Chapter 34 – Consequences (Part 2) School Pickup – "You're in Trouble, But Not with Me"
Midtown didn't feel like Midtown.
Peter knew that before he even hit his locker.
Everyone knew something.
Peter and Ned did not.
They felt it the moment they walked through the front doors.
No whispers.
No laughter.
No Flash-level cruelty.
Just… looking.
Too long.
A sophomore in the hallway stopped mid-step and stared at Peter like he'd grown a second head.
Two girls near the lockers glanced at Ned, then at their phones, then back at Ned.
A teacher hesitated during attendance.
"…Parker?"
Peter blinked. "Here?"
The teacher nodded too quickly.
Peter's spider-sense didn't trigger.
His anxiety sense absolutely did.
Fighting aliens takes less energy than algebra, Peter thought.
At least aliens don't stare at you like you're a headline.
Ned, meanwhile, was operating on three hours of sleep and a bloodstream made of sugar and amnesia.
"Are we famous?" Ned whispered as they walked down the hall.
Peter winced. "If we are, I didn't consent."
Lunch – 12:14 P.M.
MJ cornered them before they even made it to the cafeteria table.
She didn't look amused.
She didn't look sarcastic.
She looked… calm.
Dangerously calm.
"You know you're trending, right?"
Peter froze.
"…Trending what."
Ned tried deflection. "Like, academically? Because I did once win a robotics competition—"
MJ squinted at them.
"Wow," she said slowly. "So you don't know. That's… worse."
Peter's stomach dropped.
"Know what?" he asked carefully.
MJ studied their faces.
Realized they weren't acting.
And for the first time since she'd met them, she looked unsettled.
"You two are either incredible liars," she said quietly.
The bell rang before explanations could happen.
MJ picked up her tray.
"Good luck," she said. "And uh… tell Mr. Stark hi."
Peter and Ned turned to each other in perfect synchronized dread.
The Call
Fourth period.
The intercom crackled.
"Peter Parker and Edward Leeds, please report to the principal's office. Bring your belongings."
The classroom went silent.
Bring your belongings is never good.
Someone in the back whispered, "Ohhh."
Ned's backpack slipped off his shoulder.
Peter leaned over. "We didn't break space at school, right?"
Ned whispered back, "Not today."
They stood.
Walked.
The hallway felt longer than usual.
Every step sounded too loud.
The Principal's Office
They stepped inside.
Principal Morita stood stiffly to the side.
And there, leaning against the wall like he had nowhere else to be—
Tony Stark.
Arms crossed.
Coffee in hand.
Suit immaculate.
Expression unreadable.
Both boys instinctively took a step backward toward the door.
Tony smiled.
Not angry.
Not soft.
The this is above your pay grade smile.
"Oh, don't worry," Tony said conversationally. "I'm the least of your problems right now."
The blood drained from Peter's face.
Ned made a faint choking noise.
Tony continued, as if discussing traffic.
"Your Aunt May and your mom, on the other hand? Different story."
He pushed off the wall.
"So, Let's go home."
Peter looked at Principal Morita like he was life raft.
Morita adjusted his glasses.
"See you tomorrow, gentlemen."
Traitor.
The Car
The doors shut.
Silence.
Tony hadn't even turned the engine on yet.
He could feel it.
The coiled panic in the backseat.
The confusion.
The waiting.
He started the car.
Didn't say a word.
That's when it happened.
Peter broke first.
Not loud.
Just… a sharp inhale that never stabilized.
Then Ned.
Then both of them at once.
Ugly crying.
Hyperventilating.
The kind that comes from emotional whiplash and sleep deprivation and the realization that something is wrong, but you don't even know what yet.
Tony gripped the steering wheel.
He had:
• Negotiated governments.
• Faced gods.
• Outplayed cabinet ministers.
• Built weapons that ended wars.
He had absolutely no training for this.
He didn't turn around immediately.
He let them cry.
Let the panic crest instead of cutting it off.
Let the storm pass through instead of trying to out-argue it.
Peter's voice cracked. "Are we expelled?"
"No."
Ned gasped. "Suspended?"
"No."
"Did we—" Peter choked on the words. "—did we make things worse?"
Tony's jaw tightened.
"Depends," he said carefully. "On how you define worse."
That didn't help.
The crying picked up again.
Tony exhaled slowly.
"Friday."
"Yes, Boss?"
"Tell Stephen to meet me at the Tower. Now."
A beat.
"I think I broke the children."
Friday's voice gentled.
"Understood, Boss."
Tony merged into traffic.
The city blurred past in streaks of steel and glass.
Peter pressed his forehead to the window, face blotchy, eyes red.
He didn't know what was happening.
He just knew the world felt tilted.
Ned wiped at his glasses with shaking fingers.
Neither of them asked about headlines.
Neither of them mentioned the internet.
They didn't know yet.
Tony kept his eyes on the road.
For the first time since the Statesman fell from the sky,
since the government meeting,
since the press storm.
He felt small.
Not powerless.
Just… small.
Like no amount of money or armor or leverage could fix the look in his rearview mirror.
The car disappeared into traffic.
And Tony Stark, Merchant of Death, breaker of governments
had never felt more like a man, driving two terrified kids home.