"It has been three weeks since the incident in Queens, New York, and authorities are still searching for the masked vigilante known as Spider-Man, who is believed to be responsible for the crime. Recent investigation provides that May Parker-"

Peter had to resist the urge to snap up upon hearing his aunts name

"-one of the casualties of the attack-"

A knot formed in his stomach when he heard the reporter refer to May as a casualty, as if she wasn't a person, didn't have a life, didn't have feelings, didn't have a family...

"-was the legal guardian of her fifteen year old nephew, Peter Parker. Neighbors said he was always with her, and yet at the moment of her death, he is nowhere to be seen. Perhaps he simply took advantage of the opportunity to sieze his freedom, but there is a possibility that he was an insider behind the attack. The New York Police Department and the FBI are currently searching diligently for the boy for further investigation."

Peter had to block the sound coming from the news broadcast on the TV behind him from his mind, which was not easy considering that his enhanced hearing constantly blasted any and every sound into his eardrums, regardless of whether or not he wanted to hear it. Pulling the soft hood of his blue sweatshirt farther down his face, Peter searched the shelves of the small corner store for something he could afford. Fingering his remaining four dollars and twenty-one cents cautiously, he picked up a sandwich with a sticker that said "$3.52" and brought it to the cash register and paid.

Peter let his mind wander as he ate the sandwich and walked back to his little corner of the universe. The little corner where he had stored his belongings. No one ever went there, except for him, which is why it was his. Which is why he was startled and shocked when he arrived to see a man standing in front of him. The man was just a little taller than Peter. He was wearing a grey jacket with a hood and sunglasses, obscuring Peter's view of his face.

"Hello, Peter Parker," the man said in a voice that sounded so familiar. Why did it sound familiar? How does he know who I am?

The stranger walked closer. Almost whispering, he said, "Or, should I say, Spider-Man."

Peter repressed a gasp. He stared at the man, trying not to show fear in his eyes or voice. "Who are you?" he asked warily, actively steadying his voice and consciously trying to avoid his usual pubescent voice cracks.

The man took a half step back. "A master off disguise, apparently," he stated, his voice laced with mirth. The man removed the glasses and hood in one swift motion. "Now do you recognize me?" Tony Stark asked. Even now, Tony was one for dramatic flair.

Peter stumbled backwards. "W- What are you... how did you... whaaaat-"

"Relax, kid," he said, "I'm here to make a deal with you."

"A- a deal?" Peter could feel his heart beating with anticipation as curiosity began to stream through him.

"How much money do you have currently? Like, a dollar?"

"Sixty-nine cents," he responded, suppressing the edge of a smile that began to grab the corners of his mouth. "I don't even have enough money for chicken nuggets."

Tony Stark blinked at him. "If that was a pop culture reference, I'm not going to understand it." He cleared his throat. "You're what, like 12? Broke, homeless... your identity is still hidden but time is running out before you're going to have to jeopardize that feigned safety in exchange for fulfillment of your basic human needs... I know how it works. You need help, desperately. I'm here to offer it to you. And in exchange you can do som thing for me."

Peter shifted his weight, rolling the options through his head. Or really, option. What else could he do? Besides, Iron Man already knew Peter's identity. What could he lose? "Ok," he said.

"Great," Mr. Stark said, clasping his hands together. "Here's how this will work. I will make sure your name is cleared, so the world will know that both Peter Parker and Spider-Man are innocent. I'll give you a place to stay and food et cetera. And in exchange, I have something that I want you to help me with."

"What's that?" Peter asked.

Tony smirked. "Have you ever been to Germany?"

—

Peter opened the back door to the black car and felt like he shouldn't go in. It was the nicest car he'd ever seen. He'd never been particularly wealthy, especially not after his parents' death, and had never had the luxury of nice things like this.

"Go on in," Mr. Stark said behind him, and Peter climbed onto the fancy black leather seats.

"Is this the kid?" asked the driver as Mr. Stark climbed into the passengers seat.

"Yep," he replied, buckling his seat belt.

"He doesn't look homeless," the driver claimed. He looked back at Peter over his shoulder. "When's the last time you took a shower?"

"Last night."

The driver frowned.

"How'd you manage that?" Tony asked.

"Not important," Peter retorted politely, the corners of his mouth turning up into a mischievous smile. He shifted in his seat. "Wait, so let me get this straight. You want me to go to Germany to fight Captain America."

"Yep, that's about right," Mr. Stark replied. "As I said earlier, we had a bit of a falling out, and Cap sorta went crazy. We gotta work some sense into him."

"By attempting to best him in hand-to-hand combat?"

"Yes," Mr. Stark said with an air of haughty finality that Peter did not want to dispute.

For the rest of the car ride, Peter sat quietly in the expensive leather seat, wondering how on earth he had been recruited by Iron Man.

—

When the car parked, Peter climbed out of the car, gazing in awe at the building in front of him. The Avengers Tower.

"Where did you think we'd be going?"

"I don't know," Peter said, his voice flooded with awe as he stared up at the tower.

Mr. Stark and the driver, whose name Peter had deduced was Happy, led him into the building. As they walked into the elevator, Mr. Stark said, "Take us to the guest hall," talking apparently to no one. Then, an automated voice coming from nowhere and everywhere responded, "Right away, sir," and the elevator zoomed off.

"Wow," Peter whispered, the sound barely escaping his lips, but Mr. Stark heard it and smiled.

The elevator stopped and the metal doors opened, revealing a long hallway in front of them. Mr. Stark led Peter to a small room with sky blue wallpaper and grey carpet, a mahogany desk and bed, the latter of which was draped with a grey bedspread and a blue pillow. "This is your room for the time being," Mr. Stark said.

"Thank you," Peter said, his quiet voice leaking with awe and sincerity.

Mr. Stark nodded, and waved his hand in the direction of Happy Hogan, who was standing behind him. "This is Happy. He's kind of your point guy on this, but try not to stress him out. We'll be leaving in one week, and in that week I'll have to help you sort out all this nonsense you got yourself into and update your suit. Any questions?"

Peter shook his head, eyes wide with excitement. In reality, he had quite a few questions, but they were popping in and out of his head much faster than he could handle, and most of them were stream-of-consciousness nonsense and not actual, grammatically sound questions.

"Great," Mr. Stark said, stopping at the door and turning around to look Peter in the eye before leaving. "I'll see you around, kid." And then he walked out.

"He reminds me of you," Happy said, after the door was closed.

"Quirky, stubborn, lively... I like him."

What they didn't know was that Peter had enhanced audio reception and could hear every word they were saying. Spider-Man sat on his bed and smiled.