Chapter Six: In Which Spider-Man Is Born

Spider-Man crouched on the roof of the Baxter Building, looking down over the city below through the reflective eyes of his mask. It was ten o'clock, and back in Stark Tower, the door to Peter Parker's room was locked. He had set the security camera in his room to a continuous loop of him sleeping and used his Stark-issued phone to erase all traces of his departure through the bedroom window.

Ever since he was a little kid, all Peter had wanted was to join the Avengers. Every Christmas, he had wished for his powers, wished for his suit, wished for anything that would put him on equal footing with his fathers. Now he had his ticket in, and he had finally realized the futility of all his wishing.

There was no way in heaven or earth that Tony and Steve would allow him into the Avengers. If they knew, they would never let him fight. Peter didn't blame them, of course- the risks you take and the risks you let your children take rarely ever coincide. He was a big boy. He knew that. He also knew that he had to do this.

Spider-Man was indubitably super, but was he hero material? The world was about to find out.

He somersaulted off the roof, a yell tearing itself free of his throat, and plummeted towards the ground. A few dozen feet away from becoming a spider-shaped spot on the concrete, he twitched his wrist, and yards of delicate white thread shot out to attach itself to the nearest skyscraper. His stomach continued to drop even as he was jerked forward, a red-and-blue pendulum swinging above Fifth Avenue.

As he made his way downtown, he gave Hell's Kitchen a wide berth. He had no desire to mess with Daredevil's territory. As heroes went, Double-D was the opposite of the Avengers, but Spidey had no less respect for him. There was the glory and the importance of being a world-saver and a war-winner like his fathers, and then there were the nine-to-five masks.

There was no glory in the job, but someone had to do it, didn't they? Someone had to stop the rapes and muggings, the convenience store hold-ups and desperate, spur-of-the-moment murders. Someone had to give the Avengers and the Fantastic Four and the X-Men a world worth saving.

Who better to do it than your friendly neighborhood spider?

He dropped down into the Lower East Side as a muffled cry reached his super-sensitive ears. It was the distinctive sound of a hand being pressed over someone's mouth. With the finesse of a neurosurgeon, he crawled down several stories of fire escapes without making a sound. Below, a man had a woman shoved up to a wall, one hand on her collar, the other over her mouth. She whimpered in terror, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes and over his fingers.

"Stop fighting me," he hissed furiously. "I'm not playing games here. I don't want to hurt you. I saw how you looked at me- you want this. Just let me..." his voice lowered, and he pressed his lips to her neck.

"I don't think so, Doctor Acula." Spider-Man landed feet-first on the bigger man's shoulders, driving him to his knees and forcing himself to release the woman. Sobbing, she fled into the darkness.

The man threw himself at Spidey, who did a neat backflip out of the way and dispatched him with a roundhouse kick to the head. "Well, that was easy. I'll be around all week, folks," he announced, bowing deeply. "I'm happy to take out the garbage."

Confident and satisfied with one win under his belt, Spidey took to the rooftops again. He stopped two muggings in the Lower East Side, one in Chelsea, and an attempted armed robbery in Chelsea before returning to Stark Tower at four am. He had left the wanted burglar dangling outside the nearest precinct and let the muggers go. His torso was mottled with bruises from the few lucky strikes his opponents had gotten in, plus a couple of web-slinging mishaps, but several criminals would be going home tonight with broken wrists.

He reentered his room via the window, changed into his pajamas, and collapsed into bed. Just before he fell asleep, he closed the window and disabled the video loop, returning JARVIS to its normal functioning state. In the backpack under his bed, the Spider-Man suit lay crumpled and waiting to be donned once again.

"Rise and shine, big guy!"

Tony barged into the room not three hours later, bringing with him the tantalizing smells of bacon and coffee. Peter groaned and rolled over, trying to stop himself from salivating. His stomach growled hungrily and he needed to pee like nobody's business, but nothing short of the return of Galactus was going to get him out of bed.

Steve appeared behind Tony, a spatula in one hand, and rested his chin happily on his husband's shoulder. "He's cute when he's sleepy," he said with a sigh. Peter groaned. His parents were in a rare mood right now. He could just tell- they didn't just love each other today, they were in love. They'd never leave him alone now. "I made chocolate chip pancakes shaped like dinosaurs," Steve added.

Muttering in frustration, Peter rolled out of bed and onto the floor with a thump. "Give... me..." hr dragged himself across the floor dramatically and latched onto Tony's leg. "Carry meeee."

"What's the magic word?"

Peter looked up, eyes wide. "Daddy?"

Grunting with the effort, Tony grabbed his son under the arms and pulled him to his feet. "You're taller than me," he complained, wrapping one arm around Peter's waist and towing Peter into the kitchen, where he collapsed into a chair, reminiscent of a gangly rag doll.

"Feed me," he said, and his fathers happily obliged.

After breakfast, the trio gathered around the sofa set. "JARVIS, find the latest episode of Jersey Shore and play it," Tony ordered. The other two groaned in disappointment.

"I can't believe that's a real show," said Steve. "I can't believe that's reality."

"Should have stayed in the ice, Pops." Peter patted his father on the shoulder sympathetically. "Although I'm pretty sure the amount of aerosol can hairspray used in just the New Jersey area would speed up global warming enough to melt you out of there in no time. Now, don't even get me started on Snooki's hair. What is she hiding in there, the Crown Jewels? Oy vey."

"Quiet, you two! I think this is the one where they go to Italy."

"They can stay in Italy, too." Tony punched Peter lightly in the stomach, and then recoiled, shaking his hand. "Have you been holding out on us? Come look at this, Cap." He lifted his son's shirt up, revealing Peter's muscled torso, complete with last night's cuts and bruises.

Steve looked him over critically. "Where did you get these?"

"He's talking about the bruises and the rock-hard abdominals," Tony added.

For a split second, barely a hair's worth of time, Peter considered really telling them the truth. The consequences would be much lower if he told them now, rather than them finding out months or even years down the line. They would come around to his way of thinking eventually, and then Tony could help him build a better suit, and Steve could help him hone his strength and speed. They would be the number one crime-fighting family, America's darlings.

All this ran through his mind in a moment, and then he shook his head. "Alert the media," he said mockingly. "We've been playing tackle football in gym. Gary Lo fouled me the other day. I think you should call his mother and tell her to have a talk with him."

His parents were silent for a moment. Then Tony dropped his shirt and said, "He plays dirty, you play dirty." Crisis averted.

When Tony turned away, Steve shook his head. "I'm proud of you," he whispered in Peter's ear. "You're wise kid, Peter. Wiser than me and wiser than your father, and I know that you're going to get farther than either of us. Than both of us put together."

A blush rose in Peter's cheeks, and he quickly said, "Yeah, I appreciate your faith in me, Pops, but I actually had a question concerning the legality of using elbows..."