My Son.... Come to me!

Getting Caught by Iron Dad

Sling!

Flip!

Sling!

I've got my rhythm going now, webs shooting and buildings passing by in a blur. But in the back of my mind, I know the inevitable's coming. Tony Stark—aka Mr. Genius-Billionaire-Playboy-Philanthropist—has got jets. And, as fast as I am with web-swinging, jet boots tend to have the edge.

"Parker! Stop running!" Tony's voice booms through the air behind me, but I pretend I don't hear it. Classic teenager move, right? Ignore the adult until it's absolutely necessary to pay attention.

The thing is... I want to stop, I really do. But something's gnawing at my brain, telling me if I stop, whatever is after me is going to catch up, and we're not talking about a friendly chat over coffee. We're talking bad news.

Sling! Flip!

"Seriously, kid!" His voice is closer now. "You're not getting away from me. Stop before you hurt yourself."

Hurt myself? Pfft. I've only, like, sprained an ankle, dislocated a shoulder, and had one major concussion this month. I'm fine!

I glance back for just a second. Big mistake.

Tony's suit comes right up beside me, the red and gold gleaming like he just came out of a press conference or something. Meanwhile, I'm pretty sure I've got city grime on my mask, and my suit smells like week-old hot dogs.

Just before I sling another web, Tony grabs me mid-swing—yeah, again. He doesn't even flinch when I squirm. Apparently, the whole "spider strength" thing doesn't intimidate a guy who's literally fought aliens. Fair enough.

"Okay, okay!" I groan, going limp in his grip. "You've made your point! Can we not do this dangling-like-a-fish thing again?"

Tony hovers there for a moment, still holding onto me like I'm a runaway puppy. His faceplate flips up, and he looks at me with this serious dad-face. It's the one he pulls out when he's done playing games. That's when I know: I'm in trouble.

"What are you doing, Pete?" His voice is softer now, but firm. "You're swinging around the city like a lunatic, and you don't even know what you're running from. Talk to me."

I huff, crossing my arms in midair. "I do know what I'm running from—well, sort of. I just—okay, fine, I don't know what it is exactly. But I've got a bad feeling, Mr. Stark. And when I get bad feelings, I run."

Tony doesn't let go, and that dad-look deepens. "Running doesn't fix everything, kid. Especially when you're not even sure what's chasing you."

I sigh, finally relenting. "I know, but—look, it's just instinct, okay? Something feels off, and when things feel off, I've learned the hard way it's better to get some distance."

He sets me down gently on a rooftop, landing beside me with a soft thud. For a moment, neither of us says anything. The wind whips around, and the noises of the city hum below, but up here, it's like everything is still.

Tony studies me for a second, then crosses his arms—just like me. Like father, like... spider?

"Pete," he starts, more serious now, "you don't always have to do things alone. You've got backup now. You've got people you can trust. Me, for starters. So why do you keep running off every time things get tough?"

I rub the back of my neck. I don't really have a good answer. Not one that'll sound good, anyway.

"Old habits die hard?" I offer, shrugging. "It's kind of been my M.O. since... well, since forever."

Tony's eyes soften. He takes a step closer and puts a hand on my shoulder. "Kid, I get it. Trust me, I've run away from my fair share of things. But when you're running blind, all you're doing is tiring yourself out for when the real problem hits."

I look away, chewing on the inside of my cheek. He's right. And, ugh, I hate it when he's right.

"I don't know, okay?" I blurt, a little frustrated, though it's not at him. "I just—something's been gnawing at me lately. It's like I'm always two steps behind, like the world's playing catch-up and I'm the prize."

Tony's quiet for a second, and I feel him drop his arm. When he speaks again, his voice is gentle but firm—like he's been exactly where I am, and we both know it.

"Look, Pete, you're doing a lot. More than most people your age should even have to think about. You've got the whole 'saving the city' gig, and then the whole 'being a teenager' thing. Both are hard on their own, but together? That's a mess."

I let out a humorless laugh, kicking at the gravel on the rooftop. "Yeah, well, life's been serving up messes since... you know."

Tony doesn't say anything to that. He doesn't need to. We both know what I'm talking about, and I'm really not in the mood to dive into that right now.

"Listen," he says after a beat, "whatever it is that's got you spooked, we'll figure it out. But you've got to slow down sometimes, kid. It's okay to stop running. Hell, it's okay to ask for help."

I glance up at him, a smirk tugging at the corner of my mouth. "Yeah, but what fun would that be? I've got a brand to uphold here. Spider-Man, lone wolf, does it all without breaking a sweat—"

Tony raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. "Pete, I literally saw you crash into me at full speed. You were sweating."

I put up my hands in mock surrender. "Okay, okay, maybe I was sweating a little. But in my defense, that thing was fast, whatever it is."

He looks around again, frowning. "You sure you didn't see anything?"

I shake my head. "Nope. Just my Spidey-Sense going nuts and this gut feeling that something's not right."

Tony taps his chin, clearly thinking it over. "Well, if it's bad enough to get you running without a plan, I'd say we've got a problem. But we don't solve problems by panicking."

"I wasn't panicking!" I say quickly. "I was... aggressively avoiding the issue."

Tony gives me a side-eye. "That's called panicking, Pete."

I groan. "Fine. Maybe I was panicking a little."

He chuckles and then, with a fatherly pat on my back, says, "It's okay to panic sometimes. Just don't do it alone. You've got me, okay?"

I look at him, and for the first time in the last hour, I feel myself relaxing a bit. Tony Stark, Mr. Super Cool, might actually care. Weird.

"Yeah," I nod, feeling the weight lift off my shoulders just a little. "Okay, thanks... Dad—I mean, Mr. Stark."