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Midtown High pulls up to the security gates, Flash is already running his mouth, and Peter is just trying to survive the next eight hours without his chaotic family ruining his life.
The yellow school bus hissed to a halt in front of the gleaming glass facade of Avengers Tower. For most of the Midtown High sophomore class, this was the holy grail of field trips. For Peter Parker, it was a countdown to social execution.
"Remember, class," Mr. Harrington called out over the chatter, adjusting his glasses. "We are guests of Stark Industries. Absolute best behavior. No touching anything unless explicitly told to do so, and please, let's try not to lose anyone in the vents this time."
"Hey, Parker," Flash Thompson sneered from two rows back, leaning over the aisle. "You ready for your fake internship lie to completely blow up in your face? I bet you don't even make it past the front desk before security throws you out."
Peter sighed, pressing his forehead against the cool glass of the window. Next to him, Ned Leeds was practically vibrating with a mix of terror and second-hand excitement.
"Don't listen to him, Pete," Ned whispered fiercely. "Just think about how epic it's going to be when FRIDAY calls you by name."
"That is exactly what I'm terrified of, Ned," Peter muttered.
It wasn't just FRIDAY. It was the fact that his Aunt May had shifted her shifts to the medical bay upstairs. It was the fact that Tony and Steve were probably bickering over breakfast in the penthouse right now. It was the fact that Bruce and Loki—who had recently and inexplicably started dating, a development that still baffled the entire compound—were likely doing some weird science-magic crossover project that could blow up a floor.
And worst of all? Harley Kenner was currently working on a mechanics project on floor 42. Harley, who possessed zero self-preservation instincts and 100% desire to see Peter suffer under the weight of romantic embarrassment.
The bus doors folded open. Mr. Harrington led the eager herd of teenagers through the spinning glass doors and into the massive, high-tech lobby.
Waiting for them by the security barriers was a chic tour guide with a Stark Industries clipboard, looking far too caffeinated for 9:00 AM.
"Welcome, Midtown School of Science and Technology!" she greeted them smoothly. "My name is Claire, and I'll be your guide today. Before we scan through, I need everyone to step up and grab a visitor's badge. Do not lose these, or the automated security turrets will mistake you for a hostile intruder."
She laughed. Nobody else did.
Flash pushed his way toward the front of the line, smirking back at Peter. "Go ahead, Parker. Let's see your badge."
Flash grabbed his bright blue Level 1 visitor badge, slapping it onto his shirt with an obnoxious amount of pride. "See that, Parker? Level 1. I'm practically an honorary Stark employee. Where's yours? Did you forget it at your fake lab?"
Peter didn't answer. He just reached into his backpack, his fingers brushing past his web-shooters until they hooked around three thick, high-grade lanyards. He pulled them out, trying to block Flash's view, and handed two of them to Ned and MJ.
"Thanks, Pete," Ned squeaked, his hands shaking slightly as he clipped on a vibrant, metallic badge. It was a deep, shimmering Ruby red, emblazoned with a bold, silver Level 9.
MJ took hers with a completely unbothered expression, casually clipping the identical Level 9 Ruby badge to her jacket.
Flash’s smirk faltered for a fraction of a second when he saw the metallic sheen of their badges, but he quickly recovered. "What is that, a joke? Did you guys buy those at the gift shop? Real badges aren't colored like jewelry."
Claire, the tour guide, happened to look over just as Flash said it. Her eyes locked onto the deep red badges, and she visibly paled. Level 9? Only the heads of global departments and top-tier legal council had Level 9. She swallowed hard, her eyes tracking down to the third badge still in Peter’s hand.
It was a stark, polished Silver. Across the top, it didn't even have a number—just a sleek, black Level 10. Absolute clearance. The highest in the entire building.
"Alright, everyone line up for the biometric security scanner!" Claire said, her voice shaking just a tiny bit as she gestured toward the massive glass and steel turnstiles.
Flash marched up first, puffing out his chest. He tapped his blue badge against the glass.
Beep.
A cheerful, automated voice echoed from the ceiling. "Eugene Thompson. Visitor. Level 1 Access granted. Welcome to Stark Industries."
Flash grinned, walking through and looking back. "See? Flawless. Step up, Parker. Let's see the machine reject your toy."
Peter sighed, giving Ned a look that said please bury me if I die of embarrassment, and stepped up to the scanner. He tapped the Silver Level 10 badge against the glass sensor and stood perfectly still as a faint green laser scanned his retinas.
The turnstile didn't just beep. The entire column glowed a soft, pulsing blue, and the automated voice completely vanished, replaced by a much smoother, incredibly distinct Irish accent that echoed clearly across the entire lobby.
"Good morning, Mini Boss," FRIDAY’s voice rang out, laced with a distinct hint of AI amusement. "Biometrics confirmed. Protocol: 'The Golden Child' is active. Boss wanted me to let you know he left the good pop-tarts on the kitchen island. Access granted."
The entire Midtown High class went dead silent. Mr. Harrington’s jaw was practically on the floor. Flash looked like he had just swallowed a live frog.
Before anyone could even breathe, Ned stepped up next, tapping his Ruby badge.
Beep-beep.
"Good morning, Mini Happy," FRIDAY announced cheerfully. "Access granted. Your security feed access for the lower labs has been unlocked per your weekend request."
Ned grinned so hard his cheeks looked like they might split.
Finally, MJ stepped up, tapping her own Ruby badge with absolute nonchalance.
Beep-beep.
"Good morning, Mini Pepper," FRIDAY said. "CEO Potts has requested I remind you of your 4:00 PM briefing on the environmental initiative. Access granted."
MJ nodded at the ceiling. "Thanks, FRIDAY. Tell her I've got the files ready."
Peter grabbed his backpack straps, his face burning a brilliant shade of crimson as thirty pairs of eyes locked onto him, Ned, and MJ. He risked a glance at Flash, whose face was rapidly cycling through shades of white, red, and a sickly green.
Claire, the tour guide, spent the entire elevator ride to the 15th floor staring at Peter as if he might suddenly sprout wings and fly away. The rest of the class was huddled at the opposite end of the glass elevator, whispering furiously while Flash stared out at the Manhattan skyline, his hands clenched into tight fists.
When the doors slid open, the tension evaporated into pure awe.
"Welcome to the newly minted Avengers Museum," Claire said, recovering her professional poise. "This floor was recently completed to showcase the history, tech, and cultural impact of earth's mightiest heroes. You are free to explore the exhibits, check out the historical archives, and visit the interactive kiosks."
The room was massive, bathed in soft, museum-quality lighting that highlighted the glass display cases lining the walls.
"Oh my god," Ned gasped, immediately dragging Peter toward the center display. "Pete, look! Is that the original leather jacket Steve wore in World War II?"
"Yeah," Peter whispered back, adjusting his backpack. "He still complains that the replicas they make now aren't as heavy as the real thing."
"Shut up," Ned breathed, completely starstruck.
The museum was a masterpiece of nerd culture and superhero history. One wall held a massive timeline of the Avengers' greatest battles, complete with trivia cards tucked into slots below each event.
MJ wandered over to a display of Black Widow’s older wrist-bites, her eyes scanning a fun-fact card. 'Trivia: Natalia Romanova's first prototype gauntlets were actually re-engineered from old Soviet spy tech found in a bunker in Siberia.' She smirked, pulling out her sketchbook to jot it down.
But the absolute crowd-pleaser was the automated kiosk at the back. It looked like a high-tech vending machine, but instead of snacks, it dispensed metallic, holographic trading cards—exactly like baseball cards, but featuring the Avengers. Each card had a moving 3D hologram of the hero on the front and their stats, powers, and a personal fun fact on the back.
The Midtown kids swarmed the machine, swiping their blue badges to get their complimentary pack.
"Whoa, I got the Iron Man Mark 85 foil variant!" one of the anime club kids yelled.
"I got Captain America's vintage shield edition!" another shouted.
Flash, desperate to regain some shred of dignity, shoved his way to the front of the pack, holding up a shiny, ultra-rare holographic Thor card. "Top stats in strength and durability," Flash bragged loudly, glancing over his shoulder to ensure Peter could hear him. "This is the rarest card in the set. I bet you don't even have a badge level high enough to get the cool ones, Parker."
Peter rubbed the back of his neck. "Uh, Flash, everyone gets the same randomized packs from that kiosk."
"Yeah, but I bet yours is full of Hawkeye and Ant-Man," Flash shot back defensively.
Ned snorted, leaning over to Peter. "Should we tell him that Harley helped design the interface for these cards last month, or should we let him live in ignorance?"
Before Peter could answer, the holographic display above the kiosk flickered. A soft hum vibrated through the floorboards, and the museum's overhead lights dimmed slightly.
FRIDAY's voice echoed through the local speakers of the museum floor, sounding distinctly amused. "Attention, visitors. A special addition has just been uploaded to the registry. Collectibles are now dispensing."
With a sharp clack, three unique cards slid down into the dispenser tray. They weren't the standard plastic-chrome. These were made of a brushed, high-grade titanium alloy that glimmered under the display lights.
Peter's stomach dropped. Oh, no.
Flash frowned, looking down into the tray. "Hey, who ordered these? They don't look like the others." He reached out to grab them, but a faint, protective blue laser grid snapped into place over the tray, singing his fingertips.
"Ow! What the hell?"
"Access restricted," FRIDAY stated smoothly. "These items are designated for Level 10 and Level 9 personnel only."
Peter walked over, his face burning, and held his silver badge to the scanner. The laser grid dissipated instantly. He reached into the tray and pulled out the three titanium cards.
The first card featured a perfect, tiny 3D hologram of Ned, wearing his fedora and sitting in front of a bank of monitors. The text below it read: The Chair. Level 9 Elite. On the back, his stats listed Hacking: 99/100 and Trivia Knowledge: Infinite.
The second card showed a hologram of MJ, sitting on a bench with her arms crossed, glaring directly at whoever was looking at the card. The text read: The Coordinator. Level 9 Elite. The fun fact on the back simply said: Sees everything. Fear her.
The third card, glowing with a soft silver border, showed a stunning, moving hologram of Spider-Man flipping through the air, before transitioning into Peter Parker awkwardly adjusting his glasses and smiling. The title across the front read: Spider-Man. Level 10 Apex.
"Wait, wait, wait!" Flash sputtered, his voice cracking violently as he pointed a trembling finger at the card. "Why do you get a Spider-Man card? You're just his... his glorified camera boy! You're his personal assistant!"
Peter blinked, suppressing a massive sigh of relief. Right. The card didn't say Peter Parker is Spider-Man. It just had Spider-Man flipping around, and then it showed Peter—the guy everyone thought handled Spider-Man's tech and PR—smiling awkwardly.
"Yeah, Flash," Ned chimed in smoothly, stepping in front of Peter like a protective shield. "Peter works directly with Spider-Man. He designs tech upgrades with Mr. Stark. That's why he's Level 10."
Flash looked like he was trying to swallow a bowling ball. "But... but why is his face on it?!"
"Because he's the official liaison, Dickwad," MJ said, effortlessly snatching her card out of Peter's hand and pocketing it. "Keep up. It's embarrassing."
Before Flash could melt down completely, the heavy double doors at the back of the museum hissed open. The sound of rapid, rhythmic clicking against the polished floor echoed through the room.
"Well, well, well. Look what the cat dragged in from Queens," a drawing southern voice called out.
Peter's head snapped up. Walking into the museum, looking entirely too smug, was Harley Kenner. He was wearing dark grease-stained jeans, a black Stark Industries t-shirt, and had a wrench casually tucked into his back pocket.
"Harley," Peter groaned, though a faint blush crept up his neck.
"Hey, darlin'," Harley grinned, completely ignoring the thirty jaw-dropped teenagers staring at him. He walked straight past Mr. Harrington, over to Peter, and leaned against the glass display case. "FRIDAY told me you were down here. Nice card, by the way. I helped render the 3D model for your hair. Took ages to get it that messy."
"You are the worst," Peter muttered, hiding his face in his hands.
"I'm the best, and you love it," Harley corrected easily. He looked over at Ned and MJ, nodding. "Hey, Mini Happy. Mini Pepper."
"Hey, Mechanic," MJ replied, raising an eyebrow. "Are you supposed to be down here, or did you escape the labs again?"
"I'm on a designated break," Harley said defensively, though his eyes darted toward the ceiling as if checking if FRIDAY would contradict him.
Flash stepped forward, his eyes darting between Peter and Harley. He recognized Harley from the few Stark Industries press releases—the kid from Tennessee who Tony Stark had practically adopted. "Wait... you're Harley Kenner. Why are you talking to Parker?"
Harley turned his gaze to Flash, his easy-going smile instantly dropping into something sharper and a lot colder. He looked Flash up and down, his eyes lingering on the bright blue Level 1 badge.
"And you are?" Harley asked, his southern drawl dripping with sudden, icy disinterest.
"Just a dickwad," Michelle said smoothly, not even looking up from her sketchbook as she shaded in a drawing of a vintage Iron Man helmet.
Flash’s face went from pale to a dangerous, blotchy crimson. "I am not—"
"Peter is my boyfriend," Harley interrupted, stepping into Peter’s personal space with an incredibly smug, lazy grin. He reached out, casually looping an arm around Peter’s waist and tugging him close enough that their shoulders bumped.
Peter’s brain short-circuited. His entire face flushed a color that rivaled the Ruby red of Ned’s security badge.
"HARLEY!" Peter squeaked, his voice pitching high enough to break a glass display case. He tried to swat Harley’s arm away, but his boyfriend just tightened his grip, looking thoroughly delighted by the absolute chaos he had just unleashed.
The entire Midtown High class collectively gasped. Ned looked like he was trying to suppress a cheer, hiding his face behind his hands, while Mr. Harrington’s eyes widened so far they looked like they might pop right out of his skull.
Flash looked like his world view had just been violently shattered into a million tiny pieces. "Your... your what?" he choked out, staring at Harley’s arm around Peter’s waist. "You're dating Parker? As in, Peter Parker? The guy who wears thrift store sweaters and sleeps in class?"
"Yep," Harley said cheerfully, popping the 'p'. "The very same. Honestly, the sweaters are a major plus. They’re incredibly soft."
"Harley, please stop talking," Peter groaned, burying his face in his hands. He could feel the eyes of every single one of his classmates boring into him. "You promised you wouldn't cause a scene today."
"I didn't cause a scene, darlin', I just stated a fact," Harley replied smoothly, his eyes flashing with a protective, sharp edge as he looked back at Flash. "And if anyone here has a problem with my boyfriend, they can take it up with me. Or, you know, the AI that controls the building's climate control. I hear the lower labs get real chilly when FRIDAY turns off the heat."
Right on cue, the overhead lights flickered twice in what felt like a very deliberate nod of agreement from the ceiling.
Flash swallowed hard, stepping back a pace. He looked at Peter’s silver Level 10 badge, then at Harley, and then at the museum doors, looking like he desperately wished the floor would swallow him whole
Claire quickly ushered the stunned, whispering class away from the museum floor and into the elevators, clearly eager to get them away from Harley's teasing grin.
"Moving on," Claire announced, her voice trembling slightly as the elevator climbed. "The next stop is the Avengers' elite tactical training floor. Normally, this area is strictly off-limits, but today we have special permission to view a live sparring session from behind the reinforced safety glass."
When the doors slid open, the sound of heavy thuds and the sharp metallic hum of a vibranium arm echoed down the corridor. The class swarmed toward the massive, floor-to-ceiling observation glass overlooking a high-tech gym.
Down on the mats, Natasha Romanoff and Bucky Barnes were moving in a blur of lethal grace. Bucky lunged, throwing a heavy left hook with his metal arm, but Natasha anticipated it perfectly. She dropped low, swept his ankles, and used his own momentum to twist his arm behind his back, flipping the super soldier effortlessly onto his back.
The mats groaned under his weight.
Natasha stood over him, completely unbothered, wiping a thin layer of sweat from her forehead. "See? I can easily beat you without the Hydra mind control," she said, offering him a smug hand up.
Bucky groaned from the floor, taking her hand and letting her haul him up. "You cheated. You used that weird gravity-drop thing Stark built you."
"A spy utilizes all resources, James," Natasha replied smoothly.
Then, her sharp green eyes flicked up to the observation window. The Midtown students collectively held their breath, intimidated by the literal Black Widow staring right at them. But Natasha's face softened, and a brilliant, genuinely warm smile broke across her face as her eyes locked onto Peter.
She walked right up to the glass, pressing a button on the wall to activate the two-way intercom.
"маленький паучок," she called him, her voice dripping with affection. (Little spider.)
The class turned in unison to look at Peter, who immediately smiled back, all his previous embarrassment fading into pure comfort. He stepped toward the glass.
"мама-паучиха," Peter called her back, his Russian accent flawless. (Mother spider.)
Ned gasped quietly next to him, clutching his Level 9 badge. "Dude, Auntie Nat is in top form today."
Flash looked like he was about to faint. "You... you speak Russian with the Black Widow?" he whispered, his voice entirely devoid of its usual malice, replaced by pure, unadulterated terror.
"I mean, she teaches me Russian," Peter said, scratching the back of his neck like he was explaining a boring math tutor and not a legendary super-spy. "And, you know, spatial awareness. Basic self-defense. That kind of stuff."
Flash stared at him, his face completely blank. "Self-defense. From the Black Widow."
"Yeah," Peter said, turning back to the glass.
Down on the mats, Natasha gave Peter a sharp, approving nod, then eyed the rest of the class, her gaze lingering on Flash just long enough to make the teenager visibly shudder. She tapped her wrist, looking at Peter with a raised eyebrow that clearly translated to: Need me to take care of anyone?
Peter quickly shook his head with a small, pleading smile. No, I'm good, please don't.
Bucky, meanwhile, had wiped down his vibranium arm with a towel and walked up behind Natasha, peering through the glass. He spotted Peter and gave a lazy, two-finger salute, his usual brooding expression softening. "Hey, kid. You coming up to the workshop later? Harley's been complaining that his stabilization algorithms are a mess without you."
"Yeah, I'll be up after the tour, Mr. Barnes!" Peter called back through the intercom.
"Cool. Bring some of those churros from the place down the street if you can," Bucky added before Natasha shoved his shoulder, leading him back toward the training equipment.
Claire, the tour guide, cleared her throat loudly, her clipboard trembling slightly in her grip. "A-Alright, Midtown! Let's keep moving. Next up on our schedule is the communal living and dining quarters, where—if we're lucky—we might see the culinary facilities!"
As the class shuffled back toward the elevator, Ned was practically skipping. "Dude. Mama-паучиха? That is the coolest nickname in the history of nicknames. Flash looks like he's going to throw up his breakfast."
"I just want to survive until lunch, Ned," Peter muttered, though he couldn't help but smile a little.
The elevator doors slid open onto the massive, sunlit communal cafeteria and lounge area. It looked less like a corporate cafeteria and more like a five-star modern restaurant, with massive windows overlooking the city and a fully stocked kitchen that smelled incredible.
The Midtown High students barely had time to look around before a booming laugh echoed across the room.
Walking down the main aisle of the cafeteria were Thor and Loki, side-by-side, creating an immediate, staggering contrast. Thor was in a casual Asgardian vest, tossing an apple in the air, while Loki looked elegant in a tailored green and black suit, a book held loosely in one hand.
Trailing right behind them—and looking thoroughly exhausted—were Sam Wilson, Clint Barton, and Harley, who had clearly abandoned his "designated break" to follow the chaos.
"I am telling you, brother, the midgardian toaster is a marvel of engineering!" Thor bellowed, catching the apple. "It makes the bread crunchy and warm in a matter of mere moments!"
"It is a metal box that burns things, Thor. Your bar for 'engineering' is embarrassingly low," Loki replied smoothly, not even looking up from his book as they walked.
"Hey, don't knock the toaster, Lokes, it's the only thing keeping Clint alive," Sam chimed in from behind them, jogging a bit to keep up with the god's massive strides.
Clint, who was casually eating a box of dry cereal directly out of the cardboard container, muttered, "Hey! I can make a mean grilled cheese. Sometimes."
"Yeah, and you almost burned down floor 55 doing it," Harley scoffed, his hands tucked back into his pockets.
As the group rounded the corner by the salad bar, Thor's eyes locked onto the tour group. More specifically, they locked onto Peter.
"Ah! Son of Parker!" Thor roared, his face lighting up with pure delight. He completely abandoned his toaster debate and marched straight toward the high schoolers, the ground practically shaking under his boots.
The Midtown kids froze in absolute terror as the God of Thunder descended upon them. Flash actually looked like he was trying to merge with a nearby pillars to escape notice.
"Thor! Hi!" Peter squeaked, stepping forward as Thor wrapped him in a massive, one-armed bear hug that lifted Peter's feet completely off the ground.
"It is a glorious day! Have you come to feast with us?" Thor asked, setting Peter back down and clapping him on the shoulder hard enough to rattle a normal human's teeth.
"Uh, just a school tour, actually," Peter said, adjusting his twisted backpack strap.
Loki stopped a few paces back, closing his book with a soft snap. His piercing green eyes swept over the class, making several students instantly look at the floor. But when his gaze hit Peter, Ned, and MJ, his expression softened into a look of quiet, amused tolerance.
"Peter," Loki greeted, bowing his head just a fraction. "And his small, loud companions."
"Hey, Mr. Loki," Ned waved, his voice a tiny bit high.
"Loki," MJ nodded.
Harley squeezed past Sam and Clint, slipping right back next to Peter and instantly wrapping an arm back around his waist, offering Flash a thoroughly wicked grin. "Told you I'd find you again, darlin'."
Loki’s gaze shifted from the shivering mass of high school sophomores to Harley's arm securely wrapped around Peter's waist. The God of Mischief raised a single, elegant eyebrow, a dangerous flicker of green magic dancing across his knuckles for a split second before vanishing.
"Harley," Loki said, his voice dropping into a low, deceptively smooth purr. "If you are quite finished using the child as a shield against your mechanical failures, I would appreciate a word with him."
Harley immediately raised his free hand in a mocking gesture of surrender, though he didn't actually let go of Peter. "Hey, don't look at me, Loki. I'm just keeping him warm. Besides, I think Doc Bruce is looking for you in the biolabs."
At the mention of Bruce, Loki’s stoic expression softened ever so slightly, a microscopic smile twitching at the corner of his lips before he quickly masked it back into an air of regal indifference. He stepped closer to Peter, completely ignoring the rest of Midtown High, who were watching the God of Mischief step toward their classmate as if Peter were about to be turned into a toad.
Instead, Loki reached out and gently patted Peter’s cheek with a surprisingly tender, gloved hand. Despite his terrifying reputation, Loki had developed a massive soft spot for the young spider. Peter was brilliant, unfailingly polite, and—most importantly to Loki—completely untainted by the grating arrogance of the older Avengers.
"You look thin, Peter," Loki murmured, his tone genuinely affectionate, albeit laced with his usual dramatic flair. "Are you eating? Or is Stark continuing to deprive you of sustenance in favor of his endless, mindless tinkering?"
"I'm eating, Loki, I promise," Peter said, beaming under the attention. "Aunt May made lasagna last night."
"Hmph. Acceptable, I suppose," Loki conceded, his green eyes then sharping as they flicked past Peter's shoulder to land directly on Flash Thompson. Flash looked like he was about to faint, his knees visibly wobbling. Loki leaned in slightly, lowering his voice just enough so the entire class had to strain to hear him. "If anyone on this... quaint little school excursion gives you any trouble, Peter, you need only whisper it to the shadows. I have a spectacular spell that turns bullies into particularly slimy slugs. They remain conscious, of course. It's much more amusing that way."
Flash let out a tiny, high-pitched squeak and hid behind Mr. Harrington.
"Loki, no magic on the tour groups! Tony explicitly put that in the house rules!" Clint yelled from the back, still casually shaking cereal into his mouth.
"Stark's rules do not apply to gods, Barton," Loki shot back smoothly, giving Peter one last fond nod. "Have a pleasant tour, little spider. Do try not to let the mortals bore you to death.
Peter blinked, looking around the group again as Loki began to drift back toward Thor, who was currently trying to explain the concept of a "pop-tart sandwich" to an incredibly bewildered Sam.
"Wait, where's Harry?" Peter asked, turning his head to look at Harley. "I thought he was coming down to the cafeteria with you guys."
Harley snorted, a sharp, amused grin spreading across his face as he tightened his grip on Peter's waist. "OH, Osborn is just telling the old man all of Oscorp's secrets."
"Harley!" Peter hissed, his eyes widening. "He is not!"
"Oh, he absolutely is, darlin'," Harley laughed, completely unbothered. "Last I checked, he and Cap were sitting in the conference room. Harry was halfway through breaking down their entire bio-tech research pipeline just to prove a point about their battery efficiency. Tony’s just sitting there taking notes and smirking like a proud dad who just inherited a competitor's playbook."
"He's going to get sued by his own father," Ned whispered from behind them, though he looked entirely fascinated by the corporate espionage happening on the upper floors.
"Please, Norman Osborn wouldn't dare sue this tower," MJ remarked, turning a page in her sketchbook. "Not unless he wants Natasha to accidentally-on-purpose leak his entire personal browsing history to the press."
From across the room, Clint paused with his hand in his cereal box, looking over at them. "Wait, is the Osborn kid giving away free tech secrets again? Someone tell him to ask about the hover-glider schematics. I've been wanting to modify my trick arrows with those micro-thrusters."
"Get your own tech, Barton!" Tony Stark’s voice suddenly crackled over the intercom speaker in the ceiling, sounding highly amused. "And Peter? Tell your friend Harry that if he gives me the algorithm for their cybernetic armor before lunch, I’ll let him drive the Audi."
Peter just groaned, burying his face into Harley’s shoulder. "I hate this family," he mumbled, his voice muffled by Harley's t-shirt.
"No you don't," Harley whispered back fondly, kissing the top of Peter's unruly curls right in front of a completely catatonic Flash Thompson.
After a catered lunch that Flash was too terrified to eat—mostly because he kept checking his salad for slugs—Claire escorted the class to the R&D labs. The students pressed their faces against the glass, oohing and aahing at the sleek arc-reactor prototypes and nanotech displays. Of course, they weren't allowed to touch anything. Flash tried to lean over a barrier to get a closer look at a laser-cutter, but a polite beep from a ceiling turret made him jump three feet in the air.
Once the viewing tour wrapped up, Claire led them down a secure corridor to a massive, sprawling floor that looked like a cross between a tech sandbox and a blank canvas. There were workbenches set out, each stacked with raw materials: microcontrollers, wiring harnesses, servo motors, and scrap metal.
But it wasn't the tech that made thirty high schoolers collectively freeze in their tracks. It was the trio of men standing at the front of the room.
Tony Stark was leaning against a workbench, casually sipping an espresso. Next to him stood Bruce Banner, looking comfortable in a tweed blazer, checking something on a tablet. And leaning against a pillar with his arms crossed, wearing his distinctive blue tunic and looking intensely dramatic, was Doctor Stephen Strange.
"Alright, Midtown," Tony said, clapping his hands together and setting down his espresso. "Welcome to the thunderdome. The tour is over. Now we want to see if those high tuition rates your parents are paying actually mean anything."
Mr. Harrington looked like he was about to faint from pure joy and terror. "M-Mr. Stark! Doctor Banner! Supreme Sorcerer!"
"Just Doctor Strange is fine," Stephen replied smoothly, his eyes scanning the crowd until they landed on Peter. He gave Peter a subtle, respectful nod, which Peter returned with a small wave.
Bruce stepped forward with a warm smile. "We've cleared out this floor for a little pop quiz. We want to test your practical engineering, spatial logic, and teamwork. You have exactly two hours to build a functioning, autonomous mobile robot from the scrap parts on your benches. It needs to navigate a basic obstacle course we're going to set up. No instructions, no blueprints. Just your brains."
"And if you whine," Tony added, pointing a finger, "I let Merlin over here teleport your shoes into a pocket dimension. Understood?"
"He's kidding," Bruce murmured.
"I'm really not," Strange replied, though a tiny smirk played on his lips.
"Go!" Tony barked.
The class scrambled. Flash immediately took charge of his group, barking orders and grabbing parts haphazardly. "Get the biggest motor! We need speed!" he yelled, completely ignoring the weight-to-torque ratio.
Meanwhile, Peter, Ned, and MJ casually claimed a bench in the back. Because Harley was still lingering by the door, leaning against the frame with a smirk, Peter had to actively ignore his boyfriend's distracting winks.
"Alright, layout," MJ said, pulling out her sketchbook and sketching a flawless, three-wheeled chassis design in under ten seconds. "Ned, code. Peter, wiring and assembly. Let's make Flash look stupid."
"On it," Ned grinned, cracking his knuckles and pulling up a terminal interface on his Stark-issued Level 9 tablet.
While the other groups were frantically fighting over parts and screaming about soldering irons, Peter's hands moved in a blur. His spider-sense and muscle memory from years of building web-shooters and working with Tony meant he could strip wires, calibrate sensors, and balance a chassis with his eyes closed.
Tony, Bruce, and Strange slowly paced the room, observing the students. When Tony and Bruce reached Flash's table, Flash eagerly showed off a massive, clunky metal block with giant wheels.
"We're going for maximum horsepower, Mr. Stark," Flash bragged, sweating through his shirt. "It's gonna crush the course."
Tony squinted at it, chewed his inner cheek, and looked at Bruce. "What do you think, Brucie? Over/under on it bursting into flames the second it hits a five-degree incline?"
"I give it thirty seconds before the battery thermal-throttles," Bruce said gently, giving Flash a pitying look. Flash’s smile instantly withered.
The trio drifted over to the back table. Peter was currently using a miniature blowtorch to weld a titanium bracket, while Ned typed furiously and MJ casually filed down a rough edge on the chassis.
"Well, well, what do we have here?" Tony asked, leaning over Peter's shoulder. "A tri-wheel omnidirectional drive? Bold choice for a sophomore."
"It minimizes friction on the turns, Mr. Stark," Peter explained automatically, not even looking up as he secured a loose wire. "And Ned's writing a predictive pathing algorithm using a basic LiDAR sensor so it won't hit the walls."
"LiDAR? From scrap?" Strange murmured, raising an eyebrow in genuine appreciation. "Impressive. Most adults I know can't even program their own smart-ovens."
"Thanks, Doc," Ned squeaked, blushing furiously.
"Carry on, Mini-Squad," Tony smiled, tossing a spare microchip onto their bench. "A little gift for the telemetry system. Don't let the clunker in the front beat you."
By the time the two-hour buzzer echoed through the room, the contrast between the teams was hilarious. Flash's robot was a smoking, top-heavy monstrosity held together mostly by duct tape. Peter, Ned, and MJ's robot was a sleek, low-profile, matte-black rover that looked like a miniature Mars explorer.
"Time's up!" Tony called out. "Let's see what you idiots built."
"Tony, you can't call kids idiots," Bruce sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in deep, long-suffering exhaustion.
"Right, sorry," Tony said, not sounding remotely sorry at all. He took a sip of his espresso and gestured toward the room. "Let's see what you developing young minds built. Line 'em up at the starting grid."
Stephen Strange just rolled his eyes, adjusting his high collar. "I've seen the future, and for most of these machines, it involves a trash compactor."
The obstacle course was a brutal stretch of miniature hurdles, a sand pit, and a tight, zigzagging maze. Flash Thompson confidently stepped up first, carrying his top-heavy, tape-covered monstrosity. He set it down at the starting line, glaring over his shoulder at Peter.
"Initiating maximum horsepower," Flash announced proudly, hitting a giant red button on his remote.
The robot’s oversized motors roared to life with a sound like a dying blender. It surged forward, instantly plowed over the first hurdle, and then hit the sand pit. The giant wheels spun furiously, throwing sand all over Flash’s shoes, before the entire machine shuddered, emitted a sharp pop, and began to steadily smoke.
"Thermal throttling achieved in twenty-eight seconds," FRIDAY’s voice chimed pleasantly from the ceiling. "Fire suppression is on standby."
"Next!" Tony called out, waving a hand.
Flash slunk away, coughing through the smoke and trying to wipe sand off his pants.
Peter, Ned, and MJ stepped up to the line. Peter gently set their sleek, low-profile rover onto the track. It was silent, sitting perfectly still until Ned tapped a single key on his tablet.
The rover didn't roar; it hummed with a quiet, high-tech purr. The omnidirectional wheels shifted instantly, and the robot darted forward. It mapped the hurdles using its scrap-made LiDAR, adjusting its suspension fluidly to glide right over them. When it hit the sand pit, the predictive algorithm altered the wheel speed in milliseconds, rolling across the surface like it was smooth ice.
It zipped through the zigzag maze with absolute, terrifying precision, stopping exactly on the finish line with a cheerful little electronic beep.
The entire Midtown class was dead silent. Mr. Harrington looked like he wanted to cry tears of joy.
Tony let out a low whistle, stepping down from the workbench to inspect the machine. He nudged it with the toe of his shoe, a massive, proud grin spreading across his face. "Clean lines, perfect code, under weight capacity. That’s a Stark-level build right there." He looked up, his eyes locking directly onto Peter, Ned, and MJ. "Excellent work, kids. You three get an automatic pass, and honestly? If the rest of you want to keep your dignity, I’d ask Parker for tutoring."
Flash looked like he had officially reached the final stage of grief. He didn't even argue. He just stared at the floor, utterly defeated by the realization that Peter Parker wasn't just a kid from Queens with a fake internship—he was the smartest person in the room.
The R&D lab was quickly cleared out, and Claire led the shell-shocked Midtown students into a sleek, stadium-seated briefing room. Up on the stage, a row of comfortable chairs had been set up, and one by one, the Avengers started filing in.
Tony, Steve, Bruce, Loki, Thor, Clint, Natasha, Wanda, and Vision all took their seats. The sheer amount of star power in one room had the high schoolers whispering in absolute, breathless awe.
"Alright, people," Tony said, spinning a wireless microphone in his hand as he leaned back in his chair. "We've got about twenty minutes before your bus turns back into a pumpkin. Fire away with your burning questions. Keep 'em smart."
A girl named Betty in the front row practically leaped out of her seat, raising her hand so fast her knuckles popped. Steve pointed to her with a warm smile. "Go ahead, miss."
"Hi! Um, Betty Brant, Midtown News," she stammered, holding up a little notepad. "So, the public has a lot of theories, and the internet is basically a war zone over this... but what is the official relationship status of the Avengers? Who is actually dating who?"
Loki let out a soft, elegant sigh, leaning back and resting his chin on his hand, while Clint snorted into his fist.
Tony, however, grinned like he had been waiting for this exact question his entire life. He tapped the microphone. "Oh, you want the official roll call? Alright, grab your pens, kids, because I'm only breaking this down once."
He started pointing down the line.
"Steve and me," Tony said easily, tossing an arm over the back of Captain America's chair. Steve gave a fond, slightly embarrassed smile but didn't contradict him. "Brucie and Loki—freshly minted, still in the honeymoon phase, don't ask about the lab explosions."
Bruce turned a deep shade of crimson, looking at his lap, while Loki just offered the room a smug, razor-sharp smirk.
"Thor and Jane," Tony continued, as Thor gave a proud, booming nod from the end of the row. "Clint and his lovely wife Laura, who is currently managing a farm and three kids, which is harder than saving the world. Wanda and Vision over there."
Wanda smiled softly, her fingers intertwining with Vision's synthetic hand, which glowed a faint, pleased green.
"Then we've got the younger bracket," Tony chuckled, his eyes locking dead on the Midtown section. "Peter and Harley. Michelle and Shuri—yeah, the Princess of Wakanda, keep up, Thompson."
Flash looked like his brain had officially short-circuited and walked out of his skull. MJ didn't even look up from her sketchbook, just flipping the page with a completely unbothered, satisfied smirk. Peter, on the other hand, buried his burning face entirely into his hands, wishing he could use his web-shooters to pull himself into the ceiling tiles.
"And finally," Tony finished, gesturing toward the Black Widow, "Natasha and Pepper. But Nat is asexual, so it's a deeply committed, highly lethal romantic partnership where they mostly just run the entire world together while I pay the bills."
Natasha gave a slow, terrifyingly beautiful smile from her chair, lifting her travel mug toward the class in a silent toast.
Betty was typing so fast her fingers were a blur on her notepad. Mr. Harrington looked like he needed a paper bag to breathe into.
"Any follow-up questions?" Tony asked, looking thoroughly delighted by the absolute bomb he had just dropped on Midtown High's social hierarchy.
Abraham, one of the quieter guys from the back row, slowly stood up, adjusting his glasses. He looked a little nervous to be addressing the panel of Earth's mightiest heroes, but he cleared his throat and asked, "Are any of you into art?"
Steve Rogers' face instantly lit up with a warm, genuine smile. He nodded enthusiastically, leaning forward in his chair.
"I am," Steve said, his voice carrying that classic, grounded Brooklyn tone. "I draw all the time. I also sketch. I draw all the Avengers all the time whenever I'm not on a mission."
"It's true," Tony chimed in, tossing a playful smirk toward his partner. "The man has a literal mountain of sketchpads upstairs. Half of them are classic landscapes, and the other half are just dynamic action shots of us looking dramatic in ruins. He’s basically our official court illustrator."
"It helps me clear my head," Steve explained, gesturing with his hands. "When you're out there, things move fast. Drawing lets me slow everything down, focus on the details, and capture a moment. It's a great way to unwind."
From two rows back, MJ casually lifted her own sketchbook, tilting it just enough so Steve could see the detailed graphite rendering she had been working on of the training room equipment.
Steve's eyes caught it, and his smile widened. He gave her an approving, artist-to-artist nod. "Nice linework, Michelle."
MJ gave a single, satisfied nod back. "Thanks, Cap. Yours isn't bad either."
Flash looked like he was on the verge of a total existential crisis. Not only was Peter Parker dating a Stark-adopted tech prodigy, and not only was Michelle dating the actual Princess of Wakanda, but Captain America was casually giving her art critiques. The entire social order of Midtown High had been completely dismantled in less than six hours.
Cindy slowly raised her hand from the middle row, waiting for Tony to point the mic her way. "How did you all get into the superhero business?" she asked, looking down the line at the impressive row of heroes.
The Avengers exchanged a collective look—a mix of fondness, grim nostalgia, and slight amusement.
"Alright, buckle up, kids," Tony said, sitting back. "We're going down the line. I'll kick it off. For me, it was a classic case of a massive wake-up call in a cave in Afghanistan. I was building weapons, realized they were falling into the wrong hands, and decided to build a flying suit of armor to clean up my own mess. The rest is history."
Steve smiled softly, taking the mic next. "I was just a kid from Brooklyn who didn't like bullies. Back in World War II, I kept trying to enlist but got rejected for health reasons. A scientist named Dr. Erskine saw something in me and picked me for the Super Soldier program. I went into the ice fighting Hydra, woke up seventy years later, and kept fighting."
Bruce cleared his throat, looking a bit sheepish as he took the mic. "Uh, mine was a bit of a workplace accident. I was working on a modern recreation of Steve's super-soldier serum using gamma radiation. It went wrong. I became a giant green rage monster, spent a long time running from the government, and eventually, Tony and Natasha convinced me that the big guy could actually do some good instead of just breaking things."
Loki snatched the mic from Bruce's hand, holding it with regal elegance. "I, on the other hand, did not choose the 'hero' business. I was simply born better than everyone else," he said smoothly, making the class chuckle nervously. "I attempted to conquer this midgardian realm, failed spectacularly, spent some time in an Asgardian dungeon, and eventually realized that ruling you mortals is far too tedious. Helping my brother and Bruce save the universe from actual annoyances is much more entertaining."
"And I," Thor boomed, taking the mic with a massive grin, "was a reckless prince! I was banished to Earth by my father to learn humility. I found love, I found honor, and I realized that guarding this realm—and the people on it—was my true purpose. Plus, the snacks here are unparalleled!"
Clint took the mic next, spinning an arrow casually between his fingers. "No magic, no serums for me. I just had a really good eye and a rough childhood. I ran away to join the circus, learned how to shoot a bow, and got picked up by S.H.I.E.L.D. as an elite marksman. Met Nat on the job, and we've been cleaning up the world's messes ever since."
Natasha took the mic, her expression calm but her eyes sharp. "I was raised in a Soviet training program called the Red Room. They turned me into a weapon. I did a lot of things I'm not proud of. S.H.I.E.L.D. sent Clint to kill me, but he made a different call. He gave me a chance to wipe the red out of my ledger. Joining the Avengers was how I chose my own destiny."
Wanda held the mic next, looking down at it thoughtfully. "My twin brother Pietro and I grew up in a war zone in Sokovia. We wanted to protect our country, so we volunteered for experiments with an alien scepter. It gave me these powers. We started out fighting the Avengers because we blamed them for our childhood, but we quickly realized who the real monsters were. I chose to fight for the innocent."
Vision took the mic last, his voice soothing and resonant. "My origin is a blend of all of theirs, quite literally. I am a synthetic being created by Ultron, powered by the Mind Stone, given personality by J.A.R.V.I.S., and brought to life by Thor’s lightning. I was born into a battle, and I chose to protect life because life is beautiful."
The room was absolutely silent. The Midtown High students sat in complete awe, realizing the immense weight, trauma, and triumph sitting right in front of them on that stage.
Tony took the mic back, breaking the heavy silence with a characteristic grin. "So yeah. Serums, gods, aliens, and a lot of therapy. That's the family business."
"None of you go to therapy you yell at each other and punch robbers," michelle said
The entire briefing room went so silent you could hear the faint hum of the fluorescent lights. Mr. Harrington looked like he wanted to dissolve into his chair, while Flash Thompson stared at MJ like she had just slapped a god.
Tony stared at her, his mic halfway to his mouth. Bruce winced slightly because, deep down, he knew she was right. Clint paused with his hand halfway into his cereal box.
Slowly, a massive, brilliant smirk spread across Natasha’s face. She leaned back in her chair and pointed a finger right at MJ. "I like her. Pepper, hire her immediately."
"She's already on the payroll, Nat," Tony muttered, finally lowering the mic. He looked at MJ, narrowing his eyes in mock offense. "First of all, kid, it's called tactical communication. Second of all, we do punch robbers, but they are intergalactic robbers, which makes it highly sophisticated."
"You built a glass cage in the basement just to argue with each other during the Ultron debacle," MJ replied, completely deadpan, not even looking up from her sketchbook. "And Peter says the kitchen whiteboard is 40% passive-aggressive chore charts and 60% thermodynamics."
"Okay, who is leaking compound secrets?" Tony demanded, throwing his hands up and glaring directly at Peter, who was currently trying to slide out of his seat and onto the floor. "Parker! Is this your doing?"
"I didn't say anything!" Peter squeaked, his voice cracking. "I just said the whiteboard was crowded!"
Steve cleared his throat, trying to regain control of the room, though a small smile was tugging at his lips. "She makes a fair point, Tony. We have our moments. But we're working on it."
"We are absolutely not working on it, Rogers, I thrive in the chaos," Harley called out from the back of the room, leaning against the doorframe with a wicked grin.
Loki let out a low, amused chuckle from his seat, resting his chin on his steepled fingers as he looked at MJ. "A remarkably sharp observation, mortal. Perhaps there is hope for this generation after all."
Charile stood up. "Um Mr.Stark when is the next Stark phone coming out, my Iphone is so old its lagging?"
Tony chuckled, spinning the microphone lazily between his fingers before pointing it toward Charlie.
"Ah, the eternal struggle of the teenager," Tony joked, leaning back. "The next StarkPhone is currently slated for a late fall release. It features a fully integrated vibranium-mesh processor and an localized holographic overlay. Meaning, no more screens to crack, Charlie."
The class let out a collective gasp of excitement.
"But," Tony continued, a dangerous little smirk playing on his lips as he flicked his eyes over to Peter. "If you really can't wait until fall... the prototype models are already finished. In fact, a certain kid from Queens happens to have one in his pocket right now."
Every single head in the room instantly snapped toward Peter.
Peter closed his eyes, slumping so low in his stadium chair that he was practically sitting on the floor. "Mr. Stark, please," he groaned into his hands.
"Show 'em the goods, underoos," Tony goaded cheerfully.
With a deeply embarrassed sigh, Peter reached into his pocket and pulled out a device that looked like a thin, sleek piece of completely transparent glass. The second his thumb pressed against the corner, a crisp, vibrant holographic interface projected a few inches above the device, glowing with a soft blue light.
Flash Thompson looked like he was about to burst a blood vessel. His jaw was entirely slack as he stared at the literal future of technology casually resting in the hands of the guy he usually shoved into lockers.
"Yeah," Harley chimed in from the back door, crossing his arms and flashing a proud, highly distracting grin at his boyfriend. "Peter and I spent the last three weekends debugging the operating system for that thing. It doesn't lag, Charlie. I can guarantee you that."
"I hate both of you," Peter muttered, his face entirely crimson as he quickly tapped the device, causing the hologram to snap shut, leaving him sitting under the wide-eyed, utterly stunned gazes of his entire class.
flash stood up. "Is peter really an intern or is he just charity case?"
The atmosphere in the room shifted instantly. The easy, chaotic banter evaporated, replaced by a sudden, heavy silence that made the temperature feel like it dropped ten degrees.
Mr. Harrington froze. Ned’s jaw dropped in sheer disbelief that Flash had actually dared to say that out loud in a room full of gods and super-soldiers. MJ stopped drawing, her pencil hovering over the paper as her eyes narrowed into sharp, lethal slits.
Up on the stage, the Avengers didn't just look offended—they looked entirely dangerous.
Tony didn't blink. He lowered the microphone, his casual, joking demeanor vanishing into something cold, calculating, and terrifyingly protective. He didn't even look at Flash; he just stared at his espresso cup for a beat before slowly lifting his gaze.
"A charity case?" Tony repeated, his voice low, steady, and carrying an edge that could cut glass. "Let's clear something up, kid—what's your name? Flash? Right."
Tony stood up, smoothing down his tailored blazer. He stepped down from the stage, walking slowly toward the stadium seating until he was standing right at the front barrier, looking directly at Flash.
"Stark Industries doesn't do charity when it comes to the labs," Tony said, his tone dripping with an absolute certainty that made Flash visibly shrink back into his seat. "Peter Parker is not an intern. He is my personal protégé. He has unrestricted access to my private workshop. He writes code that runs the security infrastructure of this entire building, and half the upgrades on the armor you see on that stage? Peter designed them."
Bruce leaned forward, his expression unusually stern. "Peter's research in bio-mechanics and localized chemical synthesis is far beyond anything being taught at the graduate level. He's here because he's a genius, Flash. If we're talking about value to this company, Peter is irreplaceable."
"And if you ever speak of the little spider with such disrespect again," Loki added, his voice a deceptively soft purr that somehow echoed perfectly through the room, "I will ensure your voice is stripped from you entirely. It is an obnoxious sound anyway."
Flash swallowed hard, his face turning an entirely translucent shade of white. He looked around the room, desperately seeking an escape route, but every single Avenger on that stage was glaring at him with various degrees of protective anger. Steve looked deeply disappointed, Natasha looked like she was calculating the cleanest trajectory for a knife throw, and Wanda’s fingers were faintly twitching with a spark of scarlet energy.
From the back door, Harley didn't even look angry; he just looked incredibly smug, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed. "Told you, Thompson. Keep up. You're embarrassing yourself."
Peter looked up from his hands, his previous embarrassment entirely gone, replaced by a warm, overwhelming sense of gratitude as he looked at his chaotic, terrifying, fiercely protective family.
Betty’s question cut through the heavy, protective silence like a laser.
Peter froze, his heart stopping for a terrifying second. Oh god. He had been so focused on Flash being dismantled that he forgot Loki had just casually used Natasha’s specific Russian nickname for him right in front of the journalism club.
Next to him, Ned let out a high-pitched squeak and began coughing violently to cover it up. MJ didn't blink, but her hand clenched just a fraction tighter around her pencil.
Up on the stage, Natasha didn't even flinch. She leaned back, crossing her legs with absolute, lethal poise, and took the microphone from Tony. She fixed Betty with a cool, unbothered stare.
"Because he’s small, he climbs things he shouldn't, and he's incredibly annoying when he gets stuck in the ventilation shafts," Natasha said, her voice entirely deadpan.
A few kids in the class let out a nervous chuckle.
"It's an engineering joke," Tony chimed in smoothly, stepping back toward his chair and completely reclaiming his effortless charm. "The kid's got a habit of hanging upside down under the chassis of the Quinjet when he's working on the landing gear wiring. Clint walked into the hangar last month, saw Parker dangling from the ceiling, and nearly shot him with a blunt arrow. The name stuck."
"He has zero regard for gravity when a wrench is involved," Clint added, shaking his head. "It's creepy, honestly. Like a house spider."
"Hey!" Peter protested, finally finding his voice, his face burning a spectacular shade of pink. "The wiring harness was loose! It was the fastest way to reach it!"
"See?" Tony gestured wildly toward Peter. "Little spider. Case closed. Next question before Harrington passes out.
The doors at the back of the briefing room slid open with a soft hiss.
May Parker marched right into the main area, entirely focused on a bundle of familiar, high-tech red and blue fabric clutched tightly in her hands.
"Peter, you forgot your sui—" May started loudly, stepping out into the light.
She stopped dead in her tracks.
The entire Midtown High sophomore class slowly turned their heads to look at her. Then, thirty pairs of eyes dropped down to the unmistakable webbing pattern, the large black spider emblem, and the mechanical lenses of the official Spider-Man suit currently draped over her arm.
The silence that fell over the room was absolute. It was so quiet you could hear the hum of the AC.
May blinked, her eyes darting from the sea of slack-jawed teenagers to Mr. Harrington, who looked like he was having a stroke, and finally to Peter, who was currently frozen like a statue, his eyes wide with sheer, unadulterated panic.
"...oh," May said softly, the color draining from her face as she looked down at the suit, then back up at the class. "Oh. You're... still on the tour."
"May!" Peter finally choked out, his voice hitting a register only dogs could hear.
Up on the stage, Tony slowly buried his face in his hands. "FRIDAY, what did I say about letting people bypass security with high-clearance laundry?"
"My apologies, Boss," the AI responded smoothly. "Ms. Parker stated it was a 'fashion emergency' of catastrophic proportions."
Ned covered his mouth with both hands, letting out a muffled, horrified squeak. MJ just closed her sketchbook with a quiet thud, looking at Peter with a mixture of immense pity and profound amusement.
Flash Thompson looked back and forth between Peter, the suit in May's hands, and Tony Stark. His brain, which had been hanging on by a thread all day, finally broke completely.
"You..." Flash whispered, his finger trembling as he pointed at Peter. "You're..."
Harley, still leaning against the back doorframe, just let out a loud, delighted burst of laughter, clapping his hands together. "Well, darlin', I guess the secret's out."
Peter slowly stood up from his seat, letting out a long, heavy sigh that seemed to carry the weight of the entire universe. He ran a hand through his curls, entirely dropping the stuttering, nervous high schooler act. His posture straightened, his shoulders squared, and he suddenly looked a lot less like a scrawny kid from Queens and a lot more like the guy who had swung headfirst into alien invasions.
He looked directly at his stunned classmates.
"Yes, I'm Spider-Man," Peter said, his voice entirely calm, clear, and steady. "No, I already have a team. And no, I do not give autographs."
The room remained completely breathless. Flash’s mouth was open so wide it looked like his jaw had unhinged. Betty’s pen fell out of her hand, clattering loudly against the floor.
May let out a sheepish, apologetic winced-smile, slowly backing toward the elevator doors. "I'm just gonna... leave this in the lounge, then," she whispered, vanishing back into the corridor.
Tony looked up from his hands, a proud, highly amused smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he leaned back in his chair. "See? Told you. Little spider's growing up."
"About time you stopped hiding behind the sweater vests, kid," Clint chuckled from the stage.
Ned finally let his hands drop from his mouth, looking at Peter with wide eyes. "Dude. That was the most badass thing you've ever said."
MJ casually packed her sketchbook into her bag, slinging it over her shoulder as the first bells of the tour's conclusion began to chime. She walked past Peter, giving his shoulder a comforting pat. "Good job, loser. Now Flash owes me twenty bucks."
Harley walked over from the doorway, slipping his arm right back around Peter's waist and pulling him close, utterly smug as he stared down the remaining catatonic Midtown students. "Come on, Spider-Man. Tour's over. Let's go drive the Audi."
Flash sputtered, his voice cracking so hard it echoed off the glass walls of the briefing room. "Wait—who’s your team?!"
Peter didn't even blink. He looked Flash dead in the eye, completely owning the room now.
"Michelle is my Pepper," Peter said, gesturing to MJ, who didn't even look up from checking her phone, though a small, satisfied smirk crossed her face. "Ned is my Happy. Harry is my Rhodey. Harley is my Steve."
Harley’s grin widened into something fiercely proud, and he pulled Peter just a fraction closer against his side. Up on the stage, Steve Rogers raised his eyebrows, looking thoroughly amused and honored to be the benchmark for the kid's muscle.
"Shuri is my Natasha and Tony mixed into one," Peter continued, "and Kamala is completely in her own wheelhouse. Cooper and Kate are the archers."
Clint Barton paused, his hand hovering over his cereal box. "Hey! Coop and Kate are a formidable duo, I taught 'em everything they know."
"Exactly," Peter nodded, turning back to Flash, whose face was rapidly cycling through every stage of cosmic shock. "Basically, we are the new Avengers. The Young Avengers."
The title hung in the air, weighty and undeniable.
Tony Stark let out a low, appreciative whistle, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. "The Young Avengers. I like it. Has a nice ring to it. Though, for the record, kid—nobody is a perfect mix of me and Nat. That's a level of chaotic genius the world isn't ready for."
"Oh, the Wakandan princess absolutely matches your arrogance, Stark," Loki remarked smoothly, a thin, satisfied smile on his face as he looked at Peter. "A fitting court for the young spider."
Mr. Harrington looked like he was about to faint from the sheer historical weight of the moment he was witnessing. "A-Avengers... the Young Avengers..." he whispered, frantically looking for a chair to sink into.
"Alright, Midtown, that's your cue," Claire called out from the back, her voice bright and unbothered as she gestured toward the exit doors. "The bus is waiting downstairs. Please leave your badges in the bin by the elevator."
The class began to move like zombies, completely overwhelmed, whispering furiously among themselves as they looked back at Peter over their shoulders. Flash didn't say another word. He just stared at his shoes, utterly broken, walking out of the room like a man who had just realized he'd spent years throwing paper airplanes at a god.
As the doors slid shut behind the last of the students, Peter let out a massive, full-body sigh of relief, leaning heavily into Harley.
"You did good, kid," Tony said, stepping down from the stage and tossing an arm around Peter's free shoulder. "Now, come on. Harry’s probably finished bleeding Oscorp dry by now, and I believe we have an Audi to test drive."
"I have a meeting with Pepper," Michelle said, adjusting her backpack strap without a single hint of hesitation. She gave Peter a quick, supportive nod, threw a casual two-finger salute to Tony, and headed straight for the private executive elevators.
"And I need to audit with Happy," Ned said, already pulling up three separate logistical spreadsheets on his Stark tablet. He looked completely in his element, giving Peter an energetic high-five before scurrying off toward the security office to go coordinate with the head of asset management.
Just as the elevator doors on the residential side slid open, Harry Osborn stepped out, adjusting the cuffs of his expensive button-down shirt. He looked entirely relaxed, carrying a Stark Industries folder under one arm and a sleek, keyless Audi fob in his hand.
"Hi, Peter," Harry said, offering a smooth, easy grin as he walked over to the group.
"Please tell me you didn't actually give away the cybernetic armor algorithm," Peter groaned, though he couldn't help but smile at his friend.
Harry rattled the car keys with a smirk. "Let's just say Tony’s going to be very busy in the fabrication lab for the next two weeks, and I get the R8 for the weekend."
"That's my boy," Tony chuckled, clapping Harry on the shoulder as he walked past. "The tank is full, Osborn. Don't scratch the paint or Harley's barred from the workshop until Christmas."
The next morning, the front double doors of Midtown High swung open, and the entire main hallway practically ground to a halt.
Peter Parker walked in, and he looked like a completely different person.
He was wearing a perfectly fitted, dark designer jacket over a crisp white t-shirt, dark jeans, and a pair of Tony’s signature, custom-tinted hexagonal sunglasses resting on the bridge of his nose. In one hand, he casually held a ridiculously large, extra-shot iced coffee from a high-end café downtown that didn't even have a franchise in Queens.
He didn't slouch. He didn't look at the floor. He walked with the effortless, casual confidence of a guy who spent his weekends flying through skyscrapers and debugging multi-billion-dollar tech pipelines.
Right beside him, Harley Keener walked in with his arm slung over Peter's shoulder, wearing a leather jacket and a devastatingly smug grin, completely unbothered by the sudden, dead silence that filled the corridor.
As they passed the trophies display, students literally parted like the Red Sea. Whispers broke out like wildfire.
"Is that...?"
"Oh my god, it's him."
"Look at the sunglasses, he looks exactly like Stark..."
Peter didn't even blink behind his lenses. He took a slow, deliberate sip of his iced coffee, looking thoroughly amused by the reaction.
When they reached Peter's locker, Ned and MJ were already waiting. Ned was wearing a sharp, brand-new Stark Industries lanyard around his neck, typing furiously on his tablet with an air of absolute authority. MJ was leaning against the lockers, a rare, genuine smirk on her face as she looked Peter up and down.
"Nice glasses, mini-Stark," MJ remarked, tapping the rim of his sunglasses. "Very dramatic."
"Tony insisted," Peter chuckled, sliding the glasses down his nose just enough to wink at her. "He said if I'm going to be public, I have to look the part."
"Well, you definitely broke the school," Ned grinned, looking up from his screen. "Flash has been sitting in homeroom for twenty minutes staring at a blank wall. I don't think he's blinked once."
Right on cue, Flash Thompson walked around the corner, clutching his textbook to his chest. He caught sight of Peter, froze instantly, and his face turned a brilliant shade of pale. He didn't say a word. He didn't make a snide comment. He just took a massive, respectful detour all the way to the other side of the hallway, carefully avoiding eye contact.
Harley let out a soft, satisfied laugh, tightening his grip on Peter's shoulder and pressing a quick, affectionate kiss to his temple right there in the middle of the crowded hall. "Told you, darlin'. Total royalty."
Peter smiled, the morning sun catching the tinted lenses of his glasses as the warning bell rang. The secret was out, the bullying was officially over, and the future was looking brighter than ever. He took one last sip of his coffee, adjusted his sunglasses, and walked into homeroom—not just as Peter Parker, but as the leader of the Young Avengers.