Chapter 1: ς๏Ｖ𝓔︎я︎
Chapter Text
Chapter 2: ί︎𝓷𝐓︎я︎๏ᵈυ︎Ć︎𝐓︎เ︎๏𝓷
Chapter Text
“‘𝓱︎𝓔︎ⓨ︎ ģυⓨ︎ｓ, 𝐓︎𝔥𝓔︎ เ︎ᒪ︎ᒪ︎𝓔︎ģⒶ︎ᒪ︎ w𝓔︎Ⓐ︎Ⓟ︎๏𝓷ｓ ᵈ𝓔︎Ⓐ︎ᒪ︎ Ｆ︎𝓔︎я︎я︎ⓨ︎ wⒶ︎ｓ Ⓐ︎𝐓︎ 𝐓︎𝓔︎𝓷! 𝕪︎๏υ ϻเ︎ｓｓ𝓔︎ᵈ เ︎𝐓︎!’”
★★★★★★
IN WHICH || Lexi Stark faces her greatest enemy yet: high school.
★★★★★★
Takes place during the events of Spider-Man: Homecoming, from 4 August 2015 to 29 October 2015.
★★★★★★
Story written from 23 February 2025 to 25 May 2025, and book completed on 17 June 2025. Published from 4 August 2025 to 8 September 2025.
There are a total of 304 pages, 76,864 words, and 422,030 characters in this book. Written in Google Docs with the IM Fell DW Pica font, size 12.5.
★★★★★★
The following story is rated PG-13 for strong language and descriptions of violence.
Chapter 3: ρ︎ᒪ︎Ⓐ︎ⓨ︎ᒪ︎เ︎ｓ𝐓︎
Chapter Text
I. Marvel Studios Fanfare \ Michael Giacchino
II. Can't Blame a Girl for Trying \ Sabrina Carpenter
III. Birthday \ Katy Perry
IV. Seven Nation Army — The Voice Performance \ Melanie Martinez
V. I'm Ready \ AJR
VI. Everything's Better with Perry \ Robbie Wyckoff
VII. Blank Space \ Taylor Swift
VIII. Bring Me To Life \ Evanescence
IX. A-Punk \ Vampire Weekend
X. Macarena — Bayside Boys Remix \ Los Del Rio
XI. Tetris Theme \ Video Game Players
XII. Training Wheels \ Melanie Martinez
XIII. ballad of a homeschooled girl \ Olivia Rodrigo
XIV. Fifteen \ Taylor Swift
XV. A Place in this World \ Taylor Swift
XVI. Lunchbox Friends \ Melanie Martinez
XVII. Freaks \ Surf Curse
XVIII. Take On the World — Theme Song From "Girl Meets World" \ Rowan Blanchard, Sabrina Carpenter
XIX. You Belong With Me \ Taylor Swift
XX. Girlfriend \ Avril Lavigne
XXI. Who's That Chick? \ David Guetta, Rihanna
XXII. What the Hell \ Avril Lavigne
XXIII. Welcome To New York \ Taylor Swift
XXIV. Boom Clap \ Charli xcx
XXV. Glad You Came \ The Wanted
XXVI. The Underdog \ Spoon
XXVII. My Calling \ AJR
XXVIII. Va Va Voom \ Nicki Minaj
XXIX. Recess \ Melanie Martinez
XXX. High Hopes \ Panic! At The Disco
XXXI. Blitzkrieg Bop \ Ramones
XXXII. Theme (from "Spider Man") [Original Television Series] \ Michael Giacchino
XXXIII. Hall of Fame \ The Script, will.i.am
XXXIV. 100 Bad Days \ AJR
XXXV. Say So \ Doja Cat
XXXVI. Lips Are Movin \ Meghan Trainor
XXXVII. Talk Too Much \ COIN
XXXVIII. Oops!...I Did It Again \ Britney Spears
XXXIX. This Is What Makes Us Girls \ Lana Del Rey
XL. (Can We Be Friends?) \ Conan Gray
XLI. Leaning On You \ HAIM
XLII. Wild Ones \ Flo Rida, Sia
XLIII. Fight or Flight \ Conan Gray
XLIV. Primadonna \ MARINA
XLV. Money, Money, Money \ ABBA
XLVI. The Outside \ Taylor Swift
XLVII. You Don't Own Me \ Dusty Springfield
XLVIII. Blow Your Mind (Mwah) \ Dua Lipa
XLIX. Good Girl Gone Bad \ Rihanna
L. Training Season \ Dua Lipa
LI. Bad Idea \ Dove Cameron
LII. jealousy, jealousy \ Olivia Rodrigo
LIII. Bang Bang \ Jessie J, Ariana Grande, Nicki Minaj
LIV. The Sweet Escape \ Gwen Stefani, Akon
LV. Beggin' \ Måneskin
LVI. T.N.T. \ AC/DC
LVII. Sk8er Boi \ Avril Lavigne
LVIII. Say Amen (Saturday Night) \ Panic! At The Disco
LIX. Washing Machine Heart \ Mitski
LX. Best Friend Breakup \ Lauren Spencer Smith
LXI. cardigan \ Taylor Swift
LXII. Superheroes \ The Script
LXIII. Telephone \ Lady Gaga, Beyoncé
LXIV. Kid \ Imagine Dragons
LXV. Too Young \ Sabrina Carpenter
LXVI. Liability \ Lorde
LXVII. . \ girl in red
LXVIII. I Won't Say (I'm In Love) \ Susan Egan, Cheryl Freeman, LaChanze, Vaneese Thomas, Lillias White, Disney
LXIX. Obsessed \ Mariah Carey
LXX. Hey Stephen \ Taylor Swift
LXXI. bad idea right? \ Olivia Rodrigo
LXXII. Theme From New York, New York — 2008 Remastered \ Frank Sinatra
LXXIII. Shut Up And Drive \ Rihanna
LXXIV. Desperado \ Rihanna
LXXV. Hey Kids \ Molina, Late Verlane
LXXVI. The Phoenix \ Fall Out Boy
LXXVII. I Was Made For Lovin' You \ KISS
LXXVIII. If Looks Could Kill \ Heart
LXXIX. Beautiful Is Boring \ BONES UK
LXXX. Vienna \ Billy Joel
LXXXI. We're Going to Be Friends \ The White Stripes
LXXXII. Apple Pie \ Lizzy McAlpine
LXXXIII. Tongue Tied \ GROUPLOVE
LXXXIV. Spider-Man: Homecoming Suite \ Michael Giacchino
LXXXV. First Mission \ Christophe Beck
Spotify playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7skrsJo7RazX10DO55p0su?si=C_iOtOooQKOjMwEe6qn1Iw&pi=1sJOKsFwQtuEz
Chapter 4: ςᒪ︎Ⓐ︎เ︎ϻｓ
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➤ Lexi Chloe Stark.
Voice claim: Jenna Ortega
Face claim: Hannah Cheramy
Suit claim:
(Ignore any inconsistencies in size, perspective, etc. They’re just results of me drawing this freehand. Also I know I went super specific with the labeling, but I wasn’t sure how obvious any of it would be, and I wanted it to be as clear as possible.)
➤ AVIS.
Voice claim: Carey Mulligan
➤ Everyone else.
Their respective actors from the MCU.
Chapter 5: Ŧเ︎ᒪ︎𝓔︎
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Property of Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division
A minimum of Clearance Level 6 is required to view the following file.
Full Name: Lexi Chloe Stark
Alias: Black Star
Date of Birth: 5 August 2000
Age: 14
Gender: Cisgender Girl (she/her)
Sex: Female
Vital State: Alive
Cause of Death: N/A
Clearance Level: 6
Hair Color: Brown
Eye Color: Brown
Race: Caucasian
Ethnicities: American, Italian
Height: 5’4
Status: Ally, Avenger
Place of Birth: Cobleskill Regional Hospital, Cobleskill, New York, The United States of America
Current Address: Avengers Tower, Manhattan, New York, The United States of America
Parents: Anthony Edward Stark (father; alive), Patricia Lena Milman (mother; alive)
Siblings: N/A
Languages Spoken: English, Italian, French
Highest Education: High School (Homeschooled)
Enhanced abilities include phasing through solid objects and turning self invisible (came from direct contact with vibranium energy). Has mastered these abilities and is able to use them regularly in the field. Knows defensive and offensive tactics for hand-to-hand combat. Can work with a variety of weapons, including pistols, daggers, and bow and arrow. Has a Stark Tech suit with its own artificial intelligence (AVIS) included, as well as a device known as the Shooting Star to aid in combat and flight. Technological genius. Can hack through standard firewall protection in under 1 minute. Does various sports including swim, horseback riding, tennis, gymnastics, archery, and water polo. Can track any sort of electronic device. Specializes in online infiltrations and making impenetrable firewalls.
Chapter 6: ꪮ𝓷𝓔︎
Chapter Text
1. Preheat oven to 350°F.
2. Prepare three circular 20-inch cake pans by buttering and lightly flouring them.
At this point, you probably don’t need the recipe. You’ve baked this cake so many times it’s imprinted in your brain. But you had to go on a scavenger hunt to find the index card it’s scribbled on — why in the world did I let Dad put it away last year? — so you’re gonna make damn sure you use it.
“FRIDAY, play 'avengersfam mix',” you request.
“Of course, Miss Stark,” she responds cheerily.
After encouraging — or, to use Bruce’s word for it, “““forcing””” — the rest of the Avengers to download Spotify, you got them all to join a collaborative playlist with you. It’s an unholy mish-mash of artists, with everything from Beethoven (Bruce, unsurprisingly), to Harry James (courtesy of Steve), to Kenny Chesney (you’re not exactly shocked Clint is a country fan; he lives on a farm, after all).
The opening notes to Sabrina Carpenter’s “Can’t Blame a Girl for Trying”, a song you started listening to as soon as you learned Maya from Girl Meets World had released an album, fill the room, and you hum along to the melody as Tony struts into the kitchen.
“Are you baking the cake? Without me?” he asks, a fake wounded look on his face.
“I thought you were gonna be holed up in your lab all day again. Didn’t want to disturb your… um, genius.”
“Just gotta fill my father-daughter-quality-time quota for the week,” he says with mock seriousness. “Then I’ll be right back in the lab.”
“So you won’t be at the party?” You pout dramatically. “I thought I was the favorite child, not the suits!”
“Oh, you know you’re my favorite.”
He walks over to you, pulling you into a hug and messing up your hair.
“Okay, I take it back,” you say, your voice muffled in Tony’s shirt. “Please make the suits the favorite again.”
Finally, after quite a bit of struggling, he relinquishes his hold on you. You make an attempt to fix your hair, knowing full well in less than a minute the shorter strands will be sticking out every which way thanks to the August humidity.
“So, where are we at?” Tony asks.
“Well” — you point up in the air — “I got music going.”
“I can hear that.”
“But you didn’t miss any of the actual baking. So don’t be so dramatic about it.”
He scoffs as if you’ve just said something completely ridiculous.
“Dramatic? Me? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Uh-huh. Go ahead and get the cake pans, will you, Mr. ‘Not-Dramatic’?” You put “Not-Dramatic” in air quotes.
He does as you ask — very dramatically, might you add — and the two of you get into the easy rhythm of a tradition.
For your first birthday living with Tony, he, knowing you had never had been allowed to celebrate (or even acknowledge) the day before, wanted to make it special. He tried baking you a cake, but… it didn’t go that great, to put it kindly. It took Pepper calling the fire department to get him to admit defeat. Once he did, though, you suggested that the two of you just bake together. You didn’t have the skills of Gordon Ramsey by any means, but there were nights where Patricia, your estranged mother, had gone out on a date and stayed out until midnight, completely forgetting about you. You would make yourself dinner, and sometimes even breakfast the next day if she decided to stay over at Boyfriend-Of-The-Night’s house. It happened enough times that you knew your way around a kitchen fairly well.
So, Tony helped you bake a cake. Chocolate cake encased in a generous coating of vanilla icing and rainbow sprinkles. It wasn’t perfect — pieces of eggshell had ended up in the batter, that generous layer of icing was maybe too generous, and you didn’t understand you had to move the bottle of sprinkles while putting them on, so there was a giant clump of them on one side of the cake and basically none on the other — but you hadn’t needed to call the fire department again. So, technically, it was a success.
And when he stuck the candles in it and dimmed the lights, and he, Pepper, and Rhodey sang “Happy Birthday”, it had been a total, perfect success. He still keeps a photo of you from that night on his desk. Cake crumbs are stuck to your face thanks to the frosting smeared around your mouth. You’re unwrapping a big box concealing a Barbie limo, your first ever birthday present. The image, you think, doesn’t properly capture the happiness you felt. Seconds after it was taken, you had knocked the camera out of Tony’s hands so there was space for you as you hugged him and squealed “Thank you!” again and again and again.
Over the years, the recipe has evolved. You’ve made tweaks as you grow more confident in the kitchen. Currently, it’s three layers of eggshell-free chocolate cake with those sweet strawberries coated in syrup spread between each layer, wrapped in a layer of vanilla frosting that’s not quite so generous, and dusted with rainbow sprinkles that you can now spread properly. The shape is still circular, but the size has grown to accommodate all the Avengers.
Speaking of…
“Should we make it bigger this year?” you ask.
“We probably won’t need to. I don’t think… I don’t think Rogers is coming.”
“Oh. Right.”
You avert your gaze, staring down at the mixing bowl as you combine the dry ingredients.
“I’m sorry, Lex,” he says quietly.
“It’s…” you don’t want to say fine, because that’s not really true — part of you had hoped he’d be here, even if the realist part of your brain knew it was unlikely. So you settle on just saying, “I get it.”
He sets his whisk down and walks over to you, hugging you again. But it’s softer this time, done with the goal to comfort you rather than piss you off.
“You invited Peter, though, right?”
Tony pulls back slightly, giving you a look.
“I’m only asking ‘cause I thought you were gonna forget,” you tell him quickly, knowing deep down that’s not the truth. Not all of it, at least; it is very likely he would’ve forgotten.
“Yes, I invited Peter,” he replies in a mocking tone.
“And Wanda?” you add, hoping it’ll get him to stop with the look.
He raises his eyebrows higher, probably seeing right through you. But he doesn’t say anything except for, “Yes, I invited Wanda,” in the same tone.
After a moment, he adds, “Not that I needed to. You know she lives here, right?”
“It makes it more fun.”
Tony just rolls his eyes. He goes to pick up an egg, preparing to crack it.
“No. Stop. Give me.” You hold out a hand.
“What?”
“I want to keep up our two-year streak of no eggshells in the batter. I’m the only one who can do that.”
“So you’re saying the last time that happened was my fault?”
You nod enthusiastically. “Yeah, that’s exactly what I’m saying.”
“It was not!” he exclaims with mock outrage.
“Was too.”
“Was not.”
“Was too.”
“Was not.”
“Water is wet.”
He freezes with his mouth formed around the word was.
“Do you want to spend your birthday grounded?” he eventually gets out.
The expression on his face is so ridiculous the only answer you’re able to get out is a laugh. Trying to keep up the strict parent appearance, he glares at you, but it’s in vain. He’s never been able to. He begins to laugh as well, shaking his head as he finally forks over the egg. You triumphantly take it, cracking it and the other one without a single piece of shell falling in the bowl.
“Voila,” you say cheerfully.
“Voila,” he mocks with the petulance of a toddler.
★★★★★★
“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you,” everyone sings in shockingly good harmony. “Happy birthday dear Lexi, happy birthday to you!”
You lean over the cake, managing to blow out all 15 candles in a single breath. Pepper leans over the baked confection with a knife, not trusting Tony to do a good job at cutting. She dishes out slices to everyone sitting at the table. Besides the three of you, it’s Rhodey, Pepper, Happy, Clint, Peter, Wanda, and Vision (although he, of course, isn’t eating a slice).
Natasha wanted to come, but whatever’s going on with her mysterious family is more complicated than she originally thought it would be. You tried to ask if she needed help, but she told you not to worry about her.
At the other end of the table from you, Clint begins to disassemble his slice. Most of you are able to ignore this, but it’s an unusual sight for Peter, Wanda, and Vision, who are all watching him, their expressions portraying a range of confusion, curiosity, and worry.
Peter is the one who works up the courage to say something. “Um… Mr. Barton… what are you doing?”
“Making sure there’s no eggshells,” he replies sagely. Last time there were, he got a really big bit of shell in his slice, and he’s been suspicious ever since.
You explain this to Peter and Wanda, who are now staring down at their own slices doubtfully. Then, you reassure Clint you were the one to crack the eggs this year, and he immediately stops, extracting his fork from the half-cake half-mush on his plate. Appropriately, strawberry syrup drips from it like blood.
“Tony can’t crack an egg properly to save his life,” he informs the new additions. “Lexi’s really good at it, though.”
You glance over at Tony to make sure he heard this. Based on the fact he’s staring lasers at Clint, he did.
Chapter 7: 丅︎𝔀๏
Chapter Text
TONY passes over a gift bag emblazoned with the words “HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” over and over in a variety of colors, all of which clash with the bright red of the bag.
“Okay, no matter what Rhodey says, this one is only from me,” he informs you firmly.
“You have a concerningly low amount of faith in me,” Rhodey replies.
“It would be higher if you didn’t try to piggyback off my gifts every year.”
“That was one time.”
“Three,” Tony corrects, annoyed. “The My Little Pony Build-A-Bears from 2008, the Barbie Glam Vacation Jet from 2009, and the Monster High Deadluxe High School from 2012.”
“You remembered all of them?” Rhodey questions, sounding exasperated.
“Yes, James, I did.”
“I love when they argue over who bought me what,” you whisper to Peter. “It makes them seem like an old married couple.”
He laughs. The two of you are sitting next to each other on the floor, and he picks up something on his other side and hands it to you. It’s a small package covered in birthday wrapping paper.
“While they’re arguing, here you go.”
“You didn’t have to get me anything,” you say.
“In Aunt May’s house, if you’re going to a party, you’re bringing a present. No exceptions.”
You giggle as you unwrap the present. It’s a LEGO set — the Iconic Birthday Table Decoration, according to the box.
“I know it’s not a big set, but I thought it made sense for the day.”
He’s right; it only has 120 pieces. It definitely won’t take you very long. But you don’t care.
“Thank you,” you say sincerely.
When Tony and Rhodey have finally finished bickering, Tony hands you the gift bag.
“Only from me.”
“So I’ve heard,” you say dryly, pulling out the light pink tissue paper. Underneath is a bundle of fabric, which you take out and unfold. It’s a light blue shirt featuring a drawing of a little brunette girl, her arms wrapped around a giant sippy cup that’s almost as big as she is. Below it stretches the words “MELANIE MARTINEZ” in black block letters.
“Oh my gosh!” you squeal in excitement. “This is that new limited merch drop Melanie posted on her Insta!”
Tony looks incredibly confused by your words, as you hoped he would.
“Um… yeah. That’s… that’s what it is. Yeah.”
You laugh at his bewildered expression and statement.
“But, uh, I know you said that’s your favorite song of hers, so I figured I’d get you the shirt for it. And I preordered the vinyl for the whole Cry Baby album when that comes out.”
You had discovered Melanie Martinez’s music by accident. Pepper used to be really into The Voice, and, as a 10-year-old who loved to play Famous Singer, sometimes you would watch with her. The day Melanie’s blind audition episode aired, you were really bored, which led you to watch with Pepper. You loved her singing and kept coming back to watch episodes with her in them, begging Pepper to vote for her performance each time. When she was eliminated, your crestfallen assumption was that would be it — that is, until you came across her debut single “Dollhouse” on the radio in February of last year. That caused you to fall back in love with her singing, stronger this time because of the original music. You excitedly kept up with her career throughout the remainder of the year, resulting in Tony giving you tickets to her Dollhouse Tour for Christmas. After screaming the lyrics live with her, you gained an even deeper affinity for her music (and you also gained an affinity for the opening act, a band called AJR, whom you had never heard prior to that night in January, but whose music you enjoyed).
After you’ve carefully folded up the shirt and put it back in the bag, Tony hands you a flat square covered in wrapping paper. You take the paper off to reveal the signed and framed 1989 lithos.
“Holy shit!” you exclaim.
You’ve wanted the lithos for so long, but every time you go on Taylor Swift’s website, they’re sold out. Tony is fully aware of this struggle, having walked into your room to discover you lying facedown on your bed, lamenting the limited merch stock. Several times.
“I can hang it on your wall,” Clint offers. “If, you know, you weren’t planning on sleeping with it.”
Tony looks slightly panicked at the suggestion. “Don’t plant that idea in her head, Barton. We both know she’ll actually do it.”
After thanking Tony a bazillion times (give or take), Clint gives you his present. To your delight, it’s a Smudge Fox Jellycat, and a beautiful rainbow scarf that Clint tells you Laura knitted. Pepper also gets you a Jellycat, a whale one, and the 1989 album cover blanket. Rhodey’s gift (“See? I bought my own,” he taunts Tony) is the Louvre LEGO Architecture set, Wanda’s is a big bag of Watermelon Sour Patch Kids, and Happy’s is a 12-pack of rainbow pens (“So you don’t have an excuse to steal mine anymore,” he grumbles as you unwrap it).
As you set the black 1989 baseball cap from Vision on the steadily growing pile of Taylor Swift merch, Tony hands over a large box with a packing envelope sitting on top.
“The envelope is from Natasha, and the box is from, uh, Rogers.”
Not quite sure what to say, you silently take them, starting with the packing envelope. Inside is the second book in the Shatter Me series, Unravel Me, in addition to one of those character sweatshirts where the hood wraps all around your head, and when you zip it up, it makes you look like the character. This one is for a platypus — wait. He’s wearing a fedora. Perry the Platypus!
“I showed this to Nat a few weeks ago and she said it was stupid,” you share, laughing softly at the memory.
“It kinda is,” Rhodey remarks, smirking at the hood.
“Wrong! Perry the Platypus is a national treasure.”
Feeling more spirited, you move onto the one from Steve. Upon opening it, you discover the box is so large because there’s a cooler bag in here. Tucked into the front pocket is an envelope and a CD. On the CD’s cover, in big red letters, is “AJR”. Above that, in smaller black letters, are the words “LIVING ROOM”. After seeing them open for Melanie Martinez, you had done a little research on the band, and discovered they were releasing their debut album in March. But you never told Steve about that. Wondering if the letter holds some answers, you open it up and begin to read.
Lexi,
First off, happy 15th! I hope you have a great birthday.
I wish I could be there with you. With Tony, I just… wasn’t sure. But you deserve better. I’m sorry.
About the present: I remember you mentioning how you liked the band that opened up for that concert you went to in January. So, I did a little research, and learned of their debut album (though I feel like I don’t need to explain that to you; I’m sure you discovered it on your own). I know you like to collect vinyls, but there didn’t seem to be one for Living Room, so I bought the CD instead. I don’t know if this will make up for my absence, and I understand if it doesn’t, but at the very least, I hope you enjoy it.
Also, I guess the large cooler bag could use some explanation. Sam grew up in Louisiana, and he has a sister who still lives down there, whom he regularly visits. When I mentioned your birthday was coming up, Sam immediately suggested she make you some of her gumbo — according to him, it’s a secret family recipe that’s famous in his community. I got to taste some, and I see why. It’s delicious. I had to pay extra to ship it to you (I know you’re going to laugh at me when I say this, but mail is so expensive now!), but I believe it was worth it.
If you ever feel up to it, maybe you could let me know if you liked the gumbo (and the album!). I know you prefer texts to letters, but I had to discard my phone for security, so you’ll have to write. Sorry about that. But, if you just don’t want to talk regardless, if seeing me in Wakanda was enough, that’s fine. Just remember that my mailbox is always open for you.
Best regards,
Steve
A sharp ache forms in your chest. You want Steve back, you really do… but at the same time, you don’t, because you’re not sure what to say to him. In Wakanda, not many words had to be said; you just needed to be there with him. Having him back at the tower would require full-time, regular conversation, and you haven’t quite figured out how to achieve that again. Haven’t quite figured out how to bridge the Siberia-forged gap between you.
Chapter 8: 丅𝔥я︎𝓔︎𝓔︎
Chapter Text
AFTER stashing the container of gumbo in the fridge with a Post-It that reads do not eat. i know where you live. – lexi <3 stuck to the top and depositing the rest of the presents in your room, you force everyone to watch Phineas and Ferb the Movie: Across the 2nd Dimension with you.
“What is this?” Wanda asks as the opening scene plays.
“Phineas and Ferb.”
“I don’t… I don’t know what that is.”
Tony and Rhodey glance at each other.
“Uh-oh,” Rhodey says.
“You’re gonna wish you hadn’t said that,” Tony informs her.
Faking hurt, you scoff. “Women can’t even have personalities anymore.”
You pause the movie, then, much to Tony and Rhodey’s chagrin, explain the Phineas and Ferb lore.
“So you really like this show,” Wanda concludes when you’ve finished, sounding amused.
“It’s my favorite show.”
“Then I suppose I should get used to watching it,” she replies, laughing.
“I suppose so,” you say, laughing as well.
★★★★★★
“Happy birthday!” you sing as Peter steps off the elevator.
“My birthday was yesterday, actually.” He crosses his arms and stomps his foot, but then laughs at his own ridiculousness.
“You weren’t at the tower yesterday, so I had to improvise.” You hook your arm into his and drag him towards your room. He doesn’t protest, just goes along with it.
“So, how was the party?” you ask after you’ve settled into what you’re starting to consider your usual spots — Peter in your beanbag, you in your desk chair.
He shrugs. “It wasn’t a party, really. It was just me and Ned. We went to the arcade near my apartment.”
“Are you saying there’s, like, a legally required minimum for it to be called a party?”
“I dunno, but I don’t think two people is enough. I don’t have enough friends for a party.”
The phrase “Oh, I’m sorry” forms on your tongue, but you stop it from leaving your mouth. Part of you does feel bad, but you know if you were in Peter’s position, you wouldn’t want sympathy. And it feels wrong, pitying him. It makes it seem like you only hang out with him because you view him as some sort of charity case, which couldn’t be further from the truth. You stick your tongue between your teeth, sucking on it as you reconsider your response. Cautiously, you begin, “You know that phrase, ‘One’s company, two’s a crowd, and three’s a party’?”
He frowns in confusion. “I thought it was ‘Two’s company, three’s a crowd’.”
“Well, both exist. I prefer the ‘three’s a party’ one. And… I’m your friend now. So that’s three.”
His eyes widen with a soft surprise, like he can’t believe what he’s hearing, but at the same time, he loves that he’s hearing it.
“You can introduce me to Ned someday — someday soon. I’ll make sure of it. And then we’ll have a real party for your birthday next year. I promise.”
★★★★★★
You extract the box swathed in purple paper from your closet and hand it to Peter. He takes it, flips it over, and tugs the wrapping paper open along the fold.
It didn’t take you long to think of what to get him: the Millennium Falcon LEGO set. His jaw literally drops when he sees the packaging in all its glory.
“Oh my god, dude!” he shouts. “I’ve wanted this set for so long! Thank you so much!”
“You’re welcome!” you shout back, trying to replicate his excited tone.
Your phone buzzes, and you glance at it to see a text from Tony.
father 🤗: bribg the kid down to the lab for hos prsetn
You: texts from you are always such an adventure
father 🤗: I’ll tke taht as an “okY daad”
You: “okY daad”
Peter doesn’t want to leave his new LEGO set when you relay the information to him, but you tell him if you don’t go to the lab, Tony will just keep texting you, and you’d really rather not have that happen. So, reluctantly, he sets it down on your beanbag with a carefulness usually reserved for priceless artifacts, and the two of you head to the lab.
“Happy belated birthday, kid,” Tony says to Peter when you arrive. “How old are you turning, again? Twelve?”
“Ha, ha, very funny, Mr. Stark,” he responds with a surprising amount of patience.
“Yeah, I’m just kidding. I know you’re turning seven.”
You roll your eyes, but Tony doesn’t see, because his focus has already jumped to the Spider-Man suit spread out on the lab table.
“So, I’m gonna need your honest opinion. How do you feel about the suit?”
“Wh– are you kidding, Mr. Stark?” Peter asks in disbelief. “I love it!”
“Oh, good. Otherwise, I’d have to come up with a plan B.”
“Only you would make sure your present is good as you’re giving it,” you say, shaking your head.
“Wait, I don’t understand,” Peter says. “You’ve… already given me the suit.”
Tony points at him. “True, but I’ve never let you take it home.”
Peter blinks once, trying to digest that statement and the meaning behind it.
“You mean…”
Tony gestures grandly to the suit. “Don’t forget it when you leave, kid. Happy birthday.”
Peter gapes at him, too stunned to be able to come up with a response.
★★★★★★
“But I’ve got a blank space, baby, and I’ll write your name,” you sing.
While you and Taylor Swift belt the line “Boys only want love if it’s torture”, you multitask, taking aim with your dagger. In the beat following the lyric, you throw it at the target. The dagger sticks in the blue circles, almost directly on the line between rings 5 and 6, but you don’t let it discourage you, grabbing and aiming another one as you sing, “Don’t say I didn’t, say I didn’t warn ya.” Again, you throw the dagger in the next beat. It lands in ring 7. You continue that with the other two lines of the bridge, landing one on the border between blue and red, and one in ring 8. All of the targets in the training room are the type meant for archery, mainly because Clint refuses to practice with any other kind. But, also, the four sections of different colors and numbered rings provide an easy basis for measurement to see how well you’re doing.
As “Blank Space” explodes into its final chorus, the door to the training room opens. Wanda’s standing there, looking slightly nervous, as if she’s walked into something she shouldn’t have.
“Am I… interrupting?”
“I’m trying to see if I can sing and kill bad guys at the same time,” you explain. “It’s a very important skill to have.”
“Is it? Then I suppose you’ll have to teach me; I don’t really listen to music.”
As someone who breathes lyrics more than oxygen, that statement shocks you.
“Wanda,” you begin, “let me introduce you to the world of my earbuds.”
“Okay– wait, no, Stark sent me down here. He said I should learn how to use daggers, just in case I’ll ever need to use them in a fight, and right now, you’re the best one to teach me.”
“Oh.” Not one to be deterred from anything music-related, though, you decide, “Alright, well, we can do both.”
The fastest way to do this is to give Wanda as much exposure to as many different artists and genres as possible, so you go into Spotify and click on the playlist where you collect a bunch of random songs that you like, mood consistency be damned, appropriately titled “musical roulette”.
You demonstrate a couple good throws, taking careful stock of your body positioning so you can help Wanda recreate it — all the while singing along.
She’s fond of some of the songs, namely “Haunted” by Taylor Swift, “Pity Party” and “Soap” by Melanie Martinez, and “Dead Man’s Party” by Oingo Boingo, but it isn’t until you stumble across “Bring Me To Life” by Evanescence that you hit the jackpot. You had honestly forgotten you added this song to the playlist — it’s really long, so some songs, like this one, rarely come up — but she really seems to like it, so you play the full album it’s from, Fallen.
“Bring Me To Life” is the only Evanescence song you had heard prior to today; you aren’t really into hard rock or metal. Wanda, however, falls in love with the music. This leads you down a rabbit hole of artists you never would’ve listened to otherwise: Within Temptation, Lacuna Coil, Linkin Park, Halestorm, Motionless In White, and Nightwish. She’s so focused on the music that the training isn’t really going anywhere, so you eventually give up on that pretense and retreat into your room, where you binge listen to a bunch of songs by those artists. Some of it you like, some of it not so much, but Wanda is just entranced by all of it.
“I guess we found your genre,” you conclude. “Gothic rock. I think that’s what it’s called, at least.”
“Are you… upset that I didn’t like a lot of your music?” she asks cautiously.
“Oh, no, not at all!” you immediately assure her. “No, one of my favorite things about music is how individual and subjective it is. Pop is my thing, but it isn’t yours. Gothic rock is your thing, but it isn’t mine.”
“I did like some of the songs you played,” she adds, like she doesn’t quite believe you aren’t taking offense.
“And I liked some of the ones we’re listening to now. Not all of them, but that’s okay. This was about developing your music taste. I already have mine.”
She nods thoughtfully, mulling over the differences between the two of you.
“We just have to promise not to let this ruin our friendship, because it shouldn’t. I think you’re too cool to lose you over some musical differences.”
“Our… friendship?” she repeats slowly, as if unsure she heard you correctly.
“Oh, uh–” your face flushes as you realize you’ve never actually talked to Wanda about this before. “I guess I’ve… kinda been considering you a friend?” It comes out more like a question than you meant it to, so you try again. “I consider you a friend. But I don’t really… have a whole lot. And I know that makes me sound like I’m begging for attention or sympathy or whatever, but–”
“No, it’s okay. I don’t have a whole lot, either.” She hesitates, looking like she wants to say something more. You wait silently, giving her a chance to collect her thoughts. Several long moments pass before she continues in a much quieter voice.
“After… our house was bombed, Pietro was really the only one I had left. He was– he was my best friend. And then– well… you know what happened next.”
“Wanda, I…” you take in a shuddery breath, unsure how best to comfort her. “I’m so sorry about what happened.”
“I don’t need sympathy. I just…” she ducks her head, staring down at your sheet, the only covering you can endure sleeping with in the height of August heat. “I feel like everyone I love ends up getting hurt, somehow. And I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
“But none of that is your fault. And if anything ever did happen to me, I wouldn’t blame you for a second.”
“Even if our friendship is the reason something happened?”
“Your love for your parents was not the cause of the bombing. Pietro was not killed because he’s your best friend. You aren’t trying to hurt anybody. You just don’t want to be alone. But nobody does. It’s not a crime, and you shouldn’t have to feel like you need to punish yourself for it.”
The look on her face makes you think she’s been waiting to hear those words, which in turn causes you to wonder how long she’s been holding herself hostage. At least since Pietro’s death, you figure, and you feel bad you hadn’t noticed something was wrong sooner. Tears well in her eyes, and without a second thought, you lean forward, wrapping her in a hug. She squeezes back, tightly.
“I guess this means we’re officially friends?” you venture.
She laughs softly, the kind of laugh that breaks through sadness like the sun on a rainy day.
“I think so.”
Chapter 9: Ŧ๏υя
Chapter Text
YOU’VE never played before! Why are you so good?!” Peter shrieks as the song ends and Wanda — yet again — gets the highest score.
“She’s using her magic to hack the Wii remote,” you decide, trying to catch your breath. “There’s no other explanation.”
“Or, maybe, she’s just really good,” Rhodey suggests dryly from the couch.
“Shut up,” you and Peter snap in unison (he also adds a “Mr. Rhodey” at the end).
Since you and Wanda officially established your friendship, you’ve been on a quest to find activities that normal-friends-who-aren’t-brought-together-because-they’re-the-only-ones-who-can-save-the-world do. As part of it, you unearthed your collection of Just Dance games and invited Peter over so the three of you could have a dance-a-thon together. It seemed like a good idea when you came up with it, but it turns out Wanda is secretly a dance prodigy, and as she kicks your asses round after round, you’re starting to have some regrets.
“She can’t be this good at every single year’s game,” Peter says, also out of breath. “How many do you have?”
“All of them. Dad bought me the original one when it first came out, and when I really liked it, I got a sponsorship deal. They’d send me a copy of every new version of the main game a couple weeks before it was released to the general public.”
He stares at you. “How did I never know this?”
“I dunno. It was a 5-year contract, so it ended last year, but I did a lot of commercials in that time.”
Wanda chimes in with a question of her own. “Do people really send celebrities free copies of video games to play? Does that make the business money?”
“Not just video games. Basically any marketable product to ever exist,” Rhodey answers. “And yeah, it works wonders for the company selling. You’d be surprised how much people actually care about Lexi’s opinion.”
“Don’t you have anywhere else to be?” you ask pointedly. “Last time I checked, you have a best friend who needs constant supervision.”
“Hey.” He wags a finger at you. “Don’t say bad things about your dad.”
“Even if they’re true?”
He huffs a sigh, rubbing his chin in thought. “Well…”
“Just go,” you insist, flicking your hands toward him in a get out of here gesture.
“Teenagers,” he mutters, shaking his head. But mercifully, he gets up off the couch and leaves.
“You really wanna switch games?” you ask Peter once you’re certain Rhodey is gone.
He half-shrugs. “Might as well, since you apparently have all of them.”
“For free,” you remind him with a shit-eating grin. “Capitalism’s worst enemy.”
“When it’s a rich person getting the free thing, I think it’s capitalism’s best friend.”
“That’s so true, actually,” you agree.
You pop the disc for Just Dance 2014 out of the Wii console and place it back in its case.
“Okay, which one?”
“2,” he replies. “That’s the one I have. Might actually have a chance at winning.”
“Using prior experience to your advantage is cheating, I’m pretty sure,” Wanda says.
“You won’t even let me try to even the playing field?”
“I’ve decided I quite like winning,” she replies, smirking.
He throws back his head and lets out a dramatic, long-suffering sigh.
“Would you feel better if you got to pick the next song?” she offers.
He considers that for a moment. “Maybe. Let’s do ‘A-Punk’.”
You hover your Wii remote’s pointer finger over the bubble for “A-Punk”, only for the duet icon to pop up. One of you will need to sit this round out, and Wanda, much to Peter’s delight, volunteers.
You haven’t played Just Dance 2 in a while and don’t even remember ever doing this song. Peter, on the other hand, seems to have committed the dance to muscle memory. He also sings along with the song, putting as much energy into his vocal performance as his physical one. The aforementioned dance is pretty ridiculous, and includes a part where you have to pirouette around each other — four times throughout the song, because once apparently isn’t enough. Needless to say, it’s an easy defeat for an ecstatic Peter.
“Now I see why I don’t remember this dance,” you grumble. “I was never stupid enough to do it.”
“It’s not that bad. You’re just a sore loser.”
“Because you’ve been such a gracious loser this entire time,” you say sarcastically.
“Hey, you said it, not me.”
The three of you work your way through a lot of the songs before eventually switching to Just Dance 2015, per your request. You scroll through the list of songs, showing them their options. Peter stops you when you get to the 6th page.
“This one has ‘Macarena’?!” he practically screams.
“Oh my god, I forgot that was this one!” you exclaim. “I thought it was on 4.”
“Um, what’s ‘Macarena’?”
Peter’s jaw drops as he stares at her. “You don’t know the macarena?!”
“No…? Is that even a real word?”
“It’s a dance.”
Peter turns to look at you, and you know what he’s going to say before the words even leave his mouth. Straight-faced, the two of you perform the macarena (in perfect sync, might you add) for an even more confused Wanda.
“What’s… so special about that dance?”
“It’s just, like, really iconic,” you explain. “Simple moves, catchy song, fun to do. Basically a recipe to become mainstream.”
“Everybody was doing it in the 90s. You couldn’t escape it.” Peter shrugs. “According to my aunt May, at least. One of her favorite stories to tell is how she, my uncle Ben, and my parents did it at May and Bens’ wedding.” He smiles softly, glancing down at the ground to have a private moment with the memory. When his head pops back up, any sadness that was in his eyes is gone, replaced only by eagerness. “Can we please do this one?”
“You don’t need to convince me to do it,” you tell him, clicking on the song.
It’s a pretty easy dance, so for once, really anybody could win. You and Peter are having the time of your lives jumping around and macarena-ing, and Wanda seems amused by how you’re giving your all to these 10 simple moves. When the song ends, you wait with baited breath for the scoreboard to pop up.
“Yes!” Peter cheers, pumping his fist.
You came in a very close second, but groan dramatically and flop onto the couch anyway.
After they both coax you back into playing, you move onto “Maps”. This is a favorite of yours, resulting in you giving an impassioned performance, which thankfully scores you a long overdue win.
Next, you move onto “Burn”, and you’re able to keep up your streak, but Peter steals it on the very next song, though you and Wanda stubbornly maintain the only reason he won “Happy” is because his powers allow him to stick to the floor and effortlessly do the tricky footwork. From there, you go back into a Wanda sweep (patent pending) for “Problem”, “I Love It”, “Birthday”, and “Summer”.
After working your way through some of the group dances (with the victories surprisingly spread somewhat even among you), you decide it’s time to do the one you’ve been wanting most: “Tetris”.
Knowing what’s coming, you immediately select the orange dancer. Wanda picks red, and after a moment of deliberation, Peter chooses blue. The song loads, and the chaos begins. You and Peter get into a sort of conga line as Wanda hops on one foot, crouching beneath his arms. Then you and Wanda spin around, pressing your backs up against each other as you slowly sink towards the ground. Peter holds onto your outstretched arms to support you while squatting next to you. The purple player would be holding onto Wanda, but with just the three of you here, she uses her powers to support herself so she doesn’t topple over. Right after comes your favorite/least favorite move — the two of them pick you up and carry you while walking back and forth in a horizontal line. Peter grumbles a vaguely threatening phrase, but thanks to his super strength, isn’t actually struggling to lift you, despite the dramatic exclamations.
After repeating the backs-pressed-up-against-each-other-sinking-towards-the-ground move, the words “LEVEL UP” appear on screen to mirror the game, and both the music and the dance speed up. You bend forward, sticking your left leg out into a perfectly straight line behind you while your right foot remains planted on the ground. Peter grabs onto your left leg and Wanda crouches on one knee beneath your outstretched arms. Then, Peter begins to spin you around. Without a fourth person, you have to use a lot of upper body strength so you don’t fall forward. Wanda, meanwhile, has to jump up and down, each time returning to the crouch just before your limbs hit her in the face.
When that move is over, you level up once more, and the music and dance get faster. This time there aren’t any intricate moves, but you’re still struggling to keep up with the tempo. And then it accelerates again, and again. By this point you’re barely doing the moves right and your main focus is not hitting each other, because most of the moves consist of thrusting an arm out into someone else’s space.
At the end, you have to strike a final pose, but Wanda gets overzealous and ends up losing her balance. She reaches out for the nearest object to steady herself, but unfortunately, Peter jumps out of the way, which means it’s you. Her hand latches onto your shoulder, but instead of righting herself, it just makes the both of you crash to the ground. Peter laughs at you. Wanda scowls at him, a glint of mischief in her eyes. She uses her powers to knock him over, and he falls into your pile. The expression of shock on his face is so ridiculous it prompts you and Wanda to burst into laughter. Peter tries to look angry, but it’s a losing battle, and soon he’s cracking up, too.
You snatch your phone off the coffee table and open up Camera.
“Say cheese,” you sing.
There’s a click as your finger hits the take photo button. You open up Photos to look at it. At the bottom of the frame is you throwing up a peace sign, your default photo pose, with your free hand. Peter is between you and Wanda, giving the two of you bunny ears and trying not to laugh. Wanda is at the top, hoisting up her Wii remote in victory of yet another high score. You set the photo as your wallpaper without a second thought.
Gazing at the new lock screen, you realize it’s the first time you’ve had a photo of a fun moment with friends to set for your background. Tony was right — you needed some friends your own age.
But, as uncharacteristic as it is, you don’t mind admitting that.
How could you be upset, when the result makes you so joyful?
Chapter 10: Ŧเ︎Ｖ︎𝓔︎
Chapter Text
MELANIE Martinez’s debut album, Cry Baby, came out five days ago, and you’ve been listening to nothing else since — a fact that’s starting to show. You now have the choruses memorized for almost every single song, along with some of the verses from “Cry Baby”, “Alphabet Boy”, “Tag, You’re It”, “Carousel”, and “Training Wheels”.
Right now, you’re working on the bridge of “Training Wheels” and the blueprints for the Shooting Star Mark III. Well… you’re supposed to be working on the blueprints, at least. But your mind is suddenly and conveniently finding literally everything else except for them interesting. So, when there’s a knock at your door, you immediately shout “Come in!”, grateful for the excuse to stop pretend-to-working.
Tony walks in, oddly carrying what looks like a tourist brochure. You raise an eyebrow, pausing the song.
“Avengers Tower finally make it into the top 3 places to see in New York?”
“No,” he replies sadly.
“We’re just never making it beyond number five, are we?” You huff a sigh of annoyance and disappointment. “You’d think saving the world would make us a little more interesting than Times Square.”
“That’s what I’ve been saying this whole time!” Tony exclaims. He shakes his head, refocusing himself. “But that’s not what I came in here for.”
He takes a seat on the edge of your bed. You drop your pencil and swivel your chair to face him.
“So, you remember that conversation we had back in… March, I think it was?”
You stare blankly at him.
“Was it April?”
“I don’t even know what ‘conversation’” — you put air quotes around the word — “you’re talking about.”
But just as the sentence leaves your mouth, it occurs to you that you actually might. A lot happened in those two months, but for most of it, you wouldn’t need to circle back and rediscuss months later.
“Oh. You mean… about me going to school,” you mumble.
He nods.
“Dad, I already told you–”
He holds up a hand to stop you.
“Just… listen, I know what you said, but I’ve also been paying attention over these past few weeks. You’re spending a lot of time with Wanda and Peter, and that’s great, but in a couple weeks, Peter’s going to be back at school.”
“Yeah, I know. But I’ll still have Wanda; I can hang out with her during those hours. We already had to deal with this his last school year, and we did it just fine.”
“Don’t you want to know more people your own age? Or, I dunno, at least get out of the tower more often?”
You shrug. “The idea of going to school just doesn’t really appeal to me anymore. I’m sorry.”
“No, the idea of being at a school where you don’t know anybody but everybody knows you doesn’t appeal to you. And I know you think that’s your only option, so I get the hesitation, but it’s not.”
“What do you mean?”
He extends the brochure out to you. You take it, glancing down at the cover page. “Enroll at Midtown School of Science and Technology Today!” it announces.
You look back up at Tony. He’s watching you carefully.
“Peter’s school?”
He half-shrugs. “You’d know somebody there already. And I can probably call the school and ask them to put you in classes with him. Plus, it’s a school for science. It’s perfect for you!”
You flip the pages of the brochure, skimming the text and glancing over the photos. Part of you really likes what you’re seeing.
Most of you, actually.
“I wouldn’t have to have Happy stuck to my side or anything, right?” you ask cautiously. “If I go, I want it to be as normal as possible.”
He holds up his hands in surrender. “No security, forehead or otherwise.”
You laugh. “You’re never giving that up, huh?”
Tony just looks at you. “Kid, please. I thought you knew me.” After a beat, his gaze falls onto the brochure. “So, I can give you a little more time to think about it, but the school year starts on September 1st, so you need to make your decision soon.”
You bite your lip, pretending to debate it, but you’ve already made your choice. Since Tony’s back is turned to you as he heads for the door, you speak up to stop him.
“I… don’t think I need more time.”
He turns around, watching you.
“Oh?”
And you know he knows, but you say it anyway.
“I want to go.” You take a deep breath. “I want to go to Midtown High.”
★★★★★★
Over the course of the next week, you corral numerous Amazon boxes in the corner of your room. Tony let you pick whatever you wanted, so for your backpack, you selected a black messenger bag, which you now fill to the brim with everything you could possibly need. You have seven binders, color coded by subject. Chemistry is green, English is yellow, history is purple, algebra is orange, Spanish is red, shop is blue, and the last binder is white and full of lined paper, because according to Peter, you’ll be doing a lot of note-taking.
Each subject also has a pen and highlighter in its color, which go in your pencil case, along with a handful of other supplies: a mechanical pencil, one of those big pink erasers, whiteout tape, a glue stick, scissors, a Sharpie, a black pen, and a ruler (though the ruler goes in the white binder, as it can’t fit in the pencil case). A calculator is also on the list of recommended school supplies, but you’re only doing Algebra II, so you’re pretty sure you won’t need one.
Most of your subjects have textbooks as well, so between that and the binders, you’re definitely going to be using your locker a lot. Students also need a laptop, though the school offers their own if you aren’t able to get one. Of course, that isn’t an issue for you. The computer you currently have has a nice big screen, though it would be nearly impossible to lug it back and forth to school each day, so Tony buys you a slim white laptop that easily fits in the messenger bag. The last item you bring, though it isn’t required, is Unravel Me, because why wouldn’t you bring a book?
Finally, on Sunday night, you set about choosing a first day outfit. It takes a long time, and a lot of trying on outfits and modeling for Wanda — the only one in the tower who actually has fashion sense. You select tights and a white crop top underneath a black-and-white plaid dress, paired with your new Doc Martens.
“So, what grade are you going to be in?” Wanda asks.
“10th. And I haven’t gone to a regular school since 2nd.”
“That’s a really long time,” she says, surprised. “But I suppose I can’t talk. I stopped going to a regular school after 5th grade.”
“Oh. Because of the…” you trail off, having a pretty good idea of what the reason is but not wanting to say it.
“The… bombing, yes,” she completes quietly. “I’ve had some education since, but it wasn’t exactly consistent. Or good.”
“Well, I don’t think how many years of school you’ve completed is a good measure of intelligence, anyway. I mean, just look at Dad. Everyone thought he was so smart that he was allowed to skip, like, a bazillion grades, and now he can’t do ten times ten.”
She cocks her head. “Isn’t it just one hundred?”
“He had to ask FRIDAY,” you say, rolling your eyes.
“So… I know something Tony Stark didn’t?” You can tell she’s trying not to sound too smug.
“Don’t tell him that, or he’ll lose his shit.”
“I didn’t know he had any shit left to lose.”
You snort. “That is a really good point. But, to be fair, do any of the Avengers?”
She opens her mouth, then shuts it. Then opens it again, then closes it again. She smiles wryly.
“No. No, we do not.”
Chapter 11: รเ︎Ⓧ︎
Chapter Text
YOU check your tights to make sure they don’t have any holes in them. You don’t see any, just like you didn’t see any during the previous four checks. So, you adjust the top of your dress to make sure it’s not coming down too far.
“Are you nervous?” Tony asks.
You scoff. “It’s just school.”
“That’s about the sixth time you’ve adjusted your dress like that. You never care how the hem looks.”
Defeated, you slump in your seat. “A little bit. I guess.”
“It’s okay to be nervous,” he plows on. “You don’t have to prete– oh.” He pauses, blinking. “You… you admitted it.”
“Mm-hm.”
“So you’re really anxious, then.”
“I am not!” you shout — too quickly and too defensively for somebody who isn’t anxious.
Tony raises his eyebrows. You exhale a long, slow breath.
“Alright, so maybe I’m anxious.”
“You’ll be fine. Better than fine, even. It’s not going to be as scary as you think it will be, I promise. And you’ll have Peter with you.”
“Not for history and English. I got placed in honors.”
“Well, then, make new friends in those classes.”
Yeah, like it’s that easy, you think bitterly. Your thoughts must blur into your expression, because Tony continues.
“I’m serious. When I was in high school and college, I made so many new friends. And everyone was way older than me; my parents didn’t have the foresight to put me in school with kids my own age like your awesome dad did.”
“An awesome dad wouldn’t insist on coming in the car to embarrass his daughter on her first day.”
“Actually, yes, he would. That’s what the, uh, Dad Code of Conduct says.”
“I didn’t know you followed that. I thought you just did whatever bullshit pops into your head first.”
“You really do want me to embarrass you, don’t you?” he asks, and the expression on his face tells you he absolutely will.
“No!” you shriek. “No, no, I’m sorry!”
He raises his eyebrows. “And?”
You sigh. “And… you’re an awesome dad,” you reluctantly mumble.
He puts a hand over his heart. “Aww, thanks kiddo!”
“Hmph.” You cross your arms.
Mercifully, you arrive at the school soon after. Happy maneuvers into a spot in the drop-off lane and turns around to look at you and Tony in the backseat.
“You sure you don’t want me to go with her?” he asks Tony for the umpteenth time.
“Lexi can take care of herself,” he replies.
“And she would also not like to have a middle-aged man following her around all day, thank you very much,” you put in.
“Okay, but just say–”
“Nope!” You grab your backpack and kick the car door open, stepping out onto the curb. “See you after school, Happy!”
Tony and a crestfallen Happy wave as you shut the door and flounce up the steps into the main building, ignoring the few people already staring at you.
★★★★★★
Navigating through the crowded halls, you take your schedule out to quadruple-check it.
You thought it would be easy to find room 703, but now that you’re actually here, you’re realizing it’s very much not. Some people notice you and freeze, staring as you pass by, but you again ignore it. You will not be late on your first day, you will not, you will no–
“Ow!”
You stumble back, realizing you were so absorbed in your thoughts you crashed into someone.
“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry,” you apologize. “I was trying to find my class, but I wasn’t looking where I was going, which is totally my bad–”
“It’s okay,” the girl you collided with says. “I get it. Nobody in this school knows how to walk. And it’s always even worse on the first day.”
Her glasses got knocked askew, and she adjusts them as she talks. They’re purple and have “RALPH”, which you assume is the brand, emblazoned on the side. She has frizzy light brown hair and blue-green eyes, but more importantly, she looks friendly, like you could ask her for help.
“Hey, do you know where room 703 is, by any chance? That’s where my first period is, but I’m new to the school this year, and I don’t know where to go.”
She smiles. “That’s where my first period is, too! Come on, it’s this way.”
Unsure how you got so lucky, but grateful you did, you follow her. She regards you curiously.
“You know, you probably get this all the time, but you look just like Lexi Stark.”
“Oh, uh…” You show her the name printed on your schedule, which is still clenched tightly in your fist.
Her eyes widen. “Holy shit.”
You laugh awkwardly. “Yeah.”
“Well, Lexi Stark, I’m Lillian.”
It only takes a couple minutes for Lillian to locate the classroom. There’s a group of people milling outside the door, including a tall girl with blond hair and blue eyes who’s probably Lillian’s friend, based on the fact she blows the blond girl a kiss and the blond girl does a Roblox emote wave in response.
“JACE!” Lillian shouts.
“RALPH!” Jace shouts back.
Lillian invites you to join them, but you spot Peter making his way through the crowd, so you decline and thank her for her help, then walk over to him.
“Peter!” you exclaim, waving to get his attention. His face lights up when he sees you.
“Hi!” He easily picks his way through the crowd, and you have to admit, you’re a little jealous of his and Lillian’s hallway-navigation skills. “I’m sorry, I wanted to help you find your way over here, but then I forgot to charge my phone last night, and it died, and I couldn’t text you–”
“It’s fine. I found someone to help me.” You motion over to Lillian. She doesn’t notice your gaze, her attention entirely focused on Jace shouting “Minor!” at her repeatedly.
Before Peter has a chance to respond, the classroom door opens, and a brunette woman with silver streaks running through her hair steps out, standing against the door to hold it open.
“Room 703! Burnside crew!” she calls out, her voice chirpy.
She gestures into the room, and everybody floods in. There are lab tables built into the left and right walls, three against each. In the center of the room are rows of desks, each one wide enough to fit two chairs, all of them facing the whiteboard at the head of the room. Between the desks and whiteboard is the teacher’s area, a table as long as the rows. One end is clear, likely meant for lab demos, and the other is Mrs. Burnside’s setup, with a computer, pencils and pens, and stacks of papers.
“You guys can pick your own seats, but leave the chairs where they are. No sitting at the lab tables.”
Lillian and Jace claim seats right in front of Mrs. Burnside’s setup. Lillian pulls a sketchpad out of her backpack and she and Jace begin to flip through it, saying something that sounds a lot like “bunger” over and over.
“Where do you want to sit?” Peter asks you.
You’re drawn to the back, but the very last row has already filled up with a group of kids that all seem to be friends with each other. They’re being extremely loud and annoying, so you decide to give them a wide berth, which leads you to seats towards the middle. You take the seat at the far right, the opposite end of the row from the door, and Peter slides into the chair next to you.
Once everybody’s found a seat, the teacher takes her place at the head of the room behind her table and calls for silence.
“Hey, folks! Welcome to the 2015–2016 school year! I’m Mrs. Burnside, which you probably already guessed, but if you didn’t, now you know.” She laughs. “So, folks, I think we’ll be in these seats for a week or so, but if you’re good, maybe we can keep them longer — possibly all year.”
This excites the group in the back, who loudly cheer.
Mrs. Burnside points at them, but she doesn’t seem angry. “Okay, well, that’s an example of how to lose these seats. Thanks for modeling that.”
“You’re welcome!” one of the boys bellows, and their entire group, along with a few other people scattered throughout the class, laugh. Mrs. Burnside even snickers a little as she queues something up on her computer.
“Alright, folks, when I call your name, say something, let me know you’re here.”
Most people say “Here”, but the group in the back spits out a variety of phrases, including “Yo!”, “What’s up?”, and “...is awesome!”.
“Peter Parker?”
“Here.”
“Will Polson?”
“‘Sup?”
“Lexi Stark?”
At your name, kids twist around in their seats, trying to find you. Lillian is one of them, but instead of staring with greedy eyes, she gives a little wave.
“Here,” you mumble, sinking down in your own seat.
Mrs. Burnside sighs. “Hey, folks, can we not? Lexi doesn’t want you staring, and I don’t blame her. You probably wouldn’t want people staring at you if you were her.”
“It’s not every day a Stark comes to our school,” a girl in the back says sarcastically. “It’s just interesting.”
Peter turns around to face her. “She’s not a zoo attraction. Leave her alone.”
She scoffs. “Whatever, Parker. You’re such a buzzkill.”
Peter turns back, his face flushed with embarrassment.
“You didn’t have to do that,” you say quietly.
He shrugs. “It’s not a big deal. Like I said, you’re not a zoo attraction. It’s really cool that you’re here; I don’t want you to leave because a few idiots made you uncomfortable.”
You feel warm, but can’t think of any reply except for “Thanks,” which definitely isn’t sufficient in comparison to the way his words make you feel.
Chapter 12: ร𝓔︎Ｖ︎𝓔𝓷
Chapter Text
TODAY is a minimum day, and every class is 30 minutes long. After finishing attendance, Mrs. Burnside only has time to pass out the syllabus and briefly go over it before the bell rings.
As you’re walking into the hall, Peter asks, “Where’s your next class? I can actually take you there this time.”
You smile. “Honors English, room 602.”
The 600 hall ends up being right across from the 700 hall. There are tiny labels on the wall next to the entrance of each hall, but with so many people in the way, it’s nearly impossible to see them. What’s even the point of having them there? you can’t help but wonder.
Room 602 is right next to the entrance to the hall, so it doesn’t take very long to locate it. Mrs. Di Somma, a short blond woman, is already standing outside the door, beckoning students inside the room. Peter says goodbye to you before racing off to his history class.
As you approach the door, a girl with curly dark brown hair pulled back into a low ponytail is walking inside while reading a book.
“Oh, what book are you reading?”
The girl doesn’t even pause in her reading, just lifts the book up so Mrs. Di Somma can see the cover.
“Of Human Bondage,” she says, sounding impressed. “Do you like it?”
“Yeah,” the girl answers, still without looking away from its pages. She continues on into the classroom, and you follow right behind her.
“Line up against the wall, kiddos! We’re going to do our seating chart,” Mrs. Di Somma announces.
You find a spot in the corner and look around, taking in the classroom, which has a very different set up from your chemistry one. The desks are only big enough for one person, and they’re arranged in groups of four. Two of them are facing each other, and the other two are turned directly towards the whiteboard, their fronts touching the sides of the desks facing each other, making a sort of T-shape. There are nine of these groups in the room, organized in neat rows and columns. Instead of a long table spanning almost the length of the entire classroom, Mrs. Di Somma has a small desk area in the top left corner of the room.
When the bell rings, she shuts the door and walks up to the whiteboard. There’s a small podium on the opposite side of it from her desk, just big enough for her laptop. She pulls down a projector screen, presses a couple buttons on the laptop, then projects the image onto the large screen pulled down over the whiteboard with the instruction to find your names on the chart.
You’re placed at the group next to the teacher’s area, at one of the desks facing the whiteboard. Mrs. Di Somma walks around, helping a couple people locate their seats and making small talk with her new students.
To your surprise, the bookworm you followed into the room sits down in the chair next to you. She dumps her bag on the floor and gets comfortable in the seat, still all without looking up. Despite her not coming off as friendly or super approachable, there’s something about her you’re drawn to. And because there aren’t a lot of kids in the class, you’re the only people in this group. Everybody else either knows someone in their table group or has a friend elsewhere in the class they can talk to. Nobody comes over to talk to you or the girl on your right (though some people do cast you curious looks). You take a deep breath. Making friends with Lillian ended up being way easier than you thought it would be. Maybe you could do that again?
“Hi,” you say, trying to sound casual and not as awkward as you feel.
Her eyes flicker up to you. “Hi.” Her gaze darts back down to her book.
You don’t blame her for the abrupt response; not only did you not give her a lot to go off of, she’s clearly in the middle of a very good book, and you’re just interrupting. Instead of just sitting there doing nothing, you unzip your bag and rummage through it, but aren’t able to find Unravel Me. You had taken it out last night to read before going to bed, but apparently forgot to put it back in. Cursing yourself, you rezip your bag, but thankfully don’t need to search for something else to occupy yourself, because Mrs. Di Somma is finishing up her conversation with a student and heading back to the podium.
“Hello! Welcome to Honors English II. First off, good job on getting into honors, you guys! Because this is a tech school, most people don’t take English as seriously as they do math or science. But you do, so thank you.”
Next to the podium is a cart on which two baskets sit, one with a pink label that reads “Hand Out” and one with a blue label that reads “Turn In”. She picks up the stack of paper sitting in the hand out basket, dividing it into two smaller portions.
“Okay, who wants to help me pass out the syllabus?”
Two girls, one at the table next to yours, one at a table across the room, quickly volunteer, and walk up to Mrs. Di Somma.
“Thanks, guys. Here you go… Xander?” A girl with brown eyes and black-and-pink hair nods. Mrs. Di Somma smiles and hands her one of the stacks. “And… wait, don’t tell me.” She stares at a girl with brown hair pulled into a bouncy ponytail and cherry earrings, trying to guess her name. “Claire?”
She shakes her head. “Daria.”
“I’m Claire,” a black-haired girl with a soft voice sitting at Daria’s table informs the teacher.
“Oh, shoot, sorry. Here you are, Daria.”
Daria accepts the papers and passes them out, starting with the real Claire. When she makes it to your table, she doesn’t even glance at your table partner as she tosses a packet on her desk. The girl doesn’t acknowledge Daria, either, unless you count flipping the page in her book. As Daria reaches over to hand you your syllabus, though, she pauses. Her eyes flick over to the seating chart.
“Oh my god, you’re Lexi Stark!” she squeals.
“Yeah, I– I know,” you stammer.
She laughs even though you weren’t trying to be funny. Her ponytail whips around as she glances over at her table.
“Claire–”
But she doesn’t need to tell Claire. Claire had been watching your interaction, and even if she hadn’t, Daria’s loud squeal would’ve alerted her. She jumps up and runs over to your table. Xander freezes in the middle of handing out syllabuses (syllabi?) to stare at you as well.
“Oh my gosh, hi,” Claire says excitedly.
“Claire, back to your seat,” Mrs. Di Somma commands. “On school grounds, she’s just a student. Come on. And Daria, Xander — let’s move along. Those papers won’t pass out themselves.”
Reluctantly, they do as she says. Your table partner regards you out of the corner of her eye.
“Surprised you didn’t want to bring that up when I sat down,” she remarks dryly, and you can’t tell if she’s being sarcastic or not.
You give a non-committal laugh and decide to seize the opportunity to strike up a conversation. “Well, uh, you know my name, so… what’s yours?”
“Michelle.” In contrast to your eagerness, Michelle’s voice remains flat. It could just be the way she talks, or it could be that she’s genuinely uninterested. You nod but don’t respond, waiting to see if she’ll say something more, gauging her interest.
She doesn’t say something more.
Even when Mrs. Di Somma begins to go over the syllabus, Michelle doesn’t put Of Human Bondage down. You admire the dedication.
It would obviously be much easier to get to know Daria or Claire or Xander. But you can already tell those relationships wouldn’t be meaningful. They’re only interested in you because you’re Lexi Stark. Michelle doesn’t seem to give a shit. And that only makes you want to develop a friendship with her more.
Chapter 13: εเ︎︎ģ𝔥𝐓︎
Chapter Text
MICHELLE is in your next class, and the one after that. You’re delighted. She doesn’t seem to care.
You and Peter have P.E. together, and though you were really looking forward to seeing him, you didn’t end up having the chance, because the period was spent taking a tour of the locker rooms. The girls were led by a teacher named Coach Spencer, and several of them were whispering about how mean she was last year and how glad they are she doesn’t do 10th grade P.E. There wasn’t enough time to actually get locker assignments, but Coach Spencer informed you that you’ll be doing that tomorrow, and the majority of the class took that as a signal to make plans of what row to try to get and who is going to be next to who, as well as inviting you to have a locker sandwiched between them. With the same sense of caution as before, you turned them down and hung back against a wall, observing them along with Michelle and a couple others. Well, you and those couple others were observing. Michelle was reading.
In history, your teacher, Mr. Dell, allows you to choose your seats. His classroom has the same set-up as Mrs. Di Somma’s, and Michelle immediately goes for the group in the back left corner, the farthest possible spot away from both Mr. Dell’s desk, which is in the top left corner, and the door, which is the back right. A noisy crew immediately fills up the other two table groups in the back row, but don’t touch the one claimed by the bookworm. In fact, nobody does. The class is about the same size as Mrs. Di Somma’s, so everybody is able to find spots with their friends in the other clusters. There’s several open spots you can choose from, including one at a table with Daria and Claire, but you go for one of the three at Michelle’s table, sliding into the spot next to her just like in English.
“Hi. Again.” You laugh awkwardly.
She does the same thing that she did in English — her eyes flick over to you just long enough for her to utter a “Hi,” then return to the printed ink.
“We have a lot of classes together. That’s kind of a funny coincidence, don’t you think?”
“Not really. There’s only a couple of honors English and history classes. It’s about a one in two chance.” She pauses. “I guess it is a coincidence we ended up in the same P.E., though.”
“Yeah. Do you think we’ll have any other classes together?”
“Well, we didn’t have the same 1st, so that’s off the table. What’s your 5th and 6th?”
You’re surprised she’s willing to keep the conversation going for this long, but you don’t comment on it out of fear she’ll stop. “My 5th is Honors Algebra II, and my 6th is Spanish II. Oh, and I have shop for a 7th.”
“Damn, you’re in Honors Alg? Usually only juniors take that class. I’m just in regular geometry.” She shrugs. “But I guess it makes sense. Stark and… all that.” You laugh, and she allows a small smile in response. “I’m not in either of those. I have chemistry and Intro to Psychology.”
“Don’t you have to take a language?” you ask, remembering that bit of information from the brochure.
“I do ASL with the local community college.”
“Woah, really? That’s so cool!”
“Lexi, Michelle, please pay attention.” Mr. Dell motions behind him, where a slideshow detailing the syllabus is on the projector screen.
You both fall silent. Satisfied, he resumes talking about the grade breakdown.
“Why so many syllabuses?” you whisper to Michelle.
“This is classic first day stuff,” she whispers back. “Every teacher does this every year, even though it’s basically the same stuff every time.”
“Then why bother?”
“Hey. Stark. Jones-Watson. I can still hear you,” Mr. Dell says flatly.
“Sorry,” you call out.
“It’s just Jones,” Michelle corrects, showing none of the apologeticness you are. You silently admire her being brave enough to do that.
“Right. Jones, then. Shush.” Mr. Dell says.
He then returns to the slides, but this time doesn’t turn his back to the class. After a moment of him talking about the essays you’ll be writing this year, you risk a glimpse over at Michelle. She’s back to the book like she never looked away. But when she feels your eyes, her eyes do the split second flick-up again, just long enough to offer you another tiny smile.
★★★★★★
“How was the first day?” Tony asks the second you open the car door.
You shoot him a glare, then make him wait until you’ve climbed inside, set your backpack down, shut the door, and fastened your seatbelt to respond.
“First, have a little patience, please. Second, it was fine.”
“Fine? That’s it?”
“What more do you want me to say?”
“What did you do? Are your teachers nice? Do your classes seem interesting? Did you and the kid get to spend any time together? Did you make any new friends?” He ticks each item off on his fingers as he asks it. When he has a full hand of outstretched fingers, he turns it around to show you. “See, there’s plenty you can talk about.”
You roll your eyes, then tick each question off on your own hand as you answer, your voice as flat as you can get it. “Went over syllabuses, I dunno, I dunno, a little, maybe.”
He stares at you in exasperation. “Wow, you’re just full of information, aren’t you?”
“Okay, okay.” You sigh dramatically. “In literally every single class, we picked seats and covered the syllabus. It’s too early to tell if my teachers are nice. They seemed alright — except my Spanish teacher, but I’ll get to that in a sec. It’s the first day, though, so like, who knows? They could all secretly be assholes and it’s just a ticking time bomb.”
“Yeah, I had a couple teachers like that. In high school, there was this one English teacher, Mr. Reyes, and everybody called him Mr. Flytrap, because he was okay for the first couple weeks, but then bam!” He claps once, loudly, to illustrate his point. “Asshole.” Shaking his head, he continues, “Anyway, what was next?” He pauses thoughtfully for a few seconds. “Oh, right. Classes, Parker, new friends.”
“My classes seem okay, I guess. It’s too early to tell that, too, though, ‘cause like I said, we didn’t actually do any school today. Which reminds me, I have about a bazillion syllabuses I need you to sign.”
Tony does not seem happy at that.
“Hey, you’re the one who pushed for me to do this,” you remind him. “Anyway, we were allowed to pick our seats in chemistry and math, so Peter and I sit next to each other in those classes. We don’t have English together, we took a tour of the locker rooms in P.E. and obviously couldn’t be together for that, and we don’t have history together, so I didn’t see him for those three periods. And then Spanish sucked. My teacher has those individual desks with the chairs attached arranged in rows, and there’s lots of space in between each of them so nobody can sit together. Our desks are kinda close, but it doesn’t matter, ‘cause she doesn’t like people talking. ‘You are here to learn, not to chit-chat. Save your frivolous conversations for the lunchroom,’” you mock a phrase from the lecture she gave you at the start of the period.
“Yikes.”
“I know.”
“What about shop? That’s a pretty hard class to screw up. And you have it with him, don’t you?”
“Yeah, but we didn’t have it today. It’s considered an extra class, and they don’t do extras on minimum days.”
“Tomorrow’s not a minimum day, though, right?”
You shake your head. “We’ll have it then. I’m excited.”
“I’d be concerned if you weren’t,” he laughs. “So, what’s this maybe when it comes to making new friends?”
“This girl Lillian helped me find my 1st period, and she ended up being in it, too, along with her friend Jace. I didn’t talk to either of them much ‘cause we only have that one class together, but they seem nice. And then there’s this other girl, Michelle. We have English, P.E., and history together. I didn’t really… talk to her a whole lot, either.”
Tony arches an eyebrow. “You know friendships are dependent on talking, right?”
“Okay, well, she was reading a book, and she was super into it. I didn’t want to interrupt.”
He considers that, then nods, satisfied. “Alright. Three sort-of-friends isn’t bad for the first day, I guess.”
You scoff. “It’s better than I thought I’d do.” You hesitate before adding, “And there were other people I guess I could add to the list, but…” you trail off.
“More interested in the name than you?” Tony probes.
“I mean, they never made that, like, abundantly clear, but I kinda got that vibe.”
He nods understandingly.
“It’s okay, though,” you add. “I don’t care about having a bunch of friends. A few really good ones is enough for me.”
Tony squints suspiciously. “When you say ‘a few good ones’, you mean the ones you made today, right?”
“Yeah…? What–”
“I thought maybe you were trying to back out from going to school.” He falls silent, but then a moment later, adds, “It’s too late to back out, by the way.”
“I know.”
“You can complain all you want, but you’re still going back tomorrow.”
“I know.”
“You'll just have to stick it out. Even if you hate it right now, you won’t once you get used to it.”
“I know.”
“Oh. You’re not…” he stops, staring at you. He narrows his eyes. “That’s the second time today you haven’t argued with something I said. Are you– what is this? Somebody come into your room in the middle of the night and mind control you into being a nice daughter for once?”
“Ha.”
“No, but really, what’s going on?”
“Nothing.”
He doesn’t look convinced.
“I’m serious! There’s nothing wrong, I promise. There’s a small chance that perhaps, possibly, maybe… school isn’t as bad as I thought it would be.”
“That so?”
“Well, I don’t love it, but like you said, I just gotta get used to it.”
“So you think you might end up liking it?” he asks, looking pleased.
“Perhaps, possibly, maybe,” you repeat, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. After a beat, you add, “Except the waking up early part. Never going to like that.”
Tony leans his head back against the headrest, laughing.
Chapter 14: ภเ︎𝓷𝓔︎
Chapter Text
BEEP beep. Beep beep.
“FRIDAY, stop the alarm,” you mumble sleepily.
The beeping silences, but you know she’ll start up again if you fall back asleep. To avoid that, you give yourself a moment to wake up before reluctantly shoving back the blankets and getting out of bed.
School starts at 8:30, but you try to get there at 8:20, when the passing period bell rings. It takes about 30 minutes to get to Midtown, so you leave at about 7:50. It takes just under an hour for you to get ready, resulting in you waking up at 7:00. It’s not super early, but for someone who’s been on their own schedule for years, usually resulting in you waking up after 9, it’s a lot.
You grab one of your earbuds and pop it in, then open up Spotify, choosing a playlist titled “2000s getting ready montage”. The opening notes of “You Belong With Me” fill your ear, and it energizes you as you open the closet to retrieve your clothes for today.
Today, you decide to go in a different style with dark green cargo pants, a brown shirt with illustrations of different types of mushrooms, and a black belt with two rows of holes outlined in silver metal, but keep the Doc Martens. Then, you head to the bathroom. There isn’t enough room in the tower for everybody to get their own, so there’s two large bathrooms on each floor, one mens’ and one womens’. Wanda sleeps on the floor below you, though, so with Natasha gone, you get this one to yourself.
You brush your hair, making a mental note to trim it over the weekend. Now that you have a hero suit that includes a mask, you’re quickly learning shorter is better.
Peter and his super short hair are lucky, you think.
After twisting your hair into space buns, you head down to the kitchen and pour yourself a bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch. You eat quickly, then deposit the bowl and spoon in the dishwasher and return upstairs, where you brush teeth and do a light layer of makeup — blush and eyeshadow close to your skin tone, along with light pink lip gloss.
Finally, you pack up your backpack, remembering to add Unravel Me today, and take the elevator down to the parking garage. Tony wanted to sleep in today, so it’s just a grumpy Happy waiting with a thermos full of coffee.
With Avril Lavigne’s “Girlfriend” raging in one ear and some news podcast of Happy’s droning in the other, you stare out the window, watching the commuter world of New York rush past.
★★★★★★
Your first four classes pass by uneventfully, as teachers are just collecting syllabuses and assigning easy work. Today is a normal schedule, so classes are 45 minutes long, amounting to you and Michelle hanging out for almost 2 hours. You think it’s hanging out, at least. She’s still largely distant, her head stuck in Of Human Bondage. But you’re making progress, you think, when you pull out your own book in English, and she shows interest, starting up a nice, although brief, conversation about your current reads. The thought is reinforced when Coach Spencer assigns lockers in P.E. You ask if she wants to be neighbors and, to your elation, she says yes.
When the bell rings to signal the end of history and start of lunch, you head in the general direction of the cafeteria. You had caught it in the corner of your eye several times over the past two days, but never really registered its exact location.
Once you finally find it and walk in, many people from your classes beckon you to sit at their tables, but you don’t, wanting to sit with only one person. Well– two, you guess.
“Dude, where were you yesterday?” Peter asks the boy sitting across from him.
“Our plane out of Florida got delayed and we ended up landing at, like, 4 in the morning. I was way too tired to go to school, so my lola let me stay home. I already texted you and told you all of this. Didn’t you see it?”
Peter shakes his head. “My phone died.”
“Dude, you need a new charger,” the unknown boy decides. “But, anyway, is it true?”
“Is what true?”
The boy leans in. He’s sitting on the side of the table facing away from you, so you can’t see his expression, but you can hear the excitement in his voice as he asks, “Is Lexi Stark really going to the school this year?”
“Oh.” Peter laughs. “Yeah, she is.”
He’s sitting on the opposite side of the table from the new guy, so he can see as you approach. His face lights up.
“Hey, speaking of…” He stands up, waving. “Lexi! Over here!”
Panicked, the boy turns around, eyes widening when he sees you. He whips back around. “Peter, what are you doing?” he hisses. “Lexi Stark would never want to sit here. Don’t embarrass us!”
“It’s okay. I’ve already met her, because of the Stark Internship.”
“Okay, but she’s probably made some cool friends. We’re losers,” he says matter-of-factly. “She’s probably going to go sit with Flash.”
“You know, I actually haven’t met Flash yet. I don’t think we have any classes together. But that makes sense, because based on what Peter’s told me, I doubt he made it into a single honors.”
The boy gapes at you like a fish out of water as you sit down next to Peter, dropping your bag on the bench next to you after yanking your lunchbox out of it. Peter chuckles, both at your remark and his friend’s reaction.
“You’re Ned, I’m guessing?”
Maybe-Ned remains frozen, unable to make a sound, much less form words, so you turn your query to Peter.
“He’s Ned, I’m guessing?”
“You and I both know if I had made another friend, I’d be bragging to you about it nonstop.”
You grin, turning your attention to the most important thing: your lunch. Tony stocked the fridge with single-size salads at your request, and you pull today’s out of your lunchbox, yanking off the wrapper.
Ned eventually regains his ability to speak. “You said that you met her. Not that you were best friends with her!”
“Aw, Parker, you’ve never mentioned me?” you ask, pouting jokingly.
That renders both of them silent. Rolling your eyes, you tear open the packets of toppings and dressing and mix the salad up.
“So–” Ned’s eyes dart between you and Peter. “You guys are seriously friends?”
Your mouth is full of lettuce and tomato, so you’re unable to give any reply besides a vague noise of affirmation in the back of your throat. Peter, thankfully, comes to his senses and takes over. Though, based on what he says, that may be out of offense.
“What, is that really so hard to believe?”
Ned levels a blank stare at him.
After swallowing your bite, you add on, “Yeah, through Peter’s Stark Internship. I, um, work with the interns a lot, and, I dunno, we just clicked.”
Ned takes a bite of his sandwich and seems to be chewing on several thoughts along with the bread, turkey, and cheese. When he swallows, he looks at you with the air of someone about to ask something incredibly important.
“Do Avengers have to pay taxes?”
At least three nearby tables turn to stare at you guys, their attention drawn by the volume of your laughter.
★★★★★★
Ned is in your P.E., algebra, Spanish, and shop classes. Though that doesn’t mean much in Spanish, of course. Mrs. Trout hasn’t lessened up with the second day, and you have a feeling it’ll only get worse from here.
Shop, on the other hand, is very enjoyable thanks to their presence. You’re just covering safety stuff and (predictably) going over the syllabus, so it would be very boring without them.
The teacher, Mr. Hapgood, explains that you’ll be working on two projects, one each semester. For your final, you have to present the invention you’ve been working on. The class meets Wednesdays, Fridays, and every other Monday, but you’re always allowed to come in during study hall or lunchtime as long as you put your name on the sign up sheet the class period before you come in.
“Get into groups of three,” Mr. Hapgood announces. “Choose wisely, as you’ll be working with these groups the whole year to complete all your projects.”
You turn to the boys. “Partners?”
Peter sucks a breath in through his teeth and sarcastically says, “Oh, I dunno. I’ll have to check with all of my other friends first and make sure they don’t want to be partners.”
“Oh, that’s okay! You can go work with them, and I’ll work with Lexi, and we’ll beat you on every assignment.” Ned throws an arm around your shoulders and you work very hard not to laugh.
“Dude, it’s– it’s not a competition.”
“Don’t be a sore loser,” Ned informs him with mock seriousness. “It’s not a good look on you, Peter.”
“Well… I suppose I can partner with you guys, if I absolutely must,” Peter says, groaning dramatically.
“You must,” you declare, throwing an arm around his shoulder so the three of you are in some sort of lopsided triangle.
“Are we in a kick line?” Ned mutters, causing you to crack up.
★★★★★★
Mondays have a traditional schedule at Midtown High. Students go to their main six classes, plus their 7th (or 8th, depending on the week) if they have one. The rest of the week is block schedule, where students go to their even classes on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and odd classes on Wednesdays and Fridays. On block schedule days, there’s also a half-hour long study hall, between your first and second class of the day. But Tuesday was a minimum day, and you can’t have an odd block day without its even counterpart, so yesterday was a traditional schedule day. Today is going to be its normal Thursday block schedule, and part of you is excited, because that means you’re one step closer to finally getting into the swing of school. The other part of you, though, dreads the thought of being stuck in Spanish class for 90 minutes.
When you enter prison– uh, sorry, Mrs. Trout’s class, you put your phones up in the holder hanging on the wall. On the first day, she told you that while you’re in class, you must have your phone in your pocket, or you’ll receive detention. The pockets are numbered, with your number determined by your last name. Going in alphabetical order, Leeds, Ned’s last name, is #16, Parker is #18, and Stark is #22. That’s also the order your seats are assigned, with 6 desks in a row, so Ned and Peter are one seat apart, and you’re right behind Ned. But, like you told Tony on the first day, it doesn’t matter. If you talk to them, Mrs. Trout will snap at the three of you to be quiet and get out your textbooks, regardless of if they’re already sitting on your desks or not.
Chapter 15: 丅𝓔︎𝓷
Chapter Text
FLASH Thompson had been on a cruise during the first week of school, but is now back. The part about the cruise, you learn by overhearing Daria (who’s wearing jellyfish earrings today), Claire, and Xander talking about it in English. The part about him being back at school, well… that, you get to learn first-hand.
On Wednesday, Peter shows up wearing a Star Wars shirt. He and Ned assure you it’s hilarious. You don’t get the joke. So, like any true nerd, they attempt to explain.
“No, see, Darth Vader got the armor because he literally lost his arm–”
“Hey, Penis Parker!” a voice crows, cutting him off.
The three of you turn around. A boy with wavy, dark brown hair is leaning against the lockers, staring at you. When he sees Peter’s shirt, an ugly smirk grows on his face.
“Wasting no time getting back into the dorkus routine, I see.” He snickers. “Do you honestly not realize how stupid that shirt is?”
“We should hurry, we don’t want to be late for chemistry,” Peter mutters. He grabs your wrist, trying to drag you away, and Ned is quick to follow.
“Is that Flash?” you whisper.
Ned nods.
It’s obvious Peter’s trying to pretend like he can’t hear Flash’s remark. But from the way his face flushes bright red, the same way it did the first day of school when he got called a buzzkill, it’s also obvious he heard, and that it bothers him. So, you pretend like you can’t hear him, and turn around to face the bully.
“Excuse me? Flash, is it?”
His eyes practically pop out of his head when he registers who you are.
“Hol– holy shit, Lexi Stark? What the hell are you doing with Penis Parker? Are you lost? The cool kids are over here.” He motions to himself and his cronies.
“Penis Parker,” you repeat, ignoring the bullshit he said at the end. “That’s a pretty interesting nickname. Did you come up with it?”
“Yeah,” he brags, evidently under the impression you think it, and he, are funny.
“Wow, how’d you come up with that?” You pause for a split second, but before he has a chance to answer, push on. “Oh, wait, don’t tell me. It came from your insecurities over your own tiny dick, right? You wish yours was as long as Peter’s, and, like any man who got where he is in life not due to his IQ — because he practically has none — but due to the simple fact he is a man, turned that feeling of being lesser around onto him in the form of a pathetic, half-baked insult.”
Everybody in the hallway falls silent. You swear you could hear a hairpin drop.
Flash blinks rapidly, unable to say anything — which is unsurprising, of course, thanks to that aforementioned low IQ.
“Oh, and, by the way? I think his shirt is cool. I’m sorry that you’re so narrow-minded you can’t appreciate any other interests besides your own. That is to say, sports and misogyny.”
And with that, you grab a shell-shocked Peter’s wrist in one hand and an astonished Ned’s in the other, and drag them away.
It’s not until you deposit Ned outside room 707 and join the group waiting outside 703 that Peter remembers how to English.
“Y– you think my shirt is– is cool?”
“I plead the Stark.”
His brow furrows. “Do you mean the 5th?”
“No, the Stark. As in, I am not to be held responsible for any of the stupid bullshit that leaves my mouth.”
He looks at you, crestfallen.
“If Dad is allowed to plead the Stark, so am I. Or do I need to educate you on how men and women are held to very different standards in the industry?”
He looks at you, panicked.
“No, no, you don’t need to– no, that’s, uh, it’s fine. You don’t need to think my shirt is cool. Just don’t… please don’t do what you did to Flash to me. I– I have a bright future ahead of me, I can’t die now.”
You grin, a little bit pleased you’ve figured out how to deal with boys at Midtown.
★★★★★★
Okay, a lot bit pleased.
As soon as you got home, you retold the story to Wanda, relishing in the details. And, yeah, maybe it made you realize your monumental enjoyment of the event.
“But in my defense,” you insist, “getting to yell at men for being stupid is always a good thing. It’s part of why I love Taylor Swift so much. She does it really well.”
“You don’t need to defend yourself to me. It definitely is a good thing,” she reassures you. “So, aside from that, is anything else good happening at school?”
“Mm… we’re gonna build a water filtration system in chem. Peter’s probably coming over Friday so we can work on it. The lab’s got so much cool stuff, it’s going to be super easy.”
“Oh, that’s nice. I haven’t seen him since Just Dance. Is he scared of me now?” she grins wickedly.
Laughing, you lay down on your bed. “I dunno, honestly. I’ve invited him over a couple times, but he always says he’s busy. Which is weird, ‘cause we don’t have that much homework yet.”
“Maybe he’s just playing around with his suit. I know Stark let him take the one he made home, and Peter definitely strikes me as the type to nerd out over something he likes until the world ends.”
“He sure is,” you snicker. Then your mind fully processes what Wanda said. A thought strikes you. You bolt upright. “Oh, shit.”
★★★★★★
“What do you mean you’re going home with Peter?”
“I mean exactly what I said, Happy. I’m going home with Peter today.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?” He frowns, upset his plans are being thrown into chaos.
“It’s kind of last-minute. See, we have to build a water filtration system in chem, but I feel like building it at the tower would give us an unfair advantage, so we want to do it at his apartment. I forgot to mention this to Dad, by the way, so that’s your job.” You say the last sentence cheerfully to encourage him. Unfortunately, he can tell what you’re trying to do.
“No. No, no, no. He’s not going to like it if I tell him. You have to.”
“No can do, I gotta go to Peter’s house.”
“No, Lexi–”
“Bye, Happy! I’ll be home before 6!” You slam the car door and run into the school before he can argue.
★★★★★★
“What do you mean you’re coming to the apartment?”
“I mean exactly what I said, Pete. I have to come to your apartment today.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?” He blinks in confusion.
“It’s kind of last-minute. See, you can’t come to the tower because a scientist was doing some experiments and spilled a toxic chemical. The tower has to be cleaned, and it’ll take all day. Then tomorrow, I have to go with Dad to a press conference to show off a new invention. So we have to work on the project today, and we have to do it at your house.” You say the last sentence cheerfully to encourage him. Unfortunately, he can tell what you’re trying to do.
“No–”
“Why? Are you busy?”
“Well, no, but, uh…”
“Great! We already have the same 6th, so we'll just leave together.” You run off to English before he can argue.
★★★★★★
When school lets out for the day, Peter immediately darts out of class, not even pausing when Mrs. Trout yells at him. He makes it all the way out to the courtyard and almost out of the gate before you stop him.
“Peter! Where are you going? I’m coming to your house today, remember?”
“Oh, yeah, sorry, Lexi, but, uh… you can’t come anymore, because, um…”
“You have to go out Spider-Maning?”
“Yes,” he agrees readily. Then he pauses. Registers what you said. He shakes his head, eyes wide and voice fearful. “No. No. That’s not, uh, what I–”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” you insist.
He sighs in defeat. “I… didn’t want to make you angry.”
You raise an eyebrow. “You didn’t want to make me angry, or you didn’t want me to tell Dad and make him angry?”
“Um. The second one.”
“C’mon, Pete. Dad gave you the suit for a reason — he obviously trusts you to have it.”
“But I’m not, like, doing Avenger stuff. I’m just friendly neighborhood Spider-Maning.”
“Okay. And?”
“That’s not what I got the suit for….”
“Y’know, you seem like you want me to be mad.”
“What? No!”
“Then stop talking and let me come with you.”
“Huh? You– you want to come?” he asks, clearly surprised.
“I became an Avenger to help people, no matter the scale,” you say firmly.
“But… do you have your suit?”
You roll your eyes and plunge your hand into your backpack, emerging with a handful of purple fabric. “I threw it in as soon as I figured out why your ass is ‘busy’ after school everyday.”
He pulls back defensively. “Well, I mean, technically, I am busy, so…”
“Shut up.”
“Okay.”
Chapter 16: εᒪ︎𝓔︎Ｖ𝓔︎𝓷
Chapter Text
SORRY, I must have missed something. There’s nobody stealing anything here. What exactly does this have to do with patrol?”
“Oh, this has nothing to do with patrol. I’m just getting a sandwich.”
Peter motions to the faded red awning above the store that reads “DELMAR’S DELI-GROCERY”.
You stare at him, your expression saying the Seriously? that your mouth does not.
“What? Mr. Delmar makes really good sandwiches. You can get one, too.”
You would never turn down food, so you relent. “Okay, fine, fine.”
Peter leads you into the shop, the bell dinging jovially to announce your presence.
“‘Sup, Mr. Delmar?” Peter greets.
“Hey, Mr. Parker–” The man behind the counter freezes as he sees you. “Son of a bitch.”
“Oh, yeah, Mr. Delmar, this is Lexi. Lexi, this is Mr. Delmar.” His voice is casual as he makes the introductions, but a satisfied smirk sneaks onto his face as he looks over at the shop owner.
“Hi. I’ve heard a lot about you in the… last minute,” you inform him.
“I’ve heard a lot about you over the past few months, kid. Always thought Parker was making up stories about how he and Lexi Stark were best friends now.”
“Unfortunately, no, I’m…” you sigh “...I’m really his friend.”
Peter looks at you, offended. “Hey!”
“I’m kidding,” you tell him. “You know I only hate you a little bit.”
“Yeah, yeah, okay, whatever.” He rolls his eyes and grabs two bags of gummy worms hanging from a hook next to the cash register, plopping them down in front of Mr. Delmar.
“Number five, right?” Mr. Delmar asks.
“Yeah, and, um, with pickles, and can you smush it down real flat?” This he directs at a man back in the kitchen, who nods. “Thanks.”
“And for the lady?”
“Actually, I only accept the term girlboss,” you correct, looking up at the menu. “And the girlboss will have a number one.”
The number one in question is a grilled cheese with bacon. The chef nods and writes that down on a little notepad. You notice that they also do shakes and add, “Oh, and can I get a shake, please?”
“Sure, what kind?”
Peter looks over at you, panicked. He knows exactly what you’re going to say.
“Chocolate-peanut-butter-vanilla-strawberry-banana.”
Mr. Delmar blinks. The chef looks baffled but eventually says, “I… sure. Alright.” He writes that down on the notepad as well.
Peter puts his head in his hands. “I am so sorry, Mr. Delmar.”
He shrugs. “Hey, if the girlboss wants a chocolate-peanut-butter-vanilla-strawberry-banana shake, that’s what she’ll get.”
“Thank you very much, Mr. Delmar,” you say, tossing a sweet smile over at Peter, who shakes his head.
“Hey, how’s your aunt?” the shopkeeper asks.
Peter shrugs. “She’s alright.”
Mr. Delmar turns around and, in Spanish, informs the chef, “She’s a very hot Italian woman.”
Fighting to keep the giggles in, you glance over at Peter. He doesn’t miss a beat, switching to Spanish as he asks, “How’s your daughter?”
The smile fades from Mr. Delmar’s face. He punches a couple buttons on the cash register angrily.
“Ten dollars,” he says in English.
Peter gestures to the menu and goes back to English as well. “It’s five dollars.”
“For that comment, it’s ten dollars.”
“Hey, come on, I’m joking, I’m joking.”
“Please, Mr. Delmar, you don’t need to feel threatened,” you reassure him. “Peter was wearing a stupid Star Wars shirt yesterday. I’m sure your daughter’s way out of his league.”
He looks between you and Peter, and a faint smirk appears on his face. “I don’t think that’s the only problem.” Before you can figure out what that’s supposed to mean, he adds, “Alright, fine. Five for each of the sandwiches and the shake, and three for the candy.”
Automatically, you pull out your wallet and hand Mr. Delmar your credit card.
“I got him, too,” you say.
“You don’t have to–”
“Peter, please don’t waste our time by pretending to argue. We both know I’ll win that fight.”
He sighs. “Thanks.”
You smile. After the transaction goes through and you tuck your card back into your wallet, you hear Peter say, “What’s up, Murph?”
You look over to your right, and are overjoyed to see a fat, fluffy tortoiseshell sitting on the pastry case, currently taking pleasure in some good ear scratchies from Peter.
“Oh my gosh, who is this diva?” you ask, rushing over to Peter’s side so you can pet the cat as well.
“This is Murph, the most spoiled cat in Queens,” Mr. Delmar informs you, scowling at him.
“Aww, but he deserves to be spoiled, don’t you, boy?” you ask, burying your nose in the fluff on top of his head. Murph purrs in agreement.
“So, how’s school?” Mr. Delmar questions.
Peter walks back over to him, but you stay with Murph, stroking his back.
“Oh, you know, it’s boring. I got better things to do.”
“Stay in school, kid, stay in school. Otherwise, you’re gonna end up like me.” Mr. Delmar gestures to the shop around you.
Peter gestures to the shop as well. “Oh, this is great!”
“Best sandwiches in Queens,” the shopkeeper agrees.
The chef deposits the bag of sandwiches and plastic shake cup on the counter. Peter picks it up.
“C’mon, we gotta go, uh, do our homework,” he tells you pointedly.
You sigh sadly. “Bye, Murphie.”
He meows a goodbye at you as Peter drags you out of the shop.
★★★★★★
Sipping your shake, you follow Peter a few streets over into an alley guarded by a red gate. The second he shuts it, he starts to kick off his shoes, sending them flying in random directions.
“What…?” you say in confusion.
“What? We gotta get our suits on.”
You stare at him in disbelief. “We aren’t doing that at your apartment?”
“It’s pretty far away. It would take too much time to go there and come back.”
He yanks his Spider-Man suit out of his backpack, which he tosses a few feet away. Then, he pulls his pants down, revealing checkered boxers.
“Oh– Jesus!” you yelp in surprise, frantically averting your gaze. “At least warn me next time.”
“Sorry,” he says sheepishly. “Um, do you need me to turn around while you…?”
“No.” You set the cup down next to your bag, then take your Black Star suit out and go invisible.
“Oh, yeah, I forgot about that.” He sounds slightly jealous.
Despite being invisible, you change silently, not wanting to draw any attention to the alley. Despite being visible, Peter changes loudly, bumping into trash cans and grunting as he jumps up and down to get the suit on.
Due to his undressing circus, you’re ready before him. You lean against the wall, casually sipping your shake.
“Y’know, I always thought the stereotype was girls take longer,” you say sarcastically when he finally finishes.
“Shut up,” he grumbles.
Not wanting to risk getting your things stolen, you take an empty trash can and set it upside-down over your bag, which is just small enough to fit underneath.
“Ready?” he asks after webbing his backpack to a very visible spot on the dumpster.
“I’ve been ready for at least five minutes.”
“That’s an exaggeration.”
“Is it really?”
He doesn’t respond, instead jumping onto one of the brick walls that make up the alley to crawl up and away.
Chapter 17: 丅𝔀𝓔︎ᒪ︎Ｖ︎𝓔︎
Chapter Text
YOU sit on a rooftop, staring down at the street below.
“Down there!” AVIS says.
On your display, she highlights a guy with a beanie covering his greasy hair who’s using pliers to cut the chain holding a bike to a bike rack. He half climbs on and rides down the street, pushing people over as he tries to get away.
You point him out to Peter, who immediately sticks a web to the corner of your roof, then jumps down in front of the thief.
“Hey, could you hold this for a second?”
He sticks the other end of the web against the guy’s chest, and it’s so stretched out that as soon as he lets go, it springs back, pulling the guy into the air. He dangles there, several feet above the ground. Peter picks up the bike and holds it out to passerby, asking if it’s their bike. When no one claims it, he instead requests a pen. Then, he scribbles out a quick note and sticks it to the bike.
Is this your bike? If not, don’t steal it! – Your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man + Black Star
He rejoins you on the rooftop and swings you away to find the next person in need of some friendly neighborhood saving.
★★★★★★
Next, you stop a car thief. Or… attempt to, at least.
You’re the one that spots him, a guy who suspiciously peers into a car parked in front of an apartment building before trying to unlock it with a crowbar, of all things. You go invisible and drop down behind him, planning to just whip the crowbar out of the car thief’s hand. Peter, not quite understanding the art of subtlety, jumps down onto the car roof.
“Hey, buddy!”
He webs the car thief’s forehead and pulls him forward, smashing him into the car. That sets the alarm off, honking and beeping loudly. Peter flips off the roof, landing a few feet away.
“You shouldn’t steal cars, it’s bad.”
“It’s my car, dumbass!” the… apparently-not-car-thief says. Oops.
An elderly woman leans out of a window a couple stories up.
“Hey, can you shut that off?!”
“Can you tell him it’s my car?!” the not-car-thief yells back.
A guy leans out of a different window.
“I work nights! Come on, dude!”
Peter holds his hands up defensively. “I was just–”
Another man comes out of a garage at the ground level of the elderly woman’s building. “That’s not your car!” he scolds Peter. “That’s his car!”
“How was I supposed to know that?!”
More people lean out of their windows, all of them complaining over each other.
“Don’t make me come down there, you punk!” an old man with sunglasses and white hair threatens.
“Hey, Gary! How ya doin’?”
The first woman to shout at Peter is in a window across from the old man’s. She leans on her sill, shouting over the distance at him.
“Marjorie!” Sunglasses-Man exclaims. “How are you? How’s your mother?”
Ignoring the fact the man is asking a woman easily upwards of 70 about her mom, you run over to Peter.
“C’mon, while they’re distracted,” you whisper.
The two of you run out of there as fast as you can, outraged cries from the tenants still ringing impassionately in your ears.
★★★★★★
“I’m sorry,” you pant once you’re a safe several blocks away, back on another rooftop. “I thought he was trying to steal the car–”
“No, no, it’s okay. I did too. And I guess I kinda messed up your sneaking. Sorry about that.”
You shrug. “Apparently the mission was destined to fail anyway. He did look really suspicious, though, didn’t he?”
“Totally!” Peter exclaims. “I mean, if you’re not a thief, why dress like one?”
“Exactly!” you agree. Since he’s not mad at you, you add, “So, I should probably be getting home soon. But… can we do this again sometime?” You say the last sentence in one hopeful breath, both looking forward to and dreading his answer.
The two of you have removed your masks, so you can see his eyes widen. “You want to do more patrol?”
“I mean, yeah, as long as I didn’t mess things up so badly you never want me to join again.”
“You didn’t!” he promises, and an oddly magical sense of relief washes over you. “So… about that, uh, press conference you need to go to tomorrow…”
You can tell from his expression he’s figured out there is no press conference, but you decide to play along anyway. Smiling playfully, you say, “I think I can get out of it.”
“Cool.” He smiles softly. He then falls silent, but he’s staring at you oddly, like something else is on the tip of his tongue.
You feel your face get really hot. It’s… probably due to the sun, which, now that it’s setting, is shining almost directly into your eyes.
“So– we’ll work on the water filtration system tomorrow?” you blurt out.
He blinks in surprise, like that’s not at all the direction he was expecting the conversation to go. “Um. Y– yeah. Sounds good.”
“Great. We should probably be getting back, then. Gotta change out of my suit before Happy comes,” you ramble onwards. “You still don’t want anyone to know about this, right?”
He shakes his head. “I really don’t want to risk my suit getting taken away.”
“Alright. Guess we’ve got our first secret.”
Peter thinks that over. “Huh. Yeah. Guess you’re right. Pinkie promise to keep it?” He extends out a pinkie.
You chuckle but extend one of your own. The two of you interlock them and shake, then go to the alley to collect your belongings. When you arrive at his apartment, you have just enough time to change (he takes his bedroom, you take the bathroom) before Happy texts you that he’s here. You bid Peter a hasty goodbye and take the elevator down to the lobby. But as the doors shut and the elevator car rattles down to the ground floor, a weird feeling that’s been subtly developing since the rooftop now bursts forth in all its glory. It’s crestfallen, almost. Disappointed. Like someone turned off a movie just before it got to your favorite part.
★★★★★★
Despite your thoughts wanting to linger on what happened yesterday — Or… what almost happened…? No, no, stop, don’t go down that rabbit hole. — you work hard to push past it, throwing yourself into the water filtration system. Thanks to that, you and Peter work very efficiently, moving from a sketch to a nearly finished prototype by the time he has to leave.
As he’s packing up his backpack, Tony struts into what was used to be part of his lab but has since been remodeled into your own space to work on inventions.
“Hey, kid–” he stops when his eyes fall on Peter. “You’re still here?”
“We’re… homework,” Peter says awkwardly, motioning to the filtration system.
“You’re homework,” Tony repeats dryly, eyebrows raised. “Okay, I think that’s probably enough teenager time for the day. You two are rotting each other’s brains, and I need to stop it before it gets to me.”
You nod sagely. “Good call. You can’t afford to lose any brain cells, seeing as how you have so few to begin with.”
He puts his head in his hands. “I regret every single decision that led to me having to deal with a teenage daughter.”
“I do not! Saying ‘bitch’ as a 7-year-old is perhaps my greatest accomplishment in life,” you declare.
“That’s nice. Mine is making inventions that contribute something of worth to society.”
“Mine is becoming an Avenger,” Peter puts in.
“Unofficially,” Tony reminds him. “We haven’t formally announced you yet.”
He huffs in frustration. “Come on, Mr. Stark, please–”
“Nope, that’s enough. I already said go home.”
Tony flicks his hands toward him. Peter sighs but shuffles out the door.
“FRIDAY, tell Hap to drive this pain in the ass home.”
“Yes, Mr. Stark.” You can hear the eyeroll in her voice.
“So, uh, what’s up?” you ask.
“Well. The ceiling.”
“I regret every decision that led me to having to deal with a dumbass father,” you deadpan.
“I thought saying ‘bitch’ was your greatest accomplishment in life,” he counteracts.
You cross your arms but don’t dignify him with a response.
“Anyway. Why did I come in here? Oh, right. Follow me.” As he leads you into his lab, he says, “FRI, if you would be so kind as to pull up the Avengers Compound project. Oh, and, don’t forget to dim the lights.”
You swear you can actually hear her sigh. “Of course, Mr. Stark.”
The lights dim as you walk in. Above his holographic projector table, a blue hologram featuring a vaguely familiar building appears.
“Isn’t that one of those Stark storage facilities?” you question.
“Correction. Was ‘one of those Stark storage facilities’.” He puts air quotes around the super descriptive phrase you used. “Lexi, say hello to your new home.”
“Wha…?”
“I thought the Avengers could use an upgrade of the… domestic variety.”
“Yes!” you exclaim in agreement. “I’ve been thinking the same thing for a while now, actually.”
“Well, would you look at that. Now–”
He walks you through the projection, giving you a virtual tour of your soon-to-be new home.
“Everybody gets their own bathroom this time. And it won’t double as a Stark Industries lab — it’s entirely devoted to the Avengers. Plenty of room in the building and the surrounding area for our little circus. And maybe we can put in that pool you keep asking for.”
“Don’t tease me like that,” you reprimand.
“Not teasing,” he reassures you. “Like I said, lots of room. I’m sure we can spare a bit of it for some aquatic recreation.”
“When are we gonna move in? A renovation project like that will take a super long time.”
“Yes, it did.”
“Did?” you ask cautiously.
“I hired a construction crew, oh, about a year ago,” he replies airily.
Your jaw drops. “What?! You’ve kept this from me for that long?”
“I wanted to surprise you. Rogers said I wouldn’t be able to keep this a secret from you,” he remembers ruefully. “But, as usual, look who’s right and who’s wrong.”
“You are horrible at keeping secrets,” you inform him. “But– okay, so, if it’s almost done… when are we moving in?”
“Late October, I think. They’ve still gotta finish up some things.” He pauses (probably for dramatic effect), then adds, “Like that pool I mentioned.”
“I’d hug you right now if you didn’t say you regretted having a teenage daughter,” you tell him seriously.
“I only regret it when she’s mean to me,” he informs you. “But, shockingly, she seems nice right now.”
You roll your eyes, but lean in to give him that hug anyways.
Chapter 18: 丅𝔥เ︎я︎𝐓︎𝓔︎𝓔︎𝓷
Chapter Text
WHEN you originally arrived at Midtown High, people were freaking out, and it kind of gave you the impression it was one of the greatest things that had ever happened at the school. But three weeks later, the sparkle of your enrollment is starting to wear off. Not that you’re surprised — everyone is so overwhelmed with memorizing the trigonometric functions and reading The Catcher in the Rye that they don’t have time to worry about who’s at the school. More than that, you’re enjoying your assimilation. You feel normal in the tower, of course. Nobody’s going to look twice at a girl, even one who can walk through walls, when there’s a god from Norse mythology right next to her. But Midtown is somewhere you truly feel normal, not just by default because the alternative is a red robot with a glowing rock in his head.
In chemistry on Wednesday, you’re allowed to choose lab groups. You and Peter immediately partner up, then combine with Lillian because you need four people. Jace would be your fourth, but she’s absent today. A group comprised of those loud back-of-the-class kids has five people, so Mrs. Burnside makes one of them — the girl you had a shitty interaction with on the first day — join your group instead. She doesn’t actually do anything, opting to sit there moodily, scrolling through Snapchat instead of helping out. Your other two group members are annoyed with her. You’re overjoyed. Predictably, she doesn’t stick around to assist with clean-up, jetting off to reunite with her friends the second the lab ends.
“How did she make it into honors chem?” Lillian asks in frustration. She grabs a couple beakers and goes over to the sink to wash them out.
“You seem… pretty happy about this,” Peter observes in confusion.
“Peter. Think about it. She didn’t want to be here.”
“I know.”
“No, no. Like– remember the first day?”
“When Gabriella called me a buzzkill? Yeah, I do.”
“Okay, but she only said that because you told her to stop treating me like a zoo attraction.”
“Because she was–” he stops, and you can see understanding slowly dawning on him. “Oh. She didn’t care.”
“Three weeks ago, Gabriella would’ve loved to be in a group with Lexi Stark. But now? She’s upset! She just wants to be with her friends! Peter, she doesn’t care about me!” you cheer.
He watches you in bemusement. “This is so weird,” he concludes. “I know why you’re happy about it, but I’ve never seen anyone celebrate being treated like me and Ned.”
“This is the kind of treatment you guys get, isn’t it? Well, it’s delightful.”
“I mean, I… guess,” he agrees, though he’s clearly baffled by your choice of adjectives.
★★★★★★
Something delightful (you’ve decided to stand by that word) happens in algebra as well. The teacher, Mr. Harrington, has quickly become your favorite, so when he asks to have a quick word after class, you don’t mind staying.
“What’s up?” you ask, sitting on the edge of your desk. Mr. Harrington has the table groups organized the same way Mrs. Di Somma and Mr. Dell do, and you, Peter, and Ned chose to sit at the group right in front of the set-up he sits at while teaching.
“Do you know what Academic Decathlon is?”
“Sort of. It’s a competition between schools, but for intelligence instead of athletics, right?”
He nods. “Midtown has a team; I’m the teacher coach. And we lost one of our players — they graduated last year — so we have an open spot. Normally, I’d do tryouts, but you got 110% on the unit 1 quiz, so…”
“Oh, you noticed how I fixed the mistake on question five, huh?”
“I did.”
“Don’t feel bad, it’s a common mistake.”
Mr. Harrington smiles. “So, are you interested in joining the team?”
“Yeah! But I’d have to ask my dad and make sure he’s okay with it. Is that fine?”
“Of course. Just have your answer ready by next class, alright? We need to start practices as soon as possible.”
You nod. “Alright.”
“Alright,” he repeats, smiling.
You say goodbye and leave the room, making your way over to Peter’s locker, where he and Ned have congregated to wait for you.
★★★★★★
You should’ve known you wouldn’t need to convince Tony when it comes to a nerd contest. He barely considered it for a second before agreeing. On Friday, you relay this information to a happy Mr. Harrington.
“Great! And I know you’re in shop, so like I tell Peter and Ned: Just come to every practice you can. You three are smart enough without them, I’m sure, but I still like you to come and get a feel for the questions and the team.”
“Okay, sounds good. I have shop today, so when’s my first practice?”
“Monday. We have to prepare for nationals — it’s in a month.”
The bell rings to signal the start of class, so you have to go to your seat as he projects the warm-up on the board. But as you’re doing the problems, you can’t quite suppress the smile that’s made its way onto your face.
★★★★★★
Decathlon practices are held in the multi-purpose room, a large space with a stage that can be used for, well, multiple purposes. Three rectangular fold-out tables with two accompanying chairs each are lined up on the stage, arranged to mock the set-up at nationals. Then, scattered around the room are more fold-out tables, but circular, with several chairs pushed under each for students to sit in while they review.
You look around, taking stock of who’s here. There’s some people you know (Abe Brown from algebra, Alyix Cornell from shop, Alex Davis from algebra and Spanish, and Michelle), some people you don’t, and some people you wish you didn’t. Really only one person falls into that category.
“Wow, who’d you have to bribe to be here?” you ask sarcastically as you fling your bag in the general direction of one of the circular tables. It skids to a stop a few feet away. Oh well, close enough. Folder of practice questions from Mr. Harrington in hand, you hop up on the table, swinging your legs.
“I could ask you the same question,” Flash counters. “Isn’t your net worth over two hundred million?”
“Aw, yeah, it is. Thanks for caring enough about me to Google that!” He scoffs, but before he can get a retort out, you add, “However, I also have intelligence. And I know that’s probably too big a word for you to understand, but it’s okay. You don’t need to, seeing as how it doesn’t affect you.”
“The only big thing around here is your damn mouth.”
“Hm. So my theory about your small dick insecurities was right, then,” you say gravely.
“That’s enough, you guys,” a tall girl with brown skin and shiny, wavy black hair says sternly. Her eyes cut over to you. “I’m talking to you, too, Lexi. Don’t think you’re getting special treatment just because you’re a celebrity.”
You cross your arms and look at her, outraged. In fact, you hadn’t thought that. In that moment, you were just a girl making fun of an asshole masquerading as a boy you don’t like. Before you can inform her of this, Peter lays a hand on your shoulder.
“Please don’t fight with Liz. I don’t want her to be mad at me.”
Oh. The singular syllable drops into your head, silencing everything else.
You had all but forgotten Liz. A brief mention from Peter months ago was all you’ve gotten of her so far, and so the little piece of your mind that retained her name assumed she had moved away or graduated. But it appears you were wrong. Being a Stark, you don’t like when you’re wrong. And, honestly, you don’t like Liz, either. Logically, you know you shouldn’t jump to hating someone moments after meeting them. But there’s just something about her that rubs you the wrong way. Maybe it’s the way Peter specified he doesn’t want her to be mad at him instead of you, because why would she when the situation didn’t even involve him, and also, why would he care so much that he’d stop you from shutting down Flash?
Mr. Harrington walks into the room then, and you all fall silent as he, unaware of what just happened, takes roll (giving you the opportunity to learn the names of the teammates you don’t know) and welcomes everyone to another year of Academic Decathlon. Then he gives Liz the go-ahead to start practice.
She selects Peter and Cindy Moon to sit at the first of the tables onstage. Charles Murphy and Via Lopez (Liz calls her Violetta, but Via is quick to correct that) are put at the second table, and Alex is placed at the third. She also picks Ned for that table, but he doesn’t go, giving up his spot to you.
“Lexi’s way smarter than I am, Liz.”
“Which is exactly why you should get practice,” she says stiffly.
“No, dude, I’m serious,” Ned — wonderful, funny, blissfully unaware of Liz’s festering hatred of you Ned — pushes. “Test her out for a couple rounds.”
She frowns, and you get the sense she’s going to argue some more, but then Abe, Alex, and Alyix agree you deserve a spot onstage. Liz relents, and, glaring at you, jerks her head toward the empty chair.
“You better really be something,” she mumbles as you pass by her, loud enough for you to hear, but nobody else.
You turn around, walking backwards toward the stage so you can keep your eyes on her. “Duh. I’m a Stark.” In contrast to her, you say it loudly, announcing for the whole room to hear, and everybody — except Liz, of course — laughs. You even get a snicker from Flash, though he quickly stops the second your eyes flick over to him. But you take it as a victory.
Alex pulls your chair out, and you smile at him as you sit down. You like Alex. He’s funny, always making the whole class laugh (in algebra only, of course), and has awesome hair, a full head of fluffy-looking light brown curls that extend to his shoulders.
As practice begins, you’re proven right. You do end up really being something. You know the answer to every single question, resulting in your answering the majority of them. The tables have two bells, one for each person sitting there. Yours gets plenty of use, to put it lightly. This only makes Liz more embittered.
“Hey, guys, just a quick reminder to please give other people a chance to answer, ‘kay? We’re here to practice, not to give a Stark more unneeded ego.” She fake-smiles at you. “No offense.”
Uh-huh, you think, your inner voice dripping with sarcasm.
“Uh-huh,” you say, your outer voice flat and noncommittal.
Practice lasts two hours, from 3:20 (school gets out at 3:15, but you need time to gather your Decathlon materials and get to the MPR) to 5:20. Halfway through, Liz swaps out the people practicing so the other half of the team can get some practice. Peter and Cindy become Ned and Michelle, Charles and Via become Sally Avril and Abe, and you and Alex become Flash and Alyix. The team calls him “Other Alex” to avoid constantly mixing the two up; he’s slightly older, but Alex is much taller, which is why you’ve all decided Alyix is Other Alex. You guys might be able to solve difficult math problems, but outside of Decathlon, your reasoning is allowed to be as shitty as your hearts desire.
You, Peter, and Alex (as in the tall one with awesome hair) go to one of the circular tables to cry over Spanish homework together.
“Do you think Ned finished it while we were up there?” Alex asks hopefully.
“Probably not, he sucks just as much as we do,” you reply.
“I’m checking anyway,” Peter decides. He grabs Ned’s backpack and rifles through it in hopes of finding and copying the homework, which is… a thing best friends do, you guess. If only Wanda went here so we could copy off of each other when we needed.
Ned’s backpack is a bit of a black hole, so it’s going to take Peter a while to find what he’s looking for and then copy it down — assuming it’s actually completed, which it probably isn’t. In the meantime, you return your attention to the stage. Michelle has just gotten a problem right, and Liz is moving on to a new one.
“If 3x minus y equals 12, what is the value of 8 to the x exponent over 2 to the y exponent?”
10 seconds haven’t even passed when Flash dings his bell.
“The value cannot be determined from the information given,” he says confidently.
“Wrong. We’ve been over this before, Flash: Being the fastest isn’t the best if you’re wrong.”
He brushes off Liz’s sentiment in annoyance.
“4 to the 4th exponent,” Via tries.
“Wrong.”
“8 squared?” Alyix guesses.
“Wrong.”
There’s a long moment of silence.
“Anybody else?”
More silence.
Liz sighs in disappointment. “Fine. The answer is…” She looks down at the index card.
“2 to the 12th exponent,” you respond.
She blinks at you, astonished you would dare to interrupt The Great Liz.
“What? Am I wrong?” you ask even though you know you’re not.
“No, but it’s not your turn. Like I said, give others a chance to answer.”
“I did. If I hadn’t, Flash, Via, and Alyix wouldn’t have been able to say anything. You were about to reveal the answer. Why is it a problem I did instead?”
She scowls. You definitely made her hate you more, which is fine. You aren’t exactly her #1 fan, either.
Abe dings his bell. “Liz is just jealous of Lexi. She wouldn’t know the answers to some of the questions if it weren’t for the flash cards.”
You like Abe, and this only strengthens that. Liz grips the flash cards she’s been clutching this whole practice with more force than strictly necessary, then tosses out another question to get the attention off of her. You shoot Abe a grateful smile. He tries to act all cool, winking and giving you finger guns while leaning back in his chair, but ends up leaning too far and falls backward.
“Are we in kindergarten, guys? Four on the floor,” Mr. Harrington says flatly, with the air of someone who has had to deliver this reminder many times before — and to the same person nearly every time.
You stifle a giggle, deciding it would be rude to laugh at someone who just saved you from the jaws of Liz Allan.
Chapter 19: Ŧ๏υя︎𝐓︎𝓔︎𝓔︎𝓷
Chapter Text
YOU: so why’s it called homecoming?
No typing bubble appears because you sent the message to the group chat. As in, a group chat with you, Peter, and Ned. Peter proposed it on Wednesday, and you and Ned both immediately agreed.
“Are you gonna give Ned one of those dumb contact names?” Peter asked with fake exasperation as he made the group chat.
“First of all, they’re not dumb, they’re how I show my love. Second of all, yes, obviously. I just need to find a good inside joke first.”
That was only two days ago, so no good inside joke has appeared yet. Though you did give the group chat a good name: “two dorks and lexi”. The aforementioned two dorks are what you now consult after learning about homecoming thanks to seeing some student council members hanging posters in the hall. And there was another bit of information you learned today. From October 13th to the 15th, the Decathlon team will be taking a trip to D.C. to compete in nationals. The last trip you took to D.C., of course, didn’t go so well. But this is bound to go better. No Avengers to wreak havoc, and three days of doing nerd stuff with your new friends from the one place you genuinely feel like a normal teen. You’re really excited.
A message whooshes into the group chat, drawing you back to the present.
ned: It has to do with football or something. But whatever - it doesn’t matter. There’s no team at midtown
You: no sports at the nerd school ? im shocked
spider-nerd: Hey, you go to the nerd school too. You’re just as much of a dork as we are.
You: yea, but i am a distinguished nerd. you two are loser nerds. there’s a clear difference.
ned: :(
You: ANYWAYY when do tickets go on sale?
ned: No clue
ned: But it’s gonna be in late October like last year, so I’d say end of next week?
spider-nerd: Yeah probably, then we’ll have a few weeks to buy them
You: sick. i’ve never gone to a school dance before
ned: Then we should all go together!!
You: don’t people usually bring dates?
No response, so you type out an additional message.
You: that was . a joke. i know you guys aren't gonna have dates. you can share me <3
But still, no response. Shaking your head, you toss your phone aside, push yourself up off your bed, and plop down in your desk chair. A thought worms its way into the back of your head — They already have dates, or at least have someone they want to be their date. But you push it away and pull your math homework toward you. I need to focus. I need all my energy to do trig functions.
You conveniently ignore the fact trig functions are actually quite easy.
★★★★★★
Between shop, Decathlon, and patrol with Peter, your after-school life is very busy. The weeks blur together, and soon it’s Week #6. You’re figuring out pretty quickly why Peter has always spoken of The Weekend with such reverence.
By now, you’re more or less another face in the crowd. In English, you have to do a project where you’re sorted into pairs and have to recap two chapters of The Catcher in the Rye. You and Daria (who was wearing earrings with fake peacock feathers that day) are paired up, and she only seems a little happy — nowhere near the level of excitement she would’ve had at the beginning of the year. She, Claire, and Xander don’t even gossip about it after class. Though that could be because Xander was preoccupied with telling them about the fanfiction she was up until 3am reading.
Anyway, more importantly, October 13th is fast approaching. It’s exactly a week and two days away, and your excitement only builds as the countdown goes down. At least, until something comes along to knock it down.
“What the hell do you mean you think we shouldn’t go to nationals?!” It comes out as more of a screech than you intended, and the groups at the neighboring lunch tables stare at you.
“Shh,” Peter hisses. He glances over at the lunch line, making sure Ned is still there, and then continues. “I want to go too, but what if something happens and I’m needed at the… the internship?”
He puts such obvious emphasis on the word there’s hardly any point in calling it an internship. You roll your eyes.
“I think Queens can survive without us for a couple days.” And you aren’t just saying that because you want to go to nationals. In the weeks since you’ve discovered Peter’s little secret, hardly anything has happened. The most memorable thing you’ve done was rescuing a cat from a tree. Of course, it was very important to rescue the little guy, but if that’s the biggest save two Avengers have done, your point stands.
“I don’t just mean Queens,” he argues. “What if Mr. Stark needs us at the Avengers level?”
“We haven’t seen any signs of threats. What are the chances something comes up in the next week?”
“Not high, I guess, but something could still pop up at any moment. What if, like, Ms. Romanoff or Mr. Rogers suddenly come asking for help? Or there’s an alien invasion? Or another deadly AI? Or–”
“Just– stop.”
“Sorry.”
You take a deep breath. You want to go to D.C. a lot (have you mentioned that yet?), but deep down, you know Peter has a point. Things can go from 0 to 100 in a matter of days — a matter of moments, really — and with the Avengers’ numbers as low as they are, all hands on deck would be necessary for any possible mission.
“Okay. But you owe me.”
“Yeah, yeah, of course.”
“Multiple sandwiches from Mr. Delmar will be involved. Possibly even a chocolate-peanut-butter-vanilla-strawberry-banana shake.”
He looks at you in distress but doesn’t argue, and that’s when you realize just how important this is to him. So you don’t argue any further, but make a mental list of Delmar sandwiches you want to try.
★★★★★★
“But, Peter, it’s nationals,” Mr. Harrington says, an echo of your thoughts from earlier. “Is there no way you could take a couple days off?”
“I can’t go to Washington, because if Mr. Stark needs me, I have to make sure I’m here.”
“You’ve never even been in the same room as Tony Stark,” Flash chimes in from across the room. “The gender-bent next-gen AU doesn’t count.”
“Wow, that was so funny and original,” you say, maintaining a perfectly robotic face and voice. “Never heard that one before.”
Mr. Harrington sighs, bringing you back to the thing you’re supposed to be discussing. “And the same goes for you, I assume?”
“I’m sorry. But I usually work with the interns, and I can’t just leave them hanging. Dad is always so busy, which is why I take over, and I don’t want to overwhelm him, because that never goes well–”
“Wait, what’s going on?” Cindy inquires.
“Peter and Lexi aren’t going to Washington,” Sally chimes in from where she and her review notes are spread out on the floor by the stage.
“No, no, no, no, no,” Cindy says rapidly, evidently panicked by this information, and guilt washes over you.
“Why not?” the Alexes ask in near-perfect unison.
“This is not helping our same-person allegations,” Alyix mutters.
“Really?” Liz asks in disappointment. “Right before nationals?”
You would almost feel bad for her if it weren’t for the fact she makes direct eye contact with Peter as she talks, completely ignoring you. When he doesn’t waver, she sighs.
“Okay, fine. Via, Flash, you’re in.”
You’ve only known Via for a couple weeks, but you’ve already grown to like her a lot. It definitely helps that she’s also super into Taylor Swift, so a foundation for your relationship was already there, discovered when she wore a Red Tour shirt. Her tan skin goes a little pale at this information. You wish her the best of luck. Flash, of course, you do not have a good relationship with, and therefore do not wish the best of luck.
“Ooh, I dunno, I need to check my calendar first. I got a hot date with Black Widow coming up,” he quips.
Abe dings his bell. “That is false.”
“What did I tell you about using the bell for comedic purposes?” Mr. Harrington reminds him tiredly.
“Even if Nat weren’t busy saving the world right now, you are definitely not worth breaking anti-pedo laws for,” you inform Flash.
Peter laughs. Liz not-so-subtly drills holes in your skull with her glare.
Chapter 20: Ŧเ︎Ｆ𝐓︎𝓔︎𝓔︎𝓷
Chapter Text
YOU twirl the dial of your locker, entering the code that’s now etched into your brain. 11-28-0.
“I’ve decided I want the number five sandwich. I gotta know why it’s your default,” you inform Peter.
“And a chocolate-peanut-butter-vanilla-strawberry-banana shake, I’m assuming?” he asks, resigned.
You hum with false thoughtfulness. “You know, I didn’t think about that, but now that you mention it, yeah.”
He groans. “Oh my god, seriously?”
“You should know that’s not true. Of course I want one.” You snicker, shoving your chemistry notebook into your backpack.
“Patrol today, then?” When you nod, he adds, “And we can stay out later tonight — May has to cover a coworker’s shift, so she’ll be at work later than normal. Gives us more time.”
Smiling, you shut your locker and add, “And I’m in no rush to get home.”
You weren’t able to go on patrol yesterday, because after Decathlon practice, Tony took you on a tour of the soon-to-be Avengers Compound. So far, the promised pool is only a dirt hole in the ground, but you were satisfied to see it nonetheless. Today, however, he’s flying off to India for an old business contact’s wedding. He doesn’t trust Wanda and Vision to keep an eye on you, so he asked May if you could stay the night at the Parkers’ apartment, which she was more than okay with — you and Peter have gotten into the habit of going back to his apartment after patrol to do homework, and May is there most days, so you’ve formed a good relationship with her.
“Yes!” he exclaims in excitement as you walk over to his locker. “Hopefully there’ll be something good today — that would make this, like, the greatest day ever. As long as it isn’t something deadly. That wouldn’t be great.”
“It would not,” you agree. “But, uh, maybe we should change the subject,” you whisper, jerking your head in the direction of a group of cheerleaders hanging out in front of the locker next to Peter’s.
“Yeah,” he agrees.
Peter squeezes his way past the cheerleaders, twirling his combo lock as you lean against a locker on the opposite side of his from the gaggle of hair bows and pom-poms. You fall on the topic of your chemistry test today as Ned appears through the crowd. He steps up behind Peter. A little LEGO minifigure is between his fingers, and he puts it on Peter’s shoulder.
“Join me, and together, we will build my new LEGO Death Star.” He’s talking in a low, raspy voice, and you assume he’s imitating a Star Wars character, though you don’t know their name.
Peter turns around, eyes wide in disbelief. “What? No way!”
“So lame,” one of the cheerleaders mutters. You flip them off in honor of your two nerdy boys. They scoff and roll their eyes dismissively, but thankfully walk away (or, more accurately, strut away). Peter and Ned smile.
“How many pieces?” you ask Ned curiously.
“3,803,” he answers proudly.
“That’s insane!” Peter exclaims.
“I know! Do you want to build it together?” Ned glances at you. “I know you don’t know anything about Star Wars, but you can totally join.”
“I know some things,” you say defensively.
“Like what?”
“Like… lightsabers. Those are weapons. And, uh, Luke Skywalker, Princess Leila, and Han Solo. Those are heroes. And Darth Vader. He’s a villain. He’s got that, uh, mask thingy that makes him breathe loudly. I think people who breathe loudly are super annoying, by the way, so he doesn’t pass the vibe check.”
Ned and Peter are near hysterics. Peter wipes a tear from his eye, and you can’t tell if he’s pretending or not.
“Man, you guys are assholes,” you mumble with fake bitterness.
“I’m sorry,” Peter says, drawing out the last syllable. He shuts his locker door and throws an arm around your shoulders as the three of you make your way towards the science hall. “It’s just… I still don’t understand how you could not know anything after we watched the movies.”
“They are very difficult to understand, thank you very much.”
“Lexi Stark can do exponents in her head, but can’t understand Star Wars. Interesting, ‘cause I can do both. Just saying.”
“Hmph.” Keeping up the fake bitterness bit, you cross your arms and stomp your foot.
“Uh, so… should we build the set tonight?” Ned asks tentatively, glancing between the two of you.
Peter looks at him apologetically. “I… I can’t, there’s the Stark–”
“Mm-hm, Stark Internship,” Ned completes.
“Yeah, exactly.”
“Always got that internship.”
You feel a twinge of guilt; the two of you have been blowing Ned off a lot lately.
“Yeah, well, hopefully, it’ll lead to a real job with them.” He glances at you for verification.
You shake your head. “Mm-mm. You’re going to stay our Carl forever.”
“Your… what?”
You sigh dramatically. “You shame me for not understanding your Star Wars references, and yet you don’t get my Phineas and Ferb ones.”
“A job at Stark Industries would be so sweet,” Ned says thoughtfully. “He’d be all, ‘Good job on those spreadsheets, Peter. Here’s a gold coin.’”
You both stare at him.
He shrugs. “I don’t know how jobs work.”
“Oh, that’s exactly how they work,” you tell him. “But, actually, spreadsheets only earn you a plastic coin. Dad’s a billionaire, so he has to give shitty wages. You know how it is.”
Playing along, they both nod seriously. “Oh, yes, of course.”
As you’re approaching a fork in the hallways, Liz turns the corner. She’s chatting with Betty Brant, one of the anchors on the school newscast, and doesn’t glance in your direction (not that you’re complaining), but based on the way Peter kind of stumbles to a stop, he’s noticed her. Ned is saying something, but all you can focus on is how Peter’s arm has gone limp from inattentiveness and slipped partway off your shoulders. He doesn’t register this. All his attention is on stupid pretty perfect princess Liz. You shove his arm fully off of you as a weird, unwelcome feeling coils in your gut. Too much is happening and you’re feeling too much and something that feels a lot like a scream of frustration claws its way up your throat–
“Yeah, that’d be great,” Peter mutters absently, and you realize Ned has trailed off into silence.
The bell rings.
★★★★★★
Just forget about Princess Liz. You’re about to spend a whole Liz-free night with Peter, you remind yourself as you leave school with him. It helps that he upholds his promise; it’s hard for you to stay mad at someone who’s giving you food. After feeding Murph a piece of turkey from your sandwich (it fell on the ground, so really, if you hadn’t given it to him you’d just be wasting food, and that’s not good, so you had to give it to him) you head to the alleyway for a quick change, and you’re off.
You spot someone spraying graffiti on a local Mexican restaurant and confiscate their paint cans, Peter makes a web tightrope and the two of you have fun trying to balance on it, you turn invisible to scare a couple preteen boys TP-ing a house and you and Peter force them to clean it up, a man with a boombox recognizes “the spider guy from YouTube” and Peter does a flip for him, the two of you help an old woman who needs directions to her grandson’s home, and you laugh at him as he attempts to swing between two buildings but misjudges the distance and ends up falling flat on his face.
The old woman was super nice and bought you each a churro in thanks, and you go to a rooftop to eat them. He lifts his mask only enough to expose his mouth as he munches on the cinnamony stick of dough, and you do the same.
“So, um, when do you think our next real mission’s gonna be?” Peter asks you.
“At the rate world-ending threats have been appearing, I’d say sometime next month,” you remark.
“I hope so. I mean– I don’t want anything bad to happen, but, like, I feel like we could be doing more, y’know? I just think Mr. Stark doesn’t fully believe in me yet, and I want to prove myself to him.”
“He gave you the suit,” you remind him. “And that’s not to mention we came to you. If he hadn’t believed you had Avenger potential from the start, we wouldn’t be here right now.”
“Yeah, I guess so.” But he chews his next bite gloomily — or, at least, as gloomily as one can eat a delicious treat.
The rest of the churro-eating passes in silence, and it’s not until you’re nibbling on your last bite, trying to make it last, does somebody speak.
“Miss Stark,” AVIS begins, “look over there.”
You do as she says, searching in the direction she’s lit up on your mask. Four guys are walking into a bank across the street from Mr. Delmar’s deli. They’re wearing all black, carrying duffel bags, and their faces are obscured with plastic masks. They couldn’t be making it more obvious that they’re planning a robbery.
“Peter,” you say, elbowing him gently.
He looks up from where he’s been fiddling with his web shooters, and his eyes almost instantly lock onto the robbers.
“Finally, something good.”
You pop the rest of the last bite in your mouth. The two of you pull down your masks and quietly make your way over to the bank. You go invisible and phase through the glass door. Meanwhile, Peter opens the door just wide enough to admit himself, slipping through the crack. He holds the door as it closes, making sure it doesn’t slam.
It isn’t a very far walk between the rooftop and the bank, but by the time you’ve arrived, the robbers have somehow managed to rip the front off of one of the many ATMs in the lobby and are pulling out the cash from within, stashing it in the duffel bags. What the hell?
Peter fumbles around, doing several awkward poses before finally settling on his right hand leaning on the door frame and his left resting on his hip. He clears his throat noisily.
“What’s up, guys? Forget your PIN number?”
The four men turn around, and you realize with a jolt their masks are featuring Avengers — Tony, Steve, Thor, and Hulk. But they’re more cartoonish, brightly colored versions, looking as if they were inspired by a comic book drawing.
“Woah, you’re the Avengers!” Peter quips. “What are you guys doing here?”
They don’t waste a second. Fake-Thor and Fake-Iron-Man immediately grab guns, cocking and aiming them at Peter. He webs Fake-Iron-Man’s gun and whips it to the side, causing Fake-Iron-Man to punch Fake-Thor in the face. The force throws Fake-Iron-Man to the ground, but Fake-Thor quickly recovers. Peter jumps up, sticking his hands to the ceiling and swinging back and forth to gain momentum.
“Thor, Hulk, Captain America, good to see you again. It’s been a while.”
He swings his legs over Fake-Thor’s head, then brings them back down hard, propelling Fake-Thor into an advertisement for identity theft by the door. He smashes into the panel’s glass and slides down to the floor.
“Man, what happened to you on that mission? You aren’t as handsome anymore!” Peter exclaims.
Fake-Iron-Man is getting back up, but Peter, focused on his latest quip, doesn’t notice. You go around and quickly get him in a chokehold, dragging him back down to the floor. Fake-Captain-America stares at him in confusion.
“Iron Man, what the hell are you doing here?” you ask as you finally shed your invisibility. “You’re a billionaire! And in India!”
You deliver a swift, firm uppercut to his jaw, knocking both the mask askew and the criminal unconscious.
“The real Tony Stark would’ve been able to withstand that,” you mutter, standing up. “Just saying.”
Peter has come back into the fight in full swing, finishing up a quick battle with Fake-Hulk that results in his weapon being confiscated and him knocked to the ground.
Fake-Captain-America is now the last one standing, and grabs an unidentifiable device, aiming it at the two of you. A blue haze appears around you, and your whole body immediately goes numb and static-y. The two of you float in the air, you lifted from the ground, Peter dragged from the ceiling.
“Woah, this feels so weird!” he shouts. His voice has a weird warped effect thanks to the mysterious machine.
Fake-Hulk jumps up and punches you, but ends up throwing you out of the machine’s blue haze. You go flying, smashing into the identity theft advert. There isn’t much glass left, but the remaining bits now have extremely sharp edges, and one of them cuts through your suit, dark red liquid rushing to mingle with bright purple fabric. You land on the floor, a few drops of blood spraying across the tile from the cut on your left forearm.
Peter, who’s still trapped in the blue haze, is dragged up and down, up and down, up and down. A handful of dollar bills are carried along with him, but Fake-Captain-America doesn’t seem to care.
“I’m starting– to think– you’re not– the Avengers!” Peter’s cry is punctuated by his body smashing into the floor or ceiling.
“Yeah, no shit, Sherlock!” you reply, getting to your feet.
You take a running leap, then, when Peter’s against the floor, jump over the blue haze. It’s a rough landing, but you just manage to get onto Fake-Captain-America’s shoulders. Distracted, Fake-Captain-America stalls in his movement of the machine just long enough for Peter to stretch out a hand, his fingertips sticking to the concrete floor, now exposed because the tiles covering it have been ripped up by the machine. You make a grab for the machine just as Peter sends a web out to a table behind you. He pulls it forward, smacking it into Fake-Captain-America, and the resulting collision sends you flying into the air. But you keep a firm grip on the machine, and successfully rip it out of the criminal’s grasp. You and the machine land on the ground. It disconnects Peter from the blue haze but doesn’t quite make it disappear, instead kicking up a storm of bills that fly around everyone as the two of you work to apprehend the criminals.
“Let’s wrap this up, we have homework to do!” Peter informs the criminals.
“Yeah, pretty sure they couldn’t care less!” you yell over the buzzing of the machine. You bend over it. “Okay, what the hell is this thing?”
You’re preoccupied with the machine and Peter is preoccupied with interrogating Fake-Iron-Man, so neither of you have noticed Fake-Hulk powering up the other machine until a high-pitched whine spits the air. The device is alight with purple energy, and you jump up and run towards him, panicked.
“No, no, wait–” Peter begins.
There’s an explosion of energy, and the inertia throws Fake-Hulk backward. His grasp on the device loosens, and it’s thrown into the air as a laser propels out of it. It easily cuts through the bank walls, piercing the night sky with its orange light. And then the device falls back to earth. The laser doesn’t shut off, just changes its aim to the next closest thing: Mr. Delmar’s deli.
Chapter 21: รเ︎Ⓧ︎𝐓︎𝓔︎𝓔︎𝓷
Chapter Text
THE deli explodes as the laser slices through it, sending glass and debris flying in every direction. Flames whoosh out of the gaping window frames.
“Mr. Delmar!” Peter yelps.
The two of you sprint out of the bank and towards the wreckage on the other side of the street.
“Mr. Delmar!” he calls again, leaping over a giant pile of debris. “Hey, Mr. Delmar, are you in here?”
You hurdle over the debris while using your phasing ability so the flames won’t be able to hurt you. Peter’s trek through the store has to be a cautious one, but you run through with reckless abandon, searching for Murph and his human. They’re cowering in the back room. Well, Mr. Delmar is cowering. Murph is curled up on his cat bed and only seems irritated that the flames would dare interrupt his nap.
“Sorry, buddy,” you mutter, going solid so you can pick up Murph.
Peter barrels in behind you and helps Mr. Delmar stand up, supporting him through the store, with you and Murph trailing behind. When you’re finally out, Mr. Delmar leans against a lightpost, coughing harshly.
There’s a clang from across the street, and as one, you and the other two humans turn to look at the bank. A stoplight on the curb just outside it was sliced in half by the device, and the top has finally slid off of its lower counterpart, landing in the middle of the street. The bank behind it is completely empty.
“Goddamnit,” you groan in frustration.
Peter casts one last concerned look at Mr. Delmar before turning to you.
“We gotta go.”
“Yeah.”
He jogs away, and you start to follow, but a meow reminds you of your precious cargo.
“Oh. Um…” You hold your arms out awkwardly to Mr. Delmar, the skin between your pointer fingers and thumbs secured in what are the feline equivalent of armpits.
He takes Murph, cradling the cat in his arms. Since there are no longer any robbers to capture, you and Peter make your way back to his apartment. Earlier in the day, you were excited for your sleepover, but the feeling is now dampened by the failed mission.
“What do we do now?” he asks.
“Uh…” you sigh. “AVIS?”
“Yes, Miss Stark?”
“Call, uh, call Happy,” you say, resigned.
Thankfully, he picks up almost right away.
“Lexi? What’s going on? I thought you were having a sleepover at Peter’s?”
“No, no, I– I am, but– Happy, listen. The craziest thing just happened. So, these guys were robbing an ATM–”
“Are you alright?”
“Yes, but th–”
“Okay, then take a breath.”
“No, but they had this tech–”
“Hey, hey, hey!” His voice has gotten fainter, and you imagine him taking the phone away from his face to yell at someone in the room with him. “Be careful with that! That’s worth more than you or me.” His voice then returns to its normal volume. “Listen, if you’re okay, I have to go before Dum-E breaks your grandma’s old vases.”
“Isn’t part of your job helping me?” You throw the statement out as a last-ditch effort to get him to listen.
“Yes, but you don’t need help right now. Those vases are worth more than me or that robot — I don’t have time to worry about bank robbers. The police can handle that.”
“Well, no I’m not hurt, but the robbers–”
“Exactly. You’re not hurt; that’s all I need to know. Bye.”
“No, no, Happy–”
But he’s already hung up.
★★★★★★
You attempted to explain Happy’s unhelpfulness, but Peter wasn’t made aware of the move, and so you have to go down a rabbit hole of explanations.
“I don’t understand. Mr. Stark sold Avengers Tower?”
“I’m surprised you didn’t know — a bunch of magazines reported it.”
He shrugs. “I don’t watch the news a ton.”
“Really? I don’t because I don’t want a repeat of last year, but I’m surprised the number one Avengers Fanboy doesn’t.”
His brow furrows. “Last year? Hang on, like…”
You block the memories before they can come back by taking advantage of the fact he trailed off to summarize Tony’s reasoning for the move.
“That’s pretty cool, actually. A home just for the Avengers.”
“No more living in a business building,” you add happily.
“So, um, if Mr. Stark wants more room… does that mean he thinks Mr. Rogers and his friends are going to come back?”
You think of the letters Steve has sent you that are still without a response, and your face flushes with shame. At this point, it might almost be weirder to respond, but at the same time, he discarded his phone for extra security, and as far as you know, Tony hasn’t received any letters, so you’re his only method of contact with the remaining Avengers. And you’ve been blocking that contact out of what could probably be described as selfishness.
“You… don’t have to answer if you don’t want to,” he adds. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”
“No, it’s fine. I just, uh, I honestly don’t know.”
“I’m… sorry,” he repeats awkwardly.
“Can we talk about something else?”
“Yeah, yeah, of course,” he replies rapidly.
“Thanks. Can you, uh…” you motion vaguely to his window.
“Oh! Right. Yeah.”
He sticks his hands and feet to the brick outer wall and hastily scales up the building, all the way up to the 7th floor. When he’s right above his window frame, he sends a web rope down to the ground. You climb up, then once your feet are planted firmly on the window sill, go invisible and phase through the glass. The window only opens from the inside, so once you’re inside his room, you open it up for him. He crawls onto the ceiling, and you slowly and quietly shut the window behind him. His door is open a few inches, so you go over and silently shut that, too. Once it’s firmly shut, you go visible, the two of you discard your masks on the floor, and he jumps down from the ceiling, landing effortlessly on his feet.
Because you had an extra bag with your overnight stuff, you and Peter had stopped at the apartment to drop off your things before going out on patrol. There’s a lot of important stuff in your suitcase you don’t want getting stolen, and the upside-down trash can doesn’t offer that much protection. You turn around to go the closet to pull out said suitcase–
Ned is sitting on Peter’s bed with a partially-built LEGO Death Star in his hands, staring at the two of you in open-mouthed shock.
Chapter 22: ร𝓔︎Ｖ︎𝓔︎𝓷𝐓︎𝓔︎𝓔︎𝓷
Chapter Text
PETER–”
You don’t know what you’re going to say next, but it doesn’t matter. Ned, completely forgetting about the LEGO in his hands, stands up. The Death Star tumbles from his lap, landing on the floor where it loudly smashes apart.
“What was that?” May’s distant voice asks.
“Uh– it’s nothing! Nothing!” Peter shouts, panicked.
“You’re the Spider-Man,” Ned says in awe, staring at him. “From YouTube.”
“I’m not.” Peter slips out of his suit as if that would somehow prove his blatantly wrong point.
You facepalm.
Ned turns to you. “And you’re that new Avenger!”
“No, no, she isn’t.”
“I think we’re a little past denying it,” you mutter.
“You were on the ceiling! And– and you were invisible!”
“No, we weren’t– Ned, what are you doing in my room?!”
“May let me in. You said we were gonna finish the Death Star!”
“You can’t just bust into my room–!”
The door swings open. Peter runs over to Ned, standing protectively in front of him. You go invisible on instinct, but it turns out to just be May. However, it’s probably best you stay invisible, because Peter still doesn’t have clothes on.
May laughs, waving a towel in front of her face. There’s a clip just barely holding her hair up, and she relieves it from its duty, shaking the long brown strands out.
“Oh, that turkey meatloaf recipe is a disaster. Let’s go to dinner. Thai? Ned, you want Thai?”
“Yeah–” he starts to say.
“No,” Peter interrupts loudly. “He’s got a thing.”
“A thing to do… after.”
Now you really wish you hadn’t gone invisible, because these two dumbasses do not know how to act naturally to save their lives.
“Okay…. Where’s Lexi?”
“She’s, uh–”
“Bathroom,” they say together.
“Doing, uh… girl… stuff,” Peter adds awkwardly.
You massage your temples, hoping their idiocy doesn’t give you a headache.
“Oh, she’s on her period, huh?” May asks sympathetically, and the boys look wildly uncomfortable. You literally have to bite down on your hand to stop yourself from laughing.
“Wh– she– um…”
“Well, just let her know I have pain meds if she needs, alright?”
“Y– yeah.”
“And, uh… maybe put on some clothes.”
She gives Peter a strange look, possibly having only just now registered the fact he’s stripped down to his boxers, because really, it’s the least weird thing about this situation. He nods and grabs a sweater from off his bed, throwing it on. Mercifully, May stops interrogating them, shutting the door behind her as she leaves. The moment she does, Ned lets out a huge breath and immediately starts up an interrogation of his own.
“She doesn’t know?!”
“Nobody knows! Well, I mean, Lexi knows–” Peter looks around for you. You go visible. He nods, pointing at you. “And Mr. Stark knows, because he made my suit–”
“Tony Stark made your suit?!” Ned whisper-shrieks. He gasps as a thought occurs to him. “Do you know all the Avengers?!”
“Yeah, yeah. Wanda’s beaten me in Just Dance.”
“You’ve played Just Dance with Wanda Maximoff?!”
“Maybe you should stop talking,” you hastily suggest to Peter. “Any more info and his head’s gonna explode.”
“Right, yeah, okay. But Ned–” He turns back to his best friend, who is now bracing himself against Peter’s bed as he tries to process all this new information. “You can’t tell anybody about any of this. You have to keep it a secret.”
“A secret? Why?”
“Because you know what May’s like!” he hisses frantically. “If she finds out people try and kill me every night, she won’t let me do this anymore! Come on, Ned, please.”
“Okay. Okay, okay, okay, okay. I’ll level with you guys. I don’t think I can keep this a secret.”
You throw your head back in frustration.
“This is the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me!”
“Ned! May can not know. I cannot do that to her right now. You know? With everything that’s happened to her, I–” his voice breaks. “Please.”
Both Ned and you fall into a sober silence. This is a side of Peter you’ve never seen before, and you don’t know what to do.
“Okay,” Ned repeats, softer and less frantic this time.
“Just swear it, okay?”
“I swear.”
“Thank you.”
Ned turns to you. “But… what about you? I mean, you don’t need to keep it a secret, do you?”
“Well, it’s not a need, but I just… I just wanted some anonymity in my life. That’s why I have a mask. It’s nice, having people not know who I am for once. I know it’s not as big a reason, but–”
“That’s not true. Ned, please, this is just as important,” Peter begs.
“Alright. I won’t tell. I promise.”
You let out a long, slow breath of relief. “Thank you.”
“You guys are my best friends,” Ned tells you sincerely. “If you need me to keep your secret, I can do that.”
You smile gratefully. But despite all of his reassurances, Peter still seems to be bothered by something. He turns to you with a vaguely haunted look.
“Uh, so, what May said about your, um, you know…”
Ned draws back, eyes widening, and you try very hard not to laugh at the way they tiptoe around talking about it.
“My period?” you prompt.
He nods. “Are you, like, is it…?”
“Is it my time of the month?” you prompt.
“Can I… ask that?” he inquires hesitantly.
“Yeah, I don’t care. But no, it’s not. And, anyway, it doesn’t matter. The period gods love me so much, I don’t get bad cramps or a heavy flow.”
They both just stare at you, silently blinking. You roll your eyes.
“Boys,” you say in frustration, stomping over to the closet to finally grab your suitcase.
★★★★★★
Once Ned has (very reluctantly) gone home, May takes you and Peter to a Thai place they go to often. You’ve only had Thai once or twice in your life, if that, so you’re eager to try it. Peter, on the other hand, grumpily picks at his food, barely eating anything.
“What’s the matter?” May asks him. “I thought you loved larb.”
He doesn't answer, continuing to focus his energy on poking at the aforementioned larb.
“It’s too larby?”
He still stays silent, but May points at him like she’s figured out the answer.
“Not larby enough.”
He doesn’t confirm or deny her conclusion. She sighs.
“Okay, how many times do I have to say ‘larb’ before you talk to me? You know I larb you.”
“Sorry. I’m just tired. School and stuff.”
She scrunches up her nose in confusion. “But… you don’t even wake up that early. You practically roll out of bed and sleepwalk to school.” Smiling, she turns to you. “I’m amazed he hasn’t shown up to school in his pajamas yet.”
Your eyes widen from this amazing new information. “You can do that?”
“Oh, yeah, kids do it all the time.”
“I’ve been waking up at 7 every morning so I can get fully ready! It’s been taking me like an hour!”
Peter’s head pops up as he tears his gaze away from the now infamous larb.
“An hour?!”
“Welcome to being a girl,” you say flatly.
“Oh, speaking of, how are you feeling?” May probes gently. “I don’t know what kind of stuff you have at home, but I have a bunch of pain meds if you need. I know dads aren’t always the most helpful when it comes to… how did Peter put it? ‘Girl stuff.’”
You snort, glancing at him to see his reaction, but he isn’t even paying attention. He’s staring over May’s shoulder at the small TV by the ordering counter, transfixed. You follow his gaze, freezing when you realize the report is covering the bank robbery.
“The beloved Queens institution, Delmar’s Deli, was destroyed in an explosion earlier tonight after an ATM robbery was thwarted by Queens’ own local crime stopper–”
“What?” May asks in exasperation after realizing you’re both riveted by the TV.
She turns around just in time to see the scene switch to a photo of Peter in the Stark Tech suit, walking out of a porta-potty, unsticking a piece of toilet paper from the bottom of what passes for the suit’s shoe. You raise an eyebrow at him, and he shrugs and gives you a baffled look like he doesn’t have the faintest idea where that photo came from.
The news footage then switches to a feed from a security camera at the bank.
“Spider-Man was joined by his new sidekick” (Sidekick?! you think in disbelief. You glance over at Peter for the third time, and it’s obvious he’s trying not to look pleased by the news’s word choice.) “who witnesses have seen around Queens with him in the past few weeks. This figure bears a striking resemblance to a new Avenger seen in the Battle of Sokovia, known as Black Star, and is believed to be the same hero, though why they would be so far from the world-ending threats they are seemingly accustomed to is currently unknown.”
You don’t miss the use of the word “they” instead of “she”. All videos taken of you, both from Sokovia and tonight’s heist, are fairly blurry, not to mention Tony made sure to design a suit that wouldn’t sexualize you. Even with that, though, your figure appears fairly feminine in the security camera footage. But you find you aren’t bothered. In fact, it’s just the opposite — the sound of it is really quite nice.
“As the duo attempted to foil the heist, a powerful blast was set off, slicing through the bodega across the street. Miraculously, no one was harmed.”
May turns back to Peter. “If you spot something like that happening, you turn and you run the other way.”
Peter furrows his brow and nods, trying to look convincing. “Yeah. Yeah, yeah, yeah. Of course.”
“Six blocks away from us! No offense to you, Lexi, but I have to say, I don’t like this new superhero craze. It’s only creating more danger, in my opinion.”
“Well, something like a bank robbery’s got nothing to do with superheroes, really,” you say politely, shrugging. “It just so happens you guys have your own personal mini-Avenger in the city.”
May twists back around to watch the end of the report.
“Better a mini-Avenger than a sidekick,” Peter mumbles, just audible enough for you to hear. Channeling your inner Nat, you kick him in the shin, hard. To your delight, he lets out an “Ow!”
“What happened?” May questions, facing him in concern.
“Bit his tongue,” you answer before he can.
He sighs in defeat. “Yeah. Just… bit my tongue. Nothing big.”
She nods, and you let out a satisfied snicker under your breath. Peter glares at you jokingly.
A waiter comes over, setting a bowl on the edge of the table.
“Sticky rice pudding.”
“Oh, we didn’t order that,” May informs him.
“On the house,” he responds, smiling.
She seems surprised at that. “Thanks.”
He nods once before heading back into the kitchen.
“Well, that was nice of him,” she says, pulling the bowl towards her.
“I think he larbs you,” Peter chortles.
May’s mouth opens in a shocked smile. She points to herself, eyebrows raised in surprise — and maybe some delight.
“First Dad, then Mr. Delmar, and now the waiter,” you observe. “Go you, May!”
The two Parkers latch onto different parts of that sentence.
“What do you mean Mr. Delmar?” May asks in confusion.
“What do you mean Mr. Stark?!” Peter asks in panic.
Chapter 23: εเ︎︎ģ𝔥𝐓︎𝓔︎𝓔︎𝓷
Chapter Text
YOU got bit by a spider? Can it bite me?” Ned pauses, considering that. “Well, it probably would’ve hurt, right?” Then he pauses again, reconsidering. “Y’know what, whatever. Even if it did hurt, I would let it bite me.” Then he pauses to reconsider some more. “Maybe. How much did it hurt?”
“The spider’s dead, Ned,” Peter tells him.
“Aw, man.”
“By the way, before you ask, I did not get bit by a star.”
It was intended to be a joke, but based on the way Ned looks down at his feet and shuffles them awkwardly, he really was about to ask that.
“Dude,” Peter says.
“Okay, look, I saw her walk through a wall and turn invisible last night. Regular humans can’t do that. So if she didn’t get bit by a star, where did her powers come from?”
“How much did the press tell the world about Sokovia?” you ask Peter.
“Not a lot.” He turns to Ned. “Okay, so there was this core thingy, and that’s what Ultron used to lift Sokovia into the air. Lexi destroyed it, but it exploded in the process, and that gave her powers.”
“The core was made of vibranium,” you elaborate, “which is this super powerful and rare metal. It can absorb potential energy and turn it into kinetic. That, combined with Ultron’s tech, released this super powerful energy blast. My cells absorbed it, and that gave me my powers. And no, we aren’t sure why that happened. Vibranium and its uses and effects are a mystery to most of the world.”
“So metal-based abilities run in the family, then,” Ned concludes.
Your mouth forms around the word no, but then you stop to think about it. “Well…”
“And, also, how do you not know what parts of Sokovia made it into the news? You were literally there, aren’t you interested to see how much of your heroics the world knows?”
“I never look at the news if I can help it.”
“What? Seriously? If I was in the news, I would want to see it. That would be so cool.”
“You get used to it after a while.” You quicken your pace a bit so you can be in front of them, then turn around and walk backwards as you say, “Also, it’s really not healthy to constantly see yourself through the paparazzi’s eyes. I’m in a good place now, Ned, don’t screw it up for me!”
You spin around and run down the street, stopping when you get to the curb so you can wait for the boys to catch up. When they finally do arrive, you have to wait longer so they can catch their breath. And then you realize where you are, and all three of you stop in your tracks.
“Woah,” Ned says softly.
Right across the street is the burnt wreck that used to be Delmar’s Deli, surrounded by police barriers and caution tape. It’s a large perimeter, extending halfway into the street on both sides of the store due to the large piles of debris strewn about. Cops mill about, redirecting traffic and keeping the pedestrians that have stopped to stare from sneaking underneath the barrier.
“You guys were here?”
“Yeah.”
“You could’ve died.”
You shift your weight from foot to foot. That’s something you hadn’t really thought about in the heat of the moment. Ned’s outside perspective sheds a whole new light on the scene. And then the somber moment is broken by another one of his questions.
“Lexi, can you, er, phase through anything?” He glances down defensively at his own body.
Peter stares at you with the expression of someone who’s just had something horrifying pointed out to them.
“Dude, I’m not gonna try that!” you exclaim, grossed out. “Trust me, just being around boys is enough. I don’t need to be you.”
★★★★★★
Ned continues to grill you on the way to school. Questions include: Can Peter summon an army of spiders? (No.) Can you summon an army of meteors? (No.) Do you have light manipulation powers? (No.) How far can Peter shoot his webs? (Unknown.) If Ned were Peter, he would stand on the edge of a tall building and just shoot them as far as he could. (Shut up, Ned, we’re gonna be late for class.)
You hope spending time apart from each other will give Ned a chance to process and calm down, but unfortunately, the opposite is true. When you reunite for the walk to P.E., the list of questions returns with a vengeance. You’re always given 10 extra minutes at the start of the period to change into your gym clothes, and you wish Peter the best of luck as you enter the girls’ locker room. Upon coming out, Peter has a slightly haunted look and informs you Ned wanted to know if he can lay eggs. For Peter’s sake, you want the interrogation to be over soon.
But the entire world seems against you today. The topic is forced to remain on the Avengers during P.E., as you have to do something called the “Captain America Fitness Challenge”. Your gym teacher, Coach Wilson, has rolled out a cart supporting a bulky old TV in front of the bleachers. He signals you all to gather on them, then presses play on what can only describe as torture in video form.
As promised, the Captain America Fitness Challenge is led by the one and only Steve Rogers. You stare in horror at the TV when you realize he’s wearing that stupid costume he had when you first met him, the one he wore while fighting in the Battle of New York.
“Hi. I’m Captain America. Whether you’re in the classroom or on the battlefield, physical fitness can mean the difference between success and failure.”
You put your head in your hands, unable to look at his face when it’s half-obscured by that dorky-ass helmet. Peter awkwardly pats you on the shoulder, as if that small attempt at comfort could save you from this hellhole.
“Today, my good friend, your gym teacher, will be conducting the Captain America Fitness Challenge.”
“Unrelated, but where’s the closest bridge?” you implore, your voice still muffled by your hands.
“You’re never writing him back, are you?” Peter asks.
“Not a chance.”
“You write letters to Captain America?” Ned says in amazement.
Coach Wilson blows his whistle, and you dare to check the screen. Steve is gone, replaced by low-budget-movie-esque text reading “STATION 1: SIT-UPS”.
“Alright, everybody find a partner. No more than groups of two!”
Peter glances between the three of you uncertainly. “How do we…?”
You lean back. Michelle is in the row behind you, predictably reading instead of watching the video. Not that you blame her.
“Partners?” you offer.
“As long as you don’t care when I don’t do sit-ups. No offense to your, um…” she jerks her head towards the TV, then continues, “but I think being well-read is a better indicator of success than fitness.”
“Who? The dumbass in the video? No idea who that is,” you deadpan.
“Uh-huh.” A rare smirk appears on her face for a few seconds before she returns to her book, which is now The Invisible Man.
You straighten up again. “There. You two can be partners.”
“Oh, so you’re just gonna escape and leave me to more possibly egg-related questions?”
You nod firmly in response to Peter, patting him on the shoulder. “Yep, exactly! Glad we’ve reached an understanding.” Jumping to your feet, you wait until Michelle has stood up as well before joining the crowd flooding off the bleachers and onto the mats spread out throughout the gym.
The four of you find two mats right next to each other. Michelle and Ned do their sit-ups first. Or… Ned does sit-ups. Michelle just moves her arms up and down while reading. Hey, at least she’s true to her word.
Ned doesn’t do very many sit-ups. But he’s preoccupied, anyway — once he doesn’t have to conserve his breath for the workout, he can ask more questions. Michelle gives up shortly after Ned does, and the two of you swap. She leans back on her right hand, holding her book in her left. The point of partners is so you have someone to hold your feet in place, which makes the sit-ups easier, but Michelle has a solution: She lays her feet on top of yours and presses down firmly. And either she doesn’t care what Ned has to say or isn’t listening (you suspect the latter is true), because she never once reacts, not even when he asks what Hulk smells like.
“I bet he smells nice,” he decides.
“Peter, just saying, directions to that bridge would be greatly appreciated,” you remind him.
“Hey, can I be your guy in the chair?” Ned queries.
“My what?” Peter says uncomprehendingly.
“You know how there’s like a guy with a headset telling the other guy what to do? Like, if you were in a burning building, I could tell you where to go because there’d be screens around me and I could swivel around them, ‘cause I would be your guy in the chair!”
“Ned, I don’t need a guy in the chair. And you don’t even have a bunch of screens. Or a swivel chair.”
“Well, I could get them.” He turns hopefully to you.
“I am not giving you a bunch of screens. Or a swivel chair.”
“Would you give them to me if I was your guy in the chair?”
“I don’t need a guy in the chair. I have AVIS.”
“Who?”
“My AI.”
“You have an AI?!” he shrieks, so loudly Michelle looks up.
“Project I’m working on with my dad,” you hastily lie. You have no idea if she buys it or not, but either way, she returns to her book. “Ned, you have to be quiet,” you hiss.
“Do you have an AI?” he asks Peter.
He doesn’t, of course, but is spared from admitting that because Coach Wilson walks by. You’ve learned that the kids at Midtown generally couldn’t care less what the group next to them is discussing, but teachers are taking in about 12 conversations at once.
“Parker, Stark, looking good.”
He has to stop at the next group, though, to fix their form. Ned miraculously stays silent, allowing your ears to pick up a nearby conversation. A group sitting on the bleachers — that, despite her not being in your class, includes Liz (seriously, why is she everywhere?) — are also talking about the Avengers, though their conversation is going in a very different direction.
“Now, see,” Betty Brant begins, “for me, it would be F Thor, marry Iron Man, and kill Hulk.”
You let out a surprised and uncomfortable snort.
“Well, what about The Spider-Man?” This comes from the third person in their group, a boy you don’t know.
“It’s just ‘Spider-Man’,” Liz corrects. “And did you guys see that bank security cam footage on YouTube? He fought off like four guys.”
“Um, Black Star was there, too,” the boy points out. “They helped fight off the robbers.”
“Whatever, Seymour. Spider-Man did most of it.”
“Oh, my god, she’s crushing on Spider-Man,” Betty teases, and you work very hard not to roll your eyes.
Peter freezes mid-sit-up. Both him and Ned are openly staring at her.
“No way,” Seymour scoffs.
“Kind of,” Liz concedes.
That makes you pause. You turn around, watching her and her friends as well.
“Ew, gross. What if he’s like 30?”
“You don’t even know what he looks like. Like, what if he’s seriously burned?”
But despite all her friends' protests, Liz isn’t dissuaded.
“I wouldn’t care, I’d love him for the person he is on the inside.”
“Peter knows Spider-Man!”
Your jaw drops. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Peter’s has done the same. Literally the entire gym has gone silent at Ned’s outburst.
“No, I don’t!” Peter yelps. He scrambles to his feet and starts walking toward Liz. “I– I mean–”
Ned gets up, too. “They’re friends.”
Flash, who’s on the other side of the gym for station two, lets go of his climbing rope and falls to the floor. Much to your disappointment, he’s able to land perfectly on his feet.
“Yeah, like Captain America and Coach Wilson are friends.” He chuckles at his own dumb joke.
“He knows Black Star, too! Right, Lexi?”
Ned’s eyes fall on you, along with those of the entire gym.
Reluctantly, you get to your feet. Ned is so lucky I have years of practice controlling my actions.
“Yeah. It’s, uh, through the Stark Internship. But they like their privacy, so we aren’t really supposed to talk about it.” You say the last phrase as pointedly as you possibly can, staring lasers at Ned.
“Wow, that’s awesome,” Flash says condescendingly, stalking towards Peter like a predator advancing on its prey. “Hey, you know what? You should invite them to Liz’s party. Right?” He glances at her.
She shrugs. “Yeah, I’m having some people over Friday night. You’re more than welcome to come.” Her gaze briefly flicks over to Ned before returning to Peter. It does not ever fall on you. Not that you’re upset about that.
“...Having a party?” Peter asks faintly.
Flash leers. “Yeah, it’s gonna be dope. You should totally invite your personal friends, Spider-Man and Black Star!”
“Um…”
“It’s okay. I know Peter is way too busy for parties, so…”
Are you a horrible person for finding happiness in Liz’s disappointment? Perhaps. Do you care? Not particularly.
“Oh, come on, he’ll be there. And so will Lexi. Right, guys?”
Flash pats Peter on the shoulder. You attempt to call him a name, but the bell rings at the exact same moment, censoring you.
I hope the grave Ned has dug us can fit him, too, ‘cause he’s sure as hell gonna need one.
Chapter 24: ภเ︎𝓷𝓔︎𝐓︎𝓔︎𝓔︎𝓷
Chapter Text
THE party is only two days later. And yet, in that time, the guest list seems to be extending rapidly. By Friday, it feels like every single person in every single one of your classes is buzzing with excitement.
Everyone, that is, except you and Michelle. You’ve been avoiding talking about it, as if that could somehow stop it from happening. She avoids it too — at least, until you’re changing back into your regular clothes at the end of the period.
“So. I guess I don’t even need to ask if you’re going to Liz’s party tonight.”
“What are you talking about? I was invited in such a subtle way,” you say sarcastically.
She chuckles. “Sure, sure.”
“No, wait, I kinda was,” you continue, seriously this time. “Honestly, I don’t even think I was invited. It was a half-invite by proxy.”
“Huh. Yeah, I guess it was. Liz doesn’t really like you that much, does she? Which is weird, because if English and history are any indicator, most people at this school love you.”
“Yeah, well, Liz is…” you hesitate, realizing you don’t really have an adjective. Well, okay, you actually have many adjectives. But most of them aren’t good to say in front of someone who might actually like her.
“Liz is Liz?” she offers.
You shrug in agreement.
The bell rings. You both pack up your P.E. clothes into a bag to take home and shrug on your backpacks, heading for the locker room door.
“Um… I hope you have fun?”
You snort. “You literally could not sound less like that’s what you want me to do.”
“Sorry. I don’t– I don’t know what people do at parties. So, like, if it’s something you enjoy, I hope you have fun, but if it’s, like, doing drugs or something, um, I don’t.”
“Do people seriously do drugs at high school parties?”
She raises an eyebrow. “What did I just say?”
“Right. Yeah. My bad. I don’t know what people do at high school parties either. My knowledge extends to, like, fancy dinners and work parties and shit.”
“Look at us. A couple of girls who are probably very undersocialized,” she deadpans.
You laugh. “Oh, they definitely are>"
She gives a small smile, chuckling quietly. The bell rings. You both grab your bag of P.E. clothes to take home and backpack, and head for the locker room door.
“Well… uh, bye. See you Monday, I guess,” she says awkwardly.
As always, she waves and turns to head off to wherever she spends her lunches. You’ve always been curious where that is, but, knowing she likes to keep things to herself and not wanting to pry, have never worked up the courage to ask her. But now you’re emboldened by the mini-bonding session you just had. It’s now or never, you tell yourself, which is maybe a tad overdramatic, but it gets the job done.
“Wait!”
She pauses, turning back around. “Hm?”
“I, um, I was just wondering… where are you going? I never see you in the cafeteria.”
“Oh. Um…”
“You don’t– you don’t have to answer. I was just curious. But it’s fine. You don’t–”
“I go to the library?” she replies, sounding like it’s more of a question. Then she clears her throat and tries again. “I go to the library.”
“Really?” you say, surprised by that.
“Yeah.” She shrugs, seemingly unbothered. “The cafeteria kinda sucks when you don’t have anyone to sit with. And just in general.”
“Oh. Well, uh, you could sit with me? If you wanted.” The offer comes out all in one breath, the fear of rejection sending it running out of your mouth.
Michelle falls stonily silent, watching you with unreadable eyes. You assume that’s a no and turn to leave, wanting to walk away as fast as you can.
“Sure.”
Surprised, you whirl back around. Michelle walks up to you, closing the gap you created with your series of quick, panicked steps. You take a couple more steps, glancing back, scared her response didn’t mean what you think it meant and she’s just going to go to the library. But she stays at your side. So you quicken your pace a little, and it turns casual and relaxed as you tread the familiar route. And Michelle falls into step beside you like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Peter and Ned are always quicker at getting changed, and Ned needs to get in line to buy lunch, so they go ahead of you. Talking with Michelle made you take more time than usual, so by the time you arrive, both of them are already seated with food in front of them, debating what would happen if a zombie bit a vampire.
“The vampire would turn into a zombie. Obviously,” Ned decides.
“A vampire can’t turn into a zombie!” Peter argues.
“Why not? They’re both undead.”
You and Michelle slide into the bench across from them. They both look up.
“Oh, hey, Lexi,” Peter greets. His eyes flick over to the girl next to you. “Hey. Michelle, right?”
“Yeah.”
“She’s gonna sit with us today,” you inform the boys. “I mean, you can kinda already tell, but you know.”
“Cool,” Ned says, smiling. He turns back to Peter. “So, okay, Mr. Genius, what do you think would happen?”
“Well, vampires are usually immune to diseases. So, nothing.”
“You can’t just pick and choose lore!”
“I’m not!” Peter says defensively. “It’s a widely accepted fact.”
“No it’s not.”
“C’mon, man, there are so many examples where it is.”
You and Michelle are watching this debate, entertained.
“Man. You guys are losers,” she says dryly.
Both the boys pull back, Peter scrunching up his nose in confusion.
“But, then, why are you sitting with us?”
Her face is blank and unbothered as she explains. “Lexi invited me to, and I went with it because I don’t have any friends.”
They both only seem more confused by this, but without another word, Michelle pulls her book out of her bag. Ironically, it’s Dracula. Peter takes notice of this, too. He lights up hopefully.
“Hey, Michelle–”
“You are not using my book to prove your dumb argument.”
He sinks back down in defeat.
★★★★★★
Later, after school, you stare at the mass of clothes in your closet, trying to figure out what to wear.
“The dress code is formal, but not really formal. More casual, but also not casual. You know?” Liz had said when Peter asked what you guys should wear. You didn’t have any idea what the hell that was supposed to mean, and if you didn’t, the boys most definitely did not. But regardless, they nodded along as if they did.
You had enlisted Wanda’s help in deciphering the dress code’s meaning before remembering that — good news! — you don’t actually care that much. Or, at all, really. With that in mind, you decided to just go with something comfortable but a little fancy (you can play dress-up when you want to), and ended up choosing a red crop top, a plaid skirt in a darker shade of red, and black platform boots with heels a couple inches high and several golden buckles. You added a necklace with a black cord and red star charm and some red eyeshadow, and Wanda put your hair in a French braid. AVIS was tasked with carrying the Black Star suit on the Shooting Star, which you decided to bring to make an extra good impression. Since your invisibility doesn’t work on objects you’re not touching, you whipped up some retroreflective panels and put them on the Shooting Star to hide it as it followed Happy’s car to Peter’s apartment, and now May’s car to Liz’s house. You had accepted a fate of being squished between the two boys for the car ride, but May was your saving grace and let you ride shotgun.
“House party in the suburbs,” May says fondly as she pulls up in front of Liz’s house. “Oh, I remember these. Kinda jealous.”
“It’ll be a night to remember,” Ned says happily.
You both twist around to face him, you shooting him a warning look, May laughing.
“Ned, some hats wear men. You wear that hat.”
Ned is matching you with the red, as he has on a polo shirt in the color. The hat, however, is a black fedora.
“It gives me confidence,” he tells her proudly.
Peter is staring at Liz’s three-story building. There’s a bazillion windows (give or take), and even though they’re all closed, you can feel the bass beat thumping.
“This was a mistake.” Peter tears his gaze away, turning to May with an anxious look. “Let’s just go home.”
“Oh, Peter,” May says sympathetically. “I know. I know it’s really hard, trying to fit in…” he starts to nod in agreement, but then she adds, “...with all the changes your body’s going through,” and he stops, brow furrowing in confusion. “It’s flowering now.”
“Uh-huh.” He forces a laugh.
“See how I’m not freaking out at the mere mention of the opposite sex’s biology?” you point out to the boys. “This is how I need you to be at the mention of periods.”
They both flinch. You turn to May in exasperation. “I’m their first girl friend, aren’t I?”
“Yeah,” she says in reluctant agreement.
They both stare at her, upset she would reveal that very obvious bit of information.
“Fantastic.” You unbuckle your seatbelt. “Okay, come along, boys. Time to teach you what a party is.”
“What makes you think we don’t know what a party is?” Peter asks defensively.
“You have the dialogue to the first three Star Wars movies memorized.”
“It’s the second trilogy,” they say simultaneously.
“Every time you open your mouths you only prove my point.” You open the car door, but before climbing out, pause and glance at May. “Hypothetically, how mad would you be if I lost them in the crowd? Hypothetically.”
“Please do not abandon my nephew or his only friend.”
“Fine.”
“We’ve already established they don’t do well in social situations. They need you.”
You sigh. “They do, don’t they?”
She nods in sad confirmation. “Like a puppy needs its mother before it can eat solid food.”
“Oh my god, please stop talking,” Peter begs her.
You giggle, finally getting out. “Thanks so much for the ride, May.”
“Anytime, sweetheart.”
Once Peter and Ned have climbed out and shut their doors, May drives away with a final exclamation of “Have fun!”
“You have your suits, right?” Ned presses.
Peter pushes his blue plaid sleeve up to reveal the familiar red fabric.
“AVIS has mine on standby,” you inform him.
“This is gonna change our lives!”
When you open the glass front door, you’re immediately hit by a wave of countless indistinct conversations and the grating beat of an EDM song. The boys look around, overwhelmed.
“Is this what party music is supposed to sound like?” Ned inquires.
A few steps ahead of them, you turn around, walking backwards. “It is if there’s a shitty DJ.”
Right on cue, a computerized deep male voice announces “D– D– D– DJ Flash!” You hold your arms out and raise your eyebrows, your point proven.
But Ned has bigger priorities than a dickhead DJ. He motions for the two of you to huddle close to him, then unveils his master plan. “Okay, we’re gonna have Spider-Man swing in and Black Star phase in through the wall, say you guys are tight, and then I get a fist bump or one of those half-bro-hugs. Maybe both.”
“Can’t believe you guys are at this lame party.”
As one, the three of you lift your heads to look at the kitchen. Michelle is standing in the doorway, spreading jam on a piece of toast. You wave.
“But… you’re here too,” Ned points out, confused.
“Am I?” And with that, she bites into the toast and walks away.
“Before you ask, no, toast is not a typical party food,” you inform them.
“Oh my gosh. Hey, guys!”
The three of you spin to look in the opposite direction. Liz is walking toward you with a red solo cup in her hand and a smile on her face.
“Cool hat, Ned.”
“Hi, Liz,” he says brightly.
“Hi, Liz,” Peter says breathlessly.
“Hi, Liz,” you say, trying very hard not to sound condescending or sarcastic.
Her eyes flick over to you. “Oh… I didn’t know you were coming.”
“Hope I dressed okay.” This time you can’t not sound sarcastic. Though, admittedly, you didn’t try quite as hard.
“Uh, I guess so.” But in your defense, she doesn’t try at all. She glances back over at the boys. “Well, there’s pizza and drinks. Help yourselves.”
“What a great party,” Peter compliments, almost robotically.
“Thanks.”
Somewhere in the house, you hear glass shattering. She spins towards the direction the sound came from.
“Oh, my parents will kill me if anything’s broken. I gotta–”
“Yeah,” Peter says, his voice high-pitched.
“Have fun,” she tosses over her shoulder as she leaves.
Ned pivots to stare at Peter. “Dude, what are you doing? She’s here. Spider it up.”
“No. No, no, no. I can’t– I cannot do this. Spider-Man is not a party trick, okay? I’m just gonna… be myself.” He shrugs a weight off his shoulders.
“Peter, no one wants that,” Ned advises.
“Dude,” he replies, offended. He then walks further into the house.
“You know what, I think you have a point,” you tell Ned before frantically following the boy you need to babysit.
“Penis Parker, what’s up?”
You’ve ended up in front of Flash’s dumb DJ booth. An air horn sound effect, probably from that booth, echoes through the house. People are standing in front of you, preventing him from seeing you, but unfortunately, he can see Peter and Ned perfectly fine.
“So where’s your pals Spider-Man and Black Star? Let me guess: In Canada with your imaginary girlfriend?” The air horn sounds again, and people laugh. “That’s not Spider-Man. That’s just Ned in a red shirt.” More air horn, more laughter.
Peter spins on his heel, striding blindly out of the room. You finally shove past the group blocking your view of Flash. They give you dirty looks, but you couldn’t care less when they laughed at Flash’s dickhead jokes.
“Hey!”
He looks at you, and maybe, just maybe, goes a little pale.
“Still insist on using the Penis Parker nickname, huh? Must make you feel like one big man, putting down someone who never did anything to you. Unfortunately, no matter how much of a bastard you are, your dick will never be as big as your ego. Which sucks for you, I’m sure, because how long it is is one of the things you use to develop your shallow definition of manliness. And, following that logic, Peter is manlier than you, which is honestly perfect, because he really is more of a man than you ever will be.”
And with that, you spin on your own heel and follow Peter’s path out of there. Ned scrambles to follow behind.
Chapter 25: 丅𝔀𝓔︎𝓷𝐓︎ⓨ︎
Chapter Text
NEITHER of you say a word until you’re out on the front lawn.
“Where’d he go?” Ned asks.
You look up, and sure enough, there’s a figure hunched on the roof.
“Guess we’re going through with the plan,” you sigh. “Okay, just, um, go back inside and enjoy the party, or whatever. I’ll talk to him.”
“Wait– May said not to leave us.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t know if you noticed, but we’ve already split up. And, I’m gonna be honest, I trust you on your own more than I trust Peter.”
He lights up. “Really?”
“The bar isn’t very high.”
He deflates. “Yeah.”
“Okay, just go inside and don’t do anything extremely stupid. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
Ned salutes you.
“Nerd,” you mutter.
★★★★★★
The Shooting Star lifts you, now in your suit, into the air. AVIS stops it when it’s perfectly level with the roof. You step off, and it lays flat against the roof, hiding its now-visible form. Peter’s street clothes are in a pile next to him; now he’s just wearing the Spider-Man suit with a white t-shirt over it, though he pulls the shirt off as he whispers to himself.
“Hey, what’s up, I’m Spider-Man. Just thought I’d swing by and say hello to my buddy Peter. Oh, what’s up Ned, Lexi? Where is Peter, anyways? He must be around…” he trails off, sighing.
“I have a feeling Lexi won’t be there,” you say quietly. “But Black Star might be.”
His Spider-Sense must’ve alerted him to the fact you’re here, because he doesn’t even flinch.
“I didn’t know she made such stupid appearances.”
You walk over to him and set your street clothes on the ground next to his — though unlike his, which have been thrown in a sloppy pile, yours are in a neatly folded bundle, with the necklace coiled on top. The second your fingertips let go, they go visible. He stares at the magically appearing clothes expressionlessly.
“You know, it’s just us up here. You don’t have to do your thing.”
Relenting, you go visible as you sit next to him, dangling your legs off the roof of the building. Neither of you are wearing your masks. Yours is in your lap as you fidget with it. His dangles loosely from his fingers. Apparently, whenever Liz is nearby, his hands always go slack on whatever he’s holding.
“Why are you doing this? You went from ‘I’m doing this for Ned’ to ‘I’m not doing this’ to ‘I’m doing this’ in the span of like a minute. But I can’t figure out who it’s for this time. Is it just because of Flash’s remark?”
A white lie. You know what pushed him back into “I’m doing this” territory. You’re just trying to figure out why it did.
“I know being seen as a loser is a fun new experience for you, but some of us have been viewed that way for our whole lives, and we’re sick of it.”
“So it’s not for Liz?”
The words tumble out of your mouth before you can stop them. He stares at you, wide-eyed, but you find you don’t regret it. It’s about time you acknowledged the obvious.
“What? Why–”
“I know you like her, Parker. I’m just trying to figure out what kind of like.”
Another white lie. You have a very good idea of what kind it is. But, for once, you really hope you’re wrong.
“Parker?” is the only part of that he latches onto.
“That’s your name, isn’t it?”
“Well, yeah, but…” he shakes his head. “Never mind.”
“No, what is it?” you prompt.
But before he can say anything, there’s the faint sound of an explosion. As one, you both look up. Far off, beyond the neighborhood and the park and the trees, a blue… something… appears. You can’t place what it is. It looks kind of like a mushroom cloud, but, considering you haven’t exploded, is obviously not a nuclear bomb.
“What the hell?” Peter mutters, standing up.
“Peter, what ar–”
He answers the question before you finish asking it. In one fluid motion, he runs the few steps to the edge of the roof, pulls his mask on, and shoots a web out. It latches onto a nearby tree and he swings away from the house.
“Okay, guess we’re going. AV!”
She zooms the Shooting Star around to the side of the building you’re on. It reaches you just as you jump off the roof. As she flies, you tug on your mask.
When you arrive at a golf course, Peter skids to a stop. He shoots a web out. With nothing to latch onto, it flies out of his web-shooter and disappears into the cold night. For a moment, he’s still, carefully considering his options. Then he runs across the green, setting off several sprinklers in the process. You’re grateful that AVIS is carrying you, because you’re too busy laughing at him to focus on carrying yourself.
“You could give me a lift!” he shouts.
“No can do, Parker!”
A beat where the only sound is him panting hard as he continues running.
“This sucks!”
★★★★★★
You go invisible as you approach a clearing in the trees surrounding the park. There are three guys here. Two are standing around, scanning the area like guards standing sentry outside Buckingham Palace. (Or at least what you imagine how guards outside Buckingham Palace would scan the area based on various movies and TV shows you’ve seen. Either way, they’re very clearly suspicious and on edge.) The third is rifling through the back of his unmarked white van.
Seriously? Unmarked white van? These guys could not make themselves look any more criminal-y.
“Look, times are changing. We’re the only ones selling these high-tech weapons,” one of the guys scanning the area says to the other. He’s wearing a charcoal-gray hoodie, so you dub him Hoodie Man.
“Oh, this must be where the ATM robbers got their stuff,” Peter whispers. He’s sticking to a small brick bridge at the edge of the clearing, his head just barely poking into the gap beneath its arched surface to observe the criminals.
“I just need something to stick up somebody,” the other area-scanner replies. He’s wearing a navy blue shirt with red and white stripes on it. Kind of light for how cold it is outside. “I’m– I’m not trying to… shoot them back in time, or whatever the hell–”
“I got antigrav climbers,” the guy going through the van, who’s wearing a black beanie, informs his potential customer.
That interests T-Shirt Man. “Yo, climbers?”
Suddenly, a low-quality yodeling splits the air. Peter frantically fumbles around, and you put the pieces together.
“You brought your phone?” you hiss. “And you didn’t put it on silent?!”
The three men look around in confusion. “Okay, what the hell is that?”
Oblivious to the trouble it’s causing, the yodeling ringtone continues. Peter finally extracts his phone. A selfie of Ned taken at an awkward angle to highlight the double chin he has in the pic takes up the entire screen. He shuts it off, but the damage is already done.
Hoodie Man whips out a (normal, not high-tech) gun, aiming it at T-Shirt Man.
“Did you set us up?!”
“Hey, hey, man,” T-Shirt Man says defensively.
Peter jumps down from the bridge and lands on his feet.
“Hey! Hey, come on! If you’re gonna shoot at somebody, shoot at me!” His voice is even higher-pitched than normal. Likely from nerves because he just told a criminal to shoot point-blank at him.
Hoodie Man barely gives the proposition a second thought. “Alright.”
He turns around. Just before he pulls the trigger, you jump off of the Shooting Star, landing next to Peter. AVIS slams the end of the Shooting Star into the ground in front of you just as it flickers into sight. The bullet bounces harmlessly off of it.
“What is that?” Hoodie Man shouts angrily.
Peter fires a web out from behind the Shooting Star. He snags the gun and pulls it out of the guy’s hand, then charges forward. He goes for Beanie Man, but as soon as he’s close enough, Beanie Man finally turns his attention away from the van. He’s holding a high-tech weapon that charges up with blue electricity, and he slams Peter in the face. Peter is thrown backwards, and you fall on the ground to avoid him smacking into you. His back slams into the bridge with such extreme force that the concrete cracks. Debris go flying.
While you’ve been distracted, T-Shirt Man jumps into his car and drives off. You don’t bother chasing; it’s not him you’re worried about. Beanie Man is standing next to the van, chuckling at what his weapon was able to do, but Hoodie Man is gone. A revving from the van engine tells you where he went. Beanie Man rushes over to the passenger seat. You have a split second to decide. Running forward, you leap into the back of the van, jostling some of the weapons that alert the criminals of their movement with metallic thunks and scrapes.
“What was that?” Hoodie Man interrogates sharply.
“Dunno, I can’t see anything. Just go!”
Hoodie Man follows Beanie Man’s advice and drives off. Peter, realizing they’re leaving, shoots another web out. It sticks to the bumper of the van just as it cuts through the treeline, dragging him along after.
Beanie Man says something about calling “him”, but the idea is quickly rejected. The van rumbles out of the park, swerving from lane to lane, and all the while, Peter is towed behind, being swung around in a wide semi-circle.
“We gotta shake this dude!” Hoodie Man declares.
“On it!”
Beanie Man grabs a weapon and fires off a blast of purple light. You duck and it hits one of the wildly swinging van doors, taking it clean off its hinges.
“Shit!”
Meanwhile, your eyes rove over the selection of weapons littering the van floor.
“AV, what am I looking at?” you whisper.
“I’m seeing… a lot of Chitauri technology.”
“What?!” Too late, you realize you forgot to keep your voice down.
“Okay, who’s back there?” Hoodie Man demands, glaring in the rearview mirror. You hold your breath as if it would somehow undo your mistake.
“Still don’t see anything!” Beanie Man shouts.
“Well there’s obviously something! Didn’t you hear that?!”
“I did, but–” Beanie Man looks at the weapon in his hands, considering.
He pulls back the weapon and fires another blast. Pulling back widened his range, and the purple light hits you square in the chest. It throws you from the van, shocking you visible. You land on the web, almost directly on top of Peter. The sudden increase in weight the web has to support is too much for it, and it snaps, sending you backwards, where you really land on Peter. The two of you are tangled together as you roll in the opposite direction from the van. Beanie Man shouts something triumphantly. When you finally skid to a stop, you immediately separate and jump to your feet.
“Guess we’ll have to take a shortcut!” Peter shouts. He’s prepared to vault himself over somebody’s fence, but you stop him, pointing to the sky, where the Shooting Star is rapidly growing larger. It parks itself in front of you mere seconds later.
“Thanks, A!” you say gratefully as you jump on. Out of necessity, this time you allow Peter to climb on as well.
She zooms after the van.
“Go, AVIS, go!” Peter cheers.
The icy air whipping by you must be addling your brain, because, mid-chase of criminals with dangerous weapons, you laugh gleefully.
“This is so fun!” he continues.
“Don’t get used to it,” you advise him, a cover of fake sternness in your voice to hide the giddiness you’re really feeling. But it’s a thin cover, and Peter can see through it. He laughs loudly, and the sound is wonderful.
But you’re so lost in it that you don’t notice the shadow on the ground, don’t even hear the motors behind you until cold metal claws have wrapped around you, tearing you up and away from the Shooting Star.
Chapter 26: 丅𝔀𝓔︎𝓷𝐓︎ⓨ︎-ꪮ𝓷𝓔︎
Chapter Text
I wonder if this is how Dad feels when he’s flying in the Iron Man suit.
The thought distantly crosses your mind, because despite the stressful situation, part of you is still in the headspace you were in just a moment ago.
“Aw, what the hell?” Peter grumbles in confusion, and you know he’s feeling the same way.
He fruitlessly attempts to tug himself free. It’s dark and cloudy, so maybe you’re just not seeing things right, but you appear to be in the grasp of a guy with a jetpack that has giant bird-like wings on it. Before you can investigate further, there’s a beeping sound, and a bundle of white fabric explodes out of the back of Peter’s suit. The breeze expands the fabric into a parachute, and he grabs your ankle just as the force of the wind pushes the wide-open parachute, and by extension Peter, away from Bird Man. The parachute wraps itself around you, completely blinding you as you free-fall down to earth. Your screams are tangled together along with your bodies (the still-addled part of your brain notes this is the second time that’s happened in like 10 minutes).
“I’m– getting– really– dizzy!” Peter shouts.
“Don’t throw up!” you yell.
“I wo–”
Splash.
And suddenly you’re underwater. The parachute quickly becomes water-logged and heavy, pulling you down in a deadly direction. You phase through the fabric so you’re floating freely in the water, then try to untangle Peter. But he’s trying, too, and your attempts clash against each other, only resulting in him getting more twisted. You let go, hoping he’ll sort the problem out by himself, but it’s clear he can’t see which way to go to get out of the fabric, and isn’t succeeding.
Your lungs scream at you, begging you to surface, but you can’t, not without Peter.
So you go back in, clawing at the parachute. But already black is encroaching on the edges of your vision and you’re choking you’re drowning you’re going to fall to the bottom of the lake and nobody will ever know and what’s going to happen when Tony finds out you’ve died for real this time no no no he wont survive you have to get out but everything is going dark and you need air god you really need air but you cant leave peter but air and does it matter anymore everything is d i s a p p e a r i n g
★★★★★★
Air.
You gulp it down greedily, pulling off your mask to take in as much as you can–
The mask is already gone.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Peter says frantically, misreading the action. “Nobody’s here. Nobody’s gonna see. You don’t need your mask.”
You look up in confusion. He’s kneeling on the ground next to you, clutching two things in his fist, one red, one purple. Behind him rises a giant dome.
No, not a giant dome, you realize. A climbing structure. We’re… in a park.
“Wh– what?” is all you can manage to get out.
“It’s okay,” Peter repeats. “Mr. Stark saved us.”
“He– huh?”
He points. You look up. One of the Iron Man suits, red and silver, is floating in the air.
“Dad?” You sit up, crossing your legs. “Aren’t you across the globe right now?”
“How did you even find us? Did you, like, put a tracker in my suit or something?” Peter questions.
“I put everything in your suit. Including this heater.”
Steam wafts off of Peter’s suit. You look on jealously, but then warmth washes over you, too, and you can see steam rising from your own suit.
“Woah,” Peter says quietly, relishing in the feeling. “That’s better. Thanks.”
“What were you thinking?” Tony asks harshly.
“The guy with the wings is obviously the source of the weapons. We gotta take him down,” Peter explains.
“Take him down, now, huh?” he says with infuriated sarcasm. “Steady, Crockett, there are people who handle this sort of thing.”
“Yeah, the Avengers,” you put in.
“No, no, no. This is a little below our pay grade.”
“Below our pay grade? Dad, they had Chitauri weapons!”
“All Chitauri weapons were cleaned up years ago. I made sure of it. Do you honestly think I’d let any trace of them roam freely around New York after what happened?”
Heat climbs up your neck and into your cheeks.
“Of course not, not on purpose, but I know what I saw.”
Peter cuts in, “If this is below the Avengers’ pay grade, why are you here?”
“Oh, I’m not” — his mask lifts up, revealing an empty helmet — “here. Thank God this place has Wi-Fi, or you would be toast right now. Thank Ganesh while you’re at it. Cheers.” The suit’s hand cups around the air as if it were holding a drink. Looks like the wedding reception is in full swing. “Look, forget the flying vulture guy, please.”
“Why?” Peter whines.
“Why? Because I said so!” he snaps. Then, in a much quieter voice, probably to someone on his end of the line, “Sorry, I’m talking to teenagers.”
Thankful it’s dark, you roll your eyes.
“Stay close to the ground. Build up your game helping people. And do not put my daughter in danger again, or I swear, you won’t even be an unofficial Avenger.”
“He didn’t put me in danger!” you shout, refusing to let Peter take the fall for you. “I chose to go with him! And after everything, you still don’t trust me? Even after Sokovia–”
“Sokovia is exactly why I don’t! And D.C.! Every time I let you go off on your own, you get injured or almost killed. I can’t go through that again, Lexi. I can’t–” his voice breaks, cutting himself off.
“So it’s not me you don’t trust, it’s yourself.” You feel bad pushing it, but you need to, or he’s not going to give you any freedom to make your own judgement calls.
He points an accusatory finger at you. “Don’t turn this around. God, you spend too much time around that android. Always psychoanalyzing everybody,” he mutters. “When you started going to Midtown, it was me trusting you with more freedom. But freedom to act your age. To make new friends that aren’t several decades older than you. To do stupid stuff like, I dunno, egg someone’s house, or bully little kids playing Roblox, whatever it is teens do nowadays. Not to take down an illegal weapons ring.” There’s the muffled sound of an engine.
“Are you driving?” Peter asks in shock.
Tony ignores the question, although he does turn his attention to Peter. “You know, kid, it’s never too early to start thinking about college. I got some pull at MIT. End call.”
He runs the words together, so it takes a second to differentiate them. When you do, you and Peter each latch onto a different sentence.
“I don’t need to go to college–” Peter begins.
“Wait, no, Dad, come back–” you begin.
“Mr. Stark is no longer connected,” FRIDAY informs both of you. And with that, she flies off.
You pull your knees up to your chest and rest your forehead on them. “Goddamnit.”
★★★★★★
AVIS discloses that she was the one who alerted Tony that you and Peter were in trouble. But while she was doing that, the Shooting Star was left to its own devices and ended up crashing into a tree. It’s not damaged beyond all repair, but the flight boosters got crushed, temporarily taking it out of commission. So, you and Peter have to trek back to Liz’s on foot, dragging the Shooting Star behind.
“‘Stay close to the ground,’” Peter mutters. “What is he talking about? What happened to trusting us?”
“I honestly thought he had more faith in us,” you commiserate. “But he doesn’t even think we can take down some weapons dealer?”
There’s a lull in the conversation in which you each stew over Tony’s betrayal of confidence.
“Hey,” Peter says suddenly, tapping you on the shoulder over and over until you look.
Sitting on somebody’s front lawn is, unmistakably, one of the weapons from the van guys. It emits a low hum. Cautiously, Peter walks over to it, turning it over, showing an orb alight with purple energy off to the world.
“Woah.”
Peter’s phone goes off again with the stupid yodeling ringtone.
“We need to have a serious discussion about the many magical uses of Do Not Disturb one of these days.” It comes out more tiredly than sarcastically, like the joke is an obligation you have to fill.
Peter doesn’t even bother with banter. “Yeah, whatever.” He pulls his phone out, pressing it to the spot on his mask covering his ear (you have to travel through packed suburban neighborhoods, so the both of you decided it would be better to have the masks on to avoid another person learning your secret). “Hey, man, what’s up? We’re on our way back.” You can’t hear most of Ned’s end, but you can make out people shouting “Penis Parker!” for a few seconds before it goes back to an indistinguishable mumble again. “Yeah, see you Monday,” Peter finally says before hanging up.
He puts his phone away and returns to the weapon.
“Well… I guess we can’t just leave this here….” he says innocently.
You’re pretty sure where this is headed. “So I’ll take it back to the tower with me and bury it in the lab somewhere.”
“What if, uh, Wanda or somebody tries using it? They don’t know what it is; that could be dangerous.”
“It would also be dangerous if you experimented on it.”
“Well, no, because…”
“Parker.”
“Stark,” he mocks.
O– Oh.
You physically have to shake your head to refocus yourself.
“Be honest. You just want to experiment on it.”
“No, I…” but he can’t come up with a plausible excuse quickly enough. He sighs in defeat. “Yeah.”
You shake your head. “Out of all the stupid ideas to come out of tonight, this is the stupidest.”
“Come on, Lexi. Don’t tell me you aren’t even a little curious what it can do. It anti-invisibilitied you!”
You blow out a long, slow breath. Technically, you did that, just not on purpose. But, maybe, he does have a point. Just a little bit. Because, truthfully, you are curious what it can do. And not just a little bit.
“Fine. But if something terrible happens, you have to accept responsibility.”
“Okay, yeah, fine.”
He pockets it and stands up, resuming the walk back to Princess Liz’s house. You watch him go with a mixture of disbelief that you let a man be in charge of a dangerous weapon and the knowledge that something bad is inevitably going to happen because a man is in charge of a dangerous weapon.
“I’m so going to regret this.”
Chapter 27: 丅𝔀𝓔︎𝓷𝐓︎ⓨ︎-丅︎𝔀๏
Chapter Text
PETER goes radio silent over the weekend. When you see him again on Monday, you ask him what was up, but get no explanation aside from a vague “I was busy.” Ned has a doctor’s appointment and doesn’t show up until 5th period, so he can’t even help you demand a real answer. But you’re always given free range to do whatever you want in shop, which translates to the two of you grilling Peter until he reveals what’s going on.
“Seriously, where did you guys go? I was all by myself, and the hat was not working.”
“Where’s the weapon? Is it safe? You haven’t been messing around with it, have you?”
Peter takes a deep breath. “Okay, okay. I’m sorry. Ned, to answer your question, well… we got a little busy. With this.” He pulls the Chitauri-powered weapon from his backpack and sets it on the lab table, then turns to you. “And I think that should answer your question, too.”
“Woah, what is that thing?” Ned asks in amazement, staring at it with eyes wide as dinner plates.
“Dunno. Some guy threw Lex out of a truck with it. And it made her go visible.”
“Awesome.”
You both stare at Ned.
“I mean… not awesome. Totally uncool of that guy. So scary.”
“Smooth,” you say dryly.
He grins.
“I spent all weekend trying to think of a way we can experiment on it. But to do any of that, we’re going to have to get to the core inside first. So.”
Peter leans over, grabbing a hammer from the other side of the table. And not like Thor’s hammer, just a regular human hammer. Gripping it firmly, he begins to smash the weapon.
“You’re… blunt forcing it?” you ask in disbelief. “Well, at least that’ll get the terrible things over much quicker when you blow up the school.”
“I’m not gonna blow up the school,” he reassures you. “I just need to get that metal casing off.”
A few smashes later, and he pulls a sheet of metal away from the body of the device, uncovering a series of wires underneath.
“Shit,” you say slowly. “That’s definitely not Chitauri.”
“Chitauri?” Ned echoes. “Like those aliens that attacked New York with Loki?”
Peter nods absently, more focused on prying out wires. You, however, have a much stronger reaction.
“They didn’t attack with him. That implies a sense of teamwork. He was totally in control, and just ordered them to do his dirty work while he and Thor argued.”
The boys glance at each other awkwardly, clearly weirded out by your mini-rampage against Ned’s word choice.
“Sorry. It’s, uh, kind of a sore spot,” you add.
“I mean… yeah. I– I get why.” Peter shrugs. “Anyways, um… I’m pretty sure this part” — he points to the purple alien stone, now half-sticking out — “is the power source.”
“Yeah, but it’s connected to all these microprocessors.” Ned points to a small piece in the body of the weapon. “That’s an inductive charging plate, it’s what I use to charge my toothbrush.”
“So whoever’s making these weapons is combining alien tech with ours,” you conclude.
“That is literally the coolest sentence anyone has ever said.” He looks up at you and Peter. “I just want to thank you two for letting me be a part of this amazing journey–”
Peter pulls the hammer back, swinging it back down onto the weapon with his super strength. You jump back, pulling Ned with you so he doesn’t get hit by the resulting power blast. Panicked, all three of you look over at Mr. Hapgood. He’s doing some sort of crossword puzzle book. It must be really good, because he doesn’t even look up, just robotically delivers an announcement (to the whole room, probably, because he doesn’t know who made that explosion and most likely doesn’t care): “Keep your fingers clear of the blades.”
Other kids are staring at you, but you just give them a polite smile and return to the lab station. The alien stone thingy has now successfully been separated from the toothbrush base. It lays on the table a couple feet away.
“We gotta figure out what this thing is and who makes it,” Peter decides.
“Can you guys come over after school? We can run some tests in the lab.”
Peter nods. You glance over at Ned, waiting for his response. He’s frozen, staring with wide eyes and a gaping mouth.
“Wait. Lab? As in–”
“Have you ever wanted to go to Avengers Tower, Ned?” you ask, fighting to keep the grin off your face.
He looks over at Peter. “Is she serious?”
Peter is leading his own battle against a grin threatening to take up his face. “Yeah, man. High-tech weapons need to be worked on in a high-tech lab.”
Peter leans over, hand outstretched. Ned puts his own out with extreme eagerness, and you watch them do some sort of handshake with the air of somebody watching a train wreck. You want to look away, but you can’t.
“What… did I just watch?”
“Oh, that’s, uh, that’s our handshake,” Peter explains.
You put your head in your hands. Voice muffled, you say, “Oh my god. I truly ended up with the two biggest losers in the school, didn’t I?”
★★★★★★
“First, we should put the glowy thingy in a mass spectrometer,” Ned decides. He turns to you. “Do you have a mass spectrometer?”
You scoff. “I’m offended you would even think to ask.”
“No, first we gotta come up with a better name than ‘glowy thingy’,” Peter says.
“You’re right.”
You laugh at how quickly Ned agrees, but pull up short when you see two guys walking toward you from the other end of the hall. One, you don’t recognize, but the other is unmistakable. Hoodie Man.
“Crap.”
Peter literally leaps out of the way, ducking behind a wall that creates a bend in the hallway so he’s out of sight. You rush to join him, but in a way that doesn’t scream I am trying to get away from here as fast as possible.
“Come on, come on, come on,” he frantically hisses at Ned.
Ned looks around in confusion before shuffling toward you, his shoes squeaking on the floor. You and Peter peek around the corner, so Ned takes it as a sign that he should, too.
“High schools creep me out,” Hoodie Man complains to his new partner. “They got this funny smell, you know?”
“It’s teenage boy,” you mutter.
The three of you move out of sight again, pressing your backs to the classroom wall.
“That’s one of the guys that tried to kill us,” Peter whispers to Ned.
“What?!” Ned whispers back. “We gotta get out of here.”
“No, you go,” you tell him. “I’m gonna follow them. Maybe they’ll lead us to the guy that dropped us in the lake.”
Ned blinks at this new information. “Someone dropped you in a lake?”
“Yeah, it wasn’t fun. Lexi inhaled a bunch of water and fell unconscious.”
“Only because I was trying to free somebody from the parachute they obviously didn’t know how to get out of on their own!” you whisper-hiss at him, unhappy with the fact he felt the need to share that.
Hoodie Man opens the door to the shop lab, and he and the other guy go inside. Peter tiptoes out from behind the wall.
“Peter–”
“No, stay there, Ned.”
You follow behind Peter, going invisible for an added precaution. Ned stares at the spot he just saw you.
“That did not get any less cool the second time,” he reports.
Peter leads the way over to Mr. Hapgood’s room, opening the door just enough for the two of you to slip inside. He ducks down, staring at the criminals through the gaps in the stair railing as he creeps ever closer.
“Hey, can you imagine if the boss knew where we were right now?” the new guy, who’s wearing a baseball cap, says.
Hoodie Man doesn’t indulge him, and is all business, scanning the lab table you and the boys were at with what looks like a device used for detecting radiation.
“It says there was an energy pulse right here.”
“There’s no sign of the weapon,” Baseball Cap Man points out. “Even if it was here, it’s gone now.”
“So are we.”
Peter ducks under the lab table closest to the door. A split second later, Hoodie Man turns around. One of the stools next to the table is wobbling ever so slightly.
He notices.
You back up into the far corner, phasing through the little table placed there so you’re as far out of their reach as possible.
Hoodie Man stares for a long, tense moment. You hardly dare to breathe.
Finally, finally, he must decide he was imagining things, because he walks over to the stairs. Baseball Cap Man follows. As they’re climbing up, Peter stretches his hand out from where he’s stuck to the bottom of the lab table. A small robotic spider flies out of his web shooter, landing on Hoodie Man’s shoe, where it climbs up into the folds of his pants.
★★★★★★
“Okay, and…” you press a button, and a holographic map of New York appears above your hologram projector table. Among the chaos of blue shapes is a red circle with black lines and white eyeplates — Peter’s symbol. “We are live.”
“This is so cool,” Ned says, astonished.
“I know, right?” Peter agrees. “The tracker was Lexi’s idea.”
You shrug. “I had to beg so much to get the projector table, might as well get some use out of it, right?”
What you don’t tell them is that Tony gave it to you last Christmas. At that point, no begging was required. And not just because Starks like going all out during the holidays.
“They’re in Brooklyn,” Peter realizes.
The mention of Brooklyn makes you think of Steve, which, although painful, is at least enough to drag you out of the trip down memory lane you were about to unwillingly take. But you don’t want to think about either right now, so you hastily suggest grabbing some snacks.
An hour later, the three of you are trading a party sized bag of Doritos between you. You’re working on some history homework, Peter is hanging from the ceiling, and Ned is staring at the tracker.
“Staten Island,” he reports.
By the next hour, the Doritos are gone, and the three of you are rebuilding Ned’s LEGO Death Star. He glances over at the projector table.
“Leaving Jersey.”
An hour after that is when the boredom really starts to set in. Peter is fiddling with his web shooters, you’re trying to turn just the tip of a finger invisible, and Ned is wandering through your lab, taking an inventory of all the tech you have. A beeping suddenly erupts from the hologram, and you rush to turn it off before anyone (specifically Happy or Pepper) hears and comes in.
“They stopped in Maryland,” you announce.
“What’s there?” Ned asks, rejoining you.
“Evil lair?” Peter suggests.
You raise an eyebrow at him.
“What? A gang with alien tech run by a guy with wings? They definitely have a lair.”
Ned nods. “Badass.”
“Okay, but how are we gonna get there?” you question. “It’s 300 miles away.”
The three of you fall into a thoughtful silence.
Peter’s head shoots up. “D.C. is right next door.”
Chapter 28: 丅𝔀𝓔︎𝓷𝐓︎ⓨ︎-丅𝔥я︎𝓔︎𝓔︎
Chapter Text
THE wheels on your suitcase rattle noisily against the pavement as you run over to the bus.
“Hey, it’s Lexi! And Peter!” Alex shouts.
Liz turns around, frowning in confusion. “Peter?”
The two of you skid to a stop in front of the Decathlon team.
“Hey, guys,” he says, out of breath. “We were hoping that maybe we could rejoin the team?”
“Um, it’s pretty last minute to do that,” Alyix says.
“We know,” you reply. “But there was this scientist doing some experiments and they spilled a toxic chemical. Avengers Tower has to be cleaned, and it’ll take a few days. So the internship was cancelled this week. So now we don’t have any other obligations. So we can come.”
Flash shoves his way to the front of the group. “No, no way. You can’t just quit on us, stroll up, and be welcomed back by everybody.”
“Peter, Lexi!” Mr. Harrington exclaims, stepping out of the bus. “Welcome back! Via, Flash, you’re back to alternates.”
Via mutters something that sounds a lot like, “Oh, thank God,” as she takes off her Decathlon jacket and hands it to you.
“What?” Flash says in disbelief.
Abe snickers. “He’s taking your place!”
During this whole interaction, Michelle has been leaning against the bus, reading. She’s now on Invitation to a Beheading. She tucks her bookmark between the pages and steps forward, but not to join in heckling Flash.
“Uh, excuse me, can we go already? I was hoping to get some light protesting in before dinner.”
“Protesting is patriotic. Let’s get on the bus.” Mr. Harrington gestures to it with his clipboard.
Angrily, Flash rips off his jacket, balls it up, and thrusts it at Peter. You would feel bad for him if he weren’t such an asshole.
★★★★★★
On the way, Liz quizzes you. Everyone has a bell in their lap, and the small bus is full of dings. Just like all the other practices, you could answer every question if you wanted to, but determined to prove to Liz that she’s wrong and you don’t steal the opportunity from your teammates, you only ding yours every eight questions or so. She doesn’t acknowledge this, of course. In fact, she hardly acknowledges anybody’s answers… until Peter’s.
“What are three highly reactive metal elements?”
Peter immediately dings his bell. “Uh… strontium, barium, and vibranium.”
“Very good, Peter. Glad to have you back.”
You resist the urge to roll your eyes. Peter’s phone buzzes, the screen lighting up with an embarrassing picture you took of Happy and kindly shared with your friend.
“Why’s he calling?” you ask, confused.
Peter shrugs. He asks Liz, “Can I take this real quick?”
“Yeah, fine,” she replies, annoyed he’s ruining what’s like the gazillionth practice you’ve had as if it’s only the first.
He stands up from the seat you’re sharing, and walks to the back of the bus, sitting in the very last row, right behind Ned, who has your mini-hologram projector watch clutched tightly in his fist. You brought it along just to check in on the criminals every once in a while, but Ned stole it, and instead of participating in practice, is staring at it, entranced. (Michelle isn’t participating, either, opting to continue her book.)
Peter keeps his voice low so as not to talk over Princess Liz, but a few phrases drift over to you: “...just a school trip”, “...tracking me without my permission…”, “Nothing!”, and “...no big deal”. The call is pretty short, and he returns to your seat a little more than a minute later.
“What did he want?”
“He saw I was leaving New York ‘cause of that dumb tracker Mr. Stark put in my suit. Wanted to know why.”
“He knows about Decathlon, I told him. You said that’s where you are, right?”
“Yeah, and he said it was fine, but” — he huffs — “it’s just frustrating, having my every move monitored like this.”
You nod slowly, the wheels in your mind already racing. Peter looks at you like he can see this.
“What?”
“Nothing, just thinking. But… maybe… we can get the tracker out.”
His face lights up. “Really?”
“Maybe,” you repeat. “But Dad put it in, so I can probably get it out.”
★★★★★★
The hotel you’re staying at has about 20 floors, and the room doors are all facing outward toward a balcony railing that wraps around the perimeter of the lobby. There’s a large open spot in the center of the lobby without any ceiling above it, so you can see all the floors stacked on top of each other. This courtyard area is packed with tents and tables for Decathlon, and you navigate your way through them, your teammates looking around with a slight sense of awe at the size of the place.
“This place is huge!” Charles exclaims.
“Eh, I’ve seen better,” Flash says dismissively.
“Don’t be boring!” you crow.
“You’ve definitely seen better, too,” Ned points out. “I mean, I don’t know what better looks like, but I know you’ve seen it.”
“True, but I love walking into the lobby for the first time. It’s always been one of my favorite things about going on trips.”
“Dork,” Peter says fondly.
“I’ll accept it this time. The sparkly hotel feeling is worth it.”
“Sparkly hotel feeling,” Ned repeats, chuckling.
“Alright, everybody, pick your room partner, then come get your keys,” Mr. Harrington announces once he’s gotten you signed in.
Peter and Ned don’t even bother asking each other, just immediately walk up to Mr. Harrington and collect their keys.
“Wanna be roommates?” you ask Michelle.
“Sure.”
After everyone has found their roommate, you head up to the second floor.
“Hey, meet us in our room when you can, okay? We gotta, you know…” Peter drops his voice to a whisper “...de-tracker the suit.”
“Gimme, like, 10 minutes?” you estimate.
He nods, then disappears with Ned behind their room door. You and Michelle do the same. The room looks more or less how you’d expect it to, with two identical twin beds, two nightstands, a desk and accompanying chair, and an armchair in the corner, but it has the same bright yellow-and-white color scheme as the lobby, which is kinda fun.
“Do you have a bed preference?”
Michelle shakes her head. “My family doesn’t really go on vacation a lot. But you’re a hotel expert, I’m guessing, so what would you recommend?”
“Hm…” You make a big show of thinking about it. Normally, Tony will get the two of you separate rooms, but the kind with a door that connects them. However, despite that difference, Michelle does have a point: You are, in fact, a hotel expert. “It depends on if you prefer being woken up by people outside or by sunlight.”
She screws up her face in distaste. “Those are really my options?”
“In this hotel? With a bunch of high schoolers running around? Definitely.”
“Fine. I’ll take the sunlight.” She throws her suitcase down on the bed closer to the window, so you put yours on the one closer to the door.
Usually, you like taking all your clothes out and putting them in the closet, but you’re only staying in D.C. for two nights and are barely even going to be in the hotel, so there’s no point in getting all unpacked. Really, all that’s needed is dropping your toiletries bag off in the bathroom and hanging your Decathlon jacket on the back of the desk chair.
“I’m gonna head over to Peter’s room,” you inform Michelle. “He and Ned… wanted to show me something.”
You feel somewhat guilty for lying, but she accepts it without question, and the only comment is, “It’s probably super nerdy, so good luck.” The boys’ room is right next to yours, so it takes you all of 10 seconds to travel over there. You knock, and Peter opens the door.
“Where’s your laptop?” he asks, shutting the door behind you. “Won’t we need it?”
Their beds are easily determined thanks to the fact they’ve spread their belongings out all over them. You plop down on Peter’s as you say, “We’ll need a laptop, yes. But I was thinking it over just now, and using mine probably isn’t the best idea. It’s got all this custom programming to be connected to the tower and FRIDAY and stuff, but that means it’d be basically impossible to scrub this off its history. It would be a dead giveaway that we’re messing with the suit.”
“We can use mine,” Ned volunteers.
“Okay, awesome.”
He fishes it out of his bag, and Peter grabs the Spider-Man suit, spreading it out on Ned’s bed on top of his clothes. He peels back the top red layer, revealing a black underlayer with gold wiring criss-crossing over it, then plugs a cord into the spider symbol in the middle. The other end goes into Ned’s laptop. Immediately, Ned’s Indiana Jones wallpaper is replaced by a black screen. Lines of white code scrawl over it.
“So, Peter,” Ned says cautiously, “why are we removing the tracker from your suit?”
He looks up from his extremely important job of holding the flashlight for you. “Because I gotta follow these guys to their boss before they move again, and I don’t really want Mr. Stark to know about it.”
“So, we’re lying to Iron Man?”
“No, not lying. He just… doesn’t really get what I can do yet.”
“Is there a tracker in your suit?” Ned asks you.
You shake your head. “He trusts me to not make dumb decisions.”
“But, then, why not Peter?”
“Peter is a boy. Does that answer your question?”
They both look at you, offended. You snicker as you locate the tracker and carefully peel it out with a little pair of pliers you brought (thanks, Tony’s Bottomless Toolbox!).
“Okay. What should we have Happy track instead?”
“How about that lamp?” Peter suggests, gesturing to the one on Ned’s nightstand. You comply, inserting the little wire into the fold in the fabric at the bottom of the lampshade.
“Woah,” Ned says quietly.
“Hm?”
“There’s a ton of other subsystems in here. But they’re all disabled by the… Training Wheels Protocol.”
You both giggle. Peter, however, doesn’t see the humor in the situation.
“What?” He leans over Ned’s shoulder, reading the screen. “Training Wheels Protocol…. Disable it.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea. I mean, they’re probably blocked for a reason.”
“Come on, man, I don’t need training wheels!” Peter climbs up onto his bed and starts jumping on it. “I’m sick of being treated like a little kid all the time! It’s not cool!” he whines.
You and Ned exchange a look that tells you very clearly he also sees the irony.
“But you are a kid,” he reminds Peter.
“Yeah, a kid who can stop a bus with his bare hands!”
“Peter, I just don’t think this is a good idea. I mean, what if it’s illegal?”
Peter gets off his bed and shuffles on his knees over to Ned’s bedside.
“Look, this is my chance to prove myself. I can handle it. Ned, please.”
“I really don’t think this is a good idea,” Ned repeats.
“Guy in the chair,” Peter whispers.
Now Ned looks torn. “Don’t do that.”
“Come on.”
By this point, he is quite literally giving Ned puppy eyes. Unfortunately, you find it very adorable.
“It’s not illegal if I authorize it,” you decide, needing this to stop. You lean over, pulling Ned’s computer halfway into your own lap, and disable the Training Wheels Protocol. Instantly, the suit reacts, and blue light crackles over it.
“Boom.”
Chapter 29: 丅𝔀𝓔︎𝓷𝐓︎ⓨ︎-Ŧ๏υя
Chapter Text
YOU wait until it’s dark to leave. After changing into the Black Star suit and throwing a hoodie, sweatpants, and sneakers over it, you return to the boys’ room. Peter has done the same thing, with the addition of his backpack.
“Excellent. You can carry my phone,” you decide, unzipping the smallest pocket to slide it in.
The glowy thingy is sitting on Peter’s bed. “Keep it safe, alright?” he asks Ned.
Ned nods, picking it up. “Yeah, yeah.”
You glance at your watch that Ned finally gave back. “They’re moving. We gotta go.”
“Be careful,” Ned says.
You wave goodbye to him and slip out of the room, shutting the door as quietly as possible. You make it no further than five steps when Princess Liz starts walking toward you.
You have got to be kidding me.
She’s wearing a plaid, sleeveless swim suit with a towel slung over her shoulder and a bucket of candy bars in her hand. When she sees you, she freezes in surprise.
“Hey, Liz,” Peter says breathlessly.
“Perfect timing, Peter!” she whispers. “We’re gonna go swimming.”
“‘We’?”
“Come on, guys!”
Every other member of the Decathlon team comes running by you — Cindy, Sally, Alex, Via, Alyix, Charles, Abe, and Flash, who, in his usual dicky fashion, slaps Peter’s ass as he passes.
“Hey!” Peter yelps, indignant.
When they’ve all passed, Liz is still standing there.
“We were just, uh, gonna go– study in the business center,” he quickly lies.
“Peter, you don’t need to study. You’re, like, the smartest guy I’ve ever met. And besides… a rebellious group activity the day before a competition is good for morale.”
The two of you blink, you wondering why Liz’s vocabulary just doubled in the span of six seconds.
“Um, well, I read that in a TED Talk, so– I– I– heard that in a TED Talk.” She laughs awkwardly. “And I… read a coaching book.”
“Wow, you really– this is really important to you,” Peter says softly.
“Yeah. It’s our entire future. I’m not gonna screw it up.”
Maybe Liz isn’t so bad, you admit to yourself. She cares a lot about Decathlon and the team, at least.
“Besides, we raided the mini bar, and these candy bars were, like, eleven dollars. So put on your trunks, get Ned, and come on!” She throws a candy bar at Peter, then looks at you. And goes back to that damn condescending voice. “Um… you can come too, I guess. If that isn’t too cringey for you. I know it’s not the high-society or Avenger activities you’re used to.”
You don’t even bother trying to suppress the annoyed eye roll. Never mind.
Sally beckons her to join them, and thankfully, she does, leaving you behind.
The pool is just off to the side of the main building, accessible through a door in the lobby. It’s indoor, but there’s a glass roof. You and Peter sit on that roof, watching your team have fun as you take off your layer of street clothes and pack them in his bag. Liz is sitting on the edge of the jacuzzi, her toes just barely brushing the surface of the water. She probably doesn’t want to mess up her perfect pretty hair. But despite the reminder of why you dislike her, Peter longingly stares down at the pool, the blue-green reflected on his face like even it’s trying to get him to go swimming.
Quietly, you say, “You can join them if you want.”
He immediately whips around to look at you. “What?”
You tilt your head down toward the pool. “She wants you and Ned there. You can go have fun. I’ll take down the bad guys by myself.”
He starts shaking his head before you even finish speaking. “No, no! I’m not just gonna leave you hanging.”
“I can do it.”
“Oh, yeah, totally. I know you can. But you don’t have to. You shouldn’t have to. This is our fight. Not only yours. It would be unfair of me to make you do all that alone while I did something you enjoy without you.”
“It’s not unfair. I’m saying you can.”
“And I’m saying I don’t want to. I’m not going to leave you alone, Lexi. This” — he motions to the watch on your wrist — “is more important to me.”
“You’re sure?”
He nods firmly. “I’m sure.”
“Okay. Well… thanks,” you reply softly.
“Yeah, of course. What’s Team Spider Star without the spider, right?”
The smile you give him is somewhere in between soft happiness and a smug pleasure that he’s choosing you over Liz.
You slide your mask on and are greeted by AVIS. Peter puts his on as well. As soon as the mask comes into contact with the rest of the suit, a bright red light runs through the web accents from his head to his toes.
“Hello? Hello?” He looks around wildly.
“What’s going on?” you ask.
But Peter is too absorbed in whatever’s going on with his suit. “Ah, thank you,” he says, sounding unsure of himself.
Fortunately, AVIS senses your confusion and fills in the blanks. “Mr. Parker has completed the Training Wheels Protocol. He has gained full access to his suit’s capabilities — including his own assistive AI.”
“O– oh. Really? That’s cool.”
“Yes, it is.” You’re probably just imagining the edge of suspicion in her tone.
“I– I put a tracker on someone,” Peter informs his AI, trying to sound all confident and powerful. He even puts his hands on his hips. “He’s a bad guy.”
“Right,” you say, reminded of what you’re actually here to do. “AV, can you transfer the map on my watch to the mask display?"
“Of course.”
A moment later, the map pops up in the top left corner, including a highlighted route for you to take.
“Is Peter getting it too?”
“I’ll send it to his AI.”
“Oh, thanks!” he calls out a moment later. “Alright, let’s go. As long as we make it back in time for Decathlon, it’ll be fine.”
A big rig is passing by, and luckily is headed in the direction you need to go. The two of you leap from the roof of the pool building onto the top of the cargo container, and you’re off.
You arrive at the location much quicker than expected. The big rig doesn’t stop, though, so you jump off, rolling through the grass on the side of the road. You scramble to your feet and go into the bushes, peeking through to see a gas station. You’re pretty sure the criminals are in the truck on the other end of the parking lot from you, considering it’s the only vehicle here.
“Why is their secret lair at a gas station?” Peter whispers. “That’s so lame.”
“Maybe they’re getting gas at the gas station,” you whisper back.
“I wish we could hear what they’re saying.”
AVIS informs you that you have that ability, and based on Peter’s amazed outcry of “I can do that?!”, his does the same. Of course, you both tell them to do it without hesitation.
“Activating Enhanced Reconnaissance Mode.”
Your display zooms in on the truck cab. An infrared lens turns on, allowing you to see the two guys sitting in the cab, and audio filters into your mask.
“I got the gauntlet from the Sokovia cleanup. The rest is all my design,” Hoodie Man says.
It takes you a second to place the next voice, because you’ve only heard it once. Baseball Cap Man. “Can’t believe they’re still cleaning up that robot mess.”
Hoodie Man chuckles. “I love it. They keep making messes, we keep getting rich.”
“Oh, hey, the target is inbound. Boss, you’re up.”
“Woah, they’re in the middle of a heist. We could catch them red-handed — this is awesome!” Peter turns to you. “Okay, I’m gonna get a little closer so I can see what’s happening.” Pause. “Uh, ‘Enhanced Combat Mode’? Yeah.” His eyeplates shrink to little pinpricks and turn red. Then, high-pitched and panicked, he quickly says, “No, no, no. I don’t want to kill anybody.” The eyeplates go back to normal.
You stare at him with a mixture of confusion and concern. Of course, he can’t see either, but the confusion and concern are still very much there.
“What do you mean kill?”
“My AI tried to turn on something called ‘Instant Kill’. But don’t worry. I told her to turn it off.”
You pinch the bridge of your nose. “I’m starting to think Ned had a point.”
He tries to shoot a web up to the roof of the gas station, but instead of a normal web, it’s a bunch of tiny ones firing in rapid succession that spread out and stick to the sign on top of the roof.
“Suit Lady, what was that?” Pause. “Why would I need rapid-fire?” Pause. Sigh. “Oh, Mr. Stark really overdid it.”
“I’m sorry, are you… surprised?” you can’t resist asking.
“I have 576 web shooter combinations.”
“Oh my god, how did he even come up with that many?”
“No idea.”
Peter chooses a random one, but when he fires it at the sign, the lights on it flicker on and off.
“What are you doing?!” you whisper-shriek. “You’re gonna get us caught!”
“Taser webs? I don’t want taser webs!” he whisper-shouts at his AI. Pause. “No, just– you choose!”
Fortunately, during all of this, the criminals in the truck never come to investigate all the chaos. A beat of complete silence passes. Then, in the distance, three trucks are driving toward you from the opposite direction you came. Above them, partially hidden by the night sky, is Bird Man. He sends down two ropes that latch onto the roof of the truck in the back.
“There’s our guy,” Peter whispers. “Come on.”
The two of you run behind the gas station and the truck into the bushes on the other side. You run out to meet the truck and jump on top of the cargo container it's carrying, landing roughly. When you straighten up, the bird wing jetpack is hovering above the truck, but Bird Man himself is gone. It doesn’t take you very long to figure out where.
A rectangle of purple light has materialized on the roof of the cargo container. Peter tentatively touches it, and his hand phases right through. He turns to you.
“It’s just like you!” he says gleefully.
The two of you crouch there, waiting until Bird Man comes back up. He passes through the rectangle, landing on the lip of the truck roof, carrying a duffel bag, which he sets down to retrieve the tech that makes the phasing rectangle work. Peter immediately webs the bag, pulling it into his grip.
“Hey, Big Bird! This doesn’t belong to you!”
Bird Man looks up. His face is covered by a helmet, and his eyes are nothing but two glowing green circles, but even still, you can feel his anger.
“Oh, shit.”
The jetpack rushes down to meet Bird Man. It fastens around his chest and torso. He swoops low, and you both flip over him. Peter spins around, firing a web.
It splits in two, one half diverting to the left of Bird Man, the other to the right. Neither come close to touching him.
“Suit Lady, what was that?!”
Bird Man swoops down again, and, in a panic, Peter throws the bag to you while leaping over the phaser rectangle. You fumble the catch, but thankfully don’t drop it.
“Just set everything back to normal!” Peter yells.
Bird Man chases Peter before realizing his hands are empty, then spins mid-air and aims for you. You allow him to phase through both you and the bag, then toss it back to Peter. But Bird Man seems to have expected the keep-away this time, and doesn’t even waste his time on you, immediately going for Peter. He snags one of the straps and attempts to pull the bag away, but Peter uses his super strength to give him an edge, yanking it from Bird Man’s grip. The sudden imbalance of weight, however, causes him to tip over, falling backward through the phaser rectangle into the truck. The bag flies from his hands. You jump to catch it, but go too far and slip on the edge of the rectangle. Your fingers just barely close around the strap, and you pull it down with you as you fall, wrapping your arms securely around it. Peter is already standing back up and you hasten to do the same so quickly that you practically bounce off the floor of the cargo container.
“Jump on three!” he says. “Three!”
“Two!” you shout.
“One!” you both yell.
You put as much power behind the jump as you can to reach the purple rectangle.
Too late, you realize you can’t see it anymore.
Bang–
Chapter 30: 丅𝔀𝓔︎𝓷𝐓︎ⓨ︎-Ŧเ︎Ｖ︎𝓔︎
Chapter Text
LEXI Lexi Lexi Lexi Lexi Lexi–”
The fact it’s said all in one breath with barely any separation between the words, along with the fact Peter is rapidly shaking you as he says it, is enough to bring you back to your senses.
“What the hell…?” you say slowly, rubbing your head.
“The bad guys hijacked the truck and took us to their evil lair!” he hisses. “We’re gonna have to fight our way out.”
You blink, trying to process this. “So… you decided to be as annoying as possible to wake me up because you don’t think you can fight your way out by yourself?”
“Well– no– I mean– I could totally–” he stammers. Then sighs. “Yeah, kinda.”
You shake your head, smiling fondly. “Alright. Let’s do this shit.”
“Break out on three?”
“You really like doing ‘on three’, don’t you?”
“Maybe…” he says, a blatant lie.
“It’s okay. I do, too.”
His eyeplates go all smiley-squinty as he helps you to your feet.
“Okay. Three,” you begin.
“Two,” he says.
“One!”
The two of you charge forward, throwing yourselves at the doors of the cargo container with a metallic bam. They fly out in different directions, and you and Peter are propelled forward from momentum. He lands flat on his face, but you’re able to throw yourself into a (admittedly ungraceful) somersault that helps you get back on your feet quicker. You prepare to fight, but…
There’s no one here.
Peter scrambles to his feet, also prepared to fight, only to discover the same thing.
“Wait. I thought you said we were at the evil lair?”
“Oh, uh… yeah, but I was… I guessed,” he admits sheepishly.
“So where are we really? AVIS?”
“You’re in the most secure facility on the Eastern Seaboard. The Damage Control deep-storage vault.”
Peter’s AI presumably delivers the same information to him. He throws up his hands and exclaims, “No. Seriously?”, then lets out a tortured and frustrated groan.
“Okay, okay, don’t panic,” you say quickly, your mind moving just as fast. “I’ll just phase outside, find the control panel, open the doors up, and boom. We’ll be outta here.”
The vault is massive, with a bazillion (give or take) cargo containers extending out in every direction. Thankfully, you’re near the front, so you don’t have to navigate the maze to get to the door — if you can even call it that. It’s made of two giant concrete slabs, one extending from the ceiling, and one from the floor. The point at which they meet is reinforced with steel, and there’s not a single crack anywhere that could provide even a slight chance of something slipping in or out.
Unless, of course, that thing can defy the laws of matter.
You walk up to it, expecting to be met with, well, nothing. But you smack right into the humongous gate. No matter what you try, no matter how hard you press yourself against it, you can’t pass through. It’s like it’s a regular solid object and you’re a regular not-able-to-defy-the-laws-of-matter person.
“What’s going on?” Peter asks in concern.
“I– I dunno. AVIS is there… is there something inside the concrete?”
On your display, blue light runs down the length of the gate as she analyzes it.
“Yes. It appears the concrete is only a shell, encasing a vibranium-titanium hybrid. My guess is, because your powers came from vibranium, you are unable to phase through it.”
“Seriously?”
“What is it?” Peter asks.
“The gate is made of vibranium. I can’t get through because my powers came from it.”
He groans. “So now what?”
“The door likely won’t open until morning,” AVIS informs you. “So I suggest you find something to occupy yourselves.”
Your face falls into an expression of annoyed disbelief.
Dryly, like she already knows what you’re going to say, she begins, “I can always phone Mr. Stark for help, if you would prefer–”
Okay, so maybe she does know. “No. Don’t. It’s– it’s fine. We’re fine. It won’t be that bad.”
★★★★★★
You lay on top of one of the cargo containers. Not the most comfortable thing in the world, but it’s not like you have another option. Peter tried to pry the gate open with his super strength, but that was a failure as well. In defeat, he made himself a web hammock slung between two cargo containers (one of them being yours), where he’s now lying as he converses with his AI.
“Hey, Suit Lady. I kinda feel bad calling you ‘Suit Lady’, you know? I think I should probably give you a name. Like Liz.”
Your lip curls in disgust at the suggestion, and you stare lasers at the ceiling. Half of you is grateful Peter can’t see this, but the other half doesn’t really care.
“No, no, no! God, that– that’s weird,” he mercifully realizes. “Okay, what about… Karen?”
With nobody around to hide your identities from, the two of you have taken off your masks. This gives you the chance to hear his AI’s voice, although it’s somewhat muffled by the fabric.
“You can call me Karen, if you would like,” she tells him.
“Alright, yeah. So Karen, what else can this suit do?”
There’s a whoosh, like the sound of an umbrella opening, and Peter delightedly exclaims, “What?”
Curious, you sit up and lean over the edge of your cargo container. He’s also sitting up and lifting his arms into the air, admiring two thin sheets of fabric under his armpits. They’re likely there to act like a hang glider when he’s jumping around from building to building. A thought pops into your head, and you lay back down, your head next to your mask.
“Hey AV, does my suit have any hidden abilities?”
“Hmm.” She pauses, thinking that over. After a moment, she continues, “Here’s something I think you’ll like: Your suit can connect to Spotify.”
“What?” you exclaim with just as much delight as Peter. “Dad, I love you.” You retrieve your phone from Peter’s backpack and immediately set to work, creating a playlist titled “avengering 🔥”. Peter crawls up onto the cargo container to see what you’re doing, and you make him pose for a picture in which you give each other bunny ears that you then set as the cover image.
As you listen to clips of songs to test them out for the playlist, Peter does some work of his own that’s almost as important as yours. He asks Karen to run the refresher course on the different types of webs he has. It’s fun, watching him try out the different kinds and getting to see what Tony cooked up.
But then, when he’s done, things take a… less fun turn. He starts talking about Liz. Being unable to think of any more songs at the moment (and also wanting to get away from Princess Liz Central), you put your phone away and take the opportunity to explore the vault, mask in hand so AVIS can accompany you.
“Miss Stark?” she says tentatively as you phase through random containers.
“Hm?”
“Are you okay?”
“I mean, aside from being stuck in a glorified closet, yeah, I’m doing just fine. Why?”
“You seem… irritated.” A pause, a slight hesitation. “Is it because of the girl Peter is talking about?”
You pull the mask on, not wanting to risk Peter overhearing.
“What? That– that’s ridiculous. Why would I care?”
“Do I really need to spell it out for you? You really are just as oblivious as your dad, aren’t you?”
“Hey,” you say, wounded. “That’s kind of unfair.”
“I would agree if it weren’t so painfully obvious that there’s something going on between you and that boy that you somehow aren’t aware of.”
Your face is very rapidly heating up. “Um, I think the word you’re looking for is ‘friendship’. We’re friends, AVIS.”
“Okay,” she says, but it’s obvious from her tone she doesn’t believe you in the slightest.
Do I even believe me? a voice inside you asks quietly.
Before you can tell it to shut the hell up, of course you believe the truth, you hear Peter shriek, “37 minutes?! That’s insane! Hey, Lexi! Where’d you go?”
You make your way back towards him, grateful the mask is on, because thanks to AVIS’s wild misreading of your relationship, you’re almost certainly blushing.
“Hi. I was– exploring.” You gesture vaguely at the mass of cargo containers behind you.
“Find anything interesting?”
Yes, but not in the way you’re thinking.
“Eh, not really.” You shrug, hoping the movement looks casual. “So, um, what’s up?”
“I can’t take being trapped anymore. We gotta get out of here.”
“Okay,” you say slowly. “And how exactly are you planning on doing that?”
“I, uh, I dunno. Let’s see what’s in there.” He points to the storage container that brought you here.
The two of you set to work, sorting through the materials inside. It’s mostly stuff from Ultron — including an entire head from one of his robotic puppets — but there’s also some Chitauri tech.
“Hey, look!” says Peter brightly, holding up a rock-like object that glows purple. “It’s another glowy thingy.”
“We are not taking that with us,” you firmly assert. “You already have one.”
He deflates. “Aw, fine.”
“Miss Stark? That is an explosive Chitarui energy core.”
Once again, Peter gets the same information from his own AI. He quickly drops it and steps back.
“Woah, woah, woah. You mean we’ve been carrying around a bomb?!” he shouts.
“It requires radiation to transform it into a radioactive state,” AVIS discloses.
“Still, we have to tell Ned!” you decide, looking up at Peter.
He seizes his phone and attempts to call your friend, but the container walls are blocking his cell service. You’re met with the same result.
“What are we going to do?”
You kneel down, rummaging through Peter’s backpack. He has all the stuff you expected he’d be carrying with him. Mostly math supplies, like a calculator, pencil, notepad… wait.
“Override,” you murmur.
“What?”
“The lock. We can override it.” You hold up the materials that gave you the idea. “Come on.”
There’s a power box next to the door, way up high by the ceiling. You analyze it as best you can from the ground.
“It looks like a pretty basic keypad design. We should be able to access it from this end.”
“So we’re just going to try every combination?” he presses. “That could take forever!”
“Do you have a better idea?”
He doesn’t, so he scales the wall, taking his place at the power box. You pick up the notepad and pencil, writing down the first combination before shouting it up to Peter.
“Okay. Trial 1. 0000.”
Peter types in the combination. Nothing happens.
“Trial 2. 0001.”
That one doesn’t work, either.
You attempt 10 combinations in less than a minute, and before you know it, you’re on the 25th try. Then the 50th… the 80th… the 100th….
Soon you’re counting by 10s again, because it’s easier than saying a value in the hundredths, tenths, and ones places over and over.
You pass 150 trials. It’s amazing the vault hasn’t gone into some sort of security lockdown from too many failed tries.
60. 70. 80. 90. The door remains infuriatingly closed.
Then you’re in the 200s, but 201 soon becomes a distant memory as you approach 246 — which, of course, is a failure.
But then.
Then, on your 246th trial.
On the 247th trial, Peter types in 0245.
And it works.
0245 works.
Noisily, the gate begins to open. You hastily shove everything into Peter’s bag and toss it to him the second he lands back on the ground.
The concrete slabs haven’t even fully retreated out of view when you leave — Peter has to swing you over the one on the ground.
In the best coincidence in the history of coincidences, a truck is leaving the facility the same time you are. The two of you climb on top of its damn cargo container that looks exactly like the one that trapped you here. Its engine rumbles to life and the truck speeds off toward the highway.
It’s morning now, so Decathlon will be starting soon. Or maybe it already has. Maybe you missed the whole thing.
But now you don’t care.
You don’t care about anything except getting to Ned and making sure the core doesn’t explode and kill him.
Chapter 31: 丅𝔀𝓔︎𝓷𝐓︎ⓨ︎-รเ︎Ⓧ︎
Chapter Text
PETER’S stupid yodeling ringtone quickly goes from your least favorite sound in the galaxy to your favorite. Why?
Because it means Ned is calling him back. Peter puts him on speaker so you can both hear.
“Ned? Oh my god, Ned, you’re alive!” he shouts into the phone.
“Peter? Are you okay? Is Lexi with you? Is she okay?”
There’s no time to recount your adventure in the vault, as much as you know Ned would love it. Frantic, you say, “Yeah, yeah, we’re okay. Ned, where’s the glowy thingy?”
“Don’t worry, it’s safe in my backpack. But where are y–”
“No, Ned, listen–”
Peter interrupted Ned, so now Ned interrupts Peter. “You guys missed Decathlon. I had to cover for you.”
“Just listen–!”
“We’re at the Washington Monument.”
“Please–”
“Peter? Is that you?”
You bite back a groan. Now is, of course, not the time for grudges, but Liz’s interruption poses a much bigger threat, in that it’s preventing you from warning Ned. Even Peter is able to see that, thank Odin.
“Oh, hey, Liz. Please put Ned back on the phone.”
The bus you’ve hitched a ride on is pulling up in front of the Lincoln Memorial. Peter immediately jumps off, and you follow, though your landing is a little rougher because of the lack of sticky hands and feet.
“You flake!” she accuses as you scramble to your feet. “You are so lucky we won.”
Peter barely waits until you’ve steadied yourself before racing off alongside the Reflection Pool, you right beside him.
He pleads, “Can I just talk to Ned? It’s really important!”
“I want to be mad, but I’m just worried. Like, what is going on with you?”
“We really need to talk to Ned!” you yell at her, trying not to be too satisfied by the fact you have a good excuse to do so.
“Oh, Lexi, you’re there too,” she says, sounding like you’re an afterthought to her. “Did you convince him to ditch Decathlon?”
“What the hell?! No! Just put Ned back on the goddamn phone!”
“Jesus, calm down,” she snaps.
“Oh my god, we don’t have time for your conceited bullshit! Put. Ned. On. The. Phone!” Each word is shaking with anger, but still, it’s somehow not enough to convince Liz she needs to give Ned his phone back.
Distantly, you can hear a man’s voice say, “Miss, all items on the belt, please.”
“NO, NO, LIZ–”
But she. Hangs. Up.
And the glowy thingy is probably going through the x-ray right this very second.
Peter stuffs his phone into his backpack and then throws it over to a tree, where he webs it in place. You’re almost at the monument now. Even Steve would be impressed by the speed we’re running at.
The exact same second you arrive at the courtyard circling around it is when it happens.
There’s a boom, and debris goes flying, creating a large crack in the triangular roof, all the way up at the very top.
“A, what am I looking at?” you demand.
“The Chitauri core has detonated and caused severe structural damage to the elevator,” AVIS explains.
“My teammates are up there!”
You and Peter whirl around. Michelle is standing there, pointing up at the roof, book held forgotten in her hand.
“What?!” Peter then deepens his voice as he adds, “Uh, don’t worry ma’am, everything’s gonna be okay.”
The two of you race over to the base of the building.
“Oh my god, that’s tall,” he faintly says.
“I could really use the Shooting Star right now,” you mutter regretfully.
“Okay, uh… I’ll give you a lift?” he suggests.
You piggyback on him, and he jumps as high as he can, sticking to the building. He rapidly begins to climb.
About a quarter of the way up, AVIS reports, “Estimating 10 minutes before catastrophic failure.”
Peter starts taking giant leaps, going long stretches without being stuck to the wall, and making web slingshots to propel you up, but you’re still only halfway up when AVIS informs you that the Washington Memorial’s safety systems are completely failing and the occupants of the elevator are in imminent mortal danger.
“I think I’m slowing you down,” you shout.
“You’re not! And I’m not leaving you!”
“But Peter–”
“No! We stick together, alright?”
“Alright.” But you gulp nervously, unsure you’ll be able to get there in time.
This worry is doubled down on when AVIS delivers an updated report.
“You now have 125 seconds before catastrophic failure.”
“What?!”
You’re about four-fifths of the way up the tower. The infrared view in your display pops up, highlighting people moving about in the elevator.
“Unexpected motion has caused the deterioration to escalate.”
“How do we get up there?!” Peter yells.
The spider symbol at the center of his chest pulls away from the suit, transforming into a small, spider-shaped drone.
“Woah, has that been there the whole time?” he asks.
The drone flies up above the tower, scanning it.
“Karen says the best entry point is the southwest window!” Peter shouts. “I’m gonna head over there.”
The southwest window is on a different side of the building than you, so he has to jump around the corner to the next wall over. Because you’re moving to the side and not up, there's a second where, not connected to anything, you start to drop. You let out a startled yelp. He quickly reattaches himself to the wall the southwest window is on.
“It’s okay,” he reassures you. “I’m not gonna let you fall, I promise.”
He resumes the climb, and what feels like hours later — though it’s probably less than a minute — you reach the giant crack.
“Okay, I’m gonna be honest, I didn’t think this far ahead. Now what?”
Fortunately, you have an answer for him. You carefully peel your left leg away from where it’s secured by his thigh and press it against the wall, phasing the ankle through. Then you repeat the process with your left hand, phasing the wrist through, and, reaching over Peter’s head, your right. You squeeze your eyes shut and finally pull your right leg away from him. Beyond grateful you’ve taught yourself how to do so, you phase only that leg through the wall and nothing else. Peter climbs up a little further, then flips himself around.
“Don’t look down–!” you yell, but it’s too late. He freezes, eyeplates growing larger than you’ve ever seen them.
“Oh, God,” he mumbles in terror.
“Miss Stark, he has not reinstalled his parachute. If he falls, it will be fatal.”
Based on Peter’s faint, “Oh, great,” Karen has told him the same thing.
He shoos away a couple seagulls that are perched casually on the frame of the southwest window (they’re insane for sitting this high up, oh my god–), then takes their place once they’ve flown away. Keeping his hands planted against the wall, he tries kicking at the glass.
“It’s not breaking! Why isn’t it breaking?”
“It’s bulletproof glass,” you realize. “You’re going to need more momentum!”
“Shit. Okay. Uh…”
“I’m going to go in and try to stop them,” you say. “Can I have a web?”
“Uh, yeah.” He looks confused at the request, but fulfills it nonetheless.
Once you’ve tied the web around your waist, you phase through the wall. The top floor is packed with tourists and security guards, all of whom are staring at the elevator in panic. A few guards are poking their heads through the entrance to the shaft, assisting your teammates as they climb out. Cindy, Charles, and Abe are already out, and they’re helping Flash as you come in. Of course, his priority is the shiny trophy he’s holding. A smile breaks across your face at the realization you won, but then you come to your senses and rush over to the guards.
“Stop! The movement is making everything worse! You’re putting them in more danger!”
One man turns to face you, but the other three are focused on Flash and his demands to take the trophy before him. Men and their egos.
“Who the hell are you?”
At this brusque statement, another guard glances over. Her blond eyebrows raise as she registers who you are.
“That’s Black Star,” she says. “An Avenger!”
“Right, well, if they were really an Avenger, they’d recognize we’re trying to save these kids.”
The man guard turns his back to you to help one of the others pull Flash out now that the fourth has the trophy safe in their grasp. Once Flash is on solid ground, he immediately takes it back, and the guards return to the shaft.
“Stop!” you repeat.
“And what would you have us do? Leave them to die?”
From outside, you can hear helicopter blades and shouted demands that Peter identify himself or return to the ground. It’s going to be a while before your partner comes.
Ignoring the man for the moment, you peer over the edge, doing some mental calculations on the distance. To AVIS, you say, “Okay. They're about eight feet down, right?”
“Right.”
“Okay. I need you two” — you point to the female guards — “to stand at the lip of the shaft. Be ready to hoist everyone out. You two” — you point to the other two guards — “just stand by and be ready. I don’t know if we’ll need you, but it’s good to know you’re here if we do.”
All of them except the man nod, but between your age and your gender, you’re used to men counting you out or refusing to go along with your ideas, so you can make do with that.
You get on your knees in front of the shaft, facing the tourists, who are all staring with obvious curiosity. One foot is swung over the edge of the shaft and into it, where it’s phased through the wall. The process is repeated with the other, and when they’re both secure, you take your hands and phase them through at waist-level. Then you take your right leg and stretch it as far down as it can go, phasing your foot through the wall once it’s stretched to the limit. The process is repeated with the left, and when they’re both secure, you take your hands and phase them through at waist-level. You reach your right leg down again, being extra cautious this time to make sure it goes through the elevator as well as the shaft wall.
“Holy shit!” Via yelps.
You bring your left leg down next to the right, followed by your hands.
“Wh– who’s that?” Alex questions.
“That’s Black Star!” Ned replies excitedly. “They’re an Avenger. They can help us.”
You smile into the mask. When you’re level with the elevator floor, you take one foot, place it tentatively on the surface, and make it solid. You do the same with the other, then ease your whole body inside.
“How’d I do?” you ask AVIS.
“As un-Stark-ish as it is, you managed to cause the bare minimum of damage possible. Excellent job.”
“Thanks,” you say brightly.
The Alexes, Via, Liz, Mr. Harrington, and Ned are all staring at you with wide eyes, waiting to see what you’re going to do.
“Hi. Okay…” You point at Alyix. “You’re going to go first.”
“Um. For what?” he asks with trepidation.
“Right! I should explain the plan. Sorry. So you see that rope?” You gesture up to the web, which just barely reaches the elevator. There’s a smattering of nods. “Okay. So, you guys are going to piggyback on me, and I’m going to climb up the wall like how I did to get down here. Then, when you can reach the rope, you’ll grab that and climb to the top of the shaft. It’s going to be a little awkward, but it’s safer than what you were doing before. We need to move the elevator as little as possible, or it’ll fall.”
Everyone blinks, digesting the weird plan. But they stay silent, because they know as well as you do you’re running out of options — and time.
So, Alyix goes first. He hops up onto your back, arms wrapped loosely around your neck.
“Ready?”
He takes a deep breath. “Yeah.”
With that, you scale up the wall, doing what you were doing before with some accommodations. This time, you stretch a hand up as far as it can go, then the other. One leg is brought up, bending your knee up by your chest so your ankle is almost level with your hips. The same is done with the other, and then, the entire process is repeated several more times.
Once your head is level with the bottom of the web, Alyix grabs it. Because he can’t use the elevator roof to boost himself up, you tell him to use your shoulder instead. He puts a foot on one of your shoulders, pushing up, and with that, he’s scaling the shaft wall. At the top of the shaft, the two guards reach down and pull him up. He shouts down a “Thank you!” and rejoins the rest of the team.
Satisfied the plan is working, you return to the ground and point to Alex. “Alright, you next.”
You repeat the entire process with him. It’s slightly easier this time — because he’s so tall, you don’t have to climb up as far, and the guards don’t have to reach down so much. And when he’s safe, Via goes. You’re just about to repeat the process with Mr. Harrington (which is going to be very awkward for you, but the only other option is leaving him here, so… better than the alternative) when the sound of glass shattering echoes down to you.
“Break!”
There’s a flash of red, a thud, a shaking sensation as the elevator’s precarious balance is upset.
A horrible metal screech, and it — and you — plummet.
Chapter 32: 丅𝔀𝓔︎𝓷𝐓︎ⓨ︎-ร𝓔︎Ｖ︎𝓔𝓷
Chapter Text
PETER shoots down a web. It chases you, and you watch it steadily grow larger before it sticks to what’s left of the top of the elevator. He slams his feet against the doorway to the shaft, using his super strength to hold you in place.
“I did it!” he cheers.
The web you had been using as a rope limply dangles far above you. We definitely can’t reach that now, but maybe–
More glass shattering.
“Woah!”
The elevator resumes its plummeting, now being chased by Peter and the shaft’s unfortunately very fragile door frame. He crashes to the bottom and wastes no time, flipping over and sending up a web that sticks to the ceiling at the very top of the shaft. He jumps and, upside-down, presses his feet into the last little scrap of remaining roof to keep the elevator car from falling.
He looks around and in a fake New York accent says, “Hey, how you doin’? Don’t worry, I got you.”
And he begins to pull you up. Slowly, laboriously, Peter begins to pull you up to the top floor.
“Yes!” Ned cheers, pumping his fist. “Yes!”
But his celebration is making the whole car shake, putting further strain on Peter.
“Hey, hey, hey! Big guy, quit moving around!” he snaps.
Ned immediately stills. “S– sorry, sir, I’m so sorry.”
It takes Peter a couple long minutes to pull you to the top. The piece of metal he’s pushing his weight against is starting to bend, and you’re starting to worry it’ll break before you reach the top. Then, sunlight floods the elevator car, and you’re beyond relieved.
“Okay, everybody, this is your stop!” you announce.
You aren’t quite level with the top floor. Only about half of the elevator can be seen by the guards and tourists. But you don’t want to risk pushing Peter or the scrap of ceiling further, so you crouch at the door and cup your hands to help them get out.
Ned goes first, his shoe resting in your interlaced fingers as he steps up. The guards pull him up the rest of the way, then shuffle him over to the Decathlon team to make room for Liz and Mr. Harrington to exit. Mr. Harrington goes immediately after Ned, and then, after a too-long moment of beckoning, Liz follows. You straighten up–
The metal finally breaks.
Peter has his web to keep him up.
You’re not as lucky.
“NO!”
He stretches his arm out to catch you. You stretch yours out to meet him — a second too late.
There’s an inch between your hands that grows with every second.
He fires down a web to catch you, and it sticks to your suit, but you don’t give it a chance to leave, gripping it with all your might.
The elevator continues down, leaving you dangling in midair. Peter pulls you up, never once looking away from you, even when his hand closes around yours, securing your safety.
“Told you I wouldn’t let you fall,” he says softly.
Peter gently sets you on the ground, but keeps staring at you.
“You good?” he eventually asks.
“Yeah.” The word leaves your mouth automatically. “I mean, I’m alive, so…” you trail off, searching for something to finish the sentence, but then just settle for lamely repeating, “yeah.”
“Yeah. That– that’s good.”
Silence settles, and you go back to awkwardly staring at each other. Then he seems to remember there are other people here, people who almost fell to their deaths moments ago. He clears his throat, and in the fake New York accent, asks, “So, uh, is everybody okay?”
You glance over at the crowd as if you were totally just about to ask the same thing. Everyone nods or mumbles some form of “Yes.”
“Okay. Good. Uh… nice job, Black Star.”
You turn back around. “Thanks, um… you too, Spider-Man.”
★★★★★★
The bus pulls into the Midtown parking lot and is met by a mass of concerned parents. May locates Peter the second he steps off the bus. As she squeezes him, an elderly woman bustles over.
“Oh, Ned!” she exclaims, burying him in a hug.
You stand awkwardly next to the four of them, unsure what to do until someone wraps you in a hug of your own. Startled, you turn around.
“Dad? What– what are you doing here? What about the wedding?”
He pulls back, staring at you as if you just asked the most ridiculous question ever.
“The wedding already happened, I was gonna head home soon anyway. And you almost died today. Again.” Tony huffs out a breath. “We need to start keeping a tally.”
“I… didn’t. I wasn’t, um, on the elevator.”
He raises his eyebrows and gives you a dry look. “You’re an idiot if you think this wasn’t all over the national news.”
“No, no, I know, but…”
“Pepper told me,” he explains. “About the monumental meltdown…” he lowers his voice “...and your rescue.”
A sick feeling slides into your gut. “Dad, I–”
“I’m not mad,” he says quickly. “I mean, this wasn’t quite an Avengers-level threat, so technically you did disobey me, but it was the right thing to do.”
You blink, too caught on the beginning of the sentence to even try and register the end, let alone make a sarcastic remark about it.
“What do you mean, ‘wasn’t quite an Avengers-level threat’?”
“You definitely made the right call helping, don’t get me wrong, but there weren’t any aliens, gods, or killer robots involved, is what I’m trying to say. Mechanical failure, I’m guessing.” He wags a finger. “You know, I’ve always said those D.C. landmarks could use some updated tech — what they have is older than the Capsicle.”
You laugh distractedly, but your thoughts are occupied. So nobody knows the real cause, then. And, somehow, Dad doesn’t suspect. Hopefully it stays that way.
“Oh, Tony,” May says, pulling herself away from Peter long enough to talk to him. “Those two that were at the monument, the ones who helped save everyone, they’re Avengers, right? Um, Black Star and…” she snaps her fingers, trying to remember the name of her nephew’s secret identity. “Spider… Guy.”
“Spider-Man.” A faint smirk appears on Tony’s face, but he doesn’t so much as glance at Peter.
“Right, yes. Spider-Man. Well, thank both of them for me, will you? I just– I owe them a lot now.” She wraps Peter in another hug, though she doesn’t take her eyes off Tony.
He waves that away. “You don’t owe them anything. But of course I can. They deserve to know what a great job they did.”
Through May’s arms, you meet Peter’s eyes. The two of you share a secret smile.
★★★★★★
On Monday, Jason Ionello and Betty Brant have only two things to talk about on the school newscast: The monumental meltdown, to use Tony’s choice of words, and you and Peter.
Well, okay. Literally speaking, they’re talking about Black Star and Spider-Man. But, obviously, nobody knows it’s you, so it’s not like they can say, “Peter and Lexi saved the Decathlon team because they’re Avengers and now everybody loves them so here’s how you can show that love in a crazy non-stalkery way!” (Would they say that even if they did know? Unclear. The editing and acting on the show are… not exactly professional, so you wouldn’t put it past them.)
“Dude. What’s it like being famous when nobody knows it’s you?” Ned inquires as you linger in the entrance hall before class. He turns to you. “Is it different from being famous when everybody does know it’s you?”
“Oh, it’s way better. No paparazzi, no stalkers, no stupid interviews.”
Peter smiles. “Yeah, man. It’s crazy.”
“Crazy,” Ned agrees. “Should we tell everyone?”
He frowns. “No.”
“Should I tell everyone?”
“No,” you and Peter say together. You glance at him. “Jinx.” Then you return your attention to Ned. “That’s really not a good idea. Trust me on this, okay?”
“Fine,” he says reluctantly.
The bell rings. You and Ned turn with the intention of heading to the 700 hall, but stop when you realize Peter isn’t following.
“Come on, we gotta go to class.”
“Oh, I’m not going to class.” He jerks his thumb toward the front doors of the school.
“Dude, you’re already in so much trouble for ditching Decathlon,” Ned reminds him.
“Listen, I figured it out. The wingsuit guy is stealing from Damage Control. And when he takes from Damage Control, that’s when he builds the weapons. So all we gotta do is catch him.” As he says this last sentence, his eyes flick over to you.
You shake your head. “Oh, no. No way, Parker. I don’t wanna piss Dad off further. We may have gotten out of the monument thing, but I’m not risking it again.”
“And we have the unit test in algebra today!” Ned adds.
You point your thumb at him and nod in agreement. “And we have an algebra test. Good point, Ned.”
“Why do you care about the test?” Peter asks you. “We’re probably never gonna come back here.”
Ned’s eyes dart between you. “What are you talking about?”
“Dad sold Avengers Tower. We’re moving upstate. But, Peter, that doesn’t mean anything. I’m still going to come to Midtown, and I know hell will freeze over before May lets you drop out.”
Peter starts to walk away backward. “Oh, come on. I am so far beyond high school right now.” He pivots to face the front door.
“Parker, my office.” Principal Morita storms past a stunned Peter toward, well, his office.
★★★★★★
“Hey, you wanna sit with me again?” you ask Michelle as you twirl the dial on your P.E. locker.
“No thanks. I’m at a really good part in my book right now,” she says stiffly.
“Oh… okay. Maybe tomorrow, then?”
“Probably not. I’m approaching the end of the book. I want to finish it now so I can go buy a new one over the weekend.”
“O– oh. Yeah. Of course,” you stammer.
She takes off her P.E. uniform and, aggressively crumpling it up, shoves it into a bag to take home.
Realizing she seems mad but desperate to prove yourself wrong, you force conversation. “Can you believe Coach Wilson made us run the mile after we almost died yesterday?”
“What are you talking about? We didn’t almost die,” Michelle says pointedly.
“Well– okay, we were on the ground, but–”
“No, I was on the ground. You were nowhere to be found.”
Your mouth dries up. “That’s not tr–”
“Yes, it is. You and Peter disappeared and left us hanging. Where the hell did you go?”
“Um…” you sigh shakily. “I can’t… I can’t tell you.”
She scoffs. “Alright. Yeah. Of course.”
“Michelle, I want to, but–”
“But what, Lexi? Don’t want me to know you had better things to do than some stupid high school club?”
“No!” you yelp. “That’s not true! I really like Decathlon!”
“Uh-huh,” she says, doubt clearly laced into every letter. “You dropped out because you had something better to do, rejoined when that plan went up in smoke, and then couldn’t even deign to show up to your second-choice weekend activity.”
“Second-choice?” you repeat quietly. “No, Michelle, Decathlon is important to me.”
She slams her locker door shut, making you jump. “Then where were you?”
You just shake your head miserably, wanting so bad to open your mouth and tell her, but knowing deep down you can’t.
“You know, this is why I don’t have friends. I don’t want to rely on people when there’s a damn good chance they won’t uphold their promises.”
“I’m so, so sorry. I really am. Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?” By this point, your words are overflowing with regret and guilt.
“Don’t pretend to be my friend anymore,” she replies firmly. “I don’t want to be a rich person’s charity case.”
“What? You’ve never been–”
“Fine. I don’t want to be friends with a spoiled brat, then. Better?”
You stand there, mouth partially open, wound running so deeply it reaches your voice box, strangling you into silence.
And the worst part?
As Michelle spins around and storms off, you know, deep down, you deserve this. Because even though you’ve adamantly denied you’re the shitty, conceited billionaire’s daughter some media outlets try to paint you as, you’ve never actually done anything to prove they aren’t true. Especially not to Michelle, who doesn’t deserve to be treated that way.
Chapter 33: 丅𝔀𝓔︎𝓷𝐓︎ⓨ︎-εเ︎︎ģ𝔥𝐓︎
Chapter Text
YOUR face is half-buried in a blanket as if it’s a bandage that would heal the events of this afternoon.
Ding.
Your phone is sitting on your nightstand. You don’t have the energy to sit up and grab it.
But then it dings again.
And again.
Without even looking, your hand shoots out, fumbling among your spoiled brat belongings to find your fancy, spoiled brat phone. You glance at it with your one unobstructed eye. All three messages are from… Peter?
You frown in confusion. Principal Morita put him in detention for the afternoon, and you know phones aren’t allowed in there.
spider-nerd: I have a lead!!
spider-nerd: So you remember the guy that was trying to buy weapons the night of Liz’s party? Well, it turns out, Karen had a recording, because apparently she records everything (which, BTW, is called the Baby Monitor Program, so I guess Mr. Stark doesn’t trust me at ALL)
spider-nerd: Anyway, from the recording, she figured out who he was, and I went to go interrogate him!
There’s a whoosh as a fourth message is added.
spider-nerd: Lexiiii please please respond I need to tell you what happened
You: arent you supposed to be in detention rn
spider-nerd: uhh
spider-nerd: I… broke out.
Holy shit. You push yourself up onto your elbows.
You: dude ????? tf u gonna do when may finds out ??? youre gonna be grounded for life, i know it
spider-nerd: She doesn’t get home from work for a few hours. I’ll be fine. And in the meantime, I have a lead!
You: so ive heard. youre being very clingy about it
spider-nerd: Well… it’s urgent. So.
You: uh-huh
You: also, i feel like i need to clarify. when you say ““““interrogation”””” …
spider-nerd: I’m serious! He was terrified of me. And he gave me information.
You doubt a guy looking to buy highly dangerous weapons made of alien tech was intimidated by your dorky little friend, but it is possible he got some information. Though it was probably out of pity, not terror.
You: what kind of information?
spider-nerd: The dudes who were trying to sell him the alien tech are gonna be on the Staten Island ferry at 4 for another sale
spider-nerd: I’m gonna go, but I could use help
It takes a couple rereads to fully process the message. Peter isn’t serious, is he? We’ve already had too many close calls. But deep down, you know he is.
You: ABSOLUTELY not
spider-nerd: But we could finally catch the bad guys!
You: or have a repeat of the night of liz’s party. or dc. if we go, we risk making everything worse.
spider-nerd: But what if a repeat happens and we’re NOT there to save everyone?
You: they only happened because we were there
You: i want to catch them too. they’re definitely doing dangerous and illegal things. but we have to be more careful about it. the ferry is going to be full of civilians, and again, knowing us, shit’s gonna go down.
You: it needs to be somewhere safe, and also we need to have actual proof the criminals will be there. do you have real proof they’ll be there? or that they’ll have their weapons?
spider-nerd: Well that guy said they would and he’s a buyer from them so he’d probably know
You: dc was a SUPER close call, both in terms of putting people in danger and dad finding out - we both saw what he was like the night of liz’s party
spider-nerd: He wouldn’t be like that if he realized how dangerous these weapons are! And if we confiscate them from the ferry, we’ll actually be able to show him. Real proof, like you said
You: i’m sorry, peter, but going to the ferry is too much of a risk. i don’t feel safe taking it. and if you had any common sense, you wouldn’t either.
He doesn’t respond to that. You can’t tell if he’s ignoring you because you made him mad, if he’s returning to detention, to his supposed interrogation, or even heading to the ferry. Sighing, you flop back down onto your pillow, this time staring at the ceiling. One of you made the wrong choice — you can feel it in the uneasiness that lingers in the pit of your stomach. And it’s Peter.
…Right?
Out of all the possible options, you know deep down the likeliest is that he ignored your judgement call and went to the ferry anyways. But that can’t be the smart thing to do. It’s a very big risk with a very uncertain reward. Unless, of course, they are there, and they do have their weapons, and it’s really just an easy apprehending mission.
You groan, chucking your phone across the bed, where it disappears into the folds of your blanket, and press the heels of your palms into your eyes. Several seconds pass in silence, and then you’re interrupted by a soft knock at your door.
“Come in,” you call out, reluctantly peeling your hands away so you can see who it is.
The door creaks open, revealing Wanda.
“Hey,” you say dully. “What’s up?”
“Are… you okay?” she asks.
“Oh, yeah, I’m just… nothing. Never mind.”
“Is it really nothing, though?” she probes gently. “Because I could feel your distress from my room. And I know how that sounds, but I promise I wasn’t reading your mind. They just kind of appeared on their own.”
“My emotions are that obvious, huh?”
“Not usually. So whatever’s going on must be pretty serious. Do you… want to talk about it?”
You huff a sigh. There are, in fact, two serious things going on. But, even though it doesn’t feel this way, you know logically that one is more pressing than the other.
“Can you keep a secret?” you ask.
“Of course.”
She doesn’t ask what the secret is, who she’s keeping it from, why she even has to. Just agrees immediately. Because that’s what best friends do.
Sitting up, you fling your legs over the edge of the mattress and pat the spot next to you. Wanda walks over and takes a seat where requested.
You take a deep breath, then, before you can second-guess yourself, describe the situation: The criminals, what they’re doing, how they got their technology, the encounters you and Peter have had with them, the glowy thingy, what really happened in D.C., and now the latest development, the ferry problem. She doesn’t say much, doesn’t even really look at you, just stares at the floor and nods slowly. When you finally finish, she lets out a long, slow breath.
“Wow. That’s… a lot. And you’ve been dealing with this on your own? For a month?”
“Just about, yeah. At the start, being responsible for making those decisions wasn’t a big deal. It seemed so easy. They’re criminals, so we need to stop them, and save any civilians they endanger along the way. But now it’s not as simple.”
“You think that trying to stop them puts more people in danger than if you leave it alone.”
You nod.
“I don’t know if that’s true.”
“What? But D.C. was our fault.”
“Not exactly. It was your friend who had the ‘glowy thingy’ on him.” A faint smile appears on her face as she uses your very technical and professional phrase.
“Ned and Peter coined that, by the way. I just say it out of habit now.”
“Right. Of course.”
A small chuckle escapes you, but your mind quickly returns to the issue.
“But Ned only had the glowy thingy because we told him to take it with him everywhere.”
“That’s true,” she concedes. “Maybe it wasn’t the smartest choice, but you didn’t know then it could explode. And when you did know, you tried to warn him. You weren’t the ones who made it explode. From what I saw, things would have been a lot worse if you weren’t there.”
“So, what, you think I should go? Dad made it very clear he doesn’t want that.”
“When I learned of Ultron’s true intentions,” she begins softly, “I knew Pietro and I had to get out immediately. Leaving was a huge risk — Ultron would be furious. We had seen people make him mad. That man he stole the vibranium from, Klaue? He compared Ultron to Stark. Just a passing connection, really, but Ultron got so mad he cut off his arm. It was basically a guarantee that we would go the same way as Klaue for infuriating him… probably much worse. But we still left, because we didn’t want any part in bringing about the end of humanity. That was just wrong, it was horrible, and Pietro and I both decided it was better to risk Ultron’s anger than to kill everyone.”
“So you think I should go.” It’s a conclusion instead of a question this time.
“I think you need to decide for yourself. But weigh your options, and figure out which risk you’d rather take. I doubt Stark could ever be truly angry with you. These weapons, though…”
Wanda trails off, but she has a point. You know she does. Her words sink into your bones, into your brain, and you complete the sentence yourself.
If they’re on the ferry, and Peter and I aren’t there to do anything… it’ll lead to another D.C. Without the rescue.
You stand up automatically. Wanda watches you, her voice silent and her face blank, letting you voice your decision.
“I’ll be back.”
A proud smile flickers across her face as you walk past her to leave the room.
Chapter 34: 丅𝔀𝓔︎𝓷𝐓︎ⓨ︎-ภเ︎𝓷𝓔︎
Chapter Text
BY the time you arrive, the ferry has already pulled out of the dock, but you can see it from the shore. Or, more accurately, you can see the blasts of bright purple light.
Shiiiiit.
“AVIS, get me to that ferry, now!”
“Yes, Miss Stark!”
The Shooting Star zooms forward at full force. (It’s not quite restored to its former glory, but at least it flies again. Though, you suspect you’re going to need Mark III sooner than you’d like to admit.)
As you get close, the purple light resolves itself into an actual image. Bird Man is hovering above the ship, clutching the weapon producing those blasts. Peter launches himself at the villain, but is thrown off just as quickly. You use the element of surprise to your advantage and charge forward, flipping the Shooting Star up at the last second so the bottom of it knocks into Bird Man. He pitches through the air.
“You came!” Peter shouts happily. He shoots a web onto Bird Man’s weapon. “Activate taser web!”
Blue electricity crackles up and down the string, frying Bird Man’s suit. You go in for another hit, and that, combined with Peter’s super strength, is enough to rip the weapon from his grasp. But the force sends Peter flying head over heels — he lands in the ferry’s parking garage, and the weapon skids a few feet away from him. It lights up, casting out beams of purple light. Peter rapidly shoots a bunch of webs at it, trying to contain the energy.
Even when it’s completely smothered in spider webs to the point you can’t see the weapon itself, you can still see the sticky cage vibrating. But no beams escape it, so things are safe — for the moment. You land next to him.
“You’re messing with things you don’t understand,” Bird Man warns.
And then, as if to prove his point, the weapon fires up again. Trapping it only built up the energy inside, so now, the beam demolishes the webs. In a matter of seconds, it’s now the web cage that’s invisible, completely obscured by purple light. The blast slices through the ferry like it's made of butter, and you can hear people screaming above as they run for cover.
You get off of the Shooting Star and inch toward the weapon, trying to look for a switch while also avoiding being skewered by the beams of energy.
For a moment, you see a little red circle before a beam covers it. Your eyes remain locked on the spot, and you tense, preparing to launch forward the second you have an opening.
There.
The beam moves aside, just enough for you to see a sliver of red, and you launch forward, sliding along the ferry deck on your stomach. Your finger sticks out and you punch the button. Everything goes still.
Then, water starts to spout up through the still-sizzling line running through the parking garage. You look up, and your fears are confirmed — every single level has been cut through.
There’s a loud, slow creeeeak. The two halves of the ferry start to lean away from each other.
“Oh my god! Uh– Karen, give me an x-ray of the boat and target all the strong points!”
Peter leaps around the ship, shooting webs at all the points Karen is showing him. Between the speed he’s moving at and the unpredictable path he’s taking, it’s nearly impossible to trace his route until he lands on the top deck balcony, staring at his work. You board the Shooting Star and fly up, hovering in the air next to him.
“I just did that,” he pants, like he can’t quite believe it.
“Yeah,” you say, impressed.
He stands up. “Wait. Ninety-eight percent?!”
“Wh–”
You don’t even have the chance to ask. One of the webs breaks from too much strain. And then, like dominos, all the others start to come undone.
“No! No! No!”
Just as fast as Peter put the webs up, they come down. Water floods the parking garage level. Car alarms start to blare, though they fizzle out as water rushes into the cars’ wiring systems. People scream as the sideways descent of the ship knocks them off their feet. The force at which some people hit the windows shatters them, and you fly around, trying to catch all the free-fallers. Peter jumps from his post into the ferry canyon. He sends out two webs, one with each hand, and keeps an end of both firmly in his grasp. The other sticks to the halves of the captain’s tower.
And then, dangling in the gap between the two sides of the ship, he holds it together. With his bare hands, Peter Parker is literally holding the two halves of the ferry in place.
No more civilians need saving, so you hover in mid-air, staring at him in amazement. You knew he had super strength, but you didn’t know it was this super.
And then, suddenly, he starts to sink lower. For a second, you think he’s doing it on purpose, but then you realize the webs are starting to sag as the ferry is pushed back together.
“What the hell?” he says.
His services are no longer required, it seems, so he lands on one of the levels. The civilians nearby are staring at him curiously as if this is his plan. You touch down next to him.
“Okay, I know we both have a history of developing new powers thanks to some kind of radiation, so I feel like I need to ask: The glowy thingy didn’t… suddenly give you telekinesis, did it?”
“Nope,” he answers. “You?”
You shake your head.
There’s a series of clunks echoing up and down the ferry, causing Peter to jump out of his skin. You do, too, but because you know that sound. Fu–
“Okay, seriously, what is that?” Peter asks, jolting you out of your head.
Through one of the windows on the opposite side of the ship, the top half of a red-and-gold helmet peeks up, its glowing blue eye slits staring directly at you.
“Hi, Spider-Man. Hi, Black Star.”
Anger is normally thought of as fiery, as burning hot, but Tony’s voice is sharp as an icicle with its chilling fury, and you almost black out from frostbite.
★★★★★★
You’re sitting on the top of a lighthouse, counting down your remaining seconds of life. Peter is next to you, staring miserably down at the waves, and you wonder if his executioner is also going to be Tony, or if May will take over.
There’s the sound of a repulsor blaster as Tony flies over to you. Peter doesn’t move, but you spin around, wanting to keep an eye on your death as it approaches you.
“Previously on Lexi and Peter Screw the Pooch: I tell you to stay away from this, and instead, you hack a multimillion dollar suit so you could sneak around behind my back doing the one thing I told you not to do.”
“Is everyone okay?” Peter asks, his voice weighed down with guilt and shame.
“No thanks to you,” Tony fires back.
At that, Peter finally looks up. He jumps off the concrete railing and starts walking toward Tony.
“No thanks to me? Those weapons were out there, and I– and we tried to tell you about it, but you didn’t listen. None of this would have happened if you had just listened to us!” He’s shouting, but his voice drops down as he adds, “If you even cared, you’d actually be here.”
The Iron Man suit opens, and out pops Tony in a three-piece suit. Peter steps back in shock, but you suspected he’d really be here. Why would he pass up a chance to rub in the fact things went wrong when you didn’t do as he said?
“I did listen, kid. But you didn’t. Do you remember what I told you would happen if you put my daughter in danger again?”
“Mr. Stark, please–”
“This isn’t his fault!” you cut in.
Both of them turn to look at you as if they had forgotten you’re here.
“Lexi,” Peter begins sadly, “I talked you into coming here. This was all my idea.”
“You wish you could’ve talked me into coming here. But, news flash, I’m my own person. I chose to come. I could’ve just as easily stayed at home — and I almost did. But I thought about it, and I decided I was needed here.” Your gaze moves from Peter to Tony. “Because I knew not coming was the greater risk. I knew that you sure as hell weren’t going to show, so if the weapons were, somebody would need to be here to protect the civilians.”
“And that’s what you did? You protected them? Did that come before or after you put the entire boat in moral peril?” He stops as a realization dawns on him. “Hang on. That’s what happened in D.C., isn’t it? It wasn’t a mechanical failure, it was the two of you, messing around with these weapons, trying to prove yourselves.”
“Well apparently we have to, because nobody knows who we are! Security guards tried to stop me from helping. They didn’t believe that I was an Avenger.”
“The D.C. police tried to force me into identifying myself,” Peter adds. “People on the streets of Queens know who we are, but nobody else does.”
“But that’s what you wanted, isn’t it?” Tony fires back. “You wear masks to be anonymous, not to be plastered on the front page of People.”
“I want to be anonymous, not unknown! I was willing to die for these people, and they don’t know who Black Star is! So I’m sorry if I’m angry, or if I feel like I need to prove myself.” You try to be sarcastic, but it boils over with rage. “Because, as it turns out, I do!”
“You don’t get it, Mr. Stark. There isn’t a single person on this planet who hasn’t heard of both Tony Stark and Iron Man. And I just– I wanted to be like you.”
“And I wanted you to be better,” Tony replies, his voice low with disappointment. He shakes his head. “Okay, it’s not working out. I’m gonna need the suit back.”
“What? For how long?” Peter asks.
“Forever.”
His breath hitches, and you’re pretty sure he’s trying to stop himself from crying. “No, no, please–”
“Yeah, that’s how this works. Let’s have it.”
“Please, this is all I have. I’m nothing without this suit.”
“If you’re nothing without the suit, then you shouldn’t have it.”
“Dad, stop it. I already told you Peter didn’t put me in danger!”
“That’s not why I’m doing this. He’s clearly not mature enough to handle all this.” He sighs unhappily. “And you know what? It seems like you might not be, either. I’m taking yours, too.”
“What?!”
“You want to help people. I get that. Your intentions are good, but not your methods. You make rash decisions, Lexi, and they don’t just affect you. They affect the people around you.” He shakes his head. “Maybe it’s my fault for letting you join when you’re so young.”
“Young,” you scoff. “That’s exactly why you let me join in the first place, isn’t it?”
He stares at you, not moving a muscle, his face going pale. “Don’t you dare.”
“Why not? Don’t I have a right to talk about it?”
To be honest, it doesn’t really matter if you do. You hate talking about it. You’ve been working hard to avoid anything that could bring up those memories. But you’re pissed off with Tony right now, and you’ll do and say anything that annoys him just as much as he’s annoying you.
Peter glances between the two of you uncomprehendingly, sensing the conversation is now miles away from him and that he’s unable to follow into this new territory. When he opens his mouth next, maybe it’s because he can tell you’re bluffing and wants to save you from backing yourself into a corner, or maybe it’s because he really just does have more important things on his mind, because the thing he says, in a small voice, is, “Mr. Stark? I– I don’t have any other clothes.”
Tony looks at him and blinks mutely a couple times, as if resetting himself, reassuring himself you’re now away from that topic and he can breathe properly again.
“Okay. That’s fine. We’ll get that sorted out.” He turns back to you. “And we are going home.”
★★★★★★
You maintain a moody silence during the drive home and in the elevator. When the doors finally open, you storm away from Tony, slam your bedroom door, and throw yourself onto your bed. You’re still in your suit — living with the man confiscating it has the tiny benefit of not having to trade it out for a “I Survived My Trip To NYC” shirt and Hello Kitty pajama pants (a fate suffered by Peter) — but he already took your weapons and the Shooting Star, and you know he’s going to come collect the suit any minute now to complete his collection. To avoid having any actual interaction, you take it off, throw on a hoodie and sweatpants, and dump the suit outside your door, which you angrily slam again, just to let out some of your anger. You throw yourself onto your bed and glare up at the ceiling, stewing in your fury.
It’s not fair, giving your all to save the world — multiple times! — and having it all taken away because of one mistake. Nobody died or was even injured, and one destroyed ferry is comically small in comparison to the amount of property damage Tony and the other well-known Avengers have caused.
For a while, your thoughts continue along a similar path, but as they do, the scalding rage cools to hot anger, and then again to warm frustration before settling at room-temperature annoyance. You glance at the clock. 5:58. Dinner is usually around 6:30, so you have a half-hour before you have to face Tony again. Out of curiosity, you crack open the door to check on the suit. It’s gone. He either feels the same way about interacting with you, or is a very good mind reader.
Mind reader.
Your thoughts catch on the last two words. You can vent to Wanda, of course you can, and her former hatred of Tony might even come in handy. The two of you can commiserate.
So, you make your way down the hall to Wanda’s room. The door is open. She’s sitting on her bed watching TV, but pauses it and looks up as she hears you coming.
“There you are.”
“Back to the glaringly obvious emotions, am I?” you ask, walking over to her bed, where you flop down on it, dangling your head off the mattress.
The corner of her mouth quirks up. “I think even Vision could tell you’re angry, and he can’t understand emotions to save his life.” She pauses. “Though I’m not sure I should give him too much credit. The door slamming probably gave him a hint.”
“Probably.” You pause for a second, then ask the thing that’s been weighing on you, wanting a second opinion (or, a third one, technically). “Hey, do you think I make rash decisions?”
“Do you really want me to answer that?”
You bolt upright. “Hey!”
“What?” She laughs. “Lexi, let’s be honest. Basically everything that has happened in your life since Sokovia is because you shot a vibranium core without a second thought.”
Arms crossed, you slump back down to your previous position. “Says the one who signed up for secret trials with a mystery artifact from Evil Incorporated.”
“Well, you didn’t ask if I think I make rash decisions.”
You roll your eyes. “Okay, fine. Wanda, do you think you make rash decisions?” you ask, pretty sure you know what’s coming.
“Nope,” she chirps.
“Oh, wow, you’re so funny, ha, ha,” you say sarcastically.
“Why, thank you.”
“‘Why, thank you,’” you mock.
She adjusts her position, also lying sideways on the mattress, but instead of allowing her head to dangle down freely, her elbow is propped up at the edge, holding it up.
“Don’t stress too much about it. You just need to prove you’re responsible, and I’m sure you’ll get the suit back. He won’t stay mad at you for long.”
“We’ve never even really gotten in a fight before.”
“Well, you can’t always get along with your parents.”
“I’ve never once gotten along with my mother. I kinda thought the good relationship I have with Dad was compensating for that.”
“You don’t talk about your mother a lot,” she observes. “Or… ever, really.”
“What’s there to say? She’s an asshole who hates me, ‘cause I guess it’s my fault she hooked up with the man infamous for his one-night stands.” You throw your arms over your head so they dangle down, your fingertips just brushing the carpet. “Honestly, I’ve never understood why he even wanted to in the first place. He could choose basically any woman on the face of the planet, and he picked her.” You snort. “Let’s just say I’m grateful I only look like Dad.”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “Are you calling her ugly?”
You giggle drunkenly; blood is really rushing to your head now. “It’s such a stupid gripe, I know. Like, she was a goddamn bitch, could probably win a contest for ‘Earth’s Shittiest Person’, and that’s what I’m focused on?” You shake your head. “But, my god. I just– I feel I need to include that so you can really get the full picture.”
Wanda laughs. “You need to sit up. I don’t think there’s any blood left anywhere in your body except for your head.”
“Lying upside-down is fun!” you inform her gleefully. “You should try.”
She rolls her eyes, but complies, dropping her elbow and dangling her head next to yours.
After a moment, she admits, “Okay, this is kinda fun.”
“See? It’s better when the blood rushes to your head, though. Your mind expands.” You say it like you’re a hippy from the 1960s, wiggling your fingers at her, and both of you crack up.
I may no longer have Michelle, but I’ll always have Wanda. The thought is both comforting and painful.
“I thought I heard teenage girl laughter. Not interrupting plans for world domination, am I?”
You make a noise of disgust, dragging yourself upright, and Wanda does as well.
“Hello, Father,” you say flatly.
He scrunches up his nose. “Oh, God, seriously? No wonder we’ve never fought before — I was protecting myself from ending up in the 9th circle of hell.”
“Karma for taking my suit away,” you respond primly.
“Yeah, about that… can we talk for a sec?” He jerks his head to the hallway.
Sighing loudly, you reply, “Fine.”
You jump off the bed and shuffle out the door. Tony leads you a little ways away from Wanda’s room, closer to yours.
He doesn’t say anything right away. Or for a while. It takes prompting on your end to get him to speak.
“So, you know this isn’t talking, right?”
“It’s not that I don’t trust you.”
You blink, trying to register the response that wasn’t really a response.
“Yeah, yeah, I know, it’s that you think I’m stupid,” you grumble.
“What? No, no, I don’t.”
“‘You make rash decisions, Lexi,’” you mock. “Yeah, kinda sounds like you’re calling me stupid.”
“But I’m not. You’re so intelligent. You just… need a little guidance sometimes. And that’s okay. Believe it or not, I was the same way when I was a kid.”
“I believe it,” you reply immediately.
He gives a little that wasn’t nearly as funny as you thought it was smile, but other than that, doesn’t rise to the bait.
“When I told Parker I was taking the suit away forever,” he says quietly, “I didn’t really mean it. The moment just… got away from me a little bit. But it wouldn’t have been a good look if I had backed down, you know?”
“Not everything is a paparazzi game,” you remind him. “Peter’s just a kid trying his best to be an Avenger. And…” you shrug “...I guess I am too.”
“Aha!” He points at you triumphantly. “I knew you’d see reason.”
You roll your eyes. “No thanks to you,” you say, an echo of his words earlier. He notices.
“Okay. That was… a little harsh, but I’ll… let it slide.”
“Wanda pointed it out. Nicely. Without threatening me and confiscating the suit I earned.” You can’t stop yourself from emphasizing the last word.
“You did earn it, didn’t you?” he says absently. “Okay. How about this: You’ve proven yourself capable, obviously, but now you need to prove yourself responsible. Go to school, stop skipping classes, get your grades back up — because, honestly, kiddo, you have a C in chemistry right now, and it’s a little embarrassing.
“You can hang out with Parker and…” he hesitates, trying and failing to remember Ned’s name, eventually deciding on, “the other one after school, I’m not grounding you. But don’t do anything stupid. No more hacking and/or damaging multimillion dollar inventions. And, I don’t know… be a kid?” he says uncertainly. “That’s what enrolling you in Midtown was for, but your obsession with this– this bird guy has messed that up.” He sighs. “And, if you do all that, if you prove you can handle it, I’ll give you the suit back, and we’ll make an official announcement to the world. Everybody from here to Timbuktu will know Black Star.”
“And Spider-Man?” you ask hopefully.
He smiles. “Somebody’s a little in love with Team Spider Star, huh?”
At the word love, your face heats up. You shrug, feeling sheepish, and mumble, “I guess.”
He laughs. “Okay, okay. And Spider-Man.”
“Thank you.” Then, after a beat, “But, I’m letting you know now, that D in Spanish is not improving. I might be a genius, but Mrs. Trout is an asshole.”
Tony shakes his head fondly. “I’ll waive Spanish from the contract.”
“Oh, thank God.”
“Now, skedaddle! You have your world domination plans to get back to. And” — he sighs dramatically — “I need to detox after ‘Hello, Father.’”
“Did I go too far with that?”
“Jesus Christ, kid, I think I aged twenty years in that moment.”
“It wasn’t fun saying it,” you admit. “But I had to drive the point home, y’know?”
“You certainly did.” He shudders.
“Great! I know your biggest weakness now.”
His face falls as he realizes what he’s unleashed.
Chapter 35: 丅𝔥เ︎я︎𝐓︎ⓨ︎
Chapter Text
ON Monday, you and Ned wait outside Principal Moirita’s office as he decides Peter’s punishment. As soon as he steps into the hall and shuts the door behind him, Ned grills him.
“Are you expelled? Do you have to go to that school on 47th where the principal has a crossbow?”
“The principal– what?” you ask in bewilderment.
Peter shakes his head. “Nothing. It’s just a dumb myth.”
“It is not,” Ned argues.
“Don’t start,” Peter begs him.
“So what did the principal say?” you ask, refocusing them. “Are you expelled? Do you have to go to a different but perfectly normal school where the principal possesses no weapons?”
He cracks a smile. “Nope. I have detention, but that’s it.”
“Dude, you are so lucky,” says Ned.
You throw an arm around each of the boy’s shoulders, and the three of you make your way down the hall.
★★★★★★
It doesn’t take you very long to pull up your grade in chemistry. 120% on the unit test probably contributes greatly to that. Gym has been an A for the entirety of the school year because it’s the easiest class in the history of the world, so you don’t need to worry about that. However, you bring your grades in history, English, and algebra up, going from low and mid Bs to high As. Astonishingly, even your Spanish grade goes up! It goes from a D- to a D.
The lack of Avengering and patrol also allows you to attend to other things you’ve been neglecting. You make good progress on your robot in shop, don’t miss any more Decathlon practices, make up with the team (they kind of hated you after you left them to fend for themselves the day of nationals, but you’ve started bringing snacks to practices, so things are good now), hang out with Ned after school, and finally finish building the LEGO Death Star. You make numerous attempts to apologize to Michelle, occasionally with books. They’re more helpful than the snacks, and though she agrees to be civil, it seems like you won’t be able to call her a friend anytime soon. So, while some things are going good, it’s certainly not perfect.
And then, on Thursday, it gets even worse.
During Spanish, Peter gets up to go to the bathroom. That’s a big deal in and of itself — Mrs. Trout gives everyone a limited amount of bathroom passes to use in a semester, and only lets you go if it’s an absolute emergency. Maybe chugging a gallon of water wasn’t the best idea, even if not doing so meant losing a bet to Ned. But, even stranger, he comes back with a smile on his face he’s trying hopelessly to tamp down. Of course, you’re not allowed to talk to him, so you spend the next 40 minutes wondering what could possibly make him so happy in the middle of Spanish class. When the school day finally ends, the three of you grab your phones from the cubbies and group outside, where you and Ned immediately ask him what’s up.
“Well…” he deliberates for maybe half a second before charging forward in a speedy recap. “I saw Liz on the way to the bathroom, and I thought she was still mad at me for missing Decathlon, but it turns out she’s not, because, like, almost dying put things into perspective for her, and then I told her I like her, and she said she knows, and so I asked if she has a date for homecoming, and she said she’s been so busy with planning that she hasn’t thought about it, so I asked if she wanted to go with me, and she said yes!”
“Dude!” Ned exclaims.
“I know!” Peter replies happily.
“Oh. That’s cool,” you say, your voice carefully neutral despite your mind being anything but.
Liz might be a bitch to me, but she’s not to Peter. She likes him. And this doesn’t change anything. Ned and I can still go as friends, and we’ll have fun. Liz will probably be too busy with her own friends to really pay attention to Peter, anyway, so he can just hang out with us. This doesn’t change anything, not really.
“You good?” Peter asks.
“Hm? Oh, yeah, sorry. I’m fine.”
Peter seems satisfied with that response, but Ned’s gaze lingers on you for a couple seconds longer. You smile at him, trying to prove that you’re perfectly fine, just like you said.
I’m not bothered. Why would I be? It’s not like me and Peter…
Even if I did like him like that, it wouldn’t work. But I don’t, so it doesn’t matter.
Most days, you go to Peter’s apartment after school. You, Peter, and Ned have a specific albeit convoluted route that involves trekking through several alleyways but that allows you to avoid the busiest streets.
Today, however, it doesn’t matter. You don’t really want to be around them right now. Peter can’t hang out anyway, and though you know it’s to go suit shopping, it’s still an excuse to avoid him.
You text Happy to let him know you need to be picked up. Ned offers to wait with you. The two of you sit side-by-side on a bench outside.
After a while, you work up the courage to say, “H– hey, um, Ned, can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
You work very hard to keep your voice casual as you ask, “What do you think of Liz?”
“Are you asking because you want to know if I hate her as much as you do?”
“I don’t… hate her,” you protest lamely.
“It definitely seems that way.” He shrugs. “But I get it. She’s pretty bitchy to you.”
“Thank you!” you exclaim. “Oh my god, I thought I was going crazy. It’s really not just me that sees it?”
He shakes his head. “It’s not. More than that, though, I think you’re jealous of her.”
“Jealous?” You scoff. “Ned, please. I don’t get jealous. I make other people jealous.”
“I don’t doubt that, but dude, I think both are true.”
“What would I even have to be jealous of? She’s rich, sure, but I’m way richer. I’m a Stark — a goddamn celebrity. I live in Avengers Tower, and I’m best friends with all of them. Hell, I am one of them! So why, exactly, am I jealous of Liz?”
“Because Peter asked her to be his homecoming date.”
“Yeah, I know. Why would I…”
But you don’t need to finish the question — you already know. It’s obvious what Ned’s getting at.
“You think I… like Peter?” you ask, trying to laugh it off. “Come on, Ned, that’s silly.”
He sighs. “Alright. I’m gonna tell you something, but you have to promise not to laugh.”
“Okay…”
“You promise?”
“Yeah, sure, I promise.”
“Okay. So.” He takes a deep breath as if steeling himself to do something very difficult. “For the longest time, Peter and I had the same celebrity crush. And… well… that was you.”
“Oh,” you say, stunned.
You’re no stranger to the idea that you’re somebody’s celebrity crush, because hello, you have internet access. But putting a face to the people who think of you that way, instead of miasofia and their default AO3 icon, is new.
“I don’t– I mean, not anymore,” he adds quickly. “I got to know you — really know you — and I can say with confidence that I like you way more as my friend than I did as my celebrity crush.”
You smile softly. “Aww, thanks, Ned.”
He smiles, too.
“But, hang on,” you continue after a beat. “What does this have to do with anything?”
“Well, I’m just thinking… the same could’ve happened with Peter. He knew you first, obviously, so that’s more time to stop seeing you as a celebrity and more as just his friend.”
“O– okay. Why does that matter?”
He shakes his head slowly, like you’re just not getting it. “What would be so bad about having a crush on Peter?”
“Nothing! Nothing’s wrong with it! He’s great! But things wouldn’t work out between us, and he doesn’t like me like that anyway, so it doesn’t matter. And I am not jealous of Liz, I just don’t like her because she’s a bitch to me, probably because she’s jealous of me.”
He looks at you curiously. “Why do you think things wouldn’t work between you and Peter?”
You don’t answer immediately, needing time to assemble your thoughts. “Peter is… so many things, but famous isn’t one of them. And that’s fine, I could care less if he is, but it means he doesn’t know how to navigate the media. I’ve learned how, and I’ve also learned they can be vicious. I don’t want Peter to have to go through that kind of exposure just for me.”
“I’m sorry,” Ned says quietly. “Sometimes I… forget about all that. You’re just, like, my friend, you know?”
“I like that. A lot. It’s nice.”
“But, just so you know, you aren’t actually denying that you like Peter.”
“Dude,” you groan, lightly smacking him with your bag.
He laughs, pushing it out of his face. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Happy’s car pulling up in the drop-off lane.
“Thank God,” you mutter dramatically, slipping on your bag’s shoulder strap.
You stand up to go, but haven’t taken five steps before you turn around. “Ned? If you even think about telling Peter about this conversation, just remember I have all the Avengers’ personal phone numbers.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he says quickly, nodding. “Your secret’s safe with me.”
“There’s no secret!” you yell as you spin around and race toward the car.
“Sure there isn’t!” he shouts back.
You open the car door and slide in. Just before slamming the door, you flip him off.
★★★★★★
You try to brush off the conversation with Ned, but his words linger, settling over you like a second skin. They stay with you all through the night and the next morning, all through your morning routine and the car ride to school, all the way up the front steps and to your locker–
Flash is leaning against your locker.
You take a step back, startled out of the second skin for the moment. What the hell?
As far as you know, Flash’s locker isn’t over here, if he even uses one at all. He’s definitely not the kind of person who has a lot of school supplies. Which means he’s here for you.
No, not necessarily, you reason. Maybe one of his stupid friends has a locker over here. He could just be waiting for them, and the inconsiderate asshole is leaning against other lockers without caring who he’s blocking. He’ll probably move when he realizes whose locker that is.
“Yo, Flash!” you shout, storming toward him.
To your surprise, he doesn’t go pale and leap out of the way. He tilts his head back and smirks.
“There you are. I was starting to wonder.”
Your fears are all but confirmed, but you push down the anxiety. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“I’ve been waiting for you. For like” — he glances at his phone — “eight minutes.”
“Oh, gee. I am so sorry you had to wait so long,” you say without a hint of empathy.
“You know what, this is exactly what I wanted to talk to you about.”
Raising your eyebrows, you deadpan, “My winning sense of humor? You’re jealous of it, aren’t you? Well, sorry, but I’m not turning it down to satisfy a man.”
“Look, Lexi, why don’t you make this easier for both of us? Just admit you have a crush on me.”
You stare at him, in such disbelief you don’t even think to laugh. “I have what?”
He laughs, evidently thinking it sounds charming. “Don’t play dumb. The rude comments, the snide remarks, the sarcasm — it’s all to mask your affection for me. You’re ashamed to admit it because of those losers you hang out with.”
You scoff. “If this is your idea of confessing your love for me, I have to say, it’s not very romantic. Now move. I need to get stuff for my next class. Something that actually has chemistry, unlike me and you.”
Unfortunately, he doesn’t move. Instead, he points at you like he has you all figured out. “See? That. That right there. That’s what I’m talking about. You’re obsessed with me.”
“Okay. Sure. Fine. Whatever. Can you move now?”
“Lexi, will you go to homecoming with me?”
You blink, thinking you probably missed something in the conversation, like possibly a “just kidding”. He can’t be serious.
“You can’t be serious.”
Flash laughs as if that was a joke. “Oh, come on. You know you want to.”
You open your mouth, perhaps to tell him exactly what you want to do with him, but before the words can even form in your head, an image of a lovestruck Peter asking a smug Liz to homecoming flashes through, blocking them out. And then, before you can register what you’re doing, you say: “Yeah, alright. I’ll go with you.”
Real Flash looks almost as smug as Imaginary Liz. “Great. I knew you’d realize we’re the perfect pairing.”
Jesus Christ. It’s not too late to back out, but the image stays in your head, preventing you from doing so.
“School dances don’t usually have great food, so I want us to have some luxury beforehand. I’ll pick you up at 5:40, and we can go to Club A Steakhouse.”
You’ve been to Club A Steakhouse many times — it’s one of your and Tony’s favorite restaurants. So when you say, “Sounds good,” you’re telling the truth. Partially, at least. Hopefully good food will make the rest of the night easier to handle.
Chapter 36: 丅𝔥เ︎я︎𝐓︎ⓨ︎-ꪮ𝓷𝓔︎
Chapter Text
GETTING ready for a party without Natasha is something you haven’t had to do in a long time. It’s tradition at this point, the two of you preparing for every one of Tony’s parties together. So it’s definitely a very weird feeling, going to Audrèe Martin’s boutique (your favorite designer) without her.
Originally, you hadn’t even thought to buy a new dress. The half-baked idea to go with Peter and Ned as friends made you think you could just throw on one of your old favorites. But having a date is different. Between the need to silence both Imaginary Liz and Real Liz, and Flash’s plan to post a bunch of photos of the two of you to his Instagram, your own plans have changed.
But at least you won’t be going alone. Wanda is coming, and, upon hearing what the dress is for, Pepper is too.
“Your first school dance! This is so exciting,” says Pepper fondly as she helps you peruse the rows and rows of dresses in every color, length, pattern, and style imaginable.
“It’s not that big of a deal,” you tell her, slightly embarrassed.
“A first school dance is a big deal for anyone, even child celebrity geniuses.”
She pulls out a floor-length emerald green dress with a slit in the side of the skirt and a lacy corset top for your consideration.
“Mm, I don’t want floor length. That just feels so formal, y’know? And my friends in English keep telling me homecoming isn’t super formal.”
She puts it back and keeps searching. Wanda pulls out a light pink form-fitting dress that goes about halfway down your thighs with ruffled, off-the-shoulder sleeves.
You scrunch up your nose in distaste. “Oh, no way am I wearing that. I don’t like bodycon dresses.”
She shrugs. “Fair enough. I would never wear something like this, but I don’t really know your style, so I thought you might like it.”
“The ruffles are cute, but I just can’t do super tight fits.”
Nodding, Wanda returns the dress. She drifts off a little ways away from you and Pepper to a different section. You pick up a dark blue number covered in sequins, holding it up to experiment with the length.
“You know, when you said you had a date for homecoming, I thought you were talking about Peter,” Pepper throws out casually.
You drop the dress (which your experiment showed is about knee-length) in surprise.
“Peter?”
She shrugs. “Yeah. You two are super close, and you talk about him a lot, so I just kind of assumed he was the one who asked you.”
As you bend down to pick up the dress, your hair falls in your face — which is a good thing, as it hides the flush that just burst into your cheeks.
“Oh, no, he, uh, asked someone else.”
“Did you want him to be your date?”
“What? Why would I–” you sigh, realizing she’s implying the same thing as Ned. “Peter and I are just friends. Okay?”
“Right, like I’m just Tony’s assistant,” she deadpans.
“Pepper!” you whisper-hiss. “Oh my gosh, stop! I’m serious!”
Wanda returns carrying a turquoise fit-and-flare with a ruffled skirt and a black knee-length number that has off-the-shoulder sleeves covered in small, delicate tulle flowers. She glances between you and Pepper, picking up on the strong emotions but not the context.
“Um… I found these.” She extends them out to you.
“Thanks.”
Grateful to walk away from Pepper, you take them, along with the dark blue one you found, to the changing room. As you try them on, twirling in front of the mirror, you can hear a confused Wanda asking Pepper what happened. After Pepper finishes explaining, Wanda hums, considering her words. Then, to your surprise, she says, “You know, I thought the same thing.”
Does everybody ship me with Peter? you think in exasperation. We don't even act like we have a crush on each other. I’m friendly with him, of course I am, he’s one of my best friends, but I’m not… romantic.
Wearing the ruffled turquoise dress, you swing the door open.
“Oh my goodness, you look beautiful!” Pepper exclaims.
“You really do,” Wanda agrees.
“Yeah? I think this might be my favorite of the three.”
“Then you should get it,” Pepper encourages.
You spin back around, considering your reflection one last time. “Yeah, I think I will. But not to impress Peter, because he’s not my date.”
In the mirror, over your shoulder, you can see Pepper and Wanda glance at each other.
★★★★★★
“Hey Stephen” blasts through your speaker as you shower, and you sing along, using your shower head as a microphone. It’s safe to say you’re having a fun time in the shower, which is why it takes you such a long time to finish up. By the time you’re drying off, you’re already halfway through Fearless. You leave your hair down so it can air dry, throw on a t-shirt and pajama pants, and paint your fingernails. The base color is aqua green, and then when that’s dry, you go over it with a silver glitter nail polish.
While waiting for each layer to dry, you binge watch The Big Bang Theory. Your initial attraction to someone who was a child genius and an outsider among kids their age like you has blossomed into a full obsession with all the characters and episodes over the years, and now it’s one of your favorite series.
After all three layers (the base and glitter layers, plus a clear protective one on top) have dried, you slip the dress on, and Wanda helps you with your makeup. By the time that’s done, your hair is also dry, so you put it up into a genie ponytail tied with a silk turquoise ribbon. Last, you lace up your new pair of Converse, their turquoise color perfectly matching the dress.
“How do I look?” you ask, spinning around to provide a 360 of your outfit.
“Stunning,” Wanda says softly. “Should we go downstairs?”
“Not yet. I need to– to grab something.”
She raises a suspicious eyebrow. “Care to elaborate?”
Wanda’s proven over and over she’s trustworthy, so why not?
“Well– okay. I’ve been working on a prototype for a new Black Star suit. It’s not very good because I have limited materials, but just in case, you know. I finished it after we got back from the boutique, so I dunno, I kinda… wanted to bring it.” You shrug.
“Where are you going to put it?”
“Um. I was gonna raid the boxes of Natasha’s stuff and grab one of her clutches.”
“Do you want me to go get one while you grab the suit?”
“Uh, yeah, sure,” you reply.
“What color?”
“It’s Nat. I’m pretty sure she only has black and red.”
Wanda laughs. “Good point. Black it is.”
You steal up to your lab, grab the prototype, and return to your room in little more than a minute. It doesn’t look nearly as professional as Tony’s, taking more inspiration from Peter’s original Spider-Man suit than any Stark Tech design. There’s no access to AVIS, but there’s a mask and a simple belt to store a few weapons, which should be enough. When Wanda comes in with Natasha’s largest clutch, you fold the suit up to make it as small as possible and shove it in, along with your lucky dagger and phone.
“Huh. I know it was my plan, but I’m kind of shocked I actually got it all to fit.”
“Well, I might have used a little magic to expand it just a bit,” Wanda says slyly.
“Ooh, Wanda, you rebel!”
She chuckles.
“Thanks, though. That’s really helpful.”
“No problem. Now, we should go downstairs. I bet your dad wants to do something embarrassing that will haunt you until the end of time.”
“Oh, God, don’t jinx it,” you groan.
“Not jinxing. It’s going to happen. He’s Tony Stark. Really quite predictable.”
You sigh dramatically, frowning. “I hate that you’re right.”
Laughing, she places an arm around your shoulder, and the two of you head to the living room, where Tony, Pepper, and Vision are gathered.
Pepper motions to your dress. “That’s turquoise,” she tells Tony.
He waves a hand in the air dismissively. “Turquoise, aqua, spoingadoing, I don’t care what you want to call it–”
“Spoingadoing is not a word, Mr. Stark,” Vision says, sounding slightly strangled, as if it pains him just to say the nonsense word.
Tony holds up a finger. “One, don’t interrupt me.” He puts up another finger. “Two, I don’t care, most color names sound like made-up words.” He puts up one more finger, turning to you. “Three, whatever the hell this shade is, you look gorgeous, sweetheart.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
He gets up from the couch, dropping the three fingers as he hugs you.
“Hap, you got the camera?” he shouts.
The elevator dings, and Happy steps out clutching a fancy-looking camera. “Sure do.”
“Great.” Tony claps his hands. “I wanna take a bazillion pictures.”
Exasperated, you glare at Wanda as if this is her fault.
“Told you,” she mouths.
You elbow her in the forearm.
As the photo-fest begins, Tony talks about the move.
“Hey, Witchy Woman, Toaster Papaya, you got all your stuff packed?”
Wanda and Vision nod. It’s a miracle they were able to decipher the question was directed at them.
“Great. We’re gonna finish up the move while Lex is at the dance.” He looks at you. “Say your goodbyes now, kid. When you come back, you’re going to the compound.”
You look down at the floor and wave to it while robotically saying, “Goodbye.”
Tony rolls his eyes. “Yeah, okay smartass.”
“Hey, I’m just doing as I’m told. It’s not my fault you want me to say goodbye to a building.”
At around photo #3484931785, Happy’s tablet beeps at him. He presses a couple buttons with the air of someone who’s very proud to have the job of iPad Kid Final Form.
“There’s some kid down in the lobby. Speedy? Or, no–” he glances down at the tablet. “Flash.”
You blink, astonished at the fact Happy was somehow able to make a stupid name even worse.
“Flash?” Tony repeats. “That– that’s his name? Like, his actual legal name? That his parents gave him? It’s on his birth certificate?”
Happy gestures to his tablet. “I don’t know. He just told downstairs security that’s his name.”
“Okay, well, what does Flashy want?”
“He’s here for Lexi.”
As one, everybody turns to stare at you.
“Your date’s name… is Flash?” Wanda asks, raising an eyebrow. She’s clearly trying very hard not to laugh at you.
“Sorry, what? Date?” Tony asks, looking like his eyes are about to pop out of his head.
You put your head in your hands. “It’s not a big deal, Dad. Just a school dance. Please don’t Tony Stark out on him.”
He puts a hand over his heart, wounded. “Then I would be unfaithful to my true self.”
Pepper steps up next to him, laying a hand on his arm. “Just this once, I’m gonna need you to restrain that true self, okay?”
His face falls. “You’re on her side?”
“Yeah, I am. I don’t want you to scare Lexi away from– how did you put it? ‘Normal teen activities’.”
Using his own words against him definitely helps. He huffs out an annoyed breath but relents. “Fine. Do you and Flashlight need a ride to the dance?”
“No, that’s okay, he’s gonna drive,” you say quickly.
He turns back to Pepper. “Are you seeing this? I’m already being shut out of her life!”
“It’s a tragedy,” Pepper says, her voice drier than a desert. She turns to you, smiling. “Have a great time, Lex.”
“Thanks, Pep. I will.” And they aren’t just words. Your Fearless getting ready montage has made you believe that tonight actually will be fun.
“Yeah, have a good time with Stripping-Down-In-Front-Of-A-Crowd.”
“Tony!” Pepper admonishes.
“What? That’s what his name means.”
She shakes her head, glancing over at you. “Just go. Before this gets worse.”
“One step ahead of you,” you assure her, rushing over to the elevator. FRIDAY, sensing the urgency of the situation, immediately opens the doors for you.
“Lobby?” she questions.
“Yeah,” you answer.
She shuts the doors and the elevator begins to go down, causing Tony’s continued lamentations over Flash’s name to slowly fade away.
Chapter 37: 丅𝔥เ︎я︎𝐓︎ⓨ︎-丅︎𝔀๏
Chapter Text
IT turns out that Flash’s dumbass didn’t make a reservation. He was counting on his mere presence being enough to get a table.
Unsurprisingly, it’s not.
But yours is.
After the hostess gets over her surprise at seeing you, she takes the two of you to a table in a small nook, depositing menus on the table. The service is great as always, and even though the restaurant is crowded, in less than 4 minutes, you each have a glass of ice water (they have an expansive drink menu, but it’s only wine) and your waiter is taking your order. You choose the steak in bernaise sauce with a side of fries, while Flash goes for the branzino in a lemon, spinach, and white wine sauce. As you wait for them to be cooked, Flash explains his master plan.
“The dance will probably have been going for about an hour by the time we get there, so we should hit up the photo booth first. If we wait much longer, the line will be huge, and then we’ll run out of time to take any pictures.”
“Alright,” you say, not caring. “And by the way, I don’t want to dance any slow songs.”
He frowns, and you can sense an impending argument, so you hastily change the subject.
“So, uh, I didn’t know you were old enough to drive.”
“Oh, yeah. My birthday’s mid-September, so I just barely miss the birthday cutoff. It means I’m always the oldest kid in my grade. But it’s cool, ‘cause I just got my license a few weeks ago. No other 10th graders have theirs yet.”
You’re amazed he didn’t crash, but decide not to say this aloud, instead swapping it out for, “Yeah, I won’t be 16 until next August.”
“I know.”
Right.
The smell of your food makes its way toward you before the actual dishes do, letting you know that you don’t need to continue this painful conversation.
Maybe it’s just because it ends the talking, but the food seems even better than usual. The steak looks incredible, cooked to a perfect medium just the way you like it, and the sauce pools around it and in little dips in the meat, glistening enticingly from the lights hanging above you. You cut off a bite of steak and pop it in your mouth. Juicy and firm, but not so much that it’s difficult to chew. You go in for another bite, this time swirling it in the bernaise sauce beforehand, and relish in the added flavor profile. Then, you turn your attention to the fries, picking up a smaller one and popping it in your mouth. Golden and crispy on the outside, soft but ever so slightly moist, just enough to make it melt on your tongue, on the inside. As you dip a fry in the sauce collected in the bottom of the dish, you ask Flash how his branzino is.
He’s staring suspiciously at it, poking it with his fork. Hesitantly, he cuts off a bite, scraping off as much sauce as he can before eating it. As he chews, he seems to grow unhappier by the second.
“Suddenly realized you’re not a seafood fan?” you question teasingly, feeling slightly more amicable toward him now that he’s bought you a hearty, delicious meal.
“Oh, no. I love seafood. And branzino’s my favorite.” But he sounds angry when he says it, undermining the sentiment.
“Then what…?”
“I’m a branzino expert. I know a good branzino when I see one.”
“That certainly looks good,” you observe, taking another bite, this time with the fries, steak, and sauce altogether (eating all of these different combinations in this specific order is a little tradition you have with yourself; you do it every time you order the dish).
“Sure, grill it up nicely, drizzle it in some fancy sauce, you can certainly make it look good. But that doesn’t do shit for the taste if it’s not fresh, and this isn’t.”
“Okay, so? It’s not a big deal, just dunk it in the sauce so you don’t taste the fish. Or you can try eating it with some fries?” you offer.
“None of that matters if the branzino isn’t fresh,” he insists. “Waiter? Waiter!”
Your waiter rushes over to the table, and you cringe slightly, bracing yourself for the meltdown.
“Yes? Is there a problem?”
“Yes, there is. This branzino isn’t fresh.”
The waiter laughs nervously. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. We only use fresh ingredients in all our dishes–”
“I can taste the difference between fresh and frozen, so unless one of the chefs accidentally bought and cooked frozen branzino, you’re lying. But either way, we’re leaving.”
Panicked, he begins, “Wait, kid–”
Flash’s eyes narrow. “I’m not a kid! Come on, Lexi.”
He gets up and storms away from the table. Reluctantly, you stand up.
“Sorry,” you say to the waiter, wishing you had brought some money.
You follow Flash outside, mournfully leaving the barely eaten steak and fries behind. He’s already in his car, revving up the engine, so you get in, but don’t leave the issue behind at the parking lot he speeds out of.
“What the hell was that?! Who cares if the branzino is fresh or frozen or out of a goddamn can?”
“I care,” he replies firmly.
“Yeah, well, I don’t. You really couldn’t have sucked it up for one evening? I was enjoying my food, and now we’ve wasted all of it.”
“You were enjoying your food,” he says mockingly. “Lexi, you need to raise your tastebuds’ standards.”
“I’ve been to Club A so many times — and I’ve even ordered the branzino. I’ve never once had a problem with it. And neither has my dad. It’s one of his favorite things to get, even.”
He pales slightly at the realization he was insulting Tony Stark, but doesn’t give up.
“It could be a change in policy or something. Which is a shit change, by the way. Branzino should only ever be served fresh.”
“I don’t disagree, but I also highly doubt they were using frozen. It’s not that kind of restaurant.”
He snorts. “Right, because a place that serves fries and mac and cheese is super classy.”
“With the way they do it, yeah, it is. Also, that was going to be our dinner. What are you planning on doing now?”
“We can go to my house. My chef can make us something.”
You roll your eyes. Going to Flash’s house is really the last thing you want.
“Don’t even bother. Just take me to the dance. I’ll eat there, or go somewhere with my friends after.”
“Seriously? You’re just going to abandon me?”
“Yes, because you’re being an asshole!”
At this point, you’re almost at the school, a fact you’re very grateful for. You want to get away from him as fast as possible, Operation-Make-Peter-And-Liz-Jealous be damned.
“Look, I’m sorry, but I know when branzino’s fresh, and that was not fresh, okay?”
“So I’ve heard,” you snap.
He opens his mouth, probably to retaliate, but at that second, a red-and-blue figure drops down on the hood of the car. A scream comes out of his mouth instead, and he slams on the brakes.
“Flash, I need your car,” says Peter in a deep, gravelly voice.
“Uh, sir, tech– technically this is my dad– dad’s car, sir, so, uh, technically, I can’t–”
A minute later, Peter is zooming away in Flash’s dad’s car, leaving Flash himself alone on the sidewalk. Confused, he searches for you, trying to figure out where you went.
Truth is, you didn’t go anywhere. You’re still in the car. You just took advantage of Flash being distracted by Peter to hide from his line of sight.
“Lexi, I know you’re there,” Peter shouts over the wind, glancing over at the passenger seat. “You can go visible now.”
You open Natasha’s clutch and pull out the makeshift Black Star suit. “Uh, absolutely not, I’m changing.”
He drives straight into a cluster of trash cans, sending them scattering everywhere.
“And look where you’re going.”
“Right. S– sorry.” He returns his full focus to the road. “So, uh. Flash, huh?”
“So, uh. Liz, huh?” you mock.
“Okay, that is not the same thing. Flash is an asshole!”
“Yeah, and Liz is an asshole to me. Look at us, choosing the other person’s bully as our homecoming date,” you say sarcastically.
“Liz isn’t a bully.”
“Again, not to you.”
He shakes his head. “Well, um, how was– how was your d– date?”
“How was yours?” you snap back.
“I… don’t want to talk about it.”
“Fine. Maybe I don’t either.”
“Fine.”
The silence stretches out between you as you pull on the suit.
“Hey, uh… can you call Ned, please?” Peter asks hesitantly. “And put it on speaker.”
“Yeah.”
You extract your phone from the clutch and select Ned’s contact. When he picks up, you turn on speaker mode and set your phone on the dashboard so you can finish changing.
“Hello? Ned? Hey, can you hear me?” Peter yells the second he can see the phone.
“Go for Ned!” he replies brightly.
“I need you to track my phone!”
“Okay, but where is it?”
“In Liz’s dad’s car.”
Ned laughs in amazement. “Genius move!”
“Liz’s dad?” you question. “Did you make that good of an impression on him?”
“Oh, no, kinda the opposite, actually,” answers Peter. “He, uh, he’s the guy with the wings.”
“Holy shit, seriously?”
“Yeah. And he knows I’m Spider-Man. So not exactly the world’s best impression.”
“Is that why you’re being so secretive about your date?”
“Well… partly,” he replies awkwardly.
Ned cuts off your next question. “Hey, I got it! He just passed the GameStop on Jackson Avenue.”
Peter swerves to make a sharp — and probably illegal — turn.
“Where are the headlights on this thing?! I’m in Flash’s car!”
“You stole Flash’s car,” Ned repeats. “Awesome. I’ll pull the specs.”
“Yeah, it’s aweso– woah!” Peter veers to the right to avoid crashing headfirst into a car, because apparently, this idiot doesn’t understand which side of the road he’s supposed to be driving on. He then swerves again to avoid a collision with a bus that absolutely had right of way.
“I would very much like not to die tonight!” you shout in panic. “So just– keep that in mind!”
He dances in and out of several more lanes of traffic, treating the center dividers as optional, and thus causing many people going the opposite way to honk.
“Hey, have you gotten through to Happy yet?” he asks.
“Yeah, I’m working on it,” responds Ned. “I just gotta backdoor the phone system.”
“Why don’t I just call him?” you suggest. “That would be easier.”
A long pause, and then Ned says, “No, it’s fine. I almost got it, anyway.”
“Okay…” you say, briefly confused why he would pick the more difficult route.
But then, you hear a quiet creak, like Ned is spinning in a swivel chair, and a soft exclamation of, “Guy in the chair!”
“Think I found my contact name for him,” you tell Peter.
Peter jumps two lanes at once to sidestep yet another crash. “How are we coming with the headlights?”
“Round knob to the left of the steering wheel, turn clockwise.”
Peter does as he says, and bright blue light streams out of the front of the car.
“Okay, got it! So where’s my phone now?”
“He stopped at an old industrial park in Brooklyn.”
“What? That makes no sense! He said he was going out of town!”
“Oh no, the man selling illegal and deadly weapons lied about his location to the one guy he knows can stop him, how horrible and unexpected,” you say sarcastically.
Distantly you hear, “Hello? Hello? Who is this?”
“Oh! Mr. Happy, it’s Ned.”
“Who?”
“Happy, it’s me!” you shout. “Lexi!”
“What?” he says, his voice sounding like it’s underwater due to the fact it’s filtered through two phone calls.
You cup your hands over your mouth and lean in close to your phone. “It’s Lexi! Ned is my friend!”
“Oh, you gotta be shitting me. We’re in the middle of the move, there’s no time for your dumb teenage antics!”
Pause.
“Uh… he hung up,” Ned informs you. “But what did he mean, ‘the middle of the move’?”
“Dad’s finishing up moving everything to the new compound tonight.”
Then something clicks into place.
“Wait. It’s moving day. Peter, he’s gonna rob that plane! We have to stop him!”
He absolutely floors the accelerator, which, now that you know Peter’s driving style, is maybe the worst idea in the history of ideas, even if he’s doing it to go Avenger faster.
“You almost done changing?” Peter asks, staring at a spot where you really, really hope he thinks your face is.
“Eyes on the road, perv,” you snap, only somewhat jokingly.
“What?” He realizes what he’s looking at, and immediately whips his head back to face the road. “Oh! Sorry– I’m– I’m sorry.”
Chapter 38: 丅𝔥เ︎я︎𝐓︎ⓨ︎-丅𝔥я︎𝓔︎𝓔︎
Chapter Text
OKAY, you’re getting close.” And then, a second later, “Turn right.”
“What?” you and Peter screech together.
“Turn right, turn right!” Ned yells.
In a panic, Peter shoots out a web, and it sticks to a pole on the outside of Bird Man’s hideout. He uses that to turn, but it’s too much force, and the car flips onto its side. The two of you scream as you’re dragged along for several more feet that are full of a horrible scraping noise and sparks flying up.
Finally, the car flops back onto its four tires. You glance down at your side of the car. It’s all scratched up and damaged, sizzling charred gashes marring the once-pristine silver.
“...Let’s not tell Dad about the part where you ruined a super nice car, yeah?” you say faintly. “He’d ground both of us for life.”
“Are you okay?” Ned asks frantically.
“Yeah. Just keep trying Happy,” Peter tells him.
“And work on your GPS services,” you advise. “‘Close’ means coming up in a couple miles. Not right on top of the goddamn destination.”
The two of you climb out of the ruined Audi.
“Okay, we gotta go,” Peter whispers.
“Yeah. Spider-Man and Black Star signing off.”
“It’s been an honor,” Ned says grandly.
You hang up and shove your phone into Natasha’s clutch, but leave it in the car. Nobody else is around, so it’s probably safer than bringing it and risking it getting as destroyed as the car.
You race up the long driveway towards the nondescript building. Peter scales the building, you riding piggyback. When you’re on the roof, you peer down through a skylight without any glass.
“This seems too easy,” you whisper. “Maybe it’s a trick.”
“Or a treat,” he suggests.
You shove him with fake anger.
“Ow,” he mutters. “But, seriously, what would the trick be?”
“Oh, I dunno, maybe Bird Man, or Mr. Allan, or whoever the hell he is, is pissed that two sort-of-Avengers keep messing up his carefully thought out business plan, one he’s probably been doing for years without issue, and wants to kidnap us and hold us for ransom or something.”
He doesn’t seem nearly as suspicious as you. “That’s kind of a stretch, don’t you think?”
“He wants powerful weapons, Peter. Power. People really do get kidnapped for that shit.”
“Oh. Like…” he awkwardly hovers a hand in the space between the two of you before laying it on your shoulder, evidently thinking it’s comforting. “We’re not going to get kidnapped, Lexi. I won’t let anything bad happen to you. I promise.”
“That would be a lot more comforting if your hand wasn’t so sweaty,” you whisper. “Seriously, I can feel it through both of our suits.”
He quickly draws it away, wiping it on his sweatpants even though that’s not going to do anything. “Sorry. These are winter gloves.”
“After we get out of this, I’m making you a new suit. Or getting the Stark Tech one back. Either way, this” — you wave your hands in circles, palms facing Peter as you encompass all his suit in your gesture — “has to go.”
He crosses his arms and mutters, “Yeah, yeah. Not all of us live in Avengers Tower.”
You grin, and it sneaks into your voice. “Come on. Let’s go stop Bird Man.” After a second, you add, “And not get kidnapped.”
He nods, and though it’s harder to tell with this suit’s eyeplates, you think he’s smiling.
Peter shoots out a little bit of web, attaching the end that’s not inside his webshooter to the skylight frame. He wraps an arm around your waist, and you wrap both of yours around his shoulders. Then, slowly, quietly, he lets you down into the building.
Everything — walls, floor, ceiling, support pillars standing at regular intervals — is made of concrete, perfectly gray and perfectly smooth. It’s also perfectly quiet and perfectly still.
Bird Man isn’t here, but there’s a desk with several computer monitors, each outlining a different aspect of his plan. On the opposite side of the room is the bird wing jetpack, wings outstretched, straps hanging open, just waiting for him to jump in and turn the engines on. A quick getaway.
“By the way, if I’m right, you owe me twenty bucks,” you whisper, using humor to quell your rising anxiety.
“Fine. But that goes both ways,” he whispers back.
“Deal.”
You travel deeper into the building, passing pipe systems and a staircase that you probably could’ve taken instead of Peter’s web if you had been a little more observant. At the very, very back of the building, against the farthest wall possible without going outside, is a table with a lit lamp and some sort of invention. Standing in front of it is a man wearing a black t-shirt and jeans, his hair almost completely gone except for a thin, graying buzz cut.
Despite never actually having seen his face, you know instantly that this is him. Liz’s dad. Bird Man. You go invisible, retreating against a pillar.
“Hey!” Peter shouts. “Surprised to see me?”
Bird Man is not at all surprised. He puts down his wrench and casually turns around.
“Oh, hey, Pete. I didn’t hear you come in.”
Peter marches toward him as he talks. The omission of any mention of you seems to indicate Bird Man hasn’t seen you yet, so you stay put, holding onto the — admittedly small — upper hand.
“It’s over, I’ve got you!”
“You know, I gotta tell you, Pete… I really, really admire your grit. I see why Liz likes you. I really do.” Anger flares up inside of you at the mention of the princess, but still, you don’t do anything. Bird Man shrugs on a bomber jacket, the collar lined with faux fur (at least, you’re hoping it’s fake). “When you first came to the house, I wasn’t sure. I thought, ‘Really?’ But I get it now.”
Peter comes to a stop several feet away from his target, who’s lounging against the table, not a care in the world. “How could you do this to her?”
“To her? I’m not doing anything to her, Pete. I’m doing this for her.”
“Huh,” Peter says, clearly unconvinced. “Yeah.”
He shoots out a web, sticking one of Bird Man’s hands to the table. A beer bottle is knocked over. Bird Man just sighs.
“Peter… you’re young. You don’t understand how the world works.”
“Maybe, but I understand that selling to criminals is wrong.”
“How do you think your buddy Stark paid for that tower? Or any of his little toys?”
You’ve taken several steps forward before you remember you’re meant to be the secret weapon. Not yet, you remind yourself.
“Those people, Pete, those people up there, the rich and powerful, they do what they want. Guys like us, like you and me, they don’t care about us.
“We build their roads and we fight their wars and everything, but they don’t care about us. We have to pick up after them. Eat their table scraps. That’s how it is.” He shrugs. “I know you know what I’m talking about, Peter.”
Peter shakes his head, but Bird Man doesn’t accept this denial.
“You do. Why go for Liz, a girl several years older than you, who you don’t really have much in common with, when Lexi Stark is right there?”
Your breath hitches in your throat at hearing your own name. It’s not a surprise he knows who you are, but at the same time, it is.
“You’ve fought with her, you’ve spent a lot of time with her, you share interests… on the surface, you’d be a perfect match. But you know. You know it would never work, because the two of you exist in separate worlds. Sure, maybe you’re friendly now, but give it a few years. She’ll meet some guy, the heir to a company or a heartthrob actor, someone who can afford to give her the life of luxury she’s accustomed to. She would never go for you. And not because she doesn’t like you, but because she doesn’t like your bank account.”
Every word is delivered like a punch to the face. Of course your first instinct is to deny all of it, to throw off your cloak of invisibility and scream in his face that he’s wrong, but the echo of the conversation you had with Ned on Thursday comes back, and the seedling of truth in Bird Man’s words roots you to the spot.
“Why are you telling me this?” Peter questions, his voice strangled. You wonder if he sees the truth in Bird Man’s words, too. If it bothers him.
“Because I want you to understand. And…” he inclines his head. “I needed a little time to get her airborne.”
From the other end of the building is a monstrous revving sound, and the bird wing jetpack pummels through the wall you had been standing against a minute before. It heads straight for Peter, but he flips over it with ease. Bird Man slices through the webs, a pocketknife in his free hand. You charge forward, readying a punch, but just as you’re about to land it, Bird Man dodges.
“Come on, you didn’t really think that would work, did you? I know all about Peter’s little secret, what makes you think I don’t know yours?”
You don’t dignify him with a response, balling up your fist again. And this time, you land it in his gut. He doubles over, the smugness knocked out of him.
For a second.
Then he swings his arm out, clutching the wrench — you hadn’t even noticed him pick it up — and it makes contact with your shoulder. It’s big and heavy and made of solid metal and hurts.
He leers up, and you have a split second to realize your body has gone warm, indicating you’re visible, before he goes in for another hit, this time smacking you in the head. It catches you along your jaw, and the taste of blood explodes in your mouth. You stagger away a few feet, watching through streaming eyes as the jetpack ping-pongs around the room, smashing through a bunch of pillars, but never once touching Peter.
“I’m sorry, Pete,” Bird Man calls out.
“What are you sorry for? That thing hasn’t even touched me!”
“True. Then again… I wasn’t really trying to.” He shrugs.
The jetpack blows through four more pillars in rapid succession, and what looks like the entire roof comes crashing down on Peter. The sound of the impact covers your scream.
You whirl around, ready to launch yourself at Bird Man, but in the span of those few seconds, the jetpack zoomed over to him, and he’s already strapped in. Several feet in the air, he looks down at you as he puts the mask on, the green lenses covering his pitiless eyes. Then he takes off through a skylight right above him. But you don’t follow, instead rushing over to the mound of concrete and steel.
“Peter?!” you scream, desperation tearing the syllables from your throat.
“Lexi?!” a voice deep within the pile gasps.
“Peter! I’m here!”
“I’m stuck! I need help! Lexi, please!”
His voice is raw and hoarse and a dagger directly to your heart. Scanning the pile, your eyes lock onto a few smaller boulders you might be able to shift. As you wrap your arms around the one sticking out the farthest, the first time you tried lifting weights comes back to you.
Avengers Tower had just finished reconstruction after the Battle of New York, and you, an 11-year-old in awe of the six heroes, spent a lot of time following them around, peppering them with questions and compliments. (You used the word “awesome” more that summer than you have in all the rest of your life combined.)
One time in particular, you followed Steve into the gym, and your jaw dropped when you realized he was lifting 500 pounds like it was 5. Upon asking how he could do that, you got the answer “Super Soldier Serum”, but by then you had already decided you wanted to be just like them, so an unattainable answer wasn’t satisfactory. You pushed some more, and he agreed to spot you as you tried to lift a dumbbell. But only a 15 pound one — even then, the Avengers knew doing anything that would hurt you even a little bit would be met with Tony’s wrath.
“Don’t lift with your back,” he advised after the third unsuccessful attempt.
“Why not?”
“Your spine isn’t that strong. Use your legs and arms. They have the strongest muscles.”
Trusting living legend Captain America’s judgement above all else, you did as he said. And, to your delight, it worked.
So now, with much more than your own disappointment on the line if this doesn’t work, you lock your spine in place, dig your heels into the ground, and shift the boulder onto your forearms as you pull it. It rolls out of the pile like it had been wanting to leave, and you discard it on the ground a few feet away. You do that again, and again, and again. But even as the pile of boulders grows, it becomes clear you’re not doing much. While you can now see his face, there’s a piece pressing down on his back keeping him in place, and no matter how much you use your legs and arms, you don’t have a prayer of lifting the massive chunk, its concrete interlaced with solid steel beams.
“Peter,” you begin, your voice so weighed down with sobs you’re trying to keep in that it’s barely loud enough to be considered a whisper. “I– I can’t.”
“No! NO! HELP! I NEED HELP! I’M TRAPPED DOWN HERE!”
“Peter,” you say again, hardly straying above that wisp of a volume. “Even if somebody could hear you, there’s no way they could lift that. It’s huge.”
“PLEASE, SOMEBODY! Anybody!” But his voice has decreased in volume so much you know he sees the same truth you do.
You sit cross-legged in front of the hole you made, watching the desperation, pain, and horror play out on his face. The emotions roiling inside you are a mirror to his, but you need to stay calm for his sake.
“You have super strength. You can lift it, easy.”
“I can’t,” he says quietly.
“Yes, you can.”
He shakes his head, but you won’t let him utter another protest.
“You’ve used it to carry me — multiple times. You’ve used it to help Thor, a god, when he couldn’t stand on his own. Christ, you used it to hold together a ferry with your bare hands. I know you can do it, and I don’t appreciate being proven wrong. So do me a favor and show that stupid concrete who’s boss.”
He takes a ragged breath. “Okay. Okay. Come on, Peter. Come on, Spider-Man.” Another breath as he places his hands under the concrete and begins to push. “Come on, Peter. Come on, Spider-Man. Come on, Spider-Man! COME ON, SPIDER-MAN!”
Groaning, the concrete starts to move. You jump to your feet and back up, watching with wide eyes.
Up, up, up, up, up– down.
But not on Peter.
Spider-Man throws the chunk of roof aside and it crashes to the ground with a thud that makes the ground rumble.
“I did it,” he says quietly, amazed at his own feat. “I did it!”
“You did!” you yell, laughing.
He jumps out of the wreckage and runs over to you, scooping you up into a hug. So wrapped up in his accomplishment, Peter doesn’t register what he’s doing, but you do. You freeze up in his arms, shocked, with no clue what to do.
After a few seconds, reality catches up to him. He immediately sets you down and backs up at least a foot in one giant step.
“Uh– sorry.”
“It’s– it’s fine,” you stutter.
A beat.
“Hey,” Peter says quietly, pointing.
Eager for the subject change, you turn around. Crouching on a nearby billboard is Bird Man, staring up at the sky. The engines on his jetpack rev to life. You and Peter run over to the base of the billboard, and he shoots up a web that sticks to the jetpack. Bird Man doesn’t notice a thing. He starts to lift into the air, dragging Peter with him. After a second, you wrap your arms around him, not wanting to be left behind. Still, Bird Man is oblivious.
He takes off, flying over the Hudson River, and there, stashed among other buildings but sticking out like a sore thumb due to the giant blue A, is Avengers Tower. From the rooftop helipad, a jet rises into the air. It turns on retroreflective panels and vanishes, but Bird Man’s mask must allow him to still see it, or at least track its heat signature, because he doesn’t pause in his flight path for a second. In fact, the engines’ roars grow louder as he speeds up, a vulture in pursuit of his prey.
Chapter 39: 丅𝔥เ︎я︎𝐓︎ⓨ︎-Ŧ๏υя
Chapter Text
THE temperature drops as the jet and The Vulture — and by extension, you and Peter — climb higher. A chill starts to leech through your suit, wrapping itself around your skin. But the vulture shows no sign of giving up.
Once the jet has broken through the clouds and reached cruising altitude, it slows down some, which allows the Vulture to catch up to it. He pulls out one of his inventions and sticks it to the jet’s underbelly, holding him in place. You and Peter, on the other hand, smack into the retroreflective panels and are tossed around. Scrabbling to gain good purchase, you phase your left hand and foot through the jet, then let go of Peter and do the same with your right.
Vulture pulls something from his jacket and attaches it to the jet. A purple rectangle appears, identical to the one he used to phase through the truck back in Maryland. Sure enough, he releases himself from his jetpack and climbs through the rectangle into the jet.
Peter notices none of this, as he’s still struggling to find a way to secure himself to the jet. He lets go of the web stuck to the bird wing jetpack and tries to shoot another one onto the jet, but it’s blown away in the harsh wind. That same wind almost throws him off entirely.
“Do you have sticky hands or not?!” you screech.
It’s hard to hear him over the wind whistling in your ears, but he says something that sounds a lot like, “Oh, yeah.” You roll your eyes.
The two of you begin a painstaking crawl towards the phaser rectangle. It takes you a long time because you have to phase each limb out of the jet one at a time, move it forward, then phase it back through. It takes Peter a long time because he’s fighting the wind, and each time he unsticks a limb, he risks getting blown away into oblivion.
When you finally reach the jetpack, a little drone comes out of the back, flying right below the jet. But then you make a wide turn and the drone doesn’t follow, staying its straight ahead course.
“The compound is due north from the tower!” you tell Peter. “We’re going the wrong way — Bird Man must’ve entered new coordinates!”
“That’s probably a decoy drone, then!” he reasons. “Nobody’s gonna know!”
“Not until it’s too late.”
Suddenly, the phaser rectangle vanishes, and the bird wing jetpack detaches itself from the jet, charging at you. After a second, you realize it isn’t on autopilot — Vulture is back inside.
“Now what?”
“Go for the door!” you shout.
With Peter following behind, you climb up the side of the jet. But Vulture isn’t pleased by that. He flies straight at Peter, who ducks just in time. As he pulls up, the wings leave a large gash in the side of the jet, making the retroreflective panels glitch out.
“You break it, you buy it!” you snap at Vulture.
Peter shoots a web at him as he dives again. But Vulture doesn’t attack this time. He just keeps going, and drags Peter along with him. He rips him away from the jet, up into the air with nothing below to support Peter should he fall. So he shoots a web with his free hand onto the jet, and uses this to fight back. The two enter a tug of war game that quickly becomes a stalemate.
Until the web snaps.
Vulture lets go of his catch, leaving Peter to be propelled right towards the jet engines.
“OH, GOD!” he screams, frantically shooting web grenades at the engine.
It quickly becomes so gummed up it can’t move, grinding to a halt a split second before Peter crashes into it. Vulture dives again, but his wings get caught in the fully functioning engine next door, and he’s thrown off into the fog.
“I can’t believe that worked– AHH!”
Peter’s engine breaks out of its shell and dangles behind, held on only by a net of webs. He climbs up into the vacant shell and kicks at the engine until the webs snap and it follows Vulture into the fog.
“Hey, same rule applies to you!” you shout jokingly.
“But I don’t have an illegal alien weapon manufacturing company to make me money! I’m broke!”
Laughing, you climb up to the top of the jet, and he follows.
“Make sure you remember ‘illegal alien weapon manufacturing company’ so you can say it to Ned later. He’ll freak out.”
Peter chortles. “Great idea.”
“I’m gonna see if I can get the jet back on course,” you tell him. “Keep an eye out for Big Bird, will you?”
He salutes you. “Yes, Black Star!”
You phase through the ceiling, dropping down onto the floor in your superhero pose. The cargo area of the jet is stacked full of gray crates stamped with the Stark Industries logo. Most of them are sealed tight, but one in the center has had its lid pried off. An Iron Man helmet is discarded on the floor nearby. You peer inside, and it’s full of rows and rows of arc reactors.
“He really never does sleep, does he?” you mutter, picking up the Iron Man helmet and setting it back in the crate. Why it’s in that crate instead of with other helmets, you have no idea. Tony’s organizational systems are… unique.
After putting the lid back on, you move on into the cockpit. There are two pilot seats, though both of them are empty because the jet pilots itself with Stark Tech. Like the cargo area, it’s all untouched except for one thing. In this case, the coordinate input, proven by the longitude point being some random point way out east.
Your fingers hesitate over the dials as you try to remember the coordinate points for the compound.
“Should’ve brought my phone,” you chastise yourself.
More than that, though, you wish you had AVIS. When this is over, I’m making myself a watch with her in it. Then I’ll always have her, you decide.
You feel a weird sensation in your stomach, one you instantly recognize from all the travelling you’ve done with Tony. The jet is starting to descend. And too fast.
Adding comms to the list of things you wish you had, you run back into the cargo area with the intent to use a stack of crates to lift yourself up to the ceiling and phase back through. Then you can see what the hell is going on out there. But the descent has knocked the crates over, and though you can push them around, they’re too heavy for you to lift.
“Shit!”
You run back into the cockpit to check how far away you are from the ground. The jet has passed through the clouds, providing you with a view of the city. The city you’re heading straight for.
“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, oh my god,” you repeat in a panic, scanning the control panel in a panic. There’s nothing that looks like it could be a steering wheel. “Stupid goddamn jet design Jesus Christ asshole!” you yelp, your vocabulary apparently reduced to only cuss words under stress. But no amount of saying “Holy shitting hell” or kicking the dickhead unnecessary pilot bitch chairs will turn the jet, and under all the cursing, you know that.
Then, somehow, the goddamn city starts to tilt.
“What the hell?” you mutter.
Wait, no. It’s the jet.
Throwing caution to the goddamn wind, you stand on one of the pilot bitch chairs and phase through the glass of the cockpit window, ending up on the nose of the jet. You immediately phase your feet through so you don’t fall to a shitty, watery death.
Peter has webbed up one of the wings and is pulling on it to turn the jet. It passes by buildings, missing them by mere inches, and keeps rotating until it’s literally sideways.
“Jesus Christ!” you shriek as your back is almost thrown out from the force of being jerked in that direction so quickly. You crawl back into the jet, watching through the window as you approach Coney Island. It’s all lit up, but nobody is around, which is good, considering the plane has gone so low it crashes into the ferris wheel, breaking the top clean off.
With a boom, the jet makes contact with the sand, causing you to faceplant against the carpet. Flames rush up to meet you, so hot they shatter the glass. You screech another cuss word — “shit” again, probably, but you don’t really know, you can’t hear because you’re too focused on not getting sliced to pieces to pay attention to the stuff your mouth is saying — and launch to the ground. You curl up in a position you’ve seen Steve make many times when he’s trying to fit his entire body behind the shield, one you’ve lovingly referred to as Roly-Poly of Freedom.
When the jet finally stops moving, you get to your feet, crying out in pain when the movement drills a sharp ringing into your ears. No wonder you couldn’t hear your mouth’s cuss word of choice. You can’t hear anything at all.
Still, you phase through the wall of the jet and stagger forward through the sand, calling Peter’s name.
…At least, you’re pretty sure you’re calling his name?
There’s a very distant, very muffled rumbling, followed by an equally distant, equally muffled boom. Blue light flashes for a split second, and you stumble towards it. Through the flames, Peter is slowly standing up. He spots you, and his mask has been discarded, so you can see his mouth moving as he attempts to give you a message.
“What?” you think you’re saying. “I can’t hear.”
His mouth and hands are moving frantically, pointing somewhere, maybe? Before you can decipher it, something hard connects with your back and you’re propelled through the air. The impact on the sand is so harsh your eardrums explode. Frantic, you tear off your mask, and then sound settles in its place.
Wait. Sound.
Oh. So, maybe, there was no explosion. The ringing just went away. You can hear again. Yay!
“Hey, Pedro. Lily.”
…Not yay.
You stand up, meeting Peter’s concerned eyes.
“Sorry. I’m sure it was a really good warning,” you assure him. “Like… ‘Look out! Bird Man’s behind you!’”
He shrugs. “Something to that effect.”
“Bird Man?” repeats Vulture. “That’s awfully demeaning. Gotta say, I’m not a fan.”
And to prove it, he charges toward Peter, grabbing him and launching into the sky. But this time Peter is ready to use his super strength, and he breaks free of Vulture’s grip, falling back to earth. Just before he crashes into a pile of debris, he sends a web up to Vulture and uses it to propel himself back. Floating in midair, the two of them fight, Vulture trying to throw Peter down into the debris, Peter shooting webs to keep himself away from it.
When Peter finally does land on the ground, Vulture flies down, slamming his clawed boots against Peter’s back and gripping him. He then flies up a little and goes back down, slamming Peter into the ground. He lets out a pained grunt, but without a drop of pity, Vulture does it again.
As he does it a third time, you frantically search for a piece of debris that’s not on fire. As he does it a fourth time, you find one and seize it. As he does it a fifth time, you’re finally ready, and chuck it at Vulture, hitting him right in the head. It breaks the clasp on his mask, which pops open, dangling loosely next to his face. Revenge. He rips the broken mask off and turns to you, predator-like.
“Pick on someone your own size, you bully!” you shout.
“Fine.”
He stalks toward you. Realizing you’ve made a horrible mistake, you decide to channel the king of horrible mistakes to get yourself out of this.
Tony, obviously.
You back up, talking with your hands. “Hang on, I’m shorter than you! So this is doing the opposite of what I said, which is really quite rude.”
Out of the corner of your eye, you see Peter lying on the ground, unmoving.
“Bird Man is a shitty name. Consider this me evening the score.”
“Um, actually, me hitting you in the head was payback for when you hit me in the head earlier. Also, you’re got a bird-themed villain outfit, so really, it’s your own fault. I mean, come on dude, it was right there–”
“Enough! I’m tired of your stupid Stark games.”
Peter is starting to stir. But not enough for him to run away. So you keep talking.
“Then you shouldn’t have interacted with the Starks in the first place. I mean, planning a heist to rob us? I’d be angry, but really, I just feel pity for you. That was a stupid, dumb, brainless decision, and it’s just like, you’re obviously smart if you can make all those inventions, so that is a massive fumble in good judgement. Honestly, it’s quite sad, and personally, I think–”
“Christ, shut up!”
Vulture flies toward you. Instinct takes over, and you fling yourself against the sand. But he doesn’t pause or turn around. He doesn’t seem angry in the slightest that he missed. He keeps going… toward the crate of arc reactors.
The loosely replaced lid has been flung far away in the explosion, and the crate broke too, so they’re overflowing onto the sand, practically begging to be stolen. He does as they ask, grabbing the remnants of the box with his clawed boots. Slowly, weighted down with the loot, he rises into the air. Blue sparks rain down, but not from the arc reactor. From the jetpack.
“Stop!” Peter yells. “Your wingsuit’s gonna explode!”
From the ground, he shoots a web at Vulture, who just shakes his head in that condescending oh, teenagers are so dumb, they don’t know anything way.
“Time to go home, Pete.”
“You’re in danger!” you warn.
“We’re trying to save you!” Peter rasps.
He struggles to his feet, and you rush to help him up. You keep your arms wrapped around him as you help him pull on the web, trying to bring Vulture back down. But either you’re applying too much weight or the jetpack’s engines are too strong, because the web snaps.
You and Peter fall to the ground. The jetpack continues to spit even more sparks, now accompanied by smoke and a loud repetitive beep. Peter tries to web him again, but nothing comes out. His webshooters are empty.
Vulture makes it several feet off the ground before the jetpack finally gives out. It explodes. You and Peter both become Roly-Polies of Freedom to avoid getting hit by any flying debris.
There’s a boom as Vulture hits the ground, and then everything goes quiet. You both slowly emerge from your defense positions.
Peter runs into the flames, risking his own life to save someone who tried to kill him. It hardly takes a full moment of deliberation before you follow.
Together, the two of you find the destroyed jetpack and extract Vulture from it. You each sling one of his arms around your shoulders and carry him out (though you don’t work so hard as to make sure no sand gets in the criminal’s shoes).
You lay him on the sand. He looks up at you weakly, and although none of you say a word, an understanding seems to pass between all of you.
Chapter 40: 丅𝔥เ︎я︎𝐓︎ⓨ︎-Ŧเ︎Ｖ︎𝓔︎
Chapter Text
YOU and Peter watch from the highest hill on the roller coaster as Department of Damage Control officials sweep Coney Island. From here, they look like little more than ants, specks of spotlight from mini-flashlights dancing in front of them. Their tiny heads are covered with white hard hats, with the exception of one.
“Hey, look, it’s Happy,” you say, nudging Peter.
He discovers the Special Surprise you and Peter left: Vulture — whose real name is apparently Adrian — webbed to a stack of crates, with a note next to him that reads FOUND: Flying vulture guy! – Spider-Man + Black Star, and then, at Peter’s insistence, P.S. Sorry about your jet :(, and then, at your insistence, p.p.s. but it wouldn’t have happened if happy had listened to ned :).
“Do you think he knows my frowny face is sincere?” Peter asks, worried.
“As well as he knows my smiley face is sarcastic,” you assure him.
A beat of silence passes.
“Is… Mr. Stark gonna be mad?”
“Maybe. But honestly, I’ve been trying not to think about it,” you confess.
“Oh, shoot, are you thinking about it now?”
“Well, yeah, you brought it up.”
“Sorry,” he says sheepishly.
You shrug. “Reality was gonna set in in a couple hours anyway. Really don’t know how I could blame this” — you gesture to all your injuries — “on homecoming. Best high school dance ever, by the way. Fighting your date’s dad because he’s secretly a criminal.”
“I’m sorry I ruined the dance for you,” apologizes Peter quietly.
“I kinda ruined it for myself, saying yes to Flash,” you reply, just as quiet.
“Why did you do that? I mean, I thought you hated him as much as I do.”
You open your mouth to explain but falter. It won’t make sense to him, not without context you’re not ready to give him. Context you’re not even ready to give yourself. So, you bullshit your way out of it.
“Stupid hormonal teen girl make dumb decision,” you say sarcastically.
He laughs, but it fades out soon, leaving another silence behind. You hesitate, but then decide tonight is a night of risks and shitty choices anyway, and lay your head on Peter’s shoulder. You can feel him tense slightly out of surprise, but it’s brief. And, after a moment, he lays his on top of yours.
The two of you watch as the DODC officials untangle Adrian from the webs and handcuff him, leading him into a truck. They comb through the wreckage, confiscating anything that looks like someone could, well, start an illegal alien weapon manufacturing company with.
Even as some trucks start to pull away and the remaining workers line the perimeter of Coney Island with liberal amounts of caution tape, indicating they’re almost done for the night, you and Peter don’t move.
Romantic, friendly, two heroes enjoying the fruits of their labors — you don’t know what you are, and honestly, you no longer care. It’s just you and Peter, leaning against each other, shielding yourselves from the wind that’s starting to nosedive toward freezing.
And for once, that’s enough.
★★★★★★
It had already been decided you’d spend the weekend at Peter’s while the move is finished up, so at least if you’re grounded for life, that life won’t start quite yet.
On Monday morning, you arrive at school tinged with a sense of melancholy. People are chatting about the dance, but that’s about the only evidence homecoming happened at all. Banners advertising ticket sales and the dance countdown are being taken down, and the gym has already been wiped clean of any evidence there was a party here at all. Daria (who’s wearing ruby earrings today), Claire, and Xander from English tell you the dance ended up being kind of boring, which is maybe a little bit of a relief. Ned has nothing bad to say, but then again, the part of homecoming he wants to relive isn’t the dance.
“It was so insane. You should’ve seen it, Lexi. The guy was like–” he imitates firing a weapon, accompanied by sounds you have a suspicion might be heavily inspired by Star Wars. “And then Peter was like ‘Ahh!’ And I just hit him with the–” he does another imitation, this time of Peter’s webshooters. “It was crazy.”
You glance at Peter. “I feel like I’m gonna need a second opinion on that.”
He shrugs. “I mean, yeah, he saved me. It was awesome.”
“Huh. Well, great job, Ned!” You salute him.
“Aw, thanks,” he says, smiling proudly.
“I don’t know what I’d do without my partner in crime– er, heroics. Have you told him about Team Spider Star?” you ask Peter, who shakes his head.
Ned perks up with curiosity at the mention of the name, so you begin to explain, but trail off when you realize Peter’s attention is somewhere else entirely. Standing in front of the trophy case are Liz and Betty, locked in a tight embrace. Principal Morita and a woman who you guess is Liz’s mom are also there, watching the girls with sadness in their eyes.
“Hey, Liz!” Peter calls out, jogging over to them. You watch, and though the old anger creeps up on you, it’s weaker than before, like it’s only here because it feels it’s under obligation, not because it actually wants to.
Betty finishes saying her goodbyes and walks away with Principal Morita and Liz’s mom. Liz and Peter are now the only ones by the trophy case. She tries to ignore him, but her resolve quickly fades, and she listens to whatever it is he has to say.
“Is it weird I feel bad for her?” you ask Ned. “I mean, it’s my fault her dad’s in prison.”
Ned shakes his head. “He was a criminal making dangerous weapons. We both saw first-hand what they can do. Anybody selling something like that should be in jail.”
“I know, but…” you sigh. “When we first arrived at that hideout building, he was telling Peter his justification for his actions. He mentioned Dad’s wealth and how he got it in basically the same way. I know one was illegal and one wasn’t, but I dunno, it just feels… unfair.”
He’s silent for a moment before responding. “I don’t know how trials or the justice system or anything works, but maybe you could do something about it? Or Mr. Stark could?”
You smile faintly at how quickly Ned has adopted Peter’s preferred term of address for Tony. Then, you process the rest of what he was saying.
“Oh my god. Ned, you’re a genius!”
“I am? I mean…” he puffs out his chest. “Y– yeah. I am. Of course I am.”
Liz has started to walk away, following her mom out the exit. You rush toward her, shouting, “Liz!” She scoffs in annoyance but turns around. Arms crossed, she waits for you to catch up.
“Come to gloat? ‘Ooh, my dad got off free and yours didn’t.’” The top layer of her words is biting sarcasm, but underneath is a deep sadness.
You wince slightly, but for once don’t fire back. Instead, you take a deep breath, preparing yourself to offer the truce.
“No. I mean– that is what I’m here for, but…. not like that. I just– I wanted to let you know that my dad will probably be involved in the trial. He works with the Department of Damage Control, which is… where your dad got the tech.” You mumble the last bit. She rolls her eyes and starts to pivot on her heel, and you realize you’ve gotten off-track.
“Wait. Sorry. That’s– not helpful. What I wanted to say is that I’m going to talk to him. Explain the situation. I don’t think he’d be able to convince the jury to give your dad a full acquittal, but it’s possible he could lessen the punishment a bit. More probation and less jail time, or something like that.”
She blinks slowly, digesting your words.
“You… can do that?”
“Well, not me. But my dad can. I just need to talk to him.”
“Oh. That’s, um, really nice of you.” She cocks her head. “Why?”
“What do you mean?” you query, even though you have an idea of what she’s asking.
“We haven’t had a single nice exchange since you started at this school. I thought you hated me. So why would you help me now?”
“I don’t hate you,” you say quickly, and then realize that’s not entirely true. “Well…”
She smiles humorlessly.
“Okay, but there was hatred all around, so it’s not all on me. You were the asshole first.” You shake your head, refocusing yourself. “But whatever. It doesn’t matter now. I’ve had… a reordering of my priorities, let’s say. I just– I want to help you. My dad is, like, the most important person in the world to me. Having him taken away from me would be awful. You don’t deserve to suffer that fate.”
And then, to your surprise, Liz leans forward, folding you into a hug. It’s not nearly as tight as the one she shared with Betty (and, honestly, you’re glad it’s not), but it’s a hug nonetheless.
“Thank you, Lexi.”
She sounds sincere, so this probably isn’t a trick. You return the hug.
“Of course. It’s the least I can do.”
She pulls back, regarding you in confusion. “What do you mean?”
“Um– nothing.” It’s probably best not to mention you’re the reason her dad is now sitting in jail, for more reasons than one. “Just… happy to help.”
You offer up a smile, and thankfully, she doesn’t push.
“You’re alright, Lexi.” She glances over your shoulder, and you turn around to see Peter and Ned staring at you in amazement. “Take good care of Peter for me, okay?”
You whirl back around to face her. “Wh– what do you mean?”
Liz lets out a tear-stained chuckle. “You know what I mean.”
“Oh my god,” you mutter, slightly mortified.
“No, no, it’s okay. I think you guys would make a cute couple. If I’m being honest, it probably wouldn’t have worked out with us anyway. He’s always so secretive with me, you know? But he seems way more relaxed around you.”
“Oh– no, Liz– we’re not–”
“Maybe not right now. Give it some time. You might surprise yourself.” And then she winks.
Liz Allan winks at you.
You stare at her, frozen in place with your mouth open slightly. She giggles.
“Bye, Peter. Bye, Ned,” she calls, waving to them over your shoulder.
“Bye, Liz!” Ned replies. “Have fun in Oregon.”
“Bye, Lexi,” she says to you, her tone softer.
You’re still kind of in shock, but you drop all the old resentment from your tone and quietly say, “Bye, Liz.”
And with that, Liz spins on her heel and walks out of your life, leaving behind a lot to think about. Along with an encouragement for you to date her sort-of-ex, that maybe — just maybe — will give you the courage to start unpacking certain feelings regarding said sort-of-ex.
Chapter 41: 丅𝔥เ︎я︎𝐓︎ⓨ︎-รเ︎Ⓧ︎
Chapter Text
CONGRATULATIONS, Decathlon National Champions!”
You had almost forgotten about the team’s victory in D.C. amidst the chaos of everything else. But the big, shiny gold trophy is an excellent reminder, and you enthusiastically clap along with everybody.
Mr. Harrington continues, “I’m gonna have to put this back in the trophy case soon, but just for motivation right now at this practice. I’m a little ahead of the game, but we will need a new team captain for next semester. So I am appointing… Michelle.”
In surprise, you turn to her. She looks just as surprised, as does everyone else at the table. You start to clap, and then, after a second, so does the rest of the team.
“Uh, thank you.” Her voice is as unexcited as ever, but a little smile sneaks onto her face. “My– my friends call me MJ.”
“I thought you didn’t have any friends,” Ned says.
“I… didn’t,” she replies carefully. Her eyes flick over to you.
You breathe in sharply. “Michelle…”
“I’m really sorry for what I said, Lexi.”
“Oh. It’s– it’s fine. I think I kind of deserved it.”
“Maybe. But not anymore.” She inclines her head and concedes, “Plus, anyone who gives me books and stands up Flash is alright with me.”
“I thought the books might help.” You smile softly. “So does this mean…? Are we?”
She sighs and deadpans, “Yes, Lexi, your relentless pestering of me has finally cracked my cold, hard shell. We can be friends.”
You put a hand over your heart. “Michelle ‘MJ’ Jones, I am honored to be your friend.”
A ding echoes from your hoodie pocket, and you pull out your phone, still laughing with your newly established friend.
harold “““happy””” hogan: Meet me outside.
harold “““happy””” hogan: And… bring Parker with you.
You: sir yes sir!!!
He doesn’t reply, but you can picture him setting down his phone and rubbing his temples in annoyance. Happy loves his job. Probably.
“Uh, Peter and I gotta go,” you tell Michelle — MJ — starting to stand up.
“Hey, where you going?”
You point vaguely to the exit, and after a pause, Peter does as well. She leans forward, eyes narrowing suspiciously.
“What are you hiding?”
Peter stills, and all you can manage is an, “Uh…”
But then MJ smiles, waving a hand dismissively. “I’m just kidding, I don’t care. It’s probably boring Stark Internship stuff. Bye.”
You sigh in relief. “See you tomorrow.”
She nods. As you and Peter leave, she’s already making a plan to start running drills.
“MJ’s gonna be a great captain,” you say happily.
“Totally. But, uh… where are we going?” he asks with trepidation.
“Oh, right! Sorry! Happy’s outside.”
He goes pale. “Oh my god. Our time is up. He’s gonna kill us.”
“He’s not gonna kill us, Peter.” You pause for dramatic effect, then continue. “He’s the ferryman. He’ll deliver us to Dad, who’s actually going to kill us.”
A horrified Peter freezes in place. You skip down the hallway.
After a moment, he comes to his senses and shouts, “You know, you seem really happy about your impending death!” as he scrambles to catch up.
Outside, Happy’s leaning against a black car, arms crossed, with sunglasses and a stern expression on his face.
“You need to act more friendly. It looks like you’re here to pick up a mob boss,” you say in lieu of a greeting, sliding into the backseat.
Shaking his head, Happy climbs into the driver’s seat. Peter hesitates, but you beckon him to get in next to you, so he does. The car starts up, and Happy eases out of the school’s driveway onto the main road.
“Hey, Happy,” Peter says slowly. “What, uh– what are you doing here?”
He looks at you in the rearview mirror. Well, you think he’s looking at you. The question is directed to you, so, like, context clues, but it’s impossible to tell for sure with those stupid sunglasses. “You didn’t tell him?”
“All your message said was” — you recite it in a deep, dramatic voice — “‘Meet me outside.’ That’s vague as shit, you know that? It could mean you’re going to execute us, or it could mean you’re giving us puppies. How was I supposed to know which end of the scale we’re on?” You lean forward, inserting yourself between the driver and passenger seats. “By the way. Which side of the scale are we on?”
He puts his palm against your face, bodily shoving you back. As your head makes contact with the headrest of your seat, you let out an “Oof!”
“Well, it was on the good side, but now I’m rethinking that,” Happy mutters grumpily.
“Okay, look, if you don’t tell us what’s up, poor Peter here is gonna have a heart attack. Just look at the guy.” You jerk your thumb over to Peter, who’s sitting rigidly in his seat, eyes darting between you, trying to figure out what’s going on.
“Fine.” Happy sighs loudly. “Look, I really owe you guys one. I don’t know what I would do without this job.”
“Something something Bahamas, something something Hawaii, something something Greece,” you recite dryly. “Does that sound about right?”
“I’ve never once said that.”
“Okay, well, I had to improvise a bit. I forgot the exact ‘Oh, if I didn’t have to babysit you, I could do these things’ spiel. Many apologies.”
“I’m going to leave you on the curb.”
“Fantastic. But, before you do, will you please, please tell us exactly where we’re going?”
Happy shakes his head, and you can feel in your soul he’s also rolling his eyes. “Upstate.”
“Wait– like, upstate upstate?” Peter asks.
“No, downstate upstate,” Happy replies. “Yes, obviously, ‘upstate upstate’.”
Peter glances at you as if to verify Happy’s telling the truth. You grin.
“Peter Benjamin Parker, you are invited to my housewarming party. Say anything to RSVP ‘yes’.”
“Wha…?”
“Great! I’ll see you there! It’s in” — you glance at the GPS screen — “17 minutes.”
“Hey, Happy, any chance we can stop on the way so I can pick up a vase or a plant or something? Aunt May’s gonna be so upset I’m going to a party and not bringing a gift.”
You crack up, and so does Peter. Happy looks like he’s once again thinking about the something something Bahamas, something something Hawaii, something something Greece plan.
★★★★★★
You’ve already seen the compound, but even still, your breath catches in your throat, so you imagine Peter’s practically suffocating.
It’s a giant building, with shiny, white-paneled walls, and even more windows than Liz’s house. The grounds sprawl for miles and are circled by trees that only break to admit the super long driveway, giving the Avengers something you never had in Manhattan: privacy. As you pull up outside the facility, a shiny silver A gleams in the sunlight. It’s not as big or as flashy as the lit-up blue letter on (former) Avengers Tower, but that makes it all the more perfect. It isn’t there so tourists can point and gasp and snap pictures. It’s there as a symbol of pride, to show what you stand for but not where you live. In fact, it’s the opposite. The location of the compound is top secret. Not a single media outlet has gotten the address, and now that S.H.I.E.L.D. is in shambles, they don’t need to record it in their files, so there’s no written record this is where the Avengers live floating around. It’s truly and completely yours, and it’s wonderful.
Happy parks the car, and the three of you head inside to the entry room, flooded with sunlight thanks to the floor-to-ceiling windows. You come to a stop by a sweeping staircase.
“Oh, there they are.”
You all turn around. Tony is striding toward you, wearing a suit and his favorite red sunglasses.
“How was the ride up? Good?”
“Happy kept what we were doing a secret and almost sent Peter into anaphylactic shock from the stress,” you report, deadpan.
Tony nods. “So it was good.” He turns to Happy. “Give me a minute with the kids.”
“Seriously?” Happy asks in disbelief.
“Yeah. I gotta talk to them.”
“I’ll be close behind,” Happy assures him.
“How about a loose follow? Alright? Boundaries are good.”
Tony loops an arm around each of your shoulders and leads you down the hall, Happy loosely following behind.
“Sorry I took your suits.” Tony pauses. “I mean, you had it coming. Actually, it turns out that was the perfect sort of tough love moment that you needed, right? To urge you on, right? Wouldn’t you think? Don’t you think?”
“I– I guess,” Peter stutters, clearly unsure what to do.
“It would be a lot easier to just say you want us to bow down to your greatness,” you inform him, fighting to get free of his grip.
“Let’s just say it was,” Tony decides, ignoring you except to tighten his hold. You sag in defeat.
“Mr. Stark, I really–”
But apparently Tony was just waiting for Peter to start talking to say something, because he immediately launches into another monologue.
“You screwed the pooch hard. Big time. But then you did the right thing. Took the dog to the free clinic, raised the hybrid puppies…”
You finally break out of his hold and walk a couple feet away, throwing your hands up.
“Oh my god. That’s enough. I– I can’t do this.”
“Alright, maybe not my best analogy,” Tony concedes. “But I was wrong about you two.” He looks at Peter as he says, “Maybe with a little more mentoring,” then turns to you as he says, “and a little more self-control, you could be real assets to the team.”
He stops in a small alcove. The left and right walls are lit up with white screens, each of them showing blueprints for something. You catch the Spider-Man symbol on the left screen and the Black Star symbol on the right, and turn to Tony, silently asking for an explanation. Against the far wall is a dark gray pod of some kind, likely used for holding inventions.
“There’s about fifty news reporters behind that door — real ones, not bloggers.” Tony taps on his watch, and the pod doors begin to open. “When you’re ready, why don’t you try those on, and we can officially introduce the world to the two newest Avengers.”
The doors are fully opened, providing you with a clear view of the inventions inside. And they’re enough to take your breath away. Two suits, one red-and-blue, the other purple-and-black, their color schemes indicating who they’re for even if it weren’t for the giant spider and star symbols on the chest. They’re made of metal and shine proudly in the LED lights installed inside the pod.
Peter tries to say something, but is only succeeding at making vague noises of delight and amazement. Eventually, he turns to you and spits out, “Did– did you know abou– about all this?”
You shake your head. “No. But I should’ve known Dad wouldn’t just give us our suits back. He had to show himself up.” You shoot Tony a pointed look as you say the last sentence.
He shrugs in defeat, holding up his hands. “What can I say? Your astonishing combination of bravery and stupidity melted this old man’s heart.”
“And all we had to do was destroy a zillion dollar jet!” you cheer.
“Yeah, that’s coming out of your allowance, by the way,” Tony replies without missing a beat. “So, uh, get those on, and then after the press conference, Happy will show you to your rooms. I think Lexi’s next to Wanda, and Peter’s next to Vision?” He glances at Happy for confirmation.
“Yeah. Vision’s not big on doors.”
“It’s fun.”
“Or walls.”
“He’ll fit right in.”
During this whole exchange, Peter had been quiet, staring thoughtfully at his new suit. But now, at the mention of rooms, he turns around, facing Tony.
“Thank you, Mr. Stark, but I’m good.”
“You’re good? G– how are you good?”
“Well, I mean, I’d rather just stay on the ground for a little while. Friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.” He shrugs. “Somebody’s gotta look out for the little guy, right?”
Tony whips off his sunglasses and stares at Peter in shock. “You’re turning me down?”
“Oh, boy, the doomsday clock is ticking,” you whisper.
“You better think about this. Look at that.” Tony points to the suit, and Peter immediately does as he says. “Look at me.” He points to himself, and Peter again obeys right away, making direct eye contact. “Last chance: yes or no?”
“No.”
To your surprise, Tony says, “Okay. It’s kind of a Springsteen-y, working-class hero vibe that I dig.”
He turns to you, and though you were initially entranced by the suit (and, okay, still are a little bit), you know your answer.
“And? Daughter dearest?”
“Well,” you begin slowly, “you can’t introduce Team Spider Star if there’s no spider…” you take a deep breath, double-checking with yourself, but you’re sure of yourself as you finish, “...or star.”
“What?” Peter turns to you. “Wait, no, this is everything you’ve wanted for so long. You can’t give it up just because I am.”
“Peter, how many times do I have to remind you? I’m a girlboss who doesn’t make decisions based on some guy.” He smiles, and you grin back. “I told Liz the same thing: I’ve had a reordering of my priorities. I still want to help people, but… maybe being unknown isn’t the worst thing.”
“You’re sure? Because if you want to take it, I’m not gonna, like, frown down on you or anything, it’s totally up to you–”
“I know. And I’ve made my choice.” Then, after a beat, you glance at Tony. “But… I’m still allowed to, like, live here, right?”
He lets out a huffy laugh. “No, Lexi, I’m not gonna kick you out because you’ve mortally wounded my ego.”
“Great!” you exclaim, purposefully ignoring the bait in the second part of the sentence.
Shaking his head, Tony turns his attention to Peter. “Well, uh, I guess Happy will take you home.”
Peter nods. “Thanks, Mr. Stark.”
“Yes, Mr. Parker, very well.”
They shake hands like this was a business deal, and Peter walks over to Happy, who tells him to wait in the car. So Peter waves goodbye to you and skips off, but halfway down the hall, he stops and turns around suspiciously.
“That was a test, right? There’s, uh, nobody back there?”
“Yes, you passed. Now, skedaddle there, young buck.”
“Okay, thank you, Mr. Stark!”
“No, thank you!”
Peter jogs away and out of sight. Tony taps on his watch again, causing the suits to retreat and the pod to shut.
You pause with a suspicion of your own. “Hang on. You built all that for a test?”
The doors on the left side of the pod open, and Pepper steps out of a room, noise and camera flashes accompanying her. Tony doesn’t turn around to look at her. You roll your lips together, realizing what happened, and will yourself not to laugh.
“Where’s the other kid?” Pepper asks.
“He left,” Happy responds.
“Everybody’s waiting!”
Tony now spins around, gesturing with his usual gusto. “You know, he and Lex actually made a really mature choice. Surprised the heck out of both of us.” He motions between himself and Happy.
Pepper glares at all three of you with exasperation. “Did you guys screw this up?”
“Dad told us it was a test,” you accuse, pointing at him.
“Happy told the kid to wait in the car,” Tony accuses, pointing at him.
“Oh, come on you guys, seriously?” Happy groans, looking between you and your dad.
“I have a room full of people waiting in there for some big announcement! What am I going to tell them?”
“Think of something,” Tony suggests unhelpfully. “How about, um… Hap, you still got that ring?”
Happy looks astonished at the mention of it. “Do I–?” He frantically pats his pockets.
“The engagement ring,” Tony elaborates.
“Are you kidding? I’ve been carrying this thing since 2008!” He presents a beautiful diamond ring to the three of you.
“Oh,” you say.
Pepper shakes her head. “I think I can think of something better than that.”
“Well, it would buy us a little time,” Tony encourages.
Pepper leans over and kisses him, maybe just to get him to shut up, but he enjoys it nonetheless.
“Like we need time,” he murmurs into it.
She pulls back and storms over to the doors. “I can’t believe you have that thing in your pocket.”
“Want me to get the door for you, hon?” Tony asks brightly.
“I got it,” she replies, flinging it open and vanishing inside.
“Good try, Casanova,” you say, patting him on the arm.
“Maybe she’s just waiting for your blessing,” Tony ruminates. “Doesn’t want to overstep. You should tell her you’re okay with it.”
“What if I’m not?” you ask teasingly.
He flounders for a threat, coming up with, “Well… then… maybe I’ll… rethink letting you stay here.”
“Damn! Kicking out your own child to further your romantic purposes. Telling Pepper about that one — I’m sure she’ll love it.”
And to prove it, you stride confidently toward the door.
“Wait– Lexi– no– I was kidding–”
Grinning mischievously, you open the door and step inside. Tony scrambles after you, pausing only to catch the ring Happy has thrown at him.
★★★★★★
Tapping your pencil against your lip, you read the words one more time, even though they haven’t actually changed.
Hi. It’s me. I miss you.
I’m ready to start over.
It’s a very simple letter, you don’t even sign your name, but it feels right. You and Steve have never needed to pretend for each other, never needed to put on the masks carefully curated for media presences. Putting in a whole bunch of fluff feels wrong when there’s only one thing you need to say.
Now you need to figure out how to send it. He’s constantly on the move, so your only real option is to send it to Sam’s sister’s house, and she can give it to him, and he can give it to Steve. It’s a game of telephone, but it’s better than nothing. You know he wrote her address down somewhere — you just need to find it. Steve’s letters were kept in a little box under your bed, so now it’s a question of which big cardboard box that got packed into.
As you’re rummaging through one of the boxes labeled “Lexi — Misc”, your phone rings. You walk over to your mattress (the bed frame has yet to be unpacked) and check the contact name. It’s Peter. Frowning in confusion, you accept the call, but continue sifting through the box.
Humored, you quip, “Dude, we’ve been apart for like an hour. Do you really miss me that much already?”
“No, well, I just, uh–” he stammers, clearly having been prepared to say the first thing. “Mr. Stark gave me the suit back!”
“Gave it back? You turned it down.”
“No, no, the first one he made me!”
You set down a handful of poster tubes and pick up your phone. It’s a video call, and sure enough, you can see Peter wearing the suit Tony confiscated.
“I got home like ten minutes ago, right? And so I went into my room, and it was just sitting on my bed with a note that said ‘Just in case’.”
“He must support Queens patrol,” you say, smiling.
“Guess so,” Peter laughs.
There’s movement in the corner of the frame, and you inhale sharply when you realize it’s May. Shiiiiitttttt.
Peter looks at you in confusion, but his question is answered before he has a chance to ask it.
“What the fu–”
Terrified, he scrambles to hang up, and the audio sharply cuts out in the middle of May’s exclamation.
Chapter 42: Δυ𝐓︎𝔥๏я︎’ｓ ภ๏𝐓︎𝓔︎
Chapter Text
three fun facts about this book:
#1 — two of the just dance games mentioned in chapter 4, 4 and 2015, are ones that i actually have. all the dances mentioned from them are ones i’ve played many times — including the stupid “tetris” one, which is as amazing/awful as it sounds. i tried doing it justice with my descriptions, but words can only do so much. i HIGHLYY recommend you search up “tetris just dance 2015” on youtube to really get the full disastrous experience.
#2 — okay, i guess this one isn’t really fun, but it’s… a fact? i finished the rough draft the same day i quit my editing youtube channel that i had had since early 2022. that’s largely accountable for why the last chapter is a lot longer than others. i really needed to write all that banter and avengersfam content — it was quasi-therapy. but when the time came to edit, i read it back and didn’t really find anything that had to be taken out, especially not for the sake of shortening the chapter. i also couldn’t find a spot to break the chapter in half (and i didn’t want to, anyway), so i just left it as it was, and also as it is, because aside from some grammar stuff, i barely changed it.
#3 — all students and teachers in this book that were not previously established in the spider-man movies are cameos from people in my life! (although, when it comes to the students, i changed their last names for privacy’s sake.) the following giant paragraphs are lore dumps on them. honorable mention to mrs. burnside, who i didn’t have enough stuff for to give her a section, but who’s awesome. dishonorable mentions to coach spencer, gabriella in chemistry, and austin in algebra, who i didn’t have enough stuff for to give them a section, but who i don’t fw so they don’t deserve one anyway.
mrs. di somma: my 11th grade english teacher. i had her do 10th english for the book, though, because i like her better than the actual teacher i had sophomore year (plus, the teacher i had 10th grade had a name with an insane spelling, and you’d never know how to pronounce it just from reading it, which really sucks for a medium where you’re only reading it). now okay. if you’re in the us, there’s a good chance you just got war flashbacks to a particular book when you read the phrase “11th grade”. if you’re not in the us, 11th grade english is pretty much entertwined with one thing: the great gatsby. and mrs. di somma is literally the most 11th grade english teacher of all time, because it’s her favorite book ever. she DESPISES the 2013 movie because it’s not book-accurate (1000000% valid), but she has a big poster of it in her classroom because she has a major crush on leonardo dicaprio. and her simping doesn’t end there — when we did the crucible, she exclusively referred to john proctor as “hunky hunky john proctor”. she also got the bleach-blond-buzz-cut-surfer-boys in class to call him that too. that unit was a nightmare.
mrs. trout: so… confession. book!trout has very few similarities with real!trout. this one comes with a lot of tea, so strap in. i had her for french i in 9th grade, after which she left the school due to health issues, which she had an endless amount of, proven by the sheer amount of absences she had. she was absent the first week of school, the last day before winter break (which was also the last day of the semester which ALSO meant it was the day of midterms), the last three weeks leading up to finals, and countless other times during the year. my french-class-friends and i always say we learned more during those final three weeks when we had a sub than we did the entire time we were with mrs. trout, which is maybe an exaggeration, but also maybe not. because when we got to french ii, my class was so behind that we had to spend the entire first semester doing what was supposed to be the review unit, but ended up being entirely new material to us. speaking of french ii, we obviously needed a new teacher, since mrs. trout was gone. we got mr. pulido, who’s easily one of my favorite teachers i’ve ever had. he also gave my class additional mrs. trout gossip bc her section isn’t long enough ig. so, mr. pulido is trilingual (english, french, and spanish). he taught both french and spanish, multiple levels of each. mrs. trout taught all four levels of french, but only spanish i. she actually HATED speaking spanish, and if mr. pulido or the other spanish teachers tried speaking to her in spanish, she’d only respond in english or just not at all. so, yeah, not many similarities between book!trout and real!trout, except for that both are shitty teachers and that lexi i both dreaded her class <3 i could never make mr. pulido the bad teacher, that’d be like saying the mcu is never traumatizing. but i wanted to give lexi one super bad teacher, which led me to the only other language teacher i’ve had, who i was perfectly fine with casting in that role.
daria + claire + xander: they were in my 11th grade english and history classes, plus i had all three years of french with daria and claire (they’re both continuing into senior year what brave soldiers 😔🙏). their personalities aren’t totally accurate, i don’t think they’d act exactly the way their book counterparts did in chapter 7, but i wanted to illustrate how a normal life is definitely not something lexi has. some things were accurate, though — daria wears really cool earrings, a different pair every day (mr. pulido liked to say seeing them was the highlight of his day), and xander loves ao3 (i would always hear about the stories she sent claire that claire really needed to start reading).
via: we had 10th grade english and 11th grade science (marine ecology to be specific) together, but i don’t really count english because my ass was so introverted i only talked to my table group, and i only did that because we had a group project. in marine eco we sat at the same table and, along with one/two/three (depending on the day) other people, ended up forming the most goated lab group i’ll ever have <3 so we got super close in that class, and, according to the message she wrote in my yearbook, i’m one of the funniest people she knows. real!via would definitely not do decathlon — which is why book!via was so grateful that lexi took her spot — but she’s really cool, so i wanted to include her! the part about her being a swiftie is accurate, though, and i don’t have a similar music taste with many of my friends, so i love having that with her. her all-time favorite singer is conan gray, but he didn’t make music in 2015 (the realization that a lot of my favorite singers didn’t make music then gave me a bit of an identity crisis, because guys. this is technically a period piece. holy shit.), so book!via and lexi have yet to discover the wonders of found heaven sighhhh
alyix + alex: now we’re getting into my inner circle 😎 alyix and i had french together 9th, 10th, and 11th grade, and were both on the swim team in 9th and 10th grade; alex and i had beginning drama together. but that really isn’t that much, which sucks cuz having them in my classes would make school 110% more fun 💔 grudges against the school schedule-makers aside, essentially everything i mentioned about them is real. they’re not in decathlon, but to be fair, we don’t have that at my school. they both take advanced math classes, though, so it’s not far-fetched. alyix does stagecraft (which, for anyone who doesn’t know, is an after-school elective that builds the setpieces for school plays/musicals), so i put him in lexi’s shop class, because i figured that was the closest thing. then for alex, i put him in lexi’s algebra class because, like i mentioned, real!alex takes an advanced math class, but there’s not really a good reason i put him in spanish aside from the fact i just felt like it lol
jace + lillian: my other best friends!!!! they were both in beginning drama with me and alex — ultra fun fact, lillian and i knew each other in middle school, but that drama class is where we met jace + alex and where we formed our friend group :D — and i also had chemistry with lillian for a semester, which is why that’s the class she shares with lexi. if at any point while reading you went, “hm. that’s an oddly specific thing to mention. i wonder why jupiter felt the need to call that out,” well, it’s because i wanted my closest friends to be as accurate as possible, so i included a lot of inside jokes. all the little details — the ralph glasses, lillian and jace greeting each other by blowing a kiss and doing a roblox wave, shouting “minor!” at each other, sitting in front of mrs. burnside, the sketchbook and bunger, jace being absent — were taken from real life. and, yes, we do call lillian ralph because of the glasses (this whole book it’s been a STRUGGLE to write lillian instead of ralph cuz i’m so used to calling her ralph 😭). and now that you know that, you might recognize the ralph i dedicated the first black star book to .. see look how meta i’m getting i’m tying it all together
andddd that’s everybody! i was almost going to put myself in, but that felt a little bit too meta. siiiigh i guess my friends (mcu’s version) will have to find a way to survive without their daily dose of taylor swift references they didn’t ask for and don’t understand 💔💔
there was a lot more fluff/banter/avengersfam content in this book than i was expecting to write (seriously, like for the entire just dance chapter i was just making that shit up as i went along, it wasn’t planned). but y’know what? it was fun! and i’m hoping it was just as much fun to read!
🪐🪐
Lexi Stark will return.
Chapter 43: ρ︎๏ｓ𝐓︎ｓĆ︎я︎เ︎Ⓟ︎𝐓︎
Chapter Text
I mean, we left you alone for like an hour. You had one job.”
“Yeah, yeah, I get it.”
“You haven’t even been back for 24 hours,” you continue, amused despite the fact the man next to you is anything but. “The speed at which you’re able to mess up is truly inspirational.”
Impatient, he asks, “Can you delete the footage or not?”
“Relax. Deleting a video is child’s play.”
On your computer, you pull up the different security cameras, selecting the feed for the one on the storage shed at the outskirts of the compound’s perimeter. You scrub through the timeline. For several minutes, everything is still. Then, out of nowhere, Sam swoops down onto the storage shed’s roof, wings outstretched.
“Uh, okay, am I allowed to ask why you’re going all guard dog? There’s nobody else there.”
“Just wait,” he grumbles.
Sam in the video shouts, “I can see you!"
There’s a faint whoosh and a disturbance in the air as a man wearing what looks like a gray-and-red motorcycle suit appears. He presses a button, and the helmet pops open, revealing his face.
“Hi.” He holds up a hand in greeting. “I’m Scott.” He shakes his head as if he’s said the wrong thing. “Uh– I mean– I’m Ant-Man.”
“Uh-huh,” Video-Sam says. “You wanna tell me what you’re doing here?”
“Well, first off, I’m a huge fan.”
“Appreciate it.”
“And, secondly, I was hoping I could grab a piece of technology? Just for a few days, and then I’ll return it, I promise. I need it to save the world. You know how it is.”
“Yeah, I know exactly how that is. But I can’t give you the tech. And you need to leave. Now.”
Wings still out, he storms toward Scott, who closes the helmet.
“I’m really sorry about this!” Scott shouts.
There’s another faint whoosh and another disturbance, and then Scott is gone.
“Hang on,” you say slowly. “Is he… changing size?”
Sam nods unhappily. Meanwhile, in the video, he’s thrown backwards, as if he’s been punched in the face.
“Oh my god, he’s kicking your ass!” you cheer. “This guy doesn’t look like he’s been in a fight in his life — and I hang out with Peter, so that’s saying something.”
“Oh, right. Spider-Guy. How’s he doing, by the way?”
Your face starts to heat up. You really hope you’re not blushing. “Oh, he’s, uh… yeah. He’s fine. We’re fine.”
Sam raises his eyebrows. Maybe you are blushing. Shit. “Trouble in paradise?”
“Shut up, Wilson. I’m watching you lose horribly to Magic Ant Dude.”
In the video, Sam flies out of frame, so you switch cameras. Doing that multiple times gives you the full story. As it turns out, your joke comes to fruition. Not only does Scott end up making it out with the tech, but he gets inside Sam’s Falcon pack and grounds him. He also breaks one of the storage shed doors. It’s unlikely you’ll be able to replace that before Tony gets back, so you decide to blame it on a training incident.
Between the four cameras, you find all the incriminating footage, delete it, then copy and paste footage from before the breach, when everything was still, to fill the gaps.
“There. Big bad Tony Stark will never know. Happy?”
He scowls. “You know, you wouldn’t be so cocky if he didn’t favor you.”
“He’s my dad, Samuel. That’s his job.”
“I really wish you’d stop calling me that.”
You snicker. “We should keep an eye on this guy, though. I know I’ve heard of shrinking tech somewhere before. I’ll put him on the list.”
“What list? How many superheroes could you possibly know?”
“Well, okay, only T’Challa is on the list,” you admit. “But. If I had a nickel for every time a potential Avenger popped up in our peripherals, I’d have two nickels. Which isn’t a lot, but it’s weird that it happened twice.”
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure it’s been more than twice. Me, Vision, the Maximoffs–”
“Can’t even make Phineas and Ferb references nowadays,” you mutter bitterly.
“–Rhodes, Bucky, you, the boy you really need to just date already–”
You drop your head on the desk.
“–I mean, no wonder we moved to a bigger headquarters. There’s so many of us. Really, the entire team just started from picking potential Avengers that popped up in Fury’s peripherals….”
Chapter 44: ร๏ςเ︎Ⓐ︎ᒪ︎ｓ
Chapter Text
want more of me? probably not, but i’m going to tell you how to get more anyway !!
~ wattpad (display name: jupiter 🪐 — username: @cqsmicwritings): https://www.wattpad.com/user/cqsmicwritings
~ ao3 (title: jupiter 🪐 — username: @cqsmicwritings): https://archiveofourown.org/users/cqsmicwritings/profile
~ inkitt (display name: jupiter 🪐 — username: @cqsmicwritings): https://inkitt.com/cqsmicwritings
~ youtube (name: jupiter 🪐 — handle: @cqsmicwritings): https://youtube.com/@cqsmicwritings?si=8XhS0bmETqWLLMm3
~ instagram (name: jupiter 🪐 — username: @cqsmicwritings): https://www.instagram.com/cqsmicwritings?igsh=NTc4MTIwNjQ2YQ%3D%3D&utm_source=qr
~ tumblr (name: @jupiterwupiterblupiter): https://www.tumblr.com/jupiterwupiterblupiter
~ shelf (name: jups — username: @jupiterwupiterblupiter): shelf.im/jupiterwupiterblupiterhttps://shelf.im/jupiterwupiterblupiter
~ pinterest (name: jupiter (ajr’s version) 🅴 — username: @j4cksh4t): https://pin.it/avTfz6tAb
~ letterboxd (name: 𝔧𝔲𝔭𝔦𝔱𝔢𝔯 🎧ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི — username: @wupiterblupiter): https://boxd.it/cwpB5
~ goodreads (name: jupiter 💐): https://www.goodreads.com/user/show/165797595
~ spotify (name: @jups 🤓): https://open.spotify.com/user/31zwzpwcratllmulc4jhxwyas7pm?si=3k8LFRQ0TpKiAfH4Wp7hQQ
~ reddit (display name: 𝔧𝔲𝔭𝔦𝔱𝔢𝔯 🎧ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི — username: @-jupiterwrites): https://www.reddit.com/u/-jupiterwrites/s/MxufyP6fVY
~ roblox (display name: jups — username: @smileyface4813): https://www.roblox.com/users/1700486848/profile
~ character.ai (name: jupiter — username: @wupiterblupiter): https://share.character.ai/70U7/na63972a
~ email: [email protected]
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