Ten minutes.
The two armored suits beat each other to pieces for ten full minutes, while Clark played perfect battlefield babysitter and area control. Across the entire freeway, aside from the pavement shattered by the two machines fighting, there were, unbelievably, zero civilian injuries. Not one house had collapsed.
Inside the suit, Tony was getting more relaxed the longer the fight went on.
Because, honestly, it was starting to feel like there was no possible way he could die.
"Damn it, with that monster covering the whole field, this feels like I'm playing some simulator with invincibility, locked health, and infinite respawns turned on," Tony grumbled to JARVIS.
At last, after being quietly humiliated by Clark over and over again, Iron Monger finally snapped.
"If you're going to kill me, then kill me! Stop toying with me!!!"
Tony looked at the nearly broken Iron Monger and knew this was his chance.
With one last push, he forced the giant machine back toward the reactor at the Stark Industries campus.
Clark glanced at the sky and decided it was about time.
"Damn. I made a round trip to Los Angeles and still haven't bought the sauce. Mom's going to give me a look."
Clark waved at Tony. "World's richest man, nice suit. But don't forget that icing problem at high altitude. I've got stuff to do, so I'm heading out. Good luck."
"Oh, and I'll see you in New Mexico this weekend."
Before Tony could say a word, Clark was gone from Los Angeles and out of Tony's sight.
Tony blinked behind the helmet.
"JARVIS... did he just criticize my suit for an icing problem?"
"Yes, sir. It appears Superman did not waste his time in school."
Tony rolled his eyes, then turned his full attention back to the enemy in front of him.
With Clark there, he no longer had any reason to hold back.
In the end, working together with Pepper, he overloaded the giant arc reactor and blew Iron Monger to pieces.
Back in Queens.
"See you around, Mr. Lee!"
Clark waved goodbye to Stan Lee as he left the corner store, two bottles of black pepper sauce in hand.
By the time he pushed open the front door, only twenty minutes had passed.
"Perfect."
He handed the bottles to his mother, then turned and saw a crowd gathered around the couch, all watching the television.
Some people might ask why nobody had gone to school that day.
Because Ben had simply called them all in sick and ordered everyone to stay home and enjoy two days off.
On the screen was footage from the Los Angeles battle.
That figure in midair, holding up a bus with one hand, was a little blurry because of the camera quality, but the S on his chest was unmistakable.
Peter looked at his brother walking in and nearly dislocated his jaw.
He had always known Clark was fast, but he had never imagined that fast. Fast enough to finish a fight in Los Angeles, come back, buy groceries, and still be home in twenty minutes.
In a tiny voice, he whispered, "You were just in Los Angeles?!"
Eddie, meanwhile, was in full fanboy mode.
"It's the S-man! Oh my God, he showed up again! He saved Iron Man in Los Angeles! Clark, did you see that?!"
Ben just looked at his eldest son, the smile in his eyes impossible to hide.
"Saw it," Clark said calmly as he sat down beside Eddie, not blushing in the slightest. "Every television on the street was showing it. Looks like the S-man doesn't only help New Yorkers."
The next day at noon, the eyes of all America once again turned toward Tony Stark.
Because his press conference had begun.
Coulson handed Tony several cards filled with prepared cover lines.
"You were on your yacht. Iron Man is only your bodyguard..."
Standing beneath the lights and looking at the cards in his hand, Tony remembered Clark, the man who had stepped in, solved the crisis, and vanished without asking for credit.
The old Tony might have gone with the script.
Something like: "Yes, yes, that was a new Stark Industries product. We were simply conducting testing."
But the current Tony wanted to be the loudest possible mortal hero, the one willing to stand in the open, in direct contrast to that hidden Superman who refused to show his face.
Tony crushed the cards in his hand, looked at the sea of cameras below, and smiled with absolute confidence.
"The truth is... I am Iron Man."
The room exploded.
This was the first major public hero of the century to openly admit his own identity.
"That's incredible! He actually admitted he's Iron Man!"
"This is the biggest story of the century! If I ever get a chance to land exclusive photos of Iron Man, old man Jameson will have to give me a raise!"
Clark smiled as he watched his two younger brothers losing their minds.
If he revealed himself like that too, what would happen?
"Either way," he said quietly, "the age of superheroes has arrived."
Early Saturday morning, outside the Parker house.
Clark was dressed like he was going on some kind of expedition, though the overall result made him look more like an oversized Boy Scout heading into the wild.
Peter looked at his brother, full of confusion and reluctance.
"You're really leaving New York right now? Fisk may have run, but the Green Goblin's still out there! And the underground gangs are shooting it out every day over turf!"
"Peter, I'm spending a weekend in New Mexico, not going off to colonize Mars," Clark said with a laugh, ruffling his brother's messy curls. "Besides, doesn't New York already have your little spider team? If every random thug fight still needs me to show up, then what exactly are those powers of yours for?"
That was Clark's logic.
Let them take a few hits from real life.
Flowers raised in a greenhouse don't survive storms.
And more importantly, he was going to New Mexico to watch gods throw hands. Why would he drag three clingy little sidekicks along and ruin the show?
At that moment the little angel popped up in his head, dressed like an anxious suburban mom.
But they barely have any real field experience. What if they run into serious trouble in Hell's Kitchen? Maybe we wait a couple more days before going?
"Relax," Clark told the little thing in his head, mentally muting it. "They're tougher than you think."
Then he slung on his backpack and turned toward Mary Jane, who stood nearby with her arms folded.
"MJ, I'm leaving the three of them in your hands this weekend. They've got power, but no sense of the bigger picture. You're their logistical brain, otherwise known as their handler. Keep track of them, monitor police radio, street cameras, everything. If they run into something they can't handle, you call for retreat immediately. No heroics, no dragging it out."
"And if it really goes bad, call me."
Mary Jane's eyes lit up like jewels. She threw him a somewhat shaky mock-military salute.
"Roger that, sir! I promise I'll keep these three muscle-brained idiots organized down to the minute!"
Peter suddenly got a very bad feeling.
By noon, New Mexico.
A battered long-distance bus pulled into the only stop at the edge of town.
The doors opened, and a tall young man in hiking gear, black-rimmed glasses, and a backpack stepped off.
Breathing in the dry sandy air and feeling the warmth of the sun overhead, Clark stretched, trying to recall the strange dream he'd had on the ride over.
He could already see the crowds drifting toward the hammer site, all eager to see whether they could move it.
But S.H.I.E.L.D. had already erected a perimeter and set up a base around it. They were preparing to study it now.
Clark wasn't in any hurry.
Tony hadn't arrived yet anyway.
So he headed first toward the town diner.
"Hopefully the burgers here are better than the ones in New York," he muttered, "and maybe while I'm at it, I'll figure out what that dream was supposed to mean."