Peter could hear them talking as he came off the elevator. If he hadn't caught his own name being said, he wouldn't have stopped to eavesdrop.

Stark typically didn't talk about anything worth listening in on when he was in his office. Usually, it was "contract-this" and "funding-that" and blah, blah, blah." Nothing that concerned Peter.

But if Stark was talking about him, it was probably worth a listen.

Peter paused a few paces past the elevator doors, turning just slightly towards the windows as if taking in the view—far enough away that no normal person would be able to eavesdrop. Not close enough for FRIDAY to snitch and warn Stark.

He tilted his head slightly, listening to FRIDAY's and Stark's muffled voices.

"And he just sticks with the same route?"

"That is correct."

"He just goes around and around?"

"Yes."

Peter grinned. He started walking again, hands tucked into his pockets, and—right on cue—FRIDAY gave the alert.

"Peter is on his way, boss."

"Open the door for him."

The office door swung open just before Peter reached it and he strode in.

"Hey, kiddo, what can I do for you?" he greeted, glancing up briefly from his desk.

"Do you have a minute?"

The phone on Tony's desk rang insistently. He sighed, but didn't reach for it yet. "I've got a minute, bud, but make it quick if you can."

"Can I go for another run?"

Stark smirked. "Another one? What, are you trying out for the track team now?" He grinned, clearly amused by the idea. "Because I gotta say, that'd be pretty unfair to the other kids."

Peter rolled his eyes. "No. I just feel restless, I guess."

Tony studied him for a second before nodding. "Same route, again?"

"Yeah."

The phone rang again. Stark, to his credit, didn't even look at it. "Okay. You know the drill… talk to FRIDAY, wear the watch, keep an eye on the time…be careful."

Peter nodded along impatiently. "Yeah, I know." Then, more hesitantly. "Will you be back for dinner tonight?"

Tony grimaced painfully. "There's a big contract negotiation I have to be at." He hesitated, glancing at Peter for a beat. Then, his expression softened. "Yeah, I'll be back for dinner. It'll be a late dinner, but I'll be there."

Peter nodded, relieved.

"Why? Did you need something, bud?"

"I was just hoping to talk to you."

That got Tony's attention. He swung back around to face Peter. "Everything okay?"

Peter hesitated. He knew Stark was busy. The ringing phone made that clear. But he also needed to say this. "I'm worried about Harley. He hasn't been himself lately, and I was hoping you could maybe check on him?"

Stark looked surprised at first, so apparently he hadn't noticed a difference in Harley yet.

Peter pressed forward anyway. "It's been hard to get ahold of him. He used to text a lot. Now it's barely anything. I think something might be wrong."

Tony exhaled, rubbing his jaw. "Pete, I'm sure he's just got a lot of school stuff coming up and he's getting busy with that."

"Yeah, but I really don't think it's that. And when he was here, he got this phone call…"

Stark's personal phone rang this time instead and he glared down at it in growing frustration. "Listen, Pete, I've got to take this. But we can talk more about this later. Okay? And I'm sure Harley is just busy."

He pressed the phone to his ear, already irritated. "What is it now? Yeah? Okay, give me a sec."

Turning back to Peter, Tony pointed at him with emphasis. "Aim to get back before eight, okay? We'll talk."

Peter nodded, then left without saying anything.


Peter popped a stick of gum into his mouth as he made his way down York Avenue. He reached into his pocket and his fingers brushed against the tiny tracker, now taped securely to an equally tiny battery. He'd found the lithium-polymer micro battery after some rummaging in the lab—likely stripped from one of Clint's hearing aids during a repair. He figured Clint wouldn't miss it.

He'd always intended to remove the tracker. At first, just to mess with Stark, but also on principle. But lately, it was more than that. Lately he was irritated.

Two nights ago, under the bright light of his bathroom mirror and away from FRIDAY's prying sensors, Peter had finally cracked open the watch.

It was separate from the watch's systems, almost like a backup. That was smart if Peter was actually in peril and the watch was damaged or dead, but it was also a weakness that Peter could easily exploit.

"Sorry, Mr. Stark." Peter muttered under his breath as he plucked the tracker free.

He wired it to the tiny battery so it would keep transmitting, then methodically disabled the GPS in both his watch and phone. Push notifications? Off. Background app syncing? Disabled.

Finally, he pulled up the Manhattan bus route map.


After leaving Stark's office, Peter shifted his weight on the sidewalk as the M66 bus rumbled up to the stop, air brakes hissing. Bus 3866. He made a mental note of the number. As the doors swung open, people shuffled forward to board. Now.

He passed behind it, moving smoothly. In a quick motion, he pressed his gum—tracker securely wedged inside—into a small crevice just above the rear wheel well.

The doors shut. The bus rumbled off. And just like that…

He was free.

Peter exhaled slowly, shoulders relaxing as he watched the bus disappear down the avenue. Same as yesterday. And the day before.

The M66 was perfect for this. A simple crosstown route, looping through the Upper East Side, cutting through Central Park, rolling past a dozen stops, and then right back to this spot—all in about 50 minutes. After three or four loops, Peter would swing by and retrieve the tracker.

From FRIDAY's perspective, Peter was out for a run, looping his usual 2 mile route 3 or 4 times. Even the speed was believable, as the crosstown buses seemed to run at a relatively leisurely but solid pace, like a jogger. The pattern was perfect.

For a few hours, Peter was off the radar.

He'd taken full advantage of it, too. The first morning, he just wandered. No destination. No map. Just absorbing the city, watching people go about their lives. He'd eaten entirely too many hot dogs, but he learned which vendors were the best.

He came back to the tower for lunch, and to see if FRIDAY had alerted Stark to anything suspicious. But all was well. So, Peter went out again that afternoon. He committed subway routes to memory, snuck behind someone to get through a turnstile, explored Brooklyn, and found a great sandwich shop.

Yesterday, he'd finally splurged on a MetroCard. It felt like crossing a line, using Stark's money for something other than food—and for something he might not approve of. But it expanded his range. So he explored Queens, and found a great Thai restaurant.

He considered going out on a bike, next. But walking just felt right. And anyway, the single tracker in the watch had been a piece of cake, but the bike might present more of a challenge to debug.

At any rate, the exploring kept him busy while he waited for school to start in a few days.

And it distracted him from the growing feeling of being unmoored just as everyone else had jumped ship.

Pepper was in Japan and even Nat had gone off on some mission, leaving a noticeable void in Peter's mornings.

Stark was buried in work. He said it was because of Pepper's trip, but Peter suspected it was more to do with all the work he'd put off for Peter's benefit ever since he moved into the tower. It had to have caught up to him by now.

Stark had important things to do. It was just a matter of time before he had to get back to his regular life. And Peter supposed this was how it would be from now on.

He tried not to think about it too much.

The night he'd cracked open the watch was the second time Peter had wandered into the kitchen for some company only to find that Stark wasn't there.

Later, Peter heard him come home. Heard him go straight to the kitchen, putter around making a pot of coffee and a bunch of unnecessary noise.

Peter could have joined him then, but he stayed in his room. He didn't know why. His own pettiness surprised and confused him. After a while he heard Stark go to bed, and Peter's heart ached, adding to his confusion. Was he mad or not?

Frustrated, he had locked himself in the bathroom with his watch and multitool.


Manhattan, Brooklyn, Queens…where to next? The world was his oyster for the next couple hours.

He turned to a man standing at the bus stop.

"If I were a tourist who only had a couple hours to see something really cool, where would you suggest I go?"

The man stared at him dumbfounded at first, and Peter thought he wasn't going to answer. The people of Manhattan, Peter had observed recently, were not as friendly as the ones in Queens. The ones in Queens had been chock full of advice. And one lady had even given him a churro just for helping her cross the street while she listed the must-see attractions of her borough.

So, he wasn't expecting much, but then the man surprised him. "I'd tell you to ride the Roosevelt Island Tramway. Feels like you're flying across the city."

Flying across the city? That piqued his interest.


The tram swayed gently as it glided above the East River. Peter leaned against the window, watching the city stretch out beneath him. The late afternoon sun cast golden light over the skyline, gleaming off the glass buildings, making the water shimmer below.

He exhaled slowly, pressing his forehead against the cool window. The noise of the city—the car horns, the distant sirens, the endless chatter of people on the streets—all felt distant up here.

The tram floated forward, sliding smoothly toward Roosevelt Island, weightless and slow.

Peter had spent so much time weaving through the streets these past couple days, pushing past crowds, navigating the press of bodies and endless traffic. But from above? It all looked so small.

He watched the miniature yellow cabs crawl along the avenues. Tiny specks of people hurried across intersections, completely unaware of him watching them. It was… peaceful.

A tight, breathy laugh broke his train of thought.

"Oh my God," a woman muttered near him. "I can't believe I let them talk me into this."

Peter turned his head slightly to see a middle-aged tourist clutching the railing near the center of the tram. She was gripping it like the thing might suddenly drop out of the sky, her knuckles white against the metal bar. A bright green "I ❤️ NY" tote bag hung off one shoulder, and her phone was gripped tightly in her free hand, camera app open but shaky.

She let out another nervous laugh and turned slightly toward Peter. "Is it—does it always shake like this?"

Peter glanced up as the tram rocked ever so slightly in the wind. The movement was subtle, almost soothing. "Yeah, it's normal," he assured her.

She nodded quickly, forcing another chuckle. "Yeah. Yeah, of course. I mean, it's totally safe. It's not like it's going to—" She trailed off and swallowed thickly. "Fall."

Peter watched as her grip tightened again. He tilted his head, realizing something very strange.

He wasn't nervous. Not even a little bit.

The height, the swaying, the slow, weightless feeling of floating above the city—it didn't scare him.

If anything, he felt relaxed. Settled. Safe.

Like he was exactly where he was supposed to be. Peter liked this feeling. Something inside him felt at home up here.

"You're really calm," the woman observed, eyeing him like he was some sort of alien. "I bet you commute on this thing every day and think I'm a hopelessly silly old woman."

Peter blinked at her. "You're not silly at all. I think I just like heights."

She let out a dry, shaky laugh. "Well, good for you, kid."

She hesitated, then gestured toward her phone. "Could you—uh—take a picture for me? I want to prove I actually did this, but if I let go of this bar, I might pass out."

Peter grinned, taking the phone from her and angling the camera. "Smile."

She tried. It looked more like a grimace.

Still, Peter snapped a few photos, handing the phone back. "There. Solid proof."

The woman exhaled. "Thank you. You're such a nice, helpful young man."

Peter just shrugged. "No problem, ma'am." The old woman in Queens had said something similar. But Peter didn't think he was going out of his way to be nice. He was just being normal.

The tram drifted toward its docking platform, but his mind was elsewhere.

He glanced toward the buildings clustered along the East River, their rooftops catching the last of the sunlight.

Could he climb one?

His fingers twitched at the thought and he could practically feel the electrons shift at their tips, creating a fuzzy, staticky feeling. He hadn't really tested his stickiness much. Not really. Just enough to get a sense of it, but never for anything fun.

What if he climbed a building and sat on the rooftop and watched the city like this?

His heart thrummed with anticipation.

Maybe later.

Maybe tonight.

The tram jolted softly as it docked, and Peter shook himself from his thoughts. He needed to get back. He still had to retrieve the tracker from the bus. But...perhaps he had time?

With one last glance toward the skyline, he stepped off the tram, already making plans.