Of course Spider-man would be thinking up high. That wasn't the call Tony would have made at all, already starting to skim lower to find a tunnel or subway access to duck into and out of sight, but he still laid them flat against a bank of windows at Spidey's instruction, making them rattle with the force of his jets before rolling out of his sharp turn. It was far enough, and if they circled around to the North side they might just disappear after all, long enough to keep the mob occupied and slip back to the MoMA.
"Hang on," Iron Man instructed as they reached the building's tiered peak, releasing Spider-Man abruptly to grab a ledge, flaking under his grip, for steady support. Hanging on like a metal gargoyle, he considered the observatory below, unnaturally still and barren before dropping down heavily. The sudden silence behind the windguard was uneasy comfort. Up here, he could see flare of small fires dotting the city, as the wind carried their black smoke across the river and the strange, crawling streets like maggots on a corpse. Some of those people were still alive and had found each other; that was good, right? Maybe they were all family and just meant to protect each other. By shooting first and swarming.