Seconds tick by to slowly add up to the final sixth minute. A hot breeze swells and passes through the window despite the dully overcast conditions, accompanied by a muted whoosh of air.

"You'll catch flies like that, kid." Tony Stark's characteristically dry voice sounded from thin air.

Before the boy had any time to puzzle over it, Tony's equally characteristically smirking features popped out from nowhere, inches away from Peter's own. It looked as if someone had begun to paint his portrait against the New York skyline and simply stopped at the face. (Alternatively, if he had stuck his face through one of those corny cut-out boards, but with buildings.)

"Open the window some more and back up. The stealth armor is a sleek beast, but she's still a lady. You wouldn't let a lady bump into things during her grand entrance."