2

Peter had spent the rest of the day wondering if Ned really thought that his whole “collecting tiny spoons” thing had distracted MJ from the whole “Peter has a plan” thing.

He really hoped that it had, but didn’t really believe it.

For one thing, MJ was waaaaaaaaay too smart to be thrown off by something like that.

For another, it was COMPLETELY RIDICULOUS.

Who collects tiny spoons?

Grandmothers.

MJ was right.

Ugh.

Peter tried to put the debacle out of his mind for the moment. He had a job to do. Standing behind the curtain, he listened as he heard May speaking to a large audience on the other side.

“When I blipped back to my apartment, the family that was living there was very confused,” May recounted. “The wife thought that I was a mistress. The grandma thought I was a ghost.”

The audience laughed. Everyone had stories of the chaos of that time.

“It was really a mess. Thank you all, for coming out to support those who have been displaced by the Blip. And, of course, thanks to our very own Spider-Man!”

That was Peter’s cue. He was in full Spider-Man costume as he emerged from behind the curtain. There were easily a hundred people in the crowd, seated at tables, eating dinner. Slowly, he approached the microphone stand.

“Thank you, Ms. Parker, for having me,” Spider-Man began, haltingly. Then he gave two big thumbs-up. “And thank you, you guys, for having me.”

Suddenly, he didn’t know what else to say. Making quick-witted quips usually came so easy to him when he was in costume. Of course, most of the time he was in costume he was fighting Super Villains like the Vulture, not addressing a crowd of people. Who were all staring at him expectantly.

“And thank you, Spider-Man,” May jumped in, sensing her nephew’s discomfort. “And he’ll be right back out to take photos and videos. Thank you.”

Relieved, Spider-Man bolted from the stage, pulling the curtain aside with an arm. May followed him, and Peter removed the Spider-Man mask.

“That was amazing!” Peter exclaimed, as he high-fived his aunt.

“That was great!” May echoed.

Peter paced for a moment, working off his energy and anxiety. “That was so cool. I was so nervous!”

“I was a little stiff. I felt like I wasn’t in the pocket,” May critiqued herself, lip curling down.

“I thought you did great,” Peter reassured her.

May smiled, then tilted her head slightly as she looked at her nephew. “I actually did think you were a little stiff.”

Peter hadn’t expected to hear that, but that was exactly, precisely, what he had been thinking about his performance as well. “I felt that, too. I felt that, too,” he agreed. Speaking in public was not one of his strengths.

“It’s fine,” May said, waving it off. “It’s fine, it’s fine.” She knew how sensitive he could be about his self-confidence.

That gave Peter the distinct feeling that it was the exact OPPOSITE of fine.

“Did you get your passport?” May checked, changing the subject. “Mini toothpaste?”

“Yeah, I did,” Peter nodded.

“Hey, sorry I’m late.”

Peter looked away from May, and saw Happy Hogan walk through the doors of the room behind the stage. He was wearing a dark suit, and carrying a large rectangular cardboard sign in his hands.

“Happy! Hey!” Peter welcomed the familiar face with his usual enthusiasm. Then he remembered that the last time he saw Happy was at...

At the funeral. For Mr. Stark.

“Oh, you look lovely,” Happy observed as he approached May.

“Thanks, you too!” May replied. She was flattered and it showed.

Peter looked at his aunt, and then at Happy. Was something going on here?

“Thank you,” Happy said. To Peter, he sounded nervous. “New dress?” Why was Happy noticing his aunt’s dress?

May smiled. “Yes, it is!” Then she tilted her head, looking at Happy. “It’s a new beard.”

Happy reached up to his face, stroking the whiskers on his cheeks. “It’s my Blip beard. ’Cause I grew it in the Blip.” Why did Happy sound as awkward around May as Peter did around MJ?

Peter stared at Happy.

“It’s a Blip beard,” Happy repeated, looking back at Peter, at a sudden loss for words.

“I see,” May confirmed. “Yeah!” Why was she acting like that?

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence.

“I’m late ’cause this was misplaced,” Happy explained, referring to the giant $500,000 check replica he held in his hands. “Do you believe it? Because it’s enormous? I mean, not the amount, the size. The amount’s nice, too. They’re very generous. Pepper Potts said she’s sorry she couldn’t be here.”

Peter thought about Pepper Potts, and how he had fought alongside her in the battle against Thanos. She had lost Mr. Stark in the battle—the whole world had lost the one and only Tony Stark. Now, she was raising their daughter, Morgan, by herself, while she continued to run Stark Industries.

“I think I’m gonna go change the Sterno under the vegan lasagna,” May decided after a moment. Then she added, “Spider-Man, go shake hands.” She smiled at Happy, then went back through the curtain.

“Will do,” Peter promised as he watched May leave. Then he turned to look at Happy. “What just happened?” he wanted to know, unable to contain himself any longer.

SERIOUSLY. Was there something going on between May and Happy? Because they were acting so strange around each other!

Peter was going to have to wait for an answer to his question, however, because Happy totally ignored it. “Heads up,” Happy said, changed the subject. “Nick Fury’s calling you.”

Peter wasn’t sure if the feeling he experienced at those words was his heart stopping, or his heart desperately trying to escape his body. Possibly both.

“Nick Fury’s gonna call me? Why?” Peter queried, the panic in his voice evident.

“Why?” Happy echoed. Then he suggested, “Because he probably has some hero stuff for you to do. You’re a Super Hero. He calls Super Heroes.” Seemed pretty obvious to him.

Peter all but rolled his eyes. “I mean, if it was really that important, he’d probably call someone else, not me.” Because there were real Avengers out there who could handle that stuff, right?

Right on cue, a cell phone started to ring. Peter looked down at his backpack.

The cell phone rang again.

“Apparently not,” Happy determined.

Reaching into the backpack, Peter pulled out his cell phone and looked at the screen. Happy looked at it, too.

“‘No caller ID,’” Happy said. “That’s him.” He knew the drill.

“I don’t really wanna talk to Nick Fury.” Peter hesitated, holding the cell phone in his hand like it was made of something totally gross.

“Answer the phone,” Happy urged, jerking his head.

“Why?” Peter protested.

“If you don’t, then I have to. I don’t wanna talk to him!” This was so above his pay grade.

“Why don’t you wanna talk to him?” Peter asked. Happy was the adult here. This was adult stuff. He was just a kid.

“Because I’m scared,” Happy freely admitted. “Just answer the phone.” Peter was the hero here. This was hero stuff. He was just the help.

Peter looked at the cell phone in his hand, and pressed a button, declining the call.

“You sent Nick Fury to voice mail?” Happy blurted out, astounded. “You don’t send Nick Fury to voice mail.” This would NOT end well.

Peter looked over his shoulder, toward the curtain and the stage beyond.

“They’re calling me,” he said, despite the fact that NO ONE was calling him. “I gotta go. I gotta go.”

“You gotta talk to him,” Happy argued.

“I promise you I’m gonna call him,” Peter assured Happy, not meaning it. “I will.” Anything to get out of this for now.

As Peter backed away toward the curtain, Happy practically shouted, “You do not ghost Nick Fury!” Did this kid even understand who he was dealing with?

“I promise you I’ll call him,” Peter insisted. He turned toward the stage, and put on his Spider-Man mask. Then, softly, so Happy couldn’t hear him, he added, “After my trip.”

Then Spider-Man used the four mechanical arms on the back of his Iron Spider suit to pull aside the curtains, hitting the stage. “Hey!” he said, cheerily announcing his return, and people quickly swarmed around him.

Happy’s phone rang. Uh-oh.

He answered it. He knew better than to ignore the call.

“No, no, he’s not ghosting you,” Happy hedged, pretty sure he didn’t want to have the conversation that was about to follow.

“Okay, okay, one question at a time!” Spider-Man tried to control the mob all shouting at him simultaneously.

“Are you the head Avenger now?” someone asked.

Cameras flashed, and Spider-Man saw microphones being thrust into his face.

“Uh, no, I’m not,” he replied. Were they kidding?

Another person asked, “If aliens come back, what are you gonna do?” Wait, what? How was he supposed to know how to deal with that?

FLASH.

FLASH. Lights went off in his face from all the cameras aimed at him.

“Does anyone have any neighborhood questions?” Spider-Man countered, seriously hoping they did. Remember, folks, he was their friendly NEIGHBORHOOD Spider-Man?

“Sean Winford. Queens Tribune,” a man identified himself, pushing a microphone toward Spidey. “What is it like to take over from Tony Stark? Those are some big shoes to fill. ”

FLASH.

Spider-Man’s heart was racing now, and he was finding it hard to breathe beneath the mask. The questions kept coming, the cameras kept on flashing, and the next thing he knew, he was saying, “I’m gonna go. Thanks so much, everyone, for coming!”

Then he jumped up, spun a web, and exited the hall.

Seconds later, he was swinging above the streets of Queens, New York, relieved to be away from the people and the questions.

He landed on a rooftop above the street, and removed his mask. An elevated train passed by behind him.

“Okay,” Peter said to himself, quietly, trying to calm his nerves. The worst was over, right?

His cell phone rang.

Maybe not.

Still, Peter considered, things had to get better at some point. They just had to.

If he had turned to look over his shoulder, he would have seen the graffiti on the wall.

Of Iron Man.

Beneath it, one word:

INVINCIBLE.