The silver Audi R8 purred along the highway, the New York skyline rising in the distance like a jagged glass mountain range.
Tony had already shed the Mark armor. He now sat behind the wheel in a custom Italian suit that cost more than most people's cars. He drove one-handed, his elbow resting casually on the window ledge, though a slight frown marred his features.
"Seriously, Peter. I suggest you stay away from Mutant affairs," Tony said, his tone heavier than usual. "The Mutant issue is a political minefield. It's messier than any bank robbery or alien invasion. You have a bright future ahead of you, kid. Don't get dragged into their mud."
Peter watched the trees blur past the passenger window. "If we ignore people who need help just because it's messy... what kind of heroes are we?" he asked softly.
Tony sighed. "That's idealism talking. I used to think that way too. But reality isn't a comic book. The Mutant issue has too many angles. Professor X wants peace, Magneto wants supremacy, and the government wants control. It's not a black and white story, Peter."
"I know," Peter turned to face him. "But those kids didn't have a choice. Just like I didn't choose to get bitten by that spider."
He paused, letting the low hum of the engine fill the silence for a moment. "Mr. Stark, be honest. Are Mutants really as bad as you say? The X-Men have saved the world plenty of times. And today... they came through for us."
Peter knew the public perception, but he wanted to hear it from an Avenger. From Tony.
"Heh." Tony's scoff was sharp. He tapped the steering wheel, and the window slid up, cutting off the wind noise and sealing them in the quiet luxury of the cabin.
"Kid, you're young. You see the highlight reel," Tony said, his voice tinged with world-weary cynicism. "Sure, the X-Men save the world. But nine times out of ten, the threat that almost ended the world was caused by an out-of-control Mutant in the first place. According to Nick Fury, Mutants are a powder keg under humanity's ass. Wherever they go, destruction follows."
"Uh..." Peter shifted in his seat. "Mr. Stark, no offense, but that sounds like something J. Jonah Jameson would write. It's the same logic people use against the Hulk... or even you, sometimes."
"The difference is scale," Tony countered, making a circling motion with his finger. "When Reed Richards messes up an experiment, a building collapses. When a Level Four Mutant has a bad day... continental plates shift. It's not the same league."
He pressed a button on the console, and classic rock filled the cabin. He popped open a hidden compartment in the dashboard, offered Peter a high-end chocolate truffle, and popped one into his own mouth.
"Look, personally? I don't hate Mutants," Tony admitted, nodding to the beat. "Power isn't the sin. Lack of control is. Of course..."
His tone soured.
"...except for the guy in the bucket helmet who thinks he's God's gift to magnetism. That guy can bite me."
Peter stifled a laugh. Magneto.
The R8 drifted around a sharp bend, tires screeching briefly before gripping the asphalt and shooting down the straightaway like a silver bullet.
"I told you to stay away from Mutants not just because they're dangerous," Tony continued, turning the music down. "It's because of how the world looks at them. After what you saw today, do you really think the government—or the public—is ready to accept them?"
"Internet comment sections are cesspools," Tony said, shaking his head. "We're still fighting over skin color in this country. Do you really think people are going to hug a guy who can shoot lasers from his eyes? That prejudice is deep in the DNA. It's a virus."
Tony scratched his head, looking genuinely puzzled. "There is one thing I never understood, though. Charles Xavier. Smartest guy in the room, kindest heart you'll ever meet. Why was he the first one to use the label 'Mutant'? Did he not see that giving it a name was just handing the bigots a weapon?"
Outside, the wind buffeted the glass. Inside, the silence stretched.
"Mr. Stark," Peter said, half-joking, half-serious. "Have you ever considered... maybe everyone has a dormant Mutant gene? Maybe you, me, everyone... maybe we're all Mutants in some way?"
"Please!" Tony waved a hand, nearly clipping the steering wheel. "That's as crazy as Bruce Banner claiming he's a pacifist. If that were true, the Mutant Registration Act would be the biggest joke of the century."
He glanced over and saw the solemn look on Peter's face.
"Hey." Tony softened his tone. "Stop overthinking it. Xavier cleaned up the mess today. And whatever falls through the cracks, Fury will handle. You're gonna be an Avenger soon. Let SHIELD deal with the political garbage."
"Maybe," Peter murmured. He knew that the "cunning bald agent" Tony trusted was currently sitting on a HYDRA-infested time bomb. Asking SHIELD for help might be like asking a shark for a life raft.
"Huh? What's this..." Peter felt something wedged between the seat cushions.
He dug his fingers into the crevice and pulled out a scrap of black fabric. Lace. Definitely not a cleaning rag.
"Is this..."
Tony's eye twitched. His hand shot out with lightning speed, snatching the black lace underwear from Peter's grip.
He lowered the window and tossed it out in one fluid motion. The wind caught the evidence and whisked it away into the New York countryside.
"Dammit. How was that still in here?" Tony muttered, his face flushing slightly.
"Sir," Jarvis's crisp British voice filled the cabin. "Ms. Potts specifically instructed that no 'female personal items' were to remain in any of your vehicles. Her projected anger index upon discovery is categorized as 'Destructive'. Shall I connect you to her now?"
"No! Absolutely not! Jarvis, read the room!" Tony exclaimed, glaring at the dashboard.
He turned to Peter, who was fighting a losing battle against a fit of giggles. Tony cleared his throat, straightening his tie.
"Peter. Look. You're eighteen. You're a man now. Men understand these things... just in case, purely hypothetically, if Pepper asks..."
"I understand, Mr. Stark," Peter said, composing his face into a mask of solemnity. "I saw nothing. I know nothing."
"My man!" Tony grinned, clapping Peter on the shoulder. "I owe you an apology. I used to think you were just a kid, but I was wrong. You get it. Dealing with women... it's complicated. Which brings me to my point. I underestimated you."
Tony leaned back, a teasing glint in his eye. "Managing two girlfriends at once? Bold move, Parker."
Peter blinked. "Sir? I only have one girlfriend. Mary Jane Watson. You know her. The model? Please don't start rumors."
"Is that so?" Tony raised an eyebrow, yawning theatrically.
"Then... who is the Spider-Woman who likes to sneak into your bedroom window at 2:00 AM wearing a tight red suit? Mary Jane doesn't have powers, last I checked."
The silence in the car became deafening. The rhythmic tap-tap-tap of Tony's finger on the wheel seemed to synchronize with Peter's racing heart.
"Jarvis, what was her name again?" Tony feigned ignorance. "Right. Cindy Moon. Eighteen. Asian American. Goes by... Silk?"
Peter sighed, slumping in his seat. There was no hiding from Tony Stark. "Okay, fine. You know about Silk. But you're wrong, Mr. Stark. She's not my girlfriend. She's a partner. We fight crime together. That's it."
"Partner. Right," Tony drawled, clearly unconvinced. "So, purely as 'partners,' she climbs into your bedroom in the middle of the night and stays until dawn?"
"Mr. Stark! You... you're monitoring me?!" Peter's voice cracked.
"Relax, kid," Tony said, unrepentant. "Aunt May asked me to look out for you. I take my promises seriously. But let's skip the invasion of privacy debate for a second... are you seriously telling me nothing is going on?"
Peter opened his mouth to defend himself, but the words died in his throat.
If he insisted it was purely professional, even he wouldn't believe it.
"Relax," Tony laughed, enjoying Peter's squirming. "Your secret is safe with me. Us playboys have to stick together."