only wanted to. So. Maybe he had a point. Peter didn't know and honestly didn't like thinking about it because being masochistic had nothing to do with trying to subdue criminals or liking weirdly emotionless girls, after all. At least, he thought so. He could probably google it, but then again – did he want to?

Michelle was still standing there, patiently waiting for an answer. Or reaction. Well, he couldn't be sure if Michelle had patience or whether she was actually waiting for an answer because… Well… He didn't know anything about her, really. As in… nothing at all.

Peter blinked. "How did you get here so quickly?" he asked stupidly as he stared at her with big eyes.

He knew she hadn't been anywhere near them when they had left the classroom and he knew she hadn't been anywhere near them when they had reached the lockers, and they hadn't been standing at the lockers for more than just a few seconds. So. How had she… He was Spider-Man, he should have heard her arrive.

"I have my ways," was the only thing she said as she was still just standing there, arms hanging loosely by her sides and her eyes narrowing just slightly as if she was piecing together pieces to a puzzle she had been thinking about for some time now.

Which was unnerving.

"What ways?" asked Ned, but Michelle didn't deem him a glance as she focussed entirely on Peter, who, if he hadn't been so nervous and confused about the whole situation, might have actually found the time to enjoy her attention.

But, alas, he didn't.

"And what are you doing here?" He tried to look her in the eye as equally as piercing as she was doing but failed miserably. He cursed silently as he felt a blush slowly creep up his neck.

"Observing", she said mysteriously before turning to Ned. "You guys are losers." And with that, she turned around and walked down the hallway, not deeming them another look.

"What the hell was that about?" Ned asked flabbergasted and stared after her retreating figure.

Peter shook his head, his mind racing. The word she had said as if it was the most obvious thing in the whole world was still echoing inside his head – observing. Observing what? Him? Why? He was just a normal guy – or as normal as a guy could be if he could literally stick to anything he wanted to stick to and frequently lost control over that weird power if his emotions ran too wild and he'd landed himself in more than just one awkward situation because of that… Yeah, no, he won't go into any detail, Mr Stark still had the occasional attack of random sniggering whenever someone mentioned the month March – so why would she want to waste her time watching him? Michelle never wasted her time, or at least he didn't think she did. He didn't know her, like, at all, but she seemed like the type who wouldn't give a damn if she couldn't gain something from whatever she spent her time with. Like observing him. What would she be able to gain by doing that? She surely couldn't know about his extracurricular activities, could she? Nah, that would be impossible.

Peter gulped, not hearing Ned's excited chatter about the Millenium Falcon. Michelle Jones couldn't suspect him of being an Avenger. Yes, he knew that, technically, he wasn't an Avenger – yet –, but he had worked alongside them and that made him one by default, didn't it? If he'd ask Mr Stark, the billionaire would come up with at least six if not seven explanations as to why he was, indeed, not an Avenger, but he wasn't asking him, so he could live happily in his own little fantasy world for as long as he liked. Did Michelle know of that world? Well, not necessarily his made-up imaginary world of being a part of the coolest group of superheroes ever, but the real world, in which he spent his free time swinging through New York City in a skin-tight, multi-million dollar suit, picking up cats that were stuck in trees?

Peter blinked. He had just managed to confuse himself with that train of thought and didn't even know how to rectify that.

"You're really smitten, aren't you?"

Peter slowly turned to look at Ned, who was smirking knowingly – or it would have been 'knowingly' if it had been the truth. Well, okay, yes, it was the truth, but not at that moment, it wasn't.

"Yes, I can see it. The far-away look in your eyes, the pale complexion with the flushed cheeks. It's obvious and very disturbing, but I want you to know that I support everything you do and that I am here if you ever want to talk about it."

Peter's thoughts were still whirling around the issue of his identity possibly being close to being uncovered, and he stared at Ned for a couple of seconds before squeaking, "What?"

Ned raised his eyebrows and waved both hands through the air. "You know – MJ?"

Peter blinked, not able to answer.

Ned groaned, reached his right hand forward, and grabbed his best friend's upper arm to pull him down the hallway towards the exit of the school. "Even worse than I thought," he muttered softly, which Peter heard all too well because of his spiderness, but didn't comment anyway, his thoughts speeding away again into one specific direction.

Did MJ know who he really was?

*~*Spidey*~*

"Alright, what's wrong, kid?"

Peter jumped slightly as Mr Stark threw the screwdriver he had been using onto the metal table top, but didn't look up from his own project.

He was focussed on improving the lens-dimming system that made it possible for him to not only see perfectly well and not get distracted or overwhelmed but also convey some fraction of emotions on the otherwise emotionless mask. During his last patrol, he had noticed the covers of his left lens twitching every once in a while. He hadn't thought much of it at first – he could see perfectly well and the malfunctioning hadn't reached a severe enough level to actually cause any problems in that aspect – but when a little girl had started screaming hysterically upon seeing him (although he had only wanted to be nice and hand her the balloon that had been caught in the branches of a tall tree), he had figured it was serious enough to have a look at and fix the issue.

"I think it's the energy connection of the lowest dimmer," he muttered distractedly, his own screwdriver held in between his teeth as he tried to push a small metal sheet out of the way with a fine pair of forceps. "It looks like it's not receiving enough power to move properly which means that it uses the energy source that's meant for the other dimmers, which then causes them to not have enough energy to move properly, which leads to this whole insane-looking twitching thing."

Peter heard a soft exhale and muttering come from his mentor, which caught his attention. He took the screwdriver out of his mouth, stubborn dimmer forgotten, and looked over to the billionaire, who gave him an exaggerated look.

"What?"

"I'm not talking about your lens issues, Peter," Mr Stark said, and the confused teenager could hear the forcibly suppressed frustration in the man's voice. "I was talking about you."

Peter blinked. "You were—"

"—talking about you, yes." Mr Stark looked at his protégé for a few silent seconds before continuing, "What happened today at school?"

The teenager shook his head, still confused. "I don't know what you're—"

"Okay, I will ask you differently, then." The billionaire grit his teeth and leaned forward so that his elbows were resting on the table in front of him. "Did something happen today at school that worries you? Because I can tell that you're different and I want to know why."

Peter's thoughts immediately jumped back to the retreating form of his crush. Her intense and frighteningly knowing stare, her disbelieving hums, and the meaning behind it all. He really didn't know what to make of it. He couldn't very well accept it and go with it. If she didn't know and he just allowed her to further her investigations or observations, he might as well just tell her. MJ wasn't stupid – the contrary, in fact –, but he also couldn't tell her the truth. Right? It would not only put her in danger but also those who were close to him. He didn't know MJ and no matter how much he might like her – yes, he liked her, even though she was freaking both Ned and him (and – who was he kidding – probably the entirety of New York City) out –, he didn't know her. He had no idea whether he could trust her with such sensitive information like his real identity and the dangers that came with it. He had a feeling that she could be trusted and that she wouldn't tell anyone, but he didn't want to risk it.

The fewer people knew about his alter ego, the better.

"Nothing happened," he heard himself say before turning back to his mask. He stared at the dimmer plates – the bottom one sticking out at a weird angle – but didn't make a move to continue working on them. He just sat there and did nothing. Well, trying to shut his brain up was enough work as it was, even without his stupid lenses.

"Peter."

Peter bit his bottom lip. Mr Stark's voice was soft and quiet as he spoke the word and the teen knew that he was honestly worried about him. It touched him, but he tried to ignore it as he didn't feel like starting to bawl right in front of his idol. He closed his eyes and tried to breathe through the emotions. It was a technique Aunt May had shown him years ago, one that had allowed him to stay in control whenever someone had mentioned him being an orphan.

Before he could do more than take a few calming breaths, he could feel a warm, callused hand resting on his shoulder. He didn't turn or look up as his mentor slowly knelt down next to him.

"What's wrong, kid? Please talk to me."

"Nothing's wrong," he said quietly before hurriedly adding, "Not yet, at least" as he heard a frustrated huff coming from the man next to him.

"And what does that mean?"

Frustrated, Peter pushed his hand through his messy hair and huffed out a humourless laugh. "I honestly don't know why I'm bothered so much by it because it's probably just inside my head, but I guess… Well… I don't know."

Mr Stark didn't say anything as he observed his protégé patiently and waited for him to continue. Which Peter did after a couple of silent seconds.

"I think MJ knows about Spider-Man."

"MJ?" the billionaire questioned as he curiously tilted his head to the side. "That's your girlfriend, right?"

"I— Wha— No, I— MJ isn't—"

"Yeah, yeah, I get it, kid, I've been there. I get it." He looked at the flustered teenager in front of him and smirked. "Your girlfriend."

"What? No! MJ is not— I mean— She isn't— Well, that doesn't mean that— Oh, shut up!"

Mr Stark cackled loudly as he slowly stood up and ruffled Peter's hair on his way back to his workbench.

"Okay, okay," he said, humour still practically dripping from his voice, causing Peter to huff. "Why do you think your not-girlfriend knows about your alter ego?"

The teenager paused for a second, eyes trained on his broken lense, and allowed himself to gather his thoughts. His mentor waited patiently. "She has this… thing going on, you know?" He looked up and towards Mr Stark who was doing his best in looking as neutral as possible and failing miserably, but Peter didn't mind. "It seems like she knows everything, can hear everything, and is around at all times, mostly when you really don't want her to be around, though. It's honestly scary."

Peter hesitated for a short moment and finally put the forceps out of his twitching fingers. "It's probably nothing, really, but today, I had this feeling that she knows. Ned and I were standing at our lockers, talking about the— Well… talking about stuff and she just appeared and said she was observing me."

"She said she was observing you?"

"Well, no, not me necessarily, but it felt like it. She did say she was observing and she was looking directly at me while saying that, so it felt like she meant she was observing me."

Mr Stark hummed softly, his eyes trained on Peter, who was quite literally twitching so much that it looked like he was close to having some kind of nervous attack. After a while of humming and nodding, he said, "I don't think she's a threat to your identity just yet. Everything you've told me about her until now basically screams sadism."

Peter baulked, but the billionaire ignored him. "If she knew who you are, she'd let you know she knew just to see you suffer. She didn't do that. What I get from that is that she doesn't know and just wants to see you squirm because she can tell there's something off about you, but can't say what exactly. She might even hope you'll slip up, who knows."

Peter blinked, but before he had the chance to really think about what his mentor had just told him, the man changed the topic by one hundred and eighty degrees. "Anyway, do you have Twitter?"

"Do I have what?"

"Twitter. You're a young person, you must know what Twitter is."

"I—I know what Twitter is, but why is that—"

"It's important because I say so. Do you have an account?"

Peter blinked. This whole situation felt as if he was in some kind of weird parallel universe. Was he having an out-of-body experience of sorts? Nothing fit together and he got more confused the more Mr Stark said. "No?"

"Then you should make one." The billionaire picked up his screwdriver and pointed it at Peter, who stared back with big eyes. "Pepper made me create one so I'm making you create one. She said the PR department of my company came to the conclusion that it would enhance the way the public sees the company and since I'm the company and also Iron Man, I'm taking the Avengers with me on my way to hell and force them to show the public who the people behind the masks really are on a private level. That goes for us, at least. Not for you. You're more than happy behind that mask and you're not an Avenger, but you're still an enhanced individual swinging around New York so I'm saying we're in this together, kid."

Peter blinked. "Do I really have to?"

"Yes, you have to. Social media is important and New York will love it if they can follow Spider-Man's shenanigans online."

"But—"

"No buts! It's already on your phone. F.R.I.D.A.Y. downloaded it. Thanks, honey."

"Anytime, boss."

"Wha—" Peter narrowed his eyes towards the ceiling, imagining the AI to feel bad about that breach in privacy. He knew it was an AI programmed by Tony Stark, meaning – if you ignored the fact that it was an artificial intelligence unable to feel any emotions – it would never feel remorse, but it helped imagining it nevertheless.

He sighed, dejected, knowing full-well that he didn't have any chance whatsoever and pulled out his brand new StarkPhone. It was a model that wasn't even on the market yet. Mr Stark had said the only reason that Peter could have it was merely for research purposes, but the teen knew better. He had seen Mr Stark's reaction when he had pulled out his old phone. The horrified gleam in the man's eyes had been hard to miss.

So as he pressed his index finger against the scanning spot on the phone's back, the screen lit up immediately and revealed the blue bird icon. Peter glared at it morosely. "I don't need social media accounts! I tried Facebook once and it sucked."

"Yes, you do!" Mr Stark exclaimed and wiggled his hand in Peter's direction. The teen was positive that he should know what the billionaire wanted to tell him with that – as the mechanic had the tendency to just assume everyone knew what he was thinking –, but couldn't be too sure. "That's what kids your age do. Lurk on Twitter. Post pictures of their food. Tell everyone when they're not home so that burglars know when to break into their house."

Peter merely stared at him blankly.

"Well, and post things that happen on patrol. In your case. Like the view of the city from the highest skyscraper, the sunset above the busy streets, or the bag of churros an old lady got you as a thank-you gift."

"That was one time!"

"And one missed opportunity, Underoos. See it that way."

The young superhero sighed. He had accepted his fate as soon as he had seen the icon on his home screen – Yes, not even on the menu screen but the home screen. Talk about being subtle. Not Mr Stark's strong suit.

"That's the spirit, kid. You'll get used to it eventually. And Pepper can finally get off my back about needing to improve our reputation."

At least Ned could stop pestering him now, Peter thought mildly as he watched Mr Stark bend over his project once more. That was something at least, right?

*~*Spidey*~*

"Have you asked Mr Stark for the money yet?"

Peter groaned loudly and it took all of his energy to not hit his head into the nearest wall. It would crack under the superhuman force and that would draw attention to his certainly not broken forehead, and he really didn't need that kind of attention.

"So I take that as a no?"

"No, Ned, I haven't and I won't ask him for money!" Peter hissed quietly and forced his feet to move down the hall. It was their lunch break and they really shouldn't be talking about begging Mr Stark to pay for a toy but about whether they should get the burger or the lasagna today. That was the important question that needed to be answered.

"But why not?"

Peter took a deep breath to calm himself. "Because," he said, "I will not ask the Tony Stark, Iron Man, Avenger, owner of one of the most influential companies in the world, to give me money so I can buy a Lego set. Ned. No."

He tried to ignore his friend's disappointed expression and changed the subject, "By the way, I have Twitter now."

"Bloody finally!" The grin that spread on Ned's face was genuine and excited and Peter felt himself relax. "What made you download it? I've been begging you to install that app ever since I saw your new phone and that has been weeks ago."

"Actually, I didn't download the app. Mr Stark hacked into my phone and made F.R.I.D.A.Y. install it for me."

"Have I ever told you how much I like that man's style?" Ned asked him seriously before resting his hand on Peter's arm. "Forcing social media on a superhero who hates social media is a feat of its own and I respect that."

"Of course, you do," Peter muttered softly as they entered the cafeteria.

"So, have you posted anything yet?" Ned asked as they picked up their lasagna from the cafeteria lady. She had grey, frizzy hair and so many wrinkles that Peter wouldn't be surprised if she were ninety years old. At least. But she probably wouldn't be able to stand at that point, especially not to hand out food to annoying high school students. But then again, she was always grumpy so who knew? She might actually be ninety.

"Not yet," he said and looked around to see if anyone was listening. The cafeteria was loud enough, however, that Peter felt comfortable talking about his other side in a low voice before taking a bite of the already somewhat cold food. "I honestly don't know what to post. Everything I thought of so far sounded very awkward and Spider-Man isn't awkward."

"Who isn't awkward?"

Peter choked on the piece of lasagna as Michelle sat down on the seat next to him.

"Peter is," Ned chipped in, eyes as big as his friend's. "You know he is."

"Do I, now?" Michelle's eyes narrowed slightly as she turned to the still struggling superhero in disguise.

Peter shrugged and hoped for the best. He didn't know what to say, let alone how to save this situation, so it was best to not say anything at all. Mr Stark probably had a point when he had said that she most likely didn't know anything incriminating and only waited for him to mess up. But that wouldn't happen. Not when he had anything to say about it!

"I see," Michelle said ominously and took a bite off her apple. "Well, see you after school, losers. Don't forget about AcaDec or I will hunt you down." And with that, she nodded to Ned, stood up and strolled out of the cafeteria.

Painfully, Peter forced down the mouthful of lasagna and stared after her. "Why does she keep doing that?" he asked Ned, who had all but forgotten about his now definitely cold lunch. "It's freaking scary, man!"

"Dude, why are you even surprised? It's MJ we're talking about. That girl is scary and I'm almost certain that she has some kind of superpowers of her own. Like… I don't know… Invisible travelling or something."

"'Invisible travelling?' That sounds kind of lame."

"Hey, I didn't see her coming and neither did you, Mr Super-Senses." Ned picked up his fork and transported a small portion of lasagna into his mouth, only to grimace. "Anyway," he said before picking up his bag to look for a snack he might have forgotten about, "what have you thought about posting as your first Spidey tweet?"

A sigh escaped him as Peter pushed the horrid food around on his plate. "I've thought about a couple of tweets," he said quietly, not risking anyone overhearing them again. "But they were all honestly super lame. Spidey is cool, he's popular. He can't tweet lame stuff."

"But you're him, Peter, and you are kind of lame. Sorry." Ned had the decency to wince when the superhero shot him a glare. "You know what I mean."

Another sigh. "Yeah, I guess I do."

They stayed silent for a couple of minutes until the bell rang for their next class and students all around them jumped off their seats and hurried towards the various bins scattered around the cafeteria.

"I'll see what comes to mind on patrol later," Peter said before standing up slowly. He really wasn't in the mood for chemistry, and with 'wasn't in the mood' he meant he would rather fight twenty aliens at once than go to Mr Cobbwell's class right about now. He'd try to make more web fluid as he was slowly running out of his reserves, but doing so with Flash sitting in the same room was a bit tricky. Especially since the bully had picked up his… well… bullying lately and he had no idea why. But he really wasn't sure whether he'd want to know why, in the first place.

*~*Spidey*~*

Peter's eyes narrowed slightly as he glared at the blue bird icon on his phone.

It was a beautiful day out. The sun wasn't necessarily shining brightly but hiding beneath a couple of clouds, that, however, made it even easier for Spider-Man to see what was going on beneath him. The cars didn't glisten in the sun and neither did they reflect birds flying above the superhero, causing a small but effective rush of adrenaline to shoot through his system.

No, he had more than enough light to see perfectly well, it wasn't overly windy so swinging from building to building was easy and relaxing, and it wasn't raining. What more could he ask for?

Oh, right. Inspiration.

Peter was yet to announce his presence on Twitter. The official Spider-Man account (SpiderManOfficial, yes, he knew, very creative) had zero followers, so no one had found him yet, which was what he had hoped for. He hadn't told Ned his handle yet because having a random guy follow him before having posted anything was more than suspicious and he didn't want any rumours about his true identity just because Ned couldn't stop his twitching fingers from pressing the follow-button.

His other account, PBParker (Yes, also very creative, leave him alone!), had a couple of followers. Mostly the ones from AcaDec. And Ned. Of course. But that was alright since everyone knew they were friends so no one would get suspicious. Even if anyone would care enough to actually think about the follower history on his handle, which he was very certain about no one did.

His eyes travelled past his phone in his hand towards the busy streets beneath him. He was sitting on his favourite building, one from which he could overlook a big part of Queens. His feet were dangling off the side and no one had noticed the figure clad in red and blue just yet. Karen had said that the police radar was unusually quiet today, so he had time to truly relax and think.

But maybe that was the problem? Not the relaxing bit, of course, but the thinking bit? Spider-Man was very spontaneous – probably too spontaneous if he could believe the tirades from Mr Stark – so maybe he should go with that? Peter Parker was the overthinker, the worrywart. Spidey just went for it and asked questions later.

He bit his lower lip, reached up and pulled his mask off his head. The slight wind ruffled his hair and he took a deep, calming breath. For some reason, he was nervous. Although this really wasn't a big deal. Mr Stark had said it himself – every person of his age had social media. Hell, even Steve Rogers had social media! And Steve was anything but a teenager! Theoretically speaking, Steve was old. Very old. So old that Peter was surprised all the time whenever he heard Captain America talk about mobile phones, Netflix or drones.

If Steve could do it, Peter would as well!

With newly found energy, Peter unlocked his phone and opened Twitter. He had to be careful as he had two accounts connected to the app, but that shouldn't be a problem. He doubted that he'd post much on his private account anyway. That one was mainly for stalking people. Hehe.

So, taking a deep breath, Spider-Man's thumbs typed a short message and pressed tweet before he had the chance to read anything ridiculous and embarrassing out of those four innocent words.

Spidey SpiderManOfficial

- What's up, New York? -

0 likes 0 retweets

"And now we wait." Peter let himself fall onto the roof behind him and looked into the bright sky. He wanted to take a few seconds to let it all sink in and mentally prepare for Mr Stark's reaction – because he knew there would be one –, but Twitter had a different idea as his phone started vibrating about a minute after he had hit tweet.

Hesitantly, he lifted the phone above his head so that he could look at its screen without having to move from his (admittedly not) comfortable resting spot, but upon activating the phone, he shot up into a sitting position and very nearly toppled off the building altogether.

Spidey SpiderManOfficial

- What's up, New York? -

587k likes 896k retweets

"In just one minute?" Peter screeched as he pushed himself away from the ledge. Just to be safe. He didn't want to die because he tweeted something and the internet's reaction startled him. Imagine that – 'Spider-Man dead after seeing own tweet.' Yeah, no. That would be downright embarrassing and would be such a Peter thing.

A breathless laugh escaped him as he watched the amounts of likes and retweets climb even further, and in that moment Peter had to accept the fact that Mr Stark was right. Not that he'd tell him, goodness no. He didn't need to add even more fuel to the man's already big ego, but he had said that New York would love to see him interact with them. That they'd want Spider-Man to talk to those he protected every day and every night, to not stay in the shadows anymore, and he was right. And no matter how nervous Peter had been (or how nervous he still was because his heart still hadn't really calmed down just yet), it felt good to know how much support he had within the city.

His thumb swiped over the phone's screen as he read all of the answers to his tweet, ranging from excitement to confusion to adoration to obsession. The latter freaked him out a bit. He didn't want anyone to take a bullet for him, let alone have 'A ROGUE ASSASSIN STAB ME IN THE GUT OMG I WOULD DIE FOR YOU SPIDEY' because that was just wrong.

It was impossible to answer all of those tweets or those in which he was being tagged – and there were many, oh wow – so he spent the next half an hour just reading through all of the nice messages he received and ignoring those that freaked him out until he saw a notification from Karen pop up on his screen.

'Bank robbery two blocks away from you,' it read, and Peter hurriedly put away his still vibrating (and slowly overheating) phone and pulled his mask over his head before jumping off the building.

"Welcome back, Peter," said Karen and Peter felt a smile spread across his face. There had been absolutely no reason to worry about joining social media, he thought as he catapulted himself over the cars on the busy streets underneath him. It was a good feeling, one that he hadn't known was possible. Usually, the negative voices were the loudest, those that were published in the Daily Bugle were those that he tended to remember. However, as he swung around a corner and landed on top of a poorly disguised wanna-be bank robber, he couldn't help but laugh. There were more grateful and nice voices out here, ones that appreciated him and what he stood for and he promised himself that he'd keep doing his best to not disappoint them.

Twitter was the best thing he had ever done, even if he'd never tell Mr Stark. Because he would just laugh.

*~*Spidey*~*

He honestly didn't know why he was so nervous. He'd been at SI hundreds of times by now, seen Mr Stark equally – if not more often – than that, and yet…

Peter bit down a sigh as he walked through the entrance hall over to the elevators. His hands were buried in his pockets, his right clutching onto his phone, as he did his best to ignore the stares he still got from those who worked here. Although he came here on a regular basis, that didn't mean that all of SI's employees knew who the teenager was who just walked through security without being checked and then proceeded to wait in front of Mr Stark's private elevator that would lead him to his private lab and living area.

If he were them, he'd probably think along the same lines. Mr Stark wasn't one who just told the world that Peter 'worked' for him – Yes, with single quotes because what Peter did wasn't necessarily work for Tony Stark. Actually, he didn't really do anything for the man's company if you ignored the 'testing' of the new StarkPhone prototype. His mind was using quite a lot of quotes today, he thought curiously as his foot kept its impatient tapping going.

With a soft bing, the elevator door slid open. As soon as he walked inside and the doors closed behind him, F.R.I.D.A.Y.'s voice came through the speakers.

"Welcome back, Peter. Do you want me to tell Boss you have arrived?" she asked as a low hum told the teen that the elevator was swiftly moving upwards.

"Yeah, sure, why not?" He unlocked his phone as it buzzed and shot a glimpse at it while he was still alone in the elevator. Ned had tweeted him. Peter slowly shook his head and wondered whether he'd ever fully get the hang of tweeting. Or see the reason behind doing it in the first place.

He hadn't lied when he'd told Mr Stark that he didn't like or need any social media accounts. Facebook had been his try to adapt to whatever his classmates were doing. Everyone had been on that platform and he had felt like missing out if he were to just stay away from it like he had wanted to, so he'd created an account, only to be confused by how the website worked and what kind of odd information everyone put on it for the world to see. And what the hell was the poke function anyway? It just sounded awkward and he never really understood what people wanted to tell him with that. Did they want to chat with him? Why not message him directly, then? Did they want to meet up with him in person? Why not talk to him when they were all in school? Or did they just want to be creepy? Was he the only one who thought metaphorically poking people on the internet was creepy? It was just too confusing for his brain to understand, so he tended to just… forget all about Facebook, starting with deleting the note on his phone that had his Facebook password saved. That way he could just say, "Yeah, sorry, I forgot my password" and leave before anyone could suggest he generate a new one.

Because that would never happen. Ever.

The elevator gave a soft bing sound just before the doors slid open to reveal the living room of the Avengers quarters. He slowly walked inside, eyes scanning the area as he let his backpack drop off his shoulder.

"Hello?" he called into the silence and could hear a muffled sound of shuffling somewhere on the other side of the humongous apartment as a response.

At least he wasn't alone in the penthouse, feeling like an intruder. Because no matter how often he came over, no matter how often he stayed for a couple of days – hell, the Tony Stark and the Pepper Potts had seen him in his pyjamas. More than once! That alone should be enough to give him an aneurysm – he couldn't get used to it. Yeah, sure, the penthouse at SI was basically a second home to him now, but who could get used to being around the Avengers all the time? He certainly couldn't! Even though he was a part of the team. Sort of. In his head, he was, okay? Don't come for him!

Peter strolled over to the open kitchen that overlooked the vast yet homey living area and opened the first cupboard he came across. He was hungry. He was always hungry. But the good thing about being close to a billionaire was that said billionaire didn't notice when his AI ordered more food than before the young superhero with his super metabolism teenager body came around and ate all of the food in the house. Well, no, that wasn't entirely true. Mr Stark noticed, he had even commented on it a couple of times, but Peter just couldn't take him seriously when the man complained about him eating all of the Poptarts and crisps while opening the fridge and shoving a whole pizza that he had ordered the night before (just in case) at him. There never was any heat behind his words and he kept on feeding Peter as soon as the mechanic set his eyes on the teen. To keep him healthy, he said.

Well, Peter wasn't complaining.

"Ah, there you are, Underoos!"

Peter stuffed the granola bar he had just pulled out of the second cupboard he had opened into his mouth – in one piece – and turned around. Not being able to say much without choking, he lifted his hand and gave an awkward wave.

Mr Stark grimaced at the sight. "Ew," was the only thing he said before turning back around and walking over to the coffee table where Peter could see his StarkTablet lying on the glass surface.

"Come to eat all of my food again, Parker?"

Peter grinned widely and swallowed convulsively to get the dry snack down his throat. Mr Stark winced. "You have the best snacks, Mr Stark. It's your fault that I keep on returning."

"I bloody well hope you don't only come back because of the organic granola bars that cost nine dollars a piece."

"Ni—" Peter choked on a rogue piece of half-chewed nut.

"Breathe, Spidey, we can't have you suffocate in my house." The billionaire smirked and hit him on the back. "Don't want anyone thinking I killed you because Pepper thinks your alter ego is cooler than mine."

"Pepper thinks I'm cooler than you?" Peter wheezed out as soon as his lungs started to cooperate again. "Seriously?"

"Nah, my guess is that she only wants to tease me because you're better at acrobatics than me." He sniffed, eyes sparkling with mirth. "At least I don't wear a skin-tight leotard."

"You built said leotard."

Mr Stark grumbled softly and waved the tablet through the air. "Anyway" – Peter snickered – "I have to bail on our lab session today, kid. Something came up and Pepper's going to have my head if I bail on that."

"Oh," the teen said softly.

Lab time was what he always looked forward to during an exhausting – mentally because his classmates were exhausting – week at school, and their Friday afternoon was something he needed and he was pretty sure his mentor needed as well. Lab session on Friday afternoon into the middle of the night, homework on Saturday morning, second lab session on Saturday afternoon, movie night on Saturday evening – and sometimes a couple of Avengers joined them, even. He had watched the second Transformers with Thor once and after that the god had been dead set on poking every car they had come across to check whether it was alive. It had taken them multiple days to make him understand that not every car turned into a full-blown robot that had weapons attached to it, but Peter had the feeling that, even now, the god of thunder didn't fully grasp what cars really were in the first place.

The thing was that he loved his weekends at Mr Stark's place and now he wasn't entirely sure whether he would still be welcome to stay. What would he even do if he were to stay if the billionaire was off doing… What was he doing again?

"Why is that?" the teen asked timidly as he watched his mentor unlock his tablet and start scrolling through something that caused him to slowly raise his eyebrows before looking up at him. The smirk on his face made Peter's stomach twist uncomfortably.

"A certain account named SpiderManOfficial happened to follow me yesterday", he said, the grin on his face getting wider the longer he scrutinised the twitching teenager in front of him.

"Is that so?" Peter asked innocently – he made sure to widen his eyes a bit; not too much, that would be awkward, but May always said his puppy-dog-face made everyone crack once its full power was unleashed so he did his best to UnLeAsH.

"Yeeeees," Mr Stark hummed before turning back to his tablet and tapping at something.

Peter's phone vibrated and the billionaire looked very pleased with himself at the look of shock on the youth's face. "Did you just follow me back?"

"I followed the Spiderling back. Not you. That would be weird and would cause people to ask questions."

"Of course, it would," Peter said, dazed, as he pulled out his phone, switched his account to his alter ego's, and saw IAmIronMan in his follower list. He nearly fainted.

"And you already have over three million followers! Look at you! What would you be without me pushing you into the right direction? That's what mentoring is for! Anyway," Mr Stark changed the topic so abruptly that it had Peter reeling, "I have to show some potential investors through SI in a couple of minutes and after that have a super boring meeting with them and Pepper, so I won't be back in time for our session today, but feel free to just do whatever teenagers do when they have free reign over a multimillion-dollar penthouse." He swiftly whirled around and with a hurried, "Don't make anything explode!" over his shoulder, the man rushed out of the room and into the elevator, doors closing behind him with a soft whoosh.

Peter stood there for a couple of seconds, contemplating what had just happened before he trudged over to where he had dropped his backpack earlier. He huffed as he picked it up and shuffled through the living room towards the main hallway that led to the rest of the apartment.

The most intelligent thing to do right now would probably be his homework. He had an essay to write for his Spanish class and as of late he was struggling a bit with his grammar. He really needed to get a hang of it so that his grades wouldn't fall. Physics and chemistry homework basically did itself, so he didn't even bother thinking about those as he dropped his backpack next to the huge desk Mr Stark had added to his room as soon as he had stayed over for the first time. But instead of sitting down and pulling his Spanish textbook out of the bag, his feet continued to carry him towards the bed. He flopped down, face first, and didn't move for a couple of seconds.

A low groan escaped him. What was his life, even? He always knew his alter ego was popular, but that popular? Over three million followers? In one day? And Iron Man had followed him back? Should he check who else was following him now? Maybe some of the other Avengers were on the list as well?

Butterflies threw a party in his belly as he awkwardly reached down towards his pocket and tried to pull out his mobile phone. He propped himself up onto his elbows and unlocked the screen, only to see multiple notifications from Twitter.

Ned.

Of course, it was Ned.

Peter rolled his eyes, a soft smile on his face, as he opened the private chat.

Ned Leeds

NedLeadsTheWay

DUDE!

WHAT THE HELL

WHAT EVEN IS HAPPENING RIGHT NOW

DUDE

15:53

Breathe, Ned.

16:38

PETER

DID YOU CHECK YOUR FOLLOWER COUNT

16:38

Last time I checked, it was still at 27.

16:39

I'm not talking about your follower count, I'm talking about SPIDEY'S FOLLOWER COUNT

OMG YOU DON'T KNOW DO YOU

16:39

That he has over 3m followers? Yes, I know, Ned. Mr Stark told me right after he followed me back.

16:40

I swear, some time today I am going to faint.

16:40

Please, don't.

16:40

Some time today, my heart will stutter to a halt because of how cool my best friend is.

I know it will.

Watch me die bc of Spidey

16:41

Please don't die!

Who else would help me figure out what's going on with MJ?!

16:42

That, my dear friend, is what I call valid reasoning.

16:42

But still

3m followers, Peter!

And Iron Man!

16:43

I KNOW I'M FREAKING OUT WHAT DO I DO

16:43

I don't know, man, but your life.

Honestly.

16:43

Peter sighed and let his head fall down onto his forearms. He couldn't believe it. Spider-Man's account was going viral, his own account, the one from boring Peter Parker, barely even existed and his best friend just reminded him of it all.

With narrowed eyes and pounding heart, he closed their conversation to scroll through his feed. He didn't follow a lot of people on his private account – the Avengers, Ms Potts, Happy, and the Academic Decathlon team being the only ones – and no one had posted anything interesting in a long time. He honestly couldn't care less about Flash's self-loving tweets and lies. Why was he even following him in the first place? He had no idea. A lot confused him lately, this was just one more mystery to add to the miles-long list…

Thumb hovering above the blue bird icon in the app, he thought about what to tweet. He should get more used to interacting with the internet and he'd much rather practice on his private account with only twenty-seven people laughing at him than on Spidey's account. The superhero was cool! And Peter wasn't.

So he quickly typed out the first thing that came to mind and didn't have to wait long for an answer.

Peter Parker PBParker

- What even is life right now? -

3 likes 7 retweets

Flash TheOneAndOnlyFlash

- - You're a loser, Penis. - -

0 likes 1 retweets

Peter groaned loudly and flopped down on his bed. What even was life right now? Indeed. He had no idea.

*~*Spidey*~*

The sound of his feet echoed off the halls of the corridor leading to a certain destination. He didn't know why he even thought that he could do his homework today because, honestly? Who was he kidding? He wouldn't have the self-restraint to do anything but stroll around the workshop space, check out what Mr Stark had been working on, stare at the various marks of the Iron Man suits, and let himself imagine what it would be like to wear one.

He'd always wanted to try one on. Flying would be so epic! Just taking off and going wherever he liked. He wouldn't need trees or buildings to swing off of, it would just be the suit and him. But he wouldn't have Karen and he'd be too much of a chicken to actually fly. As in – fly fly. Like. Without webs. Or wings. Just because he was wearing a suit of metal that he figured had to weigh at least seventy kilograms, probably more. Most likely more. That thing was stacked to the brims with awesome tech and weapons, you wouldn't be able to fit that into a suit that weighed less than your average Aunt May. And it was flying. Or had the ability to fly if the wearer (aka Mr Stark) wanted it to. But still. Seventy pounds of metal. But then again, he wasn't Mr Stark. If someone could make it fly and actually stay in the air, it would be him.

He didn't know why it had taken the billionaire (out of all people) to make him see how stupid it would be to actually use one of his suits because, admittedly (and Peter hated to even think it because it made him feel like an ass), he was smart. But apparently not that smart.

Peter could practically feel the buzz of adrenaline course through his body as his eyes fixated the object of… wonder, fascination, excitement that he had spent his whole childhood dreaming about. The Iron Man suit. Mark VI, to be exact. Peter's fingers twitched and his heart picked up speed. This was the ultimate Iron Man suit, the one Mr Stark had worn during the incident at the Stark Expo back in the day. Kicking mean drone butts and saving his – Peter's – own butt whilst still looking incredibly awesome.

"Tempting, isn't it?"

Peter jumped (inside and outside of his skin), heart bounding, and felt his hands and feet make contact with the ceiling above. He stared back down at a smirking Tony Stark.

"Bloody hell, Mr Stark, don't just sneak up on me like that!" he exclaimed, struggling to pull his right hand off the surface beneath. That was another issue he honestly needed to solve sooner rather than later – the whole 'I startled and thus lost control over my superhuman body and I can't undo it right now, so could someone please pluck me off the ceiling? I'm sorry about the ruined plaster'-type of situation.

"I thought you have super-hearing and can hear Cap sneezing from across the city?"

Although that was obviously meant to be a jibe that he should just ignore and move on with his life, Peter sputtered, indignant.

"That is something entirely different!" he exclaimed and pressed his lips together as he saw his mentor's smirk widen.

"How so?" he asked in what outsiders would probably call an innocent tone, but Peter knew better!

"Well…" He grit his teeth, being fully aware of the fact that he had lost this argument. "I was distracted."

"Distracted, huh? By salivating over my multi-million dollar Mark VI suit, I gather. Yes, that one truly is… distracting."

Peter looked at him blankly. "I don't like that tone you've got going on, sir."

"Don't you, now? Oh, what a pity." The billionaire sniffed and strolled through the workshop, passing underneath Peter, who was still involuntarily stuck to the ceiling, and came to a stop right next to Mark II.

Peter waited for the man to continue, but Mr Stark remained silent. His eyes were fixed on his second suit, gaze intense and… haunted, for the lack of a better word.

After a few silent seconds, the teenager cleared his throat softly. "How long did it take you to be able to control the suits?" he asked timidly.

The mechanic jumped slightly and shook his head. "A couple of weeks, probably," he said quietly before straightening his spine and looking up towards where Peter was sitting. "Why?"

The young superhero shrugged awkwardly. Shrugging wasn't all that easy – or comfortable – when all of your extremities were glued in place. "I was just wondering."

"Whether you could take one for a spin, eh?" His telltale smirk was back, and Peter felt a wave of relief. He didn't like seeing Mr Stark hurt.

"N—No! No, o—of course, not. Why would I want that?" he laughed, but it sounded more painful and weird than he had intended it to, confirming the man's thoughts.

Mr Stark nodded knowingly. "I get it, I totally do. It's enticing, isn't it?" He turned back to the suits lined up against the wall and started slowly walking past each Mark he had ever built. "Feeling the metal encase your body, the HUD lighting up, and the soft voice of my AI whispering in your ear. Being protected to a degree that small missiles wouldn't do much damage and yet being as lithe and mobile as can be." He hummed softly, coming to a stop in front of Mark VI, the one Peter had admired before being so rudely interrupted.

The teen listened intently.

"Flying over building after building, people so small that they look like ants scurrying across lit-up streets. Until the suit's electricity shuts off due to a malfunction, the HUD's light vanishes, leaving you behind in a dark metal prison, unable to move. You can't do anything but watch the ground come nearer and nearer by the second."

Peter stared at Mr Stark as he stood there, hands crossed behind his back and head tilted slightly to the left, as if he was reminiscing a fond memory. And not a near death experience.

"Ah, fun times."

Peter gulped, thinking back to the mental image the man's story had caused him. He'd probably be damaged for life from that little stunt. Just thinking about that made him shudder. But hey, he could still appreciate the genius behind the suits! No harm in that!

Also, the nanotech suit Me Stark had started building the other day? Dude! The blueprints of that thing had already made it into his nightly dreams! It was outworldly, had to be from a different planet! It made his little nerd heart beat faster just thinking about it.

But he'd never put one on, he thought as he pressed his palm against the biometric scanner and the door clicked open. Mr Stark trusted him to be responsible when he was not around. Probably also when he was around, but whenever they were tinkering together, they could warrand a little bit less of responsibility each as their responsibility would be combined anyway since they were basically the same person when working on the same project. But that was beside the point.

Also, what would happen if he were to fall out of the sky? Just like that. Just like Mr Stark had so vividly explained? He had no idea how to function the suit, let alone how to trouble-shoot any… well… troubles, should they occur. He'd end up as a not-so-pretty stain on the pavement. Spider-shaped stain on the pavement. And nobody wanted that. Let alone him.

Peter sighed happily as he walked through the big workshop towards his bench. Mr Stark had installed a little name plate on it when it had become apparent that he would be here nearly every week for the unforeseeable future, and even though 'Underoos' wouldn't really mean much to anyone who would just randomly wander inside, both he and Mr Stark knew its meaning, and it simply meant the world to Peter.

Pepper probably knew it as well, but she knew everything. She was Mr Stark's MJ. Just as creepy sometimes, but so much more approachable! Honestly. MJ gave him the creeps, even though he couldn't get enough of her. Maybe he should take Ned's advice and google masochism? Was this normal? Because MJ's creeps were good creeps. He had a problem, didn't he? Yeah, probably.

His fingers lightly traced over the lettering, and he felt the, by now, familiar giddiness rise inside him. He had his own workbench in Mr Stark's workshop. He had his own bedroom in Mr Stark's penthouse. No matter how often he told himself that – because yes, he needed to remind himself almost daily that this was actually his life – his brain didn't catch up, for some reason. Okay, your brain probably wouldn't manage to process it either if you were to be basically adopted by your idol, either. So don't come for him!

He walked around the workbench to the side where his twirly chair was located and let his eyes travel over what was lying in front of him, his mind already forming an idea. His web shooters, innocent as ever, in the middle of half-built parts for the current Iron Man suit and some random pieces of blueprint paper on which he had tried to design a new drone for Spider-Man (and the screwed together bits of it lying next to it because Peter was a visual learner), were practically smiling at him, and he reached forward and picked them up without a second thought.

They snapped shut around his wrists, the familiar weight of them against his skin calming, and as he reached into his back pocket to pull out his phone he couldn't help but feel a mild twinge of excitement run through his body.

Watch him go viral on Twitter.

He snickered as he lifted his left hand and pointed the web shooter towards one of Iron Man's suits. He would never actually web them up because… Okay, first of all – why would he? Second of all – he wasn't suicidal; Mr Stark would kill him, and third of all – he would probably die of embarrassment before reason number two could become reality. But aiming at them for a wicked picture was totally fine, so that was what he did.

He took his time to take several pictures from several angles with different suits as his 'target' and spent another good fifteen minutes to choose the one that he would post. And, if he was being honest with himself, it was a masterpiece.

You couldn't see anything that would cause problems in the future (as in blueprints of core suit pieces or reflections of his face – he made sure of that. He didn't want to give himself, Mr Stark, and his whole team of lawyers a heart attack), but you could see enough to be both intrigued as well as fascinated.

The web shooter clung to his wrist like a glove, sleek and mysterious, yet known and adored by many. You could see the muscles in his forearm, hinting at the strength he held in his body, yet the joking pose of aiming at the newest nano tech Iron Man suit put it all into perspective. Miscellaneous things cluttered the workbench in the corner (the one with the Underoos sign but it wasn't visible), a half-finished drone with a spider emblem sitting right at the edge of the picture, just barely in frame to be detected, and the mess covering the floor in front of the suit told everyone who looked at this picture that whoever worked in that workshop loved to tinker and didn't care about how everything looked. Which Peter liked. Because that was how it was really like working with Mr Stark.

A whole load of mess and confusion in between moments of genius.

He let himself plop down on the dingy old couch sitting against the wall facing Mr Stark's workbench and opened Twitter. This honestly felt like it was something major, although he knew it really wasn't.

A small '14' in the bottom right corner told him that Ned had had another meltdown, so he made sure to switch accounts and quickly upload his favourite picture to the app.

He didn't know what he'd expected, but it hadn't been this type of reaction. He had just walked down the hallway towards the kitchen to look through the cupboards to look for something edible – focus on being edible; he didn't want to repeat the Face Mask Incident™ – because he hadn't been able to ignore the massive growling coming from his stomach, and his StarkPhone was already struggling. Which was kind of hilarious if you thought about it, really, since Mr Stark prided himself on only releasing and selling perfect technology without flaws. But then again, not everyone was Spider-Man causing people to literally lose their minds by just tweeting stuff like…

Spidey SpiderManOfficial

- Spider-Man vs Iron Man. Who would win? IAmIronMan -

1.3M likes 2.4M retweets

His jaw dropped, and the piece of Poptart he had just bitten into fell out of his mouth and landed on the countertop with a soft thud. He had difficulties understanding what was going on, and Mr Stark's answer really wasn't helping all that much, either.

You Know Who I Am IAmIronMan

- - Wanna find out, Spiderling? - -

781k liked 2.6M retweets

He'd end up with an aneurysm, he just knew it. He wouldn't reach his thirtieth birthday if this would be his life for the next week.

Biting his lip and doing his best to ignore all of the ecstatic answers to his tweet, his fingers basically flew over his phone's screen, eager to reply. Just to see what would happen. He was curious.

Spidey SpiderManOfficial

- - - Sure thing, old man 😏 - - -

912k likes 2.2M retweets

Peter barked out a laugh before taking another bite of the Poptart. Snickering, he quickly tapped on the 'picture' icon and scrolled through his saved photos. He was looking for a specific one and couldn't stop himself from yelling, "HA!" when he found it and instantly posted it.

Spidey SpiderManOfficial

- 😇 IAmIronMan [picture showing Tony Stark lying on the couch during one of their movie nights. His head was resting on the backrest behind him, his eyes were closed, and his lips parted slightly. A pale hand adjusted the Hello Kitty blanket the billionaire was loosely holding onto so that the white cat face was clearly visible, surrounded by hearts of various shades of pink] -

845k likes 2.1M retweets

You Know Who I Am IAmIronMan

- - Start planning your funeral, Spider-Boy. Also, thanks for letting me lend your favourite blanket. It's very soft. - -

902k likes 1.6M retweets

Peter cackled loudly as he tapped the small heart underneath the tweet.

Spidey SpiderManOfficial

- - - I honestly love that blanket. - - -

871k likes 1.7M retweets

"Don't give anyone a reason to pick at you," Uncle Ben had always told him when he'd come home from kindergarten with a broken toy or new bruise on his upper arm after another rough day of being an orphan in a world of non-orphans – or in his kindergarten group of non-orphans. "Be proud of who you are and show it."

It had taken years for him to accept that advice and he still sometimes struggled with not following what people expected of him but what he himself wanted. But he couldn't lie, even if he tried.

He freaking loved that blanket.

*~*Spidey*~*

Peter sighed and took another bite of his sandwich as he tried his best to not hear Flash spouting nonsense on the other side of the cafeteria.

Like, okay, hear him out. He loved having superpowers. Most of the time. It was awesome being able to swing around New York without ripping your arm straight out of its socket, punch a bad guy in the face without breaking bones, or crawl up random walls just because you were too lazy to simply walk around the building, but other times… He hated that he had to always keep in mind how much web fluid was still on his person and in his web shooters to not fall straight out of the sky scaring elderly ladies to death, having to constantly assess his strength and ensure that he never truly used it to its full capacity, and also the random bouts of just sticking to stuff as if he had been fused to the next available surface with extra strong glue. Like E6000. But for humans. Half-humans. Anyway.

Although having super-hearing had its benefits, it certainly had its disadvantages as well. And those disadvantages were more abundant than the worry of not being able to pull your hand off a locker door. So when Flash started boasting about how sure he was that Spider-Man and Iron Man, and basically all of the Avengers, would follow him back if they were to see his name in their follower list… He got pissed.

And that confused him mildly because just a couple of days ago, he couldn't have given a flying fuck about what Eugene 'Flash' Thompson was doing on social media.

Ned hadn't noticed anything about his friend's mood and general stiffness yet, too distracted by the burger he had just got from the elderly cafeteria lady. "I swear, this is the best one they've made yet," he said between two big bites and a lot of satisfied humming and nodding. "The sauce is just—" He raised his hand, put his fingertips together and did this wiggly thing everyone associated with Italy before making a kissing sound. "Just wow." He took another bite, chewed with relish and swallowed before adding, "Could've added more, though. Hey, you alright?"

"Huh?" Peter hadn't really paid any attention to Ned, too busy to punish his sandwich and slowly rip off pieces to aggressively chew to regain control of his temper. He should really work on that. Do some yoga, maybe. He'd heard good things about it and Nat did it all the time when she needed to calm down.

"You seem… tense," Ned said slowly, burger all but forgotten. "What happened?"

Bless him. He was honestly the best friend Peter could have hoped for.

"Nothing happened, I'm alright," the teen answered on autopilot (not that it wasn't true, it was just his go-to answer) before stuffing the last (and admittedly still rather large) bit of his sandwich into his mouth so as not to have to elaborate.

But Ned wouldn't have it. "Is it your Spidey Sense warning you of something?" he asked, sounding way too excited at the prospect of possibly deadly danger up ahead. "Will you go all superhero soon and I get to sneak back into the IT classroom and hack my way through Mr Stark's tech network?"

"What? No." Peter shook his head and leant forward to allow him to keep his voice low. "I've just come to the conclusion that I should ask Nat to show me how to do yoga."

"And that pisses you off?"

"What? No, I'm excited for yoga. It looks cool."

"Then why have you been shooting death glares to the poor sandwich you've just literally murdered right in front of my eyes?"

Peter blinked. "Because I was trying hard to not listen to Flash being an idiot."

"Ohhhh! Now that makes way more sense than being pissed off at the prospect of doing yoga."

"Yoga is good for the mind and body, but if the mind is fucked up, it can be one hell of a pain in the butt." And with that entrance, none other than Michelle Jones plonked down on the bench next to Peter, a half-eaten apple in her hand and no emotions on her unimpressed-looking and (if you asked Peter) very pretty face.

"MJ!" The teen laughed awkwardly, and his right hand automatically reached up to his neck, a gesture Pepper always found adorable. He wasn't entirely sure what to make of that sentiment, though. Being dubbed 'adorable' usually entailed a whole onslaught of jokes from the Avengers' side of the game. "What are you doing here?"

Michelle looked at him for a couple of nerve-wrecking seconds before lifting both eyebrows and shrugging nonchalantly. "Eating."

Peter blinked. "I see."

Without seeming to be bothered by the awkward atmosphere she had just conjured, MJ looked at Peter calmly as if she was waiting for something. As the teen failed to give her what he wanted, she took a deep breath and said, "Why are you so nervous, Parker?"

"Nervous? W—Who's nervous?" A hesitant smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. He hoped desperately that it looked innocent and natural, but judging by Ned's wince, it did anything but.

"What are you hiding?" She narrowed her eyes slightly, the rest of her expression stayed as neutral as it had before.

"Hiding? What would I be hiding? I don't have anything to hide!" He should really start with yoga, it would help him stay relaxed and would thus keep himself out of trouble. Honestly. He sucked at lying, and yes, no matter how often he acted indignant whenever Mr Stark called him out on a lie, he knew he was bad at it. And accepting a weakness is the first step to improvement. Right? Right.

"And why, do you think, should I believe you?"

"Because I'm trustworthy?" That came out more as a question than anything, but MJ had a tendency to make him insecure about literally everything. She just had that something about her that—

"Now, that's an answer I can get behind."

Peter gaped at her, eyes big. "Really?"

"No, dumbass, but I'll get behind what you're hiding. Don't you worry." She sniffed softly, bit off a chunk of her green apple, and chewed as if she hadn't just accused Peter of being someone he wasn't. Of lying to her. Just ignore that she was right with that assumption, but as it was simply that – an assumption – Peter felt right about feeling slightly indignant. And mildly scared.

"Coming back to what you losers were talking about before I accused you of lying," MJ said conversationally, and Peter and Ned exchanged an alarmed look, "I follow Spider-Man as well and he hasn't yet followed me back, so what I gather from that is that he doesn't check his follower list. Because he wouldn't dare not follow me back, isn't that right, Parker?"

The addressed teen choked on nothing but air and adrenaline. "W—What? Why would I know anything about his follower list or his—his account?"

Michelle hummed knowingly and took another bite of her apple. "Hm, just a feeling." Without turning around and letting Peter out of her sight, she threw the apple core over her shoulder, aiming for the trash can, but missing it by a big distance. Peter's eyes followed the apple's arch through the air until it hit the linoleum floor and slid across it until it bumped against a student's shoe and came to a still.

"Social media sucks anyway. It's just one big social experiment conducted by the rich and famous that makes use of the various degrees of intelligence and intellect within our society. It's both fascinating and disgusting, and I'm not actively taking part in that. I don't want to support that. I conduct my own experiments and observations." And with that, she stood up and, without another glance to the – admittedly very – confused Peter and Ned, walked through the cafeteria, pushed a very tall boy out of the way and vanished down the hallway.

"Social media as a social experiment." Ned slowly shook his head before turning his attention back to Peter. "Dude, MJ is freaking scary."

The young superhero hummed affirmatively. "Yeah," he said softly, eyes still trained on the doorway she had just left through as a telling tingling feeling rushed up his spine.

Peter sat up straight, causing Ned to flinch, and looked around the busy cafeteria. It was still the middle of lunch break, so it was packed to the brim with students chatting and eating. All sorts of noises reached his ears, noises he usually ignored but that now assaulted his brain as his spider side tried to figure out whether to hide, run, or fight.

"What's wrong?" Ned all but whispered, but his friend knew as well as Peter did that if he were to speak normally now, it would most likely push his friend into a sensory overload.

Peter blinked, eyes still scanning the room, the windows, and the people inside. "I don't know," he said slowly before shaking his head, "I don't know. I can't sense anything off about this part of the school, at lea—" just as his phone started vibrating madly in his pocket.

"Hostage-taking at Central Bank in the South-East of Queens," it read on the screen and Peter silently thanked Karen to keep him updated, even when he was at school and officially off-duty. If it concerned Mr Stark, it would now be the time to sneak into the next bathroom, dial 911, and tell the police all about that party at the bank, but the billionaire wasn't anywhere near him – hell, he wasn't even in New York today – so Peter could ignore his conscience and rationality all he wanted.

The teen reached for his bag as he jumped off the bench. "Gotta go," he said quickly, rounded the table and gently slapped Ned on the shoulder, a silent Sorry and I'm-Off-Bye, and hurried out of the cafeteria.

If he had had at least one part of his brain remembering how to not raise attention and maybe act as if he had just received an urgent phone call or was close to vomiting out his lunch, he would have noticed the observant eyes belonging to a certain girl leaning against a row of lockers right next to the entrance to the cafeteria following his every move. But, alas, he had already stuffed his StarkPhone back into his pocket and his slightly flushed cheeks didn't give him the look of someone close to being sick, so it was more than obvious for anyone who bothered to really look that something was going on.

Needless to say, he didn't notice the soft footsteps following him from a distance.

*~*Spidey*~*

MJ wasn't one to stalk people. She liked observing her surroundings – and if said surroundings included people, she liked observing them – but she had never thought that she would actively seek out following someone just to see what would happen. She focussed on the odd behaviours, the little nervous twitches one might get when being asked a question in class, or the secretive and very hurried glances towards someone likeable, but with Peter Parker she had rather quickly realised that he was… well… all of that and so much more.

First of all, he was constantly twitching. He always seemed nervous or on edge, even if he outwardly looked calm and collected (or as calm and collected Parker could look). But something of him was constantly in motion – was it his leg bouncing up and down, his fingers tapping a rhythm against the table top, or his eyes scanning the room. He never did anything to draw attention to himself, however, always bent on being unnoticeable, never wanting anyone to look at him the wrong way. Or any way, really.

He liked to stay in the background, doing his thing (whatever that was – Michelle had her suspicions) and chatting with Ned Leeds. If you ignored the whole being super buff all of a sudden (yes, she knew, every single brain at Midtown High was still trying to get behind how Parker looked, but Michelle isn't feeling like placating her thoughts and emotions for every reader to see, so she won't say what she thinks of it! – Yes, present tense, thank you very much) and constantly vanishing as if he hadn't even come to school in the first place, he'd be a very inconspicuous guy, and most (or maybe even the entirety of) their school apparently thought so as well.

Except for MJ.

MJ knew something was off about that loser, so she was sure that you, the reader, probably aren't that surprised to know that she tried to act as if she had planned to be here all along as she cautiously followed the hurried steps of her target person. Peter looked (and behaved) on edge – looking from side to side but never behind him (thank goodness for that, because otherwise he would definitely have seen Michelle about twenty metres behind him), never slowing his pace. Not even when he ducked into an alleyway further down the street and MJ picked up some speed to not lose him.

But what she came to witness was something that should have shocked her. Or at least surprised her. But it did nothing the like as she calmly leant against one of the buildings framing the alleyway and watched her classmate strip down to his boxer shorts, bend over to rummage through his backpack, and pull out a familiar bright red and blue suit.

Michelle smirked as her suspicions were confirmed but stayed put as he struggled his way into the suit, tripping over a discarded old television and chair with only two legs in the process. Honestly, someone as clumsy as Peter Parker being someone as graceful as Spider-Man was probably his best cover ever. His awkward lies and dumb excuses should have exposed him by now, but maybe the entire world was just incredibly stupid and Michelle was the only one really using her brain the way it was supposed to be used? Who knew? She wouldn't be surprised either way. Having been on Twitter for a few months now had already shown her to what lows humankind could actually fall.

Her dark eyes followed the masked figure's movement as Spider-Man webbed his backpack to the dumpster he had accidentally touched while trying to get his left arm into the suit and had retched slightly (much to Michelle's amusement), crouched down gathering energy and jumped seven metres into the air before shooting a web to a nearby building and vanishing from sight.

Michelle slowly let the air escape her lungs as she strolled into the alleyway. She stopped just short of the dumpster, eyeing Parker's backpack, and tilted her head to the right. He really was an impressive guy, she had to admit that, at least. There was only one person who could do what Spider-Man could do, but MJ also had some tricks up her sleeve, so when she reached into her jacket and pulled out a small pocketknife to cut the bag out of its webbing, she allowed a rare grin to light up her face.

She couldn't wait to mess with Parker some more. Ah, what fun that would be. He was hilarious when he was panicking.

*~*Spidey*~*

It didn't take her long to get home. She didn't live far from the alleyway in which she had seen Peter Parker turn into Spider-Man, and she was silently grateful for that.

She threw open the door to her flat and instantly ignored her mother's confused glance as she stormed past her and down the hallway leading to her bedroom. She knew she should be at school right now – English class had always been way too easy and boring so she wasn't even mildly worried that she would miss anything important – but there were more pressing matters at hand than her attendance right now. Her mother would try to seek a conversation later today, she was sure of it and she'd figure out what to tell her then, but right now…

Without pausing in her march, she kicked the door closed behind her, threw her and Peter's backpacks into the corner to her right and made a beeline towards her laptop. She had left it running yesterday evening, having originally planned on getting some additional work done on her essay for American History before first period, which saved her from having to start the old thing and wait for an eternity to do its job. She grabbed it, walked over to her bed and let herself fall backwards onto the mattress, laptop savely in her lap. Within two seconds, she had the browser open and was looking up any social media posts, newspaper articles or blogs concerning a certain spider-y friend of hers.

Yes, she viewed Peter as her friend. He was nice enough. Deal with it.

She didn't have to search for long before she came across a live ticker of sorts consisting of a series of regular posts containing detailed information about the superhero's actions as well as video evidence.

Michelle swallowed past the lump in her throat and clicked on the provided livestream link.

*~*Spidey*~*

Spider-Man let go of the web and somersaulted through the air before securely landing on one of the streetlights surrounding the building. His lenses whirred softly, a sound he could only pick up on because of his super-hearing, and Karen activated Enhanced Reconnaissance Mode without him asking her to.

"I detect a total of fourteen heat signatures on the ground floor in the back part of the building," she said calmly as Peter continued to scan the building and those surrounding it.

"How many are armed?"

"Scanning."

Peter waited more or less patiently as more and more police cars gathered on the street underneath him.

"There are four armed individuals in the building."

"Thank you, Karen," he said quietly before stepping off the streetlight and landing softly right next to a female police officer, who gave a small squeak.

"Sorry, Ma'am." Spider-Man winced. His right hand jumped up and he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "Didn't mean to scare you."

The woman laughed hesitantly. "It's alright, Spidey," she said before closing the door of the police car's driver's side. "It's good that you're already here."

Spider-Man nodded knowingly. "There are fourteen people inside, four of them are armed. So I'm guessing ten hostages and four bad guys."

"Four hostage-takers? Are you sure?"

"I am. My suit scanned the building and the heat signatures fit the scenario."

The police officer hummed before taking out her radio and activating it. "Officer Flores here. I have intel from Spider-Man. We are dealing with four offenders and ten hostages. I repeat. Four offenders and ten hostages. Over."

"I'm guessing the bad guys haven't tried to contact you yet?" Spider-Man tilted his head, which gave him an almost comical look of intrigued.

Officer Flores shook her head. "We arrived about five minutes ago and the responsible Sergeant hasn't managed to set up communication yet. We don't know why it escalated and what the assailants want. Protocol tells us to stay calm and passive until we understand the situation completely to not endanger any of the hostages." She smirked. "But I guess you already know all of that, don't you?"

Spider-Man shrugged, his own smile on his lips, although he knew the police officer couldn't see it. "Been to hostage-takings a few times by now. Kind of sad that it's sort of routine for me."

He turned to face the front of the building, trying his best to ignore the growing crowd that had started gathering as soon as more than two police cars parked in front of the bank. Most of them had their phones pointed into his direction, excitedly chatting amongst themselves. People were in danger and passers-by thought it was a show for them to post on their Instagram story.

He sighed and pushed the frustrated thoughts out of his head. Karen had told him that the bad and good guys were in the back rooms of the ground floor so he needed to focus. He wasn't scared that the offenders would see him hanging around in front of the building, plotting their imminent demise so he knew he would be able to sneak in through the vent he had spotted earlier on, crawl towards the back portion of the bank, and do his spider-thing.

As soon as the nice officer told him to, that was. He wanted to stay friends with the police, after all, and that meant cooperating and doing what they asked of him instead of just doing his own thing without telling anybody.

Mr Stark would be so proud. Peter snickered before biting his lip and forcing himself to act professionally. It really wouldn't help the situation if the local superhero just randomly cackled whilst there was a hostage-taking going on basically right next to him.

"I'm more than willing to help if you need my help," he said calmly (or as calmly as he could while his brain still showed him the image of a beaming Mr Stark) and glanced back at the officer, waiting for an answer, which he received almost as soon as he stopped talking.

"I hoped you'd say that." She reached for her radio again. "Officer Flores speaking. Spider-Man offered his help. How should I proceed? Over."

They waited patiently until a staticky rattling came out of the speaker, followed by a male voice. "As discussed, Officer. Over."

"Check." She looked over to Spider-Man, expression serious. "Good luck," was all she said before she turned her radio back on again, but he wasn't paying attention anymore.

As soon as he got the go, he shot a web to the building next to the bank and catapulted himself into the air. He crashed against the wall (in a controlled manner, of course) and used the momentum to jump and latch onto the vent opening leading into the bank. He pulled it open with ease and slipped inside.

The vent system was like every vent system outside of the Avengers Tower – dusty as hell. He had really thought (before having ventured into his first vent with Clint back in the days of prank wars) that they were squeaky clean. They always looked like it in the movies – shiny, silver tunnels high above people's heads with the occasional opening that would lead whatever spy was sneaking through them into every room, no matter how tiny. Even the janitor's closet had a big-enough latch for people like James Bond to climb out of, but real life was different. As always.

He sneezed and a cloud of dust burst from the dull-looking metal into the air, tickling his nose and irritating his airways even further.

His gaze was jumping from left to right, scanning every centimetre of the cramped space until he saw it – a spider web. He'd bloody known it. There were spiders in here. Peter shuddered involuntarily at the thought of the eight-legged creatures whilst being fully aware of how ironic this whole situation was.

Gritting his teeth, Spider-Man slowly began to crawl forward. The vent creaked ominously underneath him and he had to yet again think back to the perfect metal tunnels in every spy movie that he had ever watched. After his first vent outside of the Tower, he'd still tried to convince himself that the building's owner just wasn't paying much attention to the ventilation system as long as it worked, but the longer he did this job the more he got to the conclusion that Mr Stark was just a freaking weirdo.

He tried his best to stay as quiet as possible. There was a chance that normal people wouldn't hear him (after all, he had super-hearing and could basically hear everything), but he didn't want to risk alerting the bad guys. They'd stayed happily unknowing and he wanted to keep it that way until the very moment he jumped on top of one and knocked them out cold.

It didn't take long until hissed, angry words reached his ears.

"This wasn't planned!"

Spider-Man peaked through the next vent opening onto a small group of people all sitting in one corner of a relatively large – what looked like – office with lots of desks and computers. A few metres away from them (which he was thankful for) were four masked individuals. All of them were armed with hand pistols and machine guns, like Karen had told him. And they were arguing, which really wasn't something that gave him a good feeling about how this whole thing would go down.

"I couldn't very well let them get out of here after having seen my gun!" one on the left said, raising his hands in a sort of 'what-do-you-want-from-me' way. His machine gun pointed uncoordinatedly towards different points within the room and the group of hostages (employees, Peter guessed) shrunk back into the corner even more.

"I've told you before that you need to watch what you let people see, you fucking idiot!" the first one shot back. "You're not being careful and that endangers our entire plan! Do you want us to get caught?!"

"Of course, I don't!"

"Then don't fucking act like it! Because if you just keep on waving that fucking gun around for all people to see, it's just a matter of fucking time until someone calls the cops on us and that's on you!"

"And if you keep shouting like that someone outside will hear, so shut up already," one of the other two masked men put in, only causing the enraged guy to turn on him instead.

"You're not better than your fucking brother! What did your parents do to ruin you like this? Are you two too bloody stupid to get simple instructions through your thick skull?!"

Before the third man could do more than take a deep breath to prepare for a – probably equally insulting – remark, Peter pushed open the vent covering and jumped into the room. He landed directly on top of the shouting guy and, with a well-aimed punch, knocked him out cold before anyone had the chance to move.

He stepped off the crumpled figure, looked around the room and waved. "Hi!" he said cheerfully before activating both of his web shooters and pulling the machine guns out of the hands of two men. "I'll take these, alright?" He stuck them onto the ceiling in a fully intentional homage to his sticky problems, making sure that none of the bad guys could pull them back down again. Like Mr Stark never managed to get him off the ceiling either. It was all meant to be in some weird way.

"You don't need those either." Other well-aimed webs stuck to the rest of the guns in the men's hands, leaving them standing there, looking gobsmacked. "I really don't know what you thought would happen, but this is my city and me ending up here was pretty predictable. Or it should have been."

Spider-Man twirled on the spot in an elegant mix of strength and grace and hit first one, then two men straight in the chest. They flew across the room, crashed into the opposite wall and stayed lying on the ground, motionless.

"You guys should have stayed down to earth instead of trying to rob a bank during the day." Peter snickered. "Get it? 'Stayed down to earth?' As in—" but before he could finish his sentence, he felt a sharp pain slice through his side. He gasped and tumbled slightly as he turned around and stared at the last masked man, who was now holding a bloody knife in his hand.

"God, damn it," Spider-Man hissed, more annoyed than in pain as he activated his web shooter again and snatched the weapon out of the surprised bad guy's hand. "I should have known you had other stuff stashed in that pretty outfit of yours. But nooooo – I gave you the benefit of the doubt."

He tutted before pushing off the ground and tackling the yelping man to the ground, knocking him out in the process.

"Bloody ouch!" Today had been such a nice day! He'd actually been on time for the first period this morning, he'd had a relatively good lunch break (he could ignore Flash because MJ had talked to him!), and now this.

He prodded his aching side and hissed softly as a sharp pain shot straight through his entire body before even more bloody came oozing out of the open wound. He groaned. He needed to get this one cleaned before it got infected. Again. And yes, he didn't scar easily, but if Mr Stark found yet another irritated, freshly healed piece of his skin that wasn't supposed to be irritated, he wouldn't hear the end of it. For as long as he lived. He'd probably end up regretting not only the one moment of distraction but every single second of the last week that had led up to this moment. And Mr Stark had weird ways of knowing that Peter got hurt even though the teen had a tendency of not telling anyone. Peter blamed Karen for it. She was probably telling on him.

Peter huffed. Better get his side cleaned, then. Because Mr Stark probably already knew about it anyway.

*~*Spidey*~*

It was as if she was stuck in her own little bubble, a world in which only she and her laptop existed that showed her a scenario that caused her to feel… things. She felt oddly calm, yet her leg wouldn't stop bouncing. She felt proud, yet so utterly helpless that she wanted to scream. But the strongest feeling that was almost all-consuming was the fear that took her breath away as she saw the red and blue-clad figure land on top of a streetlamp, looking around the scene around and underneath him, before dropping down unceremoniously yet elegantly, ready to do whatever it would take to get everyone back to safety and the bad guys obtained.

She's always had an odd kind of fascination when it came to superheroes – who hadn't? – but Spider-Man had always held a special place in her heart. Maybe it was because he was their local hero, the one who looked out for old ladies, cashiers, and cats, who did his best to save tenants from a burning building or catch a balloon for a crying child. He was more than the rest of the Avengers; he was special. She'd always known that, and only now did she wonder whether part of her had known the reason behind that feeling all along.

Watching the masked vigilante tilt his head to the side – almost like a dog who wanted to get a cookie from their owner – made her heart swell. Not because she knew who was hiding under that mask but because she knew Spider-Man. She knew who he was, she knew – or almost definitely – knew why he did what he did, and she knew that she and everyone else could count on him.

Peter may be all over the place sometimes, but no matter how many times he'd stood her up during Decathlon practice, she could always count on him to be there when it was important.

Just like now.

Whoever was handling the camera which footage was being broadcasted was more than excited, it seemed, as the picture was very shaky and MJ could literally hear the person try to control their breathing. A fanboy. Oh, definitely.

She would smirk and remember to tease Peter about it later, but for now, she was more worried than amused.

On the screen of her old laptop, Spider-Man nodded to something the officer had told him, shot a web to a nearby building and catapulted himself into the vent system of the bank.

Michelle stared at the screen, having difficulties to breathe. She wouldn't have any means of following his actions inside the building so all she could do was to wait and try to stay calm.

If that was even possible.

It felt like forever – and MJ wasn't one to exaggerate anything – but as the door to the bank was being pushed open by the superhero, she could feel her body let out a huge sigh as relief flooded through her. And just like that – as fast as he rushed out of the front door, just as fast was he up and gone, webbing away, leaving MJ sitting on her bed, staring.

Before her brain had caught up with anything she had just witnessed – which, granted, left a lot to speculate about – her body moved. She jumped off the bed, hurried towards where she had chucked their backpacks earlier, and ran out the door. She knew where she needed to be right now.

*~*Spidey*~*

Spider-Man plopped through his bedroom window and unceremoniously fell onto the floor underneath it.

"Ow," he grunted before puffing out a lungful of air.

That had been one hell of a hostage situation. A bit confusing in between – he wasn't going to lie – but overall very successful. If you ignored the wound in his side, that was probably already healing so he needed to get a move on to clean it before that happened. But, hey! He got to crawl through vents! And although he had imagined it to be a more heroic and epic thing than it had turned out to be, it had still been awesome, and he was still psyched about it!

So he made a quick detour to the bathroom, releasing the suit on his way through the hallway and kicking it back into his room haphazardly before he doused his side in wound disinfectant (the non-burning kind; who would have thought having May – who happened to be a nurse – know about him being Spider-Man made all of the first-aid things way more pleasant?) and put a huge plaster over it. He quickly washed off any sweat that might cling to his skin and, still clad in his boxers only, walked back into his room, grabbed his phone out of the heap on the floor that was his suit, lay down on his back – mindful of the healing injury on his side – and opened Twitter.

The rest of the adrenaline from his fight still pumping through his system, he typed out a quick tweet. Mr Stark would be proud of him! He slowly got the hang of using social media (well, at least one social media app, but he didn't want to overdo it and overwhelm his already busy brain) so he knew of the importance of letting his followers – ooh, look at him, thinking like an influencer – that he was alright and his spirits were high. It was getting easier to come up with things to tweet, as well, especially if he made his brain stop overthinking everything that he did and just channel his inner superhero persona.

Piece of cake, that was!

Just as he hit tweet, a small number appeared in the bottom right corner of his screen, telling him he had a DM. Only one? For a short, distracted (or as he'd find out later not so distracted and actually quite focused) second, he was confused but quickly wiped that feeling away as he saw who had messaged him.

His heart picked up speed at seeing the handle and he could feel himself getting giddier with every passing second.

Until he saw the actual message.

Michelle J.

IAmNotMichelle

Yo, dweeb. Got your backpack.

16:54

Peter blinked down at his phone, confused. How could MJ have his backpack? It was literally—

He looked up, gaze travelling through his room, searching for the familiar dirty-orange bag that he knew he'd had on him just before— Just before webbing it to a dumpster in some random alleyway in the middle of New York City before rushing off to a crime scene— No. No no no nonononono!

Michelle J.

IAmNotMichelle

Also. Nice boxers.

16:55

Oh. My. GOD! WHAT! WHAT WAS HAPPENING?! DID SHE JUST— DID SHE— AAAAAHHHHHHHHHBHSKFUAV;XJJDFGAJB!

That! Exactly that! What was his brain for again? He didn't know. Did he need it? Probably. Where was it? He had no idea.

Michelle Jones, the Michelle Jones, the most beautiful and terrifying girl on planet Earth had seen him in just his boxers! Oh no, he'd never live it down, would he? How embarrassing was that? Not only had he been seen nearly naked by someone else, but that someone else happened to be his crush, and—

Peter paused and blinked. Wait a minute, how had it been possible for her to—

His eyes bulged as a shiver ran down his spine, and it wasn't a nice shiver. It was a I-have-a-huge-problem-now shiver.

Michelle Jones knew he was Spider-Man. She had seen him change in the alleyway near Midtown. Oh, how could he have been so reckless?! Had he even checked whether he was being followed before stripping down and literally taking a superhero's suit out of his backpack before webbing away just like said superhero? Honestly, how stupid could he be?! This was on him, and there wasn't anyone else to blame for it, which sucked even more. He couldn't even channel his frustration towards someone else and had to come up with a way to get through this mess.

But before he had the chance to gather and organise his tumbled thoughts and maybe call Mr Stark to maybe have him help fix it (after having him yell at him, of course), he heard a knock on his bedroom window leading out to the fire escape.

Peter whirled around, having walked up and down in front of his bed to get his brain working, and stared open-mouthed at none other than MJ holding her phone up and pointing towards it.

He blinked, now very confused and frankly not sure whether he was actually still alive and not dead, floating around in some odd dream world, before he reached for his own phone and unlocked it, hands trembling slightly.

Michelle J.

IAmNotMichelle

Open up, loser. It's windy.

16:59

Peter stared at the message for a good five or six seconds before jumping into action. He hurried through his room and pulled the window up as soon as he reached it. A gust of cold wind blew straight in his face before Michelle climbed through the opening and pulled the pane close behind her. She turned around and looked at him, her expression unreadable.

"Nice boxers."

He started coughing almost as soon as those two words had left her lips. Hectically, he shot a glance down his body, only to see naked skin, the plaster that had slightly soaked through with blood, and his underwear.

Peter swore softly before pulling the next best thing he could find over his head – an Iron Man jumper that Mr Stark had given him for his birthday. He'd never hated the man more than in that exact moment.

"W—What are you doing here?" he stuttered and tried to force his face not to turn the colour of a tomato, knowing perfectly well that it was already too late for that.

MJ raised her eyebrows. "I have your backpack, dweeb," she said before letting it drop onto the floor. Peter hadn't even noticed she had been carrying it, let alone that she was holding anything, way too distracted by the mess that his life had turned into mere minutes ago.

They stared at each other for another few awkward seconds before Peter laughed uncomfortably. "Yeah, thanks for that."

MJ looked at him and tilted her head, eyes narrowing slightly. Peter gulped. "Do you always strip down in random alleyways to change into your Spidey PJs or was that a one-time kind of thing?"

"N—No, I—"

"Because that's really dumb. I'm guessing that you don't want anyone to find out that you're Spider-Man so I'm honestly hoping that you don't do that regularly. Strip down in the middle of a city where anyone could come by, I mean. And with anyone, I mean anyone. Like… Little girls. Imagine a little girl walking past with her ice cream and she sees a random dude standing in a disgusting, and probably smelly, alleyway in only his ridiculous boxers. That's not cool, Parker."

"I don't— wh—"

Peter took a deep breath. "I can't very well change in the school bathroom and just walk out like there's nothing suspicious to see!"

MJ looked at him emotionless. "So you do do that on a regular basis."

Peter closed his eyes and prayed to any God that might listen to him. Thor. Maybe Thor could hear him!

"Anyway," he opened his eyes to see MJ turning around and walking back to the window, "I don't want to spend my time thinking about you spending your free time naked in a stinking alleyway. I just came by to give you your backpack because I doubt that you would've remembered getting it."

She reached for the window and pushed it all the way open. With a little hop, she swung her right leg over and climbed through the frame back out onto the fire escape, leaving Peter standing in his room, wearing nothing but his boxers and an Iron Man jumper.

Before she climbed down, however, she turned around one last time, eyes narrowed slightly, shining with what Peter thought might be worry. "You might want to come up with a way of making sure that nobody sees you in the future. I won't tell anyone, obviously, but if it had been Flash seeing you there… I don't have to continue that thought for you to get it. See you tomorrow, loser," and with that she started her way down the metal ladder, leaving Peter contemplating his entire existence.

*~*Spidey*~*

And that's how it had all gone down. Could you blame him for messing up? Yeah, not really. Being a superhero with a secret identity was stressful enough, but being a superhero with a secret identity and a secret crush (that probably wasn't all that secret if you listened to Ned) was an entirely different matter altogether.

He would die of heart failure. He just knew it.

What didn't help, either, was Mr Stark's reaction when he had relented to having Peter swing to the Tower and… well…

"So, let me get this straight." Mr Stark turned around, arm resting on the back rest of the vast couch, looking straight at the fidgeting teen. "You not only exposed your identity for the whole world to see on an app that you hated just days ago, but you also managed to get caught changing in a dingy alleyway by your girlfriend."

"MJ isn't my girlfriend!"

The billionaire blinked. "That's seriously the only thing that you take from that?"

"Wha— no— Mr Stark, please, I'm freaking out!"

"I would too if I were you." He shrugged before picking up his StarkPhone again. "You messed up, kid."

"I—" Peter took a deep breath, held it for a couple of seconds, and let the air escape his lungs before quite literally folding in on himself and plopping onto the couch next to Mr Stark.

"I know," he said softly. "But, like, it's been a crazy day! First, I thought everything was fine because I didn't miss my train for once and then Ned started bugging me about asking you to buy the Millenium Falcon, which is utterly ridiculous, well, no, that was last week, but then again, it has so many pieces, it's insane, and I can't stop thinking about that, and MJ even talked to us during lunch, which she never does, so I'm like super excited about that, but then Karen sent me a message about that hostage taking and I managed to get myself stabbed after crawling through disgusting vents – aren't vents supposed to be like super cool to climb through? Why are yours so clean anyway? – and then I find out that she saw me in my boxers right next to a dumpster and that I forgot my backpack right next to said dumpster and then she came over – why does she even know where I live? Oh my God – and then I'm just standing there like an idiot in my boxers – as if her seeing me in my underwear once wasn't enough – and then I had to wear that ridiculous hoodie you got me for my birthday last year and— What do I do?"

Mr Stark blinked, and blinked again, not showing any sign of having heard or even understood the word vomit that had just left Peter's mouth. He shook his head aggressively, phone still in hand but forgotten.

"You want me to buy you a toy?"

"What? No! No, I don't! I just want— Oh, forget it. I need your help! It's been crazy today and I know I messed up. MJ's cool, she won't tell anyone, I know she won't. Well, I'm almost one hundred percent sure she won't tell anyone. After all, you said she wouldn't tell anyone since she wants to see me suffer, which is probably right because, honestly? She's hella scary, but that Twitter thing? It's been retweeted so many times by now and the whole world knows I'm Spider-Man! Or is close to figuring it out, I don't know. What do I do?"

Mr Stark raised his eyebrows and slowly lowered his phone. "I haven't been inactive since that stunt you pulled last night," he said calmly, upper body turned sideways so that he could look at Peter comfortably. "I had F.R.I.D.A.Y. have a close eye on both of your Twitter accounts because – and don't take this— you know what? Yes, you can take this personally because you're a klutz. So when she alerted me yesterday afternoon of what you have posted, I told her to delete the tweet. She couldn't, however. Well, she could have, but it had been retweeted so many times by the time I got my hands on it that it wouldn't have made a difference anyway. And I can't just delete the entire internet."

He sniffed and scratched his eyebrow. "So I got in contact with my legal team."

"Your—"

"Yes, the team of lawyers that I have on stand-by for any Avenger issues that might arise. And before you say anything – yes, Spider-Man issues count as Avenger issues, and no, you're not an Avenger, don't even start. From what they told me, we have three options and only one of them makes sense."

Peter sat very still on the couch, not even daring to blink.

"We could, of course, ignore everything and act as if nothing happened. That would mean that you would be the topic of every newspaper article, good and bad, as well as Buzzfeed videos and podcasts, and God knows what else people can come up with. So that's not an option. Another thing we could try to do is to prosecute every single one who has clicked on your tweet and make them all sign NDAs, which will be one hell of a job and not even a hundred human beings would have enough time on planet Earth to accomplish that. That leaves us with option three."

His expression turned serious as he looked Peter in the eye. "You will post two more tweets, one on your private account and one on Spider-Man's account. The one on your private account will link your accidental identity reveal post and will say that there will be more information over on Spider-Man's feed, where you will give an official statement. It will include the circumstances under which you posted the concerning tweet. Don't mention the boxers, though, God, no!" he hurriedly added after Peter's eyes got bigger and bigger and all blood left his face. "Nobody needs that image in their head! No, you will just mention the hostage taking and your injury. That won't be enough for an explanation; people will want more. They always want more. So, we will give a press conference, officially introducing Peter Parker as Spider-Man to the world."

It took him a few seconds to regain the ability to talk, but once he did, one word tumbled out that summed up the current situation perfectly.

"WHAT?!"

Mr Stark had the decency to wince. "Sorry, buddy, but that's all that we can do. The world knows that Spider-Man's civilian name is Peter Parker. There isn't anything we can do about that. All we can do now is minimise the damage it will do to the picture that the public will form of you. And that's best done with being open and honest. Sadly. Trust me," he sniffed, "I know what I'm talking about. Been there, done it myself. Multiple times."

And at that moment, Peter wasn't entirely sure what to feel. His heart constricted, cramped up for a second before picking up speed and stuttering from time to time. He wasn't even twenty yet, hadn't even finished High School, and his life would take a one hundred and eighty degree turn because 1) his identity had been revealed and thus people's opinion of himself as well as the safety of his family and friends would change drastically, morphing everything he had known into a shadow of itself, and 2) he would need to take heart medicine if he didn't reduce the stress on it right now. No joke.

So he just sat there, breathing. In. And out. And in. And out. Trying to get enough oxygen pumping through his system again to push the lightheadedness out of his brain. It wasn't working.

"Okay," he said softly, blinking as he felt as if the room was getting smaller and smaller, his vision fading. Embarrassing. He didn't want to faint on top of everything else! "Okay."

"Okay?" Mr Stark looked at him, eyebrows raised. "That's it? No panicked ramblings or… nothing?"

Peter looked up at him and shrugged. He felt utterly helpless. His life had just been— No. He had ruined his life hours before so he was the one who had to live with it. He didn't want to think of what that would mean for May. He didn't want to start crying.

"I don't have a choice, do I?"

Mr Stark watched him for a few silent seconds, the lines on his forehead deepening just slightly. "It will be alright, you know that, don't you?"

Peter tried to smile, but judging by the twitching left eye of his mentor, he had only succeeded in making the man worry more. He couldn't do anything right, could he? Ugh.

"You will be fine. We have the best people on our side, including Pepper. She's already on it, planning the press conference. You know – who to invite, who to ignore… If someone can do it, she can." He reached for Peter's shoulder and, after a short moment of hesitation, gently placed his warm hand on it. The familiar weight of it helped ground Peter, helped him to breathe. "You will see. There's nothing to worry about. Just let Pepper do her thing. She will talk you through it all and then we can move on from there. You're not alone in this, kid. You're never alone."

It was a nice feeling, hearing that. Because in that moment, Peter knew Mr Stark was right.

He'd never been alone.

*~*Spidey*~*

It all went by in a blur. He had attended the first few minutes of the first Crisis Meeting™ – as Mr Stark had dubbed it – before being sent out by a worried Pepper. He must have looked even worse than he had felt. Which said a lot.

So all he had done when the people around him – his family – had tried to save his reputation was mope. Just like now.

It was a rainy day, ironically fitting his mood perfectly, and he had turned himself into a pathetic blanket burrito lying on the couch. The TV was turned on and showed the bright colours of a random Disney movie that F.R.I.D.A.Y. had turned on in a vain attempt to cheer him up, but he wasn't paying it any mind. His phone was clutched in his hands so tightly that, in order to try and not crush it in his grip, his knuckles had turned white and his whole arm was trembling. But he hadn't turned it on, either. Well, okay, it was turned on, so he felt the constant vibrations of yet another message or notification, but he hadn't unlocked it yet, leaving the screen black, only showing the blurred-out reflection of himself.

Slowly, he turned his head to the left and looked at the clock hanging above the doorway. 10:24am. The press conference would start at 11am, he still needed to shower and pick something nice to wear, but for some reason he couldn't bring himself to get up and go to his room to get ready. He was fully drowning in his self-made pool of pity and didn't have the strength to swim to the surface.

Wow, when had he gotten so poetic? What had happened? Ha, maybe life-changing circumstances did that to you – all of a sudden you turn into a freaking reincarnation of Aristoteles, pondering about stuff that was way too big for anyone's brain to get behind, so how could his brain comprehend what was actually going on right now? Ugh. HELP!

And with that, the doors of the elevator swooshed open, and Mr Stark bustled into the room. As if he was some sort of wizard, having heard Peter's silent cry for help. Maybe he could sense the ever-growing spiral he was on? Ooh, that would be something! But maybe he just had good timing, who knew, really? He'd heard that there was an actual wizard out there somewhere – no idea where, but he doubted he would be in New York, of all places. Peter would suspect wizards to be living in some awesome castle somewhere on a huge mountain; it would seem appropriate. Like Harry Potter! Or Merlin. Neither of them spent their free time in New York – so, honestly? Everything was possible and he had no idea what to think anymore.

"What are you doing?" Mr Stark asked as he came over to where Peter was lying and stopped right before crashing into the couch. He looked from the teen's barely visible face to his feet and back, confusion and indignation written all over his face. "Move!"

"Why?" Peter asked miserably from the deepness of his blanket burrito. "No matter what I say, the world now knows that I have messed up so why bother?"

Mr Stark closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. He took a deep breath before answering calmly. Peter could literally feel the vibrations going through his body as he forced himself to be collected and not freak out. Or yell.

"Alright," he said and nodded slowly. "Alright. Yeah, if you want to wallow in self-pity, you can just let Pepper do the talking and make people think you're a coward."

The billionaire looked at the teen, waiting for a response. Which didn't come. Because what he had said made Peter feel even worse than he had originally already felt, so thank you very much.

Mr Stark noticed the slight change in the youth's facial expression, the tension that built, and let out a long sigh. "Okay, look. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that. But you need to pull yourself together. We need you to go out there and tell the press what happened. And before you say it, yes, I already know that you tweeted about it, but this is something else entirely. Officially revealing your identity to the world is necessary because it will keep the rumours at bay, and those are what would cause problems in the future. We can handle everything, kid, even the security issues, but what we can't get ahead of are unpredictable rumours that can do so much damage. That is if we don't do this today. We need to stop them before they're even made public."

"I—" Peter sighed impatiently and ran both hands through his already messy hair. He would look like a mess on stage, which only gave him one more thing to worry about. He grit his teeth, gave the hairs at the back of his neck a short tuck, and allowed his arms to fall down and rest next to his body, just lying there, doing nothing but fidget. "I'm just— I'm scared."

"I know you are, and I would be, too. If I were in your shoes," he added hurriedly with a small smirk at seeing Peter's glare. Despite himself, a hesitant smile tugged at the teenager's lips. "We both know that I honestly just waited for the opportunity to get as much press as possible, but that's not you, and frankly speaking, I'm happy that you are better than that. More cautious and hesitant. It's a good thing, believe me."

The fluffy blanket fell off his shoulders, revealing his favourite science pun shirt – the one with the two atoms talking about having lost an electron; it's bloody genius – as he slowly sat up. His hair was an utter mess and with a last look at the clock, he climbed off the couch.

"I know I have to do this," he said, eyes trained on the (still warm) blanket, longing to just stay here and never move again, "but knowing that doesn't make it easier."

"It will never get easier, but you will learn to trust those around you more to know that you don't have to do anything on your own. And to accept that. We've got your back – on the battlefield, on a field trip, or at a press conference. It doesn't matter. You're not alone. You're never alone."

Peter could feel his eyes well up as he looked at his mentor. "Thank you," he whispered softly.

"No need to thank me, kiddo." Mr Stark reached forward and ruffled Peter's already messed-up hair. The teen didn't mind, it was beyond saving anyway. "And next time, we might even manage to intervene in time to keep anyone from seeing your current boxer choice out in the open."

The young superhero narrowed his eyes at the now widely grinning billionaire. "You're never letting me forget that, will you?"

"Ha! What do you think?"

*~*Spidey*~*

Peter tried his best to either look at Mr Stark, Pepper, or the wall above the room full of journalists. The clock hanging there had been ticking away merrily, a constant reminder that time didn't go by faster no matter how much he begged it to.

So far, the conference had gone by relatively smoothly. Mr Stark and Pepper did most of the talking and he'd only had to briefly explain how his misshab had happened – patrol, hostage-taking, fight, injury, yada yada yada. It had been alright. And it's not as if that was a lie. Just not the entire truth. Only part of it. A small part of it. Before anyone had had the time to shout questions at him, Pepper had taken over and had answered most of them as everyone knew that neither Peter nor Mr Stark could be trusted with that. The reporters probably knew as well, so they at least tried, but nothing would go anything but by plan whenever Pepper was involved.

Just like today.

Or Peter had thought until a rather mean-looking female reporter raised her hand.

"I have a question for Spider-Man," she said, and as Peter turned towards her, he couldn't do more than start breathing. The woman's smirk promised trouble. "A few of my colleagues have asked this question multiple times by now, but it appears that Miss Potts is doing her best to ward off possible truthful" – Peter gulped – "answers." Peter could hear Pepper grind her teeth, which, oddly enough, calmed him down. "You have been hurt more than once during your vigilante antics" – Mr Stark started breathing – "so how come that a simple hostage situation got you so out of sorts that you actually forgot to use the right Twitter account? In my opinion, that doesn't add up in the slightest."

Peter took a deep breath and tried to channel his self-confident alter ego. He wasn't Peter Parker right now – he didn't know whether he could ever be just Peter Parker anymore and that freaked him out –, he was Spider-Man. The superhero. Who webbed into burning buildings without a second thought, who jumped in front of bullets without fear. He needed to be that person right now.

"I don't know what you want me to say," he said calmly – and for once, he actually sounded as calm as he wanted to sound. (Not that he felt like it, but nobody knew that. Except for you. So psst! No telling on him!) "Stuff like that can happen. I'm only human, and I also make decisions that aren't necessarily thought through to the tee." He looked towards Pepper, who nodded at him, and Mr Stark, whose eyes were shining with something Peter didn't want to define because otherwise he would've turned into a sobbing mess right then and there.

"Last Friday has been a very long day. A lot of things have happened, things that I don't want to lay out for you because they are private and I appreciate that you can respect that" – he heard a soft snort coming from Mr Stark – ", so the injury was just the infamous cherry on top. You must know days like that yourself, when you're just overwhelmed and mentally exhausted because of all the things you've experienced that day. That's when accidents happen and I'm more than thankful that said accident happened online and not in that bank where people could have gotten hurt."

Silence followed that statement. That had been the longest speech he had ever given, let alone in front of the press. Needless to say, he'd never been dealing with any reporters before today, but that didn't keep him from feeling impressed by himself. Spider-Man knew what he was doing. He wasn't some pubescent teenager who was too embarrassed that his crush had seen him in not only his underwear but in his underwear in the middle of the city right next to a dumpster that had leaked some sticky, extremely vomit-inducing liquid that he had touched and oh my God, he didn't even want to know what that had been.

Ew.

Just. Ew.

"That sums it up perfectly."

Peter looked at Mr Stark who had stepped up to the front of the stage, pulling the attention of everyone on him, giving the teen a moment to breathe.

"We all know that Spider-Man is someone that we can trust to be there when he's needed. He'll be there making sure that New York is safe, that his home is safe, and he does everything he can to ensure that he's up to the challenge. Because a challenge it is." He turned to Peter, smiling, and rested a hand on his shoulder, and for some reason, Peter knew that everything was about to change within the next few seconds.

Thinking back to it now as he's sitting on the couch in the living quarters of the Tower, watching Clint completely destroy Steve on Mario Kart, he still can't fathom why he has practically felt his mentor's thought process in that moment. Maybe his Spidey Sense is getting better? He should probably talk to Bruce about that sometime soon because he doesn't know whether that's actually possible. Can abilities that you get through mutating into a hybrid between a spider and a human actually change with time? Does anyone know anything about that? He doubts that there are publications on that matter because knowing that would include experiments and he doesn't even want to start thinking about what that would entail… Especially if the wrong motives were behind the experiments…

But yeah. To think that just a few seconds before he has come to the conclusion that he will never be able to just be Peter Parker again after the press conference yesterday causes him to let out a mixture of insane laughter and hysterical sob. Steve looks at him, worry written all over his face, and Clint's lets out a victorious yell, too engrossed in the game to notice anything apart from, "I'm gonna win, grandpa!"

And it is all Mr Stark's fault.

The billionaire took a deep breath and, his arm tightly wrapped around Peter's shoulders, turned back to the now (very) silent audience.

"Which is the exact reason why I am more than happy to introduce Spider-Man as the newest member of the Avengers!"

His heart stuttered as a violent onslaught of yelled questions reached his ears and the ringing in them got louder and louder, and harder and harder to ignore. He might have fainted right then and there. Honestly? He didn't know.

People had different coping mechanisms when it came to unexpected circumstances. Some dealt with it by actively working through it, while others did their best to ignore what had happened, while others broke because of it. He wasn't entirely certain which one fit for the way he had felt in that moment, but one thing was for sure.

He couldn't remember anything after that sentence.


Peter's a mess. But when isn't he a mess? Heh. Hope you liked it!

Until next time - see ya!