We create our own demons.

To: IronManTS

From: thekid

Tony! The garage! It's all so awesome! Don't know what I'm going to tell Mom. Maybe nothing. Secrets not told can't be shared, right? And I don't need any bullies sneaking in and smashing or grabbing things, so maybe I'll just keep my trap shut. I mean, it's not like she goes in there anyway.

Speaking of bullies, know your enemy, right? I found out Tommy has hay fever. I convinced Mr. Huckford to pay me to tidy up his barn. I swept up a bunch of hay dust and then I made an auto-release container for it. The next time Tommy tries to punch me he's going to be sneezing like crazy!

Well,

Bye!

Texting:

Tony: WTF?!

Pep: ?

Tony: The Kid has my email address.

Pep: What kid?

Tony: What kid!? The Kid. The only kid I know by name. Wait a second, do I know his name? I don't think I know his name.

Pep: I'm busy Tony. Just reply to him.

Tony: Fine.

Reply, to a kid, The Kid, how the hell was I supposed to do that. I don't talk to kids. I don't do personal emails. That's what personal assistants are for. Speaking of, I needed to hire another one of those. Natalie turned turn coat and only works for Shield now. Probably for the best. No more corporate espionage. But how the hell was I supposed to find another Pepper. Not possible.

Which left me with the uncomfortable task of actually responding to The Kid's email. What the hell was his name anyway?

Kid,

Speaking of keeping your trap shut, what's with all the disclosing of future crimes in writing. And here I thought you actually owned a set of brain cells. Second off, I'm sending you a set of EpiPens. Keep them on you. No need to add a 187 to your criminal docket. Use one on the asshole if he goes hypoxic on you.

Wow! Now I'm complicit. Know what, never mind. I'm sending you another cricket pinata. Use that. It'll get him off your back and no hospital stay or cell time for either of you. Trash the hay fever trap.

But if you do use it, get video. It'd be hilarious.

Fuck! I suck at this advice thing. DO NOT, UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES, RECORD YOUR CRIMES. That's something only idiots do. And neither of us are idiots. I only portray one in emails.

Call if you need bail.

Don't keep in touch.

The Mechanic

He ignored my orders. Can you believe that? No one ignores my orders. I'm The Tony Stark. But what does the Kid do (still don't know his real name, don't care), he freaking emails me. All the freaking time!

Mr. Stark,

I aced that math test.

Dear Mechanic,

Here is my re-design for the potato gun. It won first place! You wouldn't believe how far that potato flew! It smashed the competition!

Mr. Stark,

Do you think you can make it to my science fair? I know you're busy. I'll just send pictures.

And on and on they went.

Another boy, another time, sometime after the crash of my invisible plane, and rescue of Team Avengers upgrade kit, another email came through.

Hi Mr. Stark,

School's going great. I know you said not to pester you like I did with Happy. And I'm trying. But I've got to let you know about this drug syndicate I'm working on taking down. At first I was just webbing up the drugs or the hands or the dealers, and notifying the cops. Karen followed up and discovered the cops weren't doing sh, uh, crap about it, too busy with more serious crimes, or so she says.

There aren't enough cops and me to go around to stop all the crime. I've decided to aim for the source. Karen's found the building where they're cooking the drugs. It's like I'm in the middle of a Breaking Bad episode fighting against Mr. White!

Well, got to go. Crime to fight.

Pete

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck! "F.R.I.D.A.Y., suit, now. Track the brat."

"Which brat, sir?"

"The New York one. Little shit is about to get a fire lit in his ass, be it from me or a meth fucking lab explosion." I took off. "Did we ever purchase a high up cop in that part of town? I put that on our to do list, right?"

"Contacting Officer Ellison."

"Get the kid on the line too."

Should I be pleased that he's stopping drug dealers instead of taking drugs? I should be pleased, right? 'Cause I totally would have taken them; had done plenty of experimenting in my youth. And not youth. Pete was too 1950s square to partake. But even genius brains don't take full formation until the mid 20s, or so biologist proclaim, and Pete's brain thought taking on a meth lab on his own was a bright idea.

The footage being relayed from Karen to my H.U.D. had my heart thrumming in my throat.

"Hello."

"Ellison, it's Stark. Drug bust. My assistant is sending you the address. Get your crew there. Now." I disconnected the call with a thought; B.A.R.F. was more than just therapy tech. Ellison had better come through or his monthly gifts were about to vanish, along with his ambition of climbing the police chain of command.

The brat was chatting with the drug aficionados. Correction. He was complimenting their chemistry skills and questioning why such intelligent fellows hadn't pursued careers in the advancing of society and asking if they too had dying relatives in the need of medical care, like the aforementioned Mr. White. What was with this kid? He didn't have good enough sense to know when to just shoot and shut your trap.

For 3 seconds, he had enough brain cells to know to take cover while bullets flew. I used that time to intrude. "Busy, Spiderman?"

"Mr. Stark! Ah, uh, yeah, kind of busy, here."

I broke through a window and landed next to the kid. Fuck. I was officially, unofficially on an unsanctioned mission. Hopefully Ross would take a bribe of weapons rather than try to pressure me into some boring ass publicity rah, rah for the troops thing.

F.R.I.D.A.Y. gave me pop up vids of cops, sans sirens, making their way here.

"Time to go, Kid."

"But Mr. Stark! The lab…"

"Is about to get raided by the NYPD. Time to go."

"But I can help! I can keep the bad guys from leaving, please, Mr. Stark."

I turned, and let my targeting tech place a bullet in the wrist of each bad guy still holding a gun.

"Mr. Stark!" He screeched in distress, "How are they going to better themselves without working hands?"

My eyes rolled so hard my brain hurt. What was wrong with this kid? Did everything have to be a shade of grey? Everything except his ass, which was about to turned a lovely shade of red, to match his suit.

Auntie May and I had come to an agreement. Spiderman minus suit=Spiderman in pajamas, running around, trying to stop crime. Grounding was out, and good ol' corporal punishment was in. A stinging ass to remind him that some missions were meant to be Team missions, not solo-acts, then he'd be on his way to prevent the next bike snatching, like a friendly neighborhood Spiderman was supposed to do.

I picked him up under the armpits, and took off, ignoring his protest.