The thing is, Peter has become an important part of Tony Stark's life. Tony created his first will very soon after his parents died. Since Afghanistan, he's been updating it obsessively every time he thought of something to add or change. It is one of the healthier ways he copes with… everything. Not that it's saying much. Peter is his heir apparent. He doesn't have kids, and Peter isn't just a genius. He's something Tony could never claim to be—good, from the ends of his messy brown hair to the tips of his worn out New Balance sneakers and deep in his spidery little heart.

But just because Peter spends every other weekend upstate and shows up to Tony's workshop to find him and gives him that innocent grin doesn't mean he's told him anything about leaving him the keys to the castle. And it doesn't mean he wants Peter's face plastered on every shitty tabloid across the country. It's his fault, Tony knows. He got careless and spent too much time with Peter in public. He donated to Midtown Tech, spent an unprecedented amount of time in his NYC penthouse, gotten photographed from a distance at a three-star restaurant in Queens sitting next to his brand-new fiancé and across from an unpaid Stark Industries intern.

At first, Peter assures him that it isn't going to be a big deal. His name wasn't printed, he says. Just a blurry picture of a normal looking fifteen-year-old, he says. It could be anybody. But it's not anybody. Tony knows about journalists, and he knows Peter won't stay anonymous for long, no matter how many lawsuits he files.

It takes a week before one of Peter's classmates, some Sparky Thomas douche, spills the beans to a newspaper. It's a Tuesday, and by Friday, Peter Parker's entire history is out in the world. Everything is printed but his home address. Photographers and journalists show up at his school.

"Happy," Peter says from the back seat of the Mercedes Maybach, "You don't have to drive me to school. I can take the bus."

"Listen, Peter," Happy replies. "Tony wants you safe. We all do." He throws a Stark Industries baseball cap and a pair of branded black wayfarers to the back. He knows Peter caught them both without having to look.

"Can I keep these?" Peter asks with a grin in his voice. He pulls the cap over his mop of curls.

Happy sighs. "What do I care? We've got a million just lying around."

"Sweet!"

As expected the front sidewalk of Midtown Tech is swarming with journalists, photographers, and paparazzi. Peter is uncharacteristically silent in the back, staring out through the tinted window with a dark expression.

"Hey, kid," Happy says. "We briefed the school, upped the security. No one's gonna get in or out without us knowing, okay?"

"Yeah," Peter agrees, but he breathes it out like he's forgotten himself. "It's just," he starts. "It's just that I've never had to do this. Not as Peter."

Happy nods.

"I don't feel so good, Happy," Peter says.

"I can take you home. If you want." For once, Happy doesn't put any edge into his voice. There's no anger or frustration behind his words.

Peter seems taken aback by this. "No, it's fine," he says. "It's just nerves. Let's go."

Happy slides on his Bodyguard Sunglasses and gets out of the car, going around to open Peter's door. Peter's hoodie, hat, and glasses cover most of his face. Happy puts one hand out to block reporters and one hand on Peter's shoulder to push him along as fast as they can go without actually running.

"Look, kid," Happy says when they've made it inside, "just lay low and make good choices. And for the love of God, don't do anything Tony would do."

Peter thinks it's nerves at first, the strange feeling wrapping around his lungs, and he tries to forget about it. It's not actually hard with everyone staring at him. Too many conversations stop abruptly when he enters the room for it to be a coincidence. He hears them anyway. Flash keeps glaring at him, a reminder that Peter has just proven him wrong in front of the whole school. Peter hopes he knows better than to retaliate.

The feeling gets worse, his lungs get tighter and tighter throughout the morning. By fourth period, Ned and MJ are giving him strange, lingering looks.

"Peter," Ned says during passing period, "are you alright?"

Peter nods. "I'm fine, don't worry," he says.

MJ is not nearly as subtle. "You look like you're dying," she tells him. "Go home."

"I can't," he says, "I've got a bio test."

"That's not gonna matter if you're dead, loser." But this time, there's no fire. She sounds genuinely concerned. Peter frowns. He takes her hand by the wrist and holds it up to his forehead.

"I'm fine, see?" he says. She rolls her eyes, but when the back of her hand touches his face, she jerks back.

"Jesus, Parker, it's like touching a stove!" She looks at Ned. "We've got to get him to the nurse. Now."

They go, MJ pulling and Ned pushing Peter to the nurse's office across the building as he protests the whole way there.

"I'm fine, guys," he whines unconvincingly. Even as he walks, he realizes how tired he is. "Really." His eyelids start to droop.

The nurse takes one look at him and pulls out a thermometer. Peter lies down on the little cot, trying not to fall asleep. Reality seems to be shifting quickly around.

"Oh God," he hears Nurse Carrie say as she blinks at the tiny digital display. "Kids, go to the front office," she orders. "Tell Principal Morita to call Peter's aunt. I'm going to call an ambulance. Now. Go."

Peter's eyes close.