Chapter Text
“You’d think they’d—mind your step, sir—they’d try something new, wouldn’t you?” Spider-Man complained, ushering civilians into cover. Wanda smiled tightly at the twin girls by her knees, a moment away from clapping her hands at the group like they were cattle. For people in danger, they did not seem too concerned. Perhaps their team made it look too easy. Or, perhaps, it was that wonderful New York attitude.
“You’d think,” she agreed. Over Spider-Man’s shoulder, three Doombots flew after the Human Torch and crashed headfirst into the ground.
“Right? I swear I’ve done this fight before. It’s like Groundhog Day…”
Wanda had a sneaky feeling she was called in on this emergency simply because it was in Queens; Spider-Man would not miss it, and whoever ended up on the same task as Spider-Man would inevitably be roped into unending babble throughout, save for Tony, who he hadn’t entirely warmed up to yet. Wanda chalked it up to the fact Tony was only a few months back in action, although Spider-Man hadn’t taken more than five seconds to take to the rest of the team. On the other hand, Wanda had made the mistake of admitting she found him endearing and had since been the resident Spider-handler.
It was true; she didn’t mind it—the babbling. Spider-Man oozed a vitality that their team had sorely needed four years ago when everything was better and worse at the same time, when their Captain was in the wind, and Tony had one foot in the grave. Nowadays, with their team stitched back together and four years catastrophe-free under their belts, Spider-Man was a shot of espresso into an idle mind.
Despite their increasingly frequent team-ups, Wanda couldn’t get a read on him, not only thanks to his mask. It seemed like a century ago when they fought against each other in Germany, and since then, he had mostly been nothing but helpful, rational, and kind. Mostly. However, occasionally, Wanda felt like she was fighting alongside two different people.
“It’s like they knew I’d have the long shift…” Spider-Man was saying, lifting a fallen beam so that Wanda could roll the crashed cars out of the street.
Most days, he could not stay quiet.
“Not that I’m complaining! As long as I’m here, I’m here to help, but a guy’s gotta eat, you know?”
Most days, he lifted the mood.
“What d’you think Dr Doom eats for breakfast? Probably something fortified. You know, iron-rich… Not my best material, I apologise.”
But it had happened thrice that Spider-Man joined them to fight, flat-voiced, impatient, and dour. Once, when Tony was finally back on form (presumably the first time they’d seen each other properly since Germany—Wanda wondered who, if not Tony, had roped Spider-Man into that) and twice this winter, just gone. It was such a shock to Wanda the first time, as even when they had fought in Germany, he had been lovely. Naive, maybe, but endearing.
“Am I going crazy, or did they attack on a Thursday last time, too?” asked Spider-Man later as they returned to their meet-up point. Steve and Natasha were already back.
“It’s Thursday?” Wanda joked, pleased to break his anxious ramble with a laugh. “Really, I’m asking. I usually have Vis to tell me.”
Spider-Man chuckled. “He keeps you sane, does he?” Wanda nodded contentedly.
“What about you? Do you have…”
“Something to keep me sane?”
“Thing,” Wanda mocked good-naturedly, but the man pretended not to catch her meaning, staring at the fight’s aftermath.
“Well, I’ve learned not to stay out too late,” said Spider-Man. “Don’t get me wrong, I love this city! But I love it less at night. Only unhappy people are awake at 4 a.m.”
Wanda laughed. “That’s probably true.”
“Oh! Actually, I should check around that crater before we leave. I saw a few…” The rest of his words were lost to the wind as he raced back down the street. Wanda walked backwards and watched as he began to check inside every storefront for people in need, a whirlwind. Wanda’s heart tightened at his non-answer; she couldn’t imagine someone as sunny as Spider-Man not having friends, and yet…
“All good?” Steve called to her.
Wanda turned. “No one else harmed,” she said, joining the duo. “Spider-Man is triple-checking we got everyone out. Victor Von Doom?”
“Taking a field trip with the Fantastic Four as we speak,” said Natasha, rolling her shoulders tiredly. They shared a smile.
Wanda was about to suggest they take their leave when Natasha suddenly frowned and said, “What the hell is he doing?”
Wanda followed her gaze to where Spider-Man stood stock-still on the cracked sidewalk. He hadn’t progressed much further down the street since she stopped watching him. Steve called out to him using his I’m-the-one-in-charge voice, to no effect.
Spider-Man suddenly stepped backwards, eyes on something inside the display window before him. A moment later, a young man came out of the shop. He said something Wanda couldn’t hear, laughing and looking sheepish, but he must not have received a response because he began to wave his hand in front of Spider-Man’s face. His head followed the movement. Wanda shared a concerned look with Steve and Natasha before they quickly set off. Anxiety sloshed in her gut.
The boy’s eyes widened comically as they neared him, the worry melting from his face.
“Holy shit!” Spider-Man jumped at the volume of the boy’s voice. He gushed, “You’re the Avengers! You guys were so awesome, oh my God, I can’t even— Huge fan! I’m a huge fan. I’m Ned.” He looked at Spider-Man again, perturbed. The man had not spoken, but his head followed the boy raptly. “Uh, Spider-Man was just like this when I came outside. I didn’t… I don’t know why—”
“We evacuated this street,” Spider-Man said with unexpected vehemence. Wanda tried to hide her surprise.
The young man shrank a little. “Yeah, sorry, we were—”
“You shouldn’t be anywhere near here,” Spider-Man insisted, posture tightening.
Steve quickly stepped in, “What he meant to say is we’re very sorry we missed you. This was a highly dangerous attack.”
“We know,” came a nonchalant voice from the shop doorway. A young woman had emerged without Wanda’s notice, nor, judging by his quick step away, Spider-Man’s. She wore a collared shirt and a name tag that read MICHELLE, lifting the rolling pin held in her hand. “We had it handled.”
Spider-Man glanced between them, backing away. When he spoke, it wasn’t with the sure compassion he usually held for New Yorkers. His words shook; he was angry. “You could have been seriously hurt! What the hell were you thinking? Are you stupid?”
There was a shocked silence. Spider-Man turned to leave, uneasily checking over his shoulder. He shook his head once like he couldn’t believe his eyes, slipped on a Doombot’s arm but did not seem to notice, and swung away with a thwip. The five of them stared after him for what seemed like an eternity.
Wanda had no words. She had once heard Spider-Man apologise when someone multiple feet away from him tripped on their own shoelace.
“Are either of you injured?” Natasha asked simply. The two civilians slowly turned to her and shook their heads dumbly. Wanda searched for her voice.
“Thank goodness. Sorry about that,” she said with a smile she hoped seemed genuine, gesturing in the direction Spider-Man had fled. “We all have our off days.”
Wanda had fought alongside two different people in Spider-Man’s suit before, but she had never seen the switch in real-time. It was… jarring. It was concerning.
Something was wrong with Spider-Man.
::::::
“Round Ramen.”
“We got that last time.”
“I wasn’t there last time.”
“Oh no.”
“We could try that Indian place you told us about, Clint.”
“I don’t feel like…”
Tony sighed to himself. All they did was finish one mission and then make new problems for themselves. He’d floated the idea of creating a celebration dinner roster a few times but still hadn’t bothered. This time, he swore he would. And since he was making it, he could throw a disproportionate number of shawarmas into the hat. They’d never know.
A ringtone cut through the chatter. Spider-Man—standing as far from Tony as possible, as per usual—patted his thigh and pulled his phone from the sleek pocket there. Tony pondered the idea of being polite and restarting the conversation, but it seemed everyone else on the team was also curious. None of them had Spider-Man’s phone number.
“Hello? Speaking… Did you not get my email? Family emergency…” It occurred to Tony too late that this might be a civilian Spider-Man call. “Well, I don’t know what to tell you… Dr Osborne can wait a few hours extra for some damn proofreading— Well, thankfully, that’s not your call, so… Take it up with him, then!” Spider-Man cocked his head like he heard something. “Look, sorry, I’m sorry, I have to go. E. Mergency. I’ll get back to you ASAP. Yeah. Yes. Bye.”
He hung up and scrubbed a hand over his mask. He turned to walk back to them but stopped. “Eavesdrop much?” he complained. Tony could not find it in himself to feel anything other than gobsmacked.
“Dr Osborne?” Tony repeated. “As in Norman Osborne?”
There was a long silence.
“No?”
Clint ‘ooo’ed.
Tony couldn’t quite explain the righteous betrayal bubbling inside of him. “You work for my main competitor? Seriously? This is what I get for respecting your privacy?” Spider-Man stiffened where he stood.
“Whatever, man!” he said defensively. “The cops are gonna be here any minute, which means I need to not be—”
“Why didn’t you come work for me? You’re smart. I can get you a job instead of that jerk.”
“I don’t wanna work for you,” Spider-Man told him, growing antsy. “No offence.”
“Why not?” asked Tony, offended.
“You’re… nosy.”
“Nosy?”
“I don’t need Iron Man all up in my business.”
“I would not be,” said Tony, aiming for innocence.
“You would be,” chorused a few of the others. Tony shot them a glare.
“I can’t exactly show up to work like this, can I?” the kid pointed out, gesturing to his suit. “If I worked for you, I’d have to give you a name, address, bank info… No thanks. Been there, done that,” he added tightly.
Tony continued, unsure what he meant by that, “We could figure out a way around—”
“Dude, drop it!” he snapped, stalking towards him. “You can’t have everything you want all the time! You think you can just swoop in and fix everything, and everything will be normal again—well, you can’t. Everybody makes sacrifices! No one else is gonna, so I have to keep an eye—” He shook his head, closing in, voice furious, desperate. “And I—I don’t wanna work for you. I don’t wanna be around you—see you—any more than I have to. I can’t— I can’t—”
Steve jumped forward. “Whoa, kid.” He managed to pull Spider-Man back by the arm before his hand was harshly shrugged off.
“I’m not a kid anymore,” Spider-Man muttered, huffing like a bull. He shook all over. “I’ve got my shit figured out. You’re trying to mess it up.” He looked right at Tony, and in that moment, the man was sure he could see right through those blank white eyes to the scared kid beneath. Spider-Man shook his head once, slowly but surely. “You’re trying… and I can’t let you…”
Sirens faded in from the street down below. Spider-Man would have heard them before Tony, but still straightened at the sound.
“Goodnight,” he said to the rest of the team. He took off across the roof, grumbling things Tony barely caught. “… Can’t help… Better off…”
He swan-dived off the edge of the building and reemerged, swinging off into the distance. Someone whistled lowly, but Tony, unnerved, kept his eyes on Spider-Man’s tiny silhouette until it disappeared.
They got Chinese food, and Tony forgot about the roster. Again.
The following day, while he stared uselessly at his empty worktop, Tony’s phone buzzed. Grateful for a reason not to contemplate his empty, empty of creativity brain, he snatched it up. Tony’s brow furrowed when he saw it was a message from an unknown number. As he read, it made a lot more sense:
Hey, Mr Stark. I am so sorry for how I acted yesterday. I’m so embarrassed I really didn’t mean to take all that out on you. I was having a really shitty day but that’s no excuse for exploding like that. You’re a cool guy. Seriously. I hope you’ll forgive me. I’m trying to do better. SM.
That was the apology Spider-Man sent Tony, which was not ‘I didn’t mean anything I said, and, of course, I’ll stop working for that jackass Norman Osborne’, but it was higher praise than Spider-Man had ever offered him. He was a ‘cool guy’, huh? Tony’s memory had been fuzzy since he’d used the stones—with some glaring gaps that he didn’t think he’d ever recover—but even so, he could not remember hitting it off with Spider-Man when they met in Germany.
As Tony watched, three more messages appeared below the first, afterthoughts:
This is Spider-Man btw
Queens
I really hope this is still your number
Tony’s lip twitched at his unnecessary clarifications. Like Tony knew another Spider-Man. This kid was something else. He scrolled back up to his first message, frowning. Yesterday had certainly seemed like more than a ‘shitty day’ to Tony, and it called to mind the incident Steve, Natasha, and Wanda had witnessed a few months ago and relayed. It was something to keep an eye on, thought Tony, but not worry too much about. Everyone else got to be in a bad mood, and that would be the end of it. Why couldn’t the friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man?
When Tony had told Pepper about it, she’d been defensive on his behalf but suggested that proud people don’t like Tony’s generous offers.
“Maybe it came across like a handout,” she’d said, skipping past a violent fight on Blue Planet.
Tony huffed in his chair and began to type.
It’s already forgotten, kid.
Now, who gave you my number?
His texts were read, but Spider-Man didn’t respond, so Tony could only assume he had used a burner. He saved the number anyway.