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Peter Parker Meets The Avengers

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“Hey Mister Stark, so I’ve got some homework and I was hop-” I cut off abruptly . Sitting in the middle of the polished granite kitchen of Tony Stark is the runaway Avengers. Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff, Bucky Barnes, Clint Barton, and Sam Wilson. Strewn about, they look familiar with the space, but still slightly unused to it. I suppose months away does that. “You’re not Mister Stark?” I say, slightly awe-struck.

 

“No. We’re not.” Natasha says dryly , eyeing me up and down from her place perched on top of the counter.

 

“Since when does Stark have a kid?” Clint kicks his legs on top of the table. Steve tuts at him, looking up from the newspaper and swatting at his legs.

 

“He doesn't.” Black Widow says. On second thought, “does he?”

 

“He doesn't.” The new voice is dry, unamused. All the heads turn to Tony. He's standing at the other entrance, carrying a stack of steaming pizza boxes with a tray of Starbuck cups balanced on top . Tony sets down the towering stack of pizza boxes on the table. “No! Honestly , I leave for five minutes to get the pizza and you think I’ve got a child?”

 

“To be fair, this random kid just shows up, asking for homework help, what were we supposed to think?”

 

“Don’t you think you would’ve noticed if I had a kid around the last sixteen years?”

 

“It would be the first thing you’ve kept from us..” Natasha says, slurping her steaming coffee.

 

Tony crossed his arms. “Yeah? What?”

 

“Ultron, for one.”

 

“That was-”

 

Interrupting the budding argument, I ask: “Hey, can I have some coffee?”

 

Tony and Natasha look up, her eyeing me dubiously . “No.” Tony refuses.

 

“Why not?” I whine.

 

“Because it’s bad for you.”

 

“You drink it all the time!”

 

“I don’t have a developing brain.”

 

“But-”

 

“No.”

 

“Please-”

 

Mr. Stark raises an eyebrow at me.

 

I fall silent, grumbling, “fine.”

 

Mr. Stark turns away, reaching to grab a slice of pizza. This is my chance.

 

In a sudden flurry of motion I vault over the granite countertop, grabbing Mr. Stark's steaming black coffee and dashing into the lounge .

 

“Hey! Peter!” comes Mr. Stark's outraged voice, I laugh, taking a long chug of his drink.

 

It’s hot coffee.

 

Like really hot.

 

I gasp, spluttering coffee over the carpet. “Ow! I burnt my tongue,” I mumble thickly , sticking the offending organ out.

 

“Serves you right,” comes a cool voice from the door.

 

“Mrrr Stttaaarrrkkk,” I gripe.

 

“Fine. Come in, and drink some ice-water.” he relents.

 

I wander back into the kitchen, where the Avengers seem to be in a deep debate.

 

“Seriously, did Tony just pick him up, or just find out about him...?” Steve wonders.

 

Clint: “He did have a few wild years,”

 

Sam: "How long ago was that? How old is the kid anyway?”

 

Steve: “16.”

 

Natasha, with a thoughtful look back and a click of her tongue: “Eh, possible.”

 

Bucky, throwing a look at Steve: “He already said it’s not his kid."

 

Natasha, snorting: “sure he isn’t. Have you seen the way they look at each other?”

 

Clint: “Definitely some father/son bonding there.”

 

"Jesus! Again!” Tony interrupts, throwing up his hands.

 

‘You can’t just spring this shit on us!” Sam protests.

 

“Sure I can. He's. Not. My. Biological. Child. Can you get that though your heads?” he spells out.

 

Ms. Romanoff looks down into her coffee and whispers, “biological.”

 

Tony ignores the comment, filling up a glass of water and dropping a few ice cubes in. They clink against the sides of the glass intermittently .

 

“Thanks, Mr. Stark.” I take the glass.

 

After some more whispered arguing, Bucky bites the bullet. “Who is this kid?” he  crosses his arms, one of them shiny and silver. Okay, I need to ask about that.

 

Mr. Stark takes a deep breath, “Guys, meet Spiderman.” he says heavily , I wave a little, sipping Mr. Stark’s coffee. Then wincing, yeah, not the best thing to do with a burnt tongue.

 

“He’s Spiderman?” Steve (aka CAPTAIN, FREAKING, AMERICA) says incredulously .

 

Tony nods, “that's what I said.”

 

Sam squawks, “He’s just a kid!”

 

“Hey!” I inject.

 

Tony spares a glance at me, “I know, I know—”

 

Steve cuts Tony off. “You brought him to a war-zone! We could have killed him!”

 

“Tony, he’s not even legally an adult!” Clint mouths.

 

Natasha and Bucky stay in stony silence.

 

“What on earth were you thinking!” Steve yells. That's the final string.

 

“I WASN’T!” Tony roars, he took a few, short, deep pant-like breaths. “I wasn’t thinking,” he continues, slightly quieter, calmer now. “I wasn’t thinking, I know he’s a kid, and probably got too much on his plate anyway, and it really isn't fair and he shouldn't even have powers and the fact I took advantage of him to fight our war is despicable—” The rest of his voice blurs out before it gets to my ears .

 

That’s it, I can’t handle it anymore. Spiderman was my choice. Sure, maybe Mr. Stark shouldn’t have taken me to Berlin, but I would have gotten into equal amounts of trouble here. I did get into a equal amount of trouble here. The Vulture dropped a building on me for god’s sake!

 

I kick off my shoes, stripping off my socks. My feet are cold on the tiles. I slam down my glass, making the water splash over the sides. Tony turns and attention is diverted to me. Spinning on my heel, I take off towards the wall, bare feet finding the edge between the tiles and paint easily . And then I’m vertical, climbing the wall with ease and speed. I clamber across the ceiling, opening the already unscrewed vent and disappearing inside.

 

"Peter!" Mr. Stark calls after me and then everything is quiet.





Chapter Text

The cool air of the vents greets me. I shuffle forward on my hands and knees, the grille swinging open behind me.

 

I like the vents. They're cool and silent and lonely. Someplace to think. Sometimes it’s a tight squeeze, but I deal with it. The tunnels run all around the tower. Sometime I wonder if they were made so large on purpose, or if it’s only a coincidence.

 

I keep shuffling forward, the familiar twist and turns of the maze before me. I'm up here a lot. I discovered the network when playing hide-and-seek, oddly enough. It takes a lot of persuading, and Mr. Stark pretty much just counts to 30 and then got F.R.I.D.A.Y to tell him where I am. But it’s nice that he even pretends.

 

I'm nearly to my room when I hear grunting ahead. Freezing, I shy away from the noise, yet curious to who it is.

 

“Jesus, when...did..these dam vents...get so tight?” Then a muttering of Russian expletives.

 

I crawl forward to see a half-in, half-out Natasha Romanoff. bn her head bobs oddly as she struggles through the vents.

 

“What are you doing?” I ask.

 

“Блядь!” She shrieks. Her foot kicks back and I can hear the chair she’s balancing on clang to the floor.

 

“Are you okay?” I ask, concerned.

 

“Yeah. I wanted to see if you were alright,” she pants, pulling herself up. I reach out a hand, helping her.

 

“Why?”

 

“You’re just a kid.” she shrugs. She tries to compose herself, huffing a clump of hair out of her face. “And I do have a maternal side, no matter how much I hide it.” she rolls her eyes, easing of of the sudden awkwardness away.

 

I blush darkly , “I’m not a kid!” I repeat.

 

She raises her eyebrows seriously , “You kinda are.”

 

I growl. “Fine. But no more, it’s bad enough Mr. Stark calls me Underoos.”

 

Natasha’s eyebrows raise up to her hairline, “he calls you Underoos?” she repeats, crazy grin spreading over her face.

 

“No..” I mumble, blushing again.

 

“He does! Oh my god, Clint is going to die when he hears that!” she laughs,

 

“No! Please don’t tell Mr. Barton!” I protest.

 

“Okay, okay, I won’t,” she pauses dramatically, a devilish grin spreading over her face. “But, you owe me a favor.”

 

“Deal, but-” I am unknowingly cut off by the recognizable voice of Tony Stark.

 

“Nat!” he raps on the door.

 

I motion a wild ‘move’ gesture at her, and she drops to the ground, right as Mr. Stark walks in.

 

There's a pause, then, “why were you on the ceiling?”

 

“I lost my earring.” she lies easily .

 

I can practically hear his suspicion, but apparently it’s not strange enough an event to warrant investigation . That itself speaks volumes. “Okay, whatever, I need to talk to you.”

 

“About what?” Natasha asks, I shuffle forward as quietly as I can, peering down into the room.  

 

“Peter. He’s just a kid, and I need you guys to go easy on him. Okay?”

 

Natasha raises an eyebrow. “What qualifies as ‘go easy on’?”

 

“No murdering—”

 

He’s immediately cut off by Nat, “No murdering Peter or people around Peter?”

 

He sighs, rubbing a hand over his forehead, “the fact that you even have to ask—”

 

She groans, “ Just tell me which.”

 

“Both.” he fixes her with a stare.

 

“Okay, I got it. Go on.”

 

“Second, no mentally scarring him: no gruesome recounts of past missions, no bad morals, no making out with Clint in plain view—”

 

“What! I don’t make out with Clint!”

 

Firstly , you need to stop interrupting me, second, we all know you have a thing.”

 

“Fine, and we don’t!”

 

“Third, no embarrassing him, god knows I do that enough.”

 

“...Embarrassing?”

 

“No picking him up from school, no nicknames - that’s my thing, no dragging him into disputes, no posting pictures, no beating up bullies - he won't let me so you don't get to, no scenes, no mentioning him in press conferences . No anything.” He finishes finally.

 

“Why would I pick him up from school?” she inquires, sounding confused. “Or any of that actually.” she adds, as if a second thought.

 

Tony raises his eyebrows, “That’s what I thought, the kid grows on you.” From my vantage point I see Natasha lift her head ever so slightly , eyes flicking to the vents above where I’m hiding.

 

“Yeah. I can see that.”

 

Tony moves to leave, opening the door and half-stepping out.  Before he does, he calls out: “I know you’re up there, Peter.”

 

There’s a moment of silence, then I stick my head out of the vent, grinning in both a mischievous and apologetic way. “Sorry, Mr. Stark,”

 

His eyes are masked behind iconic yellow ray-bans. “No problem, kid.”

 

Chapter Text

 

“Hey, Hap!” I call out at Happy Hogan’s half-visible face though the window, Happy cocks a hand in a wave. I say goodbye to Ned, walking towards the shiny black Audi.

 

I pull open the backseat door, sliding in without a look inside. Turning my head, I am met with a surprise. There, sitting with a slightlyawkward look on his face is Steve Rodgers.

 

“What are you doing here?!” I gush, eyes wide and starry at one of my heros, (still got a place in my heart, Iron-Man.)

 

Happy sighs from the front seat, “Sorry, kid, he made me.”

 

“No, no! This is like a dream!” I fanboy, “ohmygod ohmygod ohmygod!” I squeal, each ‘ohmygod’ rising in pitch. “What was it like in the ice? What was it like in the war? What was it like waking up? Ohmygod, what was it like watching TV for the first time??”

 

Mr. Rogers sighs, obviously used to this sort of attention but still slightly amused. “Tony seems to like you, so-"

 

I cut him off. "You think?" I ask shyly .

 

"I know," Mr. Rodgers reaffirms. "it's honestly disturbing, I've never seen the man so motherly ."

 

Anyway," he resumes, "I wanted to meet you without Tony peering over my shoulder and threatening to castrate me if I mentally damage you ."

 

“You mean his rules?” I click in my seatbelt with a snap and Happy pulls away from the curve.

 

“How do you know about that?”

 

I blush, “I totally wasn’t hiding in the vents when he told Ms. Romanoff. She’s nice by the way.” I decline to mention the fact I got caught.

 

He raises his blonde eyebrows, “nice?”

 

Pink rises to my cheeks again, “Yeah. She found me in the vents after I uh...ran off yesterday.”

 

“Huh,” He says, “she must like you.”

 

“I like her too.”

 

“She’s a good friend.” A moment of long, stretched out silence passes. Mr. Rogers clears the quiet with another question, “So, Spider-Man, huh?”

 

I chuckle, looking down in embarrassment, “Yep. I uh… started swingin’ around Queens and then Mr. Stark found me off YouTube, do you know what YouTube is? Well anyway he made me a new suit, helped me with my web serum.”

 

“Tony didn’t…” He searches for the right word, “...make you?”

 

I splutter, “um, if you’re asking if he’s my dad, he’s not.”

 

“No, no, I gathered that from yesterday. I meant, did he give you powers and make you into Spider-Man?”

 

“No. I did that all my myself.” I say proudly , puffing out my chest besides myself. Steve sees and smirks.

 

“How’d you get your powers?”

 

“Radioactive spider bit me.”

 

“What can you do?” Steve asks, sounding genuinely interested.

 

“I can climb walls and ceilings, and I have super strength, which I guess you figured, dropping an airport ramp on me and all .”

 

Steve winces, “Sorry about that, by the way.”

 

“It’s cool. We’re even, I took your shield.”

 

Steve laughs, “Real underdog, huh? You remind me of someone I used to know.”

 

“Yeah? Who?” I ask excitedly .

 

“A kid from Brooklyn in the forties. Real scrappy, would stand up to anyone, even though he was tiny.”

 

I beam with pride, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I check the screen, it’s Ned:

 

Sorry about Flash today. He’s a dick, don’t worry about it

 

I go to tuck my phone away, intending to reply later.

 

“Who’s Flash?” Steve asks, a determination in his eyes.

 

“Uh, no one. Just a kid at school.”

 

“He giving you trouble?”

 

“No, no -”

 

“Don’t lie to me, Peter.”

 

I sigh in defeat. “Fine. I guess he is, I mean it’s not bad, just -” Mr. Roger’s cuts off my ramble again.

 

“Tell me what he does.”

 

“He calls me Penis Parker,” I admit.

 

“If that’s the best he can come up with you should be bullying him. Anything else?”

 

I sigh again, “he makes fun of my parents. You know, how they’re dead. Also, he doesn't believe me about Mr. Stark and my internship, just teases me, you know? Asks if I’ve met any Avengers yet, that kinda thing. Honestly it's not a big deal.”

 

“Does Tony know about this?”

 

“Don’t tell Mr. Stark!” I bolt out, turning towards the Captain, “he can’t know!”

 

“Why not?” he says suspiciously.

 

“If he finds out he’ll rip Flash’s head off, and I do not need that publicity, and neither does he. I just know he’ll over-react and walk into school with a marching band, and promise to ruin his life, or something.” I sigh, slumping back in the seat, exhausted.

 

"What would get him off your back?" Steve asks, looking thoughtful.

 

"I dunno."

 

“Would Captain America picking you up do the trick?”

 

XxXxXxXxXx

 

I jump down the stairs two at a time, typing in the code to Tony Stark's workshop. The door beeps and lets me in.

 

“Captain America knows who I am!!” I annonce excitedly , bouncing on my toes.

 

Mr. Stark turns away from the workbench where he's fiddling with something, “How did you meet Cap?”

 

“He came with Happy to pick me up, said he wanted to meet me.”

 

“Damn it. The whole team is being nosy. I found Clint bugging my rooms yesterday.”

 

“What did you do?”

 

“Threaten to have loud sex all night and reconfigure the sound to go though his hearing aids and though the speakers in his room .”

 

I laugh, adding, “Please don’t do that, I’m in the floor above you.”

 

“ Roger that." he jokes purposefully .

 

"Did you just make a Captain America pun?"

 

"I'm afraid so." Tony admits quietly, "who have I become?" he mutters rhetorically.

 

"Me."

 

“Dear god.”

Chapter Text

I bounce out of the school doors, students flooding around me in a wave of pre-pubescent teen hormones.

 

 

Ned lingers by my side, “Is he really coming?” he asks, glowing with excitement.

 

 

“He said he was... but y’know, he might be busy, saving the world and all that.”

 

 

“Yeah-”

 

 

Flash cuts off Ned’s next words, “What are you two nerds waiting for?” he taunts, sautering forwards.

 

 

“No - Ah, nothing,” Ned stutters.

 

 

Flash cocks a brow, “ really , loser, nothing?” he takes a step closer, obviously wanting to start something.

 

 

“Hey!” The shout catches the attention of Flash, his head whips around, eyes squinting for the perpetrator . Steve Rogers takes off his helmet, straddling his idling motorbike at the curb.

 

 

Flash's mouth drops open, practically drooling. "Holy shit," he whispers.

 

 

The Captain is wearing civilian clothes, jeans and a blue shirt. His hair is mussed from the helmet, glinting in the afternoon sun.

 

 

He could be wearing one of Natasha’s dresses for all that I care.

 

 

I gape just as much as Ned and Flash because OH MY GOD HE'S ACTUALLY HERE.

 

 

“Peter,” Steve nods behind him, indicating for him to get on the bike. My jaw drops and I stumble forward on jelly-legs.

 

 

“Bye Ned,” I murmur, hoisting my bag further up my shoulders.

 

 

Steve smiles when I reach him, “does that do the job?”

 

 

Huffing out a laugh, “Flash just shit his pants!” I say gleefully , bouncing up and down on my toes.

 

 

Steve laughs, “ hopefully that’s a good thing.”

 

 

“Oh it is,” I reassure.

 

 

“Get on,” Steve nods to behind him, a second motorcycle helmet in his hands.

 

 

Really ?”

 

 

“Yeah. I’m giving you a lift back to the tower, remember?”

 

 

“Oh, I, um, sure!” I grab the helmet from Steve’s hands, fitting it over my head and buckling the strap.

 

 

I sit on the shiny leather seat, I’m not sure what to do with my arms until Steve wraps them around his own waist, smiling at me.

 

 

When we’re set to go, he revs the engine in a gravely roar, peeling away from the curb. I wave to Ned and Flash - the latter still open mouthed and gaping.

 

 

“Thank you,” I murmur, not sure if Cap’s heard it.

 

 

“No problem, Peter,” he says back, voice dulled by the rushing wind.

 

 

_____________________________________________________________

 

 

 

Steve and I walk through the kitchen door. Steve swings open the fridge and I bound up to Tony like an excitable puppy.

 

 

“How was your day, kid?” Tony asks, making a cup of coffee.

 

 

I bounce on my toes, “Mr. Rogers picked me up from school! And we went on his motorcycle!”

 

 

Tony freezes, turning back towards me with an icy glare, “You did what now?”

 

 

Seriously ?! You’re concerned about me riding a motorcycle?!”

 

 

“No I’m concerned about you riding a death machine. Do you even know the stats?” I open my mouth to reply but Tony beats me to it, “Because I do. The fatal crash rate for motorcycles is 72.34 out of 100,000. Motorcycles also have a higher fatality rate per distance traveled compared with automobiles. You you know what fatal means? It means death. Peter. Death."

 

 

“Of course I know what fatal means, and I didn’t die!”

 

 

"Well you could of! Does Steve even know how to drive?!"

 

 

Steve turns away from the fridge, "Of course I know how to drive, you've seen me."

 

 

"You may know how to drive on a battlefield but do you, do you really ."

 

 

"Why do you say that?"

 

 

"Because you were a poor New Yorker in the 1930s. Why would you need to drive in a civil setting?"

 

 

"Well... I may never of had driving lessons, per say, but that doesn't mean anything!"

 

 

“Steve, what do you have to say for yourself?”

 

 

“It’s a motorcycle, Tony,” he says weakly , "the kid does more dangerous stuff on a school night!"

 

 

“No! It's a Death Machine!” Tony ignores the latter point.

 

 

“Didn’t you once have sex on a motorcycle?” Clint waltzes through the door, eating a handful of doritos.

 

 

“Several times, and that proves my point exactly!”

 

 

“How do you even..?” Steve murmurs, looking confused.

 

 

“Don’t ask.” Tony says, arching his eyebrows into his coffee. He shudders, a shiver running up and down his spine, "oh god don't ask."

 

Chapter Text

“Hey kid,” someone taps me on the shoulder. “Kid. Kid!”

 

“Wha..” I jerk awake, tipping backwards off the stool I had fallen asleep on while studying in the kitchen. “‘M awake” I mumble blearily , sprawled out on the cold tile.

 

“I’m sure you are,” Clint says airly , leaning over the cool stone countertop. “Wanna poptart?” he asks brightly .

 

“Do you even have to ask?” I get up, wiping the drool from the corner of my mouth.

 

“It would be rude if I randomly shoved a poptart into your mouth, but if you’re okay with that get ready for a sneak attack.”

 

I yawn, “I’m always on guard, no attacking me, Mr. Barton, no siree.”

 

“Judging by the way you fell asleep in the middle of the kitchen, I’m gonna say no.”

 

“Eh, that’s different.”

 

“How so?”

 

“I have a science test coming up.”

 

“Right.”

 

I sit back down, rubbing my tailbone.

 

“What flavour?” he asks.

 

“Strawberry,” Clints answers.

 

“Don’t eat them all,” I warn, “Strawberry is Pepper’s favorite.”

 

“Ah, thanks for the heads up, kid.”

 

“No problem. I would incur Pepper’s wraith too, so it’s not that heroic.”

 

There's a break in conversation.

 

“What’s a smart kid like you studying so hard? Tony was bragging the other day about how smart you are.”

 

Just tired.” I give non-committedly , flipping through my notes.

 

“Yeah,” Clint leans forward, scrutinising the bags under my eyes, “Jesus kid, when's the last time you slept?”

 

I shrug my shoulders, “Like...Thursday... maybe ?”

 

“How are you still alive?” He asks, sounding genuinely confounded.

 

“Redbull and desperation.” I answer. The toaster pings.

 

“We’ll talk about that later,” Clint warns, getting the poptarts. I accept mine gratefully , biting into the fruity pastry. I groan in holy delight, poptarts will always sway my allegiance. Always.

 

After a few minutes of contented munching, Mr. Barton clears his throat. “So, Thursday? It’s Saturday, kid.”

 

“Time is just a construct,” I supply, very determinedly keeping my eyes away from his.

 

“Not that much of a construct.”

 

“You cannot define things on “how much of a construct they are”” I say, dropping my air quotes.

 

“Stop it, kid. I know you can talk circles around me, but I’m kinda worried.”

 

“I’ve just been so busy, like with school and patrolling and we have Nationals coming up, and then helping Mr. Stark in the lab, and it’s just so much .” I sigh explosively , my strings cut.

 

“You need to sleep, superhero or not. You can take a break.”

 

“People need me, Mr. Barton, you may be one of the avengers, but I’m just a friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man. I stop muggings and bank robberies, not super important shit like you guys.”

 

Clint took a second to respond. “Yeah. I get that.”

 

“So you see? I can’t take a break.”

 

“Kid,” Clint looked me in the eyes, “everyone can take a break.”

 

I sigh, “I guess. It’s just a lot of pressure, you know?”

 

“I know. But no-one is pressuring you, or expecting you to save the world in recess, okay?”

 

“Yeah. But like Mr. Stark made me this whole new suit and flew me out to Germany. And then when my Aunt May was late on rent he paid it and I only know that because of my enhanced hearing. I just feel like he’s helped me so much and I need to repay him, somehow,” I suck in a shuddering breath, tears prickling at the corners of my eyes .

 

Clint walks around the bench, discarding his half-eaten pop-tart next to mine. “Killing yourself isn’t repaying him. Tony…” Clint looks unsure on how to proceed. “I've never seen Tony so ridiculously happy than when he’s around you,” Clint smiles, and I see some of his parental-ness showing though . “Or Pepper, but that’s beside the point” he adds. “The point is he loves you, and I don't think you could do anything short of blowing up the entire tower and he’d still forgive you . And even then - you could probably get away with that too.”

 

I giggle wetly , a lone tear slipping down my cheek. I wipe it away stubbornly . Clint pulls me in for a hug, one of those big, warm, bear hugs where you get swallowed up. He smells like freshly mown grass and cologne.

 

We seperate, “Thank you, Clint.” I say honestly .

 

He smiles back at me, picking up his poptart again, “don’t mention it, kiddo.”

 

Chapter Text

I groan, throwing back the covers and getting out of bed. I’m staying the weekend with Mr. Stark at SI, Aunt May is out of town and she insisted. I don’t particularly mind, it means I get to work on cool tech everyday.

 

It’s been a few weeks since I wandered in on the Avengers. It’s been great ever since, chats with Steve Rogers, Natasha teaching me Russian, movie marathons with Clint. I still can’t believe it.

 

I hang out with the Avengers.

 

The Avengers.

 

If Flash knew he would piss his pants.

 

My geeky bedroom is dark, the only light coming from the the window in silver streams. Mr. Stark kitted it out especially, with a Star Wars duvet, shelves above my bed teeming with lego, and a comfy desk and chair to study on.

 

The glowing digital clock on my bedside table reads: 4: 21. I pad across the carpet as  quietly  as I can, opening the door with only a creak. The rest of the hallway is dark, no-one else is awake - not even Mr. Stark. A heavy, sleepy silence cloaks the tower.

 

I wander down the corridor towards the kitchen, the beige carpet soft under my bare feet. I used to get lost, but after the 5th time getting up in the night I manage my way. But still, the dark maze of hallways and rooms are unnerving.

 

The rest of the Avengers have  officially  moved into the tower - which the press is having a field day with - and everyone's settled into a routine . I come around at least three times a week, and have gotten to know everyone pretty well.

 

I push open the kitchen door, yawning. Stepping inside, I swing open the fridge door.  Instantly , a cold metal bar wraps across my throat from behind. I gasp, going stiff in surprise. The yellow light from the fridge illuminates a shiny silver arm - not bar.

 

In an automatic move I claw at the metal that’s squeezing at my windpipe, “Who are you?” the rough, unmistakable voice of Bucky Barnes whispers in my ear.

 

“Pe..Peter,” I choke out. The arm around my neck is gone in a instant. I gasp in air, slipping to the cold tiled ground.

 

“Sorry, sorry!”  he says  frantically , “I didn’t recognise you,” He sounds regretful,  genuinely , actually sorry .

 

“It’s fine, Mr. Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes sir,” I ramble, still catching my breath.

 

Honestly , Peter, I’m sorry. I  just  stepped into uh...HYDRA mode, and I  just  didn’t think.”

 

“Not your fault,” I stand up.

 

“I..I thought I was getting better,” he mumbles, pushing his hair back from his face.

 

“You are.” I say confidently.

 

He looks up sharply, “how would you know that?”

 

“I can hear through walls. Mr. America was talking to Mr. Stark about your improvement.”

 

“Been eavesdropping, have you, kid?”

 

“Not my fault, I can’t tune it out.”

 

“Huh. You  really  do have superpowers.” It’s not a question, not a statement either. Somewhere  in between . He wanders over to the counter, leaning on it  heavily .

 

“Yeah, got bit by a radioactive spider," I explain, fiddling with the hem of my T-shirt. 

 

“How’d that happen?”

 

“Field trip to Oscorp, I’m not sure when it happened, and the next thing I knew I was throwing up in the school bathroom.”

 

“Och.” Bucky winces  sympathetically .

 

“Yeah, it was horrible. The first week after the bite I felt like shit. I would pass out, and puke and I was always cold. But it was worth it, my powers I mean.”

 

“Damn. Sounds tough, kid.” I know he’s probably just humouring me, I mean he was in a war for god's sake, but it still strokes my ego.

 

“Want me to  demonstrate ?”

 

He snorts, “of course.”

 

I step back, clearing a bit of space. Bucky sees what I’m doing and steps back too. I do a backflip, landing on my feet  perfectly Normally  that would impress Ned, Aunt May or even Mr. Stark.

 

“That all? I could do that in my sleep,” Bucky teases.

 

I laugh, “I’ll bring out the big guns.”

 

I step closer to the wall, jumping the switch between horizontal and vertical. “I guess I already demonstrated this, but I don’t want to use my super-strength on Mr. Stark’s stuff.”

 

I walk up the plaster, hoping I’m not leaving footprints on the paint. In a moment I’m standing upside down on the ceiling.

 

“That’s pretty cool, kid.”

 

Really !?” I say incredulously.

 

“Yeah, that would have helped us out back in the day.”

 

“What were the forties like, Mr. Barnes?” I ask  eagerly .

 

He smiles  mistily , nostalgia thick in his voice when he speaks, “growing up was some of the best times of my life. I mean, there were bad things too. The Great Depression hit everyone hard, and I saw people starve, but we leant on each other.  Don’t even get me started on block fights, but swing music and stuff was  really  popular, so me and Steve would go dancing all the time .”

 

“I wish I could have lived back then, it would have been so cool!” I say  excitedly .

 

“We lived in a queer neighbourhood, and the parties would be  absolutely  awesome. I mean, the stuff we got up to,” he whistles, "I'm pretty sure I'm not allowed to tell you."

 

“Are you gay?” I know it’s probably insensitive, that even if he is it’s none of my business and if he even wanted to tell me, it would be in his own time.

 

Bucky swallows, “Uh, yeah, yeah I am.” he says, eyes meeting mine  tersely .

 

“Cool. So what’re block fights?”

 

Bucky laughs.

 


 

“Why is there footprints on the wall?” Steve walks into the kitchen. I choke on my cornflakes, coughing  suspiciously . Bucky pats me on the back.

 

“Why are you two acting suspicious?” Steve says, eyes narrowed. 

 

“Bucky’s gay,” I blurt out, “Sorry!”  I say to Buck, “I was  just  thinking about all the stuff you must’ve gone though and what a change that had to have been coming from a homophobic community to an accepting one and  just …” I falter, giving Bucky a ‘I’m sorry’ look .

 

Steve raises an eyebrow, “I know Bucky’s gay.”

 

“It wasn’t that big of a deal,” Bucky says, “I mean, we did live in a gay community, so we weren’t  that  exposed to homophobia. But we did know people who lived outside and  were hated  on.”

 

“Susanna, Joe Gringsworth, Violet Sherbasky,” Steve lists, sipping a mug full of coffee.

 

“Johnny White,” Bucky adds, raising his eyebrows.

 

“Yeah,” Steve sighs, looking sad, “poor Johnny.”

 

“What happened to Johnny?”

 

“Some guys beat him to death with a brick when they found out he was gay.” Steve says  bluntly .

 

“Holy shit,” I gape, “how is that allowed?”

 

“The police didn’t care,” Bucky explains, “ just  another queer.”

 

“How the fuck did that go by??” I demand.

 

“Language,” Steve warns, “and it didn’t. Half the community was out for blood. They found one of the pricks that did it.”

 

“What happened to him?” I ask, eyes wide as saucers. 

 

“Tied him up and threw him in the river," Bucky explains, picking at his metal arm. 

 

“Like the Hudson?”

 

Steve shrugs, “I don’t remember now.”

 

“Did you do it?”

 

Steve hesitates, “I helped.” he says  stiffly .

 

“How?”

 

“Got the ropes and stood watch while they threw the bastard in. Johnny was my friend.” he explains, fire boiling in his eyes.

 

Bucky clears his throat, “ I think  that’s enough. We don’t want to mentally scar him, and you remember Tony’s rules."

 

“Yeah. Sorry kid.” Steve apologises, the fire in his eyes simmering down. 

 

“No! It’s so cool! I’m gonna do my report on it!”

 

“On Captain America throwing homophobes in the river? Because I don’t think Pepper, or PR, would be very happy with that,” Bucky smirks.

 

“No, on homophobia, focusing on the thirties and forties.”

 

Bucky laughs, sharing a look with Steve, “You go, kid.”



Chapter Text

 

“Uh, hi?” I say. There's someone in Mr. Stark’s workshop that's not him and we were meant to hang out today.

 

She turns abruptly , and I nearly faint when I see who it is.

 

Princess Shuri of Wakanda.

 

PRINCESS SHURI OF FREAKING WAKANDA.

 

“Hello?” she asks to my gaping jaw, thick African accent coloring her words.

 

“Uh, hi,” I rush inside, letting the door swing shut behind me. I offer my hand, and then bow awkwardly , dying inside (I don’t think she notices), she covers her mouth with her hand, smirking . “Ms. princess, your majesty, Shuri,” I greet, not knowing what to say.

 

She accepts my hand tentatively , probably weirded out to death. “Hey, I’m Shuri.”

 

“I know,” I stutter, “Oh! I’m Peter.”

 

“Hello, Peter,” she laughs. “So do you work for Stark?”

 

“Uh, yeah, I guess I’m an intern.”

 

Her eyebrows lift, “‘I guess’? Do you not have a job?”

 

“No, the intern thing is just a cover. I’m ah,” I figure it’s cool to tell her. “Well, I’m spider-man,” I confess.

 

Her eyes go wide, “ SPIDERMAN?!” she shrieks, “I nearly broke a window when you stole Captain’s shield!”

 

“That was on TV?”

 

“Of course not. I hacked into the airport cameras.”

 

“You would like my friend Ned,” I recommend. “You into science?” I ask, looking round at what she's constructing on one of Mr. Stark’s spare workbenches.

 

“Yes,” she confirms, picking up an empty container that she doesn't need anymore. She throws it across the lab, yelling, “this bitch empty, yeet!”

 

I choke on my own spit. YES. FINALLY A GEN Z-ER. I’M GETTING SICK OF WANDA’S MILLENNIAL TASTES.

 


 

An hour later the lab is in utter disarray, Shuri and I are fightin g with REAL LIGHTSABERS, and I’m pretty sure we pressed a few buttons we shouldn't have, because I got a news alert that said some of the old Iron-Man's suits at the Smithsonian exploded out of nowhere .

 

Whoops?

 

“Oh no,” the voice comes from the door of the lab. Tony and KING T’CHALLA are standing at the doorway, slack-jawed.

 

“Mr. Stark!” I drop the lightsaber with a clank and a sizzle that does not sound like something melting, definitely not . “I met Shuri!”

 

“I see that,” he says, eyes roaming around his precious lab. “I forgot Peter was coming today,” he adds to T’Challa.

 

“What have we done?” the king whispers gravely .

 

“Hey Peter,” Shuri says, I turn away from Tony and T’Challa, who are still talking like it's the end of the world.

 

Dum-E’s wearing shoes -- sandals to be exact.

 

“What are thooosee!” Shuri and I belt out the same time.

 

Maybe it is the end of the world.

Chapter Text

“Mr. Stark?” I call out, wandering into the communal living room. It’s empty, no-one to be seen . “FRIDAY? Where’s Mr. Stark?”

 

“In his lab, but he’s coming up now. You can wait for him here.”

 

“Thanks, FRI.”

 

“No problem, Peter.”

 

I wander further into the room, flopping down on a couch. I pull out my science homework, figuring I’ll just do my homework up here, but something shiny catches my attention .

 

Thor’s hammer.

 

It’s just sitting there, a block of some type of metal-stone material with a sturdy leather handle.

 

It’s strangely beautiful, and I can’t stop looking at it. I reach forward, fingers grazing the stone. As soon as my fingertips make contact, a strange jolt of electricity runs through me.

 

I grasp the handle, pulling it across the table and towards me easily . It’s easy to lift, effortless, yet there's a strange grounding presence in my hand. Crackles of electricity flow through me every few seconds.

 

“Hey kid! Guess who’s visiting from Asgard…” Tony stops, open mouthed in the doorway, a blonde Thor next to him. Thor.

 

OMG. OMG. THOR, THOR. I’M GOING TO DIE. LITERALLY , THIS IS THE END GUYS. WE MET THOR AND NOW MY LIFE IS COMPLETE.

 

I’m snapped out of my fanboy/panic induced trance at (for once) Tony’s slack expression, and Thor's proud — and a little confused one .

 

Both of their gaze are set on the hammer still gripped in my hand. I nearly turn myself inside out in my apologies. What if picking up someone else's hammer is like totally rude in Asgardian society and now Mr. Thor’s gonna have to kill me !

 

“Omg, I’m sorry Mr. Thor! It was just on the table and I…” I stumble forward, past my forgotten homework. Too late I remember I’m still holding the hammer, and set it on the coffee table quickly. “Honestly, I am so sorry, like that's probably really rude, but I just didn't think and it was right there and…”

 

I trail off as the god approaches, lifting a hand and clapping it down on my shoulder, “it is of little consequence.”

 

“Oh, uh, it isn’t?”

 

Thor throws back his head and laughs, “of course not. You should be proud, mortal, not many have the worthy to wield such a weapon, you know now you have the power to rule—”

 

“And that's enough, Pointbreak,” Tony interjects quickly , cutting the god off. “We don’t want the kid getting a big head," he adds to Thor, quietly enough but I still hear it clearly . Super-senses and all.

 

“What? What’s the big deal?” I ask, tilting my head.

 

Tony’s gaze drifts to Mjolnir on the coffee table. “Nothing, kid,” he says finally, shushing Thor when he goes to say something. “Hey, how about you go start working in the lab. I’ll give you a hand with your homework.”

 

“I don’t need a hand, Mr. Stark. Genius, remember?" I say, a gathering my things, but still not convinced that everything's normal, especially when I see the hammer glinting on the low table .

 

"Yeah kid, I remember," Tony says, trying to smile, although it just comes off constipated -- strange for him.

 

I walk past the two superheros standing in the doorway. Tony’s glare to Thor silences him before he even opens his mouth.

 

They wait to talk until I’m down the hallway, but even then I can still hear.

 

“You do know that now he is a worthy ruler of Asgard —”

 

“Shush! The kid has super hearing!”

 

“Your son seems to be quite powerful.”

 

“SON?! No, I um, just , no I mean not to say — he’s not my kid.” Tony splutters, finally settling on a right answer.

 

“Oh, I see. My brother is adopted too.”

 

Tony’s protests slip out of my range of hearing.

 

I crack a smile, laughing to myself as I reach the workshop.

 

"Anything funny, Peter?" FRIDAY asks from the ceiling.

 

"No, FRI, nothing at all," I grin.

 

 

Chapter Text

“What do you mean Loki’s coming too?” Mr. Stark demands. I can hear him greying from my place on the couch. 

“I told you already, I wish for him to see earth's beauty as I have. Perhaps he will be...less murderous,” Thor says eloquently

“Yeah, buddy, I doubt that will stop him.”

“I have been quite entranced!” He booms, "perhaps he will be entranced equally."

 “You and Loki are quite different, if you haven't noticed.” Mr. Stark sighs.

 “We were raised the same, Man Of Iron!”

 “I doubt you were,” he mutters, swearing under his breath. After a moment of deliberation, he decides, “Fine. Loki can come. But —” Stark says to Mr. Thor’s enthusiastic face, “— if he even thinks about world domination, I will send him right back to Asgard.”

 “Understood, brother,” Thor says solemnly, going to leave now that his mission is accomplished.  

  “My god,” Stark curses under his breath, muttering something in Italian that I’m pretty sure I don’t want to hear. Delicate ears.

 

 

 


Three days later Loki and Thor arrive. Mr. Stark told me not to talk to the ‘manic’. Pfft, he looks nice and slightly misunderstood to me. Thor charges off to meet with Dr. Jane, leaving Loki, Mr. Stark and I alone in the compound. Mr. Stark has to take a business call, because — I quote — “Pepper will have my balls if I don't” I know he's serious because he doesn't laugh at my: “I thought Pepper already had your balls ?” Honestly, that's pretty funny. 

I’m thirsty, so I scrawl a note on a post-it, and suanter out of the lab to get a drink from the kitchen.

 


 “And who are you, pray tell?” Loki asks, stepping forward. I choke on my water, coughing heavily.

I swallow. “Uh, hi, my name's Peter and aren't you mean to be evil?”

Loki shrugs, “I can hardly keep up anymore.”

“Oh, cool, cool,” I say, nodding along and trying to be casual.

He cocks a brow, smile growing, “you are son of Stark, correct?”

“What..no, no, no! I’m not his..uh, I’m not Mr. Starks kid! Not that that wouldn't be awesome and everything, but yeah, I’m not uh...his,” I cringe. 

YOU MEET A LITERAL GOD AND THIS IS WHAT YOU DO. WHAT THE HELL, PARKER.

“Huh, I see. Romanoff son?”

“No!” I say frantically

“Bruceson?”

“Bruce is cool, but he's not my dad.”

“Steveson?”

“Uh, I don’t even know if that’s possible.” 

“Buckyson?”

“Again, don’t know if that's possible.”

“Pepperson?”

“Ms. Potts is awesome and MJ says she's an iconic woman, but, uh, no.”

“Hmm.” Loki stops to think for a moment, then gasps, “lokison?!”

“No, no! My parents died when I was little,” I clarify.

“Ah,” Loki reaches out to rest a surprisingly cold hand on my shoulder, “I see. My parents are dead too, both biological and not.” 

“What do you mean, ‘biological and not’?” I question, confused. 

He barks out a laugh, “you do not know?” at the shake of my head he continues, “I am a frost giant, adopted by Odin and raised alongside Thor.”  

A pregnant moment passes between us while I try and control my wild grin, “Elsa,” I whisper, not able to wrangle myself. 

“What?"

 


 

Time jump 5 hours.

 

“Peter, why are there penguins lose in Central Park?” the pirate asks, at least that’s what he looks like. I know, logically, that this man is the commander of one of the most feared organizations in the world, and he is just as deadly as the spies he commands...but come on! An eyepatch?! That's asking for shiver-me-timbers jokes!

 “Uh, because there aren't any polar bears?”

 Fury sighs, steepling his hand on his tempel “my god,” he whispers.

 Tony barges through the door. I shiver, the kool aid juice I'm doused in is not helping -- especially with aircon. 

“That thing with the models,” he blows a kiss towards me, “fantastic.” 

“It was Mr. Loki’s idea, Mr. Stark.” I blush, “but the slime was mine.” 

“Rhodey and me at MIT couldn't have done better.”

“Rhodey and I, Mr. Stark," I correct. He's a genius, shouldn't he know basic grammar? 

“Whatever,” he waves a hand at me. “Let’s go!”

“Are we allowed?” I ask, sparing a glance at Fury — looking as done with life as a middle-aged janitor at a high school. Honestly, mood.

 “Of course we are!” Tony jets out before Nick can respond, “c’mon Peter.” He opens the door and I get up and make my way out, squelching slightly.

 “Wait, where’s Mr. Loki?”

“Detained with Thor. We’ll break him out later.” Tony closes the door, cutting off Fury mid-rant: “I swear to god Stark, if you break out a megalomaniac I will—!”

“I thought you didn't like Mr. Loki?” 

“I don’t, I like his pranks,” the billionaire -- and apparently prankster -- says, turning down a corridor.

“Next you’ll be tell me that you don’t like Star Trek.” 

“Welllll,” Mr. Stark screws up his face, whistling slightly.

 “Mr. Stark!” I breath, scandalized and offended to my very core.

“Hurry up, kid,” he says, powering forward. I run to catch up, picking egg out of my hair.

 

Chapter Text

Peter comes home on Friday, pushing open the door with one hand and slinging his backpack to skid across the shiny tiles towards the couch .

 

Without looking at the kitchen, he turns towards the fridge, rifling though it's contents .

 

“Who are you?”

 

“Agh!” he shrieks, falling backwards. A dark-skinned warrior with braided hair and white marks decorating her face is bending over him, shiny blade pointed at his throat .

 

“I will say again, who are you?”

 

“Peter, Peter Parker,” I stammer, eyes fixated on her knife.

 

“You’re the spider-boy?”

 

“Spider- Man!” I protest, she cocks and eyebrow and I mutter, “but it doesn't matter.”

 

“Huh. Thor told me about you.” She straightens, flicking the blade into a hidden pocket somewhere.

 

“Oh, uh, he did?” I say hesitantly , getting to my feet. The girl doesn't apologize, just saunters over to the counter.

 

“Yes. He says you are quite adorable.”

 

“I’m...I’m not,” I say weakly , flexing my back under my shirt.

 

“Whatever,” she says, tipping her head back and sculling the bottle left sitting on the table.

 

“Wow, you drink...fast,” I say, watching in awe.

 

She finishes the bottle, raising an eyebrow, “and?”

 

“Nothing, I’m just impressed.” I say quickly , covering up the awkwardness with blabber, “Not even Mr. Stark can drink that fast, and I’ve seen him down a full bottle of champagne to get away from talking to a journalist .”

 

“Hmm,” she says, slamming her bottle down. “Want some?”

 

What if it’s really disrespectful not to take what's given to you?! Omigod I have to take it. Only a sip would be okay...right? “Uh, yeah, sure.” I say.

 

“No! The spider- BABY would not like any.” Quick as a whip, Tony darts in, grabbing the offending bottle and dashing away.

 

“Mr. Stark!”

 

“You are underage!” he says from the lounge. “It’s illegal, Underoos! Illegal!”

 

“Yeah, but it’s Asgardian, Tony, Asgardian. I'm being cordial!”

 

“That doesn't matter! You are not getting drunk until you are at least 30!”

 

“What about you!”

 

“What about me?” he says, cocking his head, daring me to continue.

 

I roll my eyes, “Mr. Stark, everyone remembers Halloween 2006.”

 

He goes to say something, but his mouth open and closes like a goldfish, “okay, but— that is totally different.”

 

“Is it?” I taunt.

 

“Yes, because I was over-age and a functioning adult.”

 

I raise my eyebrows, “Mr. Stark, you're not a functioning adult now.”

 

“That’s true, but you’re not drinking on my watch.”

 

Peter blinks, eyes flicking everywhere, “Uh, yeah, I’ve never gotten drunk before,” he says nervously.... no he LIES nervously .

 

Tony narrows his eyes, “Peter—”

 

Peter cuts him off before he can even start to grill him.

 

“Okay, it was one time and Flash invited us to this party and people were drinking... so FOR SCIENCE Ned and I decided to test if I can get drunk. I can," I bursts out, wringing my fingers together.

 

“Kid,” Tony sighs, resting his hand in his forehead.

 

“I can get hangovers too.” I tell him solemnly . “Although mine aren't that bad. I think .

 

Tony is leaning on the counter, swearing and moaning: "what am I gonna tell his aunt? Do I tell his aunt? Whyyy Peter."

 

The knife-girl is leaning on the counter, toying with the empty bottle in her hands. “oh, I like you,” she murmurs, voice a strange twist of Asgard and Sakaar.

 

"My name's Valkyrie, by the way."

 

"Hi," I say, leaning over Tony to shake her hand. She eyes my outstretched fingers for a moment, and then shakes my hand lightly .





Chapter Text

“Uh, hi Ms. Potts,” I say awkwardly.

 

She stops short. “Hi? Uh, I don’t know how you got up here, but you better get back down to R&D fast. Tony doesn't like anyone in his personal labs,” she warns, setting down her armful of paperwork in preparation to rush me to the door .

 

“Um, I’m uh, allowed up here,” I stammer, still unbelieving that I'm meeting Pepper Potts, the Pepper Potts. “MJ says that you're an iconic women in business, by the way,” I blurt out.

 

She turns to me, confusion clear in her gaze, “thanks?”

 

“Hey, Underoos! Where are you?” Mr. Stark’s voice echoes from the other room just in time.

 

I bound though with a glance to Pepper, who follows me slowly .

 

Tony’s fiddling with the TV, twisting some wires together intently . In typical Tony Stark fashion, he doesn't even notice our entry.

 

Pepper sighs, “Tony.”

 

He crawls out from under the TV, “Hi Pep!”

 

“What have I told you about adopting interns?"

 

“Well, he's not exactly an intern, per say,” Tony hums, blinking his lashes innocently .

 

Pepper narrows her eyes, “what is he, then?”

 

“Uh...Spider-Man?” Tony squeaks, ready to run.

 

Pepper just freezes, battling internally , “Tony, are you telling me you took a teenager to Germany to fight Captain America .”

 

“Yes?”

 

“I was already Spider-Man, Ms. Potts,” I rush in. “It's not Mr. Stark's fault, he actually helped. I would have killed myself running around without a proper suit.”

 

“Don’t say that,” Tony cuts in harshly. I flinch, and his face softens. “Sorry, it’s just...I put you in danger, kid, you never should have been in Germany, much less fighting Cap.”

 

“Mr. Stark —”

 

“Kid,” Tony cuts in, “don’t even try.”

 

“Tony,” Pepper says, arching her eyebrows in a look that totally means something. Tony clears his throat.

 

“Right. Kid, you can go grab your web-shooters from the shop if you wanna work on them down here."

 

“Okay, Mr. Stark,” I say hesitantly and suspiciously , standing up and walking to the door. Mr. Stark gives me a ‘shoo' gesture, I roll my eyes and walk down to the lift.

 

“What's with the Mr./Ms. thing?” I hear Ms. Potts ask Tony.

 

I can hear Tony shrug, “dunno. I don’t mind it.”

 

“Huh,” Pepper says, and that's all I hear, their conversation falling out of my range of hearing.

 

When I come back up the living room is empty and Tony is back to fiddling with the TV.

 

“How’d it go?”

 

He looks up, “some minor persuasion on my part, but it’s fine.”

 

“She’s cool with it?”

 

“With what?”

 

I give him a look, tilting my head, “Spider-Man, dude!”

 

“Oh right, right, right. Yep, no she’s okay.”

 

“Are yous sure?” I prod.

 

“Yes Mom,” he stresses. I wrinkle my nose the same time as he bursts into laughter.






The next time I visit the tower there’s a plate of cookies sitting on the couch, covered in glad-wrap with no less than three sticky notes .

 

TONY. NO. DO NOT EAT. I DON'T CARE (FOR ONCE) HOW LONG YOU’VE BEEN IN THE WORKSHOP. GO TO THE FRIDGE.

 

CLINT, YOU TOO. I WILL TELL LAURA.

 

Peter, these are for you. They are good bargaining chips with the rest of the team, so use wisely ;) -Pepper.

 

I full-out laugh, unpeeling the glad-wrap carefully to use later, it’ll make a good trap. I doubt world-class assassins are trained in the art of glad-wrap (it is an art.) I take a cookie, sinking my teeth into the chewy-soft sweet dough. They’re perfect. If I could, I would marry this cookie — hell, I’ll marry it anyway.

 

“Peter,” Natasha says in way of introduction. I jump slightly , but it’s better than that time I dropped four eggs ‘cos she walked into my bedroom without me noticing . Don’t ask why I had eggs in my bedroom.

 

“Hi, Nat.”

 

“What you doing?” she leans over my shoulder, “cookies?”

 

Beaming, I say, “I met Pepper, finally.”

 

“Haven’t you before?”

 

“She’s always been busy or away," I explain.

 

“Ah,” Natasha fingers go to pluck a cookie, but I swat her hand away.

 

“Uh-uh, my cookies.”

 

“Did Pepper tell you to use them as bribes?” Natasha laughs.

 

“Bargaining chips, actually.”

 

“Sounds like her—”

 

“Hey! I want cookies!” Clint interrupts, sauntering through the door.

 

“Too bad!” I yell back, re-wrapping the plate and dashing out the door to my room.

 

“Wait!” Clint yells, chasing after me.

 

“Never!” I grin manically , sprinting down the hallways.

 

Chapter Text

When I come home as per usual on Friday, I find a scary-looking pirate waiting. He looks pissed off and irritated, so I'm guessing he's just talked to Mr. Stark .

 

Uh, no, I’m not getting into this. I put down my bag, intending to retreat. Of course he sees me.

 

He arches an eyebrow, one good eye staring at me. “Who are you?”

 

“Uh.. Peter, who are you?” I ask in return.

 

“Director Fury,” he greets, not extending a hand. Neither do I.

 

“Right. Well,” I turn towards the door awkwardly . I can still escape. I’m sick of meeting superheros in the kitchen, ( why is it always the kitchen?!)

 

His voice stops me, “who are you?”

 

I turn back around, “I told you, Peter.”

 

He chuckles a laugh. I have a feeling it's not because what I said was funny. “No, who are you to Stark and the others?.”

 

“Well I dunno...I’m Mr. Stark's intern —” I lie frantically ,

 

“— yeah, yeah Spider-Man. I mean personally , to the team.”

 

“Wait how do you know I’m —” I lower my voice to a conspiratorial whisper, “Spider-Man?”

 

“Kid, we have multiple pictures of you climbing into your window, and that's not even the start. Honestly , I’m surprised you haven't been attacked by super-villains several times, anyone who cares could have found out easily . Now, back to the main point,” he says, cutting off any replies. “Who are you to the Avengers?”

 

“I dunno, I mean, I think everybody likes me,” I shuffle awkwardly . “I’m learning Russian from Ms. Romanoff and Bucky and Steve helped me on a paper for school. I got an A+.”

 

“God, it’s worse than I thought,” he mumbles, rubbing a hand over his eyes...well, eye.

 

“What is?” I let out a little shriek, jumping, Fury does the event of the same, looking up hastily .

 

Natasha is standing behind me, smiling sugar sweet, something sharp and devilish behind her smile, coated in red lipstick.

 

“Now, паук, we have to go. Stark’s planning a prank war,” she puts her hands on my shoulders, fingers curling along my collar bone. I know her eyes have not strayed from Fury, and I know any other man would be scared shitless right now.

 

Fury is not any other man.

 

“Agent —”

 

“— I’m not sure what crimes or connections this minor has to any criminal organization, and I very highly doubt you are here to recruit him, so, I would recommend leaving before Stark comes down you see you preying on a close confidant and child .”

 

Fury stares after us stonily , Natasha marching me out of the kitchen. I whisper a ‘thanks’ and she only shakes her head, “you do not have to thank me, паук.”



Chapter Text

Peter bumped into someone while entering the living room, “oh, sorry,” h mumbled, not looking up from his homework . He has three tests in the next week. Three . Even if he's a 'genius' like Mr. Stark keeps telling him, he needs to learn these Spanish vowels.

 

“No problem,” comes a vaguely Russian-sounding voice. Peter’s head snaps up, realising it's not an Avenger.

 

“Hey, you're that magic girl,” Wanda blinks at him, Vision hovering a few feet behind.

 

“Wanda. But yes.”

 

Peter nods, eyes turning to Vision. “Woah, you're like a robot,” he says, staring up at him.

 

“Yes.” he says, his impersonal, British voice amused. “Although Mr. Stark likes to call me an AI stealer. If not sure how I feel about the moniker.”

 

Peter laughs, “yeah, he calls me weird things too. I think he does with everyone.”

 

“Yes, I have found that,” Vision agrees, his cloak rippling around him.

 

“He calls you the….spider, does he not?” Wanda asks, “you are Peter, correct?”

 

“Yeah, Peter Parker, nice to meet you,” he sticks out a hand.

 

She takes it with a jovial smile, “I’m Wanda Maximoff.”

 

“I’m sorry, I have business to attend to,” Vision says, “it was nice meeting you, Peter,” he nods cordially and floats through the wall .

 

“....That's creepy.”

 

She raises an eyebrow, “yeah. You get used to it.”

 

“Cool. Can you yeet me across the room?”

 

Wanda shrugs, “sure.”

 

She's raising her hands in preparation, red light gathering between her fingers, when Mr. Stark walks into the room . He sees Peter’s grinning face and Wanda’s outstretched hands and yells “No!”

 

As quick as a blink, the smile is wiped off Peter’s face and if not for the press coverage, you would have no idea Wanda can control magic .

 

“We weren't doing anything,” Peter says innocently , clasping his hands behind his back. Wanda copies, pulling out doe-eyes.

 

“I know you, Peter! I swear to god, if you asked someone to ‘yeet you’, again , I’m disowning you.”

 

“...but, Mr. Stark, we’re not related.”

 

“It was a figure of speech, and you didn't disagree!”

 

“Ah ha, but I didn't agree, either,” Peter cackles, high-fiving Wanda, who goes along with it, although looks slightly confused .

 

Tony just stares, you can see his hair greying and his face seems to get more confused/concerned/exasperated by every passing second . “Peter,” he finally says, slowly , calmly , “if you don't stop, I’m gonna yeet you off the helipad .”

 

Peter starts to smile madly , an idea glimmering in his eyes.

 

“Peter. NO.”



Chapter Text



"All right, all right, sit down, the lot of you!" Steve yelled over the hubbub, carrying two steaming plate of food. Bruce came in behind, also carrying plates.

 

They’re having a big team dinner, all crowded onto the newly-extended dining room table, all the Avengers are here, Pepper, Happy, Ant Man, Hope, Cassie, Brunnhilde, Korg, Dr. Strange, Carol, Wanda, Shuri, T’Challa, all the Guardians of the Galaxy, Bucky, Rhodey and Nebula. 

 

“This is really good Mr. Steve,” Peter said earnestly, after his first big bite.

 

“Thanks, Peter,” Steve smiled.

 

“Took a couple hours in the kitchen, but it’s well worth it,” Bruce added on.

 

“I’ll say,” Tony murmured from Peter’s left. “It’s great, Cap.”

 

“In Asgard, we roast boars over a spit for several hours,” Brunnhilde offers. “This is not too dissimilar, I find.”

 

“In Louisiana,” Carol says, “we...”

 

Peter fazes out of the conversation easily, pushing peas around his plate. He looks up and thinks family. Mr. Stark is flicking peas at Clint — who is throwing them right back — Natasha is filling Brunnhilde’s glass with vodka, Dr. Strange is spinning magical yellow symbols into the air, and Thor, Korg and Shuri are all in a contest of some sort, run by Pepper, Rhodey looks like he just wants to eat his steak and get rid of Rocket, who is no doubt trying to get him to sell the armour, the rest of the Guardians are arguing, Carol is talking to Bucky about...fight critiques? And Scott and Hope are not-so-subtly making eyes at each other, something that Cassie is miming throwing up about. 

 

“What about you, squirt?” Natasha asks him.

 

“Oh… my Aunt can't cook,” he says. The table roars into laughter, Tony gagging at the memory.

 

Yeah, Peter thinks again, this is family.