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Chapter Text

When Peter first brought the permission slip home, Aunt May laughed herself silly before signing her name on the line at the bottom of the page with an unnecessary amount of flourish.

“May,” Peter whined.

“No,” Aunt May said sternly, but with laughter in her voice. “You are going.”

“But May,” Peter objected, “I’m already there every other day. It’s not like I need a tour of the building. I practically live at the tower.”

Aunt May pressed her lips together, and Peter flicked his eyes away. He felt guilty all the time, people he didn’t save, times he’d disappointed Mr. Stark, but the thing he always felt the most guilt over was lying to Aunt May about being Spiderman, and refusing, even after she caught him in the suit and rained hell down on him, to give up his vigilante activities. At the very end of her rope, she’d made him promise that he’d let Tony take care of him, and she bullied Tony into letting him actually fulfill regular intern-related tasks (her way of forcing him to keep up with his academics) along with watching over him when he went out on patrol. But in the long run, that meant he almost spent more time with Mr. Stark, in the lab, and in the suit, than he saw Aunt May, or was home at all. He still slept at home, had breakfast with May when he could, but after school almost every day he was either on the streets, Spiderman-ing about, or in Mr. Stark (“Please, for god’s sake, kid, call me Tony”)’s lab.

[He made sure he still had dinner three nights a week with Aunt May, and if one of her days off fell on a weekend, he took the day off from Spidermaning and from Tony’s lab, because no matter what, he didn’t want to lose her too, but sometimes Peter thought that maybe, for Aunt May, that wasn’t enough. Not that she’d ever say so out loud.]

But May was full-on grinning at him now, and refused to relent.

“No,” she said cheerfully, “it’ll be good to go with your class. Who knows, maybe the public tour will have some information you haven't yet gleaned from the great Tony Stark,” and yeah, there it was. She hadn’t quite forgiven Tony for helping Peter hide his Spider-activities from her. “Plus, you wouldn’t want Ned and Michelle to have fun at SI without you, would you?”

Peter thought maybe he wouldn’t mind missing out on shenanigans with Ned, or bantering with MJ (“My friends call me MJ”), if it meant he didn’t have to deal with Flash being an ass to him in his place of work. Place of internship. Ever since Ned had dropped the ‘Peter interns at Stark Industries’ bombshell in the middle of class (well-meaning, but with poor results), Flash wouldn’t let it go, claiming Peter was lying about the internship and knowing Spiderman and, honestly, anything else he could get away with. And sometimes Peter felt that half the class believed Flash over him, if they cared at all, and really, honestly, Peter didn’t want to have to deal with that. 

Peter knew his internship at Stark Industries was real (both his internship and his ‘internship’), and Ned knew, and so did MJ, so it shouldn’t matter what Flash thought, or what he said loudly, or what he kind of probably convinced the rest of Peter’s classmates was true about Peter. It shouldn’t matter. But it kind of did. And honestly, Peter could deal with it at school, with Ned and MJ by his side, ready to support him and stick up for him, but he didn’t want to infect SI with Flash’s unique brand of negativity.

But there was no way Flash wouldn’t go, and it looked like Aunt May wasn’t going to let Peter not go, so…

Where Peter stood now, he was pretty sure he was going to have to go with his classmates, including Flash-the-asshole, to take a day-long tour of Stark Industries, aka Stark Tower, aka Avengers Tower (sometimes), aka, the place Peter spent most of his free time. 

Yay. 

Great.

Wonderful.

The only saving grace was that he had about a month before the actual field trip, so maybe in that time he might get sick, or die, and wouldn’t have to go to the Field Trip after all.

With his luck, though, it seemed unlikely.

X

Sometimes it felt like the only place Peter really felt relaxed anymore was in Mr Stark’s lab, tinkering on something with the man while chattering thoughtlessly with him. It probably should be a little stressful, right? Like, he should be worried about messing something up and disappointing Tony, and honestly he was, a little, but Tony seemed to almost enjoy when Peter made mistakes, used them as learning opportunities (who knew billionaire, genius, philanthropist, Tony Stark would make such a good teacher?), and was always kind, out-going, and never patronized Peter. At least not where science and tech were involved.

Peter stressed at school, about homework and classes and grades and keeping his dual identities a secret and disappointing the decathlon team time after time, and he stressed while patrolling the streets in his Spidey suit, stressed about not saving everyone, not being good enough, not trying hard enough, and he stressed at home, wanting to make May happy, wanting to keep up with everything, wanting to keep from disappointing his schoolmates and his friends and his family. But here, here in Tony’s lab in the Tower, here, in the private Stark-and-co exclusive areas of Stark Industries, Peter could let himself focus on just working, just helping Tony fix up his suit or Peter’s suit, or tinker with one of a thousand little projects Tony always seemed to have laying around. He could shut off everything else and just work, with Tony making snide small talk in the background and asking Peter about the mundane things in his life, and he could just listen to Tony chatter about Pepper and Steve and Rhodey and Sam and all the other Avengers, who he always talked about using their first names, and only ever mentioned in relation to mundane, non-hero activities. It was always, “Clint set the toaster on fire again,” and “Vision is thinking about joining a book club” and never “The Winter Soldier punched a mad Killer Robot with his mad killer arm.” 

Which was cute. Not that he’d ever tell the man he considered any part of him cute, but, well, it was. Cute and domestic.

“So how was school?” Tony asked as he spun a holographic blue and white blueprint for one of the Black Widow’s Bites around on in the air. Peter sat at a work bench to the side of Tony’s lab, and fiddled with a design for an upgrade to his Spidey suit on his own holo table. His table was much smaller than Tony’s, but that meant it was the size of a foosball table and not a small swimming pool, which still felt awfully huge. At some point someone with a label maker had made a label for Peter’s work bench and his table. The side of the bench had a strip-thin sticker that said, “Underoos and his Tools, Property of SI&ParkerInc,” and the table said, “The Kid’s until further notice.” Peter could never decide who he thought the culprit was, Tony or Dum-E, but he secretly loved it.

“Peter,” Tony said, getting Peter’s attention, and he looked over to find Tony watching him. “Is your head up in space? I don’t pay you to get lost in thought. What, you hungry or something? I was gonna order Thai later but I can order it in right now if your stomach’s distracting you.”

Peter blinked at him. “You don’t pay me at all, Mr. Stark.”

Tony stuck a hand in one of the pockets of his grease-stained jeans, rustled around, stuck the other hand in the other pocket, pulled out a crumpled bill, and lobbed it at Peter. It was just paper so it didn’t make it very far, but Peter was wearing his web-shooters and caught it out of the air with a thwip before pulling it towards himself.

It was a hundred dollar bill.

“There,” Tony said, “your first, and only, paycheck. You’ll be getting nothing more from me since I refuse to pay layabout interns.”

Peter looked at the face of Benjamin Franklin, judgmental in green, gaped at it, and said, “Mr. Stark! I couldn’t possibly! This is too much—”

Tony waved him away. “If I hadn’t given it to you it would have gone through the wash, never to be seen again. Take it or burn it, up to you.”

Peter ran the wrinkled bill along the sharp edge of his table, trying to straighten it out at least a little, and then casually tucked it away in his pocket. He’d sneak it into May’s grocery fund at some point when she wasn’t looking.

“Now,” Tony said, “O’ Intern o’ Mine.”

“I heard those capital letters,” Peter said. “Don’t you dare make that my official title.”

“FRIDAY?” Tony asked.

“Already done, Boss,” FRIDAY lilted from the ceiling. “Peter Parker, newly designated: O’ Intern o’ Mine.”

“Fri!” Peter whined. “I thought you were on my side.”

“You’re adorable,” FRIDAY said.

“Thanks,” Peter said, being purposefully petulant.

Tony laughed at him. “You get Karen,” Tony said, “isn’t one AI enough? And,” he said with emphasis, “I think you’re avoiding my question.”

Peter rewound the conversation in his head. Right. How was school?

“I’m not avoiding it,” Peter said, and then did not answer the question.

Tony rolled his eyes. “C’mon kid. It can’t be that bad, can it? It’s just High School. And it’s a science one to boot. At least you’re not with plebs.”

“It’s not really school,” Peter said, “it’s just that, ok, you have to promise not to laugh at me.”

Tony held up three fingers in the Girl Scout Salute. “I cross my heart.”

Peter sighed. “Ok, so, they just announced what our Senior Trip is going to be, and,” he averted his eyes before figuring that delaying seeing Tony’s expression wasn’t actually going to make it not happen, and focusing back on the man, “it’s here.”

Tony blinked at him, three fingers still raised in the air. “Here? Here-here? As in—”

“Stark Industries,” Peter confirmed. “This Tower that I come to multiple times a week. Yes. My much looked forward to senior trip is going to be to my place of work. Place of Internship,” he corrected and then grimaced.

Tony looked absolutely delighted and guffawed loudly.

“You promised you wouldn’t laugh,” Peter accused.

Tony didn’t respond except to keep laughing.

“May did this too,” Peter said. “She just laughed at me. While she was signing my permission slip.”

“As if you need a permission slip to get into the building,” Tony said, voice tight with suppressed laughter. He bit his lip, face pink from laughing.

Peter frowned at him. “Don’t stop on my account. You look like you’re fit to explode.”

Tony didn’t even wait a full second before breaking out in laughter again, bent forward hands on his knees.

“Thanks,” Peter said drily. “You’re a big help.”

Tony shrugged, unrepentant, and once more pulled himself together, making his breaths long and even. Peter watched as his face returned to its normal shade. “Sorry, kid. I just—I think that’s the funniest thing I’ve heard since I found out Clint’s been pronouncing espresso wrong.”

“I guess being compared to Hawkeye isn’t the worst thing,” Peter said.

“It’s pretty close,” Tony said with a smirk. “And anyway, if you don’t want to go so bad, why don’t you beg off? Spend the day doing something fun. Like working in the lab here.” He snickered into his palm, as if his hand could hide his mirth.

Peter rolled his eyes. “I actually would prefer that, but May isn’t letting me skip. Something about me regretting later Ned and MJ having fun without me.” He shrugged. 

“It’ll be fun,” Tony said with confidence. “Our tours are famous for being fun as fu—as fun.”

“You can curse around me,” Peter said, “I’m seventeen. I’m not a child.”

“Mmm hmm,” Tony said. “Sure. But would May like it?”

Peter threw his hands up. “She knows I know curse words!”

Tony examined him and then shrugged carelessly. “Ok. If you say so. SI’s tours are infamous for being fun as fuck. I’d say I designed those too, but tours and people and babysitting aren’t really my thing. Pepper had a pretty big hand in it though, back when she wasn’t yet a CEO and too important for such things. And you trust Pepper, don’t you, Sport?”

“Only if you never call me ‘Sport’ again.”

And it was true. Peter did like Pepper. He didn’t know her as well as he knew Tony, or Happy even, but he’d had dinner with her and Tony enough times that he knew she was kind and compassionate and trustworthy. And funny.

“Done deal,” Tony said. “Now, when is this Field trip of yours?”

“Four weeks from Friday, so I do have time to get deathly ill or whisked away to an alternate dimension before then.”

“If you think for one second I’m leaving you in another dimension just because you want to avoid touring the tower, you’d better think again.” Laughter was evident in his voice.

Peter waved his hand and purposefully turned back to the schematics of his suit. It definitely wasn’t up to Mr. Stark’s standards yet, but he had some ideas and he at least wanted to put them all down in writing (holo-writing?) before he handed anything over to the literal genius in the room.

“So anyway,” Peter said, after a few moments of fiddling with the schematics and getting no work done, mostly because he could still feel Mr. Stark’s eyes on him. “What were you saying about dinner?”

“Ah yes,” Tony said, allowing the subject to change, “food. I guess you are due for another caloric intake. Thai?”

“Thai sounds good,” Peter said, relieved, and when Tony ordered, Peter made sure FRIDAY ordered enough for Tony too. And Tony let him, because beneath the caustic exterior the man really was a softie.

X

“I don’t understand why you’re not more excited about this!” Ned whined as they walked down the crowded hall, moving between classes in the middle of the day. Ned bounced ahead so he could look back at Peter dramatically. “C’mon! This’ll be it! You’ll finally be able to show everyone how cool you are!”

“Peter’s already cool,” a dry voice said from ahead of Peter (and behind Ned, who was walking backwards so as to face Peter), and Ned squeaked and spun back around to see who Peter had already known was in front of them, leaning against a locker like she owned the place.

“Thanks, MJ,” Peter said, and thanked the gods when his voice didn’t crack.

“For a dork,” MJ said. “Sorry, that was a weird pause I put right in the middle of my sentence. I meant: Peter is cool for a dork.”

“Thanks, MJ,” Pete said again, voice much drier this time.

She smirked at him, “You’re welcome.” 

Peter rolled his eyes and tucked both of his hands between his book bag straps and his torso. He wasn’t sure why it seemed like everyone he knew (except maybe Ned) was turning out to be so sarcastic. Though honestly, he didn’t know what he should have expected, since it was Mr. Stark, MJ, and May he was talking about.

But despite her superior grin, as they passed the locker she was leaning against, she slid in beside them amongst the rush of students.

“You’re excited, right, MJ?” Ned asked.

“Excited for what?”

“The Senior trip!” Ned exclaimed, as if that was the only thing he could have possibly been talking about. Which Peter was thoroughly disdainful about, but which objectively made sense. That was pretty much all the 12th Graders were talking about.

MJ shrugged. “It’ll be fun I guess. I’m always game to scope out a titan of capitalism. If I’m someday going to destroy the patriarchy and the US government and instill a socialist regime, I’ll need to know how these things work.” She shook her head, making her hair wave behind her. “Plus I think I’d actually die if I met Pepper Potts. She’s goals.”

“She really is,” Peter said. “And she makes these little tarts with like, raspberries or something inside of them? They’re to die for. She gave me the recipe, but May won’t let me back in the kitchen after the incident with the sulfuric acid.” He mimed an explosion with his hands.

It took a few moments of no one responding for Peter to turn and take in his friends’ expressions. MJ’s eyebrows were raised. Ned was gaping.

“You’ve met Pepper Potts,” MJ said, deadpan.

Peter winced. “Was that a secret? I’m pretty sure I told you about my internship.”

“Delivering coffee around the offices of Stark Industries is not the same as eating desserts made by The Pepper Potts. She’s a fucking icon, Parker.” She punched his shoulder and he winced away from it even though it didn’t hurt. 

“I don’t deliver coffee?” Peter said, though it came out with a questioning lilt.

“Yeah,” Ned said, like any proud father would the first time their kid brings home straight A’s, “he works in the lab with Tony Stark himself!”

Too loud, that had been too loud. Peter hissed at Ned and Ned ducked his head bashfully, but the damage had been done.

“What was that?” Flash said, elbowing into the space he created between Peter and MJ. “Penis Parker’s lap dog is spreading more lies about the obviously fake internship at Stark Industries?” He gave Ned a fake-sympathetic smile. “You don’t have to believe everything Parker says, Leeds. Especially when he’s obviously so full of shit.”

Ned gaped at him. “Peter’s not a liar, Flash! He really does—”

Peter clamped down on Ned’s arm, effectively cutting him off. Turning to Flash, Peter said, “I don’t really care if you believe me or not, but I’d really appreciate it if you’d leave me and my friends alone.”

Flash shrugged in a ‘what can you do,’ sort of way and turned to MJ. “What about you, Jones? You have a soft spot for Parker too? You really believe that he got some uppity-up internship at Stark Industries? I mean, really?”

MJ shrugged. “Why wouldn’t I? Peter’s got a better track record for honesty than you do, Mr. I boast my GPA is 4.0 but I’m failing Spanish.”

Flash flushed. “Whatever,” he said, and muscled past them, knocking MJ awry a little and actually knocking Peter into the locker. (Ok, Peter let himself fall into the lockers for the dramatic sound of teenager-hitting-metal). “We’ll all find out how big a liar Peter really is during the field trip,” he said, loud enough to draw the attention of most of the surrounding students. “When we walk into Stark Industries and no one there recognizes him, we’ll see who’s laughing then. Stark’ll probably throw him out on his ass when he finds out the lies Parker’s been spreading!”

The mental image of Tony trying to pick him up and throw him anywhere was funny enough to lighten some of Peter’s mood.

“Ignore him,” MJ said, voice heavy with disgust. “He’s just jealous.”

“Of what?” Peter asked. He looked down at himself. There wasn’t much to be jealous of.

“How cool of a dork you are,” MJ said, smile tugging at her lips.

Peter rolled his eyes, but couldn’t help but smile right back at her.

“Am I a cool dork too?” Ned asked, chest puffed out.

MJ turned her smile on him, ran her eyes up and down him, and he deflated a little at her terminator-gaze, but then she looked him in the eyes and said, “Duh,” which made Ned smile, which made Peter smile, and so they walked into Ms. Warren’s Physics II class, all three grinning ear-to-ear. And then with class starting, they never did get back to what Peter actually did in his internship, or the fact that he’d actually met and had a real life conversation with Pepper Potts. But Peter didn’t like to brag, so he was kind of ok with that.

X

Peter ended up at Stark Industries after school. He didn’t normally intern on Wednesdays, he’d been just here yesterday, but as much as he tried not to let Flash get to him, he couldn’t help but feel a little sharp around the edges after Flash’s display of assholery at school. Normally he’d don his Spider suit and go web around the city, stopping muggings and helping little old ladies cross the street, get the adrenaline out that way. But today he didn’t think that would do the trick. He wanted to be comforted—

Which, yes, that did sound like baby-ish thing to think, but it was true all the same. 

And nowadays the place that held the most comfort was Tony’s lab. It was someplace he could be all of himself. He didn’t have to choose between being Peter and being Spiderman. Tony knew he was both. He never had to hide part of himself, and he never had to put on a strong front, and he could relax and let his mind work its own problems out, and let his hands stay busy. And he trusted that if something came up, if Spiderman, or Peter Parker, was needed anywhere in the city, FRIDAY would let him know.

May liked spa days where she could take a long bath and drink wine and catch up on her reading. Ned liked building legos. Peter liked going to Tony’s lab at the tower and creating things and bantering with the older man. It was relaxing.

This day he didn’t forewarn Tony that he’d be coming by. Maybe he should have, but Tony had told him he was welcome whenever, and Peter knew FRIDAY would let him in, whether he came by web or by foot. 

He slipped on his suit long enough to web to the tower (the trip would be impossibly long or unfortunately expensive otherwise), but changed back in a nearby alley and took the last few blocks on foot. He could have swung in through a window, FRIDAY would have let him in, but he didn’t want Spiderman to be noticed going into the tower too often. So he entered the lobby on foot, which was something he hardly ever got to do. 

When Happy picked him up, or when Tony himself did it (though that was far less often) they went straight from underground garage to elevator to lab, but Peter had entered via the lobby enough times that he wasn’t distracted by the tall ceiling and large expanse of windows, nor was he intimidated by the security guards or the business people, or the friendly but efficient-looking employees behind the front desk.

He paused for a moment, knowing he looked slightly out of place here, with his MSST sweatshirt and his backpack. He was nearly eighteen, but he knew he still looked like a kid, and here, among besuited people and folks in business casual, he didn’t exactly blend in. But there were enough tourists, and family and friends visiting employees, that no one really singled him out. He debated going up to the desk and asking for Mr Stark just to be dramatic. He didn’t need directions getting to the lab, but it might be fun asking this lady on the end with the serious face for Tony by name, and when she turned him down, saying, ‘I have an on-going appointment with him’ and making her call Tony up, and then seeing her face when Tony enthusiastically gave him permission to have free run of the place.

But that would just be having fun at someone else’s expense, by tricking someone, and it wasn’t really necessary. And he didn’t want to be a jerk, he’d never actually play a trick on someone like that for no reason, but for less than a second he could imagine people in the area, the stern-looking receptionist and other employees, looking at him in awe because they’d underestimated him!

He’d never actually do it.

He didn’t want the attention. But the fantasy, of everyone thinking for just a moment that he was somehow special, or important, lifted his spirits just enough that he smiled genuinely at the security guard as he approached the metal detector. The banks of elevators were on the other side of security, and from the elevators he could go to the lab and from there it was nothing but science for as long as he wanted! Or until May expected him home

Which sounded delightful.

“Bag in the bin,” the security guard said, a bored-looking blonde woman, as she rattled a plastic tub sitting on a conveyor belt. There were four different sets of metal detectors and Peter had chosen the one closest to him, but watching the blonde guard’s surly expression, he thought he might come to regret that decision. “Empty your pockets, and step through the gate,” she continued, still sounding bored, and Peter shrugged off his backpack and placed it in the bin gently, and then pulled his phone and keys and a crumpled piece of paper he was pretty sure was a Calculus test he’d gotten back last week (97%) from his pockets and dumped those in the bin as well.

The bins would then go through an x-ray, where another security guard was sitting and watching a screen for any suspicious materials, and then pop out the other side to be retrieved once Peter went through the person-sized metal detector.

She pushed his bin down the conveyor belt and into the X-ray, and then gestured him towards the gate. “Scan your badge before you step through,” she said, and then started her spiel with the person behind Peter, letting him approach on his own.

He didn’t have a badge. He’d never had a badge. Though he was technically an intern, on paper and everything, there were a lot of things he’d never gotten that he presumed actual interns, who interned in actual labs or wherever interns worked, did. Of course, he got a lot that they didn’t, like working with Tony Stark and knowing FRIDAY, and being allowed to order pizza whenever he wanted.

Maybe he should have asked Mr. Stark for a name badge like everyone else seemed to have, and which Happy seemed obsessed with half the time, but he hadn’t, because he’d never needed one before. FRIDAY knew him, and FRIDAY ran everything.

So, he trusted that FRIDAY wouldn’t let him down now, and stepped through the gate without scanning a badge at all.

A green light went off above his head, and he was in.

“Uh,” the guy behind the x-ray screen said, and Peter turned to him with a frown. He hadn’t predicted a problem on that end. There wasn’t actually anything dangerous-looking in his bag. The Spider suit should just look like a bundle of cloth, and then he just had his school supplies. There was nothing suspicious about pencils, notebooks, and textbooks. 

Peter hesitantly moved around the end of the conveyor belt, where he should have retrieved his belongings, to look at the man’s screen. It was blacked out, with a large red ‘CLASSIFIED’ right in the middle.

“Oh,” Peter said. “Right.” Probably FRIDAY’s doing. Better safe than sorry and all that.

The bored-looking security guard came over, a frown on her face. A line was forming, Peter realized, in front of the gate, because Peter’s stuff was still under the x-ray.

“What’s the problem?” the bored one asked, looking significantly less bored now.

The x-ray reader pointed at his screen, and she looked at the screen, her eyebrows raised as she did so. And then they both, in eerie tandem, looked at Peter.

Peter gulped reflexively, and then shrugged. “I work here?”

The woman rolled her eyes, as if she wanted to say, ‘No duh,’ but held herself in check since she was a professional.

“Uh,” the x-ray man said again, and Peter looked again to see that the screen had changed. It now showed a picture of Peter’s face from a weird angle, as if someone had taken it from on high, and Peter realized that in the picture he was wearing the same sweatshirt he had on at the moment. It was a picture of him from seconds ago, probably from a security camera, probably via FRIDAY. This guess was supported by the fact that next to the photo were the words:

Peter Parker

Designation: O’ Intern O’ Mine

Peter turned his eyes to the closest camera and frowned into it. FRIDAY’s sense of humor was too much like her creator’s without any of his (admittedly sparse) common sense.

“Guh,” said the no-longer-bored security guard, consideringly.

They both stared at the screen a little longer, and Peter frowned harder, first at them, then at the screen with his not-so-flattering image on it, and then at the security camera again.

“Can I… go?” Peter asked awkwardly. As soon as he saw Tony he was going to insist the man change… well, everything that just happened so it wouldn’t happen again. A student, an intern no less, shouldn’t have items considered classified. Especially since he didn’t even have anything on him that could be classified. Except the Spidey suit, which wouldn’t come up as anything suspicious in the x-ray anyway. This was just a perfect example of FRIDAY’s (and therefore, Tony’s) paranoia causing more problems than it solved. Because now the no-longer-bored security guard and her x-ray companion were going to mention this to somebody, and it would get around that there was some rarely-seen, young intern who was already somehow working with CLASSIFIED materials.

It was reasons like this that he hadn’t approached the desk when he first entered the building.

“Uhhhh,” said the x-ray security guard, and he was elbowed in the side by the blonde.

She said, “Yes, of course, Sir,” and elbowed the x-ray guard until the man pushed Peter’s belongings through.

Peter winced and gathered his stuff up quickly. “Please don’t call me that,” he said awkwardly, and shoved this arms through the straps of his bag, and his phone and keys into his pockets, and then turned and fled to the elevators before they could respond, keeping his shoulders hunched as if that would cause him to disappear. 

An elevator door opened as he approached, without him having to press any buttons, and he stepped into it. The doors slid closed behind him and the elevator started its upward ascent.

Peter let out a long sigh, and then turned his eyes once more to the closest camera, the only one in the elevator. “FRIDAY!” he whined. “That was so embarrassing.”

“Sorry, Peter,” FRIDAY said, her Irish tones sounding too loud in the small space. “However, Boss gave me explicit instructions to protect your secret, and you did choose to bring the suit with you today.”

Peter pouted.

FRIDAY did not seem in the least perturbed by Peter’s lack of response. She said, “Would you like me to alert Boss that you’re here?”

“Yes, please,” Peter said, because Aunt May and Uncle Ben had raised him to have manners. “Thank you.”

“No problem, Peter,” FRIDAY said warmly.

The elevator stopped, and Peter got off, walking with confidence towards Tony’s lab. The floor was quiet, which wasn’t surprising. It wasn’t like Tony Stark’s personal labs were the only labs on this floor, but at the time of day Peter usually visited, the other labs were often already empty, their scientists long gone for the day. But it seemed especially quiet today. He stepped into Tony’s lab, eyes scanning the room for any sign of life.

“Peter,” Tony’s voice said from somewhere not immediately recognizable.

Peter looked around again, but no, Tony wasn’t here. Of course, there were rooms attached to this one, and a low-lying couch that was out of sight from where Peter was standing, but he also didn’t hear any breathing, or any other small sounds a person makes just by existing in a place.

“Mr. Stark?” Peter asked, voice rising up at the end.

“Sorry, kid,” Tony said, “FRIDAY called me. You should have told me you were coming over today, I would have cleared my schedule!”

And Peter realized at that moment that Tony’s voice was coming through the same hidden speakers scattered around the entire Tower that FRIDAY used to seem omnipresent. 

“You’re not here?” Peter asked, and then berated himself internally for asking such a dumb question. Of course Tony wasn’t here.

“Board Meeting,” Tony explained. “Or well, I was in one. I’m no longer the CEO, but I still own controlling stock, so I’m told that I have to show up at least half the time. But I figured they could handle themselves without me long enough for me to give you a quick call.”

“Oh, you didn’t have to do that,” Peter said. “You could have just texted FRIDAY to tell me you weren’t here.”

“I like talking to you,” Tony said simply, and it warmed Peter a considerable amount. Just standing here, talking to Tony, even over the phone, was already making him feel loads better. “Plus, it was getting really boring in there. Everyone’s a stuffed shirt, I swear.” And then muffled, as if from a distance, someone shouted Tony’s name. 

Peter laughed. “I’m glad I could distract you. I’m guessing the screaming of your name means you’ve got to return.”

Tony hummed, a verbal shrug.

Peter looked around himself. All the tables were off, and without the fluorescents and the blue-white of the holographic tables, the room seemed yellowed, and hazy, and dim. “I guess I’ll head out too?” Peter said, his statement turning up at the end, like it was a question.

“Why?” Tony asked bluntly. “You could still get some work without me there.”

Peter perked up. “Really?” he squeaked, cleared his throat, and tried not to squeak when he spoke again. He was almost eighteen, he should be able to control his voice by now. “You’d let me stick around without supervision?”

“Fri’s there,” Tony said, “but I’d trust you anyway.” The muffled scream of Tony’s name was much closer this time. “Anyway,” he said hurriedly, “I should get back to the meeting,” and slightly muffled, as if he’d turned his head away, “I’m coming!” Tony sighed, and then spoke back into the phone. “No projects—start something new. I wanna see what you can come up with by the next time I see you. Which, hey, I’ll definitely be around for.”

“What should I—?” Peter started, but Tony cut him off.

“Anything! No rules. See you Friday!”

“See you,” Peter said, feeling a little like he’d just stepped out of a whirlwind.

“Boss has returned to work,” FRIDAY said. And then the room lit up in its comforting whites and blues, both Peter’s and several of Tony’s holographic tables came to life. “Any idea where you’re going to start?” 

Peter shrugged off his back pack and let it fall to the floor. “Something that’s gonna impress Mr. Stark.”

“I’m sure Boss will be pleased with whatever you make,” FRIDAY said.

Peter smiled at a camera. “Thanks, Fri. But I really do want to impress him.” He thought for a moment and then chuckled to himself. “FRIDAY, start a new project. Let’s call it Mini Me.”

And then Peter got down to designing a miniature, remote controllable Iron Man. The real challenge was not letting himself use any of Tony’s Iron Man schematics. Go big or go home, right? Or, well, this time it was go small or go home.

He’d gotten to the point where he was asking FRIDAY to fabricate pieces of the outer armor when he heard the door to the lab open, a thing that shouldn’t have happened unless it was being opened by Tony Stark himself, or someone Tony trusted enough to give all-access codes to.

“Tony!” an unfamiliar voice said, and Peter watched as a man, distracted by his cell phone, strolled casually into the room like he did it every day of his life. He was a black man, about the same height as Tony, but bald and serious-looking where Tony was quirky from his flippy hair to his goatee. “I wouldn’t have believed you were even working down here if I hadn’t seen the lights on, it’s so quiet! Where’s your ACDC? Huh? Where’s your ear drum-destroying levels of—you’re not Tony.” The man had finally looked up from the phone, and his voice had gone from soft and casual to hard and ice cold in a second. He slipped his phone back into his pocket dropped his arms hang loosely by his side, like he was readying himself for a fight, but didn’t want to advertise the fact.

“No,” Peter agreed. “I’m Mr. Stark’s Intern. He’s at a shareholders meeting right now.” Peter shrugged. “I don’t think he plans on being back anytime soon.”

The man blinked at Peter. “And he let you just have full run of his personal lab?” He voice dripped with disbelief, turned up to the nth degree.

FRIDAY’s voice crackled in the speaker, an AI version of a throat clearing. “Peter Parker has been given full access to every aspect of Boss’s lab, and most of the tower.”

“Huh,” the man said, and crossed his arms over his chest. He was wearing a leather jacket over a polo, and yet somehow still seemed intimidating. Not because Peter thought the man even had a chance in a fight against Peter, but because this was someone Tony obviously trusted, a friend even, and Peter wanted to make a good impression. “Peter Parker?” the man asked, and Peter nodded. “Tony’s talked about you,” the man said, his voice almost accusatory. “I thought interns were just supposed to deliver coffee and nag him into going to meetings. Isn’t that what most interns do? I didn’t realize you were close enough for him to be giving you unsupervised access to his lab.”

He raised an eyebrow at Peter, and even though less than an hour ago, Tony Stark himself had invited Peter to stay here, Peter now had the inexplicable feeling that he’d somehow done something terribly wrong.

“Different kind of intern,” Peter said instead of apologizing profusely and backing out of the room like he had half a mind to (it would have been more than half a mind if the man weren’t blocking the exit). “If Tony wanted someone to just get him coffee and nag him, Dum-E and U are right here.” Dum-E was sitting in a corner, waiting to be useful, and U was sulking because he’d dented the fender of one of Tony’s cars and was now wearing a dunce cap. “And FRIDAY,” Peter added.

“Thank you, Peter,” FRIDAY said warmly. “I do my best to provide Boss with what he needs.”

The man considered him for a minute before walking over with a hand outstretched. “James Rhodes,” he introduced himself, and Peter shook his hand, regulating his strength so it was neither like a damp sock, nor strong enough to break bones.

Peter squinted at the man. “Rhodes?” He asked. “Why does that sound so familiar? Oh! Oh, you’re—”

Rhodes raised his hands beside his head, palms facing Peter. “Ok, you caught me. I’m War Machine.”

Peter blinked at him, mouth open. “Oh,” he said, breathless. He was meeting an Avenger!

Ok, Tony was an Avenger, but this was different! He knew Tony. “I mean,” he said truthfully, eyes still saucers, “I was going to say you must be the Rhodey Mr. Stark is always talking about. He calls you Honeybear,” Peter said, knowing he tended to ramble a little when he was shocked, but unable to stop himself. “But, oh my god, you’re War Machine! God, duh! I’m such an idiot.” He slapped his forehead. “Colonel James Rhodes! I don’t know where my brain was. I’ve seen you on tv!”

Rhodes laughed at him, and the last of the tension dropped from his shoulders. “That’s right, kid. Honeybear and War Machine, all at once.”

“Man,” Peter said, his voice taking on a somewhat wistful tone. “You’re so cool.”

“Am I the first Avenger you’ve met in person? You’re kind of fan-boying.” Rhodes waggled his eyebrows, and suddenly Peter could see how this man and Tony Stark could be such good friends.

Peter rolled his eyes in response. “Good try, Mr. Rhodes. I work for Tony Stark. He is an Avenger, you know.”

“I can see why Tones keeps you around,” Rhodes said with a laugh, “and please, call me Rhodey.”

“Rhodey,” Peter tried, and then grinned. “Thanks! You can call me Peter. Which is my name. So, duh, of course you would call me that.”

Rhodes… Rhodey, let Peter’s awkward word vomit slide off with practiced ease, and instead nodded to the blueprint of the miniature Iron Man suit projected from the table. The image was spinning slowly, and was about a foot and a half tall, though the proportions were blown up so Peter could work on it easily. He was planning on the end product being able to fit in his pocket.

“Tony’s letting you work on his suit?” he asked in disbelief.

Peter looked at the schematics, and yeah, he could see how at first glance it might look like an actual suit. He wanted to mimic the suit perfectly on the outside, only on a much smaller scale. Of course, the wiring and circuitry on the inside would be much simpler than the real suit, and he wouldn’t have to make it hollow enough for a (tiny) person to sit inside of it. He wasn’t quite at the level of building a miniature arc reactor, let alone one small enough to fit in the Mini Me suit, so this one would probably end up being run on double A batteries.

“This isn’t one of Mr. Stark’s,” Peter said, “it’s one of mine.”

Rhodey’s eyes widened, and it came to Peter that if Rhodey didn’t take pride in coming off as unshakable, he’d be gaping at Peter as well. Peter frowned at him, confused, until what he’d said filtered back into his mind and he realized the misunderstanding.

“No,” Peter said, and waved his hands, a blush creeping up his face. “I don’t mean I’m building myself an Iron Man suit, or, that Tony is. He’d never put me in one of those.” He made an X with his forearms. “I just, I thought I’d make a little, remote controlled one for fun! It’ll be smaller when it’s done,” he held his palms apart by about six inches. “Mr. Stark said I could make whatever I wanted today, since he’s not here right now, so…” Peter shrugged.

Rhodey gazed at the Mini Me Iron Man, and Peter obligingly pinched at the hologram until it was the correct size.

“What’s it going to do?” 

“Fly around,” Peter said, “I might program him with some of Iron Man’s moves. I haven’t finished deciding yet.” He shrugged. “And something else might come to me later. I’m just in the planning stages right now. And, well, FRIDAY’s fabricating parts of the outer shell of it at the moment.”

“You think you’re going to get it all done tonight?” Rhodey asked. He checked his watch. “It’s getting pretty late. Don’t you have someone waiting for you at home? Parents or someone? It’s not like Tony’s adopted you or something.” And then much less sure, he asked, “Right? I mean, I’m the guy’s best friend, he definitely would have told me if he adopted a kid, right?”

Peter laughed at him. “Yes. He would have told you. I’m just Mr. Stark’s intern.” Peter checked the time on his own watch, and was slightly surprised to find it was past 8. “Dang! I guess I won’t have time to finish it today. Hey, FRIDAY, if I finish this code—”

“I will complete fabrication and assembly after you leave,” FRIDAY said helpfully.

“Thanks,” Peter exclaimed, but now that he realized how much time had passed, he also realized how hungry he was. It had been hours since lunch. He checked his watch again. He wanted to stay and finish the coding, but Aunt May’s shift ended at nine, and she’d be home by nine-thirty, and he didn’t know if he’d have time to finish coding, and get home to make himself food before Aunt May arrived. He didn’t particularly want Aunt May to see that he’d forgotten to eat. Again. 

She would be disappointed in him, and he didn’t want her to be disappointed in him.

“I still can’t believe Tony ‘I don’t like being handed things’ Stark would give you free reign of his lab, especially when he isn’t here,” Rhodey said contemplatively, though without any judgement or malice. “You’re not his secret son or anything right?”

Peter shook his head with feeling. “No! No, he’s just—He teaches me science things? And I’m a second pair of hands when he wants to work on an engine or—” (the Iron Man suit, the widow bites, trick arrows, new stealth tech, the Spidey suit, the web shooters) “anything.”

Rhodey narrowed his eyes at Peter. “Is he grooming you to take over stark industries?”

Peter let out a shocked bark of laughter. “No?” he said, though it lilted up at the end like a question. “Plus, wouldn’t it be Ms. Potts who’d make that decision?”

Rhodey shrugged.

Peter heard, thanks to his enhanced hearing, the opening of the elevator doors down the hall, and then the short clip clip that was familiar enough for Peter to say without thinking. “Oh, speak of the devil!”

Rhodey blinked at him. “I’m sorry, what are you—”

“Peter,” Pepper said cheerily as she walked through the door, and then seeing Rhodey, changed her course to give him a welcoming hug. “Rhodey! I didn’t know you were coming by tonight! If I had, I might even have let Tony leave the meeting early.”

“They’re still going?” Peter asked. “It’s nearly eight.”

Pepper shrugged. “Video conference with Hong Kong. The SI branch in Hong Kong, not the entire region.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Rhodey said. “And it’s not like late nights mean anything to the insomniac. I can wait.”

“Then maybe you can join us for dinner,” Pepper said.

“Dinner?” Peter asked eagerly. He tried not to overstay his welcome, but Tony had hammered it into his head that it was ok to stay for dinner whenever he wanted, or even ask for food or raid the common area’s kitchen. And Peter was eternally grateful. With his spider-enhanced metabolism, if he didn’t eat half his meals on Tony’s dime, he’d probably eat Aunt May out of house and home.

Pepper smiled at him knowingly. “Yes. I ordered enough Chinese to feed three Thors so I hope you’re hungry.”

Peter nodded emphatically, but then looked at his miniature Iron Man schematic with longing. He didn’t really want to abandon it in the middle. If he could just have a few more minutes…

“Why don't you finish what you’re doing,” Pepper said, gesturing to the hologram, “and when you’re done, you can join me and Rhodey upstairs, hmm? And you can tell me all about why you’re making a tiny Tony.”

“Thanks!” Peter exclaimed, and turned immediately back to the hologram, pulling the keyboard over with him, so he could code while he altered the schematics.

With half an ear he listened as Pepper started up a conversation with Rhodey, leading him out of the room, but most of his mind went into typing as fast as possible so he could go up and join them for dinner. Maybe he’d make it back home before May returned too. He was feeling lucky.

Chapter Text

Pepper had indeed ordered enough food to fill three Norse Gods, which meant that she’d ordered enough to feed one spider boy, two human adults, with enough leftovers to leave some for Mr. Stark and for Peter to bring some home to May. Which he’d done. Walking through the front door with food did a lot to appease May’s displeasure at the fact that he didn’t get home till after ten.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t kept her up to date on his whereabouts.

It was just—talking with Pepper and Rhodey had been nice. They were no Mr. Stark, but were great in their own way. And he was glad he’d met Rhodey, ‘cause the guy was funny and nice and Peter was glad to know not only that another one of the Avengers was a trustworthy guy, but that Tony had a friend he could rely on. With Pepper, of course, there was no question.

But they’d both seemed genuinely interested in what Peter had been trying to make in Tony’s lab, and Peter’s life in general, and it had been nice to talk to people who were actually sensible. 

It was almost as nice as talking to Tony.

There hadn’t been enough leftovers for lunch the next day, but Peter ate the rest of the leftover fried rice as he walked to school the next morning, and it made for an acceptable breakfast.

After school he picked up a sandwich at a deli before changing into his Spiderman suit and settling into patrol. He liked the feeling of swinging around New York, high in the sky, almost like flying, but the best thing was always that moment, when he first heard something bad going down, or felt a zing of electricity race up his spine, and knew he had the ability to help, so he could and did just jump right into action, helping those in need. That was the best.

He stopped a few muggings (old hat by now), helped Señora Martínez cross the road, got to pet three dogs (one boston terrier, and a couple of golden retrievers who wagged their tails so hard it made Peter almost cry in joy), and walked a worried-looking waitress home from her diner after her shift. It was a Thursday, so really he shouldn’t be out too late, but he’d missed yesterday, and Aunt May had given her grudging permission to stay out later than usual since he’d brought her food the day before (an example of his general competence and sense of responsibility!) Also, a little bit of it was, Peter thought, that he was getting older. He was almost an adult and she tried to respect that, to let him make his own adult decisions, and likewise let him deal with any consequences that might stem from that. 

(He could just drink a cold brew before school tomorrow. Who needed sleep anyway?)

It was maybe one or two in the morning, and Karen had just recommended Peter go home—

“If you leave right now, and do not stop to pet any dogs, you can sleep 4.52 hours tonight.”

“Thank you, Karen.”

—when he heard a weird sound, a groan maybe, from a human or a machine, coming from the alley below him.

He could afford to stop and see where the noise was coming from. Karen wasn’t Aunt May, she had no authority over him (and didn’t even tattle to Tony anymore! Which was great, because Peter was not a child, and did not need a babysitter), and anyway, what if the groan was from an injured person? Peter couldn’t not help out.

He crept over the side of the building, down the crumbling brickwork, crawling down on fingers and toes, ignoring the pull of gravity which weighed on him, and which would, if he let go of the wall, crash him headfirst into the dank cement of the alley below. 

But he was strong, and his extremities were sticky, and he didn’t fall. Instead, he crept all the way down, and twisted so as to land on his feet, and then looked around the dim and stinking alley, looking for a person, or something that could have made that noise, before he heard the groan again, emanating this time from a dumpster to his right.

The source of the stink.

Peter reached a hand up to the lip of the garbage receptacle (god, he was going to have to wash his suit super good after this), and pulled himself up so he could peer inside of it.

The groan came again, and this time Peter could see that it was coming from a human body. A male human body. A human body with blond hair (or at least it looked blond in the dim light from nearby street lights), with visibly ripped abs beneath a torn shirt. A human blond ripped male body who was clutching a bow to his chest, and who had a quiver of arrows laying beside him on top of piles of trash (mostly bagged, thank god), and who was groaning in pain.

“Oh my god,” Peter said, out loud, “you’re Hawkeye.”

The man groaned again, though Peter didn’t know if it was in agreement with Peter’s statement, or if he was just making an unrelated point.

“Oh shit,” Peter said. Hawkeye did not respond this time. Neither verbally nor with any gestures or anything. 

His eyes were opened, Peter saw. Hawkeye was gazing upward with an expression of, well, Peter might have at first guessed it was pain, but which, upon closer examination, looked more like annoyance.

“Are you alright, Mr. Hawkeye?” Peter asked. Hawkeye did not respond. “Mr. Hawkeye, sir?” Peter asked, slightly louder.

Hawkeye let out a sigh, and shifted a little, almost as if he were settling into a more comfortable position.

Peter wondered if maybe whatever caused the hero to end up in this dumpster also damaged the man’s hearing. Hawkeye hadn’t noticed him at all.

Peter levered himself upward, putting all of his weight on his hands, until he was far up enough that he could position his feet beneath him on the lip of the dumpster. He let go with his hands, and there he perched on the edge of metal contraption, on the balls of his feet.

Hawkeye still hadn’t noticed him. 

So he raised a hand and waved it, trying to put it in Hawkeye’s line of sight without putting himself in hitting range. He’d never met Hawkeye before but Tony had told stories of trying to sneak up on the archer to surprise him, and getting a kick the chest for his efforts.

The archer had an arrow notched and his bow drawn, the projectile aimed at Peter’s heart in less time than it took Peter to exhale.

Peter raised his hands up on either side of his head. “Hey! I’m friendly, I swear! I’m a good guy! Please don’t shoot me.”

The arrow didn’t move, and Peter shook himself. Right. The guy wasn’t responding to sound.  

Peter pointed to himself, and then made a thumbs up, and then pointed to Hawkeye and made another thumbs up. 

The arrow faltered a little. “Who are you?” Hawkeye said gruffly, and a little too loudly.

“Spiderman,” Peter said, and then pointed at the spider insignia on his chest because Hawkeye obviously wasn’t hearing him right now.

Hawkeye looked at his chest, and then slowly lowered his arrow. “Spider boy?”

Peter huffed. “Spiderman.” And then the shook his head. “I don’t know why I’m saying this. You can’t hear me.” Peter pointed at his own ear. 

Hawkeye groped at his ear, and then at his other one, dropping his bow and arrow into his lap. “Oh shit,” the man said, “I knocked out my hearing aids!”

“Well that explains that,” Peter said, knowing that he was, in practice, only talking to himself. Since apparently Hawkeye was deaf. At least he knew it, and the sudden loss of hearing wasn’t a surprise.

Hawkeye patted at the trash around him but found nothing but a rotten banana peel and a pile of used coffee grounds amongst the bags of garbage. “Well fuck,” Hawkeye said, and then squinted at Peter. He rubbed at his forehead with his fingers, as if messaging a headache, and in the process smeared used coffee grounds, and slime, and just general dumpster gunk onto his face. “You been trying to talk to me?”

Peter nodded.

“Huh,” Hawkeye said. “And I didn’t notice the lack of sounds past the pounding in my head.” In a curious tone he said, “I think I might have a concussion.”

“Concussion?” Peter asked, and then shook his head fiercely. The guy couldn’t hear him! And he probably had a concussion. This was officially higher than Peter’s pay grade. “Karen,” he said out loud, glad that Hawkeye couldn’t hear this at least.

“Yes, Peter?” she asked, cool as a cucumber (as Peter guessed should be expected from an AI).

“Could you call Mr. Stark for me, I, uh…” He looked at Hawkeye, who was now shifting through the garbage, trying to find his hearing aids. “Just call Mr. Stark.”

“Calling Mr. Stark,” Karen said, and then there was a single ring before Tony’s voice was piped into Peter’s ears.

“Hey there, Pete,” Tony said, sound sharp and focused. “Kinda late to be calling me. Are you hurt?”

“No, Mr. Stark,” Peter said quickly. “Not at all!”

“Well good,” Tony said with audible relief. “Why are you calling me so late anyway? Shouldn’t you be in bed by now?”

“Aunt May said I could stay out late Spiderman-ing as long as I didn’t complain to her tomorrow when I, and I quote, ‘feel like the entire Manhattan bridge is wrapped around my head and the sun tastes like death.’ I think it’s a step in the right direction. She’s letting me make more and more mistakes.”

“Good for you,” Tony said, with a little laugh that was definitely of the at variety. Not with. “Now, what’s on your mind Spiderkid?”

“Oh!” Peter said, not even bothering to correct Tony about the kid thing. He didn’t think Tony was going to change any time soon. “So, I think I found one of your teammates.”

There was a definite silence on the other end of the line.

“Well,” Peter clarified awkwardly. “I shouldn’t say I think. I’d definitely recognize any of the Avengers, you know. And I did.”

“Who?”

Peter gazed at the man before him, who had given up the search for his hearing aids, and was now trying to lever himself out of the dumpster. Peter was pretty sure the guy was going to fall face-first on the asphalt if Peter didn’t intervene soon. But he gave Hawkeye at least another ninety seconds before he worked up the strength to actually pull him over the side of the dumpster wall.

“Hawkeye,” Peter answered. “Unless there’s another blond archer in the city? Hey, Hawkeye is deaf, right?”

Another loaded silence, and then, “Yes.”

“He lost his aids,” Peter explained, “and says he might have a concussion. So. Should I drop him off at the tower, or…?”

Tony let out a long sigh. “I’m not in the city at the moment. Apparently it wasn’t enough to just talk to the Honk Kong branch, they needed to see me in person.”

“You’re in Hong Kong?” Peter asked, and effortlessly caught the wobbly archer before he hit the ground. He set Hawkeye down on the ground gently, and the archer slumped against the side of the dumpster and pressed a hand to his head.

“Yes,” Tony said. “But don’t worry, we’ll be done in time for me to fly back before our sesh tomorrow. I took the suit.”

“Cool,” Peter said. He laid a hand on Hawkeye’s shoulder in commiseration, and then jumped backward when the guy jerked for his weapon again. “So, Hawkeye? Do I need to get him to the compound then? If you’re not in town, there’s gotta be at least a couple people at the compound, right?”

Tony hummed. “I’m not going to make you swing all that way upstate with a useless birdie on your shoulders. Plus, I know you’re not really keen on meeting all of the Avengers at once. And they’d have questions, and you might feel overwhelmed, and frankly Pete, it’s still a school night.”

“So what am I going to do?” Peter asked, approaching Hawkeye again, much slower this time, hands raised up before him. And Hawkeye watched him approach.

Tony hummed. “I could send someone to pick him up. Or you could have him radio for back up.”

“I’m pretty sure I can’t ask him much right now,” Peter said. “He can’t hear me.”

“Right,” Tony said, and then made a noise that was the verbal equivalent to a shrug. “Alright, I’ll have someone swing by where you are.”

“Do you need the closest cross-street?” Peter asked, already trying to figure out what intersection was closest.

Tony sighed in disappointment. “I have GPS, Peter. Please. Who do you think I am? Now, I’ve got to go. Mr. Zhang looks like he’s about to kick me out of my own building in anger. Good luck.”

And then he was gone.

Peter let out a long sigh and wondered who Tony was sending to pick up the archer. Maybe Happy. He didn’t know who else Tony would trust to get the damaged Avenger.

Hawkeye was tracking him loosely, and Peter wasn’t a doctor, but he was pretty sure Hawkeye's eyes shouldn’t be dilated like that.

The man looked nervous, and jittery, and like he didn’t know what to do, and Peter really wished he could tell the man that someone was coming for him, so he didn’t have to keep freaking out. Too bad he hadn’t found his aids.

Oh.

Wait.

Maybe.

Maybe, Peter thought, maybe Hawkeye was good at lip reading? It would stand to reason that someone with reduced or nonexistent hearing might be able to read lips fairly well. And Hawkeye didn’t really strike Peter as someone who wouldn’t put effort into readying himself for any possible problem that might arise. Like losing his hearing aids.

Peter casually pushed his mask up to reveal his mouth, letting the lip of it sit over the bridge of his nose, and he carefully didn’t worry about how he might be identifiable just from his chin and mouth alone.

That would be crazy.

“Hey,” Peter said, “can you read lips?”

“Fuck, dude,” Hawkeye said with a definite slump to his shoulders, and voice heavy with relief. “Of course I can read lips. Jesus.”

“Oh, well, great,” Peter said lamely. He cautiously got closer, and then crouched in front of the man. He would have sat cross legged, like the archer was doing, but frankly not even Tony had enough money to pay Peter to sit on the disgusting ground, inches from a dumpster that smelled like rot and garbage. “Why were you in a dumpster?”

Hawkeye shrugged. “Why not be in a dumpster?”

“Because it’s made for trash,” Peter said, “and you’re not trash? Also it stinks to high heaven, and you have a concussion.”

“I was in a fight, ok?” Hawkeye snapped, and then squeezed his eyes shut. Much softer, he said, “Some mob people might have a hit out on me? I mostly took care of it, but that last guy shoved me off the roof after I shot him. Which was very rude of him, by the way, and if he isn’t dead I’m going to sue him for damages.”

“Ah,” Peter said, and then realized Hawkeye’s eyes were still squeezed shut. He lightly tapped Hawkeye on the shoulder, and when the man opened his eyes, said, “You should probably go home.”

“Yeah,” Hawkeye said dejectedly. “Walking is going to be a pain in the ass though.”

Peter blinked. He should tell the guy that someone was coming to pick him up, but how would he explain how he knew that? Mr. Stark had told Peter he wouldn’t tell the Avengers that he was close to Spiderman, in order to protect Peter’s secret identity (and Peter had been so grateful when he heard that), so there was no reason for Peter to know that Mr. Stark was sending someone to pick Hawkeye up. He wondered what excuse Tony was going to use for how he knew to send someone to pick Hawkeye up.

Peter couldn’t think of anything.

“You have a cell phone?” Peter asked. 

“Duh,” Hawkeye said, rolled his eyes, and then winced. 

“Call someone,” Peter said. “Surely one of the Avengers must me awake this late. Maybe someone can come get you?”

He sent a silent apology to Tony for possibly messing up his plans. Well, if someone really would come to pick Hawkeye up, he’d just ask Karen to ask FRIDAY to tell Mr. Stark, and Mr. Stark could call Happy, or whoever, off.

“I could call them,” Hawkeye said petulantly, “but I wouldn’t know if they answered, or what they were saying.” He pointed to his ear.

Now it was Peter’s time to roll his eyes. Though it was wasted, since Hawkeye couldn’t see his eyes behind his mask. “I can translate,” Peter offered. “I could listen to what they say, and then tell you, and you could read my lips.”

Hawkeye was silent for a second, lips pursed, and Peter thought he was going to refuse, but then, very quietly, he asked, “You’d do that for m—a stranger?”

Peter shrugged. “Of course. I’m your friendly neighborhood Spiderman. Haven’t you heard? I’m famous for helping little old ladies cross the street, rescuing cats from trees, and making uncomfortable phone calls for people. It’s right in my job description.”

For the first time, Hawkeye actually smiled. “Hey! That’d be really fucking nice! Thanks!” He pulled a phone from a zipper pocket in his pants, which Peter now realized were black and covered in zippered pockets. Like the cool, spy version of cargo pants. Hawkeye dialed, tapped the speaker icon on his phone, and then held the device between them.

The phone rang once and then cut off, like it had been answered, but no one spoke. Peter narrowed his eyes at the phone, tilted his head to the side, but, right, it wasn’t like Hawkeye could hear that someone had answered, and then said nothing.

“Hello?” Peter asked tentatively. 

“Who is this?” a clipped female voice said, at the same time Hawkeye jumped and said, “Oh! She answered?”

Peter nodded at Hawkeye, at the same time the female voice said, “Hawkeye, report!”

“She said to report,” Peter said to Hawkeye sotto voce.

“Well I got thrown into a dumpster,” Hawkeye started, but his voice was overruled by the female voice (it had to be Black Widow, right? Or possibly Scarlet Witch) saying, “Who is that with you?” It was a demand, not really a question.

But Hawkeye couldn’t hear her, so he continued, “by those asshole bedstuy mobsters. I mean, can you believe it? I—”

Peter cut him off with a wave of his hand. “She wants to know who I am.”

“Oh,” Hawkeye said. “Sorry, Nat. Lost my ears! I’ve got a friendly who’s translating for me. You can ignore him.”

“I will not,” she said harshly.

“She’s not going to,” Peter told Hawkeye.

Hawkeye shrugged. “Shoulda guessed that, I s’pose.”

“Hey, friendly,” she snapped. “Let me talk to you. Tell the idiot Hawk to shut the hell up for a second.”

Peter looked at the phone. “She wants to talk to me?” Peter said, questioningly. “Can you hold on for a second?”

Clint shrugged. “It’s not like I’m going anywhere any time soon,” he said, and gestured to the alley they were sitting in.”

“Thanks,” Peter said, and then directed his voice into the phone, knowing that Clint would be reading his lips, and would therefore know at least his half of the conversation. (He could have pulled his mask down, but that would have been needlessly cruel). “Hello?” he said stupidly, to the spy on the other end of the phone.

“Who are you?” she demanded. “How did you get him to call me on his phone?” 

“I’m Spiderman,” Peter said, succeeding in not squeaking through great force of will, but unable to do both that and sound confident and adult at the same time. “I just, it’s not like I coerced him into calling you? It’s just that I found him in a dumpster—he says he was pushed off the roof and fell into the dumpster that way— and he was planning on walking home, but you guys live at the compound upstate, right? He said he might have a concussion, so walking that far was hella out of the equation. So, I don’t know, I asked him if any of the Avengers would come pick him up if he called, and offered to be his ears since I think he lost his hearing aids when he fell.”

“Off the roof,” Black Widow said drily.

“Yes,” Peter said, “or that’s what he says. I wasn’t here for the falling bit, just the finding bit.”

“And since he lost his aids,” she said, her whole voice a taunt, “why didn’t he just text one of us.”

“Oh!” Peter exclaimed, having completely forgotten about that function of a cell phone. He turned to Hawkeye. “You could have texted her!”

Hawkeye blinked at Peter. “Well, shit, dude. You’re right!”

“You’re a moron,” Black Widow said. “Tell him I said that. Tell him I called him a moron.”

Peter grimaced. “Do I have to?”

“Yes,” Black Widow said in a voice that brooked no argument. 

Peter eyed Hawkeye. “She says you’re a moron.”

Hawkeye shrugged unconcerned. “What’s new? So, Nat, are you coming to get me or what?”

“Tell him this. ‘Of course we are, you goddamn moron.’ Verbatim.”

Peter grimaced harder. “She says, ‘Of course we are, you goddamn moron.’”

Hawkeye grinned happily. “How long?”

“Ten minutes,” Black Widow said.

“That soon?” Peter asked, surprised into forgetting to translate. As an aside to Hawkeye, he mouthed, Ten minutes.

“We got a notification earlier that Hawkeye needed help and we headed out then.”

“We?” Peter asked.

“You said you were Spiderman,” she said, not really a question, and ignoring Peter’s question as well.

“Yes,” Peter answered anyway.

“You think you could get him to the roof he fell off of?”

“I’m pretty sure he was pushed,” Peter said.

Obviously realizing what Peter was referencing, Hawkeye piped up as well. “I was pushed, Nat! I was pushed off the roof by a very mean mobster, who I also shot up with arrows.”

“Good for you,” Natasha said, heavily sarcastic, and then said, “tell him I said that. And really lean into the sarcasm.”

Peter thought about this. “Will he be able to read the sarcasm from my lips?” And then realizing how rude it was to ask Black Widow this when Hawkeye was right there, asked the man, “Will you be able to read sarcasm when you read my lips?”

Hawkeye squinted at him. “Why? What did she say?”

“Good for you,” Peter said, doing as he was told and leaning into the sarcasm.

“Oh yeah,” Hawkeye said, “I can definitely tell.”

“Thanks,” Peter said.

“Good job,” Black Widow praised him. “Now get him up to that roof.”

“Why?” Peter asked, and then said to Hawkeye, “We’re supposed to get on the roof. I can help you up. Can you stand?”

“Back up to the roof?” Hawkeye whined. “I was just up there!”

“Just get him on high,” she said, exasperated. And then she hung up.

The phone’s screen blinked, and then turned black.

“Up to the roof I guess,” Hawkeye said. He looked at Peter. “Listen, I’m not gonna lie, I don’t think I even want to be walking up there, so however we’re going to get up, it’s going to take a minute.”

“I’m Spiderman,” Peter said slowly. He pointed his web shooter at the lip of the roof and pressed it with his middle and ring finger. A web shot out and adhered to the ledge of the roof. He tugged it to show how sturdy it was.

Hawkeye looked impressed for a second before putting an unimpressed look back onto his face. “Do you expect me to just climb up it?”

“I can dead lift an 18-wheeler,” Peter said, “I can carry you up the side of the building.”

“Prove it!” Hawkeye said, and so Peter did. 

Peter wrapped his arms around Hawkeye, who was still sitting down, easily lifted him to a standing position, and then gripped Hawkeye tight around the waist with one arm, held the web with the other, put his feet (first one, and then the other) against the wall, and started walking straight up, Hawkeye dangling at his side.

The archer was tense, and clutched at the bow and quiver of arrows he’d wrapped around himself before falling out of the dumpster.

“I would have just picked you up and jumped,” Peter said, turning his head so Hawkeye could read his lips, though he had no idea if Hawkeye would be able to since Peter’s head was sideways compared to Hawkeye’s orientation. “But that might have rattled your head even more.”

“Shouldn’t you be watching where you’re going?” Hawkeye asked tightly, teeth clenched together, and whole body tense, like he wanted to wriggle out of Peter’s grasp but knew it would just mean another drop.

Peter looked where he was going (straight up a brick wall) and then back over at Hawkeye. “I’m just going straight up. It’s not like there's traffic up here.” And then they were at the top, and Peter pulled Hawkeye over the ledge, and the man dramatically collapsed onto the roof.

“I thought I was going to die!” Hawkeye moaned.

Peter wanted to tell the man not to be so dramatic, that they weren’t even going that fast, and that Peter was super strong and there was no danger at all, but Clint wasn’t looking at him, and therefore couldn’t read his lips. Which might have been done on purpose.

And then there was a loud sound, and a plane that hadn’t been there moments before was now hovering in the sky above them. 

“What the fudge?” Peter breathed out, eyes wide, staring at the plane as it slowly landed on the roof. The plane wasn’t that big, and it must have been the quinjet Tony sometimes talked about because stealth like that could only be perfected by Tony Stark. Peter hadn’t even noticed it, and his senses were way above par.

Of course, it was getting pretty late, and he was tired, so maybe that had played into it a little.

The plane touched down, and within minutes two people were descending onto the roof.

Hawkeye had noticed the force of a plane landing, even if he hadn’t heard it, and was now on his feet to greet the two people coming towards them.

“Nat! Did you bring my ears?”

The female figure, the Black Widow, threw something, and Hawkeye caught them in a deft motion that belied the fact that he had a concussion, and slipped them on, one on each ear They were tiny, almost like earbuds, and flesh tone, so they blended right in.

“You’re welcome,” the Black Widow said.

She turned to Peter, and he hastily pulled his mask down over his mouth. 

“You must be Spiderman,” she said. “Thank you for taking care of this idiot until we could collect him.”

“Don’t treat me like an object,” Hawkeye whined, and stumbled a bit. The other figure approached, and Peter realized it was Steve Rogers. Captain America. No, not Captain America at the moment. He had on soft pants and a loose t-shirt, and looked kind of like he’d been about to go to bed when this came up. Or had been pulled out of bed when this came up. The Black Widow was wearing jeans and a sweater and somehow still looked a thousand times more put together than the three men combined.

Steve Rogers took Clint by the arm and gently started leading him back to the plane. “Thank you,” Rogers said seriously, “for taking care of him.”

“No problem,” Peter said, “just make sure to keep him off the streets until he can walk straight.”

Rogers cracked a grin at him, said “sure thing,” and then disappeared with Hawkeye up into the jet.

Black Widow was still standing there.

“So,” Peter said into the awkward silence. “I guess I’ll head out then, since Hawkeye’s been reclaimed by you two.” He waved a hand, about to jump over the edge of the building and swing home (where his bed was calling to him), when Black Widow spoke.

“You’re a pretty good guy, you know that?”

Peter fidgeted, and then shrugged, not making eye contact, even though he knew she couldn’t see his eyes past the mask anyway. “I try.”

She gifted him with a small smile. “You succeed. See you around, kid!” and then she jogged back up the ramp into the jet, and within seconds it was airborne once more, and invisible against the night sky (even to spider enhanced eyes).

“I’m not a kid,” Peter said, a sigh to the wind. 

He was alone on the roof.

And then he heard a groan, and thought two things. 1. He wasn’t alone on the roof, and 2. He hoped another bozo hadn’t been pushed off the roof and into a dumpster. But on closer inspection, it wasn’t coming from a dumpster, but from a man in a velour tracksuit, half hidden behind an air conditioning unit on the top of the roof, where it looks like he’d dragged himself after getting shot twice (one in the knee, once through the shoulder) with arrows.

Peter sighed. “Fine, let’s deal with the mob guy, shot by Hawkeye, and then go home.”

The man moaned again.

“Hospital for you, I guess,” Peter said to him, and hefted the man into his arms.

When Peter got back to his and May’s apartment almost a full hour later, he was exhausted, but forced himself to take a shower (mobster blood is a nightmare, gets everywhere) before heading to sleep.

And Aunt May had been right. When he woke up the next day, after not nearly enough sleep, he did feel like his head was in a vice of metal and concrete, and sunlight tasted horrible.

Chapter Text

Peter hated school and Flash and Mr. Harrington and MJ and the sun and noise and Ned and laughter and Hawkeye and Tony and homework and tests and birds and the air conditioning unit and people who smile and teachers in general and talking and being alive and—at least until lunch, where he ate his body weight in the cafeteria’s version of chicken curry (actually acceptable, at least compared to their spaghetti and meatball [singular]) and found that there were some things on that list he didn’t mind nearly as much anymore. Ned and MJ were once again his friends, and not the banes of his sleep-deprived existence, and he found himself thinking fondly of Tony and Hawkeye, wondering if the archer was feeling better today than he had last night.

He still hated school and homework and teachers (and Mr. Harrington, though he felt slightly bad about that, since he was pretty sure Mr. H was an ok guy) until school was over for the day. That wasn’t really different than his normal emotions towards those things. He had senioritis bad.

It wasn’t until he and Ned were walking away from the school, fresh air in his lungs and (the no longer hated) sunlight on his face, that he felt really awake for the first time all day. He had intern plans with Tony that night, and tomorrow was Saturday, so May would probably let him stay at SI as late as he wanted.

“What are you doing tonight?” he asked Ned as they crossed the street at the intersection closest to school, and with every step further away from the institution of knowledge and learning that he was so ready to be over with, the lighter he felt.

Ned shrugged. “I don’t know, man. I have that unopened Lego Millennium Falcon that we have yet to do, and the TIE Fighter, but you’re busy tonight, right?”

Peter nodded, feeling a pang of guilt. “Yeah, sorry, Ned. But, soon, ok? I promise, we will have a lego night soon.”

 “You promise?” Ned asked, and Peter nodded and put his hand out.

 “Shake on it.”

 Ned shook his hand, and then let go with a laugh. “Just try, ok? I miss my best friend. And school will be over soon, and then when will I see you?”

Peter rolled his eyes. “Every day. Or most days, anyway. May’s not making me get a job over the summer, ‘cause Mr. Stark says he’ll start paying me real SI Intern wages, which means I’ll be working real nine-to-five hours, which means nights that I’m not—” he looked around them, seeing who was close enough to overhear, “—doing my other internship, we can hang out! Since Mr. Stark will have me during the day instead of only after school.”

 “Oh!” Ned said, perking up. “That—that’s going to be so cool!”

 “Yeah!” Peter said, and held his hand up for a high-five, which Ned provided enthusiastically.

 “And then,” Ned said, “once school starts up in the fall—”

 “We’re going to be rooming together,” Peter said. “Get ready, Columbia, we’re coming for you!”

Ned laughed, and then trailed off a little. “I still can’t believe you’re going to Columbia,” Ned said, and gripped the straps of his backpack tighter. “I mean, you got into MIT! And you decided to go to Columbia anyway.”            

Peter grimaced. “I know, but…”

 “It’s super prestigious,” Ned said, “and you could have found a scholarship, Peter! To turn something like that down,” he shook his head.

Peter shrugged awkwardly, and was glad they were walking side-by-side so Ned couldn’t see Peter’s face. “I mean, it was a lot of things, Ned. One, MIT is so far away. And yeah, I could have afforded it. I mean, May and I couldn’t have, but Mr. Stark offered to provide me with a September Foundation full-ride scholarship since that was the excuse he used on Aunt May when he introduced himself to me the first time anyway. But MIT is seriously, so far away, and I don’t really want to be that far away from May. Or Mr. Stark. And the,” he cleared his throat, “other internship is too important, and if I left the state there’s no way I’d be able to keep it up. And what if something happened when I wasn’t here? What would people think? And I’d feel horrible if something went down and people got hurt just because I wasn’t here to help.”

“The Avengers are here,” Ned said, “they could stop anything you could. There’s no way May and Mr. Stark wouldn’t want you to go to MIT, and there’s double no way they’d let you choose not to go, just because you’re Spi—uh, because of your other internship. And Massachusetts isn’t that far away.”

Peter shrugged. “It’s not up to them, Ned. It’s up to me. And yeah, the Avengers can take care of New York without me. They’ve been doing it forever, and still are doing it. And May could handle the separation. She knows I’m an adult. I’ve got to leave the nest sometime. But that doesn’t mean I want to be so far away. Columbia is one thing, but at least I’ll be in the same state. And I still want to help. Spide—my other internship is really important to me. Really important.” Ned still looked slightly skeptical, and Peter turned to him with a wide smile. “Plus, staying here means I get to room with my best friend, which is what I’m looking forward to the most.”

Ned made a happy noise, and his cheeks pinked a little, before punching Peter’s shoulder. Peter moved with the punch, staggering to the side dramatically, and laughed.

“You’re such a troll, Peter!”

“No,” Peter said, still grinning, and now trying to hide his laughter, “I’m serious! I am, I am serious, Ned. It’s just that you’re easy to tease too!”

Ned rolled his eyes, but he was laughing too. “Jesus, Peter. But I’m excited too. I wonder if they’ll let us hang up posters in the dorm.”

“They better,” Peter said, “for how much it costs just to live there.”

And then a cacophony of angry car horns drew Peter’s attention in time to see a hot rod red convertible pull up in a shameful imitation of a parallel park right beside Peter and Ned. The driver had dark tinted sunglasses, a rakish goatee, and was wearing a suit jacket over a grease-stained black t-shirt that said “I swear by my pretty floral bonnet, I will end you,” with a graphic around it that looked like several embroidered bonnets entwined with crawling vines and ivy.

 “Mr. Stark!” Peter said in surprise, ignoring even more angry car horns as people had to swerve awkwardly around Tony’s half-assed parallel parking job. “What are you doing here?”

“That’s Tony Stark!” Ned said weakly.

The New Yorkers around them pointedly did not stop, nor did they stare, because goddamnit they were New Yorkers and they were better than that. A tourist in a Hawaiian shirt snapped a pic of Tony’s shitty park job with his phone, not bothering to hide the gaping of his mouth.

“You’ve met Mr. Stark before, Ned,” Peter chastised with a smile.

“You’re coming by tonight,” Tony told Peter, ignoring Ned completely, “so I thought I’d give you a ride. I was in town,” he explained.

“You live in this town,” Peter said.

Tony let his sunglasses drop down his nose far enough for both Peter and Ned to see him roll his eyes. “Yes, but I was on this side of town, dropping something off for Pepper—FRIDAY said she was going to have a courier run it, but I figured, two birds, one stone. Pepper’ll be happy I helped out, she’s always harping on me to do something useful, and I thought I might be able to give you a lift the rest of the way to the tower.” He gestured to the door. “Get in.”

Peter looked at Ned, who was still gaping at Tony. “See you on Monday?”

Ned started, and then nodded. “Yeah! See you Monday, Peter. Don’t forget about legos!”

 “We’ll do it next week for sure,” Peter said, as he opened the passenger door and slid into the seat, slinging his backpack to the floor by his feet as he did so. “I’ll text you.”

“Bye, Ted,” Tony said, and then reversed haphazardly out of the spot and gunned it back into traffic to the screaming of dozens of car horns.

Peter pressed one hand to the dashboard, and the other he clutched at the door frame to keep himself from being thrown from the vehicle.

“Seatbelt,” Tony chided lightly as he wove in and out of traffic.

“It’s not exactly like you gave me a chance before blasting out of there,” Peter said through clenched teeth, and cautiously removed his hand from the dash in order to pull the seatbelt across his body and click it into place. Immediately he felt safer. “Do you have to drive like a madman?”

“Some people are convinced I am a madman,” Tony said.

“If you get in a car accident with me in the car, Aunt May will kill you.”

“I’m not going to get into an accident,” Tony said with a scoff, but slowed a considerable amount.

“Thank you,” Peter said with a sigh, and let himself untense. “And if you could please stop pretending not to know Ned’s name…”

Tony grinned. “But he’s so funny! I’ve met Leeds, like, four times, and every time it’s still like he’s meeting his hero for the first time.”

“You are a hero,” Peter said, but grinned. “Just, you know maybe he wouldn’t act like that if you didn’t pretend you’re too above it all to remember his name.”

“You never let me have any fun,” Tony said, but he tilted his head to the side, like he was taking that idea into consideration. “Now let’s talk about what you’ve got up to in my absence, hmm?”

“Oh!” Peter said, perking up at the thought of talking shop. “Did you take a look at what I was making Wednesday? I had to leave before construction, but FRIDAY said she’d finish up what I couldn’t finish before I went home.”

“No,” Tony said. “I thought we could take a look at it together today, though I will say that I’m excited to see what you came up with without any input from yours truly. I mean, you met Rhodey, right?”

Peter blinked. “Oh! Yes I did. He walked in when I was building the—thing. That I will show you tonight.”

“Oh so now you want to make it a surprise,” Tony said with a roll of his eyes, but then he looked at Peter and smiled, and Peter smiled back. “So what did you think?”

Peter frowned. “Of Mr. Rhodes?”

Tony barked a laugh. “You can call him Rhodey. And yeah, what did you think of him?”

Peter’s frown became more pronounced. “This feels like a trick question.”

“It’s not a trick question. I’m just curious.”

Peter pondered this for a moment. “I like him,” he said. “He’s funny, and he seemed like he was actually listening when I was telling him about my project. Plus, he was pretty suspicious of me, wondering where you were and who I was to be allowed in your lab when you weren’t there.”

Tony snorted. “And that makes you like him?”

“Sure,” Peter said simply. “It means he wants to keep you safe. It was nice.”

“Oh,” Tony said, sounding surprised. And then changed the subject completely. “So how was school?”

“Blergh,” Peter said.

Tony laughed. “That bad, huh?”

Peter rolled his eyes. “It’s not horrible. I just didn’t get enough sleep last night so I was exhausted and everything felt awful.” Tony pointedly said nothing. “Don’t judge me,” Peter said. “If I wasn’t out there how would Hawkeye have gotten home safe?”

Tony shrugged in agreement. 

“How is he, by the way?” Peter asked, and then braced himself again while they sped through a turn on a yellow light. 

“Birdbrain’s as good as he can be with a concussion,” Tony said. “Natasha’s looking after him, and Steve ordered bed rest, which is driving both Hawk-ass and the rest of us insane.”

“The rest of you?” Peter asked.

Tony nodded. “Yeah, Steve insists we all take care of Clint even though the compound has medical staff for that very reason. But he was very adamant. So now it’s Avengers weekend at the Compound, which means everyone’s in residence, and taking turns taking care of or making fun of Clint ‘Idiot’ Barton.” Tony took both hands off the wheel to make air quotes, and then returned them to their positions on the wheel (six and four instead of ten and two) in time to make another hair-pin turn.

Peter knew Tony didn’t really mind staying at the compound, any more than he minded when the Avengers stayed at the Tower. The man liked to pretend it was always a big annoying mess when the Avengers spent time together, but he never missed it.

“Does that mean I’m taking you away from time at the compound?” Peter asked. “I don’t want to distract you from Avenger’s weekend.”

Tony pulled his gaze away from the road to narrow his eyes at Peter for just a second before turning his gaze back to the traffic. “I can’t tell if you’re making fun of me or not. But, actually I was going to ask if you wanted to work at the lab in the compound today instead of at the tower. It’s a Friday, so I figured May wouldn’t mind if you were back a little later. I’ll have Happy drive you back when you want to leave. If you don’t mind that is. We can always head to the tower, if you do mind. I don’t care either way. I just have some stuff at the compound I need to get done, some stuff that that lab is better equipped for, but if you don’t want to go that far I can always postpo—”

“I’d love to!” Peter exclaimed over what Tony was saying. “I always like spending time at the compound’s labs.” They were big and wide open and airy in a way that no room in a skyscraper can be. And they had a better, less destructible testing room for weapons. Peter had only been to the compound a handful of times, and always when the Avengers were out of the building, which hadn’t really mattered because Peter hadn’t exactly wanted to leave the lab. Theoretically, touring the Avenger Compound was every fanboy’s dream, but the lab was a thing of beauty, and Peter had always lost track of time in that room, and couldn’t really find himself being upset about it.

“Good,” Tony said, and took a sharp turn without using his indicator. “Let’s go.” And then he sped up again.

Peter clutched his seatbelt with both hands and clenched his teeth to keep from screaming.

 “By the way,” Tony said loudly, as if that would hide the fact that Peter was pretty sure he was going to get both of them killed, “Natasha and Steve were pretty impressed with a certain Spider-person last night.”

“Oh,” Peter said awkwardly. “That’s good. I think. That is good, right? It’s good to make a good first impression.”

Tony shrugged. “Yes? I mean, I like that they like you. You’re very likable Peter. But I think they’re also interested in Spiderman in a more heroic sense. Like, interested in maybe asking you to, I don’t know, join or something. Which, you kind of turned down the last time I asked, so I don’t know if that’s something you’re interested in.”

“But that was a test,” Peter said with confidence, and then when Tony didn’t respond, said, with much less confidence, “right? That was a test, right? You were just testing me?”

“Sure,” Tony said, “but that was a few years ago. Maybe you’ve changed you mind. Just think about it. They might even choose not to mention it to you, but I just thought I’d give you a heads up in case their interest becomes action.”

“Oh,” Peter said, feeling like several different rugs had all been pulled out from under him, all in different directions. “Ok. Thanks. I’ll think about it.”

“Now about your project,” Tony said. “I was hoping you’d agree to come with me to the lab, so I bought it with me. It’s in the trunk.”

“Then you did see it!” Peter exclaimed, letting Tony change the subject, because frankly Peter didn’t know what to say about… that. The Avengers, two of the Avengers (not including Tony) were interested in him. It was a little overwhelming.

Tony laughed, “No, Fri put it in a box, but if you don’t mind sharing a little, the drive to the compound won’t be as quick as to the tower, and I’m dying of curiosity. Can’t you tell me a little? Honeybear and Pep both got to see it and I’m jealous!”

Peter sighed in a faux put-upon manner. “Fine, I’ll tell you about it, but I’m not crawling back there to retrieve it, so you’ll have to wait to see it in action till we get there.”

“If it works,” Tony said.

“Oh, it’ll work,” Peter said. “I may not be you, but I know enough.”

“Then tell me about it,” Tony challenged, and Peter did. And their conversation lasted the rest of the drive, up into the lab, and Peter was showing Tony his little Mini Me in the wide open testing room before he consciously realized they were in the compound. But by then they were so engrossed that it didn't matter. Tony gave Peter some pointers, pointed out a minor flaw or two, but for the most part seemed impressed by what Peter could do alone in the lab in an afternoon if given full reign and complete creative control.

And then that project morphed into Peter helping Tony design some upgrades in the actual Iron Man suit, and then brainstorming ways to create an EMP-type weapon that wouldn’t short out the Iron Man suit itself, and the next thing Peter knew it was dark out and his stomach was rumbling.

Tony massaged the back of his neck, and then cracked it. “I think it’s time for a break.”

“I’m starving,” Peter admitted.

“We’ll find you something,” Tony said. “Good work so far.”

“We can do more after dinner?” Peter offered.

Tony shrugged. “Let’s see how tired we are after we eat. I’ve been globe-trotting the past couple of days and haven’t had a good night’s sleep all week. FRIDAY keeps texting me she’s going to tell Pepper, and then I’ll be in real trouble.”

“Mr. Stark!” Peter said, aghast. “If you needed to sleep I could have, I mean, I didn’t have to come over!”

Tony waved him off. “Nah, Peter. Pep and Captain Sparklepants will guilt me into sleeping more than enough this weekend. Plus, I like our little science sessions.”

Peter beamed at him. 

And then the door opened, and Peter heard footsteps slapping across the floor, and turned to see Rhodey making his way into the lab. Peter went without meeting the man for literal years, despite working in a lab in a building the man lives/works in multiple times a week, and now he was seeing him two days in a row?

Bizarre.

“Tony,” Rhodey called upon entry, and then noticed Peter. “Oh, hello Peter. Didn’t know you’d be here today.”

“I don’t like to advertise my intern,” Tony said. “If too many people meet him they might start to like him, and if too many people like him they might try to steal him, and I really don’t want to fight you Honeybear.”

Rhodey rolled his eyes. “Ha ha, Tones,” he said in a monotone, “you’re a riot.” He turned to Peter. “How’re you doing?”

“Pretty good,” Peter said, “finished up Mini Me.” He pointed to the six-inch Iron man standing on an otherwise empty work table. It looked like nothing more than an action figure.

“Neat,” Rhodey said.

“Watch this,” Tony said, and then nudged Peter’s arm.

Peter cleared his throat. “Iron Man, engage.”

The little eyes on the figure flickered to bright blue light. “Iron Man engaged,” said the figure in a pretty impressive facsimile of the robotic voice the suit Iron Man used in its early days.

“Engage Flight Mode. Perimeter check,” Peter said.

The figure blasted off, light and wind coming from the tiny fake repulsors on its hands and feet and flew around the perimeter of the room before returning to the table.

“Iron Man, shut down,” Peter said, and the lights in the eyes dimmed, and once more the figure was static.

“Wow,” Rhodey said, impressed. “That sure is something. Peter, you made that?”

Peter nodded.

Rhodey looked Peter over, and then glanced at Tony, who nodded. “Huh,” he said. “Good job. Don’t suppose I could recruit you to work for the U.S. Military, could I?”

“He’s going to work for me,” Tony said with a scoff. “And I told you not to try to steal him! I don’t want to fight you, but I will.”

Rhodey laughed. “Alright, alright. I’ll stop messing with your intern. Seriously though, Peter, good job. That was pretty damn cool.”

Peter felt his cheeks warming. “Thanks.”

 “Now,” Rhodey said, “Tony, I just got this from....” he looked at Peter, “a friend. Who would appreciate it if you could take a look into it asap.” And he handed a folded piece of paper to Tony.

Tony took it, unfolded it, read it, and refolded it. He groaned. “Fine. Fine. Hey FRIDAY, could you—” and then cut himself off and looked over at Peter. “No offense, Peter, but you don't have the clearance for this. Why don’t you go find something in the kitchen so your Aunt doesn’t eviscerate me, and I’ll come join you when my friend,” he made really dramatic air quotes and rolled his eyes hard enough that he must have damaged something, “has what they need from me. Sound good?”

Peter narrowed his eyes, wanting to help, but without knowing what the problem was he couldn’t exactly know if he’d even be helpful. Yeah, maybe this “friend” needed Tony Stark, tech genius, or Tony Stark, Iron Man (in which case, Peter Parker, Tech-genius-in-training, or Peter Parker, Friendly Neighborhood Spiderman could help), but maybe this “friend” needed Tony Stark, ex-CEO, or Tony Stark, son of Howard Stark, or Tony Stark, adult person who knows adult things like taxes and electricity bills and, and, and whatever else adults did. Grocery shopping? In the end he nodded and left, with one last wave at Rhodey, who waved back, and at Tony, who was already bent over a console and who only returned the wave half-heartedly.

Peter made his way out of the lab and towards where he was pretty sure the common area was. He’d never been in this part of the compound before, but Tony had, on his first visit, given him a sparse verbal tour, and Peter was pretty sure that was enough to get him to the kitchen, where, he hoped, he could find some food to raid. The Avengers had to have something around they wouldn’t mind having disappear for a short time. Whatever he consumed, he was positive Tony would replace, so he wasn’t really worried about it (and by Tony, he meant FRIDAY), but he didn’t want to eat something that specifically belonged to someone else.

They had to have communal cooking food and supplies, right?

Of course they did. They were adults living together. It wasn’t like they all just wrote their names on their personal food and didn’t let anyone else touch it.

Right?

Peter’s mind was so latched onto this train of thought, that he didn’t even consider that the Avengers Common Area might be full of, well, Avengers, and so he was duly surprised when he walked into a room that looked like an open plan living room, to find some Avengers sitting around a table. Peter recognized them from tv, from actions shots of battles, and from the few interviews and press releases they’d been a part of. The Falcon was there, Sam Wilson, as was the Scarlet Witch, whose name was not public knowledge as far as Peter was aware, and Vision, who, Peter was pretty sure, had just the one name.

They’re all sitting around a folding table, one of those cheap square ones with dark green tops. It didn’t look like it should belong in this building at all. The chairs they were sitting on were plush office chairs, and the couch behind them, as well as the myriad comforters and loveseats, were all expensive-looking and made Peter wary of drinking a colored drink even near any of them, for fear of spilling something and staining the furniture, and accidentally wrecking a one-of-a-kind gucci couch or something. But the table looked straight out of a function in a church basement, or something a grandmother would pull out to act as the kid’s table at thanksgiving. 

The table was littered with playing cards, and each of the three Avengers sitting there held cards in their hands, and Peter came to the hilarious conclusion that they were playing poker.

Peter didn’t know why he thought that was so funny, except that it was. Three of the Avengers at a folding table playing poker. It sounded like the start of a bad joke.

And then he must have made some noise because Vision turned to him, curiosity on his red face, and then Scarlet Witch and Falcon followed his gaze. Falcon jumped to his feet, knocking back his chair, and reached for a weapon that Peter couldn’t see, but might be there all the same, and Scarlet Witch raised her hands, which caused swirling red, translucent waves to wind their way around her limbs in a beautiful dance upon the air. 

Peter felt a tingling at the back of his neck, a buzzing in his head that wasn’t a sound, and he pursed his lips. Fine time for his Spidey sense to tell him there’s danger now.

“Who are you and how did you get in here?” Falcon demanded, an edge to his voice.

Peter raised his hands in the universal sign of surrender. “Sorry Mr. Falcon sir,” he said, sounding as differential as he could make himself. He felt bad for startling them (Tony really should have told somebody there’d be a visitor in the building), but he felt the danger levels were still pretty low. If they did attack him, he knew how to defend himself—but he didn’t think they would attack him. They were the good guys. They wouldn’t attack a teenager without at least giving him a chance to explain himself. Which was exactly what Falcon had done. “My name’s Peter,” Peter continued, hands still raised. “I work for Mr. Stark. He had something classified to do and sent me to find food.”

“Work for Stark,” Falcon repeated in disbelief. “Why would Stark have a kid working for him.”

“I’m not a kid,” Peter said, letting his arms drop to his sides. “And I’m Mr. Stark’s intern. I do work for him.”

Falcon eyed him.

“I could see into his mind,” Scarlet Witch offered to Falcon sotto voce, “but if he is just an employee of Tony’s that would be a gross invasion of privacy.”

Peter emphatically did not want anyone looking into his mind. That’s the place where he kept all his secrets.

“You could ask FRIDAY,” Peter suggested. “She’ll back me up.”

Falcon dropped into a more relaxed state, and the red mist around Scarlet Witch started to dissipate. 

“FRIDAY,” Vision said, talking for the first time since Peter had walked in the room. He’d remained sitting when Falcon and Scarlet Witch had jumped to their feet, and now he looked at Peter with only curiosity, and no hostility. “Can you confirm what this person said to be the truth?”

“Of course,” FRIDAY said. “Peter Parker works for Boss, and has been his personal intern for the past three years. His internship involves working with Boss in his lab at Stark Industries twice a week after school. Today Boss requested they come to the compound instead of the Tower, since the Captain has asked for everyone’s residence in the building following Hawkeye’s disastrous—”

“Yeah, yeah,” Falcon interrupted. “We get it. The kid belongs here.” He fell back into his chair and slumped. “Sorry, kid. We’re just not used to strangers showing up unannounced.”

“I understand,” Peter said. 

“Especially children,” Scarlet Witch said, though she looked like she couldn’t be more than a few years older than Peter. Mid-twenties at most.

Peter scowled at her.

“How’d Stark get a kid intern anyway?” Falcon asked, relaxed and teasing in a way that was at odds with his serious expression from moments ago. “Last time I checked, Stark Industries only had internship opportunities for college students and college graduates. And trust me, I did check. My niece is your age and she’s dying to get into the program, but she was too young. And therefore, you are too young.”

Peter straightened his back. “What does age matter? I’m smart enough to do the work.”

Falcon rolled his eyes, and said, in his most patronizing voice, “Sure you are.”

“Stark’s a genius,” Scarlet Witch said in a soft tone of voice, as if she was trying to let Peter down gently. As if Tony would ever tone down his own genius to make someone else feel better. Hah!

Peter thrust his chin out, and grinned at them like he had the Spiderman mask on and was spewing confidence. “You think I’m just a charity case? You think Mr. Stark would deal with me twice a week,” (and more,) “if I couldn’t hold my own?”

Falcon shrugged, and Peter knew he was being teased, but he still refused to back down. At school he kept his head low, got good grades but didn’t flaunt them, and at home he just tried to make the least amount of stress possible for Aunt May, but here, here with Tony, this was supposed to the place where he could just be himself.

“I’m smart,” Peter said. “Smart enough to,” his eyes roamed the room, falling on the table the three of them were sitting at, “beat you in poker.”

Falcon grinned. “You’re on, buddy! Here, pull up a chair,” and the next thing he knew, Peter was sitting at the table between Scarlet Witch and Vision, opposite Falcon.

They played.

Peter won.

 (He cheated.)

 (Peter had fast reflexes. His hands, his arms, his muscles, and his thoughts could all work at double, or triple normal-human speed. He had got a mind for math, and while he didn’t really have a poker face [why need one when he usually wore a mask], he didn’t really need one when he could count cards. Uncle Ben and him used to play Texas Hold’em and 7-Card Stud for peanuts and pretzels over the kitchen table, but it was Aunt May who showed him how to cheat. That’s why Ben would only play with Peter, because May couldn’t help but count cards and stack the deck when she played. May was always serious about Peter not ever cheating if he ever played outside of home, but she couldn’t help herself against Ben. His face, when she won against impossible odds over and over had made her laugh.)

And Peter couldn’t help but grin when he laid down a Ten of Spades, and then a Jack of Spades, and then a Queen and a King and an Ace of Spades. Falcon was gaping at him. Scarlet Witch was laughing. And Vision just looked mildly impressed.

“What?” Falcon asked, eyes bugging out of his head. He looked at the table, at the cards, at Peter. “How? How in the hell did you do that?”

“Told you I was smart,” Peter said.

“You cheated,” Vision said, not sounding offended. His voice was even.

Peter shrugged. “Sure. I don’t normally. But Poker is usually a strategy game, right? And Mr. Stark doesn’t keep me around for strategy. He keeps me around for math and mechanical engineering and physics and chemistry stuff. How else could I prove I was smart enough.”

“You could have solved an academic equation of my choosing,” Vision said, and Peter blinked.

“You’re not wrong,” Peter said.

“I was planning on suggesting it, but Sam and Wanda both seemed amused at this… game, so.” Vision shrugged, and it looked almost natural. Like he knew what a shrug should look like, but he practiced it in the mirror so often it became stilted instead of organic-looking.

“I could still do it?” Peter offered. “It would actually be kind of nice. With Mr. Stark the equations are always based on reality, on some project we’re working on, and I don’t really get to solve those puzzle-like equations just for the fun of solving them anymore.”

“I don’t think so,” Falcon said, but he was smiling. He put a hand out and Peter shook it. “I’m Sam Wilson, nice to meet you.”

“Peter Parker,” Peter said, even though FRIDAY had already said his name once. 

“I’m Wanda,” Scarlet Witch said, and waved, a slight red mist twirling around her fingers, which she then shook her fingers at to dissipate.

They looked at Vision and he blinked at them before saying, “I am the Vision. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” 

Peter bobbed his head. “This is kind of really cool, meeting you guys.” He grabbed at the cards and started shuffling them, giving his hands something to do, and also just shuffling them for shuffling’s sake. Like rewinding a VHS before putting back in the box, Peter tried to always shuffle playing cards before putting them away, so he wouldn’t have to spend time shuffling the next time he wanted to play.

“Are we the first Avengers you’ve met?” Wanda asked.

Peter rolled his eyes. “I work for Tony Stark. I’m sure you’ve heard of him? Iron Man?”

“Oohh, the kid’s got a bite to him,” Sam said with a laugh.

Peter pulled a card from the deck, the Ace of Spades and flipped it in his hand. “Thanks, I think?” Peter said. He tossed the Ace into the air, and when he caught it, it was a King of Hearts.

“First cheating at poker, and now magic tricks?” Sam asked. “Don’t tell me Tony hired you for your sleight of hand.”

“No,” Peter said, flipping the King of over and over in his fingers. This wasn’t something Aunt May and Uncle Ben had taught him. This was just a fun side-effect of having spider-enhanced reflexes. It came naturally to him now, seeing what cards were nearby, and having the quickness of hand to switch them, faster than the human eye could follow. “Mr. Stark hired me because I can build a working miniature replica of the Iron Man suit when he gives me five hours alone in the lab.” The King of Hearts became a King of Diamonds, and then a Queen of Diamonds. “And I wouldn’t really consider it ‘hiring’ me,” he made air quotes, “because he doesn’t pay me except for with food. Which is what I came here to find, incidentally.”

“Wow,” Wanda said. “Free child labor. Isn’t that illegal?”

Peter waved a hand around his head, and then the Queen of Diamonds became a Queen of Hearts. “I think technically what we have is more of a tutor...ship? He teaches me things in the lab, and I help him build stuff. I don’t, like, grab him coffee or follow him around or do his busy work or anything.” He flipped the card once more and the Queen of Hearts became a Two of Clubs. Peter looked at it. “That was supposed to be the Ace of Spades again.”

Sam and Wanda laughed, and Peter joined in. He shuffled the cards into one stack, and then placed them face down in the center of the table.

“You done with us then?” Sam asked.

“You all seem very nice,” Peter said, “but like I said, I just came by looking for food while Mr. Stark and Mr. Rhodes talk about whatever two superhero adults talk about after they shoo the intern out of the room.”

Sam and Wanda visibly straightened in their seats. Maybe they knew what Tony was up to.

Peter heard the footsteps before anyone else did. He thought at first it was one person walking in a slightly echoing hallway, but no, those were actually two pairs of feet, walking in tandem.

Peter forced himself not to look in the direction of the noise until the others had heard it too, but he’d taken the spot facing the area he’d come from, and therefore the area that these two new people were also entering from.

They were two men, tall, broad, and muscled, and one was fair-haired while the other had longer, darker strands. The brunet had a metal arm. Even without the metal arm, Peter would have recognized Captain America and the Winter Soldier anywhere.

(Boy had the media had a field day when known assassin and immortal-seeming Russian agent turned out to be brainwashed and horribly tortured WWII POW Sgt. James Buchanan Barnes. Peter didn’t know the details, Tony didn’t talk about the early days of the Winter Soldier interacting with the Avengers, but long story short (Peter was sure it was fraught, since the Winter Soldier was also known to be the killer of Howard and Maria Stark thanks to the SHIELD/HYDRA Info Dump of ‘14), by the time the media realized the metal-armed man who was helping the Avengers in so many of their battles was the Winter Soldier, the Avengers and a slew of Stark-employed lawyers were there to make sure everyone got the story right. Barnes was a victim, and was healing.) 

And as soon as they saw Peter they straightened. They did not stop, or slow their stride—their faces did not change, but they straightened, making themselves tall and intimidating.

What was is with these people and shows of power? Just cause a stranger shows up in a supposedly completely secure location and no one knows who he is and he looks like a kid…

Anyway.

But unlike Sam and Wanda, these two didn’t go for their weapons. Maybe because Sam and Wanda looked so relaxed. 

Peter got the feeling that Vision didn’t change, move, or emote much.

“Hey guys,” Captain America, aka Steve Rogers, aka miracle man, aka [low decibel fanboy rumblings] said as he approached. Barnes positioned himself half a step back, flanking him, and watching his six, and you could definitely tell they’d served together, and that they knew each other, because Captain America and Sgt. Barnes moved like a well-oiled machine, one always looking where the other wasn’t. It was wild.

“Hey Steve,” Sam said with a grin (Hypothesis: Sam grinned a lot). “Guess who we met today.” He gestured to Peter, who waved at Captain America in what he hoped was a mature, organic way, but probably looked manic because he was meeting Captain America!

“And who is this?” the Captain asked politely, with a PR smile on his face.

“Stark’s child,” Wanda said in a completely serious voice.

That stopped the Captain in his tracks. The PR smile dropped from his face and his mouth pulled into something bewildered. Barnes’s face also did something complicated, though he wouldn’t look at Peter, just kept his eyes roving over the room, checking the exits and entrances, and keeping an eye out for possible threats.

“Tony has a kid?” Captain America breathed out, eyes wide, looking suddenly so young. He might be as young as Wanda, if you didn’t count the years on ice. Peter thought vaguely that he should know how old Captain America was when he went down in the Valkyrie. Hadn’t he learned that in history class at some point?

Sam and Wanda were silent for a beat too long, a beat long enough for Peter to realize they were tricking Captain America, probably just to see the shocked face the man was making, and Peter realized they were little shits. 

The Avengers were all little shits.

Holy moly!

“No,” Pete said, because as much as Captain America had been his hero growing up and he felt like if he even tried speaking in front of him, he would just vomit instead, seeing the man’s face morph slowly into one more and more slack jawed by the second was so much worse. “I mean, the reason I’m here is because of Mr. Stark.”

Captain America made a rough noise in the back of his throat, and Peter heard Sam try to stifle a snort. 

“But he’s not my dad,” Peter said. “To clarify, me and Mr. Stark are not related. At all. I’m just his intern.”

Captain America sucked in a short breath and then narrowed his eyes at Sam first, and then at Wanda. “Fuck you guys!” 

“Language,” Sam said in a teasing tone of voice, and Captain America groaned.

“You were really just going to lie to me like that the first time I meet someone?” Steve asked. “Do not tell Tony about this. At all. Ever.” He turned to Peter. “Nice to meet you, I’m Steve.”

Peter smiled at him, probably too wide (but Captain America had just introduced himself to Peter as Steve!) “I’m Peter, Sir, Mr. America, Man. Um. Nice to meet you.”

There. Now Peter would seem very uncool, and Captain America would think he was a lame-o. He guessed it at least had the benefit that the man would probably never connect cool, useful, superhero Spiderman to lame, actually most uncool person on earth, Peter Parker.

Steve grinned crookedly at him and hooked a thumb at Sgt Barnes, who had taken it upon himself to step up beside Steve (he was calling Captain America Steve!). “This is Bucky. He doesn’t really talk much to strangers. Hope that won’t offend you.”

Bucky (Bucky!) waved with his metal hand, and Peter couldn’t help but watch as the joints shifted, metal moving seamlessly as he waggled his fingers. It was a mechanical dream.

But it was rude to interrogate people on their prosthetics, even though Peter just really wanted to see how the joints fit together so snuggly, and how the metal could move so precisely, and could Bucky feel sensation with it? Hot and cold? Pressure? Could he control how much strength he used with it. He’d seen Bucky in fights (on tv) with the other Avengers, and the arm was strong. But there was so much he didn’t know, that he wanted to find out, that he could find out, if he just got a closer look…

“It’s not dangerous,” Steve said lightly, or like he was trying to be casual and wasn’t quite making it, and that was when Peter realized he’d been staring too long.

“Huh?” Peter asked, shifting his eyes to Steve’s, and then to Bucky’s. Steve looked like he was trying to hide the fact that he was upset that someone had kicked his dog, and Bucky had gone full brood, doom and gloom, glowering at Peter. “Oh! No, sorry, the arm. Not dangerous. Well, yes, it is a weapon. I guess. And a prosthetic? But a weapon is only as dangerous as the person using it, and I’m sure Mr. Sergeant Barnes Sir doesn’t want to hurt me with it, no. I’m not, um, scared? Is that what you were worried about? Because I wasn’t. Worried, I mean. About your arm. Or what you could do with your arm. I mean I was curious about what you could do with your arm.” He got up as he rambled, couldn’t help but get a little closer, looking the arm up and down without touching, because touching without permission wasn’t cool. “But not. I mean. Not, like, the damage your arm could do. I just mean, like, how does it move so smoothly? Can you feel sensation with it? I’ve seen footage, I know your reflexes must be crazy good with that thing, but with how articulate it is, it’s probably the heaviest prosthetic I’ve ever seen and dude, your muscle mass must be intense! Like, to move so smoothly with it, I…” and then he looked away from the arm again, up into the wide eyes of Bucky Barnes, and stopped himself, with a grimace. “Sorry. Sorry, man. I know I can ramble like it’s nobody’s business. And, like, it’s none of my business, obviously, I just can’t help myself around tech. I mean, I don’t see how anyone else could, I mean—” He cut himself off again, took a deep breath, stepped back, and said, “I’m just going to stop talking now.”

There was an awkward silence, and then Sam piped up weakly with, “Are you… are you really actually Stark’s kid after all?”

Peter whirled on the man, and saw that Sam and Wanda were both looking kind of overwhelmed, and he felt bad. He knew he could ramble pretty hard, and it was bad around people who didn’t know him that well. Not that he was worse around strangers or anything, just, if people weren’t used to it, well, it could be overwhelming.

Aunt May didn’t mind when he got on those tangents, and Ned didn’t, and Mr. Stark could go toe-to-toe with him with them so—

Wait.

Was that why Sam asked that? Did he think rambling was genetic? Just because Tony could ramble and Peter could ramble, and just because they were obsessed with mechanics and science  and—

“Tony Stark is not my father,” Peter said with a scowl. “Just because we have the same interests. That isn’t how genetics works!”

“Well it sounds like you would know,” Steve said, sounding more contained and mature, and it would have worked but his eyes were still wide. “Your interests and Tony’s run on very similar veins.”

Peter narrowed his eyes, unsure if he was being made fun of, and said, “Thanks.”

Steve smiled at him, genuinely, and Peter thought maybe Steve hadn’t been making fun of him. Which was good. Maybe the guy was just awkward. How weird was that! Finding out Captain America is just awkward.

Wait till he told Ned!

“You want to see the arm,” Barnes said slowly, without any inflection, and Peter’s heart jumped.

Yes! Yes, yes, yes! He wanted to see the arm, see how it ticked!

Aloud, he said, calmly, “I’m interested in seeing how it works, yeah, but don’t feel obligated to show me. I know this sort of thing can be personal.”

Barnes made a grimace that might have been a smile if it weren’t so pained. “I don’t really trust myself with it,” he admitted through gritted teeth, like he was doing field surgery on himself without anesthetic and didn’t want anyone to know he was in pain. (Of course he was in pain. It was obvious in every line of his body, in every strained word.) “I’m still,” he continued slowly, hurt pulling at the words so they came out of his mouth slow and harsh, “getting used to…” Peter didn’t interrupt, he let Barnes think it out, “controlling something,” he continued, “that could, that can cause so much damage. With ease.”

Steve put a hand on Barnes’s shoulder and Barnes leaned into it. And Peter thought that maybe if it was Ned and Mr. Stark that kept Peter sane and helped him make good decisions and be the best he could be, that Steve was that for Barnes.

“I get it,” Peter says with a shrug, which he knew they wouldn’t get, hoped they wouldn’t get, because a kid Peter’s age shouldn’t be able to understand the confusion and terror of wielding a power too great for themselves. But he did get it, even as he knew that his spider-enhanced senses and strength weren’t the same as being brainwashed and tortured and having a weapon/prosthetic grafted onto your skin. “You have a, um, a weapon. A tool. A powerful one. And um, my uncle always said that with great power comes great responsibility, so you might feel obligated to fight—to use that power for good, and that can be hard to deal with.” Peter shrugged. “But Mr. Barnes Sir, you don’t have to take shit from anybody. Like, if you don’t want anyone to see it, don’t feel obligated to show it. You’re your own person, your first responsibility should always be to yourself.”

“Oh,” Barnes said quietly, almost too quietly for a non-enhanced person to hear.

“That was really nice, kid,” Sam said, and Peter turned to find Sam looking at him with kind eyes.

Peter shrugged again. “Thanks, but it’s only the truth.”

Steve let out a watery chuckle, and oh no! Had he made Captain America cry? But no, his eyes were dry, and Peter let out a breath of relief. 

“Peter Parker,” FRIDAY announced, “Designated: O’ Intern O’ Mine.” Peter scowled. He really was going to have to talk to Tony about that. “The supreme creator has requested your presence back in the lab. There is,” and here she cut to a sound clip of Tony, “Science to do, Petey! There is science to be done!” The clip ended.

Peter pulled out his phone, checked the time, and wow! He’d been chatting longer than he thought! 

“Tell Mr. Stark I’ll be right there,” Peter said, and hustled out from behind the table. His stomach rumbled, and he turned to the group of people as a whole. “Hey, do you guys know where I can get some food?”

Wanda pointed to a wide doorway, through which Peter could see some kitchen appliances. “That Fridge is for shared food. No one will mind if you take anything from there.”

“Thanks!” Peter said, and scurried into the kitchen area. He opened the fridge, finding an array of take out boxes and tupperware containers. “Score!” he whispered to himself, and heard a huff of laughter that must have come from Steve, because he was pretty sure super soldier serum was the only thing that would have allowed anyone to hear what he’d just whispered from the next room over. 

He grabbed a couple of Chinese food containers and a large pizza missing only a few slices, and scurried back out into the common room.

Upon seeing his mountain of food, Sam’s eyebrows shot up. “Bringing enough food back for you, Tony, and the bots?”

“I don’t know,” Steve said in a teasing voice, and his face was now open in a way it hadn’t been before. “I could probably finish all that by myself.”

Sam and Barnes both rolled their eyes, and having noticed that they’d both done it, Sam mock-glared at Barnes, who smirked back at him. 

Peter’s heart thudded in his chest. He’d forgotten for a moment that this was something too he had to hide, because he was here with Tony, and with Tony he felt safe. 

Would they figure it out? Would they see through him? Steve had already met him as both identities, would he put one and one together and get two?

But Steve looked relaxed, smiling, and even Wanda had a happy glint in her eye, and Peter asked himself if overeating was a sign of being a superhero.

Peter looked at the food, and then the faces of the various avengers in the room, and mentally shook his head. No. It was a sign that he was a growing boy, and maybe had eyes too big for his stomach.

“Rhodey’s down there too,” Peter said, because it was true, and it also caused a helpful, if false, implication in his favor.

“Well go on then,” Sam said, “and if you convince Tony and Rhodey to come back up here we can get a real game started.”

“We’re not teaching a child to gamble,” Steve said sternly.

Sam and Wanda and even Vision laughed.

“Oh, we don’t have to teach Peter anything,” Wanda said. “He already beat Sam at Texas Hold’em once.”

“Wiped the floor with me,” Sam said jovially. “We finally found someone who cheats at cards better than you, Steve!”

Steve gaped at first Sam, and then Peter, and all Peter could think to say was, “Captain America cheats at cards? My dreams are crushed!” Steve’s jaw dropped, and Bucky let out a bark of actual, belly-deep laughter, and Peter’s stomach grumbled, so he sped past the heroes and down the hall, and back towards Tony’s lab. And if on the way he opened the pizza box and ate a couple slices, well, Peter was growing boy.

Chapter Text

Monday morning, bright and early, Peter was trying desperately to fall asleep on his desk. There were four minutes left before the bell rang, and he had convinced himself that four minutes of sleep would be enough to make it through the rest of the day at an acceptable energy level.

Peter checked the time on his phone.

3 minutes.

God. Why had he stayed up so late? 

Of course, the answer was that he’d spent FRIDAY with Tony (during which time he’d met some choice Avengers) and he’d spent Saturday with May, and Sunday morning he’d gone to a museum with Ned and MJ for a group assignment they had in history, which left just Sunday afternoon and evening (and late night, and very early Monday morning) to do all the homework that was due today that he should have been doing all weekend long.

He should know better by now. He did this every weekend. He’d thought by now he’d have learned.

“Peter!” Ned greeted, loud and chipper, and dropped his bag on the desk beside Peter.

Peter groaned and looked at his phone. 

2 minutes.

He wasn’t going to make it.

And Ned didn’t care.

“Peter! Yesterday was so cool. We’ve got to go back sometime we don’t have to take notes for Mr. Rhiner’s class. They had a whole section on Mesopotamia we didn’t even get to see! Peter, what are you doing next weekend?”

Peter debated sticking his head in his backpack to block out some of the noise.

But, of course he wouldn’t do that.

His backpack was too full of heavy textbooks and stuffed-to-exploding binders. There was no room for his head in that mess.

And then Peter thought about the upcoming weekend.

“I can honestly say I have no idea what I’m doing,” Peter said. “Let me ask Mr. Stark if he has anything planned. And Aunt May. I’ll let you—”

“So you’re now pretending not only to work for Stark Industries, but also to know Tony Stark personally,” Flash said in faux-disappointment. He clucked his tongue as he stopped next to Peter’s desk. Peter didn’t know what god he’d pissed off to make it so Flash shared four out of seven of Peter’s classes, but if Peter ever met that god he was going to punch him in the face. “How droll.”

 “Peter does work at Stark Industries,” Ned said, face flush and fists clenched by his side. “And he does know Tony Stark. I’ve met him!”

“Oh,” Flash cooed, and shook his head. “And now Leeds is lying about it too. Is it because you’re just protecting Peter’s lies? Or do you honestly think Tony Stark, The Tony Stark, would care at all for a broke orphan from Queens.”

Peter bit his tongue to keep himself from doing anything rash, and tasted copper, but he didn’t let his arms rise from the desk, didn’t let himself engage. He wouldn’t give Flash the satisfaction.

“That’s quite enough out of you,” Mr. Harrington, entering the room and dropping his stuff haphazardly on his desk, causing the corner of a paper from a stack he’d been carrying to dip into his coffee mug. “Thompson. Detention after school.”

“But, Mr. Harrington!” Flash whined, and at Harrington’s unimpressed look, skulked back to his seat and slumped in it.

Ned also hurried to slide into his seat, and Mr. Harrington put his desk slightly to rights as the rest of the students settled in and the bell rang.

They watched the morning announcements in relative silence, since Flash was still sulking and Peter was too tired to whisper with Ned.

After the announcements ended, and the lights came back up, Mr. Harrington took his place, standing at the front of the room.

“Now, students, the trip to Stark Industries is more than three weeks away, but there are still a few things we need to get done in preparation. I know most of you have turned your permission slips in, but there are still a few,” he gave pointed looks to certain students around the room, “who haven’t returned them yet. Even if you’re not going, please still turn your unsigned slips in so I know how many students to tell SI are attending. Those of you who are going, there are a few more things Stark Industries needs before we’ll be allowed to tour the building.”

Peter furrowed his brow. So much needed just to visit his own place of work (internship). Jeez. 

And what else could be needed? He hadn’t needed this much stuff when he started working there, and a field trip was so much less stress than hiring a new intern, right?

“Firstly, we’ve been notified that each of you need to sign an NDA. That’s a non-disclosure agreement. Stark Industries prides itself on its tech and research, and even though what we’ll be touring will be just the lowest rung of that, it’s important to the company that they know you won’t release any information about what they’re making to the general public.” As if to reassure, he said, “To be clear, it’s just a safety net. I don’t expect we’ll see anything Stark Industries wouldn’t want us to talk about. And while there will be locations we’ll be told not to take pictures of, unless otherwise stated, photos will be allowed. Though again, your parent or guardian will also have to sign your NDA. So.” He handed a stack to the front desk of each row. “Take one and pass it back.”

Peter definitely hadn’t signed an NDA when he’d started his internship. Of course, he wouldn’t need to sign an NDA just to be Spiderman, but Tony made some of the Spiderman tech (despite Tony’s desire, Peter wouldn’t let him make all of it. Spiderman was still his, and though he appreciated the help, the gifts, Iron-Spider and Karen, he still wanted to be the main creator in making his suit and his web formula, etc.), and he’d have thought somewhere along the way, since he was around, and used, so much of Tony’s technology, that someone would have made him sign one.

And, really, he should ask someone (not Tony. Maybe Ms. Potts?) if interns usually signed NDA when they started working at SI. That was usual at big companies, right? He was pretty sure it was. So, probably most interns signed NDAs to keep them from selling company secrets etc, and it was pretty darn likely regular employees did as well.

Peter never had.

It warmed Peter to think that Tony trusted him that much.

Or, alternatively, Tony may just not have thought about it, which was equally likely but less heart-warming. 

“Secondly,” Mr. Harrington continued, once the NDAs started to travel towards the back of the room. “For security purposes Stark Industries requires all employees and visitors to wear badges at all times.”

Peter did not have a badge.

This time he frowned, not feeling warm at all.

He’d never gotten a badge, and hadn’t wanted one because FRIDAY always let him in without one, but now that it turned out they’d need once for the tour, it made him feel like an illegitimate intern to not have a badge at all. Why didn’t he have a badge? He was an intern. A legitimate, real intern. He should have a badge.

Right?

Of course, he’d never seen Tony or Pepper wear a badge either. Like, literally ever. So, maybe he shouldn’t be upset. It just meant he was close to the CEO and owner of the company. But he didn’t want to get one now. If he got one with his class it would just be a tour guest name-badge, and that felt worse somehow. If he was going to get one, he wanted it to be real. Like the other SI employees.

“That’s another reason we need those permission slips back ASAP, people,” Mr. Harrington said with what passed for a stern expression on his face. “We need to send the final list of students to Stark Industries in time for them to print specialized badges for all of you. And since the entire Senior class is going, this isn’t exactly something they’re going to be able to do last minute. Have the permission slips in by the end of the week or you won’t be allowed to go at all. Alright class?”

There was a general grumbling of assent—and also just a general grumbling. 

“Does Parker have to get a badge too?” Flash piped up, and Peter was actually impressed he’d remembered not to call Peter ‘Penis’ to the teacher’s face.

“Of course,” Mr. Harrington said with a frown, “everyone who’s going will get a badge.”

“But Mr. Harrington,” Flash continued smarmily, “since Parker already works there, shouldn’t he have his own badge?”

Peter sunk down in his seat and kept his expression firmly forward. He could feel the eyes of his classmates on him, wondering the same thing as Flash. It was a valid point, and Peter wished he did have a badge, just so he could prove once and for all he actually interned at SI.

But he didn’t have one.

Ned put a comforting hand on his shoulder, and Peter appreciated the gesture, though at the moment it didn't help much against the stares of his classmates. And Mr. Harrington.

Mr. Harrington blinked at Peter. As far as Peter knew, Mr. Harrington knew as much about Peter’s internship as anyone else at the school did (excluding Ned, MJ, and himself), which was next to nothing. It wasn’t like he had to register with the school what extracurriculars he got up to outside of campus. That’d be like informing Principal Morita every time him and Ned had a lego night.

“Well,” Mr. Harrington said, suddenly on unsure footing, “even if Peter does have an internship at Stark Industries,” implying that Peter might not, which was whatever, Mr. Harrington didn’t know everything about Peter’s life, it just happened that this was going to make Flash more unbearable, “I’m not going to risk not sending in his information. If there’s some sort of discrepancy, they’ll sort it out. I’m sure they have a database of all of their… interns. And whatnot.”

Which was honestly the most diplomatic that Peter could have hoped for in this situation. 

“Moving on,” Mr. Harrington continued, regaining his stride, “each of the badges Stark Industries will make for us will be personalized, again, for security reasons, and that means they’ll each have your photograph on them.” The noises in the room increased, some excited and some less so. “Some other classes are taking time out of this period to take individual photos of each of you, but I’m confident that since you’re all almost adults, you’ll be able to find an acceptably professional headshot and email it to me before the week is out.” A few hands shot into the air. “Yes,” he said with a sigh, “you can use a good selfie.” The hands went down. “But it has to be a good one! I don’t want any middle fingers, or you picking your nose or whatever. Something you wouldn’t be ashamed for Tony Stark himself to see.” And then beneath his breath he muttered, “Not that we’ll be meeting him.”

Peter thought about saying that Tony would probably find the middle fingers or nose-picking pictures on professional-looking badges hilarious, but he really didn’t want to open himself to any more negative attention. Flash would just call him a liar anyway.

“Here’s my email address, in case all of you forgot it from the beginning of the year, or longer for those in the Academic Decathlon,” Mr. Harrington said, as he took up an expo marker and started writing his long, school-standard email address on the white board. “Write it down. Email me a photo before the end of school on Friday or you will not be going to Stark Industries. Do you understand me?”

The students reacted to that in the expected fashion, which is to say, since Mr. Harrington’s back was turned and he was slightly occupied, whispers broke out around the room.

“Peter,” Ned groaned quietly, and Peter turned to see Ned making a dramatically pained face. 

“Yes, Ned?” Peter asked, forcing his lips not to curl upward, but instead to stay in a straight line as he gazed at his friend.

“This is horrible!” Ned whined. “How am I supposed to find a good selfie? Peter! You know how unphotogenic I am!”

Peter snorted into his hand, and then tried to look like he hadn’t just laughed in the face of Ned’s obvious pain. “You’ll be fine,” Peter said. “Why don’t you take one from Facebook? Hmm? If it’s good enough for your profile picture, it’s probably fine for Stark Industries.”

Ned shook his head. “Peter, that picture’s from freshman year! I look like a baby! And that was the last time I took a good photo too! What am I going to do?”

“I’ll help you take one today,” Peter said soothingly. “We’ll get you a good one, I promise.”

Ned looked at him, practically glowing. “Really Peter? Thanks!”

Peter shrugged. “I’m here to help.”

“I think it’s completely unnecessary,” MJ said, leaning towards them from her chair. She was speaking in a regular talking voice because she sat two rows over and was talking to them from between two other conversations that were happening around her. 

“Yeah?” Peter asked, genuinely curious to hear MJ’s opinion on it. Her opinions on things were always interesting.

“She’s just saying that ‘cause she knows she won’t look good in any photograph,” Flash said snidely, also talking across part of the room because he sat nowhere near Ned and Peter.

Peter looked at Flash’s sneer and said something that Spiderman would have said in a heartbeat, but Peter Parker normally would have shoved back down. “You know, Flash, it’s really unhealthy for you to project your own insecurities on other people like that. It’ll only hurt you in the long run.”

Flash’s face turned dark with rage, and he glowered at Peter, mouth open to say something horribly nasty and scathing (and maybe something that would have gotten him in detention), but he was cut off by MJ.

“Wow, Peter,” she said, not sarcastic in the least (surprise). “That was good. I’m impressed.”

Flash’s expression grew darker, and he opened his mouth again, but was cut off by Ned this time. “Peter! Good one!”

“Thanks,” Peter said, ignoring Flash’s increasingly angry expression. He was almost embarrassed for letting something so biting slip out. He tried not to antagonize Flash, because it always just made the situation worse, but this time he couldn’t help himself.

“Penis!” Flash snapped. “I’m going to get you for that one!”

Peter couldn’t help but sigh. Flash didn’t scare him. He couldn’t really hurt him, and he probably wouldn’t try, at least not physical violence, but he could make Peter’s school life annoying.

And then Mr. Harrington cleared his throat and said, almost resignedly. “Mr. Thompson, we do not use that language here. After school detention today and tomorrow.”

“But, but,” Flash started, eyes wide, feigning innocence. “But Mr. Harrington, I didn’t—!”

“I heard what you said,” Mr. Harrington said. “Keep it up and you won’t be going on this field trip at all.”

Flash scowled but subsided, and Peter let out a silent sigh of relief.

“Now,” Mr. Harrington said to the class, “now that we have that non-educational stuff out of the way, let’s get to work!”

The class let out a groan.

After school Peter told Aunt May that he needed a headshot, and she joked that all this superheroing was going to his head, making him think he was a movie star, but she helped him pick out a photo that looked at least like his hair wasn’t a rat’s nest and he hadn’t gotten less than six hours of sleep for the last twelve nights, and she said he looked dashing, and he trusted her. He emailed it to Mr. Harrington before dinner, because he knew that if he left it till later, he’d probably forget completely. 

After dinner, he and Aunt May by unspoken consensus turned on the tv, and watched some shows they needed to catch up on. And he even went to bed at a decent hour.

Sometimes, Peter considered, you just needed to treat yourself. A little R&R could go a long way. And it made Aunt May happy to hang out with him too.

Maybe this was the self-care Ned was always nagging him about.

To make up for his evening of rest and relaxation with Aunt May, the next afternoon after school he headed straight to SI, prepared to put all his energy and concentration into working with Tony, and then maybe going out as Spiderman for an hour when he was done.

He liked spending time with Aunt May, and often if she asked, he’d drop what he was doing to just spend time with her, but she didn’t ask, because she knew it was important to him that he did what he thought he needed to, and so even though the previous night had been like a little mini-vacation, he was now almost anxious to get back to doing something. 

Just to tempt fate, Peter walked into SI through the lobby once more, and again the security guards at the gate looked at him as if he were someone, well, someone important. But the bored guard from last time was working at the gate next to the one Peter was trying to go through, and she just scoffed loudly, and said, “Oh let him in, will you, Roger? It’s just O, haven’t you heard?”

Peter blinked at her, and her bored-verging-on-miffed expression.

“O?” Peter couldn’t help but ask her, and then regretted it when she turned a shark-like smile on him. 

“Yeah. Designation: O’ Intern O’ Mine. So. You’re O.”

Peter pressed his lips together. He didn’t want to have a reputation. Next time he was definitely climbing in through the window.

“Oh,” Roger said brightly, and waved Peter’s back-pack through the x-ray. “O! I’ve heard of you.”

Peter winced. “Thank you?” And then he shook his head. He was really going to have to talk to Tony about getting rid of that stupid designation. He ducked his head, snatched his bag from the conveyor belt, and scurried to the elevator. As he fled the horrible awkwardness of these adults looking at him like he was someone special, someone shouted, “Aw, wait a minute! Yo! O! I’ve got—” but Peter didn’t want to try to answer any questions or anything, so he bolted through the elevator doors FRIDAY had opened for him at the last second, pretending he couldn’t hear anything. In the sudden silence of the stark white elevator, FRIDAY said, “Welcome, Peter. Designated: O’ Intern O’ Mine.”

Peter scowled at the security camera, sure that FRIDAY was laughing at him behind the polite greeting. “Hi, FRIDAY,” he said sullenly. “Up to the lab today?”

“Indeed,” FRIDAY said, “Boss is waiting for you.

And he was. When the doors opened at the floor Tony’s lab resided in Tony was standing there, head buried in his phone, ostensibly waiting for Peter. Or maybe Tony just got the best cell reception standing right here, near the elevator banks on this specific floor of the skyscraper he owned.

Sure.

“Mr. Stark,” Peter said, stepping cautiously out of the elevator. The doors closed behind him, presumably to provide lift or descent to some other SI employee.

Tony’s head jerked up. “You know Peter,” he said, stuffing his phone back in his pocket, and then putting both hands in his pockets and looking to the window of a dark lab to his right, avoiding Peter’s eyes (he did that sometimes. It was just a quirk of his. Peter didn’t get offended about it.) “I know you call Honeybear by his name, and you call Pep by hers. Can’t you call me Tony?”

Peter paused, pretending to think about it. “I’m pretty sure Rhodes is Rhodey’s last name,” he said at last, “as Stark is yours.”

Tony rolled his eyes and tried to look like he wasn’t smiling at Peter. “Still! I’m the only one who gets a mister! You even call Steve by his first name, and you only met him a couple days ago.”

“I think last Friday was more than a couple days ago,” Peter said. “Plus, Steve isn’t my boss. You are my boss, Mr. Stark.”

Tony pouted and Peter laughed at him.

“So what are you doing here, Mr. Stark?” Peter asked again, emphasizing his use of Tony’s last name.

Tony rolled his eyes. “Well, I wanted to introduce you to someone else I’m working with today, who is in my lab right now, and I thought you might want a heads-up before you met them. I made FRIDAY tell me when you entered the building.”

“Who is it?” Peter asked. “Someone I know? An SI scientist? Another intern?”

Tony smirked at him. “Bruce Banner.”

Peter gasped, dramatically, but genuinely. “Bruce Banner? The Bruce Banner? Dr. Banner who wrote the book on Gamma radiation, who has seven PHDs, who—”

“Yes,” Tony cut him off with a laugh. “Yes, that Bruce Banner. Do you want to meet him?”

“Do I want to meet him? Of course I want to meet him! Tony—I mean Mr. Stark! Yes! Let’s go!”

Peter started down the hall, trying to keep his pace even, and Tony laughed after him, keeping step with him only by use of taking unnaturally long strides. But once Peter stepped through the entrance to Tony’s lab he froze. Wanting to meet his hero, a man he’d admired for years for his scientific acumen and intelligence, was one thing, seeing him leaning over a table, half a stalk of celery hanging out of his mouth, making notes on a beat up bent notebook was something else entirely. 

Tony scooted in around him and cleared his throat, alerting Dr. Banner to their presence. Banner didn’t startle, but it did take a second for him to tear himself away from his notes and look at Tony.

“Oh!” he said in surprise. “Tony. And you must be Peter,” he got to his feet and shuffled forward, but stopped two arms lengths away. He did not extend his hand in greeting, but he smiled. “Tony talks about you all the time. You’re his intern, right?”

Peter bobbed his head, but when he opened his mouth he said, “Wow, you’re Bruce Banner! We have a picture of you in our physics class next to Marie Curie.”

Banner blinked at him. “Um, thanks?” He turned to Tony, and then back to Peter. “I’m sorry, there’s a picture of me in your school?”

“Yeah,” Peter said. “Ms. Warren, she’s our physics teacher, she has pictures of all the great scientists above the whiteboard. Newton and Tesla and Curie and you. She says it’s so we know who to look up to. Figuratively and literally, because your faces are higher in our line of sight, and also you’re, like, science idols. Personally I think it’s so there’ll be people smarter than us looking down on us to keep us in line.”

Bruce looked at Peter in shock.

“Why isn’t there a picture of me in your classroom?” Tony asked petulantly.

Peter opened his mouth to say something snarky, like, ‘Maybe there would be if you were a foremost mind in the scientific community,’ or ‘Invent something then,’ but, uh, he was, and he had. “I don’t know,” is what he ended up saying. “I can talk to Ms. Warren about it? But I think she likes her aspirational scientists without all the flash and bang you usually have.”

Bruce snorted out a laugh. “Well Tony is very flashy,” he said. Tony opened his mouth to refute that, but Bruce obviously had a lot of experience dealing with Tony’s mouth because he kept talking, not letting Tony get a word in edgewise. “Now, enough about getting our pictures in school classrooms.” Tony opened his mouth again, but Bruce steamrolled right over that. “I know you Tony, you’re probably thinking about how you can get all of our faces on the walls of Peter’s High School, all high schools, and it’s not going to happen Tony,” Tony's mouth widened, “and not because I don’t think you could make it happen. Because I know you could. You have the tenacity and wallet for it, but because I don’t think you should, for the sanity of either me or Peter.” 

Tony’s mouth snapped shut and he let himself pout for a second before pulling himself out of it. “Fine, whatever,” he said flippantly, and nudged Peter further into the room. “Enough chit chat. I have a project I’d like both of your help with, if you’d be so kind. I’ve been thinking about…” and then he devolved into technobabble that Peter only understood about half of, but which drew Peter and Bruce in immediately. Like it was meant to, Peter supposed.

It wasn’t until FRIDAY called a break three hours later (which Tony had as an ongoing order to her, instituted when May insisted Tony not overwork Peter like he did to himself), that Peter realized that, well, three hours had passed. If Tony wanted him to work on this past today, Peter was going to have to research a higher level of chemistry than he currently had, but he got the feeling that Tony meant this to mostly be a learning experience for him, since him and Dr. Banner were ping-ponging information like it was going out of style.

Still.

Even though FRIDAY had shut off the holo-tables and cut the electricity to their tools, the two of them were still throwing ideas back and forth, and writing notes long-hand in a notebook.

Peter watched them, catching more than he had before, but a lot of it was still just Greek to him. While in the haze of talking shop with Tony and Dr. Banner, he’d forgotten to be amazed that he was working with the Dr. Bruce Banner, but now that he was no longer in the groove of things, he remembered and was, in due course, amazed once more. Peter waited until there was a break in the conversation and then butted in with, “Wow, it’s been super amazing to work with you Mr. Dr. Banner Sir,” (God, could Peter talk without word-vomiting gibberish every time he opened his mouth?) “and I’m super, super—just—in amazement!” And it was true. Dr. Banner was famous! Peter had read about some of Dr. Banner’s research in class, in his school books. And Peter had worked with him! Had learned from him! Ned was going to explode when he told him.

Dr. Banner blinked at him, as if he’d been woken from a deep sleep, and then gave him a small, but genuine, smile. “It was nice working with you too, Peter. You’re a bright young man.”

“I’m a bright young man,” Peter repeated softly in awe.

Tony rolled his eyes. “Close your mouth, Pete, you’ll gather flies.”

Peter shut his mouth without shame. 

Dr. Banner laughed, and then looked at his watch. “Tony, do you mind if we continue this tomorrow? Thor, Natasha, and I have plans tonight.” He turned his eyes to Peter. “Yoga class. Very relaxing.”

 “Dr. Banner does yoga,” Peter whispered.

Tony harrumphed. “You’re killing me kid. I’m right here.”

Bruce laughed. 

“Mr. Stark,” Peter whined, “I’m meeting my hero!”

“You met your hero a few years ago when I showed up at your apartment to offer you this internship,” Tony said with pursed lips.

Bruce patted Tony’s shoulder but spoke to Peter. “Thanks, Peter, but I’m just a scientist. I like my work, I like researching, but I’m just me.”

“Marie Curie was just herself too,” Peter pointed out, “and so was Galileo Galilei. It’s the fact that you, being yourself, can do so much, discover so much, create so much, that’s what’s so amazing!”

Dr. Banner’s cheeks were a distinct shade of pink as he ducked his head. “Thank you,” he said, quietly but sincerely, and then said quickly, “but I’ve really got to—I’ve got to go—bye!” and scurried from the room.

“Wow,” Peter said, watching the flustered scientist leave the room, “I just got to meet Bruce Banner!” He turned his eyes to Tony who was openly scowling. “What?” he asked Tony.

Tony shook his head. “Oh it’s nothing. I mean, it must be pretty cool meeting your hero and everything. You must be over the moon. It’s not like you were ever this choked up when you met me for the first time or anything. But that’s cool. Brucie is cool. You’re cool. Everything’s cool.”

Peter’s hero-worship for Bruce took a sudden back seat.

“Hey, Mr. Stark,” Peter said, “yeah, it was cool meeting Dr. Banner. I mean, he’s Dr. Banner! But if you didn’t think I was even more flustered when I met you for the first time, I mean, you must be out of your gourd. I was flipping out! No joke. Dr. Banner is very, very cool. Don’t get me wrong.”

“Thanks for not letting me get you wrong,” Tony said drily. 

Peter rolled his eyes. “But if you’re worried that I like him more than you or anything—”

Tony cut him off. “I’m not in junior high. Why would I care if you like him more than me, or think he’s a better scientist than me, or a better Avenger, or you want to intern for him now or whatever? I don’t care.”

Peter placed a hand on Tony’s shoulder, and realized abruptly that some time in the last year he’d surpassed Tony in height.

Bizarre.

“You’re still my favorite,” Peter said. “If you try to push my internship into anyone else’s lap, I’ll quit.”

Tony scoffed but actually met Peter’s eye, and didn’t look nearly so much like he was trying to hide his hurt. “Your favorite what? Favorite scientist? Favorite Avenger? Favorite boss?”

Peter shrugged, feeling like maybe he should be ashamed at this show of emotion, but unable to bring himself to be. “Just my favorite,” he said simply, and it was kind of true. He loved Aunt May like a mother, would always love her the most, and Ned and MJ were his best friends, but Tony Stark might just be Peter’s very favorite person in the world. He was biased, he knew, but Tony knew what it was like to be a hero, and be someone who people always underestimated and took advantage of, and want to save everyone and fail over and over and over again. Tony knew, intimately, what it was like to be what Peter was: a guy just trying his best when it felt like all he did was fail. 

When Peter grew up, he wanted to be Tony Stark.

But maybe without the, um, misspent youth, fortune 500 company, or facial hair.

“Oh,” Tony said, and looked away again while he cleared his throat. “That’s very—um, thank you. You’re, ah, my favorite too, kid.” He cleared his throat, and forcefully changed the subject. “So how was school? You had school today, right? You haven’t graduated yet?”

Peter laughed. “Yeah, I had school today. Actually, I had something school-related I wanted to ask you?”

Tony sat himself on a rotating stool and spun it. “Yeah? Need help with your homework? Is your class having a Bring-your-boss-to-work-day, and you want me to come?”

“Please don’t,” Peter said. “But no. I actually, so, ok,” he breathed out, “so you know how my school is coming to SI for a Field trip in like, three weeks, right?”

Tony nodded.

“Right, so, apparently SI has to, like, issue us individual name badges for security reasons or whatever?”

Tony shrugged. “Sounds like something Happy would institute. He takes security very seriously.” And then he snickered.

Peter smiled. “He does. But, ok, so, we had to send in pictures of ourselves for the badges,” Tony nodded, “right, so Mr. Harrington, he’s my chemistry teacher, and he’s been running Academic Decathlon since I was in freshman year—” he cut off that spew of useless information with a shake of his head, “anyway, he’s my homeroom teacher, and he was telling us about getting our pictures in early so he could send them to SI because everyone and their mothers needs badges, he said. Every employee needs one, every guest needs one, the President of the US of A would need one just to get past the lobby, no matter who you are, they won’t let you in without one. Especially if you’re a tour group.”

Tony blinked at him, which translated in Peter’s mind to, And? So what?

“So,” Peter said, “I’ve worked here for almost three years and I don’t have a badge. And I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear one either!”

Tony thought about this for a moment. “Do you want one?”

Peter tossed his hands in the air. “Does it matter? I’ll be getting one, just like the rest of my class, when we come for the tour.” Tony raised an expectant eyebrow, and Peter relented, letting out a sigh. “I just, I’ve told some of my classmates that I intern here, ‘cause it’s true, and some people don’t believe me. And, you know, the fact that apparently anyone who wants to get past SI’s lobby has to have an ID Badge, and I don’t, was pretty irrefutable proof that I don’t intern here. Which frankly isn’t true. I’m interning here right now.”

He stopped speaking with a huff, and realized he’d been fuming just a little. It wasn’t a good look on him. He tried to let it go; breathe in and out slowly. 

“Huh,” Tony said. “I hadn’t thought about that.” He tugged at his old and faded Led Zeppelin t-shirt. “Like you said, I don’t wear one. I don’t need to. And as much as Happy is very serious about security, he knows it’s impossible to try to make me wear anything. Happy’s been at this game for a long time, and knows a lost cause when the man signs his checks.”

“But, me?” Peter asked wearily. “I would wear one if he gave me one.”

Tony shrugged. “He also doesn’t try to make Pepper or Rhodey or any of the Avengers wear one either. Sorry kid, you’re one of us now.”

That at least made Peter smile. “It’s not good to make your head of security upset with you,” Peter teased, feeling suddenly a lot better. “Plus, if you don’t wear badges, what’s keeping any ol’ person from coming up here?”

“FRIDAY,” Tony said. “She knows who can and can’t access restricted sections. If you only interned downstairs I’ve no doubt they would have gotten you a pass but you intern for me. FRIDAY could work down there, and if she did, the building could theoretically go badgeless, but that’s a lot faces she’d have to know and frankly she’s above all that. It’s easier when its’ just a select number of people, less traffic.”

“Oh,” Peter said, feeling loads better. “Well that makes sense.”

Tony nodded. “And that way you don’t have to wear a badge when you come in here as Spidey too. Wouldn’t that be a pain? Having to swing around Manhattan with a name badge on?”

Peter grimaced. “Ah,” he said, “yes, I can see how that might be annoying.”

Tony chuckled. “If you want, I can have Happy print one up for you. That way all your classmates will see it and swoon.”

Peter could feel his cheeks heating slightly, and it would be nice, having something substantial to prove that he did work here. But… “No,” Peter said, “thanks, but that’s ok. I’d rather keep it the way it is. Plus, like I said, I’ll be getting one for the Field trip anyway.”

Tony waved his hand. “I should call your school and tell them not to bother. Any badge for a person under FRIDAY’s care is useless. FRIDAY is the mainframe for the building. All badge-scans go through her. There’s no point in getting you a badge and having you on her Unrestricted Access list. It’d be like getting double notifications for her.”

Peter raised his eyebrows. “Please don’t call my school.”

Tony met Peter’s eyes and they had a few seconds long stare-off before Tony rolled his eyes sky-ward. “Fine! Just purposefully allow my hyper smart artificial intelligence to experience an entire day of echo just because you don’t want The Tony Stark contacting your place of learning. See if I care! It’s not like the redundancy will take up important processing space in FRIDAY’s—”

“FRIDAY,” Peter said, cutting Tony off. “Do you mind if I have a card? Will it cause you problems?”

“Not at all, Peter,” FRIDAY said. “In fact, I’ve already taken the liberty to have a special card made for you that does not have the magnetic strip or any technology in it at all, so there will not be a redundancy. To the eye, it will look like every other badge given to your classmates, but it will not perform any function, as I will be looking after you, as I have since our introduction.”

“Aww,” Peter said, feeling warm, “Thank you FRIDAY.”

“Have I ever told you you’re getting too smart, Fri?” Tony asked.

FRIDAY hummed, a sound that was as human as it was mechanical. “As you created me to be intelligent, even artificially so, I wouldn’t think you’d feel the need to point out how smart I am. But thank you, Boss, for the compliment.”

Peter laughed at Tony’s mock-offended expression, and then Tony joined him in laughter.

“Fine, fine,” Tony said. “Peter, you’ll get a useless plastic rectangle with your name on it, and FRIDAY will make sure you can get into wherever you’re supposed to.”

“Sounds good to me, Boss,” FRIDAY said.

And Peter nodded.

“Good, now I believe it’s time for the boy’s feeding, right FRIDAY?”

“Hey!” Peter objected, mostly to being called ‘the boy.’ 

“Yes,” FRIDAY said. “Dinner has been ordered and will be arriving soon. Please make your way to the common area.”

And they did, laughing and chatting all the way.

Chapter Text

Wednesdays were Peter's usual patrol nights (except when he was feeling down and crashed Tony’s parties by… showing up uninvited to the lab [listen, last Wednesday had been an anomaly]), so this Wednesday afternoon/evening found him all suited up, swinging around the city, looking for wrong-doing to stop and innocents in need of help.

A normal Wednesday.

And as much as he wanted to be useful, a part of him was relieved that it seemed to be a quiet night because that meant that there was less crime going on, and fewer bystanders who would wind up in the hospital tonight, or horribly traumatized, or dead.

It was nearing nine, and Peter was thinking about giving in and going home (way earlier than he’d normally turn in, but there really hadn’t been a single thing to intervene in all evening and he had a history essay due on Friday that he should really get a head start on) when his sensitive ears picked up a large noise reverberating from the warehouse district. 

He turned his head in that direction and focused, and now that he knew where to listen he could hear chaos, the sound of concrete crunching, brick on brick and metal on metal, screaming—

That was all he needed to hear before he found himself swinging in that direction, all thoughts of his history essay forgotten. There were more important things that needed getting done.

When he touched down he realized he wasn’t the first person to arrive, wanting to help. The Avengers were there—or at least he assumed it was all the Avengers. Black Widow was fighting a guy in a black tactical suit who was wearing the broken remnants of a face mask and had several empty weapons holsters around his body, and the Hulk was shoveling through the remains of a partially collapsed warehouse. Off to the side were several other bodies in tactical suits, some with bullet wounds, some with arrows sticking out of them.

“We’ve got company,” said a voice not nearby. The voice then echoed mechanically from much closer. The echo was Black Widow’s communication device receiving at a slight delay the words of someone watching from afar. It took a second, but Peter was pretty sure the speaker on the comm was Hawkeye. The man had spoken enough the previous time they’d met that Peter was confident in his ability to recognize it.

Black Widow didn’t look away from her opponent, and Peter might have dropped down to help, but she dispensed with him quickly enough, and finding that there were no more people in black tac suits, scanned the area for, well, for Peter probably.

“He’s on your ten, 40 feet up,” first Hawkeye said, and then his echo said.

The Black Widow narrowed in on Peter in an instant, and he dropped from a telephone poll he was perched atop, landing on the balls of his feet with ease.

She didn’t aim her weapon at him but she didn’t exactly welcome him with open arms either.

“What?” Peter asked playfully, “Aren’t we besties now? I thought we really clicked when we had our rooftop rendezvous.” And then, still keeping his face fully on the Black Widow, he said, “How are you feeling Hawkeye? All patched up from your impromptu dumpster dive?”

There was an ominous silence, and then Hawkeye’s voice patched into the Black Widow’s earpiece. “Tell him he can suck it. I got pushed in.”

“He’s doing much better,” Black Widow told Peter instead. “He’d thank you if he were here.”

“Would not,” Hawkeye hissed, and it was quiet enough that Peter didn’t hear the archer himself, just the mechanical echo of the comm. If Peter had to guess, he’d say Hawkeye was probably playing sniper on a nearby rooftop, but he didn’t look for him in fear of giving up the archer’s location to an enemy. Which was maybe overkill, since the only people standing in the vicinity that Peter could see were Black Widow and Hulk, and Peter might be young, but he’d been around the superhero block enough times to know not to underestimate these sorts of situations.

“Well he’s welcome,” Peter said, “even though I doubt he’d actually thank me.” That shut Hawkeye up. “I actually, well, I heard the commotion and came to help.” Peter scanned the landscape. “But, it looks like you handled this pretty well. What’s your big, green, friend doing over there?”

The Widow’s face somehow darkened without changing expression at all. “The building collapsed on Iron Man and Falcon. They’re safe for now, in a pocket of concrete and brick, but they’re going to run out of air sooner or later. I don’t have the physical strength Hulk does, so we’re trusting him to do what he can with what limited understanding he has on the situation. We’re waiting on back-up to help lift—”

But Peter had heard enough. Black Widow might not have the strength, but Peter could bench press a Greyhound bus (if it came to it), he could help with this. Plus, as much as he trusted Widow’s intel (she was a hero) and he knew Tony’s suit protected most of his vital organs, he couldn’t just stand there and wait when Tony could be hurting! He needed to help!

In an instant he was by Hulk’s side, and Hulk turned to him with a growl. Dr. Banner’s features were there, if more angular and bulkier than when Peter had met him the evening before. And much, much larger. And greener.

“I’m here to help,” Peter said. “You need help digging them out, right?” Peter reached down and hefted a chunk of concrete that probably weighed about the same as an industrial stove, and threw it effortlessly onto a blank patch of parking lot. “I can help.”

“Help Tin Man,” Hulk roared, turning back to his work, apparently accepting Peter at his word. “Help Birdie.”

Peter nodded, and then stepped up next to the Hulk and began shifting in earnest.

“Hey Karen,” Peter said quietly, knowing she could stop noise from exiting the suit while he communicated with her, but wary all the same.

“Yes, Peter?” she answered.

“Is there any way you can patch me into Tony’s suit?”

“One moment while I check,” Karen said, and then there was a pause before Karen answered, “FRIDAY is unable to connect to the suit at the moment. Possible damage to Iron Man’s HUD may cause communication errors.”

Or, maybe Tony had passed out, or the suit was so damaged Tony had gotten hurt too. Peter sped up, trying to heft stone and brick and plaster and shards of roofing metal away from the area. He strained his ears between hefts, trying to hear any noise coming from the collapsed area, Mr. Stark speaking, or the screech of metal that might come from a damaged Iron Man suit, but he heard nothing, and the sounds around him were so loud he wasn’t sure he’d be able to hear those noises even if they were happening.

“Who’s the kid?” a voice asked from far enough behind Peter that he didn’t register it at first as important. It was a female voice, and a male voice answered.

“That looks like Spiderman. You know, the hero that showed up a couple years back? He actually rescued Hawkeye last week.”

“Shut up, Steve,” a voice crackled over the comm, and Peter’s brain let him know that the male voice had been Captain America—Steve. 

No, in the field, to Spiderman, he was still Captain America. 

And the female voice sounded vaguely familiar too. Wanda? Scarlet Witch?

The ‘Shut up, Steve,’ had definitely come from Hawkeye, still talking through the comms. 

“Enough chatter,” said Black Widow. “He’s a good kid, no doubt. No one to be suspicious of. But still the faster the rubble can disappear, the better.”

Peter stopped shifting concrete at that and looked back. Him and Hulk had made sizable dent, but if this was the back-up Widow had been waiting for, if Scarlet Witch and Captain America could get to Tony faster than him and Hulk, well, he’d step aside in an instant.

Which is what he did.

He turned to see Captain America approaching with Scarlet Witch beside him, floating four feet off the ground.

“Stand back,” she said, red mist swirling around her upper extremities.

Peter immediately got out of the way, but Hulk just roared.

“C’mon buddy,” Peter said, hurrying over to Hulk’s side. He put a hand on Hulk’s large, green forearm. Hulk roared at him too, spittle flying from giant teeth, but Peter didn’t step back. This was just Dr. Banner, a little bigger than before, and greener, but just worried for his friends. Peter patted the arm. “C’mon. We’ve got to let the Scarlet Witch help. She can get to Mr.—uh, Iron Man faster than we can. That’s what you want, right? You want to help get Iron Man and the Falcon out, right? But she can do it faster than the two of us.” He pointed at the floating and faintly glowing woman. “So we need to let her do what she’s able to, ok?” He tugged, very lightly, at the arm. “Let’s go over here, ok? C’mon.” And after a low rumble deep in Hulk’s chest, he complied, which slightly startled Peter (he was expecting the Hulk to make it a lot harder), but Peter wasn’t about to look a gift Hulk in the mouth. 

As soon as Hulk had cleared the area, Scarlet Witch put out her hands, twirling them and twisting them, forming shapes with her fingers. Her rings glinted in the light from the red mist and then the mist was enveloping the rubble left by the collapse, and the rubble rose as one and was deposited on a stretch of ground already inhabited by what Hulk and Peter had been able to move, leaving visible the back of the Iron Man suit, damaged and dented and scratched to hell.

Peter’s breath caught in his throat, but before he could rush over or freak out (or do a little of both), the metal groaned and moved, and revealed that Tony hadn’t been laying face-down in the rubble, but had instead positioned himself over Sam’s body, acting as a shield for the other Avenger who didn’t have the same protective armor that Tony did. Tony’s face shield was off, and the suit looked damaged to hell and back, but he was moving under his own power, and it was like suddenly Peter could breathe again.

“I am never doing that again,” Tony said, voice rough and strained. He looked down at Sam, who was trying to sit himself up without positioning himself on top of any painful piece of concrete or metal, and without running into Tony, who’d paused between laying face-down and standing, and was now sprawled on the rubble next to the hole that Sam’s body made. “Got that Bird-boy? Next time a building crashes on top of us, I’m leaving you to get crushed and I’m flying the fuck away from there.”

“Sure,” Sam said, voice also rough, and skin covered in a fine layer of the kind of dust that covers everything when a concrete building is destroyed. “And maybe the next time I say, ‘don’t fire your repulsor in here, those are explosives,’ you’ll listen to me.”

Tony harrumphed, and then finally took the time to let his eyes rove over the heroes assembled around him while Sam pulled himself to his feet with judicious help from Steve. When Tony’s un-helmeted eyes caught on Peter, they widened.

“What are you doing here?”

Peter pointed at himself. “Me? Uh, Mr. Iron Man, Sir?”

“Does he greet everyone like that?” Sam whispered to Steve. “Mr. Captain America, Sir? Mr. Falcon, Sir?”

Peter blushed beneath his mask. “Well, uh, I heard a hubbub from this area and I thought I’d help out in case it was something serious.” He gestured to the collapsed building and the several dead and/or injured people in tactical outfits sprawled around the area. “It was.”

“Hah,” Tony said with a laugh, and then turned to Natasha. “Who are we missing?”

“Hawkeye’s still in his perch in case anyone tries to sneak up on us. War Machine, Thor, and Vision are flying down the last of the guys. They should be all finished up within the hour.”

She didn’t mention Bucky, which either meant he was safe somewhere they were all aware of, or he was doing something that a non-Avenger like Peter, shouldn’t know about.

“Anyone else injured?” Sam asked. “Not that I’m injured. I was just lying beneath a metal suit while a building tried to crush us. I feel fine.”

“We’re all going to medical after this,” Steve said sternly.

“Yes, mom,” Tony snarked, and Peter was relieved that besides the damages to the suit, he looked ok. He was even able to get to his feet with ease, and he seemed to be breathing fine. But he didn’t look at Peter again. Effectively ignoring him, which hurt. It was probably for a good reason (everything Tony did was for a good reason), but it still hurt, just a little. But Peter consoled himself that at least Tony probably wasn’t injured.

Peter distracted himself by looking up at the Hulk, only to find that it wasn’t the Hulk beside him, but a mostly naked Dr. Banner. The slightly wobbly-looking man had on a pair of ripped-to-hell-and-back pants and nothing else. Peter put a steadying hand on Dr. Banner’s shoulder. “You ok there big guy?” Peter asked. “I mean, uh, Dr. Mr. Hulk Banner, Sir?”

Sam chortled behind him, and even Steve huffed out a laugh.

“Oh,” Dr. Banner said weakly, looking at Peter in confusion, and then past him to the other Avengers. “Oh, yes, um, I’m fine. Thank you for asking.”

Peter nodded and dropped his hands. “Good,” Peter said, and then turning back to the rest of the group, “so, uh, what was that all about?”

“What is what all about?” a voice asked from above, and Peter looked up to see Hawkeye had moved his perch to the top of a storage container, piled three high, and was now in hearing range for normal people.

“I thought you were going to remain as look-out,” Steve scolded.

“Local PD showed up,” Hawkeye said. “They can handle the small stuff. I let them know what went down and who to liaise with, and they’re already cleaning up the bodies. It’s fine.”

“Uh,” Peter said to the man on high, “I mean the guys and the building and the general air of chaos.”

“Oh that,” Hawkeye said.

“Ignore him,” Black Widow said. “He’s just bummed he had to be rescued from his, what did you call it? Impromptu dumpster-dive? And he’s going to be pouty about it for just a little while longer. Don’t worry, he’ll get over himself soon enough.”

“I’m not pouty,” Hawkeye gasped in exaggerated offense.

"These men,” Scarlet Witch spoke, allowing herself to float back down to the ground, “were part of an organization skilled in the buying and selling of humans.”

Peter made a face that none of the people before him could see. “Slave trade,” he growled.

“We’ve been after them for a while,” Steve said, “and we ran them to ground here. Don’t worry. This is the last of them.”

“Well,” Sam said, “the last last of them are about to get completely pummeled by a God, a robot, and a guy who dresses like a robot.”

“As the original guy who dresses like a robot,” Tony said, “I’d like to file a formal complaint.”

“What’re you gonna do about it?” Sam teased.

“Who fixes up your wings when you bust them, huh?” Tony asked, “Who designs your armor? Yeah, Falcon, be careful.”

Actually, some of the time Tony passed those repairs over to Peter when Tony was too overloaded, or when he wanted to test Peter’s abilities. Peter had probably worked on at least one piece of tech for each of the Avengers. He thought that if push came to shove, he probably remembered enough about the Falcon’s wings that he could repair them if need be.

But of course, Tony was only joking.

“My apologies,” Sam teased, sketching a half a bow. “I’m very, very sorry for ever insinuating that the great Tony Stark likes to fight bad guys dressed like a robot.”

“Why I oughta…” Tony said, and shook his fist in the air.

Sam cowered theatrically behind Steve, who looked at their shenanigans with such resignation and exhaustion that Peter couldn’t help but laugh. 

Which unfortunately drew unwanted attention back to himself. 

He cut his laughter off, swallowing the rest of it.

“Thanks for the assist,” Steve said. 

“You did good,” Natasha agreed. She looked Peter up and down, and Peter got the feeling she was examining him for faults. After the once, twice, thrice-over, she nodded at him, looking satisfied, and Peter was amazed enough that he’d passed inspection that he didn’t even bother considering what the inspection could have been for.

 “Uh, thanks,” Peter said. “Happy to help.” 

“Alright, guys,” Steve said. “Let’s get going. Everyone’s due in Medical.”

“Everyone?” Hawkeye whined. “But I’ve just been sniping up here all night! I didn’t even get to fight anyone!”

Steve looked up at the archer with a stern expression. “Then you should be in and out in no time. But I want check-ups on everyone.”

“You can’t make me go to Medical,” Tony said.

“Everyone got their privilege to refuse medical revoked after the third time someone passed out because they refused to get an injury treated. Considering the first two were you two,” Steve said, swinging a pointed finger between Hawkeye and Tony, “I’m not making any exceptions for either of you.”

“But mom!” Tony whined.

“And that’s final,” Steve said, and his tone brooked no argument.

“Who was the third?” Peter asked, and then wished he’d kept his damn mouth shut. Jesus. When would he learn to think the words in his head first, before hearing them come out of his mouth.

The arranged Avengers all looked at him, and yeah, Peter could definitely, one hundred percent see why baddies would find this group intimidating. 

And then Sam averted his eyes, and—

“Aw, Falcon, no,” Peter said in sympathy.

That made Hawkeye and Tony both crack up, and Sam shrug, unashamed, at Peter.

“What about you, Spiderman?” Black Widow asked. “Do you need any medical attention?”

Peter blinked at her, and then patted cursorily over his body. “No? I mean, no, I seem to be fine. I mean,” he said seriously, “I didn’t actually fight anybody, so it kind of makes sense that I’d be fine.”

“You didn’t pull anything, lifting all that rock?” Hawkeye asked.

Peter kicked lightly at a bit of rubble and it flew twenty feet before landing on another pile of rubble with a mini mushroom cloud of dust. “Nah, I’m pretty strong.”

“Yeah,” Hawkeye said, “I can see that.”

Then something occurred to Peter. “Hey, uh, anyone know what time it is?”

He’d check his phone, but he didn’t really want anyone knowing he kept it on him. Someone might recognize it, or use it to track his location.

Sam checked his wrist. “Eleven forty-seven, why?”

“Oh shoot!” Peter exclaimed. He hadn’t realized it’d gotten that late. He must have been pulling rubble longer than he thought. Aunt May was going to kill hi—well, no, but she was going to be so disappointed. And he still had that history essay that he really should start tonight. He fidgeted on his feet. “Hey, uh, it was nice meeting you all, but I’ve got to go.”

“You’re a busy bug,” Widow said.

That stopped Peter in his tracks. “How dare you,” he hissed exaggeratingly, and pressed a hand to his heart. “One arachnid to another, and you call me a bug. I’m offended.”

That made Tony chortle, and Hawkeye let out a laugh as well. Black Widow smiled at him.

“But really,” Peter said, “I’ve got to get home. I’ve got homework to—some work, I’ve got some work to do, so I really should—” he cut himself off and fled the scene, figuring anything else he could have said would just have made it worse.

By the time he was crawling through his bedroom he had a text from Tony.

Good job tonight. Sorry I couldn’t be more effusive. I tried to keep my distance so no one might guess we know each other. Secret identities are a bitch, am I right?

A second text soon followed:

Don’t tell your aunt I said the b-word

And then a third.

But seriously, good job. Thanks for your help, you did great. I’ll see you tomorrow at the tower. Don’t be late.

Peter did end up being late, but only by about twenty minutes. Flash had spilled marinara on Peter’s shoes at lunch (Thursday was spaghetti day in the cafeteria), and Peter didn’t want to spend all day in Tony’s lab smelling like tomato sauce, so he took a quick detour back to his apartment, rinsed his shoes off as quick as he could, threw them in the tub to soak with soap, and slipped an older, more beat-up pair of sneakers into his bag. And then he suited up and swung to the tower, which was a much quicker and more efficient method of travel than walking or taking the subway, or even taking a cab (as if he could spring for a cab).

“You’re late,” Tony said, head bowed over piece of machinery he was working on with a tiny screwdriver as Peter slipped in through the window.

“Not that late,” Peter insisted as he dressed down, pulling off his spider suit, revealing the outfit he’d worn to school and socked feet. He switched the spider suit for the shoes in his bag, and slipped them on. There was a hole in the big toe of the left one, but it wasn’t like Peter was trying to impress anybody here. It was doubtful Tony would even notice the hole at all.

“How late was he, Fri?” Tony asked around the screwdriver he put in his mouth.

“Twenty-three minutes,” FRIDAY responded serenely.

“Too late,” Tony said, passing judgment. “But whatever, I’m a nice guy. Here, pull up a stool, sit down.”

Peter rolled over one of the rotating stools and sat next to Tony.

Tony pulled himself away from the bits of metal and wires that had so absorbed his attention seconds ago, and now pressed that same single-minded focus on Peter.

Peter blinked at him.

“Before we get down to any scientific business,” Tony said, “I have a question for you. A question that requires a serious answer. A well-thought-out answer.”

“Yes,” Peter said, “I did chop down that cherry tree. I cannot tell a lie.”

Tony’s serious expression cracked and he laughed. “I know I’d vote for you for president. I’ll be head of your campaign. No,” he shook his head, “this is something else. So, you know the Winter Soldier.”

“Yes,” Peter said, because it was true in at least two senses of the word ‘know.’ He knew of  the Winter Soldier, because like most Americans, he owned a TV. But also he’d met the guy less than a week ago. No, they weren’t buddies, but they’d held a single conversation. That counted as ‘knowing,’ right?

“Well the good ol’ Winter Soldier, or Bucky, if you’re lucky to be inducted into the handful of people he considers friendly and/or trustworthy—”

“So you call him Barnes or something?” Peter asked with a teasing smile.

“Hardy har har,” Tony said, “you’re hilarious. I do mostly call him Barnes, yes, but he’s given me permission to call him Bucky. We have an impasse now, which is a big deal considering he killed my parents.”

That reminder jerked Peter into the present. “So this is a serious conversation?” Peter asked. “You weren’t just pulling my leg?”

“No,” Tony said. “Well, kinda. But mostly no. What I want to—oh, how do I ask this?” He thought for a moment, and then turned to look Peter directly in the eye. “Barnes is coming due for a tune-up on his arm, and he’s… requested your presence. Which was an odd conversation, I’ll tell you, because as far as I was aware, you two had never met.”

“Ah,” Peter said slowly, “right. Well, it’s not like I meant to keep it from you, I just met some of the Avengers in passing while getting a quick bite, and then I came back to the lab, and like, honestly, got distracted by whatever I was working on. I mean. Avengers, they’re cool, but this,” he gestured to the lab, “this is enough to make me forget movie night with Ned! It’s kind of engulfing.”

Tony considered that, his eyes roving over his lab, and then took out his phone to shoot off a quick text. “It is that.” He turned back to Peter and pocketed his phone. “How did meeting the Winter Soldier go, and why would any conversation with him cause him to request your presence during a tune-up? He’s not exactly, mmm, very forthcoming.”

“Well I don’t know why he’d ask for me,” Peter said, “but I met him, um, I think it was last Thursday? No, it was Friday. It was Friday at the compound and I’d gone to get food and I met, well first I met Falcon and Scarlet Witch and Vision.”

He told Tony the whole story, from the three Avengers distrusting him, to him beating them at poker, to Steve and Bucky showing up, and Peter could smile at the retelling, really ham it up, because it made Tony laugh. And Peter didn’t know why, but he always felt like he’d succeeded in something difficult, when he was able to make his mentor laugh.

That probably made him a teacher’s pet.

If you could bend the definition of ‘teacher’ to include Tony Stark in it. 

“Ah,” Tony said at the end of Peter’s story, still laughing just a little at the idea of Peter waltzing out with a large pizza box and several cartons of chinese food stacked atop each other. “So that’s why Bucky wants you there. You respect him, and you’re curious. It’s a wonder he didn’t adopt you. You know, a lot of people don’t know this, but Bucky Barnes is a goddamn nerd. You must be a kindred spirit to him.” 

Peter swatted at Tony’s arm. “If I am, then so are you. You’re the nerdiest person I know.” He considered Ned. “Second nerdiest.”

“Wait, wait, wait!” Tony said in faux outrage. “Who’s nerdier than me? Who, Peter? Who?!”

Peter ignored Tony’s theatrics. “I’m not sure I’ll be able to help much,” Peter said, turning his mind back to the tune-up. “I’m curious about that arm, but if me seeing it makes him uncomfortable, I could just—well, I could mock up blueprints, or look at yours if you’ll let me, or—”

Tony waved a hand to ward off Peter’s rambling. “If Barnes didn’t want you there, he wouldn’t have offered. Now, before you accept, I have to warn you, and I’m serious, I have to warn you, or your Aunt will eat me alive, that Bucky’s dangerous. And I know you know that,” he said at Peter’s opened mouth. “Believe me, I know. But if I didn’t lay out some warnings, and then you got hurt or traumatized, or traumatized because you accidentally hurt or traumatized someone else, your Aunt would literally grind me into a meat pie Sweeny Todd style and have me with a glass of Arnold Palmer and side of curly fries. Do curly fries go with meat pies? What am I saying? Curly fries go with everything. Curly fries are ambrosia.”

Tony let out a low breath and became more serious once more.

“The Winter Soldier was dangerous. I trust you’re aware of what he did while he was a tool of Hydra’s.”

Peter nodded, “I do have a TV.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “So much sass in one so young. Ok, so you know he was dangerous and brainwashed. And while, yes, he’s no longer brainwashed, his time did not leave him unharmed. He has bad days. Something might trigger him and he might black out and attack someone just because he heard or saw something that to everyone else might appear mundane. His arm is made of metal, and is incredibly strong, flexible, and agile. And his body was trained by the same vein of people who trained the Black Widow. He can fight just as deadly as she can, with all the grace and strength, and none of the self-control. I’m not trying to scare you, kid. I just want you to have the full picture. Bucky is a good guy, but he’s dangerous, and not exactly stable.”

“I don’t care,” Peter said with no hesitation, and then thought of how that might sound. “I mean, I do care. It was horrible what was done to him, no one should have to go through that. And it’s horrible that the ramifications continue. I mean, I literally cannot imagine the pain he goes through daily, all the worry, the stress, the inability to trust himself.”

“Sounds like you have,” Tony said, his tone serious, with just a tinge of pride that Peter was not going to think about.

“But I don’t think he’s going to hurt me. Even if he tried, he couldn’t,” Peter gestured to himself, as if his own body was just code for ‘Spiderman'. “But he wouldn’t hurt me. He seemed… quiet, unsure of himself, but not a bad guy.” He quirked an eyebrow at Tony. “Plus, you’ll be there to protect me, right?”

“That’s where you’re wrong, hotshot,” Tony said playfully. “My real ploy all along was to bring you as my bodyguard. Take that.”

Peter laughed lightly. “Be careful,” he said. “Being a bodyguard probably pays better than this internship. I might just take you up on it.”

Tony rolled his eyes, a fond smile curling his lips. “So you’re in?” he asked. “I can tell tall, dark, and gloomy that you’ll be there? He hasn’t scared you off? Or, I mean, well, I haven’t scared you off?”

“No,” Peter said airily. “I’m interested in seeing how his arm works, and I feel for the guy. I know what it’s like to have power,” he clenched his fist, and then loosened it, “and know that I should be doing something good with it, but feeling overwhelmed. I get it. Plus…” he trailed off and Tony laughed.

“Plus,” Tony finished, “you really want to see the arm.”

“I really do,” Peter said quickly, “does that make me a bad person?”

“I don’t think so,” Tony said with a laugh, “but maybe I’m not the best person to ask that of. I am pretty biased since I, you know, made it.”

“I like Mr. Sgt. Bucky James Barnes too,” Peter said. “Really. It’s just…” he thought about being able to see the wiring in the arm, how the machine’s joints slid together, the intricacies of the metal work.

“I get it,” Tony said. “You’re a man after my own heart. You know, sometimes I think we’re too alike, you and me.” His face did something complicated. “Actually, speaking of which. I had something else to tell you. Now that you’ve officially agreed to come help with Barnes’s tune-up.”

“When is it?” Peter asked, hoping belatedly it wasn’t going to be at a time he already had plans.

“This weekend sometime,” Tony said. “What’s better for you: Saturday or Sunday?”

Sunday was May’s day off. “Saturday,” Peter said.

Tony nodded. “Alright, this Saturday at the compound. I’ll have Haps pick you up at your apartment at… let’s say ten. Why not? We’ll do lunch at some point.”

Peter was hungry just thinking about it.

(It seemed like ever since the spider bite, he was always ready to eat, even if he wasn’t actually hungry.)

Peter nodded.

“Now,” Tony said, “on to other news. The Avengers were impressed by you yesterday. Natasha especially.” He gave Peter a narrow-eyed look. “That’s not an easy thing to accomplish. She’s, mmm, reserved. There, that’s a nice word for it.”

“The Avengers were impressed by me?” Peter asked, in awe. “I mean, by Spiderman? And, especially the Black Widow?” Peter fanned his face. “Help, I might swoon.”

Tony pushed Peter’s shoulder, making the teen slide back in his chair a couple of feet. “Don’t be so dramatic. But yes, they are.”

Peter thought he might faint. Or throw up.

“Don’t look so amazed,” Tony said. “I’m an Avenger, and I’m very impressed with you all the time. Or am I old hat by now?” Tony asked.

“You are easily impressed by scientific prowess,” Peter said.

“Not that easily,” Tony muttered to himself. “You just don’t know how good you are.”

That made Peter blush, especially since the words hadn’t been meant for Peter to hear. “The other people in your team,” Peter said, refusing to admit his reddening cheeks might have to do with Tony’s praise, “are impressed with Spiderman. That’s different,” he continued, “Spiderman is not that impressive.”

“Sure he’s not,” Tony said sarcastically. “Whatever you say.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean, Mr. Stark. You guys are the Avengers! I’m just, I’m, well, Spiderman is just me, wearing a suit. With, some, you know, enhancements.”

“We’re all just people wearing suits,” Tony said. “It’s your actions in the suit that make you impressive, and Natasha was impressed by what you did out there. Thanks, by the way, for trying to shovel a building off of me.”

“No problem,” Peter said.

“So yeah,” Tony said with a sigh, “Natasha and Steve have been talking about you a lot at team meetings. Not a lot a lot,” Tony clarified at Peter’s suddenly too-wide eyes. “Just, you’ve been mentioned. I think at some point, and don’t quote me on this, Peter, but I anticipate that at some point one of the Avengers might reach out to you. Might offer to help train you, since you’re so obviously young.” Again, he cut off Peter’s interruption before any words even left his mouth. “Trust me, they don’t know how young you are. If they did, they’d probably tell you to just stay home instead. Though,” he shrugged, “who knows. They surprise me sometimes.”

Peter rolled that around in his mind. It felt too huge, too massive an idea to be contained somehow in his cantaloupe sized head, and yet amazingly it fit. None of it leaked out of his ears or anything.

“The Avengers,” Peter said slowly, as if parsing it bit by bit would make it sound any more likely, “want to help… train… me?”

Tony nodded once, and then waggled his head back and forth. “I think they want more, eventually,” and he deliberately didn’t go into any explanation for what ‘more’ could possibly entail, which Peter’s swirling brain was very thankful for. “But for now they want to get to know you, and maybe help you fight,” he shrugged, “we do that with each other a lot. Spar, I mean, to ingrain good fighting habits in our bodies, so in the heat of battle we do the right moves at the right times and don’t sprain or break anything we hadn’t intended to.”

Peter pondered this. “What,” he cleared his throat, “what do you think? Do you think I should, um, do it? I wouldn’t mind practice,” he clarified, “but with the Avengers! That’s, I, I can’t…” He couldn’t even finish the thought.

Tony hummed as he thought. “Well, first, kid, you already know most of the Avengers, it sounds like. Hell, you shouldn’t be worried over little ol’ me at all. Though I’m kinda offended you keep leaving me out of the line-up when you talk about us. The Avengers I mean.” He pouted dramatically.

“I’m not worried about you, Mr. Stark. I know you’ll always have my back. But, you know, meeting Rhodey, or Steve, or Wanda, or Sam, or whoever, only, like, once, that doesn’t, I mean, they’re Avengers, and I know the Avengers are the pinnacle of good and are probably trustworthy or whatever, but, you know, it’s not the same. I trust you, no doubt. But I don’t even know them!”

“That’s why I’m giving you a head’s up,” Tony said. “I knew if someone, if Natasha or Steve or whoever just sprung this on you, you’d feel pressured to answer immediately, and probably in the way that you think will impress them most. So, I thought I’d give you a cushion to think about it. Whatever you decide, I’ll support your decision, Peter. Don’t be afraid to say no, but also, don’t be afraid to say yes.”

Peter scuffed his shoe on the ground, watching as the front flapped back, revealing the hole over his toe was even bigger than he’d thought. “What do you think?” Peter asked, still looking down. “What do you think I should do?”

“It’d be a good learning experience for you, Pete. It’s not every day you get to train with the big dogs on campus. And Natasha can teach you a thing or two about acrobatic fighting, which you seem to enjoy so much. She’s a professional, and getting a pointer or two from her couldn’t hurt.” 

“So you think I should say yes,” Peter said slowly.

Tony made a noise in this throat. “If you accept, you have to think, you’d be training with the best of the best. Two of the Avengers were professional spies before joining us. Well, they still do a lot of spying nowadays, so I don’t know why I phrased it like that. Steve’s a strategic genius, and Bruce is, well, you know Bruce. I like to say I’m the genius on the team, but the team is full of geniuses. The odds of keeping your identity a secret are pretty low. Especially over extended periods of time. But, they’re trustworthy. If they do find out, none of them—none of us would tell anyone else.” Tony ran his fingers down his goatee. “Just think about it,” he said. “No need to decide now. Mull it over. I don’t know, talk about it with Ned or something. Just… consider your options.”

“Ok,” Peter said quietly. “Thanks.”

Tony patted Peter’s shoulder. “Hey, that’s what I’m here for.” He turned back to the holo-table, and then spun once more to face Peter. “Also, you know I’m pretty loosey-goosey, but we really do have a closed-toe shoe policy in the lab for a reason. You need to wear closed-toe shoes when you come here. It’s in the dress code. If I didn’t enforce that, not only would your Aunt kill me, but so would Brucie-bear. And maybe also Rhodey.”

Peter glanced down at his sneakers. “These are closed-toe shoes.”

Tony gave him an unimpressed look. “Maybe they were once upon a time, but I can see your entire big toe, Peter.”

Peter flushed. “Sorry, Mr. Stark. The shoes I normally wear were—”

Tony waved that away. “Yes, yes, I’m sure it was tragic.”

“It was,” Peter said, eyes wide and voice low. “It was a travesty.”

“Oh my god,” Tony said, “you’re so dramatic. Do you only have the one pair?”

Peter shrugged and pointed down at his current footwear. 

“That pair doesn’t count,” Tony said. “You need more than a single pair of closed-toe shoes if you’re going to be working here.”

“Interning,” Peter corrected. “And, one, I’ve been here for literal years already. Two, I do have multiple lab shoes. It’s just, well, this pair got the hole, and my usual pair I’ve been wearing twice as often to compensate, but today in the cafeteria…” he shook his head. “And, I mean, I’ve got, like nice shoes, to wear to graduation, and dances and stuff. Weddings. If I were ever invited to weddings. But I’m not wearing them to the lab.”

“Do you need me to buy you shoes?” Tony asked in a deadpan voice.

“No!” Peter said quickly. “No! Aunt May can take me shoe shopping. I won’t like it, because ugh, trying on shoes, I just… I haven’t told her yet,” Peter turned his eyes to the holo-table, and then to a projection of the Falcon’s wings against the far wall, anywhere that wasn’t Tony’s eyes. “I don’t really want to bother her, and she works a lot already I don’t want…”

Tony sighed, and then let out a quiet huff. “So you don’t want me to buy you shoes, but you don’t want your aunt to have to buy you shoes, and you don’t have an income so you can’t buy your own shoes. Because you’re a child. Is that right?”

“You can’t call me a child just because I haven’t turned eighteen yet! I’m practically an adult.”

“Do you prefer minor? So, you have no money because you don’t have a job, because you’re still in school, because you’re a minor.”

Peter scowled but didn’t disagree.

“But you need more shoes, we agree on that, right?” Tony asked, eyebrows raised, and god, his dad-vibes were so strong. Sometimes he reminded Peter of Uncle Ben.

“No,” Peter said. He didn’t know why he was fighting Tony on this, but Tony already did so much for Peter… he just didn’t want to overstay his welcome. “I can live with a single pair of good shoes until I can buy a second good pair on my own.”

Tony pointedly looked down at Peter’s shoes.

“Mostly,” Peter ceded. 

“Well the point is moot,” Tony said. “Because I wasn’t exactly asking you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Peter asked, suspicious.

“Boss,” FRIDAY cut in with exquisite dramatic timing, “your package has arrived.”

“Send it up,” Tony said.

Peter narrowed his eyes at the man, and waited for a noise, the ding of the elevator, footsteps on the tile, but instead Peter heard a soft buzzing, and then a tiny door opened in the wall of the lab and a drone carrying a box about the size of a grocery store basket flew in, dropped the box on the floor with a bang, and flew out again.

“A drone?” Peter asked, “Really?”

“If that asshole Jeff Bezos can use them, so can I,” Tony said. “Only mine are better, hands down, a thousand times better, because I built them myself, and I actually pay my employees a living wage.” He grimaced. “Pepper says I can’t buy Amazon. That it would ‘cripple us financially’ and that we ‘aren’t a delivery service,’ and ‘Tony, you can’t just buy every business that’s run by an asshole.’ Which, ok, yes, she’s probably right. I’m a very busy person. But I really fucking hate that guy.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Don’t tell your aunt I used the F-word.”

Ok. There was a lot to unpack there. “I don’t just relay to May every time I hear a curse. And, I’m almost an adult, Mr. Stark, I know all the curse words. You’re allowed to curse around me. It won’t, I don’t know,” he waved his hands in the air, “overwhelm me or something! Or corrupt me.” His hand dropped to his sides. “Or whatever.”

Tony hummed. “That’s—fine. That’s fine. But still, I’d rather your Aunt not call me, breathing fire, ‘cause I’m a bad influence on you.”

“Ok,” Peter said, seeing his point, “I won’t mention it. Though, again, it’s not like she grills me on the kind of language I hear on the daily. Also, Pepper’s right, you probably shouldn’t buy more corporations. You kind of couldn’t handle running even one.”

“Thanks so much,” Tony said drily.

“But the drone-deliveries are very cool,” Peter admitted. 

Tony nodded proudly. “Thank you, young padawan. I thought so. That way I don't have to worry about strange delivery men tramping up here to drop things off, disrupting my work, and possibly being spies or assassins out to get me, which is such a pain.” He pushed the box towards Peter with his foot, and when Peter didn’t immediately tear it open, he said, “Well go on. It is for you.”

“You really didn’t have to,” Peter said reluctantly. 

Tony eyed his holey shoe, and then said, “Consider it your wages, since your internship is unpaid.”

Peter thought about the new and improved spider suit Tony had built for him, all the dinners he got to eat when he came over, Karen. Tony already did so much for him, and he opened his mouth to say as much when Tony cut him off.

“Oh just open it, Parker,” he said with exasperation. “What’s the big deal? You don’t even know what’s inside anyway.”

So Peter opened the box. Inside were three more boxes. He looked at Tony, who raised his eyebrows and crossed his arms and didn’t waver. The three boxes were shoe boxes, and Peter opened them with trepidation. The first held just a simple pair of black and red Nikes. Peter let out a breath. They were just normal shoes.

“Geez, kid,” Tony said. “I ordered them less than an hour ago. What do you think I could have done with them in an hour?”

Peter quirked an eyebrow.

“While I was here talking with you,” Tony clarified. 

“Ok,” Peter said, “you’re probably right.” He opened the second box. They were an almost identical pair of shoes, black and blue instead of black and red. They were in his size. They were just sneakers.

Peter was so suspicious.

God, what was going to be in the last box.

“Oh my god,” Tony said, “this isn’t a trap. You’re not Pandora! You’d think you’ve never received gifts before, they way you’re acting.”

“On the contrary,” Peter said. “I have received gifts before. More specifically, gifts from you. I’m right to be cautious.”

Tony harrumphed. 

And Peter opened the last box and let out a bark of laughter. “Mr. Stark! You didn’t!”

Tony grinned at him, looking very pleased with himself. “I’ve actually been holding on to those for a couple weeks. Saw them on some artsy website, had to get them. Might have bought multiple pairs, who knows. But I highly recommend you not wear that pair in the lab, unless you want them to get messed up.” He scuffed his own beat up shoes against the floor. “But they’re yours now. Do what you want with them.”

Peter picked up the shoes with care, turning them this way and that, looking at the design in full. They were, well, they were Spiderman shoes. Not like the shoes of his spidersuit, but shoes themed after him. And they looked hand-painted, so someone must have put in a lot of work to make them. The web design on a red field on the front melded into a city skyline in blue around the back of the heel, with tiny spiders skittering around asymmetrically. 

“I think I love them,” Peter said in surprise.

“Well good,” Tony said. “Otherwise I’d demand them back. Now change your shoes, no, not the Spiderman ones. I don’t know, put on the Nikes so we can get to work. We’ve spent enough time chatting, and not enough time inventing.”

“Who are you trying to kid?” Peter asked. “We chat and invent stuff at the same time every day! We’re pretty smart people, Mr. Stark. We can multitask.”

Chapter Text

And finally it was the end of the week.

Friday!

And Friday meant a lego night with Ned, which was long overdue. Spending so much time as Spiderman, and with Mr. Stark, had its drawbacks. He didn’t spend nearly enough time with Ned or May any more. And MJ… well, her too.

But he was making up for lost time now. And he was excited! It was nice to just kick back sometimes.

Ned had both the Millennium Falcon and the TIE Fighter at his home, but his home also had two parents, a sister, and a dog in a very small living space so after school, the two of them walked to Ned’s, picked up the yet-unfinished lego sets, and then trekked back to Peter’s place. 

In a twist of irony that Peter was torn over, May also had the evening off. This meant that Ned was of course invited to dinner, which meant that May would try to make something special, which meant that Ned and Peter also had to stock up on snacks on the way back because more often than not, May’s experiments in the kitchen were failures.

“Welcome back, boys,” May called from the living room when Peter first opened the door. “How was school?”

“Fine,” Peter said, which was true. School was fine.

“It was so great,” Ned gushed, following Peter into the living room. He had the TIE Fighter in his hand, leaving the Millennium Falcon, the bigger box, for Peter to carry, stating that with Peter’s super strength, it wouldn’t be as heavy to Peter as even the TIE Fighter was to Ned. which was true, but still.

“Yeah?” May prompted, smiling at Ned. “What happened?”

“Well,” Ned started, and then proceeded to tell all about how MJ had gotten them all a week free of homework in history by being able to recite from memory all the rulers of Russia from 862 to 1922, when the Romanov line came to an end—a challenge that their history teacher had jokingly issued and immediately regretted. Peter didn’t know why MJ would have that knowledge, but he wasn’t going to question it too much. He was also pleased that they wouldn’t have any history homework for the rest of the week. Why they had any homework at all this close to graduation, he had no idea.

Or maybe he just had an ever worsening case of senioritis.

Ned’s storytelling made the whole thing seem dramatic and heroic, which was kind of funny to watch, because in reality MJ had just stood up, recited them in a monotone while the teacher fact-checked her on his phone, and when she completed it, he looked at the class in disappointment and said, “Well, I guess no homework for the week.”

There had been cheering at that point, but besides that it hadn’t been nearly as exciting as Ned made it out to be.

Maybe that just meant Ned was a better storyteller than Peter, or maybe Peter was becoming more and more pessimistic each day. 

“Oh!” May said, clapping her hands together at Ned’s theatrical conclusion. “Congratulations! I know when I was in school I would do anything to get out of homework. I remember this one time, there was a test coming up in English, so I snuck to my teacher’s home in the middle of the night and slashed his t—oh! Maybe I shouldn’t be telling this story.” She readjusted herself awkwardly on the cushions of the couch. “Well, don’t let me stop you two and your building sets. I’ll try to have dinner out by six,” which meant closer to eight, probably, “so go have fun.” She made a shooing motion towards Peter’s bedroom, and they left.

In Peter’s room they opened the Millennium Falcon first. It called to them. The TIE Fighter they could do if they finished this piece today, which was unlikely. It had a lot of intricate and small parts, and though building the ship was the point of the afternoon, Peter and Ned often devolved into chatting, so Peter wouldn’t exactly say they were the quickest when it came to building.

They pulled out the instructions, and while they spread all of the many tiny pieces across the floor, and started stacking legos, making sure to follow the instructions to the letter, Ned grilled Peter on his further interactions with the Avengers. Peter was pretty sure that at this point, Ned was living Peter’s superhero life vicariously through him. It’d be annoying, if Peter didn’t have so much to say. He spent so much time with Tony, and recently, meeting the other Avengers, that he didn’t have enough time at all during the school day to fill Ned in. 

And frankly, he didn’t trust Ned to keep his voice down in public either. Ned was great, was Peter’s best friend, but no one had ever accused Ned of being quiet.

“So you were in the lab with Mr. Stark yesterday,” Ned said, eyes on the pieces, and on the instruction sheets spread between them on Peter’s bedroom rug, “do anything fun?”

“We ended up elbows deep in one of his cars’ engines,” Peter said.

Ned rolled his eyes, and made a grab for one of a thousand almost identical tiny grey lego pieces. “I meant, like, did you meet anyone else? Not that hanging with Tony Stark isn’t cool enough,” he gushed, “but you met, like five Avengers last week. That’s—” Peter looked up to see that Ned was staring at him with wide-eyed awe.

“It is,” Peter agreed, and he wasn’t lying. Meeting the Avengers was awesome, even though he’d known one of the Avengers, Tony, for years now. And, even though he was just as much a hero as any of them were. 

Ok, not just as much a hero. But, he was a hero. Albeit one on a smaller level. It shouldn’t be that wild to be seeing any of them. Right? 

Right?

But it was.

“I haven’t been back to the compound since last week,” Peter said, “so I didn’t get to meet any of the other Avengers in Tony’s lab this week. Well, I mean, I told you about Bruce, right?” Peter asked guilelessly.

Ned froze, dropping a lego, which fell to the carpet with a perceptible bounce. “Bruce,” Ned said evenly. “As in, Bruce Banner?”

Peter, eyes widened in the closest imitation to innocence he could get, nodded.

Ned screamed.

There was a thump from the living room, and then Aunt May’s voice floated back to them. “You boys ok?” She called.

“Yes, Aunt May!” Peter called back. “I’m just frying Ned’s brain with Avengers facts!”

Aunt May had the good fortune to live with Peter, and so usually got his Avengers-based gossip first hand, and in real time. Peter had to dish with somebody. And while she pretended to act really blasé every time he dropped another,  “I just met so-and-so, the hero who has such-and-such power,” he could tell she was freaking out about it as much (or more) than he was.

“Be nice,” she called back now, but there was laughter in her voice.

“Yes, Aunt May,” he responded, and then turned back to Ned, who was looking at Peter with wide eyes.

“Bruce Banner,” Ned said, and then stopped.

“Yeah,” Peter said flippantly, “we did science together.” And then dropping the snob act said. “He was actually really freaking cool, Ned. Like, really nice. Like, the smartest, nicest, most awesome dude ever.”

“Wow,” Ned said dreamily, and then shook himself out of it. He tried to put a cool expression on his face, pretend like he second-hand met heroes all the time. Which he kind of did. But his expression still didn’t cut it. “So no other Avengers,” Ned said, “yeah, that’s cool. Whatever.”

Peter pursed his lips to keep from laughing. “No other Avengers at the tower,” Peter corrected. “I did in fact meet a whole load of them while out at my other internship on Wednesday.”

It took Ned a second. The first thing he did was roll his eyes and punch Peter on the shoulder and say, “We’re at your house, dude. You don’t have to use code here.” And then the rest of what Peter said caught up with him. “Woah! You met more heroes! While—while you were being Spidey?!” He looked for a second like he was going to start hyperventilating, and then he reached over and punched Peter on the shoulder even harder (not like it hurt Peter either way). “On Wednesday!? That was two days ago! You’ve been holding out on me.”

Peter grinned. “Well it’s not like I could have you freaking out on me like this at school. I’m telling you now.”

“Who did you meet?” he asked desperately, ignoring Peter’s explanation. “Did they love you? Are you going to team up with them all the time now?” Peter must have let something leak out onto his face, because Ned lit up even further. “You are! Oh my god. This is the coolest! I think I’m going to explode!”

“Not—ok,” Peter said, “I really haven’t decided yet.”

“Decided what?” Ned asked. “No wait, tell me everything! Start at the beginning.”

So Peter did, or at least, he started on Wednesday, telling Ned about seeing-slash-hearing the chaos, and then finding the Black Widow there with Hawkeye, and then helping the Hulk try to unearth Iron Man and Falcon before Scarlet Witch and Captain America came by to do the heavy-lifting for them. Well, mostly the Scarlet Witch did the heavy lifting.

And the more he talked the more it felt like he was just name-dropping. He wasn’t trying to show off how many cool people he’d met! It was just… that he was doing exactly that. Geez. 

But Ned didn’t seem to mind. In fact, if his gaping mouth and wide-eyed stare was anything to go by, he was loving it. “You really got to meet all of them! And, and now they like you enough to keep wanting to hang out with—or, um, team-up with you?”

Peter winced. “Well, yes and no. Mr. Stark told me that Black Widow was interested in asking me to train with them? I think, maybe, she wants to teach me things? Which is totally cool! Like, it really is. But, if I agree, and I start training with them, it’s, um, it’s likely they’ll figure out who I really am. And I’m already pushing Mr. Stark by making him pretend not to know Spiderman when the other Avengers are nearby, you know? That’s not fair to him, to have to lie to them for me. And I’m not really—” he rubbed his arm, and then dropped his head, ostensibly, to look for a specific lego, “I don’t really want to let them know who I am.” He popped his head up. “What do you think, Ned?”

“Do it,” Ned said, with zero hesitation.

Peter blinked. “You like the Avengers too much,” Peter accused. “You’re thinking with your fanboy-brain instead of your logic-brain!”

Ned shrugged, uncharacteristically unashamed. “They’re the Avengers, Peter. They’re known for being trustworthy. I mean, it’s not like you need to keep your identity a secret to protect Aunt May and me from the Avengers. They’re not the bad guys.”

“It’s not that simple,” Peter said.

“Isn’t it?” Ned asked with a raised eyebrow, and then shrugged and sat back on his haunches. “I know it isn’t. And like, I don’t know, Peter. You don’t have to announce it to them all of a sudden! You could, like, team-up once or a couple more times, maybe, like, train, or whatever they want. They won’t begrudge you, like, a temporary getting-to-know-you period, would they? No, of course they wouldn’t.” 

Peter shrugged, but really, when he thought about it, Ned was probably right. It was just, it was hard.

“I’ll think about it,” Peter said. It was the only concession he could give.

“Good,” Ned said decisively. “And I mean, you could always talk to May about it, but I bet she’d like it if you had even more back-up.” He shrugged. “Just saying.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “Thank you, Ned,” Peter said with finality. “I will think about it.”

Ned laughed and dropped his eyes back down to the scattered pieces between them. And then he stopped again. “Are those Spiderman shoes?” Ned asked.

Peter turned to look at what had caught Ned’s eyes, but he knew what he’d see before he saw it. The shoes Tony had given him the previous day. He winced. “Yep,” Peter said awkwardly. “They sure are.”

“Oh my god,” Ned said, “they look awesome! Where’d you get them? Where can I get a pair?”

Peter scratched the back of his head. “They were a gift… kind of, from Mr. Stark. I don’t know where he got them, but I could ask? For you?”

“Yes!” Ned said. “Yes definitely! You have you-themed shoes! Of course I need a pair!”

Peter laughed at that. “Fine, yeah, I’ll text him later. Now, have you seen the hull panels?” 

And all talk of Avengers and Mr. Stark and Spidermaning was put behind them as they constructed the ship. Even Aunt May’s dinner could only distract them so long, and when the dishes were cleared away she followed them back into Peter’s room to help find legos for them and chat. It ended up being way more familial than Peter would have expected, and they stayed up late, the three of them, laughing and getting punch drunk and not being instruction-specific in how the Millennium Falcon was being built until May retired to bed, and even though the boys tried to stay up even later, build just a little more, they too fell asleep, with bits of lego and ship parts and tiny people scattered around them.

Peter did not regret hanging with Ned until the wee hours of the morning, nor did he regret letting his friend sleep over. He did regret that he had to get up earlier than he wanted (ten was pretty early for a weekend), and couldn’t even let Ned sleep in, because May had a shift at the hospital and if he let Ned sleep in there’d be no way to lock up after him.

Ned said he didn’t mind getting up so early as he left, but he looked more exhausted than Peter.

(Ned was out of practice. Peter was used to getting not enough sleep. He was an Olympic athlete at not getting enough sleep.)

Peter was helping Tony with Bucky Barnes’s arm’s tune-up today.

Right.

He wasn’t sure if he should feel excited or apprehensive, so he settled for an uncomfortable mixture of the two. 

Peter met Happy outside his apartment building at 10:13, and he slid into the car quickly, anxious not to upset the man any more for being late than he already had. And then they were practically flying towards the compound.

“Are you excited?” Happy asked as he drove. “I hear you’re helping Tony with some, uh, of Mr. Barnes’s…” he trailed off.

“Yes,” Peter answered awkwardly. “Yes, Sergeant, uh, Mr. Bucky, um, requested me?”

“Hmm,” Happy hummed, and then changed the subject, telling Peter all about his (frankly quite boring) day at the boxing ring the day before. Yeah, Peter could fight with the best of them, and he’d never turn down a good action flick, but listening to Happy recount a fight verbally was mind-numbing. He found himself zoning out, humming and mmm-hmming at the appropriate moments, and was thus surprised when the car stopped and he looked out to see the compound.

“That was fast,” Peter said.

“Thank you,” Happy preened, as if it had been a compliment on his personal talents. 

Which, maybe it had been. Just not his driving-oriented talents. Happy could be better than Peter’s old pre-algebra textbooks at making him want to fall asleep.

“He’s in the lab,” Happy said. “Just Tony for now. He said he wouldn’t call in the Soldier until you were already settled. You know your way to the lab?”

Even if Peter hadn’t been to the compound several times before, he probably would have said yes. The draw of the lab, like a siren’s song, would not steer Peter astray. Or, maybe not a siren’s song. Maybe more like a cartoon pie, the amazing scents literally lifting cartoon characters off the ground, having them float through the air to their reward.

“Yes,” Peter said, instead of revealing his mind’s tumbling.

Happy shooed him off with a, “Well then, go on,” and Peter took that to be the dismissal it obviously was, and hurried off, finding the lab with no problems at all, and seeing no one on his way.

“Mr. Stark,” he called as he entered the room.

But Tony wasn’t surprised, and in fact, seemed to be waiting for him. “Hey Underoos.”

Peter winced at the nickname but ignored it. Hopefully, lack of response would kill this nickname. Eventually. “I’d almost think you were the one with enhanced senses,” Peter said to Tony, who raised his eyebrows with surprise. “It’s just, you always seem to know when I’m coming,” Peter explained. “I’ve never caught you off-guard even once.”

“Oh that,” Tony said with a wave of his hand. “FRIDAY alerts me. Well,” he corrected at Peter’s put-out expression, “that isn’t her primary focus. It’s just, I play music to help me concentrate. The goodies, classic rock. Black Sabbath and Led Zeppelin. But I know that noise alone—’cause I listen to it loud, Pete—would wreck your ears. So, I’ve asked Fri to always cut the music in your vicinity. Which also happens to work nicely as a little bell for you, doesn’t it? As soon as my music shuts off, I know you’re nearby.”

“Oh,” Peter said. “Um, thank you? For your consideration.” He blinked. “And maybe the insult?”

“Didn’t mean to insult,” Tony said, shrugging. “Now, you’re late. And you look tired. You sure you want to be here?”

Peter found himself nodding emphatically before he could think about it. “Yes! Sorry, I just, Ned came over last night and we stayed up really late. But I want to be here! Promise.”

Tony nodded. “Good. Then, are you ready to meet the men?”

“I’ve already met Mr. Sergeant Barnes,” Peter said, and then, “Wait, men? Plural?”

“You didn’t think Captain High and Mighty was going to let his best bud come down and—what am I saying? You met him, like, what, two days ago?”

“It’s been at least a week,” Peter interrupted.

“Right, well, there is no way in hell this isn’t going to be at least a little traumatizing for Bucky-boo. Like, every tune-up is a little traumatizing for the guy. Can’t be helped. He was brainwashed for seventy years. So Steve comes down to distract him, and, like, I don’t know, talk to him. It’s cool.”

“Cool,” Peter repeated, and then shrugged. “I guess that makes sense. Is this where it’s going to go down?” He looked around at the usual detritus that made up a cohesive unit that Tony and Peter called the lab. There were mechanized fabrication and assembly arms, holographic tables and computers, and a metric ton of expensive-as-heck equipment. It didn’t really seem like a comforting environment for what was mostly a medical check. The arm was Bucky’s prosthetic, even if it was a highly weaponized and technologically advanced cybernetic robot arm.

Tony looked around, as if he was trying to see the crowded room from an outsider’s perspective. “We tried, the first time, doing it in Medical. Bucko bit through a lamp fixture and a wall had to be rebuilt. Not fixed, not repained. It had to be torn down and built again. The next few times we tried it in his living area, but it wasn’t such a great idea to mix something as traumatizing as working on that arm, with what is essentially his safe space. My lab is… cluttered enough that it doesn’t remind him of creepy Nazis in lab coats working over him in dingy, austere, concrete bunkers. It’s homey.” Tony laughed, like that last bit had been a joke, but Tony was right, at least for Peter. The lab was homey. “Plus,” Tony continued, “my lab is reinforced for wrecking, what with how often the things I work on tend to explode.” He said this without any shame, and Peter grinned at him. “And Bruce,” Tony tacked on. “Sometimes he’s a lot bigger than normal, and I’d like my lab to stay a room during those times, so,” he shrugged, “reinforced.

“That’s very sensible,” Peter said. And he was glad for it too. This lab, well, any of Tony’s labs, were safe spaces for him. And as much as he wanted to help Bucky out, and he did want to, it was nice that he'd be able to do so from someplace comforting to him.

Maybe that made him selfish. He wasn’t sure.

Tony let out a bark of laughter. “Thanks, kid. I think. I’m not often accused of being sensible. I’m not sure if it’s even a compliment.”

“It is,” Peter said. “This time.”

“Well good,” Tony said, looking pleased, and then he clapped his hands together. “Then let’s get this ball rolling, eh? Fri? Send in the super soldiers please.”

“Of course, Boss,” she said, and a few minutes later, Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes stepped cautiously into the lab. Their eyes roamed the area, coming to stop on Peter and Tony only after a thorough search of the rest of the room.

And then their eyes were just on Peter.

“Thanks for helping out today,” Steve said softly, like he was scared of spooking Peter. Or, with the way he kept a hand on Bucky’s arm, maybe it was the other man he was scared of spooking.

Well.

He might have to tell Steve.

Neither him nor Bucky were horses who spooked easily and bolted. And Peter had found the easiest way to release the tension of a room, or a person, wasn’t to talk quietly or make soothing gestures (though maybe, he thought generously, that did work for some people). No, Peter was in the camp that believed that the only way to cut tension was to steamroll right over it with cheer and humor.

Humor was the best medicine. That’s what Uncle Ben used to say. Uncle Ben had a lot of maxims like that, but this was the one that applied here the most.

“Absolutely no problem,” Peter said cheerily. “I was actually really touched you, well,” he turned to Bucky, “you asked for me to be here. Not sure I’m up to Mr. Stark’s level on the science-front since I still haven’t technically passed Physics II or Biology II, but I’ll try my best.”

Tony ruffled his hair, and he ducked out of the hand because he wasn’t a child. Which only made Tony laugh. And with that, some of the tension leaked out of the two super soldiers. 

“Alright, enough with the niceties,” Tony said. “The longer we make Bucky wait the more tense he’s going to get.”

“He’s standing right here,” Steve pointed out, not quite angrily. Maybe the clip in his voice was exasperation. Or maybe he was just worried about Bucky and it was leaking out.

Peter did note that so far Bucky hadn’t said anything. 

What was the word Tony had used? Traumatizing?

Right.

Maybe Peter shouldn’t be here. If this was going to be something that caused Bucky pain, the guy probably didn’t want to share that with someone he’d only met once before. But, well, Bucky had been the one to invite him, and now it was too late. He was already here.

Tony turned to Bucky. “What do you say, Bucko? Time to look at that arm?”

Bucky nodded stiffly.

Peter looked at the chair Tony had been using, but Bucky didn’t go for the chair, or any of the other seats in the room. He walked over to a suspiciously clear section of work table and pushed himself up onto it. Neither Tony nor Steve acted like this was weird at all (choosing to sit on a table when there were at least three chairs in the room), so Peter didn’t comment on it. Steve stood, guardian-like, on the side of Bucky’s flesh arm. Took Bucky’s hand and held it.

Bucky squeezed the hand tight, his fingers clenching into the soft flesh on the back of Steve’s hand, making the skin his fingers pressed against turn white. It looked painful. But Bucky’s expression didn’t change, and neither did Steve’s.

Tony actually hopped himself up onto the table beside Bucky’s metal arm, a little distance away so he could work on the arm when it was fully extended, and Peter realized that now with the two of them sitting on the table, tools on the table were perfectly positioned in a ring around Tony for easy reach. 

Tony gestured Peter forward, and Peter found himself standing in front of Bucky and Tony. 

“Alright Barnes,” Tony said softly (did he, too, think Bucky was a horse?), “I’m starting. I’m going to…” and then proceeded to narrate everything he did, which was really great for Peter, learning about the arm, but Peter was positive it was actually for Bucky’s benefit. Under Hydra, they probably never told him what was going on with the arm, or his own body. This was a kindness, Peter recognized. Stating every single detail for Bucky before it happened, from Tony’s “I’m going to raise your arm so I can access the nerve port, and now I’m opening the port, and I’m just going to plug in my…” to “This is going to feel a little like a sting, but it won’t hurt too much. You’re going to feel it in 3, 2, 1…”

The arm was amazing. A technological feat like nothing else Peter had ever seen, and Peter helped Tony plan and build his Iron Man armors. But the more Tony worked, and the softer Tony’s voice got as he talked (maybe Bucky was a horse? Maybe if Tony didn’t talk so softly, and Steve hold Bucky’s flesh hand so tightly, Bucky would spook and run off), the tenser Bucky got.

Tony was in the middle of explaining exactly what plates of the arm he was removing as he removed them, when Peter stepped directly into Bucky’s line of sight (which was straight ahead, staring into the middle distance) and bounced there until he caught Bucky’s gaze. Tony kept talking, while he eyed Peter curiously, but stumbled over his words and missed narrating the removal of a plate below Bucky’s elbow.

“I used to have a really sensitive gag reflex,” Peter said apropos of nothing. And Bucky narrowed his eyes in confusion, but he was distracted for a moment, so Peter continued. “Like, sometimes, brushing my teeth would make me throw up. Or, like, if I chewed gum for too long and it got too close to my uvula. You know what a uvula is?” He opened his mouth wide for Bucky to see, and then blew air out his mouth, making the uvula flap in the wind. He couldn’t see it (obviously—it was in his own mouth) but he’d done it often enough in the mirror that he didn’t have to see it or feel it to know it was doing it). “It’s that little u-shaped thing, hanging at the back of your mouth? Like a pink, fleshy teardrop. Wow, I hate myself for calling it that. But that’s what the uvula is, you know?”

He waited for a second, not saying anything, and when Bucky just kept staring, he asked again. “You know?”

This time Bucky caught on and made a very shallow nod.  Bucky glanced to the side, to Tony still working at his arm, and Peter glanced at it too, but quickly drew Bucky’s attention back to himself.

“So, I used to have a really sensitive gag reflex. I told you that. And that was fine or whatever, and just so you know, I don’t anymore. I guess I grew out of it.” Which was vague, sure, but it would probably have happened anyway, even without the spider-bite speeding that along. “Which made going to the dentist, like, harsh. You know, like, a bunch a fingers and metal scrapers and stuff near the uvula? It made me totally gag. And they take x-rays now! I mean, actually, have you been to the dentist in this century?” He thought about the kind of chair a dentist usually had, and the fact that they weren’t even using chairs right now, and shook his head. “It’s totally overrated. I don’t recommend it. Plus, I bet you have the best pearly whites. Do you? I’m actually quite proud of mine. See?” And he smiled, very wide, and as friendly as he could make it.

And Bucky smiled back, slowly, and not as wide, and showing not nearly as many teeth, but he smiled back. Just a flash of upturned lips. Still a success.

That was mirror neurons at work, thank you AP Psychology. Mirror neurons fire both when a person (or animal) does an action, or when they watch someone else do the action. In your brain, they feel the same. And sometimes that causes automatic imitation. So, Peter had smiled, and Bucky had smiled back, which was a fun manipulation of the human (or animal)’s brain habit of just mimicking the actions and emotions that it processed. 

Also, human societal rules indicated a return smile was the proper response to a smile.

And smiling, even a little, caused dopamine to release. A little serotonin. Some endorphins. 

(Peter hadn’t necessarily done well in psychology, but these things, these things he’d found really interesting, and hadn’t forgotten, even though he couldn’t remember a single thing about Freud or the Stanford Prison Experiment.)

“Oh yeah,” Peter exclaimed exaggeratedly. “Your teeth are so white you could be a movie star. What do you use, crest whitening strips? I’m younger than you by, well, no offense, I have no idea how old you are, Mr. Bucky,  but I’m younger. Shouldn’t I have better teeth? Though,” he nudged Tony’s knee with his hip, “Mr. Stark here can attest I have, mmm, an affinity to sweets. Have you ever had a nerd rope, Mr. Bucky?”

“Don’t call me mister,” Bucky rasped, and Peter nodded quickly, smile widening.

“Sure, Mr. Barnes,” he said. “I’m guessing you haven’t had a nerd rope?” And then without waiting for an answer, said, “I’ll sneak one in for you sometime.”

“Don’t you dare,” Tony said, less softly, with some of his usual sass peaking in. “Those things are an abomination to humanity.”

“I saw on Pinterest how to home make them,” Peter told Bucky. “So I’ll make you a really, really big one, ‘cause I hear you guys,” he nodded to both Bucky and Steve, “eat more than the rest of us.”

Peter could definitely eat just as much as either of them.

“Don’t let him do it, Buckster,” Tony said. “They’re monstrosities.”

“Or I could bring you fruit slices,” Peter offered.

“We have fruit upstairs,” Steve said.

Peter scoffed. “Not slices of actual of fruit. Fruit slices! They’re, like,” he made a curve of his index-finger, trying to show the shape of the candy, and then gave up, “they’re like jelly candy, with a harder candy rind, and they’re shaped like flat orange, or lemon, or whatever, slices. They're really good.”

“I’m telling your aunt you’re sneaking more candy than you’re telling her,” Tony warned. “You need a more nutritious diet.”

“But Mr. Stark,” Peter whined. “I’m not eating that much. Just whatever Ned brings with him to—” noting Tony’s unimpressed eyebrow raise, he cut himself off and turned back to Bucky. In a conspiratorial whisper he said, “Don’t worry! I’ll sneak some in for you. You’ll love them!”

Bucky shrugged his flesh shoulder, and though he’d only said one thing so far, he was already looking less stressed. Distractions. That was all he needed.

“Oh,” Peter smacked his head, remembering where he’d meant to go with this. “But that’s not why I mentioned the dentist. And don’t worry. I may eat a lot of sweet things, but I brush my teeth really well, because Aunt May is kind of my only guardian and we can’t really afford me getting cavities. The dentist is expensive, you know?”

This time Bucky nodded back automatically, and Peter grinned.

“So, ok, when I was younger I had this gag reflex, and that made going to the dentist really annoying, because I was always gagging. Like, the x-ray, I told you about the x-ray? It’s not really invasive or anything, you just have to bite a thing, but taking the x-ray of your back teeth, you have to bite the thing really far back, and it touches the back of your mouth and,” he shivered dramatically, “bleh! You have no idea how embarrassing it is to throw up on a dental hygienist. I guess dry heaving is better for clean up, but still doesn’t feel great.” He shrugged.

“Agreed,” Bucky rasped, and then looked mildly surprised he’d offered up a voluntary agreement.

Peter nodded normally (do not draw attention to a desired reaction, he told himself. It was like when he was going to clean his room, and then Aunt May said, “Oh! Good job cleaning your room, young man,” and suddenly he wished he’d trashed it just to be contrary. Patronization. Was that the word?), and continued, as if Bucky’s answer, and the fact that he answered at all, was all normal.

“So, I kind of hated going to the dentist,” Peter said, “and eating bananas. But that’s another story. And then when I was,” he thought and then shrugged, “I don’t know, Middle school? Late elementary? I went to the dentist, and, look, I’m not a jerk, so I warned the dental hygienist, I told her, I said, ‘Hey, I have a sensitive gag reflex, and I’m going to try really hard not to throw up on you, but,’” he shrugged, “‘I can’t really, like, control a reflex you know?’” 

This time Bucky nodded without a thought, and Peter could see that while he still clutched at Steve’s hand, it was no longer a death grip.

“And you know what she told me? She said, ‘There’s a trick.’ A trick! A trick, she says! After all these years, there’s a trick.” He threw his arms up in the air in exaggerated exasperation and then let them drop back to his sides in theatrical defeat. “But you know what? Better to learn the trick now, then not at all. Maybe I can stop throwing up at the dentist going forward. I’m never going to be able to take back the previous gagging incidents, but,” he shrugged again, “better late than never, right? Right? I was still so pi—upset,” he corrected. “That I was just learning about it now. And also, I should say, I didn’t quite believe it was true. I mean, wouldn’t someone have said something earlier if there was a trick?”

Bucky nodded, a full head bob, a sincere agreement.

“And you know what she said to me? She told me that every time if felt like I was going to gag, like, whenever something touched the back of my mouth, to just hold my breath for ten seconds, clench my right fist, and try my hardest to raise my left leg.” He made a face that he hoped conveyed the emotion of ‘What the fuck?!’

“Sounds fake,” Bucky said.

“I know,” Peter said, bobbing his head up and down. “Like, really fake. That’s some fake advice right there. But I’m not about to say that to her. I’m, like, eleven max. There’s no way I’m talking back to any adult. Ever. I mean, I don’t think that’s changed, actually.”

“You talk back to me all the time,” Tony pointed out.

“You’re not an adult,” Peter said, at the same time Bucky said, “Maybe he will when you grow up,” at the same time Steve said, “Peter’s a good kid, Tony, I’m sure he doesn’t mean anything by it.”

Peter broke out laughing at Tony’s resulting affronted expression, as did Steve, though his was more polite, and Bucky cracked a smile. 

“No,” Peter said, “well maybe a little now. But don’t worry, Mr. Stark. I would never have talked back to you when I was eleven. Probably. And I definitely wasn’t going to talk back to the person about to put fingers and metal sticks in my mouth. So I did as she advised. As she was putting the bit thing between my teeth she told me to hold my breath, so I did, and I started counting to ten, and I clenched my fist, and I tried to raise my left leg off the ground, point it out in front of me, and I was so incredulous, I kept thinking, ‘There’s no way this is going to work, there’s just no way,’ and I was, I mean, I was fully prepared to just throw up on her to show her she was wrong, and then,” he paused for dramatic effect, “and then she said to open, and I did, and she moved the bit, said ‘hold your breath,’ and I did, and clenched my fist, and raised me leg, and then she said ‘open,’ and that was it.” 

He made his eyes as wide as he could make them. “It worked,” he said, as if imparting knowledge of great importance.

“Really?” Bucky aked, eyebrows practically at his hairline. “It really worked.”

Peter nodded. “Yeah. And I never threw up on another dental hygienist again.”

“But that doesn’t make any sense,” Bucky said with a frown.

“Well,” Peter said, “sure, a leg muscle isn’t connected to the uvula in any way. You’re right about that. But I have a theory. And it has to do with hiccoughs.”

“What,” Bucky said, not a question, a deadpan statement.

Peter laughed. “No really, hear me out. So, I know there are lots of tricks to get rid of hiccoughs.”

“This I gotta hear,” Tony muttered, and shifted to gaze with single-minded focus on Peter, who winked at him, causing the older man to laugh.

“My second grade teacher always told us to gargle water,” Peter said, “and Miss Rosemary, that is, the school librarian, always said to try to drink water upside down. She was open to which kind of upside down though, forward or backward.” He demonstrated, first folding himself at the waist, and then swinging into an awkward backbend. He put a hand against his lower back as he straightened out of that one. “Ow, I think I’m getting too old for that.”

Tony slapped at Peter’s arm, and Peter skittered out of the way with an upbeat laugh.

“Mrs. O'Meara always said to hold your breath,” Steve said, “remember that, Buck?”

“Sure,” Bucky said sarcastically, “It was great advice to give an asthmatic.”

Steve laughed. “No worse than the doctors prescribing cigarettes for the asthma.”

Bucky rolled his eyes and let out a huff.

“Well my Aunt May,” Peter said, “always swore up and down that this was a foolproof method of getting rid of hiccoughs. She said that as soon as you get hiccoughs you should take your two index fingers and get them as close as possible to one another without them actually touching each other. Like, you want the smallest possible gap, but if they touch it won’t work, so you have to concentrate very hard on not letting them touch.” He grinned at them. “Worked every time.”

“But,” Steve said, “that’s…”

“Right,” Peter agreed. “It doesn’t work because the fingers have anything to do with it.”

“It works because you’re focusing,” Tony interpreted it. “You have to focus so hard on getting them close enough without them touching, it’s a challenge. It makes your brain put all its effort into doing that action, and not thinking about your hiccoughs.”

“And without you worrying about it, your muscles can relax, and the hiccoughs stop,” Bucky said.

“Exactly,” Peter said, pleased.

“But once you know the secret, it should stop working,” Bucky said.

“Hah, no,” Tony said. “Fortunately, the part of your brain that thinks thoughts and the part that does actions don’t like talking to each other. That’s why placebos can work sometimes even if you know they’re placebos. Brains are bizarre.”

“Agreed,” Peter said.

“So,” Steve said, brow furrowed, “you’re saying that, that because you were so focused on the other three things, at the dentist. The fist, holding your breath, raising your left leg. That was just to get you to focus on something else.”

“Yeah,” Peter said with a shrug. “Which is definitely neat. And even knowing that, ‘cause I figured that part out pretty quick, well the trick still works.” He shrugged. “Even knowing that all I’m doing is focusing, and it’s just a distraction, it still works. I kept doing it until I noticed my gag reflex had gotten less sensitive, and it worked every time.”

“That’s,” Bucky started, and then stopped.

“Well,” Steve said awkwardly, “that was an interesting tangent.”

Peter nodded.

“That’s crazy,” Bucky said. “I mean, to just, it doesn’t work that way. You can’t just distract yourself out of a gag reflex! Or, or hiccoughs, or—”

“Or a tune-up?” Peter asked.

Bucky nodded, lips pressed together tight.

Peter gestured at Bucky’s metal arm, that Tony had just been lightly holding onto for some time. “Mr. Stark finished the tune-up before I even started talking about hiccoughs. I mean, sure, it’s not going to work on, like, civil-war style battlefield amputations. But focusing on something else, I mean, that works suspiciously well for a lot of things.”

Bucky gaped at his arm. He removed it from Tony’s hold cautiously, and then flexed, rolling his wrist and fanning out his fingers, curling them in and out. “What the fuck,” he said quietly, and it wasn’t a question, and it wasn’t said in anger. It was a verbal exclamation of shock.

Peter looked at Tony, suddenly unsure, but Tony looked… Tony looked proud, an unironic smile on his face. And when Peter looked to Steve, Steve looked bright and sunny. 

“I,” Bucky cleared his throat, “I, um…”

“Thanks,” Steve interpreted. “This will be very useful. I’m serious. We’re serious,” and Bucky nodded, face still slack, “thanks.”

“Oh,” Peter said awkwardly, face feeling uncomfortably warm. He scratched the back of his head. “It’s nothing. I mean, it’s really my Aunt May. She, um, she’s the one who taught me that.”

“Smart Aunt,” Bucky said.

Peter beamed. “She is.”

“Might have to invite you back next time,” Tony said. “This has been the easiest tune-up on the arm since, well, since Bucky returned from the cold east.”

“Oh, um,” Peter said awkwardly. “I didn’t do this so—to, I didn’t do this to make you—I mean, I, um, I’d be honored, and really, the arm is super cool, but I wasn’t trying to, like, bribe you? Or convince you or anything? I didn’t mean to…” and then he trailed off, because he didn’t think anything else he said would be any more clear or grammatically correct than he’d already said.

Tony laughed at him.

“We know,” Steve said. “You’re a good kid, Peter.”

Peter’s face must have been beet red by now, but he somehow choked out a, “Thank you, Mr. Captain Stevemerica, Sir,” which only made his cheeks grow impossibly redder.

And that broke Bucky out of his shocked silence. “Stevemerica!” he crowed, and started laughing, loud belly laughs that made Steve laugh too.

“I’m changing your name in my phone to Stevemerica,” Tony said, grinning like a loon. “FRIDAY, make a note, or, no, just do it now. Change Steve’s contact name to ‘Captain Stevemerica.’”

“Right away, Boss,” FRIDAY said. “Contact, formally Capsicicle penguin emoji diamond emoji American Flag emoji is now Captain Stevemerica fireworks emoji fireworks emoji shooting star emoji.”

“Thanks,” Tony said gleefully.

“Oh my god, Tony,” Steve groaned, and covered his face with the hand.

“Me, too, FRIDAY,” Bucky said politely to the ceiling.

“Of course Sergeant Barnes,” FRIDAY said.

“Not you too,” Steve whined into his hands. 

“Contact, formally Punk open parenthesis Steve close parenthesis is now Captain Stevemerica fireworks emoji fireworks emoji shooting star emoji.”

Steve dropped his head forward completely.

“Maybe not the emojis?” Bucky asked the ceiling.

“I apologize Sergeant,” FRIDAY said, very politely. “Unfortunately my coding does not allow for that level of alteration. You may have to make that change manually.”

“Thatta girl,” Tony said.

“Oh my god, Tony,” Steve said, lifting his face from his hands, “your AI!”

“Don’t be too upset, Mr. Stevemerica,” Peter said, welcoming this new start of his life with open arms, since hiding his head in the sand wouldn’t do anything to help. “You should hear what Mr. Stark has me saved as.”

“FRIDAY?” Steve asked, and Peter immediately realized his mistake.

“Peter is saved in Boss’s phone as, KID, all capitals. However, his designated title in Stark Industries is O’ Intern o’ Mine.”

“Thanks, FRIDAY,” Peter said weakly.

Steve gave him a look. “O’ Intern o’ Mine?” he asked.

“Please don’t start calling me that too,” Peter whined, and wasn’t even ashamed that he was whining. “Please Mr. Stevemerica. I couldn’t handle that.”

Steve gave him a very pointed look.

“I mean, Steve,” Peter corrected. No one could ever accuse him of not being a fast learner.

“Alright, Peter,” Steve said.

“Yeah,” Bucky said, “you’re very invited to my next tune-up.”

“Oh,” Peter said, blinking. He thought they’d let that idea go. He thought he’d distracted them from that.

Oh well, guess it didn’t work on everything.

“Thanks?” Peter said, mulled that answer over in his head, and changed it to, “I’d be happy to.”

“You’re also invited to lunch,” Bucky said, “right now.”

Peter’s eyes widened. He turned eyes on Tony.

“Stark is also invited,” Bucky said brusquely. 

“Well,” Tony said slowly, obviously hesitating just to be a pain. “I guess that’s alright. I didn’t have anything else planned for the boy anyway.”

“Steve’s cooking,” Bucky said, as if that decided it, and Tony immediately nodded.

“Oh, I am, am I?” Steve asked, eyebrows raised.

Bucky put his hands together beneath his chin. “Please, Stevie?”

Steve rolled his eyes. “As if I could say no to you. Fine, you big lump. What are we having?”

“Colcannon Fish Pie,” Bucky said with no hesitation. “Your mom’s recipe.”

“Obviously,” Steve said drily. “Alright, well, I guess I’ll go get that started.”

“We’ll keep you company,” Bucky said, gesturing to Tony and Peter, and Peter thought for a moment that Tony would object at having that decision made for him, but after an eye-roll, he nodded.

“Alright then, everyone out of the lab,” Tony said. “I guess we’re playing chef entertainers.” He herded them all out the door.

And while Peter knew this was happening, he was experiencing it happen, this, this Tony and Bucky, and Steve mcfricken Rogers, and, and him, Peter, all going to go make lunch together, and to eat it together, it was still hard to believe.

Really hard to believe.

But he grinned, because as amazed as he was right now, Ned was going to absolutely blow a gasket when Peter told him.

Wild.

Chapter Text

Tony had left Peter in the common room Monday afternoon for “just long enough for me to finish up this SI crap, Peter. I’ll be right back, I swear. Pep’s just been breathing down my back about signing all this—well you don’t care. You have something to keep you busy for, like, twenty minutes? Twenty max. You’ve got… homework, or… whatever kids like to do these days, right?” And then he’d rushed off.

It wasn’t like Peter was going to complain about having a little free time before doing work (as much as he loved working in the lab, a vacation was a vacation), so he slung his backpack onto the couch and plopped himself down next to it.

Though this was the Avenger’s common room in the tower, the Avengers spent most of their time at the compound, and it was four in the afternoon on a Monday, so Peter wasn’t really expecting to see anybody. He pulled his backpack into his lap and considered doing some homework. A Calc II take-home test was due tomorrow, and he hadn’t started it yet, so this would be the perfect time to work on it. But, unfortunately, he didn’t happen to have that assignment with him, so...

He ended up pulling out his phone, and tapping Ned’s face, floating in a messenger bubble on his screen. The last thing Ned had written had been about the museum project they’d worked on yesterday.

Hey Ned, he typed out. I’m bored

The answer was immediate. Bored? I thought your name was Peter!

Peter rolled his eyes.

Another message from Ned popped up. Why are you bored? Weren’t you going to SI? Shouldn’t you be doing science by now?

Mr. Stark is doing SI work. I’m waiting for him to finish, but I didn’t pack a distraction today. Didn’t think I’d need it.

The three dots on Ned’s side of the conversation undulated.

…

…

And then a message: Why don’t you work on something without him? I’m sure he’s got projects you can do that don’t need supervision. What about Mini-Him?

Peter pursed his lips as he typed. 1. the name of the little guy is ‘Mini-Me’ even if it isn’t, well, me. He hit send and began typing more. 2. I’m not in the lab. Mr. Stark left me in the common room. 

Peter looked around the room while he waited for Ned to respond. The couch was long and L-shaped, probably long enough to fit ten people on it, or less than that, if some of those people were sprawling, or manspreading. He was sitting on the short side of the L. The longer side faced a huge TV mounted to the wall, but Peter didn’t see any cable box or a dvd player or game system or anything. There weren’t even any remotes on the coffee table in the middle of the room, and Peter couldn’t see any place else in the room that might store them.

The coffee table had a stack of magazines that looked boring, fashion and politics, nothing that would keep Peter’s interest, and a couple of those huge books meant to live on coffee tables. One was about architecture, the other was art. They were placed side-side on the table, with the magazines on the side closest to Peter, arranged very neatly, and with the precise organization of the coffee table, the whole room took on a look Peter was more accustomed to seeing in a waiting room than in a living room. Though, he supposed, since this wasn’t really a residential area any more, what with the Avengers living mostly in the Compound upstate, the lack of cozy domesticity in the room made sense.

And as for the TV, he supposed he could just ask FRIDAY to put something on…

His phone vibrated in his hand and he looked at the new message from Ned.

HE JUST LEFT YOU IN THE AVENGERS LIVING ROOM

And then,

Are there any Avengers there? Make friends with everybody, Peter! Be cool! You’re smart, I’m sure you can figure out how to act cool.

Peter laughed a little, quietly, to himself since he was alone in the room. No, Ned, he typed, I’m alone here and there’s nothing to do. All the Avengers are out Avenging, or at the compound. You know, where they live. 

He hit send, and then was suddenly blasted in the face with cold air as a window separating the common area from the New York skyline slid open, admitting six feet of Norse God. 

It was Thor. Golden hair and scarlet cape bright and intense in the generic common room. He flew (actually flew!) in through the window, which closed behind him in a smooth motion, and landed on his feet just long enough for him to stride to the couch and fling himself onto it, tossing his giant hammer onto the coffee table, scattering the magazines and nudging one of the large books a quarter of the way off the edge of the table. The larger man kicked his feet up on the wood, and it must have been reinforced (probably with this very action in mind) because it didn’t dip or groan under his weight. 

Peter stared at the guy, at the, the god, with wide eyes, and Thor, well, he didn’t notice Peter at all. He’d flung himself onto the part of the couch facing the TV, and now looked introspective, staring towards the television, but off into nothing.

Peter’s eyes turned to the mess of a coffee table for just a tick, and he considered reaching over and straightening the table up, but then shook his head and turned his attention back to the man, the god, whom he was sharing a couch with.

“Um,” Peter said cautiously, “Mr. Thor?”

Thor’s head whipped around to face Peter, and he flexed his muscles, but he didn’t look ready to attack or anything. 

Peter supposed that he didn’t look nearly intimidating enough to make a god ready himself to attack. Even with the proportionate strength of a spider, and the experience to use it, he knew he looked like a whip-thin teenager not strong enough to even punch his way out of a wet paper bag.

“Yes, child,” Thor said, also cautiously. “Who are you? And why has Lady FRIDAY allowed you to relax in this area? It is a private space, you must know, for Earth’s Mightiest Warriors!”

The way he said it implied the capitals. This was a title. And, Peter had to admit, a pretty apt one.

“Oh,” Peter said, and scratched at the back of his head. “Um, well, Mr. Stark left me here? He had some work to do, said he’d be back in twenty minutes,” he checked his phone for the time, “thirty minutes ago.”

“Yes,” Thor said with brash laughter that boomed in the quiet room. “Our good friend, Anthony, he is not the best at what my Lady Jane calls ‘time-management.’ But I am sure he will return soon. I do not believe he would abandon his sprog for long.”

Peter made a face at the word ‘sprog.’ Didn’t that mean, like, offspring? Tony Stark was not Peter’s dad.

But then Peter heard something else, a quiet huff of laughter coming from up above, a huff too quiet for a human without enhanced hearing to have heard. It must have come from one of the vents above the room, and Peter knew that there was no way FRIDAY, who had greeted him upon arrival (still as: O’ Intern O’ Mine, for christ sake), and who had opened the window for Thor, would just let some stranger roam the vents. So, it must be one of the Avengers, and the only Avengers he could think that would do something that sneaky would be one (or both, but probably just one) of the spies.

Black Widow.

Or.

Hawkeye.

Jesus, who would he prefer it be? The scarier spy who liked his alter ego enough to want him to train with the Avengers? Or the other, less scary spy who did not appreciate being fished out of a dumpster?

Of course, Peter could be unlucky, and it could be both of them up there spying on him.

But then, he hadn’t heard them crawl in there, and he would have, with his sensitive ears. So that meant that they’d been up there since Peter entered the room, probably for a reason unrelated to Peter whatsoever. Peter just happened to be here at the wrong (?) time.

That made him feel a little better. Better enough to focus back on the fact that Thor had just called him Tony’s sprog. 

Which: Bizarre.

“I’m not Mr. Stark’s kid,” Peter said, “I just, I,” (did Norse gods have internships? Would Thor know what an intern was at all?) “I kind of work for him?” Peter said, and then cursed himself internally for ending that statement with a questioning upward lilt.

“Ah,” Thor said, as if it made perfect sense that a teenager with his backpack on him, sitting in the Avengers ex-living room, would actually just be an SI employee. “So you work for the venerable Tony Stark. Are you perhaps one of his scientists? My Lady Jane, most beloved and as beautiful as the flowers of a Linden tree in the springtime, is a scientist as well. She studies the stars.”

“Dr. Jane Foster,” Peter said with grim realization. He wanted to smack himself. Of course. Dr. Foster was the leading human expert on Asgard. Of course Thor was dating her. Of course. 

Jesus. It was amazing he’d gotten an internship with Tony at all considering how stupid he could be some of the time. 

“You know of her!” Thor boomed, smile wide and cheeks flushed with joy. He was like a giant golden retriever, and Peter came to the sudden conclusion that if someone ever made Thor sad, Peter was going to give them a stern talking to. The guy was like a bottle of joy. And he obviously loved Dr. Foster a lot.

“Of course,” Peter said. “I mean, she’s a really famous astrophysicist. Plus the Einstein-Rosen Bridge thing. I mean, she’s done great work in the scientific community.” Something else occurred to Peter, and he had his mouth open to ask if maybe it would be possible to actually meet Dr. Foster sometime—and maybe Peter would explode with sheer excitement!—when he realized that would be incredibly rude. He snapped his mouth shut, swallowed that question, and tried something else. “Next time you see her, um, could you tell her I’m a fan? And I read her latest article in the Journal of Astrophysics and Astronomy and I was really impressed?”

And now he sounded like a sycophant. Great.

Another huff of laughter from the vents, and Peter thought to himself that it had to be Hawkeye, right? One, Black Widow seemed way too professional to ever laugh while hiding and/or spying. Two, the laugh sounded low and male. 

“I would be most honored to do so,” Thor said jovially.

Peter beamed at him, and Thor beamed back.

The vent snorted. Well, Hawkeye snorted. Low and quiet, and it probably wasn’t fair to him that Peter had enhanced hearing, because otherwise no one would have been the wiser.

Alas.

“So what are you doing here, Mr. Thor,” Peter asked, “if you don’t mind my asking? I was under the impression that you all, I mean, the Avengers all mostly stayed at the Compound? Not that you can’t be here or anything. This is still your—the Avengers’ area. Of course. Just, I’ve been working for Mr. Stark for over two years and I’ve never run into another Avenger in the living area before. No wait,” he thought back, “I’ve met Mr. Colonel Rhodey and Dr. Banner in the tower, but those were both in the lab.”

Thor considered him, and Peter saw that this thousands of years old god wasn’t just happy and loud. The eyes that gazed at Peter were intelligent and wise, and Peter almost gulped, but then Thor grinned. “I mind your questions not at all. Lady FRIDAY would have corrected you if in your tale you had told a lie to me, so I see you must be a trustworthy sort. Of course, I hope my fellow warrior, Tony, would not let someone untrustworthy into this space either. One can only hope he would not, of course, and he takes the guarding of his domain very seriously.”

Peter bobbed his head. The security in the tower was very tight, Thor was right.

“So I will tell,” Thor said theatrically, and with gusto, and just the tiniest glint of mischief in his eyes, “why I have arrived at this location, instead of at my usual place of residence amongst the Avengers. You see, two of my compatriots and I, every seven days, take part in a physical game of sorts, a competition that stresses strength of will and patience rather than how many heads one can decapitate during battle. And for this physical exercise we come to this city New York with the tall towers and swarms of mortals, for there is, so my cohort tells me, the most honorable and financially acceptable training hall in the known land.”

Peter tried to keep up, but the way Thor was talking… it was like he was being purposefully prosaic. 

“Now, for these many weeks we have met on the day that Midgardians call ‘Tuesday.’ Tis a strange name. Did you know, young midgardian, Sprog of Spark, and trusted employee,” (he pronounced ‘employee’ like it was three different words. Em Ploy Ee.) “that each of your earth days is named after an Asgard of import? Tuesday is named after Tyr, a warrior most honored, who has but one arm. Your Wednesday is named after mine own father, the All-Father, Odin, and Friday is named for my mother, Frigga. And for Thursday, I’m sure you can guess?”

He beamed, wide and sunny, and very subtly pointed towards himself.

Peter thought of the archer hiding in the vents. He thought of what little of Norse Mythology he barely remembered that his english teacher covered in 11th grade. 

“Baldur?” he asked, eyes wide and guileless, and saw Thor’s countenance drop for half a second, long enough to hear the sound of hastily muffled laughter from above, before Thor’s mouth widened once more into a smile. 

“You are joking! You deceived me for half a second, but you are intelligent, I can see that much, and would not really make such a mistake.”

“No,” Peter agreed easily, “just kidding around.”

Thor laughed. “You are indeed the son of Stark! You have his intelligence and his mischief in your ways.”

Peter’s mouth dropped open, and again from above came the sound of muffled laughter. And maybe also the shifting of a body, as if Hawkeye could not stay still through his mirth.

“Mr. Stark is not my father,” Peter said.

Hawkeye whined, the pain of holding back laughter.

“Maybe you were not created from his loins,” Thor admitted, “but there is much of him in you, is there not? You cannot deny that, can you?”

Peter crossed his arms over his chest and ignored his warming face. Yeah, ok, so he looked up to Tony, and yes he did spend a lot of time with him, and maybe he’d picked up some of the man’s mannerisms, and sure, he’d do whatever Tony asked him to do, and would defend and protect the man if his help was ever necessary, but that didn’t mean Tony was his Dad!

Thor laughed again, kindly, and patted the air in front of him. “I mean no harm, SprogOfStark.” And yes, he did say it like it was one word: a name, or a title.

Peter shifted uncomfortably and finally decided to ignore that train of thought completely. 

“You were telling me about your physical… exercise,” Peter said.

“Ah yes,” Thor said, clapping his hands together as he was effectively rerouted to the original subject of this conversation. “Normally we meet on Tuesday, but I am told that the owner of the establishment, this training hall we attend, will be out of town starting tomorrow, so we are meeting this Monday instead. And here we are!” Thor looked around. “Well,” he amended, “here I am. On these Tuesdays of exercise, if we are at the compound, we journey to the city together. But more often, we are separate, and we rejoin here at the tower before venturing to the training hall.”

The mention of doing physical exercise on Tuesdays knocked something loose in Peter’s head, a mention of some physical exercise on a previous Tuesday, someone saying Thor and him were going to do yoga when he left the lab.

It had been Dr. Banner! Bruce! Last Tuesday, he’d said he couldn’t stick around because he and Natasha (Black Widow) and Thor were going to do yoga.

Huh.

“I’m guessing Dr. Banner is still in his lab,” Peter said. 

Thor blinked at Peter, and then beamed at him. “You’ve guessed one of my companions! And you are correct. He notified me via electronic message that he would meet me in this room when he finished with his scientific endeavors.”

“I didn’t really guess,” Peter said, “I kind of cheated. I met Dr. Banner last Tuesday, and he mentioned he had yoga with you and, um, the Black Widow. So I didn’t really figure anything out, I just connected the dots.”

“Deciphering clues and using past knowledge is still a sign of intelligence, SprogofStark,” Thor announced, and Hawkeye guffawed before he could hide it. Thor tilted his head to the side, as if listening for something, but when no more noises were forthcoming, he focused back on Peter.

“Thanks,” Peter said, “and really, um, please don’t call me SprogofStark. Especially around Mr. Stark.”

“Well what else am I supposed to call you?” Thor asked with wide eyes. “You never granted me your name.”

“Oh!” Peter said, nearly mortified at his lack of manners, and the fact that Hawkeye was snickering at him from on high. “Geez! I’m sorry. My Aunt would be so ashamed of me if she knew I’d just been chatting without ever introducing myself. I’m Peter Parker.” He stuck a hand out and Thor wrapped it, cocoon-like, in his much larger hand, and shook.

If Peter didn’t have the strength he did, Thor might have pulled him off the couch entirely. As it was, Peter’s hand felt tingling and warm, like he’d just shaken hands with a live wire. A live wire with a carefully low wattage, but a live wire nonetheless. Maybe it was because Thor was the god of thunder, or maybe all Norse gods felt like they were just exposed electricity in humanoid form. 

“It is my pleasure to meet you, Peter SprogofStark Parker,” Thor said.

Peter gave him a rueful look. “You’re not going to let that go, are you?”

“Indeed I am not,” Thor boomed with a laugh, and Hawkeye very bravely suppressed most of his laughter. 

Peter looked at his phone. Tony had been gone almost fifty minutes. When he finally returned, Peter was going to make the man compensate for his tardiness by getting them both food. Which might be soon, as he heard someone get off the elevator and start walking towards this room.

“Yes,” Thor said, “my fellow athletes are as late for my meeting with them, as Tony is for his meeting with you.” He thought for a moment. “Perhaps not as late.”

“I’m barely late,” a female voice said from the entrance to the room, and it was not only a voice Peter recognized, but a face as well. The Black Widow. And she was dressed in a fuchsia tank top that clashed with her red hair, and capri-length yoga pants in a galaxy design. Her hair was up in a high pony and she had a rolled up yoga mat over her shoulder. She was still terrifying.

Apparently it hadn’t been Tony getting off the elevator after all.

“No,” Thor admitted, not startling in the least by the Black Widow’s silent entrance (not that Peter had either), “but I know not when our good Bruce will join us.”

“And I’m still looking for Clint,” Black Widow mentioned off-hand. “We were playing hide-and-seek earlier, and obviously I’m off my game because I still can’t find him. Alright, it’s officially a training drill, but trying to find that man, it might as well be hide-and-seek. If I don’t suss him out before we leave he’ll never let me hear the end of it.” She turned to Peter. “You’re Stark’s Intern-child. Peter Parker. We’ve never met.” She didn’t put her hand out to shake, and neither did Peter.

“Nice to meet you,” Peter said weakly. He didn’t ask how she knew he existed, there were too many options to count (ranging from her spying on anyone Tony brought up to his private lab to having been mentioned to her by any number of the other Avengers he’d met in the past few weeks.

“Intern-child?” Thor asked. He quirked an eyebrow at Natasha. “What is an intern?”

“An intern is a person who works for a company for free, and in exchange is given knowledge and prestige,” Black Widow said simply. 

“Stark does not pay you?” Thor asked Peter aghast.

Peter waved the worry away quickly. “He says he’ll hire me as soon as I turn eighteen, but I want to go to college first, so I’ll probably keep interning for a while even past eighteen. Honestly, I don’t mind not getting paid. I get to make so much stuff that I wouldn’t be able to afford to make otherwise—Mr. Stark pays for all the tools and materials of course, and he always buys dinner and stuff.” Peter shrugged. “It’s amazing enough that I get to learn from him at all. That I have this opportunity..”

Thor nodded slowly, like he didn’t quite get it but wasn’t going to argue.

Natasha looked bored. She pointed at Thor. “You’re not in exercise gear,” she accused.

Thor looked down at himself and rose dramatically to his feet before tugging off his cape and armor, stripping the rest of his battle-ready clothes as well, and throwing them onto the coffee table beside his hammer, haphazardly, in a way that made Peter’s eye twitch, which revealed that beneath it all he was wearing gym shorts and a muscle shirt.

“Huh,” Peter said, and Black Widow nodded in agreement. 

“Are we away?” Thor asked.

“Still waiting for Bruce,” Black Widow said, “and Clint.”

Thor threw himself back on the couch.

Black Widow looked at Peter and Peter tried very, very hard to look like he wasn’t hiding the fact that he was Spiderman, or that he was special in any way whatsoever.

“Have you seen Clint?” Black Widow asked. “Also called Hawkeye. About this tall,” she gestured to a space a few inches higher than her own head, “stocky, blond, annoying, full of bad ideas.”

“Not at all,” Peter said with a contradictory nod, and pointed a finger straight up.

Thor looked at Peter’s finger, then up to the ceiling. “What ar—”

Black widow cut him off with a raised hand, as she talked over him as well. “Well that’s just too bad. And I really wanted to get him before I left.”

“There’s time,” Peter said. “Dr. Banner still hasn’t shown up.”

Black Widow hummed.

Thor looked confused still but didn’t open his mouth again, just glanced between Peter, Black Widow, and the ceiling every few seconds.

“So, Peter,” Black Widow said, focusing completely on him, “tell me a little about yourself. You’ve been interning here for a few years, right?”

“Yeah,” Peter said, though that seemed like the kind of easy-to-find-out-thing that a spy like her would already know. And he didn’t really want to talk about his internship because it was, initially, a front for him being Spiderman, and he didn’t want to talk about anything that close to his secret. “Um, I attend Midtown School of Science and Technology. I graduate this year!” Even his nerves at talking to this much too competent spy, and his inner monologue of ‘Don’t say you’re Spiderman! Don’t say you’re Spiderman! Don’t say you’re Spiderman!’ couldn’t stop him from feeling excited at that prospect. 

“Congrats,” Black Widow said with just the tiniest hint of smile.

“Thanks,” Peter said sincerely. “I’m ready to be out.”

“One is never too old to learn,” Thor said.

Peter blinked at him. “Oh, no, definitely. It’s not that I want to stop learning, I’m going to college in the fall, it’s just,” he made a face, “high school.”

“I never attended anything that may compare to your Midgardian High School,” Thor said. “I had tutors gathered by my father, men and women passionate and knowledgeable in many subjects.”

“I never attended a traditional high school either,” Black Widow said, and then did not explain further.

“So you have no idea how awful it is,” Peter said, ignoring her leading statement, because he frankly didn’t want to think about what she could mean by that. “I get to see my friends every day, but between homework and—” and Flash, “and the pressure from the teachers to be the best, some days I want to come home and just sleep for a year.”

Thor and Black Widow both looked at him like he’d just said something endearing and naive, and he huffed.

Hawkeye laughed, very very quietly, and Peter huffed again.

“What else do you do?” Black Widow asked Peter. She looked kind of out of place, like making chit-chat with teenagers was out of her usual purview. “Do you play videogames? Go out drinking with your school friends? Play poker?”

She pulled on one of the armrests of the couch, and it opened on a hinge, revealing a few remotes, an xbox controller, a ragged looking paperback, and a notebook with a pen strapped to it. She pulled out the notebook and pen, and gave Peter a look, a look that meant Talk Now, before jotting something down quickly and tearing out the page. 

“I’m not old enough to drink,” Peter said. “I’m seventeen!”

Again Thor and Black Widow looked at him with indulgent expressions. 

“I was drinking grown men under the table by twelve,” Black Widow said.

“Aye,” Thor agreed, “I was weaned off mother’s milk and straight onto mead.”

But Peter refused to be ashamed of not drinking underage. He huffed again, and again Hawkeye laughed.

Natasha took the slip of paper and raised it to the ceiling at a weird angle. And then Peter realized it was pointed towards the closest surveillance camera. 

FRIDAY.

That was all it said.

Suddenly an alarm sounded, loud and whining, and Peter jerked in shock. He hadn’t been prepared for something that loud, that close to him, and the sudden loud noise blaring in his ears would have knocked him off his feet if he hadn’t already been sitting down. His enhanced senses, hearing especially, were good for things like listening in on a spy-slash-archer laughing at him from the air vents, or for recognizing when the elevator let someone out onto that floor from way down the hall, but bad for things like sudden blaring noises.

It was overwhelming, all he could hear was the mechanized screaming, and he had to lock his joints and bite his tongue to keep from flying from his seat and jumping out the window just to get away from the horrible, overwhelming noise.

And then something else caught his ears, impossibly quiet next to the SCREAMING SCREAMING SCREAMING, but it was the sound of metal, a hinge opening, and then a whump of flesh on flesh, and the sudden pressure but not pain, of a body landing on top of him, and the sirens cut off. The body rolled off and Peter was left sitting there, tense and forcing himself to breathe regularly.

It took almost half a minute of his breath sounding impossibly loud and quick in his ears, and the echo of the sirens blaring through his brain, for him to realize that the screaming noises had stopped, and that his eyes had somehow, of their own volition, shut.

He opened them slowly, and found an awkward tableau before him. Hawkeye was laying on the floor, gun drawn and pointed upward, but his expression was ashamed and contrite. Thor gaped at Hawkeye, having no idea, apparently, that the man had been listening in on them at all.

Black Widow wasn’t looking at Hawkeye at all. 

She was looking at Peter. 

“I’m sorry,” she told him, and though she didn’t look ashamed or regretful, she did look sincere in her apology. She was sorry, was what her expression said, and Peter nodded shakily. “I didn’t think how someone not used to the alarm system in the building may have an adverse reaction to the sudden noise.”

Peter didn’t think it was likely the Black Widow wouldn’t have thought of something, especially something as mundane as that. But the alarms would not have affected him four years ago, before he’d been bitten by a radioactive spider, as they had just now. She’d have assumed that Peter, a normal human boy, would have reacted the way any other normal human boy would have reacted to loud noises. She couldn’t know how loud they would sound to his ears, how painful. Hopefully she would chalk up this reaction to a—a trauma, and not to super senses. 

“No,” Peter said, once he’d levered his clenched teeth apart, and was glad his voice didn’t shake. Now the noises were over, he felt much better. “It’s fine. It just startled me, how loud it was. And,” he looked at Hawkeye, “I think an archer fell on me?”

Black Widow gave him a look that said his reaction had been more than just a simple startle, but she didn’t argue with him, instead saying, “You’re quite right. An archer did fall on you. I apologize for him as well.” And Peter took her acceptance and change of subject as the kindness it was.

“So there’s no trouble?” Hawkeye asked from the floor, drawing the attention of Peter and Black Widow. “The alarms weren’t going off because of a break-in? Or a mission?”

“No,” Black Widow said, and her smile was calculated to show too many teeth. “That was me winning hide-and-seek.”

“It was mission training,” Hawkeye whined, dropping his weapon to the floor beside him but not getting up. “How did you even know I was up there?! I was perfect!”

Black Widow pointed at Peter, and Peter bit the inside of his cheek.

“Did you indeed know our good Clinton was above us as we spoke?” Thor asked, looking highly impressed.

Peter tried to act cool. If Thor hadn’t heard Hawkeye’s laughter, and neither had Black Widow, there was little chance they’d believe he could hear it, if he were a normal teenage human boy. Which he was not. But they didn’t know that, and he wanted to keep it that way.

(Maybe. He was still up in the air, but it wasn’t a decision he was going to make right now.)

What could he say? What could he say? 

All he could think to say was the truth, or some version of the truth, and hope to god they didn’t question him too much.

“I heard him laughing at me?” Peter said, though it came out sounding like a question. “I mean, I heard, like, little huffs of laughter echoing from the vent. I was sitting right under it. Am,” he corrected. “I am sitting right under it.” He looked up at the ceiling grate hanging by its hinges, and the gaping maw next to it.

It wasn’t a very terrifying maw. Peter could see the metal of the vent past the darkness. It hardly looked like it could contain a grown man. Perhaps Hawkeye did have a superpower, one that allowed him to access ventilation systems that should not be big enough to hold grown human people.

“Oh shoot,” Hawkeye said with a huff, and finally levered himself upright, at least into a sitting position. “I didn’t think I was laughing that loud.”

The Black Widow bopped him on the head with her yoga mat. “That’s what you get for underestimating your surroundings. Metal echoes. You were practically in a metal echo chamber. If you can’t keep yourself from laughing over anything a teenager says, you don’t deserve to be a spy.”

That seemed kind of harsh to Peter, but Hawkeye took it in stride. He grinned at her, winked at Thor, and then turned his attention to Peter.

“And who are you?” Hawkeye asked.

Peter blinked at him. “I thought you were just… listening in on us?”

“That’s a kind way of saying spying,” Black Widow said.

“Or eavesdropping,” Hawkeye added. “And yes I was, good catch.”

Peter frowned. “Thanks.”

“But who are you?” Hawkeye asked again. He crossed his legs under him, and suddenly looked more like a kindergartener sitting on the carpet in front of the teacher’s chair, waiting eagerly for story time. 

Peter glanced at Black Widow who had a blank expression on her face. She was also waiting for an answer.

“I’m… Peter,” Peter said. Part of him was prepared to panic if, for some reason, this line of questioning involved Spiderman somehow, but it seemed unlikely. Or at least, there was no actual reason to panic yet. “Peter Parker. I intern for Mr. Stark.”

Hawkeye looked him over. “Aren’t you a little young to be a Stark Industries Intern? Aren’t they all, like, grad students, or at least close to graduating college? You haven’t even started college yet.”

It was a valid point, one that Flash liked to make often, but still Peter scowled. “I never said I was a Stark Industries Intern. Technically speaking, I’m not. I’m Mr. Stark’s personal Intern. I report to him alone. And, well, I guess Happy. And FRIDAY. And maybe Ms. Potts if Mr. Stark asks her to—nevermind. It doesn’t matter. I don’t intern for the industry, I intern for the man himself.”

Hawkeye looked him up and down, trying to glean some piece of information, but what, Peter didn’t know. 

“He’s not lying,” Black Widow said, more as an aside to Hawkeye than an announcement to the room.

“Of course not,” Thor said, “why would Peter SprogofStark lie?”

Hawkeye chuckled openly at that. “SprogofStark,” he crowed. “God, I want to see Stark’s face if he ever hears that name!”

Peter groaned and dropped his head into his palms. “Please don’t! I’ll never hear the end of it.”

There was a pause, filled only with Hawkeye’s laughter, and Peter looked up to see, once more, Thor and Black Widow looking at him indulgently. 

“I’m not being naive about this,” Peter said loudly. “I’m not! I’m just asking you nicely to please never ever ever tell him that name!”

“I’m going to text it to him right now,” Clint said, and pulled out his phone.

Peter reached for it, but Clint ducked and rolled and was in a second half-way across the room and on his feet. Peter could have caught him. Sometimes pretending to be normal seemed overrated. Now Tony was going to see that name and would never let it go. 

Great.

Thor’s laughter boomed through the room. “Come, good Hawk. Let us not antagonize Anthony’s young assistant. Is that not one of the many rules taught by the fine Lady Pepper? To not treat harshly those who are but children?”

Peter didn’t know whether he should argue that he wasn’t a child, or just accept that title if it meant Tony would never hear of this.

“Text sent,” Hawkeye said triumphantly, did a little jig, and put his phone away.

“I hate you,” Peter told him. “You’re mean and your hair looks bad.”

It was mostly true. His hair was a mess from the vent, and then the falling. And even just as a way to rile Peter up, giving Tony more ammunition was not something to do to someone they first met.

Not that this was technically the first time they were meeting. Peter had met Hawkeye twice by now. Once in a dumpster and once during a fight, but both times as Spiderman. Hopefully Hawkeye would continue not recognizing that the intern in front of him was actually also Spiderman. 

Peter kept his mental fingers crossed. 

Crossing his real would have looked suspicious, so he made do.

Hawkeye looked amazingly and dramatically offended by Peter’s words, but Black Widow grinned and stepped forward with her hand out. “I like you,” she told him as they shook hands. “Anyone who can successfully make fun of Clint upon first meeting him deserves some praise. Good job. You can call me Natasha.”

Natasha.

He was collecting Avengers first names like Pokemon cards.

“You can call me… Peter,” he said, like the lamest loser to ever exist. He wanted to smack himself in the head, and he might have, if three of the Avengers weren’t staring at him. Smacking himself in the head would probably make him look even more like a loser. 

“I know,” Natasha said (Natasha) laughing at him with her eyes (it was a very effective method). 

“How’d you get a private personal up close internship with Tony anyway?” Hawkeye asked and then with a shrug, said, “I guess you can call me Clint, ‘cause I’m a nice guy.” Clint. Right.

“Or I could call you some embarrassing name, and tell it to Mr. Stark, and then we’d be in the same boat,” Peter said.

“He holds onto a thing, doesn’t he?” Clint asked gleefully.

“He does,” Natasha said with approval.

Peter cleared his throat. “He also likes it when people don’t talk about him in the third person when he’s sitting right here.”

Clint put a hand up, fingers curled into claws, and yowled like a cat. “MROW!”

“They but jest,” Thor insisted, his smile was as bright and sunny as before. “I would provide for you another name to use as well, except I but have the one, and I would not have a friend call me Odinson. Odin, being my father,” he explained unnecessarily. 

“Uh, that’s ok,” Peter said. “Thank you?”

Thor absolutely beamed at him.

“Whatever,” Clint said, leaning forward past Thor. “Tell me how you got an internship with Tony? He’s no Daddy Warbucks.”

“I would actually say he’s a regular Daddy Warbucks,” Natasha said.

“From Annie?” Peter asked, catching up slowly. “The musical?” He made a face. “Mr. Stark hasn’t adopted me. And isn’t going to adopt me. I’m not an orphan. Well,” he scrunched up his nose. “Technically, I am. But I’ve got a guardian. And I’m turning 18 in, like, a few months. He’s not my dad.”

“Sure, sure, yeah, yeah,” Clint said, sounding bored, “you’re not really SprogofStark, yadda yadda yadda. Whatever. Still doesn’t explain why he has a minor working for him instead of someone with more experience or whatever.”

Well, Clint, Peter thought to himself sarcastically, It’s because I’m Spiderman.

He didn’t say that.

“I’m part of the September Foundation,” Peter said with an awkward shrug. “And I’m smart enough to keep up with what he wants,” Peter added, and then drew silent because honestly, sometimes he asked himself the same question. Why did Tony keep Peter around? There were smarter people who could do way better than Peter, and it wasn’t like Tony needed an assistant in the lab. The man was a genius! But Peter tried not to think about it too hard. He didn’t want to look this gift horse in the mouth at all. Maybe if he didn’t think about how out of place he was, then Tony wouldn’t notice either.

“I’m sure Tony knew what he was doing, hiring you to be his intern,” Natasha said, like she’d read his mind. And then she gave Clint a look that Peter didn’t think he was supposed to have caught.

“Aye,” Thor added sagely, “the Man of Iron knows many things. He would not bring Peter into his realm of Science and Mechanics if he did not trust his abilities.”

Clint let it drop, but Peter got the feeling that next the archer would be asking Tony the same question.

Peter forced himself not to think about it. His eyes turned to the coffee table, which had become, in just a few short actions, startlingly and domestically messy. The two books where shoved together, the cover of one propped up from where Thor’s hammer had fallen, and the magazines were scattered from the dual forces of Thor’s clothing, and the press of the books from the hammer. The metal of the hammer’s head was half on a book, half on the table, the handle pointing up diagonally. Peter wanted to straighten it all up, just to give him something else to think about, but he didn’t know if Thor would appreciate him touching his stuff. So he dragged his eyes away from it.

“I do play video games,” Peter said slowly, when the only thing he could think to say was to properly answer Natasha’s earlier questions, on what he did in his free time. “You asked what I did when I wasn’t working here. I do play some videogames. Who doesn’t play videogames?”

“What’s your poison?” Clint asked, accepting this subject change. “Legend of Zelda? Mario Kart? Super Smash Bros? Overwatch? Tekken? Wii Sports?”

“You are not finagling Tony’s assistant into playing games with you,” Natasha chided. “You’d whoop his ass, and what’s Tony going to do with a crying intern, hmm?”

Peter blinked at her, and came to the frightening conclusion that she was egging him on, trying to see what would make him angry.

Well tough on her, videogames were not the things that would do that.

“I never said I was good at videogames,” Peter said. “I play, but I’m not good at it. In my free time…” what little free time he had, “I um, well I build lego sets with my friend.” Natasha looked suitably impressed, and Clint whispered ‘Nerd’ beneath his breath. And Peter did grin. “And I do play poker, though I’m assuming you knew that already.”

Natasha looked more impressed, which made Peter feel lightheaded and bubbly. The Black Widow was impressed, with him of all people! The high that Natasha’s little smile gave him was almost as electrifying as when Tony told him he’d done a good job in the lab.

Wow.

Was this what taking drugs felt like? Peter thought if that was so, he could suddenly painfully understand all the addicts in the world. 

“The kid plays poker?” Clint asked, frowning slightly, and turning to Natasha. “How would you even know that?”

Natasha looked at Peter and raised her eyebrows, and Peter swallowed his first reaction (hysterical laughter) down, and said, with a little awkwardness, “I met, um, Sam and Wanda and, and Vision the other week when they were playing poker, and I may have wiped them all out.”

Clint whistled, impressed.

“Oh,” Thor said with enthusiasm, “You are skilled in games of memory and will. Do you have the ‘Poker Face’ that I am told is important for winning?”

Peter did not have a poker face. That’s part of why he loved wearing the Spiderman mask. Suddenly people couldn’t read his every thought across his face. 

Ok, it wasn’t that bad. He was able to hide the fact that he was Spiderman from his nearest and dearest for almost half a year before they found out. He could hide a little, but that was evasion. He really didn’t have a poker face to speak of.

“Ah,” Peter said awkwardly, and turned his eyes back to the mess on the coffee table to avoid meeting anyone’s eyes. He then had to force himself still, to keep from tidying it all up in a pique of nervous fidgeting, and turned his eyes back to the god to rid himself of that temptation. The temptation to let his hands do busywork to cover the awkwardness of his words. He got the feeling that it wouldn’t work here. “Well,” he said, “I don’t, really.”

“Nay?” Thor said. “Then it is pure talent? Or perhaps luck?”

“Uh,” Peter said, and scratched the back of his head, keeping his eyes firmly off the coffee table.

Natasha took pity on him. “He cheated,” she said, and Peter was surprised to find she sounded oddly proud.

“I don’t cheat for money,” Peter said, feeling he had to clarify in order to defend himself. “I just, Sam was saying I don’t look smart enough to Intern for Tony, winding me up,” he was quick to explain to a suddenly upset-looking Thor. “So I wanted to show how smart I was. Counting cards involves good memory and mathematical skills, so…” Peter shrugged. “I’m sure any of you could do better.”

“Well yeah,” Clint said, “sleight of hand and tricking people is 87% of what most of our undercover missions entail, but hey, you’re like, fifteen? That’s still pretty impressive for a normal kid from Queens.”

Peter scowled at him, sure that he’d made the age mistake purposefully, but Clint’s gazed back guilelessly, and honestly, Peter couldn’t tell.

The elevator opened down the hall and Peter heard footsteps, the soft squeak of rubber on tile, and Peter didn’t let himself waver, didn’t turn his head or blink, because he didn’t want to show at all that he’d heard something no one else here had.

The spies would notice. They were spies after all.

Instead he opened his mouth. “I’m not fifteen,” he said, though with how childish that sounded, he wasn’t sure it wouldn’t convince them that he actually was fifteen. “And it’s just cards,” he scoffed, just filling the time until—

“Hey,” said another familiar voice, “sorry I’m late.” Peter turned to see the owner of the footsteps, and the last member of the yoga group walk into the room. Bruce Banner. He looked at Peter in surprise, and Peter looked back in surprise as well. He always pictured Dr. Banner in his lab coat and button-downs, but now he was wearing jogging pants, and a loose t-shirt that said ‘I’m just a compound of Barium and Beryllium, but you can call me BaBe’ (that Peter might have to steal?). “Hi, Peter. I didn’t know you’d be here today.” He looked around the room, swiveling his head back and forth. “Where’s Tony?”

“Stark abandoned the kid here,” Clint said.

“Anthony did not abandon young Peter,” Thor corrected. “He merely had some work to attend to, which left Peter some time free. Which was to my benefit, as I was introduced to him for that reason, and I am very happy to have met him.”

Like Peter said earlier, Thor was like a puppy dog, and if anyone ever said anything mean to him ever, or hurt him, Peter would give them a talking to they would not walk out of happy.

Thor grinned at Peter, and Peter grinned back.

“Oh,” Bruce said, “well, um,” he fidgeted a little, looked at his watch, “I’m glad you weren’t bored waiting for me? I really am sorry for being late.” He blinked at the group owlishly. “I got caught up working on something SI’s R&D sent up last night, and it’s really fascinating actually,” he lifted his finger to the side of his head, like he was going to adjust his glasses, but he wasn’t wearing a pair and dropped his hand to his side awkwardly.

A small crackle of noise from the speaker was the AI version of the clearing of a throat, alerting them that FRIDAY was about to speak. “Peter,” she said, “Boss has alerted me to,” a sound clip of Tony played, “‘Send the kid down, FRIDAY! Tell him I’m sorry for taking so f—’” it futzed out for a second, “‘—ing long, just jesus these guys in sales think that somehow I can do—’” the recording of Tony cut out, and FRIDAY resumed, in her normal cool Irish lilt, “if you’d be so kind as to make your way down to the lab. Boss is waiting.”

“Thanks, FRIDAY,” Peter said, and tried to ignore the sound of Clint snorting into his hand. 

“I should also warn you,” FRIDAY said kindly, “that Boss has changed your designation once more.”

“Finally!” Peter burst out. “I’m tired of being called—” he cut himself off before he could give these four Avengers, but especially Clint, any more ammo against him. “That,” he finished awkwardly. But, FRIDAY’s silence was telling, and Peter groaned, coming to the only conclusion available to him. “It’s something worse, isn’t it?” It wasn’t really a question. Well, no time like the present. “What is it, Fri?” he asked gloomily.

“Peter Parker,” she said apologetically, “newly designated: O’ Sprog-o-Stark o’ Mine.” She pronounced Sprog-o-Stark as three separate words.

Peter could feel his face warming up. “I think I preferred the other one.”

“Aww,” Clint cooed, “how cute.”

Peter didn’t think he’d known Clint long enough to threaten bodily harm in a fun and casually friendly sort of way, so he resorted to saying, “Mr. Hawkeye sir, kindly shut your hole.”

Natasha belly-laughed, and Peter turned to see her, eyes almost closed, mouth wide in mirth, pointing at Clint’s affronted expression.

“Mister Hawkeye,” Clint said, like that was the part that had offended him.

“Young Peter is polite,” Thor said.

“Thank you,” Peter responded.

Bruce smiled at him, a small upturn of mouth that somehow felt just as good as Thor’s wide-mouthed beaming.

Peter turned to the closest security camera. The same one Natasha had flashed the note at earlier. “Please, FRIDAY? Can’t you change it?” She didn’t say anything. Peter pressed his lips together, knowing he probably looked childish, like he was pouting, but he couldn’t help himself. He felt like pouting. “Fine. Tell Mr. Stark I quit.”

Immediately FRIDAY played a recording of Tony speaking. “And tell the kid that if he threatens to quit, well, it’s a free country, and he’s welcome to do so, but I won’t be the one telling his Aunt that he quit, will I?”

Peter scowled harder.

Another sound bite of Tony. “Come on, Peter! I don’t know what you’re doing up there, but let’s go. There’s science to be doing. I’m giving you ten minutes and then I’m revoking your dinner order privileges, and we’ll be ordering caviar and calamari and frog legs indefinitely.”

“Ugh,” Peter said. “Fine. FRIDAY, can you tell Mr. Stark that I’m on my way and to calm his horses, and to please change my name? Please? The security guards downstairs already look at me weird enough as it is.” He paused to huff out a breath. “Also I want arepas for dinner, please.”

“I’ll let him know,” FRIDAY said, but he was sure that Tony was already listening to a recording of Peter’s voice. FRIDAY was efficient like that.

“Well,” Bruce said, “I suppose it’s as good a time as any to break up this shindig. We do have a yoga class to get to.”

“Verily,” Thor said.

“Wait,” Clint said, “since I’m here, can I come with? I wanna get my Crow pose on.”

“But you’re already so flexible,” Natasha said drily.

“The more the merrier,” Bruce said.  

“Cool!” Clint said, “I’ll go change.” He jogged out of the room.

Bruce shrugged at Natasha and Thor, and Natasha sighed. “Great,” she said. “No, awesome, perfect, now he’ll never leave us alone.” But Peter got the feeling she wasn’t actually upset.

“Ok,” Peter said, “well, it’s um, it’s been great meeting you all.”

Natasha shook his hand. “Thanks for the assist with Hawkbutt.” 

“Anytime.”

Thor pulled Peter into a carefully gentle hug. 

“I hope we meet again, Peter,” he said. “This has been a most enjoyable time.”

Peter nodded. “Big same from me,” and then, because maybe that wouldn’t make sense to the Norse god, “me too.”

“I’ll see you in the lab,” Bruce said easily, and Peter grinned.

“Uh, I guess say bye to Clint for me?” Peter asked, as he turned towards the door.

The mess on the coffee table caught his eye again, and he fidgeted for just a second before saying, “Sorry, I just, it’s been bugging me that—” and before he could make himself finish that sentence he reached up to straighten the coffee table. In a few easy swipes he had Thor’s clothing up and folded, the magazines restacked, this time atop both books to give room for one pile of clothing that he didn’t fold so much as stack more orderly, and the hammer, which he resituated next to the clothes, laying it flat so the handle ran parallel to the top of the coffee table.

“There,” he said, “that’s much better.”

He looked to Thor, only quick enough to say, “Sorry, I know it was your stuff, I just, it was bugging me. The mess.” And then checking his phone for the time (Mr. Stark had only given him ten minutes after all) he scurried out of the room. 

He did hope he’d get to see them again. It almost surprised him, at how genuinely he’d enjoyed talking to Thor, and to Natasha, and even to Clint, though he got the feeling that Clint would get on his nerves just as easily as make him laugh. And of course it was nice seeing Bruce again.

This was a good bunch, he thought. And he was lucky to have met them.

Chapter Text

It was the second-to-last Academic Decathlon meeting of the year, which meant it was the second-to-last Academic Decathlon of Peter’s high school career. He wasn’t even sure why they were still meeting, since the last competition of the year was over by now, but he guessed it meant something to the freshman, sophomore, and junior classes. MJ, who’d been captaining since Liz left (and the ache of that, the guilt at sending her father to jail, of revealing to her the horrible things her dad had done, that still echoed through his sternum every time he thought of her), had already handed the captaincy off to a very competent and extremely plucky blonde sophomore named Gwen. The seniors were all almost completely clocked out already. Even MJ, who took her leadership role in the group way more seriously than anyone (including Mr. Harrington) had expected when she took it, was taking a major back seat in the meeting. She was listening, partially, to what Gwen and Cindy Moon were talking about, but her face was in her sketchbook.

Flash was openly playing a game on his phone that looked to be part puzzle part collect-em-all.

And Peter was having a whispered conversation with Ned.

“And then Hawkeye falls from the ceiling,” Peter whispered, trusting their distance from the other students and Gwen’s chatter to keep anyone from listening in, and squeezed Ned’s arm to warn him not to scream in excitement like Peter knew he wanted to do. “And the Black Widow told me to call her by her first name! And then Hawkeye was all, ‘Why’d Stark hire you anyway?’ and Thor defended me!”

Ned’s face was red with suppressed glee, and he was practically vibrating in place. But Peter didn’t stop. If he didn’t tell Ned the whole story right now Ned would explode (he might explode anyway), and besides, when was the next time Peter was going to be able to talk to Ned this privately anyway? After today’s meeting he was going back to Tony’s lab, and tomorrow and the next day he’d assigned himself Spiderman duty, and then Friday he was back at the lab. He knew that he could shirk one of those days and hang with Ned, and part of him wanted to, but they’d agreed to spend the day together and continue the Millennium Falcon next Sunday, and that was going to have to be enough. 

“And then Bruce came in,” Peter said, “but they couldn’t stick around because they had yoga anyway,” Ned squeaked, “and Mr. Stark called for me to meet him in the lab at that point anyway, so…” he trailed off.

“Oh. My. God,” Ned whispered, hard. Peter shushed him quietly, and when Ned spoke again it was at a register probably too low for anyone but Peter to hear. Perks of having enhanced senses. Too bad he couldn’t somehow make Ned hear him when he was that quiet too. “You’ve—I mean—At this point you’ve practically met them all! Peter! That’s insane!” And then more quietly. “I think I’m going to have a stroke.”

“You’re not going to have a stroke,” Peter said, but his mind was on a different thing Ned had pointed out. Had he really met all the Avengers at this point? He counted them off in his head. Tony Stark (duh); Rhodey and Bruce, in the lab; Sam, Wanda, and Vision at Poker; and then Steve and Bucky after Poker and for the arm tune-up; and he’d officially met Thor, Clint, and Natasha yesterday in the common room, even though he’d already met the two spies multiple times before as Spiderman. But Spiderman didn’t count. Ned was right. Peter had actually met all of the Avengers. As Peter!

“Woah,” Peter said, eyes wide, and maybe not as quiet as he could have been (he blamed the shock), “Oh damn, you’re right! I’ve met them all!” He didn’t think his eyes could get any wider, or his eyebrows any higher on his head. “I think I’m going to have a stroke.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” another voice cut in, dripping with spite, and Peter and Ned both turned shocked faces to see Flash was glaring at them. He too had spoken quietly enough not to disturb the main part of the meeting, but MJ had glanced up as well, and Mr. Harrington was shooting them all disappointed looks.

(What was he going to do? They were graduating next month. Peace!)

“Mind your own business, Flash,” Peter said, feeling the awe and excitement rush from his body so fast it made his head spin. Trust Flash to be eavesdropping now, and to try and butt his stupid head in to something that was frankly none of his business.

“I’ll mind my own business when you stop lying,” Flash hissed back, and Peter could only be grateful the bully was keeping it down. He really didn’t want to involve the entirety of the Decathlon group in this if he didn’t have to.

Frankly it really was the only thing Peter could be grateful about, since the rest of this conversation was bound to go terribly, all things considered. 

“I’m not lying,” Peter snapped. Quietly. He snapped quietly. It was an art form.

“Bullshit,” Flash said, leaning closer across the table so he could really put his two cents in about this. “I think you’re just trying to up the ante, but that just means it’s going to backfire even more spectacularly, Penis. Pretending you were an intern at Stark Industries was one thing, but pretending that you’ve met all the Avengers? And that you’re all buddy-buddy now? Puh-leeze. Like you could get anyone other than your sycophant,” he nodded at Ned, “to even look at you twice. Choose a more believable lie next time, Parker.”

Peter grit his teeth. “Ned is not a sycophant, Flash. Apologize.”

Flash gave Peter a look like Peter had just said something crazy.

“Oh my god,” MJ whispered, pulling herself closer to the cozy trio of angry teenage boys. “Can you just, for one second, shut the hell up?”

“So now he’s got you wrapped around his finger too, huh?” Flash asked her with a sneer.

MJ’s gaze could freeze blood. “You may be convinced Peter is lying,” she said, “but I’m going to tell you two things that will make you realize you’re even more of an idiot than you think he’s being. One, let’s pretend for a second he is lying,” Flash opened his mouth, “shut up, I’m still talking. Let’s pretend he is lying. Even if there was the slimmest chance he was telling the truth, don’t you think it would be better not to tempt fate? Like, you can’t guarantee he’s lying, but putting all your chips on one side is really fucking yourself over in the possibility that you’re wrong. Like, that’s just common sense. Which is stupid anyway, because number two, Peter isn’t lying. He’s an honest person. He wouldn’t make up all this shit just to get people to like him or whatever. Which isn’t even working, if it were true. Case and point: you.” She pointed at Flash with deliberation, and Ned mimed dropping a microphone, and then made a tiny explosion with his hands.

Flash looked apoplectic. “I guess we’ll see, won’t we?” he seethed. “The field trip to Stark Industries is less than two weeks away!” He stared Peter in the eye, and it was a hardened glare. “Better hope you’re prepared to become the laughing stock of the school. Intern, yeah, right!” Flash made a face, like maybe he was going to spit on the ground, but suddenly Mr. Harrington was right there, looking so unimpressed. 

“Hey gang,” he whispered, just as quietly as they’d been speaking. “I know you’re graduating soon and all you want to do is hang out with each other—”

There was flurry on both sides of the Flash/Peter-Ned-MJ divide to deny that completely, but a single motion of Mr. Harrington’s arm cut them off. 

“But,” he said slowly, drawing the word out, “we’re still in school, and I know you’re all graduating, but this meeting is important for the under years. So, please zip it. Just because you don’t want to listen doesn’t give you an excuse to talk amongst yourself. You’re causing a distraction.”

Peter looked around, but none of the other students were even looking their way. A distraction. Right. 

God. Peter couldn’t wait to graduate. 

Mr. Harrington gave each of them a personalized stern glance, and then shifted away from them, focusing back on Gwen and Cindy. 

Flash glared at Peter, but pushed his chair back and away, out of ear-shot of any whispering. 

MJ nodded regally, like he’d just obeyed an order of hers, and reached her fist out for first Peter, and then Ned, to fist bump.

It felt like a very small victory, especially when everything else with Flash felt like Peter was losing the war. No matter how many times Peter tried to prove himself, or pushed Flash away, the guy came back stronger, raring for more. It was like Flash’s only joy in life was cutting Peter down, and even that the bully didn’t seem to actually enjoy.

So why did he do it?

And why wouldn’t he just leave Peter alone? That’s all Peter wanted. He didn't need people to believe him (though that sure would have been nice, especially since he was telling the truth), but he’d like it if people (read: Flash) stopped shoving their grubby fingers into Peter’s life, trying to tell him he was wrong. 

It was exhausting. And infuriating.

But Ned and MJ were both grinning at him (because all they could see was the victory, not how small it was compared to the never ending war), and you know what? Peter was going to let himself bask in this small victory. He might lose the war, but for now at least Flash had left, looking like an annoyed ferret.

It was worth a tiny, internal celebration.

Peter hadn’t been out very long in the Spider suit before Natasha found him. He’d dipped into an alley to change almost as soon as he’d gotten out of school, because he wanted to get in as much time patrolling the city before eight. Eight was when he had promised Aunt May he’d get his homework started, because he had an essay, a take-home quiz, and fourteen pages of reading due the next day that he had yet to start on. The calc homework he’d done already, as well as most of his physics, but that stuff was easy, he could do it before class started tomorrow if he really needed to. The English homework was less easy and he’d been procrastinating on it pretty hard. So eight was his cut-off.

Natasha found him before five o’clock. She must have gone out searching for him specifically, because whereas most people looked down when they walked through the city, or kept their eyes focused at, well, eye-level, she had been gazing upward as she walked, making sure not to run into anybody, yes, but also casing the rooftops and fire escapes of each building she passed. She was looking for somebody. She was looking for Peter.

Well, she was looking for Spiderman.

Same thing.

And she found him. Spiderman. And Peter.

He noticed her before she noticed him, as he had the benefit of his enhanced senses, but once she did notice him, sitting on the corner of an apartment rooftop with his feet dangling over the edge, she was quick to grab the apartment’s fire escape’s ladder and scurry her way up, popping over the edge of the roof much faster than Peter was expecting, without a single hair out of place.

He looked at her feet and was relieved to see her wearing sensible boots laced over her civilian jeans and must-be-undercover style hoodie and baseball cap. In most of the Avengers promo stuff she wore heels with her catsuit, and he’d always worried for the state of her ankles, and he was glad to see she hadn’t completely outstripped him scaling a fire escape in dangerously high heels. Both for the sake of his sanity and her feet.

Of course, he’d had plenty of time to make a break for it, if he’d wanted to. He had seen her before she noticed him, though it was by a small margin. But Tony had warned him this was probably going to happen, so he was prepared. And honestly, the two times he’d met her as Spiderman, she’d been nothing but polite. He doubted that he would have run from her even if he hadn’t had a heads up, or if he didn’t know Tony and the Avengers at all, just based on those two meetings and the fact that, as a general rule, Peter tried to keep up a camaraderie with other Superheroes.

She walked over to him, and he politely stood from his perch to face her.

“Black Widow,” he said, because whereas she’d given Peter permission to call her Natasha, she hadn’t extended that same kindness to Spiderman. Yet. (Peter hoped).

“Spiderman,” she greeted in kind. She kept her hands by her side, though in her place, Peter would have tried to look casual with a hands-in-pockets look. Hoodie pockets or jean pockets. But she probably had weapons secreted somewhere on her person, and it’d be pretty hard to draw a gun on somebody (hopefully not Peter), if her hands were tucked somewhere.

It must be exhausting, Peter thought, to have to constantly be on the alert like that, and not be able to just relax. Peter had a built-in alert system. His Spidey-sense. And he trusted it. If he didn’t have that, if he had to live like Natasha, always looking for danger out of the corner of her eyes, always listening, he thought he’d maybe go crazy. It sounded exhausting. Completely exhausting.

“How can I help you?” Peter asked.

Natasha didn’t answer, just walked casually to the edge of the roof and looked out over the city. She was maybe five feet from Peter, and didn’t seem to be a threat. He knew she was dangerous, but not to him. At least, not right now. He turned to face the city as well.

“Lot of people down there,” she said.

“Yeah,” Peter agreed, “the population of New York City is over eight and a half million.” Thank you, American History class. 

“You try to save them all?” Natasha asked.

Peter frowned beneath his mask, and turned to face her, or, well, the side of her head. “I try to save everyone I can,” Peter said. He cracked a smile she couldn’t see. “Not every person in New York City needs saving. And most of the people who do need saving, don't need the kind of saving I can help with. I—this girl came up to me once wanting advice on breaking up with her boyfriend! How can I help with that? That’s not in my job description, thank you very much. I don’t know anything about breaking up with anybody!”

Natasha turned to him with a small, teasing smile on her lips. “What did you tell her?” she asked curiously.

Peter grimaced. “I said, let him down easy? Be honest but not cruel?” He looked her appealingly, or in a way that he hoped came across as appealingly. “What else was I supposed to do?”

She laughed at him.

“Hey,” he whined. “I tried my best!”

“I’m sure you did,” she said. “I’ve done my research on you. You’ve been out and about for a few years, but almost everyone I talk to has good memories of you. Not big memories,” she said, and he got the feeling she was laughing at him, silently this time, “but good memories. You never took down any big alien forces, or giant battles—”

“I would have,” Peter said quickly. “Those were—the chitauri, that was before my time, but if something like that happened today, I’d help out. I would.”

“I’m sure you would,” she said, and Peter got the feeling she wasn’t placating him. She meant it. She was sure that he would help out. “But you’re here for the little guy, too, right? Stuff the Avengers don’t really stick their noses into. Our noses,” she corrected with a small huff of laughter. “Someone trying to stick up a bodega, stopping car crashes, helping little old ladies cross the street.”

“Stopping bank robberies,” Peter added, “defusing a bomb left at an elementary school, taking down the Vulture.”

He hadn’t technically defused the bomb (he didn’t know that much about bombs until that day, but he’d done his research afterward—he wouldn’t be surprised again), he’d just been the hands as Karen told him, step-by-step, what to do.

Natasha’s nod was as much agreement as apology, for focusing on the small stuff.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Peter said, “I’m more than happy to help the bodegas and the little old ladies and the people who were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. It doesn't matter to me if it’s big or small, if someone needs help,” he shrugged, “I’ll help them.”

Natasha hummed. “That’s what I thought you’d say.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Like I said, I’ve done my research, and I see that what you do is good, big or small. The only problem…” She trailed off with the tiniest of smiles, and it felt like she was setting the bait of this conversation.

Well, whatever. It couldn’t be that bad of a trap if an Avenger was the one setting it.

“Yeah?” he prompted. “What’s the problem?”

She grinned at him. “The only problem is that you’re still so green! So very wet behind the ears.” She laughed at him again, and he felt himself go on the defensive. 

Crossing his arms over his chest, he said, “It’s not my fault. I try my best, you know, but it’s not like I was trained to do this or anything. I’m just learning as I go.”

“And you’re doing very well for being self-taught,” she condescended, making Peter scowl at her. “But you could be a lot better.”

“And I suppose you could teach me?” Peter demanded, and then suddenly he heard the words that had just come out of his mouth, and ah, that was the trap.

“I’d be delighted to,” Natasha said, suddenly all business. “We’ll meet twice a week from here on out. I won’t go easy on you, but you’ll learn quickly. I can tell.”

“Now, wait wait wait,” Peter said, and put his hands up, palms out, in front of him. “You can’t just—what if I don’t want you training me.” And then he winced at how that had sounded coming out of his mouth. He wasn’t sure how this conversation had gotten away from him. Tony had warned him this sort of thing was going to happen days ago, and he thought he’d prepared himself! But now it was like an out-of-control steam engine.

Natasha shrugged, face neutral and unworried. “Then I won’t train you. And you won’t get any better. And someday something will go wrong because you’re just an amateur fighter, even with all that incredible strength, and someone will die. On your watch. Because you couldn’t even—”

“Woah, woah, woah!” Peter said, “That is harsh! Geez louise. Could you just let a guy think before listing all the guilt trips coming for me?”

She blinked at him and nodded.

“Whew!” He said, and put a hand to his chest. He’d already thought about this too, that was the ironic thing. Ned and Tony had already almost convinced him that he should accept when Natasha came a knockin’. She really didn’t need to tear him down like this. Jesus. “So,” Peter said, because he might be young but he wasn’t stupid, and he wasn’t going to just agree (or not agree, because maybe Natasha was making him nervous, and maybe he didn’t want to be fight-taught by her) to something without reading the metaphorical and verbal fine print. “You want to meet me twice a week to ‘train’ me? First, will it just be you and me? Theoretically.”

But she smiled like he’d already agreed. “If you prefer,” she said. “Your style of fighting, how acrobatic it is, is the most like mine in the field. Objectively-speaking. And frankly it could use some work. But I know there are other Avengers who are interested in helping you as well. We don’t want to leave a young super out to fend for themselves. Cap can give you some pointers on strategy, and if you’re interested in projectile weapons, Hawkeye is the best.”

“No thanks,” Peter said immediately. “I’ve got my webs and my flips. I’m good. I don’t need a gun.” To prove his point he thwiped a web out across the street, where it landed on an opposite roof with a splat. “Or whatever.”

Natasha’s expression was icily unimpressed. “You just used your web as a projectile, small spider. You will have at least one session with Hawkeye.”

“Great,” he moaned, “because the guy isn’t already annoyed enough as it is with me.” He’d seemed pretty pissed at Peter during the warehouse wharf battle thing. Well, at Spiderman. He seemed genuinely fine with Peter Parker, when they’d ‘met’ on Monday.

She laughed, and this time Peter couldn’t be sure if she was laughing at Peter, or with him. “He’s just a big baby about being rescued by a kid. Which is his own fault. Don’t worry. He’ll have forgotten any of his displeasure by the time you meet him again.” She smiled grimly, and he got the feeling that Clint would be getting a talk, and maybe an ‘Or else!’ from Natasha in the future.

“So I’ll be working with at least some of the Avengers, if I agree to train?” Peter asked.

Natasha shrugged, but he took that as a yes.

“Where?” he asked. “Where will we be meeting?”

“The compound, if you’re comfortable showing up there,” she said. “They have the best training facilities.” 

Peter wanted to ask if they could meet at the tower instead. The compound was kind of far to get to for a guy whose main transport was web, but he didn’t want too much Spiderman/Peter Parker overlap in the Avengers minds, and Peter was in the Tower most of the time, so the Compound it would have to be for Spiderman.

“Ok,” Peter said, “I think I am tentatively interested, but I really think I can only do once a week.” Natasha looked displeased, but Peter held his ground. The more they saw him as Spiderman and as Peter, the more likely someone was going to connect the dots. And just giving one day a week to training with her (with the Avengers!) was already going to be taking one day away from the lab, or one day away from patrolling.  Maybe in the summer, when he didn’t have school to worry about, but for now, “I’m sorry, but that’s all I can do. I have my own obligations too, you know. And if I could be frank as well? I’m not even sure I’m going to like this arrangement at all.”

“You’ll have to show up more than just once a week if something bad goes down,” Natasha warned.

Peter’s eyebrows shot up. “If something bad… you mean if there’s Avengers business?” His face scrunched up. “You mean, I’ll get to join you if the Avengers are needed for a fight?”

Natasha shrugged. “Yes. You won’t be a full Avenger, but you have potential, Spiderman, and with our training, maybe someday, you could be an Avenger too.”

“Shut up!” he whisper-hissed in awe.

“Think of it like an internship,” she said, “while we train you, we’ll see if you’re a good fit, hmm?”

Peter’s awe at being invited to maybe be a part-time temporary Avenger was suddenly overshadowed by the irony at being given another ‘internship.’ If he agreed, he’d have three internships! (Take that, Flash!) His ‘internship’ with Tony that hid him being Spiderman, his real internship with Tony, where they do science, and this internship (‘Internship?’) where he wasn’t going to be Peter-the-intern at all. Spiderman-the-intern. He laughed. Long, and hysterically, and out loud. Spiderman was going to be an intern too!

Natasha cautiously put a hand on Peter’s shoulder as he scream-laughed, and then even more cautiously, patted it. 

“Sorry,” Peter said breathlessly, as he tried, and failed, to wipe the tears from his eyes through his mask. “Sorry,” he said again, and forced himself to come back under control. “Just, Spiderman as an Intern!” He lost it again, laughing loudly, but this time cut himself off after half a minute. “Whoo! Oh! I just, I’m sorry, that’s just really funny.”

“I can see that,” Natasha said slowly, and much more cautiously, like she had just now realized she was handling an unknown, and wild animal. 

Peter took a few more deep breaths, and when he felt more like himself, he said, “I just haven’t had the most normal of experiences, mmm, interning. But I’m sure this kind of interning will be different.” He cackled, and then reigned it back in, damnit! “I know it’ll be different.”

“So you agree?” Natasha asked, her voice and expression even, and Peter thought that that would be a pretty nifty thing to learn to do too.

“On one condition,” Peter said. “I’d really love to train with the Avengers, you guys are the Superheroes, and I know there’s so much I can learn, that I need to learn, and training with you would really help me out. And I mean, if there’s a possibility that I’d be good enough to help you guys in your battles and missions and stuff too, well, that’s something I’d be very interested in.” His voice squeaked a little, and he cleared his throat before continuing. “But I,” he gulped, “you know, or, maybe you don’t. But, I keep my identity a secret for a reason. And I know, I really do know, that maybe that’s not a viable option long-term, but if I agree to this I don’t want you guys trying to find out who I am.”

He watched Natasha ponder this, and he held his breath because this was a big deal. None of the other Avengers had their identities hidden from each other. And Peter could totally understand this being her breaking point. If she said no, or if she tried to get him to tell her who he was before he started with the Avengers, he’d get it. How could he expect them to trust him, if he wouldn’t even show them his face? But he didn’t know them that well yet, and he had Aunt May and Ned and MJ to protect, and the more people who knew Peter Parker was Spiderman, the more dangerous it would get for them. 

But then, in a light tone of voice, Natasha just said, “That’s acceptable,” and abruptly all of Peter’s nerves evaporated. “It’s even, perhaps,” Natasha added, “the advised thing to do. It’s what I would do in your place. Once you get to know us,” she shrugged, “maybe you’ll change your mind. But we won’t force anything.”

Peter sagged weakly. “Thank you,” he said, “and the, uh, the others will agree?”

“Yes,” she said simply. And her confidence was enough.

“Oh,” Peter said, and couldn’t help his smile, even though he knew she couldn’t see it. She smiled back though, so maybe she could tell anyway. “Well, that’s—yes,” Peter said. “I accept.”

He couldn’t believe he was actually doing this!

Natasha put her hand out, and Peter shook it, with just the right, polite amount of strength. “Welcome to the gang,” she said. “Fair warning though, everyone’s crazy.”

Peter thought about all the times in the past month he’d accidentally met an Avenger. “Yeah,” he said, “I get that.”

“And just so you know,” she said, “I may be a spy, and finding information is my game, but Stark is paranoid and a complete technowizard. You really think he hasn’t already got you hacked five ways to Sunday? Probably as soon as I brought up the possibility of recruiting you to the group he had your name, birth date, economic background, and favorite ice cream flavor.” She put her hands up. “If he did, he hasn’t—and won’t—say anything. He’s paranoid, but not a bastard. But just to let you know, he almost definitely already has your personal information.”

Oh yes, Tony definitely knew all of that information. Including, even, Peter’s favorite ice cream flavor: Stark Raving Hazelnuts. Which was definitely not Freudian, no matter what MJ said. Peter just liked a little crunch in his ice cream. Was that such a bad thing?

“I trust him,” Peter said, “as long as he doesn’t go sharing. But, I don’t think he would. Do you?”

And it was more like his own little test than an actual question. He knew the answer, but what would she say?

“No,” she said immediately, and it was the truth, both her personal truth and belief in Tony, and the truth of reality, and that made Peter smile. “Like I said, he’s not a bastard. He’s just a curious man-child who doesn’t understand personal boundaries. He’s good people.”

“Yeah,” Peter said, and then cleared his throat in case that had come out too fond, or too familiar. “Well, thanks, I’m, um, excited. To get trained by you.” Peter winced, because that had come out too awkward. “I mean, I’m looking forward to learning new things from such, uh, professionals.”

“Calm down, паук мальчик.” She said, laughter in her voice. “You’re not writing an email to your teacher. You don’t have to try so hard to impress me. Not through being polite at least. If you want to try to impress me sparring,” she shrugged, “I welcome you to try.”

“Wow,” Peter said, and took a deep breath. “I’m terrified.” She blinked at him. “Of you,” he clarified.

She laughed at him and brushed a loose strand of red hair back from her face when a light breeze disarranged it. It was a very human movement, and Peter got the feeling she didn’t allow a lot of those to show. “Thanks,” she said. She checked her watch, a move Peter felt was calculated, and said, “Why don’t you stop by the compound on Saturday? Everyone should be in town. We can get started then.”

Peter had an agreement on his tongue before the date registered. May had this Saturday off. They were going to spend the day together. Maybe go to central park before summer hit and it got too hot. 

“I have plans Saturday,” Peter said, and a tiny paranoid voice in his head worried that turning her down right out of the gate would make her rethink her entire proposal, but most of his brain thought that was stupid. She had to understand that people made plans. Peter’s brain moved on to the next day, to offer that in exchange, but Sunday he was going to try finishing the Millennium Falcon with Ned. “Monday?” he asked, and then before she could say yes or no, added, “In the late afternoon? Evening?” in case she would think to recommend a time he’d be in school, and would then have to turn down. And honestly, he didn’t know what age she thought he was, but he didn’t exactly want to advertise that he was still in High School. 

She checked her watch again, and Peter realized it was a smart watch, and she was looking at a calendar. Wild.

“Monday night works for us. There might be a few who can’t make it. Thor has plans with his girlfriend and I think the Winter Soldier might have a meeting. Monday is also Scarlet Witch's and Viz’s date night, but they may reschedule for you.”

“Oh,” Peter said awkwardly. “I wouldn’t want to put them out or anything!”

Nat grinned at him crookedly. “You’re sweet, kid. I’ll tell them, but if they want to help you, I won’t stop them.”

Peter nodded.

“Alright,” Natasha said, and turned to go. She looked over her shoulder. “You know how to get to the compound?”

“I think I can figure it out,” Peter said. He’d ask Happy, or Tony, for recommended web-directions.

“Good,” she said. “See you Monday. Don’t be late.” And then she vaulted over the side of the building. He rushed to the edge and got to where she’d slid over and down just in time to see her clatter elegantly to the ground and meld seamlessly back into the rush of pedestrians below. Like she’d never left.

Peter watched her disappear into the crowd and then her parting shot caught up with him. 

“Wait!” he cried, but of course it was too late, and the traffic and the people and the general life of New York was too loud to be heard over. Don’t be late, she’d said, but she hadn’t given him a time.

“Tomorrow marks one week until our Field Trip to Stark Industries,” Mr. Harrington said at the top of class on Thursday. 

Peter, as a general rule, liked Chemistry II. It tied for favorite class with Ms. Warren’s Physics II, but he was really getting tired of all these reminders of the Field trip. Almost a week away? That was too soon! Time was passing too fast! He’d accepted his fate (unless he, fingers crossed, got sick before next Friday? Or got hit by a car or something), but that didn’t mean he was looking forward to it. Ned was going to have so much fun. MJ would probably at least enjoy seeing the labs. Flash was going to enjoy trying to prove at every turn that Peter did not actually intern there. So. Great. Yay.

“As we get closer to the trip,” Mr. Harrington continued, completely unaware of Peter’s current inner turmoil, “I’d like to remind you all of a few things that were written on the papers handed out along with your permission slips, papers that I assume by now you’ve all lost. Why Principal Morita wanted to hand those out so far in advance, I have no idea. But either way, I’m going to remind you of a few key things, ok?” He didn’t wait for a response. “As we’re getting closer to the trip, I’m sure you’re getting more and more excited.”

Wrong, Peter thought.

“But you all have to remember to still do your coursework. All homework due on Thursday must be turned in on Thursday. The trip on Friday is no excuse not to do your work. There will be no leniency. Same goes for work due the Monday after the trip. None of the teachers will be accepting Field Trip based excuses for late or unfinished work. Do you understand?”

This time he did wait, and the class made half-hearted noises of agreement. 

“Good,” he said. “Now some information for the day in question.” He smiled, like the boring rules had finished, and now was the time for fun rules. Ned made a happy noise in the back of his throat, so Peter guessed it was working for someone at least. “Everyone needs to be here by seven-fifty sharp. The buses leave at eight, whether or not you’re on them. We’ll start loading at seven-thirty, which is the time I recommend you arrive, but the actual time on the paper is seven-fifty, so, seven-fifty.” He gave the room a very stern look.

“Guess Parker will try to wile his way out of it that way,” Flash said snidely, but still quietly enough that it only carried to about where Peter was sitting, and not all the way up to Mr. Harrington. “He’s late every day anyway. But don’t think that means I won’t ask about you, Parker. I’m going to get proof you’ve been lying about interning at SI.”

Peter rolled his eyes. Hard. It didn’t even make him angry any more. He was just tired of it. Tired of Flash trying to catch him off-guard, tired of people, classmates, thinking that this one thing, this thing that happened to actually be true, was a lie he made to get more popular. Tired of trying to defend himself.

“What was that, Eugene?” Mr. Harrington asked from the front of the class. “Did you have something to say?”

Peter ducked his head so his smile was hidden by the desk.

“Nothing,” Flash ground out, louder.

Mr. Harrington hummed. “Then I’ll continue. Now, because we’re going on a field trip, you don’t have to bring your backpack. In fact, I don’t recommend bringing any large bags at all. All bags, purses to backpacks, will have to go through security, so just be aware. And for god's sake, guys. Don’t bring anything suspicious. If they kick you out for bringing a hidden camera or alcohol or something, you’ll have to sit on the bus for the rest of the day. By yourself. Because I know that I for sure won’t be giving up on a tour of the facilities to keep you company on the bus. The bus driver will probably be there. They might be fun to chat with.”

Peter could almost see some kids revising their plans for the trip.

“And that goes for any broken rules. The tour guides will tell you the do’s and don’ts when we get there, but if you break any of those rules they will kick you out. Stark Industries is a big deal. They don’t have to pander to the musings of teenagers or any stupid actions done by said teenagers. Keep that in mind before you say anything rude or try to take a picture in the restricted areas or anything. I’m serious. I know you guys are good kids, but if you flub up I will not be standing up for you. Pay attention to the guides, and do as they say.”

Peter wondered how much of that was true, and how much was just a scare tactic to try to get the students to behave. He’d seen some employees act pretty wacky in passing. Mostly R&D lab workers who had too many ideas and too little sleep. SI was known for hiring pretty wacky people. But, hey, normal high schoolers shouldn’t really be privy to that info. No one else looked much worried either. You didn’t exactly get into Midtown School of Science and Technology for being an idiot.

“Those are the basics,” Mr. Harrington said. “Be on time, don’t bring anything you don’t want security seeing or confiscating, you don’t have to bring a backpack or anything, and don’t act out. Oh! And there’s a gift shop, so feel free to bring money for the end of the tour. Stark Industries is covering up to ten dollars of a lunch in the employee cafeteria, so if you want dessert or anything, you can bring money to pay the difference on that front too.”

“Thank god, Stark is covering lunch,” Flash snarked to Charles Murphy, who was sitting next to him, “otherwise how would students like Parker and Leeds afford their lunch?” Charles laughed, and Peter has to clamp a hand down on his own wrist to keep from lashing out. That really had been too quiet for him to have been able to hear normally, so he couldn’t even lash out like he wanted to. Making fun of Peter was one thing, but bringing Ned into it? Really? And bringing up money? Like Flash didn’t get all his money from his rich parents. Flash was such a jerk. One of these days Peter was going to—!

He forced his hands to relax, his shoulders to un-tense. He fought, he defended, but he refused to be a mindlessly violent person.

One of these days, Peter was going to graduate and never have to talk to the idiot ever again. God. Graduation was so close.

“Don’t forget,” Mr. Harrington said very seriously. “And now onto funner things! Everyone get out the homework due today. Pass it forward!”

And Peter turned his mind to Chemistry, and away from tiring school bullies.

Chapter Text

Peter fiddled with an old Iron Man gauntlet at the corner workbench in Tony’s lab. Sometimes, if what Tony was doing took Tony’s mind away from Peter, and he stopped involving Peter because his own mind was going too fast to remember anything but the equations and blueprints in front of him, Peter would set himself up in this corner at the workbench and fiddle with whatever scraps Tony had thrown into the box here. 

It was, honestly, an amazing box. Scraps of outdated tech (outdated by Tony’s standard, which was on average about three years ahead of everyone else) and bits and bobs of the Iron Man suit and Hawkeye’s trick arrows and Black Widow’s Widow bites filled the wooden scrap crate. Tony threw stuff in this box that was still too advanced to go in the box that got sent to R&D (which was on the other side of the room, and was filled with less cool computer motherboards and wires etc), but that he didn’t have any personal use for anymore. Which was a lie, because at least once a week Peter found Tony scrounging for stuff in the scrap box, muttering about how he was an idiot for throwing such and such away, etc etc. 

This gauntlet had gotten irreparably damaged in a battle—was smashed all to hell. Fixing it would be more effort than it was worth, but there were still salvageable pieces of the repulsor, which was what Peter was trying to remove. Tony would come looking for it at some point, and it’d be easier for both of them if the gauntlet was already taken apart.

Tony said something, and Peter hummed in response. This bit of the gauntlet was tricky. Because of the damage in the metal, the screwdriver didn’t fit in where it was supposed to, and Peter had to use a little of his extra strength to pry it apart. Carefully.

He stuck the screwdriver he had been using into his mouth and picked at one of the seams with his fingernail. Which was maybe a safety hazard.

Tony said something a little louder, and Peter had to take the screwdriver out of his mouth to say, “What?” He stuck the screwdriver back in the seam and tried to jimmy it open.

“Peter,” Tony said, very loudly, from right next to Peter’s head. Peter jumped, dropping the gauntlet and the screwdriver to the ground with a clatter.

Peter looked up at him with wide eyes. Tony looked down at him with concerned eyes, and Peter got the feeling that Tony had been saying his name for a while.

“What’s up, Kiddo?” Tony asked, once Peter was finally paying attention. “You’ve been kind of out of it for a while.” He wrested the mutilated gauntlet from Peter’s grasp, and put it down on the bench next to him. “What’s got your brain all a tizzy?”

Peter scratched his knee with the screwdriver. “Nothing.”

Tony raised an eyebrow. “Really? ‘Cause you look kind of out of it. Something must be on your mind.” He shifted the scrap crate and perched himself on the lip of it, sitting kitty-corner from Peter, and looked at him. Really looked at him.

Peter folded like a cheap card table. “I’m just not looking forward to the field trip.”

“Oh,” Tony said, eyes wide. “That hasn’t happened yet?”

“Noo,” Peter groaned. “No, it’s a week from, well, from today. Wouldn’t you know if it had happened already? It is a tour of your company.”

“Pepper’s company,” Tony corrected. “And even she isn’t privy to every tour group that comes through these halls. That’s not exactly the CEO’s job.”

“Yeah,” Peter said.

There was a pause, where Tony no doubt assumed Peter would add something but Peter had nothing to add, and then Tony prompted, “So your field trip is soon?”

“Next Friday,” Peter said.

“Mmm hmm,” Tony said, and shifted on the edge of the crate. “And you’re not looking forward to it?”

Peter scowled at him. “Haven’t we already had this conversation?”

Tony tapped a finger against his chin. “When you first mentioned the field trip you said you didn’t want to go. You didn’t want to take a tour of your place of work, right? You said you were here enough.”

Peter nodded. 

“I think if it were just that, you wouldn’t be this side-tracked,” Tony continued. “Something else about the field trip has you upset. What is it?”

Peter grimaced. Tony was wheedling away, kindly and cautiously, and his voice was serious, and not like he was just patronizing Peter. He sounded like Uncle Ben, when he would sit down next to Peter and ask him what had happened at school, why Peter looked angry, or about to cry.

Peter sighed. It wasn’t like he was trying to hide anything. He just didn’t want to—well, maybe he didn’t want to disappoint Tony, and explaining why he didn’t want his classmates coming here, that Flash didn’t believe the internship, that he didn’t want to infest the negativity of his schoolhouse bully in this place he loved, that he was scared that even after coming here with his class his classmates still wouldn’t believe the internship was real. It was all such petty reasons, childish fears, and he didn’t want Tony to know he felt that way, that he worried about these things, because Peter didn’t want to be a disappointment.

And Peter knew in his bones that Tony wouldn’t really be disappointed in him, but part of him worried about it anyway. Or, worse, worried that Tony would pity him. How childish, being scared of a bully.

But Aunt May and Uncle Ben hadn’t raised a coward. He’d deal with Tony’s disappointment if it came.

He looked towards his work bench, the one that was unofficially/officially his. He looked at the sticker that was pressed onto its side. “Underoos and his Tools, Property of SI&ParkerInc.”

“So, you know how I intern for you?” Peter asked.

Tony looked like he wanted to roll his eyes very hard, but skillfully held it back. Still, when he said, “Uh-huh,” it came out very judgmentally.

Peter couldn’t help but smile. “And,” he said, “I told you how some kids in my class don’t believe that I actually do intern here.”

Tony scowled. “Yeah. I remember the conversation. It was about not having a badge, right?”

“Yeah,” Peter said, avoiding eye contact, “only maybe it was more than just a few kids. Maybe, practically the only people who believe that I could actually get an internship here are literally just Ned and MJ. I don’t even think the teachers would believe me, if they cared to think about it.”

Tony’s mouth dropped open, and for a long moment he didn’t say anything.

“It’s just,” Peter said, “this one kid actually looked it up, the rules for becoming an intern for SI, and you have to at least be in college, preferably graduated from college. And even then, it’s apparently a very intensive and selective program, so…” he shrugged.

“No one believes you,” Tony said, and Peter couldn’t tell if it was a question or a statement.

Peter grimaced. “I think a lot of the kids are on the fence. It’s not like I have a reputation for lying or anything, and the teachers don’t care. I’m just some kid that goes to that school, right? Like, it’s not like the school is required to know when a student starts any non-midtown affiliated internship, not that there are a lot of those, but,” he shrugged. “I think, because the teachers don’t seem to know about it the kids aren’t swayed to believe me anyway… plus the thing with the rules about being in college… ”

Tony frowned. “Well that just will not do.” He turned to Peter with a light in his eyes. “But then you should be looking forward to the field trip! It’ll prove to all those grimy non-believers that you do intern for me. Because, well, duh. You do.”

Peter pursed his lips. “Do you anticipate letting those grimy non-believers up here? Into your private labs?”

Tony made a face of utter disgust. “No! What, do you think I am? An idiot?”

“Then how does coming here prove anything?” Peter asked. “I, like, only work up here. I know there are labs that exist only for interns, plenty of labs, but I don’t work there. If, for some reason, the tour visits those labs and someone asks one of those interns if they know me, they’ll say no. And that’ll prove to Flash—I mean, my classmates, that I was lying.” Peter made a face. “Which is the opposite of what I want. Not that I care what they think of me or anything,” he tacked onto the end awkwardly.

Tony mulled that over. “You may have a point there. But,” he said, an unholy smile spreading across his face, “we can change that. Right now!” He jumped off the crate and landed on his feet, already striding across the lab towards the exit. He turned back towards Peter. “What are you doing, Underoos? Let’s go!” He beckoned Peter toward him, and Peter stood and started forward without a thought before realizing he had no idea what Tony was thinking.

“Why?” Peter asked, “Where are we going?”

“To the intern’s labs,” Tony said, in an of course voice.

“Why?” Peter asked, again. 

“To introduce you to the other interns. Pay attention, Peter.”

Peter rolled his eyes very hard.

“No,” Tony said, “this is a perfect plan. Don’t look at me like that. I’ll take you down to the intern labs, or at least some of them, and show you around. And, I don’t know,” he waved his hands around, “I’ll introduce you to anyone who’s still here, and then when the interns recognize you on your field trip, that’ll show you class that you do intern for me. For SI.”

Peter checked his phone for the time. “You think the interns are still going to be here this late?” 

Tony shrugged. “I don’t schedule them, but the labs are used all hours of the day and night. It’s kind of a make-your-own hours gig, as long as you get your work done. There should be some still around. But if you want to see more, we can go earlier next time. We have a whole week to introduce you!”

Peter grimaced. “And they won’t think it’s suspicious you’re introducing a high schooler as an intern that they’ve never seen before, and probably won’t see again until, coincidentally, that high schooler’s entire class comes in, asking if anyone knows me?”

“Who cares if it’s suspicious!” 

Peter gave Tony a look.

“Fine,” Tony said, “we won’t introduce you as a fellow intern whom they’ve never seen before. We’ll introduce you as their boss! You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Peter? To have a lab you’re in charge of? With underlings and minions who will do your science bidding?”

Peter couldn’t help but laugh.

“That’d show your stupid classmates how important you are,” Tony said. “And I mean ‘stupid’ as in ‘unintelligent idiots who can’t tell their peer is way smarter than them and interns with The Tony Stark even though it’s very obvious,’ and not ‘stupid’ as in a generic elementary school style insult. 

“No,” Peter chided with a smile. “Let’s not uproot those poor other interns’ lives just because you want to prove that favoritism will get you anywhere in Stark Industries.”

“That, my young padawan, is called nepotism, and will not get you anything in my company. Here at SI, every promotion is merit-based. It’s not your fault that you think that just because you’re young, and a person whom I know personally, that you don’t deserve to run your own lab. Frankly, you could do it.” 

Peter rolled his eyes. No matter how serious Tony sounded, that was just an insane thing to say.

“Fine,” Tony said, “I won’t make you the new head of Interns, or whatever. Is that an actual title? FRIDAY, do we have a head of Interns?”

“There are several internship programs at Stark Industries, all run by different departments, and the heads of each of those departments are in charge of the interns in that department. Perhaps you’d like to make Peter the head of Research and Design.”

“Well,” Tony said, “I had been considering it, but since the kid doesn’t like that idea.” Tony shrugged theatrically, “I guess we’re scrapping it. But you’re right about something, Peter,” he said, grudgingly, “at least a little. Promoting you now is just a little too short of notice. If only we’d thought of this earlier!”

“No,” Peter said.

Tony grinned at him. “Fine. Like I said. We’ll move on. But we have to find some other way to prove you’re my intern to those children.”

“They are my age,” Peter said. 

Tony turned to him with pursed lips. “Like I said,” he said slowly, “children.”

Peter stuck his tongue out and blew a raspberry, making Tony laugh at him. Peter walked back to the bench, and Tony followed. Peter picked up the gauntlet again and started picking it apart, and Tony sat on his other side this time, not on the crate but on the bench, and brought up the schematics for his watch-gauntlet, but didn’t look like he was focusing on it at all. His eyes were on Peter.

“What if I show up right in the middle of your tour, and tell you that you forgot to do something or other in my lab? Then they’ll have to believe it.”

Peter could picture it now. His whole class, or possibly the entirety of the graduating class, watching in awe as the great Tony Stark sauntered towards them. Flash would be drooling. Actually, so would Ned. And there might be screaming, or awed silence. And then instead of doing a quick q-and-a, or taking photos with the masses, he would call Peter forward, in front of all of his classmates, and scold him? 

Like, yeah, it would prove that he interned there, it’d even prove that he knew Tony Stark, but even the cred for knowing The Tony Stark, probably wouldn’t over-power the embarrassment of being scolded by Tony Stark in front of every person his age who he went to school with, and for shoddy workmanship or lack of work ethic to boot.

Boo!

Horrible!

Peter felt his face make an expression of disgust.

“Not a fan?” Tony asked. “Embarrassed to be seen with little old me?”

“More like, not a fan of the famous Tony Stark telling all my classmates I don’t know how to do my job.”

“Ah,” Tony said, “yes, I can see how that wouldn’t really help.”

“Thanks for trying, Mr. Stark,” Peter said.

Tony waved him away. “Well then I’ll just come down and mention that you’re my intern and that you are very smart. Are much smarter than all of them.” 

“And then they’ll think I just paid you to say that,” Peter said.

“Like you could afford me,” Tony scoffed. “Please. Even school children would know that I can’t be bought off, especially not by a teenager. No offense.”

“None taken,” Peter said with a shrug.

“I could say you’re my son?” Tony asked seriously, but with a glint of mischief in his eyes.

Peter groaned. “Not this! Not more SprogofStark nonsense!”

Tony cackled. “You know,” he said, “after Rhodey first met you, he interrogated me for ever to make sure you weren’t my actual biological illegitimate son?”

At Peter’s affronted expression, Tony cackled again.

“No,” Peter said. “I refuse.”

“You refuse to be my son?” Tony asked. He clasped his hands to his chest, and fluttered his eyelashes.

“Yes,” Peter said, “but also, no, please don’t just show up to my field trip and somehow insinuate that I’m better than all my classmates? Especially by pretending you’re my father.”

“But I am your father,” Tony said solemnly, with wide eyes, and Peter chucked a bit of dented metal at Tony’s head, who dodged it with a yelp. “Fine! Yes, yes, I won’t pretend we’re related, happy? But why can’t I show up and talk about you as my intern, eh? Or put your picture in my lobby with an “Intern of the Month” plaque beneath it? Hey, that’s a great idea. Maybe I’ll make a whole wall of “Intern of the Month” plaques, and it can be you each time.”

“Well, one,” Peter said, “that would be extremely unfair to all the other interns.”

“Spoilsport.”

“But two, all of these ideas involve me somehow showing up the rest of my class, and frankly, Mr. Stark, I just don’t want to draw attention to myself. Sure, I’d love if my classmates actually believed me about my internship, seriously, I’d love it, but I don’t want to make a scene to do so. I’d rather them think I’m a liar than be the center of attention for the whole school for the rest of the school year. Plus, everyone who matters believes me. Ned and MJ and May. Who cares what Flash—what the other kids say.”

Tony was silent for a long moment. “Peter,” he said slowly, and Peter recognized this as Serious^TM in a way that all of Tony’s previous ‘serious’ voices hadn’t been. “Are you being bullied?”

Maybe a few years ago Peter’s heart would have skipped a beat, or his face would have grown red at the idea of being pitied, but by now he was just tired.

“It’s High School, Mr. Stark. Who isn’t being bullied?”

Tony’s face contorted into a pained expression. “I’m going to go to the school. First thing tomorrow. I’ll talk to the principal, get the Board of Education involved if I have to.”

Peter shook his head. “No, Mr. Stark,” he said, softly but firmly. “Do not do that.”

Tony grimaced. “Then at least let me talk to May. She needs to know this is happening. She would do something about it.” Peter shook his head again, and worried when Tony’s expression shifted again, into the same look he got when he’d just thought up a new way to fit missiles into his suit, or make the armor lighter. He had a dangerous plan. “Or I’ll just go find this kid, Flash, you said his name was? Flash. I’ll find him, and I’ll let him know that if he ever messes with you again—ever! I’ll knock him out and steal his lunch money, see how he likes that!”

Peter’s mouth twisted in mirth, but he tried to hold it back because positive reactions would only make Tony think he was right. And he wasn’t.

But still, the idea of Tony sticking up for Peter against Flash was kind of hilarious. And kind of amazing.

“No,” Peter said. “Please don’t threaten my classmates. You’ll get arrested for threatening a minor. But also, don’t become a bully just to deal with a bully.”

“I play dirty, kid,” Tony said. “I have no shame.”

“Great,” Peter said drily, and bit his lip to keep from smiling. “But seriously, don’t fight this battle for me. It’s not like Flash ever hits me. Not like he could hurt me if he did—” Tony opened his mouth, “but he doesn’t.”

Tony closed his mouth.

“Flash is just a jerk who thinks he’s all that 'cause his dad owns a maserati or whatever.”

“I own a maserati,” Tony said.

Peter blinked at him. “Are you Flash’s father?”

Tony’s answering expression of disgust was enough to make Peter laugh.

“Then don’t worry about it,” Peter continued. “Listen, Flash is just some kid. I’ve got, now, less than a month left having to deal with him, and then we’ll graduate! And I’ll never have to see him again. Plus, the first time Flash gets a real job, he’s going to get a rude awakening when he realizes he can’t just make fun of and bully his coworkers like he does to his classmates.” Peter shrugged. “He’ll have to grow up eventually. I hope. Less than a month and he’ll be out of my life and no longer my problem. Let someone else deal with him. And it’s not my job to show him the error of his ways or to get him to turn over a new leaf. Let him figure that out on his own. Not my business.”

Tony was smiling, just a little bit, and had leaned back, propped up by one hand on the workbench. “You may be a kid, kid, but I think you’ve got a really old soul, you know that? You may be the most mature seventeen year old I’ve ever met. You’re certainly more mature than I was at seventeen.”

Peter laughed. “Thanks.”

“But are you going to let me do anything?” Tony whined, switching from serious to tongue-in-cheek in half a second. “You won’t let me parade you around your field trip like the next messiah, and you won’t let me bully your school bully. I want to help somehow!”

Peter thought about how just having this, how coming here as often as he wanted helped so much. Tony was undeniably in his corner, and Tony helped him both as Spiderman and as Peter Parker. And Tony would listen and not make fun of him, and brainstorm ways to try to help, and honestly, that was so, so, so much.

But he didn’t say that. 

That would be too much, too much heart on his sleeve stuff for one day.

So instead he said, “You could order food? I’m starting to get hungry.”

Tony clapped his hands together, and then rubbed them, like a stereotypical mad scientist. “Now that’s something I know I’m good at! What do you want, kid? Chinese? Pizza? Italian? Thai? Do you want a catered five course meal? Breakfast for dinner? Gyros from that place with the goat sign? Diner fare? Anything you want, it’s on me.”

“Thanks,” Peter said, “I knew I could count on you,” and he tried to make it sound like he was just referring to the food.

Saturday found Peter and Aunt May spreading out a worn quit on a square of empty green in Central Park’s Cedar Hill. The hill was crowded with New Yorkers and tourists alike, a constant stream of people around them, and the lawn was sprinkled with other families having picnics, college kids playing frisbee, a group of people doing tai chi, and various other humans of various ages and shapes. It was a Saturday, spring finally comfortably warm, with the hot of summer still off a ways, and Peter wasn’t surprised that New Yorkers and tourists alike had turned out to take advantage of the park and the nice weather.

That’s what him and Aunt May had done after all. 

He’d woken up to Aunt May sitting at the open window, drinking from a steaming mug, and the first thing she said was, “Let’s go outside today.” And so they’d decided to picnic in Central Park, even though they couldn’t quite escape the faint scent of clove cigarettes or the constant company of, it seemed, every other person in the city.

It wasn’t a big deal. May had grabbed an old quilt she didn’t mind getting dirty out of the linen closet, and they’d stopped at a deli for subs, and here they were, spreading out the blanket on the grass, right above an outcropping of rocks, with the view of the buildings spiking above the tree-line. They were close enough to 5th Ave that Peter could count the windows on the closest skyscrapers, but the sound of children, the bustle of cyclists and joggers and chatting, strolling humans, masked the noise of the traffic beyond the park, the sharp edge where green became grey.

“We should come out here more often,” May said as she crawled onto the mostly flat blanket. She tossed Peter his sandwich and then unwrapped hers. “Especially now that the weather is getting warmer.”

“Sure,” Peter said. “I love nature. Me. Big fan of trees.”

She chuckled and threw a napkin at him, but it floated harmlessly to the ground before it got even close. “Stop it, we all need a little fresh air now and again.”

Peter shrugged. “Sure. It’s just hard getting the time,” he looked away, tracking a pit bull running down the asphalt walkway, its owner holding onto the leash and trying to stay upright on her roller blades, “between my internship and, uh—”

She cut him off with a wave of her hand. “I know. Just, maybe the next time we spend time together, we can make a point of coming out here.” She gestured to the dingy quilt and their wrapped-in-paper sandwiches. “This is nice. And it’s nice to get away from the city and all the danger,” she waggled her eyebrows, “that’s involved in living in it.”

“Aunt May,” Peter whined, “now you’ve gone and jinxed us! Don’t be surprised if a robber or an assassin or a gang or something shows up to cause chaos.”

May chuckled and Peter joined her. 

“You’re so dramatic, Peter. I know you didn’t get that from me. Have you been spending too much time with Stark?”

Peter gasped and put a hand to his chest. “Never!”

She laughed again.

“Eat your sandwich,” she demanded, and took a big bite of her own. For a moment they both sat, chewing their food, watching the people mill around them. Peter kept an eye on the skyline, trying not to look like he really was worried about some villain wrecking their picnic. It would just be his luck. The one time May and him actually went out and tried to relax, he wouldn’t be surprised if something ruined it.

But nothing happened as they ate. The sky didn’t turn black, no explosions sounded, there was no sight of fire or screaming civilians. People whirled past them in the normal, ever fluctuating way of big cities across the globe, in bright colors and dark, with energy or lethargy. No villains in sight.

“Are you excited for your field trip?” May asked, and Peter dragged his eyes away from the crowds and away from the skyline.

“Not you too,” Peter whined.

She gave him an amused look. “Me too? Who else are you—oh! It was Stark, wasn’t it?”

Peter nodded.

She let out a bark of laughter. “You know, as annoying as he can be, I think the guy’s really starting to grow on me!”

As much as the idea of Aunt May and Tony being somewhat friends appealed to him, he really didn’t need them teaming up on him.

“You’re just saying that because you don’t know that for the first month after meeting you he called you Aunt Hottie exclusively,” Peter said, with the confidence of someone who knew they were about to wreck a man’s reputation, and didn’t care.

Instead she looked at Peter, oddly delighted. “Really! Did he?”

Horror dawned on Peter. “No! No, Aunt May, you cannot like Mr. Stark more for that!”

May smirked at him. “It’s always nice to know that someone appreciates your,” she looked down at herself, and then made a tiny moue with her mouth, “style?”

“Him and Ms. Potts,” he started, but May cut him off.

“I’m not saying I’d ever date the guy, even if he wasn’t in a committed relationship. He obviously said it mostly to get to you, right, Peter?”

Peter pressed his lips together. “It worked,” he mumbled.

“I bet it did,” May said, and bit her lip. “The man doesn’t really have a filter.”

“He tries,” Peter defended, and then frowned, because he didn’t know why he did that. Wasn’t he just trying to keep them separated? But just ‘cause he didn’t want them ganging up on him didn’t mean he wanted one thinking bad of the other.

Geez this was complicated.

“He does try,” May admitted, looking only slightly convinced.

“He curses way less when I’m around than I think is natural for him,” Peter said. “I’ve caught him several times correcting himself in my hearing.”

May grimaced, and then let out a tiny laugh, and Peter realized that what he’d taken for reluctance to believe him, had actually been her holding back laughter. He scowled at her.

“Oh don’t make that face,” May said. “I just think that it’s probably good for you to have another father figure in your life.”

Peter started, and then leaned back, a hand on the quilt behind him. He didn’t know what to say first. That Tony was not his father figure? Or that he didn’t need another father figure. Uncle Ben was… Uncle Ben still…

“I’m not saying he’s taking the place of Ben,” May said softly, obviously seeing the warring thoughts on his face. “Ben loved you, and I hope you never think you have to replace him in your life,” her lower lip wobbled, but she took a fortifying breath, and her expression solidified. “But you have to admit that Stark, well, he does look after you. And I don’t mean that he pays for your dinner or anything. Though he better be doing that too. I mean, you talk to him, right? About things that bother you? Like your field trip, apparently.”

Peter nodded slowly.

“Well there you go,” May said. “If you’d prefer to think of him as a mentor rather than a father figure, that works too. But it still makes me feel better that there are more people than just me you can turn to. Not that I don’t want you talking to me,” she hurried to say, eyes wide and horrified at how that had sounded coming out of her mouth. “I do! But, it’s good to not have just one support! I know you can trust me, and Stark, and even Ned and MJ, and—Peter Benjamin Parker! Are you laughing at me?”

He was, but he tried, valiantly, to put a lid on it.

It didn’t work.

“Peter! Peter, I’m serious! Don’t laugh at me,” she said with a huff, pink high on her cheeks. 

“Sorry,” he hiccoughed, “sorry, sorry.” He made himself breathe deeply to quell the laughter. 

“It’s not funny,” May said. “I thought I’d really hurt your feelings. You know I didn’t mean it like that, right Peter? If I could keep you safe, just by my side…” she put her arms out, palms turned upright, elbows curved like she was holding something. She was holding nothing.

“I know, May,” Peter said. “I do. And, and I wish I could sometimes just let you take care of me.”

She smiled at him, and he tried not to notice how sad it looked, because she was trying so hard to cover it up.

“You’re too grown up,” May said, “have I ever told you that?”

Peter made a playfully thoughtful face. “No! I don’t think you ever have!”

It worked. She laughed, and then that noise was cut off by the mix of high-pitched whine and low-register rumble that was oh so familiar to Peter. He turned to look in the direction of the noise before May did, but the noise was approaching so fast the delay was next to nothing. And then Iron Man was shooting across the sky, soaring over the 5th Avenue skyline, with Thor and War Machine hot on his trail.

“Oh no,” May said, mouth agape.

Stupidly, Peter’s first thought was to tell May this was because she jinxed them. But he was an adult (almost) and didn’t. 

The crowd around them came to a standstill, heads bent up to look at the incoming Avengers, silent mouths shaped like Os, every person no doubt hoping the three would fly right past, over their heads and on to greener pastures. It was like a concert, every face in the audience tracking the three unerringly. And then Iron Man dropped down below the tree line to the left. So close. And the audience collectively snapped their mouths closed and began their exit strategy.

There was a certain danger to living in New York in this modern post-Chitauri, Post-SHIELD world, and Peter and May weren’t the only ones who were constantly aware of the possibility of danger. They weren’t the only ones who mapped out possible exits to any situation. To Peter it was second nature, especially since he was Spiderman too, but nowadays, well, the speed at which the crowd began to thin, people gathering children and pets, abandoning anything they couldn’t run with, and just going—It was so New York.

“May,” Peter said, turning to her with wide eyes. 

Someone screamed, loud and high, from the direction Iron Man had landed, and then Peter heard the screech of tires, the sounds of guns.

May’s eyes were on the trees behind which the Avengers were fighting.

Peter’s arms tensed. His whole body was taut. He was ready to bolt. He had his suit on beneath his shirt and jeans (something May was aware of but pretended she wasn’t). He could meet up with the Avengers, with Tony, in seconds.

“May,” he said desperately. He wanted to go. He wanted to help. But May was here, and her safety came first and he would not leave her if there was even the slightest possibility of her getting hurt. 

“The Met,” she said. Her head whipped around to him. 

His phone buzzed in his pocket, a generic ringtone, but he pushed it out of his head. Ned, or whoever, could wait.

Her words connected in his mind, and he looked towards the trees. The Metropolitan Museum of Art. That must be where Tony had landed.

He looked at her.

His phone rang again, somehow sounding even more insistent.

“Go,” she said. She jumped to her feet, swiping up the edge of the quilt as she moved. “I’ll be fine. Go!” There were still several people scurrying through the park. Some not even rushing. He wanted to scream at them.

He was on his feet before he had a second thought, and then another voice cut through to his mind.

“Peter, listen to me.”

Peter blinked. That sounded like… “Karen?”

The voice had come from his pocket. His phone. He pulled it free and on the screen was Karen’s name, a phone call that had somehow connected despite Peter not pulling his phone from his pocket.

“Hello, Peter,” she said. “Mr. Stark is trying to connect to you. Would you like to answer?”

A quick glance at May showed that she looked just as confused and surprised as he felt.

“Sure,” Peter said slowly.

And then Tony’s voice echoed out. “Hey, kid, FRIDAY says she detected you here in Central Park. Is that right? Are you here with your Aunt?”

Peter’s brain froze, and without a director, his mouth said, “I told her you used to call her Aunt Hottie.”

There was a pause, and then with an astounding amount of exasperation and exhaustion, Tony said, “Why? Why would you tell her that?”

May laughed. 

“Is that her? Can she hear me? Peter Parker, do you have me on speaker phone?”

May laughed harder, and suddenly Peter got it, why everyone kept asking if Peter was Tony’s son. May had just used that exact same tone of voice on Peter. 

In the shock of Peter’s revelation all he could say was, “yeah.”

Tony’s answering sigh was loud and exasperated. “Hi May,” he said drily.

“Hi Tony,” May said, somehow sounding like she was going to laugh even though the knowledge that there was something villainous going down so close by, and that Tony was probably talking while he was in the middle of it right now was all around them.

“Kid,” Tony said, back to the task at hand.

“Yes,” Peter burst. “I’m, I’m on my way! I can be right there! Just give me like five—”

“Peter,” Tony said, “I need you to stay put.”

That stopped Peter in his tracks. He frowned. “Stay put? But I’m right here. I can help!”

“I know you can,” Tony said, “but we overshot this by a lot already. The intel we were given made the situation seem a lot worse than it really was, I’ll give you the details next time I see you, and you can tell your Aunt,” he probably added just because he knew she could hear him, “but right now we’re kind of over-staffed as it is. Almost the whole crew is here, and frankly we’re already stepping on each other’s—Cap! I told you I was going to—what am I saying, he’s not listening to me. Sorry Pete. But hey, if you wanted to get back to your—whatever people go to Central Park for.” He sounded purposefully confused by what mere peons did on their days off. “You can. We’re keeping this pretty contained. So just, I don’t know, hang out. Or leave, whatever, see if I—Vision! Vision, what are you doing! Put that down!” Tony let out a long sigh. “I’ve gotta go, Pete.” And then he hung up.

Peter turned to Aunt May, mouth agape.

“Ah,” May said, and dropped the quilt back on the ground. “You could still go, if you wanted to.”

Peter shook his head. “No, uh, I trust Mr. Stark. If he says they don’t need the help, they don’t need the help.  Um, should we,” he gestured to the ground.

May looked at the grass, then at the mostly empty hill, and then towards the noises of disaster coming from the Northwest. “Well, I still have half a sandwich.” She pointed at her sandwich, half-eaten and mostly protected from the grass by the paper wrap, and suddenly Peter was laughing, and so was May. He dropped onto his butt on the grass, and she bent over her knees.

It felt like he was coming off a dangerous high.

May must have felt the same, because she gasped out, “Adrenaline sucks!”

After the giggles petered out, she made a minimal effort to spread the blanket back out, and then reached for her sandwich, cursorily brushing off any invisible specks of dust, before biting off a chunk. Peter rolled onto the blanket, and May plopped down next to him.

“At least we have the park to ourselves now?” Peter said, gesturing to the empty hill. It was an oversimplification. Central Park was huge. The north end was probably still packed, and maybe the south end as well, but here, when this usually crowded place was so empty, it sure felt like they were alone.

A boom sounded from the Met, and they both turned to face it, but Peter couldn’t hear anything else now, no screaming or gunshots. A friendly boom.

“So,” May said slowly, and slightly distractedly (but hey, at least one of them was making an effort to appear like everything was normal). “Field trip?”

Peter groaned. “Of all the things to bring up, why that?”

May’s focus on Peter sharpened. “Because that’s your reaction. I know you didn’t want to go when you first brought home the permission slip.” She shrugged. “I guess I thought you’d change your mind. It must be at least a little exciting to be out of school for a full day.”

Peter pursed his lips “Yeah,” he admitted. “That part I’m looking forward to. But I really don’t want to be with everyone when we go through SI. Everyone is so annoying about my internship! I don’t want to deal with it.”

May gave him a sympathetic look. “You’ll have fun with Ned and MJ though,” she said, like it was a sure thing.

Peter wasn’t convinced.

“I’m not going to have fun with Flash constantly trying to prove my internship is fake.”

May’s eyebrows flew up. “He—I’m sorry, what?”

Peter grimaced. “It’s just, like, ok, Flash is convinced that I’m lying about having an internship at Stark Industries. And he’s kind of being a jerk about it.”

Unlike Tony, she didn’t say that this would be the perfect chance to prove him wrong. She just frowned. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Guilt dropped like a stone into Peter’s stomach. “I didn’t want to worry you! I wanted you to know that I could handle it myself.”

May wrapped an arm around Peter’s shoulder and pulled him into a hug. “I’m sorry Peter. I know you can handle yourself, but that doesn’t mean you can’t ask for help. Especially with something like this. I’ll call up the school—”

“That’s what Mr. Stark said,” Peter said. “Please don’t.”

May pressed her lips together and then let out a long breath. “Ok. But I can tell this is bothering you, has been bothering you. If Flash keeps treating you poorly, and you don’t want me to contact the school… you should talk to a teacher.”

“Flash’s parents are rich! They've donated—”

“I don’t care,” May said simply. “You’re my kid. No matter how old you are, and how much you can take care of yourself—and I know you can—you’re still my kid and I will not let some snot-nosed brat make you feel bad about yourself, ever.” She leaned down to look Peter directly in the eyes. “Ever.”

Peter let out a breath and smiled. “Thanks May.”

She smiled and ruffled his hair. “Plus, he’ll find out how real your internship is on Friday.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “Not you too, May!”

May cackled.

Peter heard the faint sound of sirens, the NYPD arriving on the scene, and that more than anything else proved that the danger was mostly over. If there was still something Avengers-worthy going down, the cops would have focused more on evacuating the area, but if they were swarming, that meant the danger was down, and it was time to make arrests, etc.

“Oh good,” May said, “it’s over.”

Peter nodded, but turned towards a new noise, the sound of boots on grass, and then on asphalt, and then on grass again, approaching quickly. And the faint sound of mechanical whirring. Peter frowned, trying to suss out who it was. His Spidey sense wasn’t acting up, and his first thought, what with the metallic noises, was that it was Tony in the Iron Man suit, but as they got closer he could hear their breathing, the swish of fabric, and then they broke the tree-line, ignoring the available walking paths entirely.

It was Bucky. Decked out in black tactical gear, with his metal arm bare and gleaming in the midday sun, and his hair hanging loose around his face he looked dangerous. 

He didn’t stop moving, kept approaching where Peter and May sat with single-minded focus. May had tensed when she caught sight of him exiting the trees, and now she put a protective arm in front of Peter.

Like that could do anything.

“He’s fine,” Peter said soothingly, and believed it. Despite how dangerous the man looked, rushing them across a grassy knoll with his head down and his expression dark, Peter knew him now. Peter had been there when Bucky was vulnerable and in need of comfort. No matter how ominous he looked now, and—was he wearing eye shadow? 

He wasn’t scary.

“Is he?” May whispered.

“Yes,” Peter said, and finally Bucky slowed, and stopped, standing right in front of them. The height difference, since he was standing and they were sitting, made him look even taller and more ominous than he really was, cutting a sharp, dark figure against the sun, and with his head tipped down at them, his hair fell forward like a curtain, casting his face fully into shadow.

“Hi Bucky,” Peter greeted cheerfully. He raised a hand and waggled his fingers at the ex-brainwashed ex-assassin semi-current spy.

“Peter,” the man greeted, his voice tense and riding the line of raspy (more out of disuse, Peter thought, than anything else), like it always was. 

“I’m sorry,” May said, “you know each other?”

Peter frowned at May. “Didn’t I tell you? I was...” he thought back, “I was grabbing some food and some of the Avengers were playing poker? So I… met some?”

May raised her eyebrows. “Meeting a few of the Avengers does not mean you are on first name basis with any of them.” She looked back and forth among the two, man and boy. “Not that you can’t be friends with each other,” she said, “just, Peter, telling me you ran into a few Avengers isn’t the same thing as telling me you know one of them.”

Peter could see that. “Ah,” he said, “yes, well, this is me telling you, I know… multiple Avengers.”

Bucky grunted.

“Fine,” Peter said, “I am on first name basis with all of the Avengers.”

May’s eyebrows hit her hairline. “Are you?”

Peter winced. “Yes?” he said, the end of the word lilting up even though it wasn’t really a question.

May’s expression said that they would be talking about this later.

Great.

“Peter,” Bucky said again, and Peter and May returned their attention to the glowering man standing above them.

“Would you like to join us?” May asked, patting at the blanket. She was the one who had instilled in him his manners, after all. Peter understood the impulse to invite Bucky over. The man looked like he desperately needed more social interaction, or at least a good lunch. 

Bucky shook his head, his hair swaying with the movement. He looked less scary now, his expression no longer so dark, instead he was frowning, looking almost confused. He looked at Peter again, though his eyes flicked to May periodically. 

“You are safe,” he said to Peter, tone flat, even though it was evident he required an answer.

“Yes,” Peter said. “We heard the noise and almost ran off but decided—” and here he had to remind himself that Peter was allowed to know Tony, Peter did know Tony. It was Spiderman who didn’t know Tony, but right now he was Peter. “I mean, Mr. Stark let me know that we were safe here, so,” he gestured to the blanket, and the discarded paper wrap that had at one time protected their lunch.

“Good,” Bucky said. “Stay safe.” He gave May one last glance, and then was loping off down the hill in the opposite direction he’d come from, towards East Drive and the Boathouse. 

“Wait,” Peter called, twisting to watch Bucky disappear behind more trees, “where are you—?” But he was gone. Actually running this time, boots thudding on grass, and then asphalt, and then Peter couldn’t even hear him anymore. “What?” Peter asked, feeling very confused.

“Glad to know I’m not the only one,” May said drily.

He turned to her and they grinned at each other.

“Now what’s this about knowing the Avengers?” May asked. Her eyebrows had taken up permanent resident at her hairline, and her eyes were wide, even as her voice remained curious and somewhat dry.

“Well, so,” Peter said, “It’s kind of a long story.” He thought about how he seemed to have met them all in waves. “And it’s not really a story?”

“We have quite a bit of time,” May said, gesturing to the still empty hill, and to the trees in the direction of the busy Met. “Or do you not want to tell me?”

“I do!” Peter said, “or, well, at least I don’t not want to tell you.”

“Uh huh,” May said, not sounding convinced at all.

“It’s just, kind of bizarre?” Peter said, voice lilting up at the end. It was hard to explain to May when he was mostly confused by the entire thing himself. He knew that he had met each of the Avengers, he just, frankly, couldn’t believe it.

“Agreed,” May said with a huff of laughter. “My sweet baby nephew is friendly with internationally renowned superheroes.” She quirked an eye at him. “Though maybe that actually makes sense considering…” she trailed off, took a quick look around, (still empty), but then consciously chose not to complete that thought. “So tell me,” she said instead.

“Uh,” Peter scratched his head.

“Who did you meet first?” She prompted.

“Mr. Stark,” he said and she elbowed him playfully. “Alright, alright,” he said, casting his mind back, “I guess technically the first non-Mr. Stark Avenger I met, like officially, was Rhodey. That is, ah, Colonel Rhodes, James Rhodes? You know, War Machine? And that was completely an accident, not my fault. I didn’t even leave the lab or anything. He came to me.”  And so he told her, in more detail, about meeting Rhodey, and then about Spiderman meeting Clint, and Natasha, and Steve, and then Peter gate-crashing a Poker Game with Sam and Wanda and Vision, and so on. By the time he got to helping Clint lose a game of hide and seek, meeting Thor, and then Natasha seeking Spiderman out, the park was starting to fill up again. People had rejoined May and him on the hill, on blankets and in little circles, and joggers and strollers and bikers and dog-walkers had returned to the paths that wove through the area.

It was barely two in the afternoon, and life had returned to the park.

New York was like that. As soon as it was over, whatever ‘it’ was, everything returned to business as usual.

God he loved this city.

“Well,” May said a little weakly when Peter trailed off, “that sure is… something.”

Peter bit his lip. “Yeah, I can’t quite believe it myself.”

She laughed, and then reached over and ruffled his hair. “Only you, Peter, I swear.”

He grinned, though he didn’t really know what she meant. Besides the spider bite, he was a pretty normal kid, and even the bite had been a complete accident, nothing that he’d done. But still. May’s words were nice to hear.

A group of bicyclists whizzed past on the path at the bottom of the hill, a biking tour, and the cascade of ringing bells followed them around the corner. He watched them go. “I like them,” he said, watching as the last bicyclist rounded the corner, up the other side of Cedar Hill. “They’re nice.”

“I’m sure they are,” May said. He turned to her, and found her leaning back on her elbows, face turned towards the sun, eyes closed. She cracked one eye to look at him. “I trust your judgment. Most of the time,” and then she laughed at him.

“Thanks,” he said drily, but with a real smile curling along his lips.

He sat back too, and let himself relax, let the sun warm his bones. With one hand he pulled out his phone and texted Mr. Stark, just asking if everyone was ok, and if Tony’s response was a short, Yup, all accounted for, then at least Peter could trust that was the truth.

He’d grill Tony for more information later.

“I see you’re getting your Vitamin C while you can,” a voice said from much too close, and Peter’s eyes snapped open, his body tensing. With the return of life to the park, he hadn’t noticed one more pair of footsteps approaching him. Or, two.

Crouching just outside the wobbly square of quilt on the grass was Clint. Hawkeye.

Peter relaxed.

A few steps behind him was Wanda. Both were dressed casually, dressed to not attract attention amongst the park-goers, and frankly it was working. No one even noticed that two of the Avengers were just chilling on the hill. And it wasn’t the kind of undercover clothes he would have suspected. If you’d have asked Peter, he’d have guessed hoodies and baseball caps and sunglasses. But no, they were blending in with color. 

Clint was in sky blue basketball shorts, a black muscle shirt, and tennis shoes of the brightest purple Peter had ever seen. He didn’t wear glasses or hat, but he had a basketball under his arm to add verisimilitude, even though Peter was pretty sure the closest basketball court was on the other side of the Met, near the reservoir. But his whole vibe screamed ‘lax sports bro’ and not ‘Avenger/Spy/Assassin.’ Color Peter impressed.

Wanda looked slightly less comfortable. She was in summer instagram chic (that’s what MJ called it), in an olive green romper and boat shoes, her reddish brown hair pulled up high in a very messy bun. She had a gold chain looped around her neck, and while she was wearing sunglasses, they were the kind that were more decorative than practical, huge squarish-circles with lenses that went top to bottom, from dark amber to almost clear. 

They both just looked like, well, people. Park-goers. If Peter didn’t know them personally, if he had only ever seen the Avengers on tv, in their uniforms (costumes?), he wouldn’t have recognized them at all.

And May didn’t.

“I think you mean Vitamin D,” she said, almost coldly. “Can we help you?” She scooched closer to Peter, blocking him partly from Clint’s gaze, though it wouldn’t help much if he wanted to do something about it. He was very close already.

“May,” Peter said in an introductory fashion, “This is Clint, he’s Hawkeye. And that’s Wanda, the Scarlet Witch.” He turned to the two Avengers and waved, “Hi.”

Wanda waggled her fingers at him and shifted awkwardly on her feet. She wasn’t as comfortable in civilian clothes as Clint was.

Clint beamed at him, and then May. “Hey-a Peter’s Aunt,” he said. “Nice to meet you! Great kid you’ve got here. He uh, he’s got bite.”

May relaxed a little. “I taught him that,” she said.

“Then I best stay on your good side,” Clint said with a laugh. He let himself dip forward out of his crouch, his knees hitting the blanket, and then he scooted forward and twisted himself around until he too was lazing on the sheet, looking for all the world like he belonged there.

May raised an eyebrow at him, but when he didn’t notice she let out a small sigh and turned to Wanda.

“You can join us too,” May said. “I’d offer you lunch, you must have worked up an appetite what with whatever you were doing at the Met,” she waved her hand around, “but we didn’t bring enough to share, and our lunch is finished.”

“Oh shoot!” Clint said, lips downturned. “I’d kill for a bite to eat right now. The fight wasn’t actually anything big, I mean, I didn’t even get to leave my perch the entire time, only fired, like, two arrows. Boring. But the alarm went off before I had breakfast, so I’m kind of starving.” With perfect dramatic timing, his stomach rumbled.

“We didn’t see Iron Man fly over until well after noon,” Peter said. “You hadn’t had breakfast before then?”

“Don’t judge me,” Clint whined.

“Clint is many things,” Wanda said, speaking up for the first time, “but an early riser is not one of them.”

“Wanda,” Clint whined, “don’t embarrass me in front of Tony’s kid’s aunt!”

Peter hoped May wouldn’t notice Clint calling him Tony’s kid, (and he was going to make Clint pay for saying that in front of May!) and thankfully she didn’t. Or, at least she didn’t mention it. 

“You don’t need any help being an embarrassment,” Wanda said kindly.

Clint pouted.

The silence lasted a beat, and Peter shifted awkwardly, sitting up straighter. “So, um, what’s up? No offence, it’s nice seeing you,” he nodded at Wanda, because she looked tenser than Clint did (Clint looked unrealistically relaxed, legs out before him, sunning himself like a turtle on a log) and Peter didn’t want them (her) to think he was upset they were here, “but why are you here?”

Clint blinked at him. “We’re here to make sure you’re ok, short stuff. Stark said you were on the hill when he flew over, and Bucky checked on you before things got back to normal, which,” he looked around, “New York sure is a rubber band isn’t it?”

Peter closed his eyes and shook his head a little, like that would somehow make Clint’s words suddenly make sense. “What?”

“Like, you can stretch it, and stretch it, and stretch it, but as long as it doesn’t snap, it’ll always bounce back to normal. It’s kind of amazing.”

Peter looked around. Less than an hour ago this entire hill had been empty except for him and May and the sound of a gunfight, and now look at it.

“Yeah,” May said, “that’s definitely an analogy.”

Peter laughed at May’s less-than-impressed tone of voice.

Clint didn’t look the least perturbed. “Anyway, so Bucky said he saw you, but we just wanted to make sure that you were really alright, now that, well,” he gestured around, “rubber band.”

“Iron Man and the Captain are indisposed,” Wanda said. “They have to report what happened to the appropriate authorities, but the Captain thought it might be good to make sure you are both safe, and not traumatized by the incident.”

Gleefully, Clint added, “Stark said you wouldn’t be traumatized, because you’re from Queens, and any true New Yorker is used to this nonsense by now, but I think that’s code to say he was worried about you too.”

“So, um, Mr. Stark sent you?” Peter asked.

“Technically, it was Steve,” Clint said, “but Tony very pointedly did not disagree.”

“And no one sent us,” Wanda said, “we volunteered. Well, actually, we had to draw straws because there were so many volunteers.”

“Peter,” May said, turning to face him, “you’ve been holding out on me. I didn’t know I was co-parenting with all the Avengers. I thought it was just Stark.”

Peter’s cheeks warmed. Even Aunt May was teasing him about him being Tony’s kid. Great. But he wasn’t about to make this awkward, especially since him and May had talked (just a few hours ago—geez, was it that recently?) about Tony and father figures and so on, so he said, in a tone he hoped was light and casual, “And Pepper.”

May chuckled, “And Pepper.” 

May liked Pepper. They’d met a few times, which was inevitable since Peter spent so much time at the Tower, and May liked to be a part of Peter’s life as much as possible, so they'd run into each other a time or two.

Clint reached over to pinch Peter’s cheek and Peter ducked the hand. “Hands off,” Peter said, and then had to duck again when Clint reached out a second time. “Stop it, man!”

“Never,” Clint said, and reached out a third time, just to ruffle his hair this time, which Peter allowed, begrudgingly. He turned to Wanda. “I’m glad we came! I like messing with him.”

“I’m glad to see him too,” Wanda agreed, “though,” she tugged at the sleeve of her romper, “I do not know if I quite like being undercover. I didn’t even know we had civilian clothes prepared on the quinjet for these sorts of situations.”

Clint waved his hand, as if his hand could bat away Wanda’s disbelief. “Are you kidding? Tasha and Steve have got so many contingencies set up it’s insane.” He looked at Peter. “You should know the feeling, Tony’s just as bad.”

“I wouldn’t say back-up plans and contingencies are a bad thing,” May said.

Clint shrugged, but Wanda looked thoughtful.

“So,” Clint prompted, “are you both ok? Like, I know you weren’t close enough to the fighting to get injured but you were close enough to, I don’t know, do civvies get traumatized from being near a fire fight? I’ve been in this business too long.”

“Did you see Iron Man fly in?” Wanda asked Peter before he could even think about answering Clint’s question.

Peter nodded. “And Thor and War Machine.”

“And then your heard fighting,” Wanda said, “and guns being fired. That must have… worried you.”

Peter was pretty sure she’d originally been going to say scared, and then changed her mind. “Yeah,” Peter said, “and everyone started running. Not exactly a fun atmosphere for a picnic.”

“Peter,” May scolded. “They’re just being nice. Don’t tease.”

“What?” Peter whined. “It’s true! The yelling and the guns made it a difficult picnic! I mean, we were halfway to running before Mr. Stark had FRIDAY tell me it was fine to stay where we were.” He gave May what he hoped was a very adult expression. “I’m being very serious about it.”

Clint laughed. “You’re fine. If you can joke about it, you’re fine.”

Peter wanted to say that he’s had lots of experience with being near, and then really near, fights. He wanted to say he’d been in those sorts of terrifying life-or-death situations. He wanted to say that he had lots of experience choosing to joke in the face of danger, or of fear, because that was how he coped. But Clint didn’t know he was Spiderman. Wanda didn’t know he was Spiderman. And it wasn’t something one just announced, even if he had wanted to tell them, which he didn’t.

(He definitely didn’t, right?)

Wanda’s phone beeped and she checked it. “Tony said he ordered enough for ten hulks and our kebabs are getting cold.”

“Ooohh! Lunch!” Clint said, hopping to his feet. He grabbed the basketball off the blanket and tucked it under his arm. What a prop.

“Closer to dinner now,” Wanda said.

“Hey,” Clint protested, “I still haven’t had breakfast, this is, at the very least, going to be my lunch.”

Wanda shrugged, a smirk hovering around the edges of her lips.

Clint turned to Peter and May, “You guys should come! I know Stark would like seeing that his precious little intern was safe and sound.”

Peter narrowed his eyes at Clint. 

“Yes,” Wanda said, “the more the merrier! I believe Pepper Potts will be joining us as well.”

Peter turned to May with wide-eyed fear. He did not want May interacting with the Avengers. For one thing, he didn’t want Earth’s Mightiest Heroes to see her babying him. But also, if he could have a separation of these lives of his, for just a little bit longer, he would feel much safer.

So much safer.

May, thankfully, was good at reading Peter’s fear-faces, and laughed at him lightly before turning to their guests. “Not tonight. We did just eat. But thank you for offering! Perhaps another time.”

“Sure,” Clint said, and Wanda nodded. “Alright, time we were off, then. See you later, Pete!” And then he was off, loping down the hill in the direction of 5th Ave.

Wanda let him go. “I’m glad you’re ok,” she said, and then to May, “and it was nice meeting you. I hope to see you again.”

“Yeah, of course,” Peter said, at the same time May said, “Nice meeting you as well.”

Peter and May turned to grin at each other, and when they turned back, she was walking back down the hill as well, her pace a controlled stroll.

“Huh,” May said. She turned to Peter once more. “At least you’re making friends,” she said, “even if they are all older than you and very, very strange.”

“May,” Peter said, pronouncing it long and high. 

“You don’t admit they’re your friends?” May asked. “They certainly seem to want to look out for you. Or have you found yourself more mentors?” She reached over, and Peter let her pinch his cheek, unlike Clint. The things he did for those he loved.

“I think I’d have to see them more to consider them my friends,” Peter said. “And they’re the Avengers! They might talk to me, and I do like them all, they’re funny, and nice, but still. I’ve only seen each of them, at most, twice.” Peter sighed. “Though I wouldn’t mind talking to them some more.”

“They do seem nice,” May said. “At least those two. Clint and Wanda.” She hummed a little tune. “Yeah. I think I like them. Do they know about your,” she paused, and then made finger quotes while she said, “‘internship?’”

“The most they know is that I intern in Mr. Stark’s labs.”

May hummed again. Peter thought he recognized it, maybe, but with only a few notes he couldn’t quite place it.

 “They’ll probs figure it out soon, though,” Peter said, "since a few of them have met me as Peter and me as… my intern persona.” God, that sounded so stupid! He might as well just say aloud, in public, that he’s Spiderman. Intern persona was so much worse. “And, um, Natasha, I mean, Black Widow, has invited me—my other me, to train a little bit with… them.” He gestured in the direction Clint and Wanda had left.

“Oh,” May said, and it was a happy little noise. Peter looked at her in surprise, and she smiled and said, “Don’t give me that shocked face. It’d make sense that I’d be happy you’re getting better trained by professionals. That you have someone looking after you. And, if you ever want to let them know, about, um, you, I’d—” she shrugged, “I’d honestly feel a lot better. Stark knowing, as annoying as it was that he found out before me, makes me feel better. The whole group of them? Knowing who you are, trying to keep you safe? It’s a comforting thought.”

Peter let out a breath. “Yeah,” he said.

“You don’t have to tell them if you don’t want to,” May said. “I’m not going to try to convince you one way or another. You’re an adult—or almost—and you can make that decision yourself. You deserve to make that decision yourself. But, they seem a trustworthy enough bunch. You could do worse.”

“Yeah,” Peter said, noncommittal, and she huffed a laugh at him. 

She looked around the hill, and then at her watch. “Want to go?”

“Yeah,” Peter said, the phrase sturdier this time. “I think I’m done with park-life.”

“For now,” May said, as she got up and started folding the quilt unevenly. “I still think regular picnics are a good idea. Fresh air, all that.”

“Getting involved with the Avengers’ battles,” Peter added, as he gathered up their trash, sandwich wrappers and plastic bags.

“That was the best part,” May said, and when Peter gave her a look, laughed.

They started down the hill themselves, May humming that same tune.

“What’s that from?” Peter asked, taking advantage of a trash can on the side of the walkway to throw out the garbage he was carrying. He tossed it from a distance, and then tried to look very cool and not at all psyched when it landed perfectly. “Kobe,” he whispered to himself.

“Huh?” May asked, and then, “Oh, that song? I don’t know. I’ve just got this one bit stuck in my head and I can’t think of all the words.” She hummed the beginning of the ditty again, awkwardly like she was trying to figure out the right tune as she went, she sang, “In the chill of night, at hmm-hmm of a crime,” she hummed over a word, or maybe a couple, like she couldn’t quite remember that one bit, “like a streak hmm light, he arrives just in time!” She made a dramatic little pose. And then dropped her arms. “Can’t remember where I heard it.”

Peter wracked his brains. “Me neither. It does seem familiar though.”

“Right?” May asked. She shook her head. “Oh well, it’ll come to us eventually."

Chapter Text

Peter had been debating how he was going to get to the compound come Monday all weekend. On Sunday, while he and Ned were assembling the Falcon (Millennium, not Sam) out of legos, Ned had recommended getting an uber and having it drop him off far enough away that he could change and swing the rest of the way.

Peter didn’t like the idea of doing that, leaving too many uncertainties, but Ned was ultimately right, at least about the fact that he couldn’t really swing all the way there.

He ended up texting Tony, and Tony told him to go home after school, change into the spidey suit, and then meet Happy at a bodega five blocks from his house. Tony could tell the Avengers simply that he asked Happy to find Spiderman and pick him up. No harm, no fowl. 

So here he was, Monday afternoon, fidgeting in the backseat of Happy’s (Tony’s) car, trying and failing to make conversation with Happy, and twisting his mask in his hands. 

It wasn’t that he was nervous.

Ok. He was nervous.

But, he knew he shouldn’t be nervous. Or not that nervous. It wasn’t like he was meeting these people for the first time.

He was nervous anyway. It was as bad as when he went to take his SAT last Fall. Only this time he hadn’t been studying and there was no one to tell him what this quiz/test/thing was going to be like. And at least for his SAT, him and Ned had scheduled for the same location and time slot, so they’d had some time to chat before they were ushered into their different rooms. 

“I think I’m going to throw up,” Peter told Happy. 

“Don’t,” Happy said.

Then silence.

“I’m really going to. I’m going to do it.”

“Do not throw up, kid,” Happy said. “Not inside at least. I don’t want to be cleaning spider upchuck out of these leather seats for the next few hours. At least roll down a window if you’re going to be sick.”

Peter rolled down his window.

“C’mon, kid,” Happy whined. “Don’t do this.”

“I can’t help it,” Peter whined back, “I’m nervous! I’m either going to throw up or pass out.”

“No you’re not,” Happy said sternly. “Tony is going to be right there. You’ll be fine!” 

“Ugh, what if they hate me?”

“They’re not going to hate you,” Happy said in a monotone.

“What if they think I’m a threat and try to kill me?”

Happy’s responding silence was very judgy.

“Yeah, yeah,” Peter said, “I know Mr. Stark will be there and will protect me and make sure no one hurts me or kills me or whatever but still! What if?”

“Kid,” Happy said drily, “if you don’t calm down I’m going to knock you out. Don’t you have anything to distract you? Isn’t there some… I don’t know, phone game you can play? Some friends you can text your freak-out to, instead of me?”

Peter pulled his phone from a sealed pocket in his suit, unlocked it, opened messenger, and read, “Message from Ned: ‘Good luck meeting your heroes! Remember to breathe. Hope I see you at school tomorrow!’ Me: ‘Why wouldn’t you see me at school?’ Ned: ‘Figure 50/50 chance you either end up dying, or embarrassing yourself so hard you flee the country.’”

“Ah,” Happy said. “Why are you his friend again?”

“Ned?” Peter asked, close to being offended. “He’s my best friend! He’s great!”

“Uh huh,” Happy said, voice dripping with disbelief. “Maybe you should have a talk with him about how to comfort people who are in distress. Because frankly, that was horrendous.”

Peter grimaced. “Yeah, it doesn’t really help.”

“No,” Happy said. “And ignore your friend, you’re going to be fine.”

“Wanna take my place?” Peter asked.

Happy chuckled. “I don’t think I’d fit in the suit.”

Peter drummed his fingers against his phone’s screen, and then exited the text.

“Peter,” Happy said, tone solemn, “you’re going to have to trust me on this, but you’re going to be fine. Do not worry.”

“Ok,” Peter said in a small voice, and put his phone away.

“Well good,” Happy said, suddenly boisterous, “because we’re here.”

Peter pulled his mask on, quick as a whip, and then leaned forward between the two front seats to look out the windshield. Yep. That was the compound all right. Or at least, the outer gate of it.

Happy pulled up to the gate and rolled down his window. There was a number pad attached to a column, but Happy just said, “Hey, FRIDAY, It’s me and the Spiderkid,” not touching the pad at all.

“Hello, Happy Hogan, Emperor of Security, and Peter Parker, O’ Intern O’ Mine.”

“Oh,” Peter said, surprised into speaking. “I’m not longer O’ SprogofStark O’ Mine?”

“No,” FRIDAY said. “Boss said it was too long and ungainly coming out of his mouth.”

“I’ll take it,” Peter said with exuberance. SprogofStark was too much. And then the rest of FRIDAY’s greeting caught up with him. “Emperor of Security?” he asked, incredulously.

Happy gave him a stink eye. “O’ Intern O’ Mine?” he asked.

“Touche,” Peter said. “Mr. Stark sure is something.”

“You’re not wrong, kid,” Happy said, and then started forward through the now open gate. 

When he’d come with Mr. Stark before, the gates had just opened at their approach. That was the difference, Peter guessed, between being the head of security (pardon, Emperor of Security), and being the owner and creator of the building.

The road to the compound was winding, and curved around a lake (a retention pond?) which forced the driver and any passengers to view the wide, beautiful, and intimidating building for several seconds before actually arriving. Peter thought this was probably intentional, and was, he decided, definitely a power move a la Tony Stark.

Today’s approach gave Peter the perfect view of the building, practically gleaming white, the grass, and three Avengers awaiting Happy’s car at the front entrance. Black Widow, no, Natasha, he reminded himself, bracketed by Steve and Tony.

Steve’s arms were crossed over his chest, not angrily, but it definitely wasn’t a friendly stance either. He was wearing his Captain America outfit, sans cowl and shield. Natasha’s arms hung by her side. Peter saw her like this often, and thought maybe this was her idle animation. From this stance she could easily go for any weapons in seconds. She was wearing an outfit similar to the one she’d been wearing on yoga night. High waisted gray leggings with neon blue geometrical designs on them, running shoes in bright pink, and a loose tank top. As they got closer, Peter could see that her fingers and hands were wrapped like a boxer’s, and that her leggings were shaped a little oddly. Like the knees were padded. 

Tony wasn’t even looking at the car as it approached. He was wearing a suit jacket over a grimy t-shirt and jeans, and was focused entirely on the phone in his hand.

Good ol’ Tony.

Happy swerved the car around the drive quickly (show-off), and pulled to a stop right in front of the three Avengers.

“I’m going to throw up,” Peter whispered to himself.

Steve’s eyes darted to Peter, and Peter knew that the windows were too dark for him to see through the glass, but he looked right at him.

Oh right. Peter wasn’t the only one with enhanced senses. Had Steve just heard him say he was going to throw up?

Heat flooded his cheeks, and he wanted to go bury himself completely underground, move across the Atlantic, or at least ask Happy to just get him out of there!

But Steve would hear that too.

And now Peter was taking too long to get out!

Tony finally put his phone away, slipping it into a jacket pocket, and then approached the car. He knocked on Happy’s window with the back of his hand. Happy rolled down his window.

“You got the package?” Tony asked, waggling his eyebrows and sounding for all the world like an old timey mobster. 

Steve rolled his eyes, and was suddenly a ton less intimidating. Peter had to remind himself that he’d met Steve. Multiple times! He shouldn’t be scary!

Happy hooked a thumb towards the backseat, towards Peter. “Right back there.”

“Any issues locating the package?” Tony asked. “Delivery was expected half an hour ago.”

“Traffic on the 87,” Happy said with an unapologetic shrug.

Tony pointedly leaned into the car enough to be able to look over Happy’s shoulder and straight into the domed eyes of Peter’s suit. “You planning on joining us any time soon?”

“Just steeling myself,” Peter said, and then didn’t give himself any time to think. In a motion he hoped was smooth, he opened the car door, exited the car, and closed the door behind him. He wanted to turn to Tony and say, See? I can do adult things like step out of cars and not vomit in fear of meeting people I already know! But that would be a super weird way to start this little visit. Instead he faced Natasha and Steve and said, in the politest voice he could muster, “Uh, hi, um, thanks for having me. It’s a lovely, um, compound you have here. It’s really nice to—”

Peter cut himself off because Natasha flung herself at him, telegraphing her movements a little too obviously. She made a grab for his arm, which he dodged, and then jumped to aim a kick at his midsection. He grabbed her leg, but he’d seen her fight enough not to trust the obvious. It may seem like grabbing her leg would give him the upper hand, but frankly, he didn’t trust her. So almost as soon as he grabbed her ankle to stop the hit, he pushed it, and her, back, and jumped.

Up.

She twisted, looking for him for a second, two seconds, and then she looked up.

“Hi,” Peter said, sticking on fingers and toes to the overhang thirty feet above them. His eyes were wide, but they were safely hidden behind the mask. His defense mechanism kicked in, and he started rambling, like he would when fighting any of the many villains of the Big Apple. Fill the air with chatter, with annoying, funny banter—keep his mouth moving to cover up the fact that his brain was moving even faster, trying to assess the situation. “If that’s how you greet everyone who visits,” Peter’s mouth said, “it’s a wonder you have any visitors at all. Hell, if I knew you’d attack me first thing, I definitely would have thought twice about coming. Or I would at least have brought extra protection. Knee pads, shin guards, mouth guard, boxing gloves, the whole kit and kaboodle. Or is this like a weird initiation. Like hazing the new kid. Is this like a college fraternity? Oh my god, is the Avengers compound a frat house? Please don’t tell me I need to, like, do a beer thing. Funnel? I don’t know. I don’t really drink so, oh god!”

Natasha had pulled a gun out of who knows where, and had it aimed at Peter. It wasn’t—Peter looked at the weapon, really looked at it, and it looked kind of like it rested in her hand too lightly? Like, maybe there were no bullets in it?

Still, bad form to stand still while a weapon is being pointed at you, even if it is likely that there isn’t actually going to be any shooting. Tony and Happy were both watching, and if Natasha was actually intent on hurting him, they’d but a stop to it. As much as he’d worried in the car, he knew Tony would keep him safe.

And he didn’t feel like he was in danger.

Still.

He dove off the roof with unnecessary flourish, and landed behind the car. “Really,” he said, trying to sound meek. “Can’t we talk this out?”

He quietly, oh so quietly, rolled under the car. And sent out a silent, but heartfelt, mental plea to Happy to not move the car!

He watched as Natasha’s pink running shoes moved slightly in one direction, and then she changed course, heading around the car to the back, and as she passed the trunk, he rolled out (she had to be playing with him, right? She should know better) on the side where Tony and Steve were still standing. He was on his feet immediately, and yes, Steve and Tony had definitely seen him, but he had to assume they wouldn’t interfere… mostly because they hadn’t so far. 

He thought about going for Tony, but if he wanted to keep at bay any connection between him and Tony he should interact with him as little as possible. So instead he went for Steve. Seconds after emerging from beneath the car, Peter had rounded Steve (who had decided to observe in the stillest way possible, like he was trying to pretend he was a statue) and jumped on his back, like a monkey.

Captain America was very strong, and Steve barely dipped at all at the extra weight. He soon corrected himself, and Peter had to say, he was very impressed. Peter pulled his hands from Steve’s shoulders. There was a harness on the back of the suit, where, no doubt, he kept his shield between battles. Peter had seen Captain America pull the shield from his back a multitude of times, both in person and on TV. Mostly on TV. And now he held onto that harness with his fingers, and curled himself up into a ball on Steve’s back. Natasha wouldn’t be able to see him (no hands or feet visible from Steve’s front), without circling the man.

Unless Steve gave him up.

But Captain America wouldn’t betray him like that, right?

He heard Natasha finish a circuit around the car. And then stop.

She hummed.

“Steve,” she said, “is the Spider on your back?”

Steve said nothing.

(See!)

Natasha sighed. “Fine. Get down Spiderman. You did well.”

Peter didn’t, worried that this too was some sort of trick, but Steve jumped a little, and that dislodged Peter. He could stay curled up in a ball on someone’s back for a long time, but the harness didn’t really work great as a finger grip, since it was made for a metal disk. Peter uncurled his feet just in time so that he wouldn’t fall on his ass.

“Good job,” Natasha said, as Steve stepped out of the way. “I was hoping I’d learn something about your fighting style from this, but it looks like your fighting style is just running away.”

Peter glanced at Tony. He couldn’t help it. But Tony was doing a great job of looking stand-offish and bored. Happy on the other hand, still sitting in the drivers’ seat of his car, had a hand pressed painfully against his mouth, and was turning a beautiful fuschia from holding back his laughter at Peter’s expense.

“I mean,” Peter said, stepping around Steve again. “I usually do more actual fighting stuff when I’m actually, well, fighting? I just, you attacked me with no warning, and I’m not in the habit of going all out to fight people who aren’t my enemies?”

“You still considered me your ally while I was attacking you with no warning,” Natasha asked, in a dry monotone. It was really more statement than question.

“Uh,” Peter said, “yeah? I mean...” how could he say this in a plausible way? It felt like it was too early in knowing them to pull out the Spidey-Sense card, and he wasn’t sure she’d even believe him if he said anything like that. It wasn’t a common thing, he didn’t think. “I thought it was unlikely that all three of the Avengers had gone darkside, and like, um, Captain America and,” he gestured to Tony, “Mr. Iron Man weren’t doing anything. Like, if you were all brainwashed or something, or now hated me and thought I was evil, they’d be helping you fight me, right? But if they thought you’d gone bad, they’d be helping me fight you. But they were just watching. No offense to him,” he looked to Steve, “to you, but I don’t think Captain America could ever be a bystander to an, um, altercation.”

Natasha made a pleased noise in the back of her throat.

“So I guess that means he’s not all brawn,” Tony said, and his tone was weird, off, and it took a moment for Peter to realize it was because usually when Tony talked to him it was with more warmth and familiarity. Right. This was a-Tony-who-did-not-know-him. 

The man could have been an actor.

“Excuse you,” Peter said, hoping he could act half as well. “I’m smart enough to create my own webs. I don’t produce those naturally you know.”

Tony opened his mouth, but Steve cut him off with a long-suffering “Tony.”

“What?” Tony asked, wide-eyed, “What did I do?”

Natasha reached a hand out to Peter and he shook it. “Welcome to the compound, Spiderman. Sorry for the extreme greeting.”

“You’re not sorry,” Peter said.

“No I’m not,” Natasha said with a mirthless smile. “I was being polite. I’m told that’s the thing to do.”

Peter shrugged. She was right, that was the polite thing to do, but he couldn’t imagine agreeing with her without that seeming rude too.

Natasha dropped his hand and walked past him into the compound. Steve and Tony held back, and Steve gestured Peter forwards, so Peter followed Natasha into the compound and Steve and Tony followed up the rear. Logistically, it made sense when bringing a near-stranger into their safe, private space, to have people in front of and behind the stranger. But, well, Peter wasn’t going to attack them, so they had nothing to guard against. And Tony was behind him, Tony knew who he was and trusted him.

He wasn’t, maybe, as worried as he could be. And he probably looked it. Hey, uh, Spiderman shouldn’t look so relaxed right now, right? He was definitely still nervous, but most of his nerves had fled from the adrenaline of Natasha mock-attacking him, and now, well he’d been here, to the compound, multiple times, right? And Tony was with him, for a definition of ‘with.’ So…

He followed after Natasha, feeling, and probably looking, way more relaxed than he maybe should if he were really a stranger in the compound.

But he wasn’t that good of an actor, he knew that much. 

“We’re going to the gym, first,” Natasha said as she walked. She didn’t look back, and Peter, after a little hesitation, sped up to walk beside her instead of behind. She looked over at him with an open expression. “The rest are gathered there.”

“Who are the rest?” Peter asked. “I know you said some people might not be able to make it today?”

“Wanda and Vision couldn’t make it,” Natasha said lightly.

“Cause it’s date night?” Peter asked.

Behind him, very lightly, he heard Tony turn a laugh into a cough.

“Yes,” Natasha said, “and because Vision is the least human of us, and didn’t want to scare you off.”

Peter was almost offended. “Scare me off?” he asked incredulously. “I’m not—just because he’s not human doesn’t mean I’d ever—”

Natasha’s laugh cut him off. “Yeah,” she said, “but he gets nervous meeting new people sometimes too. This wasn’t just for your benefit.”

Peter deflated. “Yeah, ok,” he said. When he’d met Vision as Peter, had that made Vision uncomfortable? He didn’t seem uncomfortable, but hey, Peter didn’t know the guy that well. If Vision’s tells weren’t human, Peter might never know if he was feeling uncomfortable. Abruptly he felt bad, and hoped he’d made a good impression on the man (android? alien?) when they first met. 

“Thor’s off to a movie with his girlfriend,” Natasha continued. “He says if you’re still here when he gets back he’ll come up. Bucky Barnes also won’t be coming.” She didn’t provide an explanation for that, and her previous reasoning when last they’d met, that he had a ‘meeting’ seemed spectacularly vague. But hey, if he didn’t want to meet Spiderman, that was his own prerogative. Maybe he, too, was uncomfortable around new people. That was ok.

“Everyone else will be there?” Peter asked.

“Well let’s see,” Natasha said, and stopped at wide double doors. She pushed it open and led Peter into a space in the compound he’d never been to before. The gym. It was a huge open space, with exercise equipment on one side, ranging from elliptical machines and treadmills to parallel bars and pommel horses. The rest of the room was open, besides the floor being completely covered in thick cushioned mats. Lots of room for sparring. 

And there, spread out along the mats, like they’d just been waiting for him, were the rest of the Avengers. Bruce stood awkwardly in khakis and a button-down, which solidified for Peter that he wouldn’t be Hulking out today. At least not voluntarily. Clint and Sam were half turned towards each other, like they’d been chatting, and Rhodey was staring straight towards the door. And where Bruce was dressed like he’d come from something semi-professional, and Clint and Sam were both wearing clothes indistinguishable from average work-out clothes, Rhodey was in the War Machine armor.

Peter pointed at Rhodey. “He’s not going to attack me too, is he?”

Rhodey looked affronted, and Clint’s mouth slipped into a gleeful grin.

“Why would you ask that?” Rhodey demanded.

“Cause that’s what she did,” Peter said, pointing at Natasha. “I just get out of the car, lil’ ol’ me, not a danger to nobody, and she goes for my throat.”

Bruce looked resigned, Rhodey gaped, Sam’s face said why am I not surprised, and Clint cackled, smile impossibly wide.

“I went for your torso first,” Natasha corrected.

“Hyperbole,” Peter said with a flap of his hand.

“Oh, and the Spider’s smart too,” Sam said with a playful smile.

Peter turned back to Tony, and then to Natasha. “Why do people keep assuming I’m dumb?” he asked plaintively. 

“Maybe,” Tony said, drawing Peter’s attention back to him, “because you voluntarily dragged Hawkbutt over there from the trash.”

“I can take care of myself,” Clint complained, losing his wide grin. “I didn’t need any help!”

“I guess I’ll just leave you in the dumpster next time then?” Peter said.

Clint scowled.

“I think you’ll fit in just fine,” Sam said. He stepped forward. “I’m the Falcon. You can call me Sam.”

“Nice to meet you,” Peter said, “I’m, uh, Spiderman.”

“War Machine,” Rhodey said. “You can call me Colonel, or Rhodes, or Colonel Rhodes.”

“Yo, that’s harsh,” Sam said, turning to Rhodey. “He’s a good dude. Tried to help unbury me last week.”

It had actually been more like a week and a half ago, but Peter wasn’t about to quibble about dates.

Rhodey’s expression stayed set. “I’m sure he is, but forgive me if I’d like to get to know him a little better for extending to him the courtesy of using my first name.”

Peter got it. Kind of. He did, he understood, just, you know, ouch.

“Right,” Peter said, “I mean, you just met me. That’s ok. There will be time to get to know each other.”

Rhodey gestured to Peter, as if to say, exactly.

“And I want to respect that,” Peter said, “so I’ll take that step back too. Colonel Rhodes, feel free to just call me Mr. Man.”

Rhodey’s jaw dropped.

Clint snorted hard, and then bent double, wracked with sudden laughter. “I changed my mind,” he said, high and breathless between giggles, “I like him! Hey kid, call me Clint.”

Peter pointed finger guns at the hysterical sniper. “You got it, Clint.”

“Mr. Man!” Rhodey repeated, and Peter couldn’t decide whether his tone was affronted or astounded, or a combination of the two.

“I mean, he makes a good point, Platypus,” Tony said, finally moving past Peter and Natasha into the room. He turned to Peter. “You can call me Tony,” he said, and oh no, there was a twinkle in his eye. He’d been asking for Peter to call him Tony instead of Mr. Stark for years, but Peter couldn’t do it. It just didn’t feel right when Tony was literally his boss and mentor. But. But Spiderman would, right?

What a conundrum. On the one hand, he didn’t want to give in and let Tony win, on the other hand, it’d be bizarre if he didn’t, right?

Geez. 

Well, he didn’t have to make a decision now. 

“That over there is Bruce Banner,” Tony said, when it was obvious Peter wasn’t going to respond. “And you’ve met Steve, right?” Tony gestured back to Steve. “You did go all spider-monkey on his back.” And then Peter could practically see Tony have the revelation. His shoulders went back. His eyes went wide.

“He did what?” Sam asked.

“Spider Monkey,” Tony said gleefully. He turned to Peter with wide, evil eyes. “Spider Monkey,” he told him.

Peter pressed his lips into a firm line and resigned himself to his fate. Tony was going to be calling him that for months. 

Natasha brought her hands together in a loud clap. “Alright! Let’s get down to business. Spiderman, if we’re going to be able to teach you anything, we will need to know your fighting style.”

Peter cocked his head to the side. “I thought you said you researched me?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Youtube videos aren’t exactly comprehensive.”

“Valid,” Peter said with a shrug.

“So you’ll be fighting Clint,” Natasha said.

“Why me?” Clint whined.

“I want to watch,” Natasha said, “which is hard to do when I’m fighting. And besides me, you are the most trained in hand-to-hand combat.”

Steve stepped forward. “Spiderman, you’ve got enhanced strength, right?”

Peter nodded. His heart had picked up at the idea of having to fight someone, but he wasn’t sure if he was worried or excited by the idea of sparring with someone in a purely professional capacity. He wouldn’t have to worry about dying, or really getting hurt. It would be a friendly match. Lighthearted! 

Ooohh, he was excited.

“Than it makes more sense for me to fight him,” Steve told Natasha. “That way we can gauge his strength.”

“I don’t care about his strength,” she said. “We know he’s strong. I care about his form. And frankly, Cap, while you can knock ‘em out like a champ, your form isn’t exactly, mmm, correct.”

Steve’s cheeks were just the tiniest bit pink when he nodded and stepped back.

Peter stepped forward, putting himself in the middle of what had become like a wide, awkwardly-shaped circle in the middle of the room. “I am strong,” Peter said, “not that that matters. But should I, um, if I’m going to spar with, um, Clint, should I have a handicap?”

Clint stepped forward as well, and Peter noticed that he too had his knuckles wrapped and had pads on his knees and elbows. “You think I’m that weak, kid?” He cracked his knuckles in an odd display of strength. 

Peter wasn’t a fan of pissing contests.

“Um, no?” Peter said. “I just, you know, I’m like, physically stronger than you.”

“Says who?” Clint asked, and cracked his neck as well.

Peter looked to Natasha. “Is he serious?” 

Clint twisted, cracking his spine. 

“Is he ok?” he asked a little more plaintively.

“No webs,” Natasha said. “Don’t hurt him too bad. Try not to run away, off onto the ceiling this time. That should be enough of a handicap.”

Peter glanced at Clint, who was stretching now, bent in half, touching his toes.

“Are you sure?” Peter asked her.

Her eyebrows went up.

“I’m ready,” Clint said, and that should have been a warning, but Peter sent one more heavy look towards Natasha, trying to say with his stare (with his mask’s stare?) Are you sure? And that was when Clint attacked.

Peter sensed Clint’s approach, silent and quick, only by the displacement of air at his back and the tingle of his Spidey sense tingling up his spine. He leapt up and backwards, jumping over Clint’s head in an extremely tall High Jump (Peter should try out for the Olympics. Maybe). He hit the ground on his shoulder, and followed the natural momentum to continue into a reverse somersault and back up onto his feet. But Clint was already coming for him again, not giving Peter any time to think. The older man went for Peter’s feet this time, trying to swipe them out from under him with a crouching spin, his leg extended. When Peter jumped over it, instead of letting Peter jump away, Clint made a grab for Peter’s ankle. Which would have made Peter plummet to the ground on his back, but...

But Steve was right, Peter was stronger, and it took no thought to twist his body as he fell, and then, catching the floor with both hands, springboard away, twisting his ankle from Clint’s grasp as he went.

“What’s with the both of you attacking me without warning?” Peter asked as he ducked another swipe from Clint, and then rolled behind the man. “Is that an Avenger thing?”

“It’s an assassin twins thing,” Tony said, and Peter spared him only the smallest of glances before having to dodge another grab from Clint.

“Assassin twins, huh?” Peter asked.

“I told you to fight,” Natasha called, sounding almost bored, “not dodge.”

“What if this is how I fight?” Peter countered, but then nodded and said, “Ok, yeah, just caught me off-guard. My standard response is usually—” he went for Clint, swinging his legs up to wrap his thighs around Clint’s neck, and then spun his body in air, which caused Clint to fall to the ground and Peter to land on his feet, “—dodge until I can assess and then attack or whatever.”

“Not a bad plan,” Natasha said, as Clint got to his feet. “But now you might want to focus on fighting, and not on talking.”

Which was wise advice, because when Clint came for him this time, he came harder, and faster than before, and Peter really had to focus on evading and striking. But the chatter he couldn’t turn off. It was a soothing background to him, something he didn’t have to think about. He let his mouth run so his mind could focus on making his limbs move the way he wanted.

He didn’t win, but he didn’t really lose either. 

It ended up being more like a tie, if a valid definition of a tie could be: one person laying on the floor, and the other on the ceiling, both breathing heavily.

“I thought I told you not to use the ceiling to escape,” Natasha said.

Peter looked down at her from his position. His back was flat on the ceiling, one leg pitched up into an upside down V (or… a right-side up V) with his toe tapping against the metal beneath (above?) the flat of his foot. He was the very picture of relaxed. “This wasn’t my escape. I’m just up here to catch my breath.” He pointed straight down, at a similarly prone Clint. “He’s doing it too.”

“No I’m not,” Clint said, but his words were muffled since his face was mashed flat against the mat.

“Did you get what you were looking for?” Peter asked Natasha, ignoring Clint completely. “Do I fight good?”

“It was certainly an interesting fight,” Sam said before Natasha could respond.

“Does he fight good,” Rhodey said beneath his breath, incredulously.

“You fight bad,” Clint groaned, but still didn’t get up.

The gym was a tall room as well as being long, taking up two normal floors worth of space, and so Peter was a good twenty-five feet off the ground when he let himself unstick and dropped unceremoniously to the ground.

He heard someone gasp, and thought it had come from Rhodey, though it could have just as easily come from Sam.

Peter landed in a crouch by Clint’s head. He’d made a loud thump when he landed, but the archer didn’t move. “Do I really?” he asked, and then when Clint didn’t respond, continued, “Fight bad?”

He didn’t think he’d done too badly. Yeah, he’d held back way more than normal, because this was a friendly spar, but he hadn’t actually done things that differently than normal, and he usually, in real fights, got the bad guy or rescued the victims, or whatever the goal was.

“No,” Clint whined.

“You did pretty good,” Natasha said, and Peter looked up at her. “You’re sloppy, and you tend to overextend—you probably expend energy too quickly—but you’re not bad at all.”

“Oh,” Peter said happily, rising to his feet, “Thanks!”

“Next time you come by I’ll start actually training you,” she said. “I’ll review the footage of this fight and see where you need improvement.”

“So no more fighting today?” Peter asked. He thought she would have faced him herself, even once, but perhaps his fight with Clint had been enough. And what about everyone else? Most of the remaining Avengers were still dressed to work-out, and they hadn’t even gotten a chance to sweat.

“Not unless you want to challenge me in marksmanship,” Clint said, still face-down on the floor.

“No guns,” Peter said. “I don’t want them, won’t use them. Thanks but no thanks.”

Clint shrugged, “If you say so.”

Natasha looked down at the man lying so pathetically on the ground. “Get up. You’re not even hurt.”

“I’m comfortable,” Clint mumbled against the mats.

Natasha kicked him, hard, with the toe of her pink shoe. He whined, and curled around his stomach a little, but still didn’t get up.

Sam approached Peter and put a hand on his shoulder. “That was really good, dude. I mean,” he let go of Peter to waggle his hand back and forth in the so-so gesture, “a lot of running away, but if it works for you it works for you, you know?”

Peter shifted. “No offense to Clint—uh, Hawkeye. Clint? Clint. No offense to him, but he really is, like, not nearly strong enough for me to not hold back. Did that sound mean? I think that sounded meaner than I meant it to. Just, I’ve, I’ve got really enhanced strength, so there’s no way I’m going all-out against someone in a friendly, um, uh, bout of fisticuffs?”

“Kid, where did you get your language?” Sam asked with a laugh.

“Woah!” Clint said, rolling to his feet with ease. “You went easy on me? I told you—well, Nat told you not to do that!”

Peter shrugged helplessly. “I didn’t want to hurt you.”

Clint scoffed. “Is that why you dodged so much? You really think you’d take me out with a single swipe? Puh-leeze.”

“No, really,” Peter said. “I’m like,” he flexed, and then dropped his arm because just because he could lift a semi over his head didn’t mean he didn’t still look like a bean pole. “And, um, Black Widow, uh, Natasha is right. I’m not, I don’t have much, uh, training? And I could accidentally hurt someone if I’m not careful, so I try to be very careful.”

“How strong are you?” Steve asked, and he stepped forward. He’d been content to wait around the edges of the group, but now he seemed slightly more interested.

Peter blinked at him. “How do I… um, how do you want me to quantify my strength? Like, by how much I can lift, or…”

“Do you think you could beat me?” Steve asked.

Sam leaned forward. “C’mon, Steve, don’t tease the kid.”

“I’m being serious,” Steve said, and he did sound serious.

“No,” Peter said.

“So,” Rhodey said, “you’re stronger than Clint, but not as strong as Cap. That’s a pretty wide gap.”

“Hey!” Clint said.

“I didn’t say that,” Peter said. “Captain America, I mean, Steve? Steve asked if I could beat him, and uh, definitely not. He’s got experience and a mind for strategy and knows more than me and is cooler. So, he could beat me, definitely. But if it’s just a measure of strength, like pure strength, I’m stronger, hands down.”

“Really,” Bruce said, and his tone was very interested.

Peter shrugged, and then nodded.

“Huh,” Steve said.

“Don’t any of you go on youtube?” Tony asked, and it was the first thing he’d said since before Clint had attacked Peter. He’d been fiddling with his phone the entire time, pretending not to care, or to be bored by the whole ordeal, and Peter had to give it to him, if he didn’t know Mr. Stark, the man’s action would totally have come off as unfamiliar and uncaring. As it was, Tony had definitely been surreptitiously watching the entire time. But Tony had looked bored, uninvested, and hadn’t said anything, and Peter gave him props for not saying anything up till now. But, really, he guessed for Tony this had finally gone too far. “I mean seriously,” Tony said, “literally everything’s on the internet if you care to look for it. There are a multitude—a multitude! Of videos of our friendly neighborhood Spiderman lifting increasingly heavy objects above his head, from tractor trailers to helicopters to pieces of crumbling buildings. That boy can lift.”

“Do you even lift?” Peter asked.

Tony pointed a finger at him, as if to say, do not try me, child, but stayed silent.

“Huh,” Steve said again, this time sounding much more impressed.

“Now do we get to watch them punch each other?” Clint asked.

“No,” Steve said.

“C’mon, Steve,” Sam said, smile wide. “You meet the one guy who can beat you toe to toe, and you don’t even want to try?’

Steve graced that with an unimpressed eyebrow raise. “We’re here to help train him, not use him to test us. That isn’t fair to Spiderman. Also, there are many people who are stronger than me. In this very room alone, nonetheless.”

“Wow,” Peter said in an awed voice, “that’s so America of you.”

Steve gave him a weird look. Or, no, Steve gave him a look that called Peter weird. There was a difference.

Sam and Clint both cackled.

“Do not,” Natasha said, voice stern, looking straight into Peter’s eyes (mask?), and pointing at him with a very sharp and dangerous-looking finger, “become one of them.”

Peter blinked at her.

“I still want to see how strong he is,” Clint whined once he stopped laughing.

Peter scanned the room. “I could, bust through a wall?”

“Please don’t,” Tony said, but he was trying to hide a smile.

“Oh my god,” said Rhodey. 

“We own weights,” Steve said, expression incredulous.

“Why don’t we save that for another day,” Natasha said. “We don’t want to turn our intern into a sideshow attraction.”

Peter pressed a hand to his mouth to keep from giggling.

Tony didn’t, having not been prepared, and let out a little laugh before catching himself and donning, once more, his bored face, lips pressed tightly together.

“So,” Peter said, bouncing a little on his toes. “What now, then?”

“I think that’s enough to get started with,” Natasha said. “We’ll talk over what we think needs improvement, and bring it up next time.”

“Ok,” Peter said. He didn’t know if that meant it was over yet? Was it time to leave? He didn’t want to go, not really. He wanted to stay and actually talk to Tony, maybe hang out with everybody, but the constant, low-level hum of worry that someone would recognize Spiderman as Peter was starting to get to him. 

Plus, everyone was acting weird, or at least, not like themselves. Tony was being quiet and hands-off, Rhodey was being standoffish, Bruce was just silently watching, Steve was in Captain mode, and Natasha was being weirdly helpful? Only really Clint and Sam were acting like Peter’s subconscious expected, and they didn’t exactly have calming personalities.

Anxiety roiled in his belly.

“Want to meet again a week from today?” Natasha asked. “Are Mondays good for you?” 

Peter shrugged, “I think so? I mean, as long as it’s ok with you and, uh, anyone else who’s willing to help me out.”

Then we’ll meet every Monday,” Natasha said. “If something changes, let me know.”

“Ok,” Peter said.

“Then I think that’s it for today, you have a way home?”

Tony spoke again, affecting an uninvested tone. “I’m going to have Happy drive him back,” he turned to Peter, “if that’s ok with you.”

“Do not spy on him,” Natasha said. “We all agreed to respect his privacy. I don’t want to find out you asked Happy to find out where he lives or anything.”

Tony grinned (he already knew where Peter lived), and made a cross over his heart with this index finger. 

“Ok,” Peter said, “it was, uh, nice to meet you all. Or, well, some of you I’ve met before.” When Tony and Sam had been buried beneath a collapsed building. “Still, um, nice seeing you all. Thanks for, uh, wanting to help me?” He turned to Clint. “Thanks for fighting me.”

“Thanks for nothing,” Clint said, but it was with a grin. “I didn’t get a good hit on you even once.”

Which was true, and which probably meant that Clint had been holding back at least a little as well. Peter took it as a good thing that Clint hadn’t actually been trying to hurt him. 

“See you next Monday,” Peter said, gave an awkward wave, and started towards the exit.

“I’ll walk with you,” Tony said, joining Peter as he left the gym. “Happy will meet us outside.”

Which made sense. It wouldn’t be normal for them to just let a stranger (maybe less than a stranger now) roam the Avengers Compound without a guide, or a guard. And this was, when it was all said and done, Tony’s building. 

They didn’t talk as they walked. Peter wanted to ask Tony’s opinion. Had he actually done well? Was anyone angry with him? Did Tony think Peter would be invited back?

No, not Peter. Spiderman.

But they stayed quiet. Someone with super hearing, or someone watching the security camera feeds might feel odd about Tony and Spiderman having the kind of conversation Peter wanted right now. And he wouldn’t put it past them to make sure Peter wasn’t going to try anything untoward. He was still on the outskirts of being considered trustworthy. He got it.

Still, it would have been nice. 

He just told himself that they’d be able to talk like normal soon enough.

Outside, Happy was in the car, waiting for him just as Tony had promised. 

“Thanks,” Peter said, “um, Mr. uh, Mr. Iron Man.”

Tony cracked a smile. “No problem at all, Mr. Spiderman. I’m sorry, Mr. Spider monkey!”  He let out a laugh and Peter sighed. “No, but really, it was nice meeting you,” he gave a little wink. “You did good today.”

“Thanks,” Peter said, relieved. 

Tony slapped his palm against the top of the car twice. “See you soon, kid.”

“Yeah,” Peter said, “see you soon.” Sooner than Monday. And then he crawled into the back seat, and after Happy said he wouldn’t drive until Peter buckled up, and Peter did the buckling, Happy drove off. Back to Queens.

“How’d it go?” Happy asked as he drove through the dark streets. Night had fallen while Peter was sparring, and Peter turned to watch as the lights from the compound disappeared.

“Ok,” Peter said. “I think they like me.”

Happy scoffed. “As if that had never been in question. Peter, even I like you most of the time.”

Chapter Text

Peter didn’t see Tony again until Wednesday, but it was still sooner than the promised next Monday, so Peter couldn’t complain.

What he could complain about, was that as soon as they settled into their work (today they were testing different fibers that could be used to replace Kevlar in some of the bulkier suits amongst the Avengers’ costumes), Tony turned and asked, voice as casual as a Hawaiian shirt over Bermuda shorts and flip flops, “So, excited about your field trip?”

Peter turned to Tony with an expression he hoped looked just as done as he felt in his heart. In his bones.

God, he was so old.

And, he was going to keep that thought all to himself because if Tony heard it, he’d laugh Peter right out of the tower.

But he felt old. Or maybe just tired. He’d say it was anxiety, but instead of the fidgety butterfly feeling in his stomach, he just felt like lead, heavy and unwilling to move. Like anxiety dialed to a negative five. Like dread that was also exhaustion that was also maybe anger?

“You mean the one that’s happening in two days, whether I like it or not?” Peter asked. “The one that you know I’m not looking forward to? The one that is going to be here? At Stark Industries? The location of my internship, which no one believes I actually have?” He paused. “No yeah, totally looking forward to it. Not dreading it at all. Very excited.”

“Geez, Pete,” Tony said. “You don’t have to be so sarcastic. Your tongue is sharp enough to cut.”

Peter scowled. “Well that’s what you get for asking stupid questions.”

Tony raised his eyebrows and Peter let out a long breath.

“I’m sorry,” Peter said. “I’m just—”

“Stressed,” Tony said. “I get it.”

Peter groaned. “It’s not even—I mean, yes. I’m stressed. But I’m not even thinking about it anymore. I’m just, I’m excited for it to be over. I’m just looking forward to being done with it. I’m tired of worrying about it.”

“At least you aren’t catatonic from nerves,” Tony said. 

Peter grimaced.

Tony sighed. “Peter, if you really don’t want to go, let me talk to your Aunt, I’ll…” he shrugged, “we can have a lab day. I’ll call the school, tell them I need you for something official. We’ll make it work.”

Peter considered it. He really did, for almost a whole minute, before shaking his head. “No. One, that wouldn’t exactly help with people like Flash thinking I’m lying about my internship. In fact, bailing on this field trip would be proof, in their minds, that I was a liar.”

Tony nodded. “I wish I could tell you you were wrong. Peter,” he sighed, and looked upward, “I wish I could just fix it all for you.” He met Peter’s eyes. “I’m the fix-it guy. If there’s a problem, people come to me to fix it. You have no idea how much work goes into just housing a group of superheroes, let alone outfitting them for battles and keeping them alive. And… I wish I could just do the same here. Invent something, or throw money at… somebody, and make it all better.” He gestured outward with his hands, showing the range of what he wanted to fix: everything.

“You’d make a good dad, you know that?” Peter asked, and pinched the bridge of his nose because he hadn’t meant to say that out loud. But now, now it was out in the world, and Peter wasn’t going to do Tony the disservice of taking it back. “Um, Aunt May teases me that she’s co-parenting with you, and, you know, Thor called me Sprog-of-Stark because he thought I was your kid, and I think maybe with Clint it’s light teasing, but, Mr. Stark,” he shook his head, and then looked the older man dead in the eye, “Tony, you do so much for me. And you always seem to know just what to say to make everything feel better, even when it’s not. Someday, if you ever want kids, you’ll make a really great dad.” And then he scrunched his eyes closed because ugh, embarrassing.

“Peter,” Tony said, and his voice was a little choked up. A hand touched his shoulder, and Peter’s eyes flew open, and then Tony was reeling him in for a bear hug. It wasn’t the first time Tony had hugged him (though usually Peter was the one who instigated any hugging), but his grasp was stronger than usual. And then Tony drew in a breath through his nose and patted Peter twice on the back very manfully, and shifted away. 

“You had a second point,” Tony said, and his voice was rough, but hey, if Tony was willing to ignore all the feelings that had just happened, Peter was happy to jump on that train and not mention any possible sniffling, or the warmth Peter felt in his own cheeks.

“Right,” Peter said, and then cleared his throat. “One, not going would only be more suspicious.”

“You said that one,” Tony said.

“Yeah, and two,” Peter said, “uh, it’s our Senior trip? So, at least it’s not just going to be my class, or the decathlon team or anything. A fourth of the school is going to be there, sorry,” he shook his head, “here. That’s still weird to think about. But, anyway, that’s like, a hundred twenty kids, plus teachers and chaperones. For the most part I’m pretty sure I’ll be able to just,” he made a gesture with his hand, swooping the hand, palm-down, in a downwards slope, “fly under the radar.”

“Except for Flash,” Tony said, which was… true. Damnit.

 “Yeah,” Peter said, exhaustion suddenly there again. “But that’ll be offset by Ned, and by MJ. Hopefully.”

“If Flash gets too rude or rowdy he’ll be kicked out,” Tony said.

Peter turned to him, mouth open. “Mr. Stark! I asked you not—”

“Not my rules,” Tony said, hands up in surrender. “I mean, technically, they kind of are my rules, but only because the company still has my name on it—which, Pepper and I have been talking. What do you think about Potts Industries?”

“Let me guess, Pepper hates it.”

Tony pursed his lips. Which was a yes. “Anyway,” he said, “it’s just company policy. Rude behavior will not be tolerated on the property, whether from an employee or a guest, and that goes from bullying to horseplay. I mean, we’re not horrible, but there’s definitely a limit where playfulness becomes something worse, and at the upper end of playfulness they get a warning, and anything past that they get kicked out or fired. So, sorry Peter, not my choice, if Flash is an asshole he will be kicked off the tour, and out of the building.”

Peter tried not to smile, but failed.

“Hah,” Tony said, “knew I could cheer you up.”

“Fix-it guy,” Peter said with a smile.

Tony snapped his fingers. “Thank you. Finally, someone appreciates me.”

“Now can we get back to the fabric?” Peter asked. “Are you done quizzing me about the field trip?”

“I reserve the right to return to grilling you about your field trip,” Tony said with a crooked smile, “but yes. We may return to working on the synthetics. I’m thinking about calling it StarkStretch^TM, when we finally perfect it.”

“I wish you wouldn’t,” Peter said. “Kevlar at least sounds cool. It’s a cool word. Kev-Lar. It sounds tough. Stark-stretch sounds like a yoga move designed just for you, which is,” he shook his head, “just no.”

“Nobody appreciates my genius,” Tony moaned dramatically. 

“I appreciate your genius,” Peter said, “otherwise I wouldn’t be interning here. For you. I just don’t… uhh… enjoy your naming methods. I mean, you have a whole machine that helps people deal with traumatic memories, and you named it BARF. You’ve got to admit, Mr. Stark, you don’t exactly have a good track record.”

“I don’t have to admit shit.”

“Admitting is the first step to recovery,” Peter said, and then winked. 

“Smart alec,” Tony said. He gestured to the holographic table. “Get to work.”

“It’s always work, work, work with you,” Peter said, but couldn’t help his smile, and found that really, he felt a lot better than he had before. He still wasn’t excited for Friday, but, well, he wasn’t really dreading it either.

Friday came too soon.

And frankly, Peter was not at all prepared for this field trip, either mentally or physically. Thus, he was running late.

And maybe a little bit he kind of hoped the buses would have left by the time he got there, but mostly he just didn’t want to get in trouble with Mr. Harrington. And like he’d told Tony two days prior, if he bailed that would just give Flash more ammunition against him. 

But it was a moot point because as he rounded the corner, running down the sidewalk, backpack thudding against this spine, he saw that the buses were still there, and Mr. Harrington was standing outside of one, arms crossed over his chest and a frown curling his lips.

“Hi, Mr. Harrington,” Peter said, affecting breathlessness.

“Mr. Parker,” Mr. Harrington said, voice dower, “I’m glad you could make it.” He gestured to the open door on the bus he was standing in front of.

“Am I the last one?” Peter asked meekly as he made his way up the metal stairs.

Mr. Harrington let out a very put-upon sigh. “No, we’re still waiting for Brant.”

“Betty?” Peter asked. “She’s usually pretty punctual.”

“Her mom called to warn us. Car trouble,” Mr. Harrington said very pointedly. “But they’ll be here soon, because they left early, to give themselves time in case something happened. Which it did.”

Peter bobbed his head guiltily and hurried up the steps. 

“Wow, Parker actually came,” Flash announced as soon as he saw Peter. Several faces turned to him. Flash had a seat near the front and was leering at Peter, but whatever he might have said next was interrupted by a friendlier voice.

“Oh, Peter!” Ned called, waving him over. “I saved you a seat!”

Flash scoffed and slumped back into his seat.

“Thanks,” Peter said, and moved past Flash, not deigning even to make eye-contact with the bully.

He slung his backpack down by his feet as he slid into the seat. Across the aisle sat MJ. She usually sat alone, and Peter was pretty sure she preferred it that way. 

“You know we didn’t have to bring our backpacks, right?” Ned asked. 

Peter nodded. “I just, I like having, uh, it with me, in case something happens.”

“Oh, right,” Ned said, and winked. Very suspiciously.

“I also brought a bag,” MJ said, and Peter looked over to her to see a tote bag resting in her lap, atop of which she had her notebook. He pursed his lips.

“Is that for me?” Peter asked, pointing at his face. MJ liked to sketch people's expressions when they were going through internal crises, and she often told Peter that that was why she hung out with him so much. He always looked like he was coming to horrifying realizations.

She was probably right, Peter thought. Too much of his life was him just coming across new stresses and having to figure out how to deal with them. And, truth be told, this field trip was probably going to be full of stress.

MJ shrugged. “You, anyone else who looks like they’re about to cry or explode. I’m actually excited to sketch Flash’s face when he finally figures out you aren’t lying.”

Peter grinned at her. MJ was odd, maybe, but she was a good friend. 

“Alright,” Mr. Harrington said from the front of the bus, ushering Betty Brant ahead of him. “Everyone accounted for? Alright, let’s go!” And then had to go talk to the bus driver. Soon enough they were on their way, a line of three school buses merging onto the bustling street. Peter checked the time on his phone, and then scoffed aloud. They weren’t even late leaving!

“I’m so ready,” Ned said beneath his breath to Peter as the school bus tried to battle its way through traffic. He was practically vibrating in place. He looked at Peter encouragingly. “Are you, ah…”

“Excited?” Peter finished for Ned.

Ned nodded.

“Eh,” Peter said. He didn’t want to bring Ned down. Ned was obviously super hype, and Peter didn’t want to make him feel bad for being excited, but… well, no, Peter wasn’t excited. But he was at least getting used to the idea.

Gosh, it had only taken him a whole month.

But looking at Ned’s hopeful expression, Peter sighed and said, “I’m sure we’re going to have a good time. You’ll love it.” Which didn’t exactly answer Ned’s question, but he accepted it like it had.

“Good! We’re going to have so much fun! Peter, Peter do you think we’ll get to actually meet Mr. Stark?”

Peter made a face. “I doubt it,” he said, meaning ‘no.’ “He would have mentioned it. Though,” he said, head tilted, “he might have forgotten to say anything.”

“Or he’s waiting to surprise you!” Ned said. “Oh my god, we’re meeting Tony Stark!”

“Calm down,” MJ said. She’d exchanged her sketchbook for My Sweet Audrina, and didn’t look up from it. “I don’t think Tony Stark, who is both an Avenger and a billionaire, is going to take time out of his day just to visit some high schoolers.”

Ned looked at her, and then at Peter, and opened his mouth to say something, but instead MJ spoke up again.

“And don’t say he might come for Peter.”

“Why not?” Ned whined. “He likes Peter.”

Peter felt like he had to say something. “Just because he knows me—“

“Likes you,” Ned corrected.

Peter rolled his eyes. “Fine. Just because he likes me, does not mean he’s going to take time out of his very busy day just to say hi to my class. In fact, if he wanted to say hi to me he could just catch me alone. He certainly wouldn’t subject himself to our entire senior class.”

Ned pouted but MJ nodded solemnly, like Peter had just said something very smart, and he couldn’t help but grin.

“Ok,” Ned said, bouncing back to joviality pretty quickly, “then, what do you think we’re going to do at SI?”

He paused, and Peter realized that he was staring at Peter with curious eyes.

“I don’t know,” Peter said.

“Why not?” Ned asked. “You work there, shouldn’t you know?”

Peter shook his head. “I—Ned, I work in the labs. I don’t know anything about giving tours, or even what they do on tours.”

“But…” Ned whined. “You didn’t ask Mr. Stark? Weren’t you curious?”

Peter gave Ned a look that he hoped effectively showed how patently ridiculous he thought that was. “I think I’ve said this, Ned, but Mr. Stark doesn’t have anything to do with giving tours of his building. He probably knows less about it than you do.”

“But you could have asked him,” Ned pressed. “He would have found out for you.”

“Ned,” MJ said drily. “Please stop acting like you’ve never met Peter ‘would rather be anywhere else in the world than on this field trip’ Parker, in your life.”

Ned winced. “Was I being that bad?”

“No,” Peter said, though that was mostly a lie, “but I’d really appreciate it if we could talk about something other than the field trip?” Ned didn’t say anything. “Or at least, please stop asking me if I know anything about it?”

“Ned,” MJ said, “You’re making him nervous. Lay off.”

“I’m not nervous,” Peter objected.

MJ looked up at him, her mouth a thin line.

“Ok,” Peter said, “I’m a little nervous.”

“Don’t be nervous,” said a voice that wasn’t Ned’s or MJ’s. Peter turned around to see Cindy Moon sitting next to Seymour. Seymour had his earbuds in, but Cindy was leaning forward in her seat, obviously eavesdropping. It was times like this that Peter wished he’d remember not to talk about things in public. Geez. Did he have any self preservation instinct at all?”

At least he hadn’t been talking about Spiderman. Just his emotions. Gah!

“Uh,” Peter said stupidly.

“Even if you are lying about your internship,” Cindy said. “Most of us don’t care.”

Peter’s cheeks warmed. “I’m not lying.”

“Then you’ve got nothing to be nervous about,” Cindy said very calmly and kindly, and then pulled out her own earbuds and put them in.

That made Peter’s cheeks warm even more. He must have been as red as a tomato. He slowly turned to Ned, whose mouth was making a little ‘o.’ “Uh, sorry, Peter,” he said.

Peter sighed and slid down in his seat. “It’s fine,” he said.

“He doesn’t mean that,” MJ said.

“MJ!” Peter whined.

She shrugged. “I just tell it like it is.”

“Uh,” Ned said, “I could, I could tell you about the game I starte—”

“Yes,” Peter said immediately, “please, I’d love to hear about it.” Which probably sounded desperate, but Ned (god bless Ned) just ran with it, starting to ramble about some game he’d started playing this week. It wasn’t super interesting to hear about, since Peter had no idea what it was, and didn’t really get everything he was talking about, but it was nice to just think about something else. At least for a little bit. At least until the buses pulled to a stop outside Stark Industries.

Peter stared out the window, up at the giant structure of metal and glass that he’d been to hundreds of times in the past few years. His home away from home.

“Damn,” he muttered under his breath.

“No cursing, Parker,” Mr. Harrington said drily from too close, and then louder, to the entire bus, “Alright class! File out, one at a time.”

Peter hung back, letting most of the other kids file off the bus ahead of him. He might have stayed on the bus indefinitely except that MJ had hung back with him and when he hesitated to exit the bus, she glared at him, arms crossed, until he stood with a sigh. He gestured for her to go first.

“Nuh uh,” she said. “I'm not falling for that,” and gestured for him to exit.

“I'm not going to bail on the field trip. I’m already here. This would be kind of late to dip out now, wouldn’t it?” he asked.

She gestured to the exit again.

Peter sighed, but got to his feet and trudged off the bus. 

“Thank you,” Mr. Harrington said drily from his position on the sidewalk just outside the bus doors.

“You're very welcome,” MJ said in an equally dry voice, as she stepped off the bus behind Peter. 

Mr. Harrington's cheeks turned a light shade of pink and he coughed into his fist and then cleared his throat. “Well, everyone's heading into the lobby. You're both in my home room, right?” It was a rhetorical question. “We're grouping up by home room in there, so find your classmates, I put Flash in charge of my group.” 

Peter rolled his eyes. 

Great. Flash was in charge. That definitely wouldn't go to his head. 

“Cmon, Peter,” MJ said, hustling towards the front doors. 

The lobby was louder than usual what with the hundred plus teenagers milling about, but not by much. Peter scanned the room, and saw Ned waving from a group before he noticed that Flash was heading that group, one hand up in the air like he was asking for silence (which no one was providing him with), and a superior expression on his face.

“Where've you been?’ Ned asked when the two of them had joined the rest of their home room class in a little lopsided huddle next to Ms. Warren's home room. “I thought you were right behind me when I got off the bus, and then you were gone!”

“Peter was malingering,” MJ said.

Ned mouthed the word ‘malingering,’ to Peter, as if Peter knew what it meant. He didn’t. But, he could guess from the context, and it made him scowl. 

“Oh never mind,” Peter said. “If I was going to bail on the field trip, I wouldn’t have waited until we’d already gotten here to do it! I mean, really!”

“Panic,” MJ said, “can give someone cold feet at the last minute.”

Peter groaned. “I’m not going to bail! I’m—” but he was thankfully cut off before he could think of how he was going to finish that sentence, by Mr. Harrington himself, clearing his throat. He’d at some point taken Flash’s place at the head of the class. Flash had his arms crossed, no doubt unhappy to have his leadership role finished so quickly.

“Ok everybody,” he said. “We’ve just talked to the Stark Industries liaison. Every group will be getting their own tour guide. Ours will be joining us soon, so be nice, and behave!”

Peter felt bad for the people who had to put together this tour. Imagine having to deal with over a hundred seventeen/eighteen year-olds. Ick. Peter was getting hives just thinking about it. No wonder they were breaking up the group by homeroom classes. Dealing with twenty-ish kids per tour guide was going to be way better than dealing with the whole lot of them. And heck, Peter was even thankful for it himself. Having to deal with Flash all day was going to be a nightmare, but with only his class he at least had the chance to hear what the tour guide was saying without going crazy from all the noises and distractions of other teenagers whispering and poking fun at one another.

Assemblies were truly horrendous things to experience with enhanced senses, and if Peter could get through the day without having to deal with anything similar to that, he’d count that as a major plus. Standing in the lobby was nearing assembly-level, but thankfully whoever Tony hired to design the interior of his building had made most places pretty echo-free, noise-reducing even, and Peter was eternally grateful. Otherwise he’d have a hard time even working here.

But the noise, the cacophony in the lobby, was starting to get to him, little by little, when thankfully, a woman in a bright blouse, slacks, and very sensible shoes approached Mr. Harrington. Her smile was bright, and she was holding a small box with the SI logo emblazoned on it in a repeating pattern. She stepped up next to the teacher and greeted the whole class, and Peter could hear similar greetings happening amongst the other Midtown classes spread throughout the lobby. Peter could pick them out easily. Clumps of High schoolers all milling in tiny little uneven circles.

What was a group of high school kids called anyway. A herd of cows. A school of fish. A murder of crows. An embarrassment of high schoolers?

That seemed accurate.

“Hi everybody, welcome to Stark Industries!” The woman greeted, in a bright, bubbly voice. Her auburn ponytail swung behind her as she moved her head to look at everybody, and Peter caught sight of an ear piece attached to a wire that ran down to her pocket, with a clip attached to the wire attached high on her blouse. It looked like the walkie-talkie thingies that Peter associated with retail store managers. The clip was the microphone. Had to be.

But she wasn’t serious, like Peter associated with retail store managers. As she talked she moved, never resting, and it made Peter want to pay attention. She seemed enthusiastic by nature, and it was catching. “My name’s Maggie Evans and I’ll be your tour guide today. If you have any questions, at any point, please feel free to let me know. I’ll try to answer everything to the best of my abilities.” Her smile was wide and PR-perfect. “First thing first, however. We here at Stark Industries pride ourselves on how important we take security. If you look around you might notice that every employee has a name badge like this,” she gestured to a badge clipped to her shirt that had her full name ‘Margaret Evens’ and a picture of her own smiling face. The Stark Industries logo was stamped in the upper left corner. “You all turned in a headshot for us to use on your very own personalized name badges! In order to visit any part of the building other than the lobby, you will need your name badge. So if you lose yours, please notify me as soon as possible so we can make you a replacement, otherwise you won’t be able to continue through the rest of the tour. And make sure to wear it visibly on your person at all times. And also, feel free to keep them as souvenirs after the tour, though after today they will no longer allow you access to the upper levels of the building.”

“What do we do?” Flash asked without raising his hand first, “Swipe them every time we go through a door? That’s going to take forever.”

Peter was impressed when Maggie’s bubbly expression didn’t slip. “You won’t have to swipe them at all. Our security is run through an AI Mr. Stark created and installed throughout the entire building. It uses cameras to make sure everyone who is in an area is allowed to be there. That’s why you have to wear the badge on the outside of your clothing, so the AI can see it. If your badge isn’t visible, it will be assumed that you’re an interloper, and you will be quarantined until security can arrive.” She laughed. “But seriously, wear your badges.”

She paused a moment, waiting for any other outburst, but most of the students were too busy looking concerned.

“Alright,” Maggie said, “now I have everybody’s badge right here." She patted the box she was holding. “Yours will all say ‘Guest’ on them. Mine doesn’t,” she tapped her badge with her fingernail, “because I’m a regular employee. Now, before we get to the fun stuff, we’re going to have to go through security, so why don’t you all form a line. When you get to me, tell me your name and I’ll give you your badge, and then you can head straight through the metal detectors.” She laughed again, just as bubbly and bright, and maybe that was her magic power. Peter was sure if he was in her place he’d be flagging by now. 

But then, he wasn’t really a talk-in-front-of-people kind of guy.

Though that wasn’t quite true. He was a talk-in-front-of-people kind of guy when those people were bad guys, when he was in his Spider-suit. He was a chatterbox. He just wasn’t a presenter.

“Sorry for the TSA-like treatment,” she said. “Like I said, SI takes security very seriously. Corporate espionage is a serious concern for us. But as long as you didn’t bring any weapons or anything, you should be fine. Alright, line up!”

Peter’s class formed a wriggly line in front of Maggie. Flash was, of course, at the front. As the last to arrive, Peter and MJ were at the end, and Ned was with them.

Flash got his badge and sauntered, all high and mighty, through the metal detector. The light turned red and a security guard snapped at him to come back out and empty his pockets into the bin. It was the same blonde, bored-looking guard that Peter had seen the last few times he’d come through the lobby. He felt just the tiniest bit satisfied to watch Flash be reprimanded for such a simple mistake.

“We get to keep the badges!” Ned enthused to Peter in a high-pitched whisper as Peter watched Flash get the green light this time. “That’s so cool!”

“What a waste of resources,” MJ said, and Peter turned away from the security officers and towards his friends. “The plastic of those badges probably don’t biodegrade, and to make new sets for every tour group?” She scoffed and shook her head.

Past Maggie, Flash had already made it through security, and was admiring his badge beside several other kids who were doing the same. Cindy was taking a selfie, holding her badge up over one eye and sticking her tongue out. Betty photobombed it, but then they took the next one together.

Ned got to the front of the line first. “Ned Leeds,” he told Maggie. She pulled his badge from the box with no searching, which made sense, Peter guessed, because there should only be three badges left in the box, since the only people left were Ned, MJ, and Peter.

“Welcome, Ned,” Maggie said, and handed him the badge.

“Thanks,” he said, and then turned to Peter, pointed at his badge, and mouthed, “OH MY GOD!”

“Just step this way,” Maggie said, chuckling, and gestured towards the metal detector. The same security guard directed Ned to empty his pockets into a bin for the x-ray, and walk through the metal detector. 

“Pay attention, loser,” MJ said, and sidled past Peter to get her badge. She flicked her eyes at him, and said, quieter, “You’re going to be ok, Peter. We’ll make sure you’re ok.” 

He smiled at her, but by then her head was turned, and she was getting her badge from Maggie. And then it was Peter’s turn.

As Peter approached, Maggie pulled the last badge from her box. She smiled at him, gave the badge a cursory glance, and then—he saw her do a double take, and she frowned. The first negative emotion he’d seen her express yet.

“I think there might be a mistake,” she said. She looked over to the desk, and then smiled at Peter placatingly. “If you don’t mind just waiting a second. It looks like someone made a mistake with your badge. I’ll get you a new one printed in a jiffy.”

“Wait,” Peter said, feeling apprehension curl in his chest. “What’s the mistake.”

She smiled in embarrassment and showed him the badge. “It looks like a printing error. There’s no ‘Guest’ designation, and your name…” she tapped where his name should have been, “see?”

Peter’s badge looked like hers, the picture him and May had chosen and sent to Mr. Harrington was right there, the SI logo was in the top left, but where the ‘Guest’ tag would have been, it just had an ‘O’ and where his name would have gone, it just said ‘O’ Intern O’ Mine.’

Peter sighed. Such a long sigh.

“No,” Peter said, “I don’t think there’s been a mistake.”

“Yo Parker!” Flash yelled. “What’s the hold-up?”

Peter glanced at him, and the rest of this class, watching him debate the merit of his name badge with Maggie. The blonde guard gave Flash a stern glance that had the bully slumping down, and then turned her eyes on the origin of the disturbance, and her eyes met Peters. Her eyes widened.

“What?” Maggie asked, pulling Peter’s attention back to her. “Your name is, uh, O’ Intern O’ Mine?”

Peter winced. “I work here? And I’m pretty sure this is just a prank from my, um, higher up.” Of course, it was actually a toss up. It could have been Tony, but it just as easily could have been FRIDAY. They were both troublemakers.

“And that’s why instead of guest it says…” she started.

“O!” said a voice that wasn’t Maggie’s. Both Peter and Maggie turned to find the not-bored-right-now security guard approaching. She looked at Maggie. “Morning Mags. Playing tour guide today?”

Maggie shrugged. “You know how it is, Lynn.”

The guard—Lynn—nodded. “Sure, sure. Hey, is O giving you trouble?”

Peter prepared to be offended, but then Lynn winked at him.

Flash, on the other side of the security gates, and too quietly for Maggie or Lynn to have heard (too quietly for Peter Parker pre-spider), said, “Wow! I think Parker’s really getting in trouble!”

And then Mr. Harrington shushed him. 

“O?” Maggie asked. “Wait, you know him?”

“Sure I do,” Lynn said. “O’s been through a time or two. He, uh,” she leaned in close to Maggie and spoke very quietly, “he comes up as classified.”

Maggie’s eyes widened and she turned them on Peter, as if trying to see something extraordinary about him.

“I just work here,” Peter said desperately. “FRIDAY’s just playing a prank!”

Maggie blinked at him, as did Lynn.

“You know—you’re friends with Mr. Stark’s personal AI?” Maggie asked, just as quietly as Lynn had. They were both taller than him, but somehow it seemed like they were trying to look up at him. It was terrifying.

“Hey, don’t pry,” Lynn said, and slapped halfheartedly at Maggie’s arm. Then she snickered. “It is classified after all.”

“Oh my god, Lynn,” Maggie said, and they shared a smile of camaraderie.

And then Maggie turned back to Peter and handed him the badge. Peter carefully clipped it to one of the drawstrings of his hoodie, hoping it might spin around and spend most of the day backwards. He didn’t need it anyway. FRIDAY knew him.

“Alright,” Lynn said, and led Peter to the gates.

“Finally,” Flash muttered and turned away. Already most of the class had gotten bored of waiting for him and had started chatting amongst themselves instead.

“Alright,” Lynn said, gesturing through the gate. Peter started to remove his backpack, but she stopped him. “No, it doesn’t matter. You just come up classified either way.”

Peter shrugged, feeling very awkward, and walked through the metal detectors with his backpack on and his pockets full of the normal detritus. The light turned green.

“Weird,” Maggie muttered beneath her breath as she followed him through.

“O!” Someone said in surprise, and Peter thought for a moment it was Lynn, but turning to look, it was the same guard who’d been watching the x-ray the first time Peter had gone through. 

“Amir,” Maggie said, “you know him too?”

Amir nodded. “Yeah, sorry, I tried to catch you last time,” Amir said to Peter. “You, uh, you left a paper here?”

Peter frowned. “A paper?”

“Calc test,” Amir said, and his eyes flicked down and away, as if he were embarrassed about having invaded Peter’s privacy.

“Oh,” Peter said, memory coming back to him. “Ninety-seven percent, right?”

Amir lit up. “Yeah,” he said. “I’d give it back to you, but, uh, I don’t just keep it on my person.”

“Oh,” Peter said. He was going to say that was ok, but Amir cut him off.

“I can send it up to your normal office? Or lab? Or where ever you work? Only, I don’t know where that is.” He laughed awkwardly. “Couldn’t find you in the directory.”

Peter grimaced.

“Come on,” one of his classmates moaned.

Peter’s eyes flicked to his class, and then to a hopeful-looking Amir, and then to Maggie who had stepped away to join Peter’s class, and was saying something to Mr. Harrington. He did feel bad about holding them up.

“Uh,” Peter said, “you can just send it to Mr. Stark? Or, uh, I guess Ms. Potts? She can give it to him, and he can give it to me.”

Amir blinked at him, and Peter abruptly realized that he had kind of just implied that somehow the owner and the CEO of the company would do his bidding? And that was—that was inaccurate at best. He just meant—

But then he watched Amir pull himself together and nod solemnly.

“Or,” Peter said, desperate to salvage this. He really didn’t want anybody to be under the misconception that he was somehow important or special. “You can just ask FRIDAY where to send it. She’ll make sure it gets to me.”

Amir’s screen beeped, and both of them bent around the console to see that the screen now read. “I will take care of it. —FRIDAY.”

Amir gulped. “Ok,” he said with forced professionalism. “You can trust me.”

Peter winced. “Oh no,” he whispered to himself. “How did this get worse?”

Footsteps, loafers on tile, and then Mr. Harrington and Maggie were both there. “Is there a problem?” he asked. He turned to Peter. “Peter, what have you—”

“Nope,” Amir said quickly, “no problem. Just a glitch. But it’s all better now.”

Mr. Harrington gave him an odd look. “O-kay,” he said slowly, but turned back to the class. Maggie followed, her eyes trailing over Peter with curiosity.

Before joining them, Peter gave Amir a smile. “Thanks, man,” he said. “I really didn’t want to get my teacher involved.”

“I know how that feels,” Amir said. “Well, best get back to your tour. I’ll, uh, or I guess FRIDAY will contact me.”

“She’s good at that,” Peter said, and then waved goodbye as he caught up with his class.

In the short time that Peter had stayed behind while Maggie went ahead, she’d already started detailing what their day was going to be like to the class. Peter slipped in between MJ and Ned.

“What was that about?” Ned whispered.

“FRIDAY—I think it was FRIDAY,” Peter said just as quietly, trying to at least half pay attention to what Maggie was saying, “It could just as well have been Mr. Stark. Whoever, it doesn’t matter, made my badge, uh,” he showed Ned, and then MJ, “and it caused a little fuss.”

“Why’s it say that?” Ned asked.

“I’ll explain it later,” Peter said, wishing that he didn’t have to. If only Tony had revised his designation! He could only be grateful his badge didn’t currently say ‘O’ SprogofStark O’ Mine.’

Maggie was on to rules now. Listing the do’s and don’t’s. Stuff that Peter either already knew or which didn’t apply to him.

“And the guards?” MJ asked.

“I’ve met them before,” Peter said. “Left a calc test in the bin a few weeks ago. Amir, the, uh, the guy, he was asking me where he could send it to return it to me.”

MJ grinned. “I bet they think you’re like Stark’s secret son or something.”

If she was looking to embarrass Peter even more, it wouldn’t work. “He wouldn't be the first,” Peter muttered beneath his breath.

“You are telling me about that later,” MJ demanded, but then turned back to Maggie, a silent demand for Peter and Ned to do the same. And they did.

“So,” Maggie was saying, “now we have all those boring rules out of the way, and you know our itinerary, why don’t we move to our first stop? Keep up everybody,” and then she was moving, and the class trailed after her, Mr. Harrington taking up residence at the back of the group to make sure no one wandered off.

Peter didn’t realize a rearrangement was happening until he found himself walking beside Flash, who had apparently slowed down just so he could antagonize Peter.

“What do you want?” Peter asked quietly, aware that Mr. Harrington was less than five feet away.

Flash grinned at him. “I just thought it was funny how you’re already being exposed as a fraud.”

MJ scoffed, Ned sputtered, but Peter just said drily, “Yeah? And how do you figure that?”

“Well,” Flash said with an I-know-more-than-you smirk, “Maggie said all the employees have badges, right? You need them in order to move around the building. Or, like she said, security will come for you. But you didn’t have a badge!” He poked at Peter’s chest in satisfaction, like he’d just successfully proved the Declaration of Independence was a fake. It couldn’t have been any more cartoonishly, and childishly villainous if he’d finished it off with a, ‘So, there!’ 

“Well,” Peter said, “you’re not wrong.”

“Hah!” Flash crowed.

“About me not having a badge,” Peter finished. “But I’ve just never needed it. I’m usually with someone with higher clearance. And not everyone needs a badge. As long as Fr—Mr. Stark’s AI knows you, you’re good.”

Flash harrumphed. “Yeah, right, Parker. Just keep on lying. Eventually they’ll catch up to you,” and then he elbowed his way back towards the front.

“Geez,” Ned said. 

“I agree,” Peter said.

“Oh well,” MJ finished off. “Some people just can’t learn.”

“He will,” Peter said. And then with a little laugh, “I hope.”

Chapter Text

The first stop was the Arc Reactor. Not the small—the many small ones that powered all of Tony’s suits, and which he used as batteries for other bits and bobs in the lab that he told Peter not to mention to Pepper. 

No. 

The big one. The one for show. The one that took up most of a giant room on the first floor of the tower, that Peter knew was a decoy and almost exact replica of the actual arc reactor that lived under the building, powering the whole structure.

It was a fake, one installed as a stop for tour groups and a photo op for people like, well, like Peter and his classmates. But it was still very impressive to look at. Technologically unnecessary (just the size of it was outdated, the arc reactors in Tony’s suits had more than ten times the power output, and were a fraction of the size), but hey, if they tried to show off one of the arc reactors Peter got to see on a day to day basis, one that could fit in Peter’s palm, Peter didn’t think half the kids in class would look nearly as wow-ed. 

“This,” Maggie said, standing in front of the arc reactor, gesturing behind her to the giant glowing doughnut-looking thing, “is the arc reactor. It produces enough power to run this entire building with quite a bit left over. Stark Industries is a leader in green energy and...” and Peter stopped paying attention. This much he knew. He wasn’t Tony Stark’s intern for nothing. 

He looked around the room. They weren’t the only visitors to the arc reactor. There were little groups, smaller tour groups and a few people who, based on their badges just saying ‘Guest’ with no picture, were visitors of employees. They wouldn’t get past the first floor, at least according to Maggie.

Maggie talked a little more about the history of Stark Industries, starting with Howard Stark and moving quickly through the most important landmark moments in the company. When she was done she gestured to the arc reactor and said, “Feel free to pose in front of it, take as many pictures as you want. And if you post the pics don’t forget to tag us,” she winked.

The class scattered, taking out phones and posing for pictures. Ned dragged MJ and Peter to an unoccupied stretch of reactor and forced them into multiple ridiculous poses for pictures.

“You’re sending those to me,” MJ said to Ned, and it wasn’t a question. He nodded emphatically.

“Yeah. I’ll send it to the group chat,” he said. “Wait, I’m posting the best one right now!”

Peter felt his pocket vibrate and took his phone out to see a notification that he’d been tagged in an instagram post. Peter did not look at it.

Something across the room caught his attention as MJ started to drily tease Ned about his obsession with posting to social media, and he turned to see Flash standing disarmingly close to Maggie, who’d been wandering around the room looking over his classmates and their possible shenanigans. She looked appropriately cautious.

“So,” Flash started, “you said you’d answer questions if we had them, right?” 

Maggie bobbed her head up and down. Cheerily she asked, “Do you have any questions about the arc reactor? Or the history of—”

“No,” Flash cut her off, and Peter held his breath, but she merely smiled a smile that would have made human resources sob in joy and amazement, and Flash continued. “Earlier you said all the employees wear badges, right?”

Maggie nodded.

“And there are no exceptions to that rule?” Flash asked.

“Well,” Maggie said, “there are some exceptions.” Flash’s self-satisfied smile dropped off his face. Maggie continued, in a tone that was probably unnecessarily enthusiastic (if that was her way of slighting Flash just the tiniest bit, Peter supported it), “For example, if you ever see Mr. Stark wandering the building, you’ll never catch him wearing a name badge, no matter how much our head of security would love to enforce it. In fact, none of the Avengers are required to wear name badges, nor is Pepper Potts, our CEO, nor any close personal friends of theirs. This tower does double as a weekend-esque home to most of them, and Mr. Stark wouldn’t make his friends and housemates wear name badges wandering around their own home, would he?” She laughed.

Flash’s gobsmacked expression had firmed back up into one of superiority. “But that’s it?” he asked for confirmation. “It’s just the Avengers and the CEO, right?” She opened her mouth. “And their friends,” he said with a roll of his eyes, “yeah, yeah, I get it. But that’s it, right?”

Maggie frowned. “Yeah. What’s this about? You still have your badge, right?”

Flash scoffed and flicked at his badge, hanging from the collar of his shirt. “Obviously.”

“Then why are you asking?” Maggie asked.

“Just curious,” Flash said, widening his eyes in a way that he obviously thought made him look guileless and innocent.

Maggie frowned.

“Uh,” Flash said, “I mean, I thought I saw, like, a, um, an intern! Not wearing his badge! So I wondered.”

Maggie quirked her head to the side. “Well that’s not good. And no, someone like that would definitely have a badge. All interns, certainly, are given one.”

“Hah!” Flash said with gusto.

Maggied blinked at him. “Hah?” she asked.

“Uh,” Flash said, “I just, um, nothing. Just,” he continued weakly, “I mean, hah, like, oh, that’s, that guy shouldn’t be doing that? Ha ha?”

“And that’s funny to you,” Maggie said in a monotone.

“No!” Flash was quick to say, “I just—”

“Peter!” MJ snapped from very close to Peter’s ear. He jerked back and then spun to look at her. She and Ned were both watching him cautiously. “Dude, where were you? We’ve been saying your name for like, a hot minute.”

Peter glanced back to Flash and Maggie. Flash was walking away, wandering back amongst their classmates with a cat-that-got-the-canary smile. Maggie had the microphone clip pulled up to her mouth and she was talking into it. “Yes, one of my tour group students claimed to have seen an intern or possibly a young employee wandering around the first floor without a name badge… No. I don’t think he’s a trustworthy source. Kids, you know? But keep an eye out just in case… Yeah, yeah, better safe than sorry. And if we do nothing and it turns out the kid was right…”

Peter turned back to his friends. He shook his head. “Sorry, I was um,” his cheeks warmed, but he told the truth, “eavesdropping.”

MJ relaxed, leaning back against the bar that surrounded the giant arc reactor, keeping anyone from getting too close. 

Ned just looked confused. “Eavesdropping?” he asked. “Why would you need to?”

“No, Ned,” MJ said with the tiniest of smiles, “the question is, what did Peter hear?”

Obediently Ned turned to Peter and asked, “What did you hear?”

Peter looked around, but no one was paying attention to them. “Just, Flash asked Maggie if any intern was allowed not to wear a badge.”

MJ put it together immediately, her eyes dropping down to glance at his badge.

“Yeah,” Peter said. “I don’t have one, so, I mean, I think he’s just going to use this to try to prove me wrong again? But…” he looked at Flash who was, to all appearances, just chatting and laughing with his friends, “I don’t know what he has planned. He’s waiting for some reason.”

“Cause he’s an asshole,” Ned said with a scowl. “He’s probably waiting to do some big reveal.” He looked at Peter. “Don’t worry about him. It’ll backfire.”

“I’m sure it will,” Peter said, thought he wasn’t sure at all, “but I can’t help worrying.”

MJ sighed and took Peter’s shoulder. He let her move him, bodily, across the room to a position that didn’t allow him to keep an eye on Flash. “Just chill. Whatever happens, we’ll deal with it.”

“We’re here for you,” Ned said simply and shrugged.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” Ned said with cheerful enthusiasm. “Now while you were spying—”

“Not spying!” Peter objected.

“—my mom requested another selfie of all of us. She said I wasn’t smiling in the last one, which is just ridiculous! I was smiling. I was totally smiling.”

He positioned them around, and then made them shuffle again so he could get a better angle from his phone, and Peter couldn’t help but laugh as MJ’s scowl became more and more pronounced. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Peter saw a group including Cindy and Betty hovering off to one side around Mr. Harrington. It must have been close to time to go.

And then, over Ned’s phone, Peter caught sight of a more professional group of people. A tiny swarm of well-dressed business people in suits and pencil skirts and blazers and slacks who were slowly making their way around the outer walls of the giant room. Most of them were glancing at the arc reactor every now and then. Not employees then. The ones that weren’t glancing at the arc reactor were keeping their attention firmly on the people who were. Business visitors being entertained by SI employees.

But oh! It must be an important group of visitors, because there in the middle, making small talk, was the CEO herself, Pepper Potts. Mid-sentence she caught sight of him, did a very subtle double take and then raised her hand in the tiniest of waves.

Peter waved back.

And then she returned to her conversation with a man in a suit, him none the wiser.

“Peter,” Ned whined, looking at his phone. “You, why’d you do that?”

Peter turned to his friend, and then curved his body around so he could see what Ned was looking at. It was a perfect picture. Ned was smiling wide, and MJ looked happy, even lacking a smile as wide as Ned’s, but Peter was blurred, eyes fixed a little higher than the camera, hand half-way raised up, mouth a little open.

“Oh geez,” Peter said, “I’m sorry. I just caught sight of Ms. Potts and wanted to say hi.”

Ned blinked and then his eyes widened. He whipped around, trying to follow where Peter’s gaze would have been. It took a second to connect because the group of business people had moved on, but he finally spotted them. His eyes grew impossibly wider. “Pepper Potts,” he whispered.

“Oh my god,” MJ agreed, and Peter was surprised for a moment before he remembered MJ calling Pepper goals. MJ elbowed Peter in the ribs. “Introduce me,” she whisper-demanded between gritted teeth.

“Me too! Me too!” Ned said.

Peter looked at Pepper, who seemed very busy with her business associates, and then at Mr. Harrington, who now had most of the students and Maggie with him, and was looking between Peter’s group and Flash’s group, eyeing them until they realized he wanted them to approach. 

(Not the smartest strategy. Peter sometimes wondered how Mr. Harrington got to be a teacher. Like seventeen-year-olds were just going to realize their teacher needed them and return. No. He should invest in, like, a megaphone or bullhorn or something.)

“Uh, I’ll ask her if I you can meet her later?” Peter offered. “She looks kind of busy right now. And, um, I think Mr. Harrington wants us.”

Ned and MJ both swiveled to look at their teacher. For a second he thought they were going to refuse and demand to meet Ms. Potts right that instant, but then Ned sagged and MJ exhaled. 

“Fine,” MJ said. “But I want to meet her,” she said through gritted teeth.

“Yeah, of course,” Peter said.

Ned nodded, a silent agreement that he too wanted introductions.

Mr. Harrington was starting to look truly harried at this point and Maggie looked to be very gallantly holding back laughter at the teacher’s expense. She looked unworried.

They made their way back to the teacher, and Maggie, and most of their classmates, who were all standing in a huddle close to the door they’d entered through. As for Flash’s group, they miraculously noticed it was time to go and made their way over on their own. Bizarre. Maybe Mr. Harrington didn’t need to invest in a megaphone.

“Alright,” Maggie said, and clapped her hands once. Immediately all eyes were on her. Mr. Harrington should take lessons from her. “We’re going to move on to our next stop. We’re heading up to Research and Design, and we’ll be talking with Dr. Winters. So, off we go! Everyone keep together, and since we’ll be moving upward, make sure to keep your badge visible.” And then she turned and walked sedately out of the room, the class following along behind her. Flash’s group, true to course, elbowed their way to the front. Peter, Ned, and MJ hung back, with Mr. Harrington taking up the rear. To make sure none of them wandered off, Peter guessed.

But, just as they were going to file out of the room on the heels of Betty and Cindy, who were whispering to each other (and when had those two gotten so close anyway?), a voice cleared its throat and said, “Sorry to bother you, but could I borrow Peter for a second?”

Betty and Cindy continued down the hall, but Peter stopped, drawing Ned, MJ, and Mr. Harrington to a stop as well. He turned to Pepper’s smiling face.

“Pepper!” Peter said happily. She opened her arms and he gave her a quick hug. 

“Hi Peter. Just saw you by the reactor and thought I’d come over. You here with your class?”

Peter nodded. He looked past her to the group of business people who were caught between staring at the giant arc reactor, and the CEO of this company who was currently chatting with a trio of teenagers and their frumpy teacher. “You won’t be missed?”

“They can survive without me for a moment. I’ll be quick, though, so you don’t get left too far behind, though I’m sure you’d be able to catch up with them easily since I’m sure you know this place just as well as Ms. Evans.” She ruffled his hair and he blushed, but he didn’t swat her hand away like he would May’s. He didn’t want the other business people to see him being even more teenagerish. 

Mr. Harrington made a strangled noise in the back of his throat. “Ah, uh, Ms. Um, that is, CEO Potts,” he said awkwardly.

She gave him a polite smile. “Hello. You must be Peter’s teacher. Nice to meet you.” She put her manicured hand out and Mr. Harrington shook it in jerks.

MJ elbowed Peter very hard in the ribs and Peter coughed, drawing Pepper’s attention back to him before he said, “Uh, these are my friends, MJ, and Ned. Ned and I build lego Star War figures, and MJ wants to destroy the patriarchy.”

“Parker, you’re dead,” MJ hissed so quietly that only Peter with his enhanced hearing could hear it.

But Pepper graced first Ned and then MJ with a genuine smile. “It’s delightful to meet you both. I’m sure you’re both wonderful people—any friend of Peter’s would have to be. And thank you for taking care of him.”

Peter blushed.

“He does need a lot of help,” MJ said, the traitor.

“Well, it was nice meeting all of you but I should get back. Ned, good luck with your legos. MJ, I wish you the best taking down the Patriarchy. If you need any back-up, have Peter let me know.” She turned to Mr. Harrington. “Thank you for taking care of Peter too. He’s such a great kid, isn’t he?”

Mr. Harrington swallowed and then nodded emphatically. Not his usual stance on Peter, but Peter wasn’t about to object.

And then Pepper reeled him in for another quick hug. “See you later, Peter. Stop by sometime if you have a chance. I have another recipe for you.”

Peter bobbed his head. “Yes, I will. Thank you Ms. Potts.”

She nodded regally and then spun on her too high stilettos and marched back to her business associates.

Mr. Harrington made a choking noise.

“Yes,” Peter said, turning more slowly than Pepper and making his way out of the room, trailing Ned and MJ, and an almost distressed-looking Mr. Harrington, “she has that effect on people.” He picked up a little speed so they could catch up with their class.

“I can die happy, now,” MJ said very solemnly. 

“You know the CEO of Stark Industries?!” Mr. Harrington demanded, and Peter turned back while he walked to see his Chemistry II teacher looking unhealthily pale, mouth agape.

“Well,” Peter said, a little nervous, “I mean, you knew I interned here. I’m pretty sure you’ve overheard me mention it, and Flash try to disprove it.”

Mr. Harrington gave him a dour look. “Interning at Stark Industries does not actually mean that you know the CEO of the company. Are you her intern? I would have assumed you’d be passing out coffee in the labs or, or, making copies for sales or something.”

Peter winced. “I’m not her intern. I just, I met her? And she’s nice?” He shrugged. He didn’t exactly want to announce that he interned for Tony Stark himself. He still wanted to fly under the radar at school at least a little. 

Ned let a strangled laugh. “She is nice. That’s true.”

Mr. Harrington nodded his agreement, if not with Ned’s words, than with the tone he’d said it in.

There! Ahead of them was his class, filing into a large elevator. One made, no doubt, for tour groups just this size. Peter picked up speed again, hoping, and rightfully so, that the rush would stop any more questioning of his internship, and of the people he might have met in said internship.

He skidded into the elevator right behind Betty and Cindy, MJ right behind him. Ned and Mr. Harrington were a tad slower.

Cindy eyed him up and down suspiciously. “Why does it look like you four were running to get here? Did you leave something behind?”

They hadn’t quite been running, but Peter didn’t correct her. “Something like that,” he said.

“Parker forgot something?” Flash demanded from the opposite corner of the elevator, and then laughed in a demeaning sort of way.

Peter rolled his eyes. 

“No,” MJ said, “he just noticed you’d dropped your dignity somewhere and very thoughtfully picked it up to bring back to you. But, it looks like you’re doing just fine without it, so…”

Mr. Harrington let out a long sigh. “Kids,” he said slowly, a warning in his voice.

Maggie pressed a button on the wall, turning her head to the side to hide her smile while she did so, and the elevator doors closed. 

The elevator rose at a normal speed, which surprised Peter only when he realized it was happening. He was used to FRIDAY rocketing the elevators between floors at high speeds. But, maybe that treatment was only for Tony Stark adjacent people. It would make sense that FRIDAY wouldn’t rocket normal employees, or guests, up and down, since they might be uncomfortable, and… sue? That’s what adults with money did, right? Sue people?

Still, going the normal speed, after multiple years of taking advantage of the elevator fast lane, felt impossibly slow.

Finally the sensation of rising stopped and the doors opened with a pleasant ding.

“Alright,” Maggie said as she led the class from the elevators and down a hall, past glass-fronted lab after glass-fronted lab, “welcome to the thirty-second floor! This is where we keep most of our main Research and Design labs. Unlike the first floor, I’m going to ask you to please not take any pictures on this floor. In fact, it’d be more secure for everyone if you just kept your phones in your pockets the entire time, so I’d recommend doing that.”

“How would anyone even notice?” one Flash’s friends, a kid named Josh Spinelli, asked beneath his breath.

“Because,” Maggie said, having obviously heard Josh’s aside, and having decided to act like it was a genuine question, “this entire building is guarded by an artificial intelligence that takes threats of corporate espionage very seriously. There’s no danger to you as long as you follow the rules.”

“You can’t just have a robot spy on me!” Josh spat out.

Maggie didn’t even stop walking. In a kind voice she said, “If you are uncomfortable with the level of security we have in this building you are free at any time to leave. However, we will not be limiting the protection of our company or employees because you feel threatened that a security camera might rat you out if you break one of our very few rules.”

That shut Josh up pretty effectively.

MJ put her mouth close to Peter’s ear and whispered, “I like her.”

“Me too,” Peter whispered back.

Ned leaned in close as well. “What are you two whispering about?”

“Maggie’s cool,” Peter explained.

“What?” Ned asked, coming even further into Peter’s personal space. “What did you say?”

“Maggie,” Peter whispered harder, “is very cool!”

“What?” Ned asked, in almost a regular speaking voice.

Thankfully, before they could devolve into an Abbott and Costello skit, Maggie opened a door into one of the many glass-fronted labs, and the class filed in.

This room looked to be more for planning and research than experimenting and fabrication, since it had tables and computers, white boards and notebooks, and no chemicals or heavy machinery. Also, most of the tables had been swept aside for a two row semicircle of chairs. In the center of the two rows was a woman in her late twenties with long black hair pushed back from her face by a thick kelly green headband.

“Hi Maggie,” she said, and then looking past the tour guide, said with more artificial enthusiasm, “Hi Midtown! Welcome to my lab! Please, everyone take a seat.” She gestured to the chairs.

As they settled into the chairs (and was it bad luck or was it planning that had Flash taking the seat right in front of Peter?) the woman introduced herself as Victoria Winters, one of the many heads of R&D. Every lab had a different head, which made sense to Peter since every lab was working on different kinds of things. Dr. Winters was the head of StarkPhone R&D. Which also made sense as to why the ‘lab’ looked so much less dangerous than Tony’s lab. Tony created weapons and armor. Dr. Winters made handheld mobile communication devices.  

That’s what she said before breaking into a smile and clarifying that she designed StarkPhones. 

The lecture she gave about SI’s R&D departments, their scientific goals, their plans of a forward technological and more environmentally friendly movement, and SI’s mission statement was, truth be told, a lot more interesting than the one Maggie had given about SI’s history. But then, Peter was a science guy, so…

And then, much too soon for Peter (who would like more details on the new biodegradable hard plastics SI was trying to create so phones that got thrown in the landfill would disintegrate within thirty years instead of the current estimate of several billion years, please) Dr. Winter was thanking them for coming and asking if anyone had any questions.

Peter raised his hand to ask about the plastics and Ned, beside Peter, raised his hand (to ask, if Peter had to guess, about the coding of the StarkPhones, which Dr. Winters had only slightly mentioned) as well, but first she called on Jason in the front row.

After she’d answered his (dumb) question about battery length she called on Sue who asked “How high can I drop it from before it shatters?”

Dr Winters blinked. “The screen isn’t made out of glass but a very strong clear polymer, so… pretty far. Who next?” She pointed to Abe Brown.

“What if aliens try to hack into it?”

An actual possibility.

“StarkPhones are loaded with the most up-to-date anti-virus protection, but we can’t guarantee how advanced any, ah, alien civilization will be, so that’s not something we can really prepare for.”

“How user friendly are the StarkPhones?” Nancy asked. “We have LG right now. Would my grandma be able to use it? Thor?”

Dr Winters actually thought about that one before answering. “Our latest StarkPhones are all pretty advanced technologically, but we do have a subset of phones that are simpler and more user friendly for those who are not comfortable using cell phones. As for Thor, Thor may be an alien, and he may not understand earth culture, but Asgardian tech actually far surpasses human tech, so using a StarkPhone wouldn’t really stump him. I know he has the latest iteration at the moment, as do most of the Avengers.”

Peter raised his hand even higher, but she picked Seymour instead.

“So it’s waterproof, but is it lava proof?” he asked, and Peter slumped into his seat. Peter attended a tech and science school! How could his classmates all be like this?

“No,” Dr. Winters said instantly, and then called on another student. Peter guessed she’d agreed with his assessment of how stupid that question had been and had decided it didn’t warrant any more of her time.

Sally got called on next. “Does it have a warranty in case it gets destroyed by superheroes or supervillains?”

“That’s more of a sales question than R&D,” Dr. Winters said, “but yes, we do have that warranty, though it does cost an extra charge when you buy your phone.”

Finally she called on Ned, but Ned let Peter down. Hard. “Will I get signal out in space?” he asked. “Will space wifi be available in 2021?” 

Peter looked at Ned absolutely agog.

“No,” Dr. Winters said, trying and failing to sound impartial

Peter caught Ned’s gaze and mouthed ‘What the fuck?’

‘What?’ Ned mouthed back.

“If I microwave it, will that charge it?” Josh Spinelli asked.

Dr. Winters’s blink was slow and telling. “That’s a myth. Please never put metal in the microwave.”

“But you said it was a polymer!” Josh objected.

“The main plastics in the phone are a polymer, but there is definitely metal in the circuit board, the speaker, the microphone, the battery, and so on. Next. You.”

“Can I print things from this phone?” asked Amanda. “And if so, can I 3D print another phone from this phone if I use a 3D printer?” Amanda had long blonde hair and an evil glint perpetually in her eye. She didn’t really interact with Peter on a day-to-day basis, and she didn’t talk much in class, and now he was glad, because frankly, why? Why would she ask that?

“I like her too,” MJ said quietly. So far the list of people MJ ‘liked’ included Pepper Potts, Maggie the tour guide, and terrifying Amanda O. Peter wasn’t sure how he was her friend.

“Yes,” Dr. Winters said, “and No. Are there any more questions about the actual StarkPhone line. Yes, you with the hat.

“How is it better than an iphone?” Charles asked, and Dr. Winters looked relieved to actually have a question that had to do with the phone itself, even if it was a very basic question. She answered it in-depth. Probably more in-depth than Charles (or the rest of the class) wanted. Charles then asked a follow-up. “Can I use airpods with it?”

“There’s nothing in the programming we make that would forbid it. But truth to tell, I haven’t actually tried it myself. If they don’t work, that’s on Apple. Ok, I have time for one more question.”

Peter raised his hand up-up real high.

She picked Flash.

(Damn Flash)

“Uh yeah,” Flash said, “I actually don’t have a question about StarkPhones.”

Dr. Winters frowned.

“But I know you guys have interns here? Do you have any interns in your department?”

Dr. Winters’s expression cleared. “Yes we do! Every year we welcome several new interns, and after their internship ends, which generally lasts several years, if they were a good fit with the company, they are asked to come back as full time employees. It’s a great program if you can get into it. It is fairly exclusive. There’s a lot of competition, and you pretty much have to have perfect grades to even be considered. But if you get in, you’re almost guaranteed a permanent place with Stark Industries.”

“Huh,” Flash said, and his tone made Peter narrow his eyes in suspicion. And he was right to be suspicious, since the next thing Flash asked was, “Are any of SI’s interns high school students?”

Dr. Winters’s forehead creased when she frowned, and she tapped a finger against her mouth. “No, I don’t believe I’ve ever heard of Stark Industries offering an internship to a person still attending high school. Occasionally we’ll offer an internship to a particularly promising high school graduate before they enter university, or undergrad students, but for the most part general internships are for college graduates, and graduate students. Sorry, kid, but if you want to apply you’ll have to wait a few more years.”

Flash turned in his seat to face Peter with an unholy sneer across his face, and Peter finally let his hand drop down as he slid lower and lower in his seat. A few other kids also glanced at Peter, though none of them had expressions as cruel as Flash’s. Consternation, confusion, and pity were the main contenders.

“Alright,” Dr. Winters said, oblivious to the tension that had just rocketed up in the room, due to the answer she’d given Flash (not that it was really her fault), “that’s time. I’ve got, uh,” she checked a note she pulled from her pocket, “Ms. Warren’s home room coming in next. But it was nice talking to you all, have a great rest of your day! Hope you enjoy the rest of your day at Stark Industries.”

“Alright kids,” Maggie said, as the students started to get up from their seats, “back out the way we came.” She waved to Dr. Winters. “Bye Vicki, see you later.”

“Still on for dinner?” Dr. Winters asked.

Maggie nodded, and then gestured for Peter’s class and headed out the door.

Peter’s classmates streamed around him, but he stayed slumped in his seat for a beat, waving off a worried looking Ned and a furious looking MJ. MJ marched off, and Peter wondered if she was going to punch Flash, but, nah, probably not. She was too practical to do something that would jeopardize the possibility of her graduating, but it was nice to know she was angry on his behalf. Ned followed her slowly, expression extremely concerned.

When the room was empty except for Peter and Dr. Winters she gave him a confused look. “You’ll lose your class,” she said. “You’d better hurry after them.”

Peter nodded. “Sorry, yeah, just heading out.”

“Ok,” she said lightly, but kept her eyes on him as he headed out.

He paused at the door and turned back to her. “I, um, I was really interested in what you said about biodegradable polymers. I think that’s an amazing idea, and I’d be really interested in knowing more.”

She blinked at him and then smiled. “I’m sorry I didn’t call on you. I would have loved to have talked more about that instead of whether or not the phone is lava proof.” She let out a bark of laughter. And then she checked her watch and sighed. “If I had more time I’d say we should chat about it. But I really do have to get ready for the next class.”

Peter shrugged. What was this little let down in comparison to how absolutely impossible Flash was going to be for the rest of forever now that he’d ‘proved’ Peter didn’t intern here in front of their entire homeroom class?

“But hey,” Dr. Winters said, obviously seeing Peter’s melancholy expression (and really misinterpreting it), “if you’re really interested, if you leave me your email I’ll send you some links on what we can discuss with the public.”

Peter perked up. “I’d love that! Thank you! That’d be really, really amazing!”

Dr. Winters smiled at Peter’s enthusiasm. “Of course. What’s your email?”

Peter whipped his backpack off his back in record time, yanked at the zipper, reached his hand in, tore a scrap from his history notebook, and then couldn’t find a pen. He riffled through his bag, unzipping more pockets, and then looked at her in consternation.

She laughed and handed him her ballpoint.

He scribbled his email: (a reference to an embarrassing in-joke with Ned from freshman year that was now too late to change)@gmail.com, and handed it to her, knowing he looked a little pink. He just didn’t want her to think he was stupid.

“I’m looking forward to future correspondence,” she said, which sounded very professional, and left Peter feeling childish and hot-faced in response.

But he smiled and said, “Me too!”

She laughed. “You’d better get going though. Maggie walks pretty fast. You don’t want to get left behind. It’s not exactly easy to find your way around SI without a guide.”

Peter made a face, because he was fairly confident that he at least knew the building well enough to make his way to wherever, and if he couldn’t find it, well, FRIDAY would help him. But he didn’t say that. He just nodded, said a quick, “Thank you, really!” and hurried from the room, awkwardly trying to zip all of his many backpack zippers as he ran. But, no one in the labs were paying him any mind, and he’d know if he was going to run into somebody, so he let himself put on some extra speed and made up the time. When he reached the elevators his whole class was standing inside and Maggie was holding open the door with an unimpressed expression on her face.

He ducked his head in embarrassment as he stepped in.

Thankfully Maggie didn’t call him out. She just hit a button, one a little higher than the labs had been, and the elevator started moving up.

But Peter hadn’t escaped completely unscathed.

“You really need to stick with the class,” Mr. Harrington scolded, “we don’t want you getting lost. Again. Can’t afford another trip like DC.”

Peter grimaced and Ned reached out a hand and grasped Peter’s wrist, a gesture meant to provide comfort.

“Sorry, Mr. Harrington,” Peter said.

“Did you leave something behind again?” Flash asked with a smirk, “What was it this time? Your dignity?”

“Eugene,” Mr. Harrington sighed, “do not harass Peter.”

“Sorry, Mr. Harrington,” Flash said, but his tone and his expression both said he wasn’t sorry at all. Peter couldn’t remember Flash ever looking as smug as he did in that moment.

Chapter Text

When the doors opened, it was to bright, natural light and the soft sounds of gurgling water and padding feet. 

This was… this was a place Peter had never been to before. The space seemed as high as two floors, and the natural light filtered in through giant panes of glass that curved outward and up in vertical domes that made up three of the four walls and part of the ceiling of this area. The floor itself was almost like a jungle, if a jungle could be made up of potted trees and bushes. Granted, the pots the plants lived in were huge, and were mostly made of artificial rock formations that Peter could easily have believed natural had he not known they were, in fact, here, in a skyscraper in the middle of Manhattan. And the gurgling, that must mean there were fountains somewhere, perhaps down one, or more than one, of the many paths that the formation of potted plants made through the area. And down some of the visible paths Peter could see cushioned benches and private tables in nooks of the garden. It looked so relaxing.

It was gorgeous. A little slice of park, of fabricated nature, here in the middle of this tower of glass and steel. It reminded Peter of Central Park, a little square of nature in the middle of an artificial land.

“Welcome to Stark Industries’ atrium,” Maggie said, and led the way out of the elevator. Peter, Ned, and MJ were near the front this time since they’d been the last to get on the elevator, and they stayed close on Maggie’s heels as she walked. “This floor was renovated to be an atrium rather recently, and most of the staff have yet to make regular use of its facilities, but it’s sure to become more popular as time passes. As it is, it’s a perfect spot to bring tour groups for a bit of relaxation and room to stretch your legs, especially after sitting for a lecture. Not that Dr. Winters’s talks aren’t worth it.”

Peter concurred. Dr. Winters’s lecture was very worth is.

“Feel free to walk around. There are some fountains near the center of the room, if you want to rest there are benches, and if you want a gorgeous view of the city go to one of the domed windows. Also there’s no restricted phone use on this floor, so feel free to catch up with your instagrams and tweeters and what not.”

There was a twinkle in her eyes that made Peter think she was yanking their chains.

She stopped in front of one of the paths, where part of the hardwood floor started to disappear under foliage, and turned to them. “And please remember that this is a place of business. If you see someone doing work, do not disturb them. Anyone you see here is most likely an employee. I’m not saying you can’t talk to them, but if they’re busy and turn you away, don’t be upset. Or surprised.” She paused. “Well?” she asked. “What are you all just standing around for?” She gestured to the paths.

“So you just want us to walk around?” Cindy asked.

Maggie nodded. “Yep! There’s a Starbucks hidden in here as well if you want a snack, but remember that we are going to lunch after this, so don’t spoil your appetite. Or do—I’m not your parent or your teacher. You lot are almost adults. Do as you wish.”

Someone in the back of the class said, “Score!” and a few students laughed.

“And there are some things hidden around that might interest visitors, informational plaques,” Maggie continued. “Ostensibly that’s the reason we bring you up here. But this is a free-roam area, there’s no lecture, and I find most tour groups like to use this time to explore, chat, and relax. We tend to go very fast-paced here and I like to give the group time to kick back.” She shrugged. “Just keep an eye on the time,” Maggie added thoughtfully, “in thirty minutes we’ll be moving on, and I’ll make an announcement but voices don’t tend to carry here and if I have to come look for you that’s going to take time out of your lunch. Everyone understand?”

There was general flurry of nodding, and then Maggie spread her arms. “Then go on, explore.”

And the teens scattered. 

MJ led Peter and Ned down a side path that looked the most secluded.

“Well this’ll be nice,” Ned said. “No more surprises.”

“More time for everyone to start gossiping about me,” Peter muttered as they wandered down the meandering path, barriers of trees and vine-covered trellises creating what little privacy they could get in this indoor garden. “Everyone must be convinced that I have been lying by now. God. Did you see the way everyone was looking at me?” He dropped his face into his hands and let out a pathetic, quiet moan.

“No, no, no,” Ned said, trying to be comforting, and rubbed small circles into Peter’s back, between his shoulder blades. “No one thinks you’re lying about your internship.”

“Everyone,” MJ said bluntly, “thinks you’re lying.”

Peter groaned again.

“MJ!” Ned hissed. “Not. Helping!”

“It doesn’t help to lie to him either,” MJ said. “But on the bright side, Peter,” she said, “no one hates you for it.”

“Flash,” Peter muttered.

He could practically feel her roll her eyes. “Flash doesn’t count. He’s a constant. But the rest of our class, well, no one else hates you Peter.”

“They just think I’m a liar,” Peter said into his hands, and then lifted his head. He let out a quiet sniffle but his eyes were dry and his lips were pressed into a hard line. “And pathetic.”

Their silence was telling.

“Something else will happen,” Ned said consolingly. “I mean, this isn’t like the, ah, lies to hide your…” he trailed off, but the ‘secret identity’ was implied. “This is the truth.”

“Oh the irony,” Peter said drily.

“But something else will pop up, and you’ll get your chance to prove you do intern here. I just know it.”

Ned’s optimism was warming, though it did little else to soothe the feeling of dread that was crawling over Peter.

“I actually agree,” MJ said simply and Peter looked at her in surprise. “Seriously. Ned is right. This isn’t like you’re trying to prove something that isn't true. Your internship is real.” She shrugged. “Something will come along.”

Peter blinked. “Ok,” he said, feeling better enough that the prospect of lunch no longer turned his stomach. 

They wandered through the paths, and every now and then the voices of some of their classmates floated back to them, but by the time they reached a huge, opulent fountain in what must have been the middle of the room, they’d only actually passed three people, and all of them in business attire.

“Pepper must have designed this floor,” Peter said as they strolled around the fountain. He watched Ned try to take a selfie with the fountain as he walked backwards toward it, and had to grab his friend as the boy almost tipped himself backwards into the water. 

“Thanks,” Ned said, a little self-consciously.

Peter bobbed his head.

“You think the CEO took time out of what must be her very busy day,” MJ said, “to design a whole floor of her company? I doubt it.”

Peter shook his head. “No. I mean, maybe? But I just meant that if Tony had had a hand in designing this floor it’d be all sleek edges and sharp lines and wide open spaces. This,” he gestured all around him, “all this busy-ness, the nature, the green, and the, like, all the curlicues and decorations in the metalwork and in the fountains. Even the benches and tables are fancy. If Tony was in charge they’d be ergonomic and straight-backed but these are all uber cushy and,” he whirled his hand around, “you know.”

“I don’t actually,” MJ said very casually. “I’m not on a first name basis with Tony Stark, so no, I don’t really know his design style.”

Peter winced. “Yeah, well, um.”

“I think it’s cool,” Ned said, looking around. “It’s like, what’s that french place, the Palace of Versailles?” He pronounced it ‘ver-sel-is.’

“You’ve never been to the Palace of Versailles,” MJ said, emphasizing her pronunciation (‘ver-sigh’).

“I’ve seen pictures,” Ned defended, “or, well, I’m pretty sure I have. This is kind of like that, right?”

MJ didn’t answer right away. There was a man on a bench across from the fountain, and as they rounded the enormous water feature all three of them quieted so as not to disturb him. His pale blond head was ducked over a book he was reading. The Illustrated Man by Ray Bradbury. He looked a little out of place, but Peter couldn’t quite think of why. The man was wearing a button-down shirt with a tie, but no jacket, and slacks with no belt. He didn’t have a suitcase with him and was wearing soft-looking loafers. He looked almost right. But… 

Peter shook his head and dragged his eyes away from the man. It was probably nothing.

Once MJ deemed them far away enough to chat without being annoying, she said, “Unlike you, I actually paid attention in world history. This place is not nearly as decorated as the Palace of Versailles. I mean for one, there are zero chandeliers, or paintings of naked ladies or baby Jesuses. So…” 

“I get it,” Ned grouched. “I just, it’s very fancy. Old fancy. This is how I imagine the greenhouse looks in the Haunted Mansion, if, you know, the ride was an actual house.”

“I assume you’re not counting the Eddie Murphy movie?” Peter asked, hardly paying attention to what he was saying. Instead he had twisted a little, trying to subtly take another look at the man on the bench. He was maybe ten feet behind them now, but from this distance and in this direction, Peter could see the man’s silhouette, and it was vaguely familiar.

Peter's forehead creased in thought.

“Of course not!” Ned exclaimed. “No one counts that movie! It’s a horrible movie.”

“It’s a fun movie,” Peter said, distracted.

Ned scoffed in disgust.

“It feels almost gothic,” MJ said musingly, ignoring Ned’s outrage. “Except with more warmth, more woods. And less wing-back chairs.”

The man hadn’t moved at all. He was handsome, in a classic sort of way. Aquiline nose. Pale blond hair. High cheekbones. But he didn’t even blink as he read.

He might not even have been reading at all. Peter couldn’t see his eyes moving back and forth. Maybe he was just staring at the book.

Ned swung his head back and forth, making a show of looking around. “I don’t see anything goth about this. It’s not dark or creepy. What are you talking about?”

But no, there, the man turned the page of his book and shifted just a little. He didn’t look more comfortable in this position—not that he looked uncomfortable either. He didn’t look anything. No expression crossed his face, neither relief nor irritation. It was like he’d shifted just to shift. For no reason.

Peter peeled his eyes away from the man in time to see MJ punch Ned in the shoulder. “You know what I mean, Leeds. Not goth. Gothic.”

“Ow!” Ned exclaimed, and rubbed his shoulder. “That hurt!”

“That’s what you get,” MJ said.

Peter couldn’t help but glance back one more time, and in that moment, his eyes tracking the man as he glanced swiftly over him, he saw the face that the man’s face looked like. The features were the same but the colors were all wrong. Pale blond and fleshy when it should be green and maroon and metallic.

The realization stopped Peter cold, and it took a moment for Ned and MJ to realize he wasn’t with them and to back track. 

At this point, Peter was staring at the man openly. At this humanesque version of Vision. But it had to be Vision. It was. This was Vision.

Only, looking oddly human, hanging out in this SI atrium, reading Ray Bradbury.

It might be the Ray Bradbury that threw Peter the most. Peter had figured, what with Vision being an—an alien, or an android or something, that he’d find Ray Bradbury’s old-fashioned and outdated ideas of space travel… unpalatable. Of course, Peter could only claim to have read two, maybe three, of Bradbury’s short stories, and those in Middle School, so maybe they were better than he remembered. 

Still.

“Hey,” Ned said, catching at Peter’s shoulder, “dude, what’s up?” Ned followed Peter’s gaze. “Do you, uh, know that guy or something?”

Peter blinked away from Vision, and turned to his best friend. “You could say that. I think.”

“You think?” MJ asked skeptically.

Peter shrugged. “I, um, I don’t want to bother him? But I think I do know him, and I want to go say hi, if it is him.”

“O-kay,” MJ said, like she was just humoring him. But hey, what else was new? MJ humoring him was a big part of their relationship. It was a lot better than the alternative.

(The alternative being MJ not giving him the time of day).

“Give me a minute?” Peter asked, and then before they could agree to hang back, he walked off, retracing his steps back to the man with the pale blond hair. He stopped in front of him and stood until the man pulled himself from his book and looked up at Peter with nothing more than polite curiosity on his face.

Peter second-guessed himself very briefly (what if this wasn’t Vision? What if this man just had very similar bone structure? If it was him, he’d have recognized Peter, right?), but then shook himself and smiled and said, very quietly, “Sorry if I’m bothering you, but, um, I thought it’d be rude to go past and not say hi. So, uh, hi. Um. Vision.”

Maybe this was a stupid idea. Obviously if Vision had wanted to talk to him, he would have said something earlier, when Peter first walked by. 

Vision blinked, and then something rippled in him, and suddenly he didn’t look quite as human. He hadn’t really changed, but his eyes were a little more electric, his edges a little less solid, his skin smoother. Not like plastic, but like all the little lines and wrinkles that show that a human has aged, and has lived, were no longer as deep or as real. He looked younger, and more alien, but he’d still pass as a human for the most part.

“You recognized me,” he said in surprise.

“Oh,” Peter said, “I mean, yes. It took me a second, but like, you didn’t seem… right. And you, um, you have hair now? And your skin is like human skin, but your face still looks the same.”

Vision considered this. “I didn’t seem. Right,” he said, like he was tasting the words in his mouth as they came out.

“Yeah,” Peter said, feeling awkward.

“How?” Vision asked, though he did not seem offended, merely curious. 

Peter chewed on his lip. “Well,” he said, “you didn’t move enough. Like, even when people are sitting they, like, fidget and stuff.”

“Who is he?” floated back to him from Ned.

“Dunno,” MJ said, sounding bored.

“I did move,” Vision said.

Peter scoffed. “Yeah, like, once. I saw it. People don’t just, like, become statues when they’re reading, they fidget a lot. Especially when they’re not paying attention. Give my Aunt a good book and within twenty minutes she’ll be tapping her foot, playing with her hair, shifting between sitting and laying and sitting and laying, all without even noticing. We’re not good at sitting still. Also your face didn’t change at all. Like, whatever you were reading you didn’t care about, but not in a bored way. Like, in an apathetic way.”

Vision hummed. “Thank you,” he said. “I will work on this.”

Ned’s voice from a distance said, “What if he’s in trouble? I’m going over there.”

“Does he look like he’s in trouble?” MJ asked exasperated, but when Ned’s feet started across the floor, hers (lighter and with a longer stride) followed.

“Work on acting human?” Peter asked, as he took a look back at his friends who were now approaching. Ned at least had the good grace to look sheepish about it.

“Yes,” Vision said. “It may come in handy someday. And it is a useful skill to be able to blend in with one's perceived peers, yes?”

Peter nodded slowly. “I guess?”

“Plus,” Vision said, “it is nice here,” he gestured to the high glass windows letting in the sun’s light, and the towering green around them, “Peaceful. Sometimes when I wish to be alone, to think, I come here, and I like to visit without drawing any attention. If I came as myself I would no doubt draw attention, so I come like this.” He gestured to himself. “But I am always seeking new ways to improve. To become more realistic.”

“Oh,” Peter said. He didn’t know what to think of that, but he supposed that was Vision’s business, and his choice first, so he just nodded.

And then a protective hand landed on Peter’s shoulder. “So,” Ned said, “do you know this guy?”

Peter looked at Ned, and then at Vision. If Vision didn’t want to be recognized, introducing him to Ned ‘Yes, Peter knows Spiderman’ Leeds was not the way to retain the man’s anonymity. MJ could keep a secret. Ned spouted half-truths at inconvenient moments almost like it was a contractual obligation.

But Vision smiled welcomingly (still a little too statue-like. He smiled to a certain degree, and then the smile just stuck like that. Peter wasn’t sure Ned or MJ would notice, but to Peter, now he knew it was happening, it was obvious) and said, “Yes, Peter and I have met before. I am Vision.”

“Vision,” MJ said with a scoff, “like some—”

But Ned cut her off. “Vision!” he semi-shouted, and only Peter yanking at his elbow reminded him to continue his speech in a more level tone. “One of the Avengers! Like, actual, the actual Vision!” His face dropped. “Wait. You don’t look like Vision.”

Vision met Peter’s eye and made an expression that it took a second for Peter to realize was sardonic. 

And then Vision looked like, well, himself. Peter didn't even blink. Just, one moment Vision looked human(ish), and the next his skin was maroon and forest green so dark it might have been grey (or did he consider that green to be his hair? A smooth, metallic hair to match his smooth, metallic skin). A glowing yellow gem in the middle of his forehead glinted in the light. And he was sitting on his cape on the bench, which kind of ruined the drama of the transformation.

“Is this what you were looking for?” he asked Ned.

Ned was gaping at Vision, and he made a noise that might have been an agreement. Even MJ looked impressed, and that wasn’t exactly easy to accomplish.

Vision’s expression was blank, but there was a curve to his lips that didn’t look like apathy.

“You’re just teasing them,” Peter said. It wasn’t quite a chide, but it was an accusation. He grinned at Vision, who grinned back.

“I don’t get much chance to do that number,” Vision said with a shrug, and then once more he was human-toned, flesh and hair and shirt and pants. Though the color of his button-down was a shade different and instead of loafers on his feet he had oxfords.

“Oh my god,” Ned said with a gasp. “You’re him! You’re really—”

MJ punched him on the shoulder and he cut off with a gasp. “Nice to meet you,” MJ said, holding a hand out which Vision shook with solemnity.

“Ow!” Ned whined. “Ow, ow, ow! MJ!”

“You as well,” Vision said.

“I’m MJ,” MJ said. She gestured to Ned, who was rubbing his shoulder vigorously, “this is Ned.” 

“I’m Vision,” he returned the greeting.

“And you know, Peter already,” MJ stated, though it was really a question for Peter.

“Uh, yeah,” Peter said quickly. He didn’t want MJ, or Ned, to assume that Vision knew Peter for Spiderman reasons (Vision had never even met Spiderman, of course he wouldn’t know Peter was Spiderman), and mention… something. Something that would indicate to Vision that Peter was Spiderman. Frankly, that was an extra stress that he just did not need today. So he filled in the rest with alacrity. “I told, I mean, I’m pretty sure I told you guys,” Peter said to MJ and Ned, eyes wide and pleading, “that I’d met a few of the Avengers when I was with Mr. Stark, visiting their compound. Vision was there, with Sam and Wanda.”

“And later, Steve Rogers and James Barnes,” Vision added helpfully. He looked at MJ and Ned with serious, guileless eyes. “Peter is an excellent cheat at cards. He beat us all quite soundly,” he told them.

MJ’s mouth dropped open and her head swiveled towards Peter. She hadn’t looked this shocked when she found out Peter was Spiderman, and the sudden surprised attention made his cheeks heat up.

“Let’s not get into that,” Peter said.

“No,” Ned said, not looking nearly as surprised, since Peter had in-passing mentioned that part to him earlier. “I’m actually very interested in you teaching me how to cheat at poker.”

“First you have to learn how to play,” Peter teased.

“You cheat?” MJ asked. “You? Peter Parker? You cheated?”

Peter’s face grew even hotter. He must have looked like a lobster by now. “Never for money,” Peter said. “I mean, I can.”

“He did,” Vision added, and Peter couldn’t decide if he was being dense or purposefully throwing Peter under the bus because it was funny to watch Peter get more and more flustered.

“To prove a point,” Peter said, “not for money.”

“Huh,” MJ said, and holy moly, she looked impressed. Dang! 

“He can do other card tricks too,” Vision volunteered.

Peter frowned at Vision. What was Vision doing? Trying to impress MJ for Peter? That was… something. Oddly nice, maybe? Or bizarre. Good-intentioned? But if Peter was going to impress MJ he’d like to do it on his own terms. Maybe.

“Card tricks?” MJ asked Peter.

Peter shrugged, trying to act cool.

“You’ve got to teach me those,” Ned demanded.

Peter pursed his lips.

“Me too,” MJ said.

“I guess,” Peter said. “But it’s partly just because of my—” he caught himself before saying ‘enhanced senses,’ “my, I, I mean, um, my, me, my—me practicing. Just… just that. Lots of practicing.”

Ned scoffed, not having caught on. “I can practice, Peter. That was very insulting!”

Peter blinked at him.

“Ah,” Vision said. “So your poker cheatery is a learned skill, but your tricks involving sleight of hand come from your enhanced senses.”

Peter blinked at him. “My—I’m sorry, my what?”

Vision paused, and then stated, but as if he was just coming to this conclusion as it came out of his mouth. “You did not know that I was aware that you are Spiderman.”

Peter’s heart froze. “Uh,” he choked out, “um, no.” 

Vision blinked at him. It was a slow, purposeful blink. And then he looked past Peter, to his friends. He examined them. “Do they not know? They do not seem surprised by my words, Peter. Perhaps they discovered your—”

“No,” Peter said, waving his hand before him, to ward off Vision’s words. “That’s not—I don’t—they…” he made a swirling gesture with his hand, to encompass everything.

“Oh,” Vision said, “I apologize, they did know, but I am not supposed to. I see. I apologize for frightening you with my frank remark.”

Peter wasn’t sure how Vision kept gleaning truths from the gibberish that fell from Peter’s lips.

Also, his heart was beating wildly somewhere in the vicinity of his larynx and he felt that if he wasn’t careful he would vomit it up. It wouldn’t take much. 

“Peter’s not Spiderman,” Ned said frantically, and not very convincingly, eyes wide and staring at Peter in such horror that Peter wondered for a moment if maybe Ned also had a stake in this secret identity business.

(What else are best friends for, though?)

“Yeah,” MJ said, a portrait of cool, calm, and collected, “Parker’s not talented enough to be that web-slinger.”

Peter was somehow grateful and offended at the same time.

Vision’s eyes jumped to Ned, and then to MJ, and then back to Peter. “I won’t tell anyone,” he said, “if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Peter’s heart fluttered against the back of his uvula. He swallowed it back down.

“I had already made the assumption,” Vision continued, “that none of my fellow Avengers knew. Surely if they had, Natasha Romanoff would not have invited your alter ego to the compound with such secrecy, yes? So, if that is your worry, do not worry any longer. I can keep a secret.”

Peter gulped. He looked at his friends, but they were only looking back at him with worry and uncertainty, looking to him, as well. Looking to him to make the decision. He grimaced at them, but threw caution to the wind. After all, it wouldn’t make any sense for Vision to lie. And it wasn’t like he could somehow make Vision not know. Take back the memory. So he just had to believe that Vision wasn’t lying about not telling anyone else.

He took a deep breath to steel himself, and said, “Thanks, for, uh… agreeing not to tell anyone.” He spoke quietly. He knew that no one was close enough to overhear their conversation, but, well, better safe than sorry and all that. “I… this is the only way I can think to protect everyone I care about. If my identity was out in the open, bad guys might focus on my Au—loved ones, and friends. I won’t always be close enough to protect them.”

Ned dropped a hand onto Peter’s shoulder, and it grounded him, just a little. 

“Of course,” Vision said simply.

“Peter’s nice,” MJ said, “and don’t get me wrong, dude, I’m grateful you’re not going to spill the beans. But if I ever find out you betrayed Peter’s trust I will find you, and I’ll rip that yellow diamond off your head before shoving it down your throat. So watch yourself.”

Peter’s face grew a little warm. “MJ!” he hissed. “Don’t threaten Vision! He—”

But Vision’s own laughter cut him off, and even though the laughter was short-lived--the man(droid) himself looking surprised enough at the outburst to cut short the sound--the sound itself had been loud and lively and oddly enough, happy. It made Peter smile reflexively, and he felt his shoulders drop into a more relaxed position.

“Child,” Vision said to MJ with a smile, and even though ‘child’ should have sounded like an insult, in Vision’s smooth tones it didn’t, “do not worry. I would not betray Peter Parker’s trust. I am young, younger than you, if you can believe it, though I was formed from a being much older. I may not have lived long enough, nor had the circumstances exactly right to empathize with the need to protect my loved ones by hiding myself. My loved ones can all protect themselves fairly accurately. But I do understand the desire to protect. And I respect that.” He looked at Peter, smile still playing almost wistfully around the corners of his mouth. “And I think maybe you do not just hide your identity to protect those you love, but also perhaps because it is sometimes nice to walk the world with anonymity. Be able to help strangers and friends alike, and then take to the streets in another face, so no one would hinder you or ask more from you than you’re willing to give.”

Peter nodded stupidly, mouth hanging open just a little.

Vision’s smile widened and he gestured to himself, his flesh-tone and pale blond hair and shirt and slacks. “I do understand that. Just a little.” He let out a laugh, more constrained and purposeful than the last one but it rang just as true.

Peter didn’t know how to respond to that besides another strangled, “Thank you.”

“No need to thank me,” Vision said, “it is just the right thing to do.”

“Still,” Ned said.

Vision nodded once, accepting the thanks.

“How did you know?” Peter blurted out. The thought had been bouncing in his head since Vision had stated his knowledge of Peter’s superhero-ing, but it had taken a backseat until now.

Vision cocked his head to the side. “How did I know you were Spiderman, you mean?”

Peter nodded.

Vision was still and silent as he thought of how to answer. “I guess you have to understand, first, that I am, at my very core, a combination of two of Tony Stark’s most intelligent AIs. I think like a computer thinks, or at least, that’s how I was created to think. I’m trying to learn to be more human. Part of why I venture out into the Atrium now and again. But as a computer, with a brain that made both the AI that almost destroyed the world, and the AI that took care of Tony for most of his adult life, I have algorithm after algorithm running all the time through my head. That’s just how my brain works. And algorithms are best at picking out patterns. Through my eyes, it is quite obvious that you are Spiderman. Same height, same voice, same moral code, some way of walking, etcetera etcetera, and there’s much more. Every video of Spiderman that has ever been uploaded to the internet is in my databanks, every inflection and movement.”

“Oh,” Peter said.

“So it’s not like he gave it away somehow,” Ned said.

“Ned,” Peter said, “you know how careful I am!”

“Mmm-hmm,” MJ said, “then how did Ned and I find out in the first place?”

“I told Ned,” Peter said.

“Which wasn’t very careful of you,” MJ said, as if Peter had just proved her point. “Ned’s a blabbermouth.”

“MJ!” Now it was Ned’s turn to be offended in a higher pitch.

MJ shrugged. “And I figured it out on my own,” she continued. “I didn’t need an android’s brain to make those connections.” 

Peter frowned petulantly.

“That’s not fair,” Ned said. “You cheated!”

“How did I cheat?” MJ demanded.

Ned sputtered.

“You have common sense,” Peter said, accepting defeat if it meant getting to make fun of Ned for that stupid remark.

MJ snapped her fingers. “Exactly!” She turned to Vision. “I’m sorry for bothering you with such idiocy.”

“That’s quite alright,” he said. “I was just sitting here after all. Reading.” 

“Yeah,” Peter said, “I noticed. Bradbury, right? Didn’t he write about, like censorship and space travel?”

“Yes,” MJ said, her tone verging on disappointment. Like she was ready, fully expecting him to say something stupid so she could call him out on it.

“But he wrote ages ago,” Peter said. “He’s ancient! His space-y stuff must be so outdated.”

MJ’s hackles fell.

“Oh, it is,” Vision said. “He wrote when it was widely believed that it rained constantly on Venus, so in his story that takes place on Venus, it rains without end. He put his modern technology into the stories, for readers to recognize and relate to, but which now seems terribly outmoded, such as his reference to phonographs. And, frankly, his knowledge of science concerning both outer space and human biology is inaccurate at best. But I don’t read it for accuracy. Or enjoyment, though I do agree with a few of his turns of phrase. He is famous, humans have been reading his works, and loving them, for decades. It is interesting to ingest such a human medium. History and fantasy, what people thought, what they knew, what they desired, what they still desire today. I don’t read him for the space element of it. I read it for the human element.”

“Huh,” Peter said.

“I get it,” Ned said, “but I think there’s better stuff out there to get a feel for human-ness than Ray Bradbury. I wasn’t really a fan of Fahrenheit 451 myself. Like, have you seen Star Wars yet? Now that’s a great example of humanity.”

“Oh my god,” MJ groaned.

“I have, actually,” Vision said. “It is apparently a ritual amongst the Avengers, to watch the three original films every few months. I have seen the others at least once apiece, but it seems the three that were first created are on the movie rota far more often.”

“Oh heck yes!” Ned said.

“I think you’re missing his point,” Peter said.

MJ just gestured to Peter like what he’d said needed nothing added. And also like it was the only sane response.

Ned ignored them both.

“Me and Peter are trying to build all of the spacecrafts and- stations from the movies out of legos! Not, I mean—there are lego kits. But, they’re really cool.”

“Legos,” Vision said, like he only sort of understood.

“Yeah,” Ned said.

“They’re little plastic builder block things,” Peter explained. He held his fingers apart to simulate the appropriate size to fit a lego brick between them. “The fun of building the ships is putting all the pieces together. Like a puzzle, but with directions.”

“And at the end you’ve made the Death Star! Or the Millennium Falcon!” Ned crowed. “Oh my god, you should join us!”

MJ scoffed. “So I’ve known you how long? And I’ve never gotten an invite to your little boy club lego days or whatever, but you just meet Vision and suddenly he gets an invite?”

“Do you want to come?” Peter asked, surprised.

“Of course not,” MJ said. “It sounds lame A-F.”

Peter pressed his lips together. “Well there you are, MJ.” He shifted his gaze to Ned and Vision, and Vision was looking, well, oddly expectant was the only way he could think to describe it. He frowned, and then it came to him. “Oh! Yeah, feel free to stop by. No idea when the next time will be, but, uh, if you’re free you’re more than welcome. I’ll—I guess I’ll let you know.”

“Thank you,” Vision said solemnly, “for inviting me.”

Ned squealed in delight. Horrible, high-pitched, and loud delight.

“Quiet,” MJ said. “If you attract any of our classmates—but especially Flash—I will personally kill you.”

“Your classmates,” Vision said, which Peter was starting to think was his way of asking for clarification. Which felt odd, because the way he said that made it sound very much like a statement. But before Peter could explain, Vision answered himself. “You’re here on a field trip with your school.”

“Yes,” Peter said.

Vision tilted his head. “And they brought you to the atrium?”

Peter shrugged. “Time to stretch our legs?”

“Starbucks,” Ned said.

“I’m personally obsessed with the architectural choices,” MJ said.

“Ah yes,” Vision said, “I overheard you three discussing it earlier. You wanted to know what the style is?”

MJ leaned forward, finally looking excited about something. “Yes!” And then in a tone that was designed to sound offhand and careless. “It looks vaguely Gothic, or Victorian, but I wasn’t quite sure.”

Vision nodded. “Yes, Pepper Potts hired an architect who designed the Atrium to be faux-1880s French Renaissance style chateauesque. It’s actually quite accurate to that style and that time period, with but a few modern additions.”

“Called it,” Peter said. “I knew this was Pepper’s idea. If it had been Tony’s it would have looked way different.”

“Bragging isn’t a good look on you,” MJ said, though Peter knew if she had been proven right, she’d do just the same. He stuck his tongue out at her.

“Peter is quite right,” Vision said. “If Tony had had a hand in this it would be much more modern. And he can put on quite the act of narcissism. I’m sure if he’d gotten involved, there would be a fair amount of self-indulgent feats of architecture.” 

Peter was nodding. “He likes thinking of ways to prove he’s rich and narcissistic and thinks he’s better than you, to the public at least. Who knows? If Tony had had a say, then maybe,” he looked around, and then focused on the fountain across from the bench Vision sat on, “this fountain, right here, might be covered in thousands of tiny Iron Men, flying around it or peeing from the top like cherubs, or something.”

Ned laughed at that image, but Vision just nodded.

“No,” Vision said, “Tony had no part in this atrium at all.”

“Thank god,” MJ said.

Peter shrugged. “I don’t know, it coulda been fun.”

MJ glared at him. “I like it the way it is,” she said.

“And I think a fountain with thousands of bronze Iron Man miniatures would be hilarious to look at,” Peter pointed out.

“Uncultured,” MJ said with a sigh.

“Ooohh,” Ned said. “That’s new. Usually we get ‘immature.’”

“Oh don’t worry,” MJ said, with just the tiniest hint of a smile she couldn’t quite suppress. “You’re both still very immature.” 

“Thank you for that,” Peter said.

And then the quiet strains of a voice worked their way into Peter’s ears. It was very quiet, but unmistakably Maggie’s. She was calling all the kids back. If Peter hadn’t had super-hearing he wouldn’t have heard her at all. He checked the time on his phone. Twenty-eight minutes had passed since Maggie had freed them.

“Time to go,” Peter said.

“What?” Ned asked. “That can’t be right. A half hour has passed already?”

Peter nodded.

“Huh,” MJ said, checking her watch. “Sure enough.” She dropped her arm. “Wild.” Then she turned to Vision, putting a hand out, which he shook very gently. “Nice to meet you. Hope to see you again sometime.”

“I’d like that as well,” Vision said.

Ned put his hand out for a fist bump and it took a long second for Vision to imitate the gesture, but when he did Ned bumped it enthusiastically. “See you at lego night sometime?”

“I wouldn’t miss it,” Vision said.

Peter approached Vision, feeling like a handshake was too formal, but a fistbump was too casual. Vision solved Peter’s internal dilemma by grasping Peter by both shoulders.

“Peter, I will see you very soon,” he said.

Peter blinked. “You will?”

Vision smiled and let go of Peter. “You are coming back to the compound as Spiderman next week, right?”

“Oh! Yes! Sorry, yes, you’ll be there this time?”

Vision nodded.

“Oh cool! Yeah, I’ll, uh, see you there.”

“You will,” Vision said. “Now, you should probably return to your peers.”

Peter checked his phone again. “Yikes. Yeah, we’d better go. See you later!”

“Enough chatter,” MJ said, and put a hand in the middle of the backs of each of the boys and pushed, herding them back the way they came.

Peter turned back long enough to see that Vision had his head ducked once more in The Illustrated Man.

Peter had never eaten at the cafeteria at SI before, but apparently that was where Midtown School of Science and Technology was having lunch. Maggie led them from the Atrium, back into the elevator (an awkward elevator ride where no one quite met Peter’s eyes, and he was grateful, because he didn’t want to meet anyone else’s eyes either), out into a floor that was much busier than the lab areas had been, and then into a giant cafeteria.

“You each have credit attached to your IDs,” Maggie said as she wove them through the room, already pretty crowded with SI employees and the other five homeroom classes from MSST. “Feel free to use it all, what you don’t use, you lose, so don’t ask about getting cash recompense for what you didn’t spend. If you go over the ten dollars pre-loaded into your account, you’ll have to pay for whatever surpasses that out of your own pocket.”

They’d already heard this from Mr. Harrington back at school, and Peter didn’t really get why they had to hear it again. But then Maggie stopped at a long table in a more secluded area of the room.

“This is our table,” she said. “You can get lunch from any of the counters. We have a wide variety of foods, from pizza to curry to burgers to general tso’s. The ID and your credit will work anywhere in this room. But after you get your food please make your way back here so we can account for all of you. Ok?”

There was a flurry of nodding.

“Excellent!” she said and clapped her hands together. “Then off you go! I’ll be here until you return so you’ll know which table is yours, so don’t worry about losing me. But then I’m off to get my own lunch, so don’t take too long.” She laughed, but Peter got the feeling that she was actually being extremely serious, and as they headed off to get food, he vowed to get in and out as quick as possible.

“Wow,” Ned said as their class moved towards the various food counters, students dispersing in different directions depending on what caught their fancy. The room looked more like a mall food court than anything that Peter would consider a cafeteria. This was nothing like what his school had. Maggie had been right, the room was packed with different kinds of foods, and honestly, it all smelled so good. 

“Wow is right,” Peter agreed.

“What are you getting?” MJ asked them.

Ned’s head swung back and forth, eyeing the various food stands with terminator-like intensity. “How could I possibly choose?”

“Well I want a poke bowl,” MJ said, pointing to a counter with a brightly colored sign. “See you later, losers.” She walked off.

Ned and Peter exchanged glances. 

“I guess we’ll meet her back at the table,” Peter said.

Ned shrugged. “Yeah. Hey, do you want waffles?”

Peter made a face. “Not for lunch!”

“What do you mean, not for lunch?” Ned demanded. “Waffles are an anytime food!”

“You come into my house,” Peter said, “disrespect my opinion on the correct time to consume waffles!”

“This isn’t your house,” Ned scoffed, and then said, “Well, I’m getting waffles, so you can go and find some non-waffle sad food for yourself.”

Peter stuck his tongue out at Ned.

“Meet you back at the table?” Ned asked.

“Sure. Whoever gets there first can grab us a corner.”

Ned nodded and wandered off, and Peter turned his eyes back to the options. What to eat, what to eat. Admittedly, part of the problem was that Tony provided dinner so often nowadays that Peter felt spoiled. If he’d come here freshman year with ten free dollars to spend on whatever he wanted, he would have lost his mind. But as it was, it didn’t feel like anything special.

In the end he decided on pizza just because it’d be quick even if it was on the other side of the cafeteria. And he did want to be snappy so Maggie could get to her own lunch in a reasonable amount of time.

He made his way quickly across the large room and slid into line behind a tired looking business woman. She gave him a dismissive glance and then returned her gaze to her phone. Peter shuffled his feet. The line moved, the woman moved, Peter checked his own phone.

He had a text from Aunt May asking how the field trip was going, to which he responded that it was going absolutely great, super fun actually, wild. It was likely Aunt May would sense the lie and wheedle the truth out of him later, but for now it might stop her from worrying and that was important.

Tony had also texted him, but reading it just made Peter confused.

Not my fault, Tony had texted. I didn’t even know about it! Well, I guess I did, but I didn’t put two and two together. Sorry! Don’t hate me!

Peter furrowed his brow. 

What was Tony talking about?

He tapped to reply, but then didn’t type anything, his thumbs just hovering over the keyboard. Finally he decided on a simple: What are you talking about? He would have liked to have asked more detailed questions, and tell Tony that of course he’d never hate the man, but that seemed like too much, and it was too hard to get it out. Plus the question he did ask was probably the most important, at least for the short term. 

He didn’t get a response before it was his turn to order.

And how much could he order before it became suspicious? He didn’t care how cheap pizza was, he was definitely going to go over the ten dollar limit with how much he’d need to consume to truly feel full. (Has he mentioned? His metabolism was supersonic and it was ruining his life. He was hungry all the time.) But he’d brought cash (thank you, Aunt May) for that eventuality.

Whatever, these people didn’t know him. None of his classmates were close by.

“I’ll take a large pepperoni,” Peter told the guy at the counter.

The man didn’t even blink. “Alright, anything to drink?”

Peter ordered a large soda to go with it.

“Alright, your pizza will be ready when you pay,” the guy said, and then gestured Peter down the line. The business woman in front of him had a tray with a single slice on it. 

Peter checked his phone again, but there was no response from either May or Tony. He texted Ned, just for something to do.

Ended up getting pizza.

Ned’s response was instantaneous (at least some people could be trusted to respond quickly).

ZA!

Peter laughed into his phone, and typed: Absolutely correct. I’m getting a whole Za

Ned was a little slower this time. His response was: You’re going to eat a whole pizza in front of the class? Not that I don’t think I’m hungry enough to eat a whole pizza myself right now.

Peter’s face fell. Thankfully there was no one around who’d care. 

I hadn’t thought of that.

“Alright,” said a voice in front of Peter, and Peter jerked his head up to realize he’d been moving forward while he was texting Ned, and now he was at the front of the line. “You ordered the large pepperoni and large soda, right?”

Peter nodded.

“Alright, your total is $24.98,” he said pleasantly, and Peter winced. It wasn’t exactly more expensive than a large pizza Aunt May would get any day of the week, but still, oof. Peter wasn’t made of money. “Will that be cash or card today?”

Peter pulled his ID off. “I have credit on this, and then I’ll cover the rest with cash.”

“Tour group, eh?” The man asked as he swiped Peter’s ID on the side of his register. “Having fun?”

“Yeah,” Peter said.

“You guys visited the museum yet?” he asked. “That’s my favorite part.”

“No,” Peter said, and then frowned. He hadn’t been paying attention when Maggie announced the itinerary, so wasn’t even sure if they would be visiting the museum.

“Well don’t worry,” the guy said, “the best is yet to come.” He tossed his head to get his floppy hair out of his eyes, but it didn’t work. “You’ll love it. Here,” he handed the badge back to Peter, and Peter absentmindedly clipped it prominently on his shirt collar “And it looks like it’s covered. You’re good, you had enough on there.”

“To cover twenty-five dollars?” Peter asked incredulously. “I was told we had ten dollars.”

“Yeah,” the guy said, now frowning a little himself. “That’s the normal amount for tour groups, but uh,” he squinted at his screen, “it looks like yours was maybe a hundred? You have seventy-five and some change left.”

Peter’s mouth dropped open. “What? Is it some mistake?”

The guy shrugged. “I doubt it. They’re pretty good about catching that sort of thing. Maybe you misunderstood your guide?”

Peter didn’t think so.

“But hey,” the guy said, “if you’re worried about them realizing it was a mistake and making you refund them, don’t worry. They wouldn’t do that. If it was a mistake, finances will own up to that.”

Or, Peter thought, it was more likely Tony had somehow altered his card so he’d have more money than his peers so he could actually feed himself a substantial lunch. 

At this point, Peter was going to have to get Tony a really good birthday present to thank him for all of this—all the things Tony had done, or was willing to do, for this field trip.

Wait, was this what Tony was talking about in his text? What had he texted? That it wasn’t his fault? That he didn’t even know about it? That didn’t… quite track.

“Here’s your pizza,” the guy said, drawing Peter’s attention back to the food. He was holding a large boxed pizza, and on the top of the cardboard was the SI logo, bold and eye-catching.

“Thanks,” Peter said.

“Don’t forget your drink,” the man said, giving Peter a full to-go cup. “Free refills at any of the kiosks,” he said. “Thanks for your patronage, have a great day!”

Peter walked away, blinking. Tony’s text circled his mind, but his hands were busy carrying a pizza box and a soda, and his feet were busy trying to keep him from running into anything while he wound his way through the fairly crowded room.

If the credit thing had been what Tony’s text was about, he’d have to talk to the man about how not to leave confusing text messages. And if that wasn’t what Tony’s text was about, well, then that was something he still had to worry about. 

Did Tony have any idea how confusing and worrying cryptic texts could be? 

Actually, probably yeah. He definitely did, and did not care.

Excellent.

A familiar form wrapped in grotty sweatpants and a holey t-shirt sat at a table by himself, half bent-over a bowl of pasta. The sight caught Peter’s attention and he halted.

“Excuse me,” a harsh voice said from behind Peter in a tone of voice that actually meant, ‘watch it!’ The owner of the voice, a harried looking man, pushed around Peter and past him. Because Peter’s abrupt stop had caused a minor traffic jam.

Embarrassed, Peter rushed off the busy walkway and into a cluster of tables in the direction of the familiar figure. Since he was here, he might as well say hi. He stopped in front of man and noticed that the bowl of pasta was, more specifically, macaroni and cheese. The man didn’t look up, didn’t seem to notice him. 

“Hey Clint,” Peter said.

That caught Clint’s attention, but it seemed to take effort for the archer to lever himself into an upright position. And then his eyes widened.

“Peter!” Clint said happily. He straightened the rest of the way up with less dramatic effort. “Good to see you! What are you doing? Don’t just stand there, pull up a chair! Join me!” He kicked out the seat across from him and Peter dropped into it.

“I don’t have a lot of time,” Peter said.

Clint waved his hand. “Fine, fine, I’m not here long anyway. Ugh, I’ve got to finish my mac and then go change into,” he made air quotes, “‘real clothes.’ Like these aren’t real clothes.” He picked at the shirt he was wearing, which was in an advanced state of deterioration. 

“Why?” Peter asked. “Why do you have to change? And, I mean, no offense, but why are you here at all?”

Clint put a hand to his chest. “I’m hurt! I’m wounded! Are you saying you don’t want me here? Kid, you’ve cut me dead!”

Peter blinked at him. “You don’t live in the building, and I’m pretty sure you don’t have to come to the Stark Industries cafeteria to get food. There’s a ton of delivery that will deliver to the tower, and probably food in the kitchen upstairs.”

Clint shrugged. “The Mac and cheese here is actually fantastic. Made with real cheese and everything! Not just that processed cheese product stuff.”

“You came all the way from upstate New York to get cafeteria macaroni and cheese?” Peter asked incredulously.

“No,” Clint said. He reached over and lifted the lid of Peter’s pizza, but Peter smacked his hand away and grabbed a slice for himself. He didn’t plan on staying here long, but he didn’t want his food to be anything less than piping hot, so why not eat a little now? “Avengers PR is making us do more outreach stuff, so like, now we’ve got to do a lot of people-oriented community stuff? It’s actually pretty boring. I’m going to die! Like, Sunday there’s a hospital visit, and next week there’s this fundraiser charity gala thing and—listen, Pete, I don’t look good in a tux! I don’t clean up well!”

“I'm sure you clean up fine,” Peter said, piling pizza slices two and three on top of each other and stuffing them in his mouth. He chewed, chewed some more, swallowed, and said, “So, you’re just staying in the tower until Sunday? And then into next week? Or…” 

“No,” Clint said, and Peter took advantage of Clint talking to finish his double-decker pizza slices. “We’re here today for some PR thing with, I don’t know, kids I think? Avengers PR people told us, but frankly, I don’t care. We’re supposed to give a talk or something to some snot-nosed teenagers, which means I have to put on real clothes on casual Friday,” again he gestured to his disgusting clothes, “and do a, I think it’s a Q-and-A, with some whiny kids! Like, and I mean, one kid, two kids, fine. But a whole group of high-schoolers all at once? Ick!”

Peter abruptly realized what Tony’s text had been about. The Avengers were doing a Q-and-A with Peter’s entire graduating class. 

He could feel his eyes widening, his chest getting tighter, but he made himself keep taking deep breaths.

At least Tony hadn’t known about it ahead of time. If he’d known and chosen not to say anything that would have sucked. Like majorly sucked.

God, talk about worlds overlapping. Peter didn’t particularly want the Avengers to meet him amongst all of his classmates. He wasn’t even sure, really, why, except that he didn’t want these worlds colliding. He already didn’t like all his classmates wandering around his place of work, but his classmates talking to the Avengers? The people he’d just really met himself?

But said Avengers probably wouldn’t even notice him, not with over a hundred other seventeen and eighteen year-olds in attendance. 

Maybe he was jealous. Was he jealous? He didn’t want to be jealous, but it was distinctly possible. He liked the Avengers, and he wanted the Avengers to like him. They were cool people. And Tony!

This meant Tony would be there too! Unlike the other Avengers, he’d definitely know Peter was there. Obviously he was already aware of it. He’d even text-warned Peter about it, though in a very confusing way.

Ugh! He just didn’t want this to happen!

But, he could at least tell Clint that not all the high schoolers would be snot-nosed.

“That’s my class,” Peter said.

Clint blinked at him. “Wha?”

Peter smiled though it felt weak in light of his sudden realization. “I’m a highschooler in Stark Industries in the middle of the school day. Did you think I was just hanging out here? No, my school’s touring the building. And, I mean, I wasn’t really paying attention when the tour guide announced our plans today, but if you have a talk planned with a group of high-schoolers, I bet it’s my class.”

Clint grinned suddenly. “Oh hell yeah!”

“Yeah?” Peter asked, blinking.

“Yeah,” Clint said. “I mean, if it’s you, you’re a good kid, your classmates must be ok too.”

Peter winced. “I don’t know if I’d agree with you there.”

But Clint waved that worry away. He shoveled a bite of macaroni and cheese into his mouth with a new wave of cheer.

“It’ll be fun,” he said.

“Sure,” Peter said, because he didn’t really agree with that.

“Eat,” Clint demanded. “I’ve got to hurry up and finish. Gotta go change.”

“So now you’re excited,” Peter said, but obediently ate another slice.

“Sure,” Clint said. “I’m going to go tell Thor that his favorite ‘Intern-child,’” the way he said it made it obvious that he was quoting the Norse god, “will be at our boring PR lecture-thingy. He’ll be psyched!”

Clint downed the rest of his pasta at breakneck speed. 

“See you later, Peter,” Clint said and cackled. “At the Q-and-A,” he clarified, as if it needed clarification, and then hurried off.

Peter blinked after him, and then closed the lid to his pizza box and rose. He made his way slowly back to the table Maggie had declared his class’s. To his surprise he wasn't even the last one there. He’d figured the detour to hang out with Hawkeye would have delayed him into being the last to arrive, but there were still a few kids getting food, and Maggie didn’t even seem upset or anything. She was waiting patiently, chatting with Mr. Harrington. MJ and Ned had snagged seats at the opposite end of the long table, and that’s where he settled as well, trying to take up as little space as possible on the table, which was impossible since his lunch was an entire large pizza.

MJ waved a greeting as he sat. Ned nodded and said, “Look at this waffle! It’s gorgeous.”

“Ned’s a monster,” Peter told MJ.

MJ gestured to Peter’s pizza. “You’re both monsters.”

Admittedly, her poke bowl did look very adult and fresh and delicious. Peter stuck his tongue out at her.

“Hey Parker,” Flash called from a few seats down where he was sitting with Josh and Seymour.

Peter looked at Flash, feeling an odd mix of annoyance and dread. Flash had already convinced the whole class that Peter was a liar, what more did he want?

“I saw you talking to some guy before you got back here.”

“Yeah?” Peter asked, dragging the word out in the hopes that that would hint to Flash that Flash was wasting Peter’s time.

Flash grinned. “Yeah. What were you doing? Harassing some poor employee? What, were you trying to convince them to pretend they know you? Well it’s too late, everyone already knows you’re a liar.”

Peter blinked. “Flash, I don't even know where to begin with that.”

“Let’s not unpack it,” Cindy called from down the table. “Flash! Stop bringing this up all the time! We know you’re obsessed with Peter, but this is taking it too far. I, for one, am tired of overhearing your constant diatribe against him.”

Flash sputtered. “I’m not obsessed with Parker!”

“Sure you’re not,” Betty said. She was sitting across from Cindy and looked very bored with the conversation that was now, somehow, involving the entire class. Jason, who was sitting with the two girls nodded as well.

“I’m not!” Flash snapped. “It’s just suspicious that Parker was chatting up some random employee!”

“Well then,” MJ said, “let’s ask Peter. Peter, why were you chatting up a random employee?”

The idea of Clint, Hawkeye, archer and Avenger, being just a random employee made him snicker. “I wasn’t chatting up any random person. I was chatting with a… well, a friend of mine.”

“Because you do intern here,” MJ said, “and you do know some fellow employees here.”

Before Peter could respond, Flash had cut in. “Shut it, Jones! You’re just embarrassing yourself now! We already proved that Parker was making the whole internship thing up.”       

“You didn’t prove anything,” Ned said with a scoff.

Flash put on a dramatically sympathetic expression. “Poor Leeds still believes it too.”

There was a screech as Ned pushed back his chair and Peter put a warning hand out to him, but before anything could be done, or a fight could break out, Maggie stood, drawing eyes to her down the whole length of the table.

“Alright, guys,” she said, “I’m heading to my lunch. I’ll be back in,” she checked her watch, “around twenty minutes. Finish up by then because you guys definitely don’t want to miss out on our next stop!”

And then she was off, walking confidently towards a line at the cafeteria.

Flash opened his mouth, doubtlessly to start in again, but Betty cut him off, by loudly demanding what everyone’s favorite part of the tour had been so far. Jason gamely chimed in about the sculptures he’d found in the atrium, and Flash scowled but kept his thoughts to himself.

“Thank god,” Peter muttered, and opened his box to draw out two more slices.

“So who was your friend,” MJ demanded quietly.

Ned nodded.

Peter let his mouth form a grin. “Did you know Hawkeye was in the building?”

Ned’s mouth fell open, and Peter couldn’t help but laugh at his friend, MJ chiming in with her own, quieter laugh.

Ned pushed aside his waffle. “Tell me everything!”

“There’s not much to tell,” Peter said, but he tried his best anyway, talking quietly to ward off any possible eavesdroppers, and Ned and MJ cut in with enough questions that Peter hadn’t even had the chance to tell them everything by the time Maggie returned and informed them that they were moving on.

Chapter Text

Pizza guy was right—at least if Peter was using the awed and excited expressions around him as a form of measurement. Peter’s class, almost in its entirety, looked completely awed as they walked into the large, expansive room that was the Stark Industries Museum. And yes, Peter was impressed too, but from where he was standing he could see most of the displays, see at least what kind of displays they were, and they were tech.

Which, yes, was totally Peter’s thing, but they seemed to be tech from history to the present, and frankly, Peter had for the most part seen all of this stuff before, had, in fact, seen the more recent and more impressive stuff SI was working on that wouldn’t be in this museum for years. He had made some of the stuff too advanced to put in the museum, and he bet if he looked, some of the stuff he’d made when he first started working with Tony would be in the back of one, if not more, of the displays.

There were a lot of displays.

“C’mon!” Ned said, face absolutely aglow, and rushed off into the main body of the museum. “I see Iron Man suits!”

Should Peter remind Ned he worked on Iron Man suits on the daily?

No, that would be cruel.

Peter followed his friend, with MJ just a few steps behind him. But they were by far not the first to enter the area. Students already had their phones out, flashing pics of the pieces of tech, and the life-sized picture of Howard Stark on the wall, and taking selfies with the Iron Man suits and using the various murals along the walls as photo op backgrounds.

Ok, it was a very cool, interactive museum. Peter would have to tell Pepper how much he liked it.

“Remember,” Maggie called as she walked amongst the kids. “Feel free to take pictures in this portion, as long as you don’t use flash.” They wouldn’t need flash. The room was very well lit. “But,” Maggie continued, “there is no photography allowed in the lab at the back of the museum. We work on prototypes back there sometimes and we just don’t want to risk anything getting out. And the lab is open to student experimentation, so don’t forget to stop there before we run out of time in this area.”

Peter could tell that his classmates were barely paying attention, (and could admit that for most of it he’d only been listening to her with half an ear), but at the mention of a lab for prototypes, he perked up.

He stopped and turned to their guide. MJ continued past him, giving him a pat on the shoulder as she caught up with Ned, who’d already been drawn to an Iron Man suit (Mark IV, circular section for the arc reactor, still pretty bulky, but sleeker and heavier armed than the Mark III. They were from way before Peter and Tony had ever met, but Peter had studied the old suits in order to have a better handle on how to improve the more recent ones).

“Maggie,” he said cautiously as he stepped up near her, drawing her attention as he tried the name out in his mouth. “Or, um, Ms. Maggie? Ms. Evans?”

Maggie laughed. “First name is fine, I’m not that much older than you guys. I’m no Ms, or Mrs or ma’am.”

Peter bobbed his head. “Ok, yeah, um, Maggie. Sorry, you said there's a prototype lab in the back of the museum?”

She gave him an appraising look. “Does that sound more up your alley than a boring old museum?” she asked with faux-solemnity, teasing him slightly.

He felt his cheeks warm. “No! Or at least, the museum is full of cool stuff, I’m sure, but, um, in the lab, do we get to watch people experiment on tech? Or…”

Yes, he did work with Tony in the lab constantly, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t also dying to see what it was like in a more professional type of lab. He loved working for and with Tony, but with only two people sometimes ideas stagnated, and he’d really like to see how some other scientists dealt with some of the problems he’d come across in his lab.

He didn’t say that, and he didn’t say that the museum wasn’t boring so much as it was exactly the kinds of things he’d already seen a lot of, and frankly the lab was more intriguing.

What he ended up saying was, “Well, I do attend Midtown School of Science and Technology.”

She laughed. “Right you are. Well, the lab isn’t open quite yet. Usually kids stay in the museum for quite a bit, but I’ll go and see if he’d like to open a little early.”

Peter was torn between excitement (this was the first part of the tour that he was actually excited about) and embarrassment. “Oh, I don’t want to put anyone out or anything.” 

She waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t worry about it. Willie’s probably bored waiting for us. You go play with your friends. I’ll let you know when we open the lab. Usually people trickle in, but we’re not opposed to supporting someone who’s actually eager for the hands-on portion of the museum.”

“If you don’t mind…” Peter said.

She laughed and waved him off to Ned and MJ, “I’ll find you.”

“Thank you,” he said earnestly.

She walked quickly towards the back of the museum and Peter caught up with Ned and MJ. Ned had barely even noticed him missing.

“Peter,” he greeted, “here, can you take this picture of me?” He shoved his phone in Peter’s hand and hurried to pose (two thumbs up, wide smile, too-bright eyes) in front of the Mark XXVII. 

(The Mark XXVII was almost identical to both the Mark XXVI and the Mark XXVIII. In fact most of the suits between Mark XV and XL were pretty identical. They started getting interesting again at Mark XLII)

Peter fumbled with Ned’s phone but ended up snapping several insta-worthy snapshots, if he did say so himself. 

“Thanks!” Ned said, and moved on to the next suit, which was Mark XLIII.

“You know,” Peter said, as he took another shot of Ned posed in front of a suit, just the Mark XLIII this time, “the Mark 43 is really just another Mark 42 with a paint job.”

Ned took his phone back, and absentmindedly said, “Where’s the 43 then?”

“This one is the 43,” Peter said. “I don’t think they have the 42 on display.”

“How do you know?” MJ asked. She had her notebook out and was sketching in it, but was looking mostly at the Mark XLIII. Maybe she was sketching the suit. For some reason that made Peter’s lips pull up into an involuntary smile.

“How do I—” Peter blinked, “how do I know the Mark 42 isn’t here? Well, I don’t see it.”

“No,” MJ said. “I mean that this one doesn’t have a number on it, just the year it was made.” She pointed at the plaque. “2015. But it doesn’t say mark anything. None of the ones we’ve seen so far do. Why do you call this one Mark 43?”

“Cause it is?” Peter said. “I mean, it’s the forty-third one Mr. Stark designed. He calls it Mark 43. But it’s really almost identical to Mark 42, except in the 42, the red and gold sections are inverted. It’s gold on red instead of,” he motioned to the Mark XLIII, “red on gold.”

MJ made another impressive face and nodded. (He impressed her twice in one day? New high score!)

This seemed to have caught Ned’s attention at last. “Wait! Peter, you know what they’re all called?”

Peter shrugged. “Sure, I mean, I do help Mr. Stark work on them, so…”

“Yeah,” Ned said, “ok, I help my mom knit sometimes, but I don’t have all the colors of her yarn memorized. You can tell all of the suits apart from each other?”

“Well sure,” Peter said. “If I want to be helpful, I've got to study what Mr. Stark’s already made, where he can progress, what he’s already tried and what failed.”

“That still doesn’t quite imply you should have them all memorized. How many does he have, anyway?” Ned asked.

Peter considered this. “He must be in the fifties, but he’ll start making one, then start another before finishing the one before it, and he names them based on when he starts them, or, really, the order he thinks them up in, so I think I’m helping him with 56 right now, but we never finished 52. It’s sitting half-done in a closet of the lab at the moment.”

“Dude,” Ned breathed, eyes wide.

Peter shrugged again.

“This needs a commemorative selfie,” Ned said, and manhandled both Peter and MJ beside him in front of the next suit down the line, which happened to actually be a stripped Mark XLVI, pulled apart to show where all the missiles and launchers would exist if they hadn’t been removed. The suit had been damaged pretty badly in a battle, and Peter was honestly surprised it wasn’t too damaged to even show in a museum. Ned flipped his camera to selfie mode, and took a picture of the three of them in front of the metal chest cavity. Ned was grinning, Peter looked awkwardly like he hadn’t prepared for this at all, and MJ was very proudly not smiling. 

“Please don’t post that anywhere,” Peter said, “I look like I just found out my goldfish died when I was at sleep-away camp.”

“I’m tagging you in it on instagram right now,” Ned said, head bent over his phone. “And then I’m texting it to your aunt.”

“Don’t text it to May—why do you have her phone number in the first place? Please don't tell me you talk to her.” He grimaced. “About me.”

“We’re friends on facebook,” Ned said. “Calm down. I don’t, like, chat up your aunt. That’d be weird.”

“Because we’re friends,” Peter said.

“Because we’re friends,” Ned agreed. “But she does ask me to let her know if you’re falling asleep in class.”

“Ned!” Peter said, scandalized.

“Don’t worry,” Ned said, “I always lied and said you’d never fall asleep in class. And this was, I mean, the end of sophomore year? Beginning of junior? Nowadays she just sends me recipes to give to my moms.”

“May’s recipes are bad,” Peter said.

“I didn’t say my moms use them,” Ned said.

“Please stop sending things to my aunt,” Peter said. 

“Can I do it?” MJ asked.

Peter turned to her with wide, horrified eyes.

“Hypothetically,” MJ said. “Your aunt is cool, but I wouldn’t just reach out to her without talking to you about it first.” She looked at Ned, and pronounced very clearly, “That would be weird.”

“Thank you,” Peter breathed out, hand on his chest. “I thought I was going to have a heart attack.”

“I’m not offended by that,” MJ said, “because I know what you meant, but be aware that that sounded rude as fuck.”

“Geez,” Peter whispered.

“Peter Parker?” Maggie’s voice called from close by, and Peter turned to her with the utmost relief possible. “The lab’s open. No rush though, if you’re enjoying yourself out here.”

“Thank you,” Peter said, with every intention of hightailing it in there immediately.

“Lab?” Ned asked as Maggie moved on.

“There’s a lab in the back where we can play with some tech,” Peter said, “and there are prototypes of upcoming tech. Possibly. Maggie announced it.”

“Do you really think he was using his ears?” MJ asked Peter. “He was so psyched to just, take selfies with metal statues that he completely shut off the rest of his brain.”

“They’re not statues!” Ned said aghast. “They’re suits of armor!”

“A perfect example of Ned’s single-mindedness,” MJ said. She eyed Peter. “You’re dying to go to the lab, aren’t you?”

Peter nodded.

MJ sighed. “Alright, go on. Leeds and I will meet you back there when we’re done taking his photograph in front of every single suit.”

“I’m not that bad,” Ned said. Peter and MJ both gave him a look. “Fine,” Ned said, “I’m hopeless, but at least I’ll try to hurry.”

“Thanks,” Peter said, and scurried off in the direction Maggie had gone earlier without waiting for a response.

The lab was glass-fronted, much like all the other labs Peter had been to inside of SI, but inside, Peter could see it was absolutely filled with lab benches and tools, with crates of scrap lining the walls. And Peter realized that this place was probably one of the recipients of Tony’s endless boxes of scrap. Not the high tech scrap from Avengers tech, but the boxes filled with lower class scraps. Exactly the kind of stuff you’d let a group of teenagers play around with, without worrying that they were going to blow anything up.

What he didn’t see were a group of scientists working on prototypes. The only person in the room was a shorter, leaner man with light brown hair that flopped over his forehead, wearing a lab coat over olive green pants and a warm looking maroon sweater.

It made sense. They probably reserved prototype tinkering for days when the lab wouldn’t be filled with teenagers constantly coming and going. 

Peter entered anyway.

“Peter, right?” the man asked as soon Peter passed the threshold.

Peter nodded.

“Maggie told me. She said you were excited to play with some of the odds and ends we have here.”

Peter nodded again.

“I’m Willie Loomis, though most everyone around her calls me Loomis.”

“Dr. Loomis?” Peter offered.

“Very close to getting my doctorate,” Loomis said, “but not yet.”

“Oh,” Peter said, “you’re an intern?”

“I’m a full time employee,” Loomis said. “SI hires employees still getting their doctorates upon occasion. I’m one of the lucky ones.”

“Sounds hard,” Peter said, “balancing a doctorate program and working for SI.” He couldn’t imagine it. Well, actually he could, since he kind of did that too, only instead of working and attending college at the same time, he was interning and attending high school at the same time. Plus being Spiderman. But high school couldn’t possibly compare to college, and he only interned a few days a week, he didn’t work full time.

Loomis shrugged. “It’s fine. I graduate next December. And then I’ll be Dr. Loomis. But enough about me. I’m sure you want to work on something. We have all around us boxes of materials, cast-offs from other departments, some from,” he leaned in conspiratorially, “Mr. Stark himself.”

Peter tried to look appropriately inspired. There was probably junk in this room that Peter himself had thrown into Mr. Stark’s scrap box.

“Feel free to tinker with anything you like. If you have any questions, please let me know. And if you end up making something you think may have impact, a working idea and/or a prototype, let me know, and if SI is impressed, you’ll be offered compensation for it, naming rights, and copyright for the item, on SI’s dime.” He said it like it was a completely attainable goal, and something that happened every other day.

Peter begged to differ.

“How often does that really happen?” Peter asked with a raised eyebrow. “I mean, honestly? Most of the stuff here, I mean, it’s useful for some things, I’m sure, but none of it is cutting edge.”

Loomis dropped his PR expression, optimism mixed with support. “Never,” he said with a small, crooked smile. “I mean, maybe, maybe once a year. But,” he shook his head, “we like to give kids hope. Stoke the creative fires and whatnot. We don’t want to stomp on their self-esteem or anything.”

Peter nodded. “I get that.”

“What about you?” Loomis asked. “Are you going to invent the next best thing? Be the next Iron Man?” He smiled so Peter would know he meant it kindly.

“No,” Peter said. “Not here at least. No offense.”

Loomis shrugged. “None taken. Do you have a better lab back home?” 

Peter couldn’t tell if he was humoring Peter or not, and Peter hadn’t decided whether or not he’d admit that he actually had a better lab just upstairs, when Betty and Jason walked through the door.

“Hey guys,” Loomis greeted them. He turned back to Peter to say, “Have fun. If you need anything, let me know,” before approaching Betty and Jason to give them the same spiel he’d given Peter.

Peter strolled around the edge of the room, digging through the scrap. There was more good stuff in the boxes than he was expecting, but he guessed if it was only broken things there wouldn’t actually be anything the kids could do. Hard to build things using only stripped wires and cracked motherboards. But there was better stuff too. Still nothing that Peter thought shouldn’t be in there, but stuff he might actually use in his own lab.

Peter had only gone through three or four boxes before he found that he was carrying too many things (when had he started picking parts up?) and decided to commandeer the closest table as his own. Maybe he’d end up making something anyway. Nothing that would need copyrighting or anything, but maybe something fun? Something small he could annoy Tony with? Maybe impress Ned and MJ?

Soon he had a mountain of scraps.

“I see you’re working on something after all,” Loomis said as he passed, eyeing Peter’s mountain with a smile. “Let me know if you can’t figure something out. And if you need different tools than we have hanging up, there’s a back room I can probably grab it from.”

Of course there was a back room. Every lab in the building had storage closets full of anything any scientist could possibly want, hidden, to keep up the guise of neatness, just like every lab had access to a safe testing room that could withstand an astounding amount of damage, and a room with eyewashes, a shower, and first aid kits to treat injuries.

“Thanks,” Peter said, and got to work.

He’d just started wiring a rudimentary alarm clock whose alarm he was going to program to be re-recordable for personalization (would Aunt May love it or hate it? Tony would probably like it just for the sheer chaos it could cause) when Ned slid into the seat across from him with flair and panache. MJ sat next to him quietly.

Peter blinked up at them.

“You know, Peter,” Ned said, “I like science and techy stuff as much as the next person, but you literally do this kind of thing every day. I can’t believe you rushed through the coolest thing in the building just to get here so you could build stuff just like the stuff you build upstairs like three times a week.”

“Well,” Peter said, “not just like. For one, with Mr. Stark designing, the stuff is usually more technologically advanced, and FRIDAY does a lot of the fabrication. And the stuff we make is of a higher caliber than anything you could possibly make with the scraps they provide here. I mean, it’s fine stuff, but upstairs is way better.”

“Don’t quibble,” MJ said.

“I don’t know what that means,” Peter said. 

“It means you’re complaining about something very trivial right now, Peter. Don’t you want to do something non-work related since you’re here for a field trip right now? Don’t you want to do something fun?”

Peter looked down at his alarm clock. The time was digital, though at the moment it was showing the wrong time in roman numerals. “This is fun,” he said.

“God, you’re such a nerd,” MJ breathed out and then pressed her lips together to hide the involuntary smile she was sporting.

“But he’s our nerd,” Ned said, and reached over to pat Peter’s hand.

Peter looked at Ned’s hand, patting his own like Ned was pretending to be an old and wizened mentor, or a grandpa, or something, and then up at Ned’s face.

“Ned,” Peter said, “you’re being weird, please stop.”

“Never!” Ned said, but he let go of Peter’s hand. “Now show us, young child, this little oasis of yours! Give us a tour of the facilities.”

Totally grandpa mode.

At this point a little more than half the class was in the lab, some fiddling with scraps like he was, some actually trying to build, some were just chatting, a few were rifling through the scraps while they talked, laughing and goofing off.

“Well,” Peter said sarcastically, “to your right you’ll find our classmates, and to your left, more classmates. It looks like Flash is trying to build a mechanized slingshot, or a crossbow or something. And Jason keeps just towering up the scraps but they keep falling down! Cindy and Seymour look more like they’re flirting than actually trying to do anything, and Betty is trying to solder something that is making Loomis look very nervous.”

“Loomis?” Ned asked.

Peter pointed to the man, who was hovering around Betty, ready to leap in at a moment’s notice to keep her from burning herself. Betty looked fairly competent. “He’s the guy in charge of the lab.”

“And of making sure we won’t kill ourselves,” MJ said.

“He’s doing a great job so far,” Ned said, giving him the benefit of the doubt.

“We’re seventeen,” Peter said, “we’re old enough to know how to not hurt ourselves.”

“I’m eighteen,” Ned said.

“Now who’s quibbling,” Peter said.

Ned ignored that and approached a box of scraps Peter hadn’t gone through. There were so many boxes, it would take forever to go through them all, especially since Peter couldn’t help scavenging when he did so. “So, we’re just supposed to… build something? With this stuff?” He scooped up some of the scrap with both hands and let them fall back into the crate.”

“Don’t break anything,” MJ warned.

Peter wanted to agree with her, but something else had caught his eye. A flash of familiar pale blue, the shine of a ring of metal, as it tumbled from Ned’s hand back into the crate with the scraps. Peter had worked on them enough to recognize it for what it was. A repulsor. From an Iron Man armor. One from the gauntlet, or possibly the heel of the boot, based on the size of the casing.

For a second, Peter just breathed. A repulsor should not, repeat, not be in a box of scraps in a room where children were allowed to just play with things. No, no, no, no, no.

Peter leapt forward, and the sudden movement startled Ned, who took an instinctive step backwards, allowing Peter the space he needed to reach into the crate and snag the repulsor. He knew that they were already standing right there, that nothing bad could happen, no one would swoop in and snatch it out of the box before Peter could reach it. But still. It was dangerous. It shouldn’t be here. And who knows how long it had been down here, in this box of scraps.

The how was easier to guess. Tony probably meant to toss it in the box of important scrap, and messed up. He was practically a poster boy for sleep deprivation. It wouldn’t surprise Peter at all to find that Tony had accidentally tossed something in the wrong box, but usually he caught himself later. What if there were more things in these boxes that shouldn’t be down here? Things like this repulsor, that could be dangerous if they fell into the wrong hands. 

“Woah, Peter,” Ned said, “chill your beans. If you see something you like, you could just ask me for it. I’m not going to take it or anything. What are you building anyway?” He peered at the alarm clock. “A toaster?”

“No,” Peter said, “it’s an alarm clock! How could you look at it and see a toaster—you know what, it doesn’t matter. This,” he held up the repulsor, smaller than one might expect from all the power it could produce, “is not for the alarm clock.”

“First of all,” Ned said, “there’s no way that’s an alarm clock.”

“You take that back!”

“Second,” Ned continued, unabashed, “if it’s not for your alarm clock/toaster—”

“How does it even look like a toaster!?” Peter demanded.

“—then what is it for?”

Peter rolled the mass of glass and metal and plastic around his hand. “This is a repulsor.”

“A what?” Ned asked, with zero comprehension.

Peter looped some of the wires in the gap between his index and middle fingers, and another between his middle and ring fingers, laying the plastic against the webbing between his fingers, and pulling at the wires just right, so the circular translucent blue glass lay against the middle of his palm, facing outward. He held his hand like he was going to shoot a mass of plasma from it, and even though the blue wasn’t lit up, and the hand was made of flesh, not hot rod red metal, Ned still got it. Instantly.

“No fucking way,” he said, voice veering a little too close to loud, but the rest of the room hummed with the low din of talking voices, and Ned’s curse went unnoticed.

“Yeah,” Peter said drily. “It is! And it shouldn’t be down here.”

“Chill, dude,” MJ said. “No one got hurt.”

“But they could have!” Peter hissed. “Listen, this thing can shoot Mr. Stark into space! The propulsion power alone is incredible, but the damage it could do if it were attached to even the smallest energy source… guys. It could blow a hole in the wall as easy as it could tear a limb off. It should not be here.”

“We get it,” MJ said calmly, and she had a hand out, like she was trying to forcibly settle Peter’s agitation. “But you caught it. Yay!”

“Ok,” Peter said, taking deep breaths to cool his head. “You’re right. Just, Mr. Stark should have caught this. And if he didn’t, someone down here should have. Like, someone has to go through these crates before they hand them to teens, right?”

MJ shrugged. “Who knows.”

Peter turned to Ned, but Ned also shrugged. “Things get lost sometimes, Peter. They can’t all be a hundred percent all the time.”

“I guess,” Peter said, but wavered. “I don’t think you know how dangerous this thing can be, though. It’s not a toy.”

MJ gave him a pointed look. “We know,” she said flatly.

“Even just hooking it up to a double A could knock a couple walls out.”

Ned patted his shoulder. “But no one did. You did good.”

Peter forced a deep breath. “Ok.”

“Now what are you going to do about it?” Ned asked. “You can’t exactly just put it in your backpack and walk out of here, can you?”

“I mean, I guess I could?” Peter said.

“But if you get caught by Harrington? Stealing?”

Peter sighed. “Yeah. That’d be pretty bad.”

“Just give it to the science dude,” MJ said. “Tell him you found a whatever-it-is and he’ll give it to someone or send it up to Stark’s lab or whatever.”

“Yes,” Peter said, “Loomis. I can give it to Loomis.” And then without waiting he marched over to Loomis, who was still hovering over Betty, thought now with more confidence, and had half his attention on the rest of the class. “Loomis,” he said to the man, and realized belatedly that Maggie was standing right behind him. “Uh, hi, um, Maggie.” He looked around to make sure no other adult was hiding nearby, and thankfully there wasn’t. Mr. Harrington was safely being hassled by Charles, who was trying to build a barbie-sized vacuum cleaner.

“Hey, Peter,” Maggie greeted. “Enjoying the lab?”

“Yeah,” Peter said, “It’s great, thanks, so, I think I found something that shouldn’t be here?”

Maggie blinked at him, as did Loomis. They’d been chatting, Peter realized belatedly, and he’d interrupted.

Oops.

“What’d you find?” Loomis asked, drawing back Peter’s attention.

Peter held out the repulsor for Loomis to examine. The man frowned as he looked over the device, and reached out to pick it up. Peter’s instinct was to curl his fingers over the repulsor and pull it back towards himself, to hiss, and hide it, and keep it safe.

But he didn’t do any of those things. He let Loomis take it.

Loomis turned it over in his hand, this way and that, and finally dropped it back into Peter’s hand.

“I’ve got to admit it’s not like the usual stuff that gets sent here. It’s way more advanced than I’d expect someone to discard for experimental use, but if it did get sent down here, it was probably for a good reason.”

Yeah, Peter thought, if you consider an insomnia-induced accident a good reason.

“It could really hurt someone,” Peter said. “I really think you should send it back to, ah—”

If he was trying to keep a low profile and not flaunt that he knew Tony Stark personally, it wouldn’t do to drop the knowledge that he knew that this piece of tech came from Tony’s personal lab. 

He ended up just saying, vaguely, “—where it came from.”

Loomis looked torn. “It does look very advanced,” he admitted. “And I wouldn’t have thought it would have been sent here with the other remnants of technology, but I don’t recognize what it is, and you know,” and his voice tilted, like he was about to say something Bill Nye-style, spill a cool fact that he expected the reaction to would be a big ‘ol ‘WOW!’ He leaned in closer. “Sometimes Tony Stark himself sends stuff down here for you guys to play with. And he wouldn’t put something dangerous in one of his boxes, would he?”

“He absolutely would,” Peter said, deadpan. He couldn’t help himself since that was, in fact, exactly what had happened.       

Loomis straightened out off his conspiratorial posture. “I know Mr. Stark had, at one point, a bad reputation, for not looking at the whole picture, still has one in some circles but if you think he’d deliberately send something dangerous for children—”

“That’s not what I meant,” Peter said quickly. “Not at all. Mr. Stark is great and thoughtful and—”

A hand fell on Peter’s shoulder, and he looked over to see Ned had joined them, along with MJ. Even Betty looked like she was listening in on the conversation, though she was still mostly focused on the soldering job she had in front of her.

“Then what did you mean?” Maggie asked.

“Just, ok, look at this,” Peter said. He held the repulsor up to Maggie’s face, and she had to take a step back to properly look at the object. “See this, this part, this here,” he twisted the object to show what he was talking about, “this converts excess electrons into muons, which have an electromagnetic property which can blast plasma from this point here.” He touched the round glass lightly with the pad of his index finger. “If this was connected to a power source, it could shoot a beam that could do some serious damage. To the building, and to any people in its path.”

Maggie’s eyes were wide, but Loomis looked less awed than suspicious. 

“And how would you know that?” Loomis asked. “Listen kid,” he said, and god that was so patronizing, “I’m sure you have good intentions, but I don’t even know what that is just by looking at it. I’d have to examine it pretty thoroughly before coming to the conclusions you came to just by looking at it. It’s kind of hard to believe.”

Which was valid. But Peter didn’t want to be interrogated, he just wanted to prove that the repulsor was dangerous so Loomis and Maggie could send it back to Tony. Plus, eventually Tony was going to miss it.

“He’s a nerd,” Ned said, in his ‘I’m trying to be helpful’ voice. “He’s got crazy good tech vision. Can tell a proton from a neutron at twenty yards.”

Peter turned to Ned with as much scathing disdain as he could muster, and found MJ was also staring at Ned with a frown.

“Please ignore our friend,” MJ said drily. “He’s got dumb bitch disease.”

“MJ!” Peter hissed, scandalized. Cursing in front of adult authority figures? In a school sanctioned field trip? Bad idea!

But Maggie laughed.

“Seriously,” Ned said, not even putting the energy into being offended, “Peter’s really smart. If he says it’s a repu—” he got an elbow to the stomach, a lá MJ (thank god for MJ), and course-corrected. “If Peter says it’s dangerous, then it’s dangerous.”

Loomis looked less than impressed.

“Look, I can prove it to you,” Peter said, exasperated.

“If it is as dangerous as you say it is,” Loomis said, “then I don’t think I want you testing it out.”

Peter scoffed. “Not here, obviously. I’m not going to try to blast up my classmates or anything. But if I prove that this is maybe not something people my age should be handling, will you please return it? To, um, whoever it belonged to?”

“Sure,” Loomis said sarcastically. “If you can somehow prove to me that it’s dangerous, without hurting you, me, or anyone else in the room—or damaging the property, sure, I’ll go and hand it to Tony Stark myself.”

“Be careful,” Maggie said quietly, “your sarcasm is showing.”

Loomis rolled his eyes.

“Deal,” Peter said, and then walked over to an alcove set into lonely portion of a side wall, out of sight of most of the room.

“Wait,” Ned said, “Peter, where are you going.”

“Shush,” MJ told him, and pulled him with her, following Peter. Loomis and Maggie were quick on their heels.

“Are you going to blast out a wall?” Maggie asked, “Because if those are your plans, I’m going to have to call security and your Mr. Harrington, in that order. And maybe the police.”

Peter rolled his eyes. FRIDAY wouldn’t let him get arrested.

In fact, why hadn’t FRIDAY intervened earlier? She would definitely have recognized the repulsor for what it was.

Of course, the building’s AI talking through the ceiling would definitely have drawn the attention of everyone in the room, so maybe he was glad she hadn’t spoken up.

“I said I’m not blowing up anything,” Peter said as he entered the alcove. There were buttons on the inner wall that couldn’t be seen from the rest of the room, with symbols next to them. He pressed the one with a yellow hazard symbol next to it, and a door slid open from what looked like a wall.

“What?” Ned hissed as he followed Peter through the doorway and down a short hall.

“Hey!” Loomis’s voice snapped as well, as he followed Peter and his friends into the testing area. “How do you even know about this?”

“What is this?” Maggie asked, behind Loomis.

“Why are we following Peter into a secret room?” Betty’s voice floated up to Peter, and he paused for a second, but then decided it didn’t matter. He did work here after all. It’d make sense he’d know these testing areas existed. And so what if she was tagging along. It wasn’t like he wasn’t supposed to let anyone know about the rooms off the labs.

“It’s not a secret room,” Loomis said with a sigh, explaining, exasperatedly, to both Maggie and Betty. “All the labs have several rooms attached with different functions. The room we’re going into now is for testing dangerous, and possibly explosive, devices and materials. It’s not like the room was hidden on purpose. In most of the labs the doors are clearly marked, but this is more of a public lab, for guided tours yes, but a lot of those tours involve children.” Peter got the feeling Loomis was annoyed with him. “So we don’t really advertise the private areas. They are there, of course, in case we need them. This one happens to be used not only by our lab, but the women over in the bioengineering and biomechanical labs.”

“Are you being sexist?” MJ asked, as Peter finally reached the door to the testing area, and opened it, leading them into a bright white room made of reinforced metal and bullet-proof glass. “Like, calling the scientists over there women as a way of insulting them.”

“No,” Loomis snapped, as he filed into the room, followed closely by Betty and Maggie. “I called them women, because all the scientists in the bioengineering and biomechanical labs are women, and I’ve heard that calling women girls is infantilizing them, and also because my friend Liz works over there and she gets a kick out of it when I call them that. I don’t know why.”

“Better,” MJ said.

“Thank you,” Loomis said sarcastically. “Now can we get this ‘proving’ bit over and done with so we can leave?” He didn’t sound quite like he believed it would actually happen. “I’m getting antsy at the thought of leaving all those teens alone in the lab without supervision.”

“Mr. Harrington is in there,” Ned said.

Loomis gave Ned a scathing look.

“Alright, he’s not the most observant,” Ned admitted.

Peter tapped at the glass of the repulsor. “So, now we just need a power source and something you don’t mind blowing up,” he said to Loomis.

Loomis and Maggie both had their lips pursed, though with Maggie it looked more like she was trying to hold back laughter, and with Loomis it looked like he was chewing tacks. Loomis walked to a side wall, which he pushed at, revealing it was actually a compartment. From it he pulled a porcelain lamp base.

“What is that?” Betty asked.

“We like to test our devices on things we’re not attached to,” Loomis said, as he set the lamp on the floor in the middle of the room. “So we pick up odds and ends from dollar stores and antique shops and the like. Officially, management orders disposable things, but this is funner. I found this lamp for two bucks in a junk sale in Wolftrap.”

“Neato,” Betty said. “Can I work here?”

Loomis shrugged. “You can apply once you turn eighteen,” he said, “but they don’t usually hire unless you have a college degree. Preferably a doctorate, though I, for example, only have a masters. Even interns come from a pool of mostly college-graduates.”

“Don’t rub it in,” Peter muttered. He swung his backpack off his back and rummaged through it one handed.

“What was that?” Loomis asked.

“Nothing,” Peter said, in the most cheerful voice he could muster.

“What are you waiting for?” Maggie said.

“You’re so pushy,” Peter said. “You know I’m actually trying to help you out. If someone found—”

“We’ve heard the spiel,” Loomis said, “what’s the hold up?”

“Power source,” Peter said, and dug more forcefully into his backpack.

“You looking for a battery?” MJ asked.

“I know I have one in here somewhere,” Peter said.

MJ grabbed his bag from him and handed it to Ned.

Peter’s mouth dropped open. “Why do you think Ned could find something in my backpack faster then—”

“Got it,” Ned interrupted, and shoved a handful of double A’s into Peter’s hand.

“Nervous fingers,” MJ told Peter. “You have them. It’s a problem.”

Peter did not have nervous fingers. He was Spidermani! Spiderman didn’t get nervous fingers. 

At least, he didn’t think he did.

MJ helpfully slung Peter’s bag over her own shoulder, to hang on to while he did his little demonstration.

“Thanks,” he muttered, slipped the repulsor’s wires between his fingers, like he had before, so the glass poked out in the middle of his palm.

“Please don’t blow your hand off,” Loomis said. “Stark Industries could afford the lawsuit, but a kid losing his hand during a tour would be really bad press.”

“Willie,” Maggie hissed, and slapped him half-heartedly in the chest with the back of her hand, though she also sounded like maybe she was laughing, just the tiniest bit.

“Should we stand outside?” MJ asked, all seriousness.

Peter thought about this. “No, I can angle the beam so there’s no ricochet. You should be fine as long as you stand behind me.” He’d tested Tony’s Iron Man gauntlets before, with Tony’s permission and supervision. He’d tested all of the Avengers weapons and armor that he’d helped create. It wasn’t science unless it was tested, and retested, and all the while written down. Tony particularly liked the testing part, and often claimed it was a scientist’s right to make as many explosions as they needed in the pursuit of invention.

MJ and Ned moved immediately, and then Betty, and then, as if begrudgingly, Loomis and Maggie. 

Peter didn’t waste another second in twisting the wires around and touching some of them to one side of the battery, and then the rest to the other side. There was a whirring sound, starting faint and getting louder.

“Uh,” Loomis said, starting to actually sound worried. “Maybe we shouldn’t—”

But he was interrupted by the sonic blast of the repulsor firing, and absolutely incinerating the porcelain lamp base. It didn’t even leave any shards behind, just a scorch mark on the floor.

“Oh,” Loomis croaked.

“What the fuck!” Betty said, and then looked around as if waiting for someone to scold her use of foul language. No one did.

“Sweet!” Ned said and then whistled.

“Totally sweet,” MJ agreed. They high-fived each other.

“Peter,” Maggie said slowly, and softly, as if worried Peter would be in a state of shock. Fortunately for them both, he was not. He’d done much worse damage in much harsher environments plenty of times before. Not that he was going to volunteer that information.

He turned to her with a smile. “So, we should return this, yes?”

Loomis stood, staring at Peter with his mouth gaping wide. He slowly put a hand out, and Peter gratefully dropped the repulsor into his palm, sans the batteries which he tossed back into the dark maw of his backpack. Loomis looked at the repulsor like he didn’t quite know what to do with it. And, like he was scared it was going to blast his hand off at any given second. Both of which were completely valid thoughts. 

“What am I going to do with this?” He asked. He seemed to be in more shock (by quite a bit) then Peter, so Maggie turned her attentions to him.

“We’re going to find out who sent it down here,” she said to him, “and send it back. They’re probably sorely missing it.”

That was debatable. Peter wouldn’t even bet that Tony had noticed it was missing yet. He was kind of a living disaster.

“The show’s over,” Ned said, like he was trying to act very blasé and unimpressed about the whole thing. Like he saw this sort of thing every day. “Let’s head back. Mr. Harrington is probably letting everyone make a mess in your lab.”

That got Loomis and Maggie both moving. Loomis clicked his teeth together and dropped the repulsor into his lab coat pocket, and Maggie ushered Betty back out of the room and down the short hall to the lab. Loomis gestured for Peter, Ned, and MJ to go before him, and they stepped out, MJ pushing Peter’s backpack into his chest as they moved.

“Good job,” she whispered, and then turned abruptly to put her back to him.

Classic MJ.

As they walked, Loomis spoke, less patronizing than before. He spoke simply, like they were on even footing here. “So, you figured out what it was just by looking at it?”

Peter’s instinct was to answer immediately in the positive, but that wasn’t quite fair. He didn’t figure out what it was just by looking at it. He merely recognized it as something he’d seen and researched before. 

“I think I had more time to study it than you assumed,” Peter said, and it was at least an approximation of the truth. He had had more time to study it than Loomis had assumed. Years more.

Loomis hummed in thought. “Still. We could do with a mind like yours. You should think about applying here once you get your bachelors.”

Peter’s cheeked warmed uncomfortably and he didn’t know what to say.

Thankfully he didn’t have to say anything. Betty’s voice floated back from the front of the line. “Oh, Peter already works here.”

That stopped Peter short, but again, someone beat him to the punch.

“So you believe him now?” MJ asked.

Betty had stopped up ahead as well, just inside the alcove. “Well… yeah. I mean, Flash was getting pretty believable, what with getting back up from Maggie and everything.”

“Wait,” Maggie said, “what did I do?”

“But Flash is also pretty annoying,” Betty continued. “And I mean, Peter knew about this secret room, and he had already built a fully functioning alarm clock before he even found that laser thing, whatever it is.”

“Have you been spying on him?” Ned asked.

“I’m observant,” she said. “I’m going to double major in chemistry and journalism at Princeton.”

“Wait,” Loomis said, “hold up, back up, this kid works here?” Disbelief was heavy in his voice.

“I’m an intern,” Peter said awkwardly.

“You’re a high school student,” Maggie said. “We don’t hire high schoolers as employees or interns.” She got a thoughtful look on her face. “Lynn did say you scan as classified. She said you work here…” she was goggling at him now. “But, I didn’t...I mean, I guess I didn’t take it seriously, because we don’t hire minors.”

Peter’s face was growing even warmer.

“I’m a special case,” he said. He couldn’t meet anyone’s eyes.

“Ask the AI if you don’t believe him,” MJ said.

Peter blinked up at her.

“Oh,” he said, “actually, yeah, you guys would trust FRIDAY’s word, right?”

Loomis and Maggie nodded disbelievingly, and creepily in sync.

“FRIDAY?” Peter prompted.

“Hello, Peter,” she said, “Designated: O’ Intern O’ Mine. How can I help you today, Peter?”

“Could you just confirm that I am an intern here?”

“Oh,” Loomis said, a catch in his voice, “I don’t think that’s necessary.”

“Yeah,” Maggie said weakly, “she recognizes you.”

FRIDAY ignored them. “I can confirm that Peter O’ Intern O’ Mine does in fact have an internship at Stark Industries. He is our youngest intern to date.”

“Thank you,” Peter said quietly, and his face must have been tomato-red by that point.

“You’re welcome, Peter,” she said. “Also, good job recognizing and appropriately dealing with the repulsor.”

Loomis made a face.

“Thank you,” Peter squeaked.

“This is so cool,” Betty whispered, loud enough for only Peter to hear it. 

“Mr. Loomis,” FRIDAY said, and Loomis straightened, as if coming to attention.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said.

“If you could, at your earliest convenience, send the item in your pocket up to floor forty-two? Mark it ‘Vital.’” 

Loomis had grown pale. “Yes, of course,” he cleared his throat, “right away.”

“Thank you,” FRIDAY lilted.

“Well,” Maggie said weakly. “I think that’s enough excitement for today.”

“I wouldn’t mind more excitement,” Ned said.

She checked her watch. “And it’s actually time we moved on. Ok,” she pulled herself together, and ushered Betty all the way out of the alcove. Peter emerged next-to-last to find that no one had even noticed them missing. Most of the students had devolved to messing around, and Mr. Harrington looked tired, but nothing was on fire, and Peter took that as a good sign.

“Okay everyone,” Maggie called, drawing everyone’s attention to her. “Gather up your stuff. If you made something, feel free to take it with you.” 

Betty hissed, “Score!” and did that reverse punch thing, where you start with a fist in the air and quickly bring your elbow down, into your stomach. She then rushed to her… whatever it was that she’d been soldering earlier, and stuffed it into her purse, making her bag bulge oddly.

“If you think it warrants a patent,” Loomis added, “again, you can leave it with me, with your name, phone number, and address, and we’ll contact you.

Peter caught Flash doing just that as he walked back to his work bench, writing his information on a scrap of paper and tucking it under a hunk of metal that had no discernible purpose, or even shape. At Peter’s table he debated keeping the alarm clock. Betty was right, it was mostly finished, but it was also mostly useless, what with the numbers being in roman numerals.

“But be hasty about it,” Maggie called. “We’re running a little behind schedule. My fault, but still, let’s hustle. We’ll be visiting more labs next, a little tour of some upper labs.”

Peter left the alarm clock on the table, but as he was about to walk away from it, Ned scooped it up.

“You don’t want it?” he asked.

Peter shook his head. “I can make something better with better tools. If I even wanted one. I don’t really need an alarm clock. The alarm on my phone works just fine.”

Maggie walked out, leading the class, and the students filed out after her.

“So you’re telling me,” Ned said, deadpan, “that you blew off our cool photo op just to rush here, to build something you don’t even want?”

Peter winced.

“What else did you expect?” MJ asked, and punched Peter’s shoulder amicably. “He’s a nerd.”

Ned sighed and threw his hands upward. “I guess you’re right. I’m keeping this though, if you don’t want it,” he said, and snatched up the alarm clock.

“O-kay,” Peter said. “You know it only reads in roman numerals?”

“I’ll get used to it,” Ned said, and then, catching Mr. Harrington’s eye and realizing that they were the only three left in the room, followed their teacher out.

“Or maybe he just likes junk,” MJ said.

Ned shrugged, unashamed.

“Where are you going to put that?” Peter asked, as they walked, following loosely behind their class, back out through the Museum.

“My bedroom, duh.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “No, I mean right now. You didn’t bring a bag with you.” At Ned’s silence, he continued. “You just gonna carry it in your hands for the rest of the day.”

Ned scrunched up his face. “Your… backpack?” He stuck the alarm clock under one arm and put his hands together. “Please?”

Peter sighed but obligingly pulled his backpack from his back and opened it for him. Ned tipped the alarm clock carelessly into the bag, and Peter sighed, zipped it up, and slung it back on.

They caught up with their class in the elevator.

“Everybody in,” Maggie called, despite all three of them having already crossed the threshold. She pushed a button, and the doors closed, before they were wooshed upwards.

“Why are you three always late?” Flash asked them at a volume just below a whisper. It was so quiet Ned didn’t even notice, being the farthest from the bully, but MJ turned to Flash, and Peter of course heard every word. “Is it because you’re slow?” Flash asked, and then cackled, nearly silently. It made him look vaguely like he’d just been struck by lightning. Also, that was a very tasteless joke.

“Seriously Flash,” Cindy hissed, popping up from behind the boy. “If you don’t drop it, I’m going to tell Mr. Harrington.”

“Seconded,” Betty sighed.

Flash’s face began turning ruddy.

And then the doors opened and they spilled out of the enclosed space, and Peter specifically maneuvered himself and his friends to be as far as possible from Flash. He looked around once they’d formed a loose semi-circle around Maggie, and realized that he recognized this floor, specifically. This was the floor Tony had his lab on. The lab Peter had an official table at. The lab Peter spent so many of his afternoons playing in, doing experiments in, inventing and building, chatting and snacking in.

Wow did he not like this. The only saving grace was that no doubt they were just doing a general tour, maybe looking in windows, but they wouldn’t actually be going into any of the labs up here. This floor had too many sensitive experiments going on for anyone to let guests, let alone teen guests, just mill about.

And they would especially not let a tour group go through Tony Stark’s lab.

But they’d probably show it off, and let them all peer through the giant glass wall that was the only barrier between lab and hall.

Peter hadn’t left anything stupid laying about, had he?

“This floor has labs, like the floors down below. The labs we’re going to be seeing will be very similar to the Research and Design labs we visited earlier. Remember Dr. Winters?”

“God,” someone whispered disdainfully, (Peter wanted to say Flash because Flash was the rudest person in the room, but he couldn’t actually tell), “Please tell me there’s not going to be another boring science lecture.”

There was a bit of choked laughter, but it was quickly cut off.

“But these labs,” She continued as if she hadn’t heard that comment (and maybe she hadn’t), “aren’t delegated to a certain department. These are personal labs. Labs that were offered to certain people because their work far surpasses their peers. These scientists are, for the most part, allowed to do their own research, employ and hire their own interns, and create whatever they like. They are given full creative reign.”

That was putting it mildly.

“Also unlike Dr. Winter’s lab,” Maggie said, “we will not be actually entering any of the labs on this floor.”

“Then what’s the point?” The same voice demanded in a hiss, and this time Peter could tell it was Flash.

So could Mr. Harrington, who let out a warning “Flash!”

The boy quieted.

Maggie blinked at the crowd, but her ever-present PR smile didn’t drop from her face. “Like the lab we were just in, this floor is off-limits to any photography. A lot of important, classified work is done here, and as none of you signed employee-level NDAs, I’m afraid anyone caught recording anything will be immediately ejected. That’s our policy,” she said, cheerfully unapologetic. 

She turned and led their group slowly down the main hall, giving little tidbits of information as she walked. Peter was used to coming mostly after hours. It was never empty when he came, but it was never this busy. People in white lab coats bustled behind glass walls, huddled together over microscopes and beakers, typed away at computers. Some of the labs had the same fabrication units that Tony had in his lab, and Peter could tell by the silence when Maggie pointed them out that the other students were impressed.

“Do you have anything like that in your lab?” Ned whisper-asked.

Peter grinned at him. He was always happy to talk about his lab. “Yeah, we have a fabrication unit. I think Mr. Stark has a bigger one in a lab somewhere else, but for our needs, we have one about that size. Though we usually just ask FRIDAY and she inputs the specifications for us.”

“It’s just a big 3D printer,” MJ said, though her tone was respectful.

Ned huffed, but Peter just tilted his head to the side and said, “I mean, sure. Technically I guess, yeah, it is.”

MJ laughed.

Maggie kept up a steady stream of chatter, but it was mostly the kind of background information about the labs that Peter already knew. It really was like going on a tour of his house. He was here almost every day, on this floor, walking this very hall.

Granted, he usually walked much faster than this.

“To your left is the lab of Dr. Hoffman. Her research is more medically oriented than most of the doctors here, but she’s working on a line of prosthetics that Mr. Stark himself is very invested in.” The woman inside had a no-nonsense expression that clashed with her unnaturally bright orange hair.

The next lab Maggie pointed out belonged to a Dr. Bouchard, and the next to a Dr. Haskell. She mentioned what they were working on in the vaguest terms possible, and how long they’d been working for SI. Dr. Haskell waved to them, Dr. Bouchard did not. 

And then a familiar face captured his attention. Through the glass walls of one of the labs they were passing was Dr. Bruce Banner, bent over a petri dish, pipette in hand. He wrote something down as they passed, and, Peter noticed, Maggie did not mention or even look at the lab.

He frowned, puzzled, before realizing that it was also probably policy not to just announce the location of an Avenger, especially when said Avenger was fiercely private and possibly dangerous when startled.

“Hey Ned,” Peter whispered, before they’d completely passed Bruce’s lab.

“Hmm?” Ned asked. He was looking on the other side of the hall, where several scientists were in the process of donning hazmat suits.

Peter poked his side, and when Ned whipped his head around to complain, pointed in at Bruce Banner.

Ned furrowed his brow.

MJ leaned forward. “Who are you pointing at?”

Peter put a finger to his lips. “That’s Dr. Banner.”

Ned’s eyebrows flew up, and his mouth widened, but he didn’t say anything, just let out an almost silent squeak. 

MJ quirked an eyebrow. “Physicist and Avenger?” she asked.

Peter nodded.

Ned’s eyes were impossibly wide. “Can I meet him?”

Peter looked back towards Bruce, but they’d already passed the lab.

“Not now, it looks like,” Peter said.

Ned bit his lip. “Peter, do you know, like, everyone cool?”

Peter’s gaze skittered away. “Ah, um, no?”

“He’s lying,” MJ said with a quiet little laugh.

“And here,” Maggie said with grandeur, and came to a halt dramatically, pulling MJ and Ned’s attention away from Peter (and Peter’s away from Bruce Banner), “is our pièce de résistance.” She gestured to her left, and every head swiveled to the glass wall she was showing off, and the lab within.

Peter’s head turned too, though he didn’t really need to look to know what it was. 

He’d come home.

“The personal lab,” Maggie said with gravitas, “of Dr. Tony Stark himself!”

Everyone around him burst into applause. It was bizarre, but Maggie didn’t even look fazed. Did tour groups usually clap for the lab? Was it because it was Tony’s lab?

Peter grimaced.

Maybe he’d gotten too used to Tony’s company. He knew Tony was famous, but it still surprised him when he got bashed in the face with the fact.

The students crowded around the glass, and Peter let Ned step in front of him. It wasn’t like Peter needed to see inside. 

“Feel free to look around. I’m not at liberty to say, or know,” she added in an aside, “anything that goes on in this lab, but anything you can see is free game. Feel free to ask questions, but I doubt I know the answer.”

“He’s not very tidy, is he?” Cindy asked, though the tone was one of judgment, not of inquiry. 

And she was right. Tony didn’t tend to tidy up unless Pepper got on his case about it, and right now the lab was more than just untidy, it was a mess. Bits of suits were lying around, arms and legs and torsos scattered, though there was nothing to see that one wouldn’t see on tv, or in the museum down stairs. There were tools scattered around, on tables and benches, strewn about the floor. Welding equipment leaned up against DUM-E’s arm, and DUM-E held a broom in his single clawed hand, like he intended to tidy up before the guests arrived but lost track of time. DUM-E made half a movement, but stopped when equipment that was propped against him shifted dangerously towards falling.

The room looked like a frat party had come through and wrecked the place, if every frat boy was also in love with engineering and physics.

But Peter wouldn’t judge. He was part of the problem, after all. His work bench was, if possible, worse than any of Tony’s areas. Maybe because Peter only had the two areas, and Tony had the whole room.

Or maybe because Peter was just a messy person. God knows May was always getting on him about how cluttered his room was.

“You work in there?” Ned asked quietly, his voice soft in his awe.

“Mmm-hmmm,” Peter said.

MJ turned an eye on him. “You have full run of the room?”

“Yeah,” Peter said. “I mean, nothing is off limits. I do have a specific space, where I keep my projects.” He pointed to his bench and table. “Those ones over there.”

“The ones that look messier than all the rest?” MJ asked

Peter knocked his shoulder against her’s and rolled his eyes.

“Which one?” Ned asked, “I can’t tell.”

Peter thought for a moment Ned was having him on, but when he didn’t cave after a moment, Peter realized Ned was being serious. He pointed again to his area. 

“There,” he said, “those two. They have stickers on the side, one with my name on it. The other just says ‘kid.’ Kind of hard to miss?” 

Ned squinted at the glass, but apparently found the stickers when he straightened up. “Underoos and his tools, Property of SI and Parker Inc,” Ned read with laughter in his voice. “And, the kid’s until further notice?”

“I didn’t make them,” Peter countered. “They were just there one day.”

“Sure they were,” MJ said.

“They were,” Peter insisted, though he was pretty sure she was just messing with him.

“Maggie,” a voice in the crowd called, Seymour, and Maggie answered.

“Yes?” 

“There’s something moving in there.”

Peter blinked at the glass, but there was nothing moving in there that shouldn’t have been moving. Nothing odd.

“What is it?” Maggie asked, and Peter glanced at her. She was peering into the room, looking just as curious as the rest of them.

“That robot arm,” Seymour said. “It keeps moving in stops and starts. What’s wrong with it? Is it malfunctioning?”

“Is it cursed?” Jason asked.

“Is it sentient?” Betty asked.

It was DUM-E, trying to wiggle his way out from beneath a blow torch, propane tank, and TIG welder. He made a short movement, and then when the blow torch started to slide, stopped once more.

“Well,” Maggie said slowly, “it looks like one of the fabrication arms used in some of the higher labs, but not attached to the walls or ceiling. Perhaps a mobile fabrication arm,” she guessed.

Not a bad guess.

“What is it?” Ned whispered to Peter as DUM-E made another half-aborted movement. The blow torch slid fully to the floor with a clang, and DUM-E made a sad beep and dropped his head (hand? Claw?) forward dejectedly.

“One of Mr. Stark’s bots,” Peter said. 

“Awww,” Cindy said, “he looks sad.”

“He is sad,” Peter commented, and couldn’t help but smile as DUM-E beeped sadly once more, tried to pick up the blow torch with his claw, in one long, slow movement, and in the process dropped both the propane tank and the TIG. They were unharmed in the very short fall, but still DUM-E trilled dolefully.

“Awwwwww,” Cindy and Jason both cooed.

If only DUM-E knew how much attention he was getting. But then, as Tony often warned, he might get a big head. Peter had to drop his head and cover his mouth with his hand to hide his smile. 

“Alright,” Maggie said. “I think that’s about time!” The class turned to her slowly, unwilling to tear their eyes from the scene before them. Well, almost everyone. Peter’s eyes were on her in a flash. “It’s been great being your tour guide. Thank you everyone for coming!”

“We’re done?” someone asked sadly.

“Already?” someone else agreed.

Maggie grinned at them. “There’s actually one more stop, a lecture from a higher up in Stark Industries.”

Someone groaned, but Maggie’s grin didn’t lessen even a smidgen.

“You’re going to love it, I promise,” she said. “But this last lecture is for your entire field trip group together, your whole senior class, so after I drop you guys off, you’re on your own.” She laughed. “Not completely on your own. You will have Mr. Harrington, and all your other chaperones. But my duty will be done.”

Mr. Harrington stepped forward. “Thank you so much for giving us this tour, Maggie. You did an excellent job.” He turned to the class. “Why don’t we all give Maggie a round of applause.”

They clapped for her, in the lackluster way that class field trips have done for their tour guides for eons. Maggie didn’t even seem to mind. She smiled at them, and said, “It’s been my pleasure. Now, onto the last leg of our journey,” and led them off once more.

“What kind of lecture do you think it’ll be?” someone asked quietly as they walked, as Peter abruptly remembered exactly what kind of lecture it would be. How had he forgotten? The experiment lab had distracted him from not only Flash’s insistence that Peter was a liar, but also from Tony’s text, and Clint’s pronouncement, and the fact that the Avengers would all be talking to Peter’s class very, very soon. Peter suddenly felt like throwing up.

“I hope the higher up is Pepper Potts!” Betty said very audibly from right in front of Peter.

“That’d be dope,” Jason agreed.

“She won’t come down just to see us,” Charles said with a scoff from further up.

And then quieter, someone, the voice of whom Peter could barely catch said (they must be standing pretty close to the front of the mob, to Maggie and Mr. Harrington, and talking quietly in recompense), “Hey, did you see that table with the sticker on it? It had Peter’s last name! Do you think—”

And someone else cut them off, “Just a coincidence. I mean, maybe, and it’s a very weak maybe, but maybe Peter really does work here. But you can’t honestly tell me you think he works with Tony Stark himself?”

The question distracted Peter from his Avengers-related worrying and he frowned.

The first person laughed. “You’re right, it’s probably—”

Someone talking closer to Peter cut off the end of the sentence. “You know what it is? Don’t you?” Betty asked. She’d turned around as she walked, to ask Peter the question.

Peter blinked at her. “Know what it is?” God, was she about to ask about the lecture? He did know who it was going to be, but, well, wasn’t it supposed to be a surprise? He hadn’t even had time to tell Ned or MJ about the revelation. Plus, why would Betty think he knew anything about the lecture. Sure, she now knew for sure he interned at SI (finally somebody other than Ned and MJ actually truly believed him) but that didn’t mean he’d know about the lecture!

Betty rolled her eyes.

Jason, slowed as well, “Betty, why would Peter know what that arm is? Plus, Maggie said it was probably a fabrication thingy or whatever.”

“Because,” Betty said, in a way that sounded like ‘Stupid!’ “Peter obviously works in that lab.”

Jason stopped dead, and Peter had to jump quickly out of the way to avoid running into him. MJ wasn’t so lucky. She stumbled into him.

“Sorry,” Jason said, “sorry, sorry,” and moved forward once more.

MJ glared at Jason, and then at Peter. Peter shrugged, putting on his most innocent expression.

Jason’s mouth was hanging open, and even as he walked (slower than before), back down the hall of labs, he kept looking over his shoulder at Peter with wide eyes. “No way,” he said, “no way does Peter work in the lab of Tony Stark.”

Betty punched Jason’s shoulder. “He does,” she said resolutely. “His name was on a table.”

Jason made a face. “It was?”

“Underoos and his tools, Property of SI and Parker Inc, right there on the side of my work table,” Peter said. “Yeah, um, that’s me.” He scratched the back of his head awkwardly. 

“Knew it,” Betty crowed, and grinned, her smile as sharp as a knife’s point. Her eyes snapped back to Peter. “So what was it? That robot arm thing?”

“Wait,” Cindy said, “this is real?” She looked Peter in the eye, over her shoulder. “Nice going, Parker!”

“Well,” Ned cut in, his voice so lecture-professorly that it bordered on patronizing, “that was actually a bot built by Tony Stark himself.”

Betty blinked at Ned. “And how do you know that?”

Ned faltered a little. “Ah,” he said, “um, Peter told me.”

“Uh-huh,” Betty agreed. She looked back to Peter. “It’s a bot?”

Peter nodded. “Yeah. He tries to be helpful. Sweeping up dirt, using the fire extinguisher on explosions, or people. He can make a pretty mean smoothie, and by mean, I mean bad. Motor oil and kale do not mix. But he tries.”

“You sound like a proud older brother,” MJ said with a laugh.

Peter grimaced. “I do, don’t I? Ugh.”

Betty laughed at him too. “You ever think about giving him a name?”

“Oh,” Peter said in surprise. “He has a name. DUM-E. I’m pretty sure he’s Mr. Stark’s first bot.”

“Dummy?” Ned asked incredulously.

“DUM-E,” Peter said, and then spelled it for them.

“Doesn’t seem like a nice name,” Jason said.

Peter frowned. “He didn’t mean it like that. When he named him, Mr. Stark, I think he meant it in an endearing way. It might even stand for something. God knows Mr. Stark likes an acronym. But if it is an acronym, I don’t know what it stands for.”

“I think it’s cute,” Cindy said.

MJ nodded in agreement.

“Do you think we’ll get to meet him?” Jason asked, side-eyeing Peter. “You know, so we could ask him.”

Peter had completely forgotten, again, that, yes, they were going to meet Tony. And the Avengers. He tried to push it back down again, because, quite frankly, he wasn’t emotionally prepared for it happening.

Jason must have taken Peter’s sudden change of expression as denial.

“Oh well,” Jason said, downcast.

“It would’ve been pretty cool,” Ned agreed.

Peter winced, as MJ cast him a sudden, suspicious glance.

How could Peter tell them that they were in fact going to meet the Avengers, but that he’d known since at least lunchtime and hadn’t told them? Ned would be devastated. Meanwhile, Peter was thinking about faking an emergency to get out of having to go altogether. 

Or maybe he should just let it be a surprise, as it was almost definitely intended to be.

“Fine,” Jason said with a huff, and he no longer looked agog at Peter knowing the great Tony Stark. “But I can still hope, can’t I?”

“I know I am,” Ned cut in. “Heck, maybe that’s who we’re going to see right now!”

He looked to Peter with hopeful eyes, but Peter just shrugged.

Apparently that wasn’t enough for MJ, who cast him a half-lidded, knowing look, but gamely played along by adding, “I’m hoping it’s Pepper Potts.”

“Ah-men,” Betty said with a nod. “Though I wouldn’t turn my nose up at Tony Stark.” She turned to Peter. “You don’t happen to know Pepper Potts too, do you?”

Peter nodded guiltily.

“We got to meet her earlier,” MJ teased.

Betty sighed. 

“Lucky!” Cindy whined.

“That’s what you get for not being Peter’s BFF,” Ned said sagely with a nod of his head.

“And I suppose that position is already taken?” Betty asked archly.

“Of course,” Ned said, “by me.”

MJ elbowed Ned in the stomach.

“And Michelle,” Ned added reluctantly.

MJ elbowed him again.

“I mean, MJ,” Ned corrected.

“Is there a wait list?” Betty joked.

“Or a mailing list?” Jason asked more seriously. “Of information that you get to know if you’re Peter’s friend? Like Tony Stark’s hat size? Or what kind of shampoo he uses? Or when they’re going to come out with the StarkPhone X?”

“You could have asked that question yourself,” Peter said, “earlier, with Dr. Winters. She knows all that phone stuff. Instead you asked her about how long phone batteries are supposed to last. As if you don’t own a StarkPhone yourself.”

“Well it varies!” Jason said. “Sometimes it lasts over 48 hours, sometimes I can’t get through a whole school day.”

“Stop watching so much Tik Tok,” MJ said dryly.

“But I’m addicted,” Jason said with terrifyingly wide eyes.

“Look,” Peter said, “it’s not like I exactly made it a secret that I work here. If you have a question, ask me. If I know it, and it doesn’t interfere with the multiple NDAs I had to sign just to work here, I’ll tell you.”

Betty whistled. “Alright. I might have to take you up on that.”

“I’m going to take you up on it now,” Jason said. “What kind of Shampoo does Stark use?”

“Jason,” Cindy chided.

Peter’s eyes crossed involuntarily at the idiocy of that question. “Why,” he asked desperately, “would I know that?”

Jason shrugged.

“And,” Peter continued, “why would you want to know it?”

“Maybe if I use the same brand of shampoo,” Jason said, “I can be as successful as him.”

“I’m ashamed to even be in the same class as you,” MJ told him very matter-of-factly, and Peter couldn’t help but laugh.

Chapter Text

I can’t believe this is happening, was Peter’s thought, and his new outlook on life, as he sat in a giant ballroom on one of the lower levels of SI, in one of the cushy embroidered chairs set up in rows and columns, facing a stage upon which Tony Stark himself had just stepped out onto.

Tony.

Mr. Stark.

Peter’s boss.

Peter couldn’t believe it.

Tony had warned him earlier, had apologized, and Peter still couldn’t believe it.

And yet, there he was, striding to the front of the stage, microphone in hand, wide PR smile across his face. He scanned the crowd, his eyes stopping only momentarily on Peter, but Peter thanked whatever cruel-hearted god that could have cooked this up (possibly FRIDAY) that he moved on quickly, and didn’t wink or smile at Peter or do anything that would have drawn anyone’s attention to Peter while Peter was having this mild, mini, tiny little heart attack.

Myocardial infarction.

Could one feel one’s own veins and valves, chambers and arteries, seize and shake and explode?

Perhaps Peter was being a mite melodramatic. 

On the other hand, Tony was grinning at Peter’s entire graduating class, and had just opened his mouth to say, “Hello Midtown School of Science and Technology!”

The class cheered. There was hooting and hollering and stamping and clapping and a single piercing whistle that was cut off quickly, probably by a vigilant teacher.

I can’t believe this is happening, Peter thought again. He turned it into a mantra, reciting it in his head, over and over. I can’t believe this is happening, I can’t believe this is happening, I can’t believe this is happening, I can’t believe this is happening.

I can’t believe this is happening.

And he couldn’t.

Peter thought, maybe this was a dream—a nightmare! And soon he would wake up from it and sigh a breath of relief. Maybe the elevator ride down to this floor malfunctioned and sent his entire homeroom class plummeting to their deaths and this was just Peter’s own version of Hell. 

MJ clamped a hand down on Peter’s wrist and the surprise caused Peter to gasp, which felt enough like relief for Peter to realize he’d been holding his breath.

“You’re fine,” she told him, whispering quietly into his ear. “It’s going to be fine. A quick lecture, and then we’re on our merry way. You won’t have to talk to him, you won’t have to even stand up. You’re fine.”

Peter nodded weakly, but didn’t quite believe it. She didn’t know yet that the other Avengers were going to make an appearance as well.

“Oh my god,” Ned squealed from Peter’s other side, his eyes glued to Tony’s face. “Oh my god, oh my god! I can’t believe this is happening!”

“Me neither,” Peter croaked, but Ned didn’t seem to notice the difference in their tones, because he nodded frantically.

“I’m sure this is a surprise,” Tony said into his mic. The speakers made it seem like he was standing right in front of Peter, instead of the actual distance of twenty feet away. Which was still too close, by Peter’s standards. “But truth to tell, I didn’t even know until this morning I’d be here.” He let out a little welcoming laugh, a laugh that invited others to join in, and most of the crowd did.

“But I just go where they tell me to go,” Tony continued, as the crowd hung on his every word (which was his real superpower. Peter could barely get the other students to listen to him when he was answering a question in class). “And today is your lucky day, because today, they told me that I’d be meeting the greatest minds of the next generation. That’s you all.” He grinned at the crowd in front of him, at Peter, and his eyes fairly glinted in mirth. “And,” he said, his smile turning mischievous, “I brought my friends.”

And then the other Avengers walked on stage as well, coming out in two perfect lines from behind a crimson curtain. Steve and Natasha, side-by-side, and then Bucky and Bruce, Clint and Thor, Rhodey and Wanda, and pulling up the rear, Vision and Sam. And then the lines fanned out, until they were spread in one single line across the front of the stage, with Tony at dead center and Steve and Natasha on either corner of the stage.

Peter, with Ned on one side of him and MJ on the other, was sitting about three rows back, on the Steve side of the room. Peter was actually sitting almost directly in Rhodey’s line of sight, but the man hadn’t seen him yet. In fact, none of the Avengers, save Tony, had even looked at him.

Perhaps because there was a bank of windows at the back of the audience? The natural light fell almost exclusively on the Avengers, which must have left the crowd mostly in shadow, or at least horribly back-lit. Maybe they couldn't even see him.

Peter blinked at the realization, and then the relief it brought. He didn’t know if they were aware he was here (it didn’t seem likely that Clint would keep it from anyone, or that Tony would, but it would make sense for both of them, personality-wise, to have forgotten to inform anyone of the knowledge). For the moment, Peter was just a face in the badly lit crowd, just a teenager amongst a hundred other teenagers. Nothing special. Nothing amazing. Nothing recognizable.

He might actually get through this unscathed.

“There you go,” MJ whispered. He glanced at her, and she was smiling. “Relax. It’s fine.”

Maybe MJ was right. He tried to make himself relax further.

“I’m sure you recognize us,” Steve said with a smile, looking out into the sea of teens, his eyes not quite reaching Peter’s face. “But in case you don’t, we’ll each have a little introduction, and then, if you have any questions—” hands shot up across the room “—you can get them vetted by the fine people on either side of the room, and then come forward to ask them. In an orderly fashion,” he added, like he was afraid they’d all just rush the stage at a moment’s notice.

The worry was not unfounded, going by the fidgeting and whispering happening around them. Even Ned was muttering beneath his breath, eyes wide and looking like he was going to explode.

“What am I going to ask?” he hissed at Peter. “Who am I going to ask?”

Peter blinked at his friend. “If you don’t have a question to ask,” he whispered to Ned in the most condescending voice he could muster, “then don’t ask anything.”

Ned looked at Peter askance. “Are you kidding me? It’s my chance to actually talk to one of the Avengers! I’m going to do it.”

“Ok,” Peter said, “suit yourself.” If Ned was going to ignore that he’d chatted with Vision earlier that very day, and that he’d met Tony several times over the past few years, well, Peter wasn’t going to bring it up.

MJ patted Peter’s shoulder, and he turned to look at her. She was giving him a sympathetic smile. “Your BFF is an idiot.”

“He’s not a—” Peter started immediately, the defense coming naturally to his lips, but then he stopped. “Maybe,” he finally ceded.

Some students started to stand, heading over to the helpers, three of which were on either side of the room, all holding microphones.

“Sit,” Natasha said sweetly, and as every student in the room became re-acquainted with their chair, she said, “Introductions first.”

Rhodey stepped forward with a rakish smile on his lips. “We know you’re antsy to get started.”

“To barrage us,” Sam added, “with questions.”

“However,” Thor said, “we must maintain some amount of order so that this occasion may be deemed, uh—” he looked to Bruce.

“Educational,” Bruce supplied.

“Yes,” Thor confirmed boisterously. “Educational!”

“I’ll start,” Natasha said, and instantly everyone’s attention was upon her. She introduced herself quickly: name and superhero identity, and then she smiled, wide and guileless (artificially so. Peter remembered what her real smiles looked like, a little too round, not so perfectly primped and pretty, not like this), put a finger to her chin and said, “and uh, one interesting fact about me?” She winked at the crowd. “I’m secretly a big tennis fan.” She mimed hitting an underhand shot, over the net.

Laughter broke the silence, and Peter was surprised to find himself joining in.

“Oh,” Bruce said, after a silence that was just a little too long, “my turn? I’m Dr. Bruce Banner. You might know the big green guy I turn into: the Hulk.” He clasped his hands behind his back, signaling that he was done, and looked to Thor expectantly.

“Not so fast,” Natasha said, elbowing Bruce in the stomach lightly. “What’s a fun fact?”

Bruce grimaced. “A fun fact? About me?” he ran his fingers through his hair, making the curls puff up unevenly giving him an appropriately mad scientist look about him. He looked to Natasha. “What kind of fun fact?”

She shrugged. “Just… something normal. Something people don’t know about you.”

Bruce hummed. “My favorite color is purple.”

“No way, doc!” Clint cooed from the other side of the stage. “I didn’t know that! Purple’s my favorite color too!” And then, “Wait! That’s what I was going to say! Now I have to think of a new fact!”

Laughter, again, and Clint mugged for the crowd.

“Tis now my turn?” Thor asked, and then without waiting for a response, said, “I am Thor, God of Thunder.  And I have quite a tale to share with you today! It is both factual and… fun.” He grinned at them. “My brother, whom you might know as Loki Liesmith, is the god of mischief. Once when we were children he transformed himself into a snake, and he knows that I love snakes. So, I went to pick up the snake to admire it and he transformed back into himself and he was like, ‘Bleaargh! It’s me!’ And he stabbed me. We were eight at the time.” Thor’s grin hadn’t so much as moved an inch as he spoke, and as he finished his… worrying… tale, he was smiling still. As if it was a happy memory he’d recounted, and not a bloody one. 

“Uhhh,” Tony said, “thanks, Point Break, but I think that story was a little violent for the demographic, don’t you think?”

“Nay!” Thor said enthusiastically. “Why, these young ones are on their first steps to becoming adults, and warriors in their own right! They must enjoy such tales of valor and morality.”

“O-kaaay,” Sam said. “Sure, let’s go with that.”

“Please,” Clint said, appealing to the audience, “don’t sue us.”

“Or tweet about that,” Rhodey added.

It was a vain hope. Students had been taking surreptitious pictures and posting them online since Tony Stark had first gone on stage. There was no way someone wasn’t live-tweeting everything that was happening. 

“I am Wanda,” Wanda said loudly, turning the attention of the crowd to her, cutting off the possibility of any more riffing on Thor’s upbringing. “You may know me as the Scarlet Witch. A fun fact about me is,” she said in a monotone, like she was a transfer student, introducing herself at the front of the class, “that I love to cook.” She stepped back slightly, and said, “Next,” gesturing to Sam beside her. She obviously wanted as little attention on her as possible. 

Sam gave her a reassuring grin, and then introduced himself, adding easily to the end, “Now, I also like to cook, and I’m damn good at it.”

“Language,” Tony and Steve said at the same time, and then they both turned to look at each other with embarrassed expressions.

Sam rolled his eyes. “But my fun fact is actually that Steve Rogers cheats at cards.”

“Hey!” Steve said, “That’s not fair.”

Sam shrugged. “They never said it had to be a fun fact about yourself.”

“They,” Wanda said, “didn’t say anything, because this fun fact business was thought up by Natasha on the spot.”

Natasha made a sweeping bow to the crowd. And the crowd clapped.

Peter kind of wished he was recording this, and with that thought realized that he was actually enjoying himself.

Hey, maybe the field trip hadn’t been a disaster after all.

“Well then,” Steve said petulantly, “my fun fact is that Sam over here pretends his Nana gave him a secret recipe for Pecan pie that he refuses to share with anyone, but it is, in fact, Edwards Pecan Pie, found in the frozen food shop of any local—”

“Traitor!” Sam shouted at him, smile wide on his face.

“You started it!” 

“He did start it,” Bucky added sotto voce to the crowd, like he was a sports commentator.

“And I’m going to end it!” Sam said. “Steve Rogers s—”

He was cut off by a hand across his mouth.

“Uh-uh-uh,” Tony said, and made a show of only slowly removing his hand from Sam’s mouth when he was sure Sam would say any more. “You had your turn.”

“Fine,” Sam said. He leaned forward to peer around Tony so he could look Steve in the eye, “But I’ll get you later for that, Rogers!”

Steve, in a great show of maturity, stuck his tongue out at him.

“Children,” Tony scolded lightly, and then turned his thousand megawatt smile on the actual kids before him. “Now, I’m sure you’re aware, since you are standing in my building, but I’m Tony Stark.” He put his arms out wide on either side of him, like he was making a big presentation. “Also known as Iron Man.” And then he nudged Vision.

“But wait,” Vision said, “your, ah, fun…fact?” He pronounced the words like he was sure he was doing it wrong somehow.

Tony laughed. “What don’t people know about me? I’ve been in the news so many times since I was born. I’m sure half of you,” he grinned amiably at the crowd, and did make eye contact with Peter, but only for a second, “know more about me than I know about myself.”

“C’mon,” Bucky said gruffly, and beside him, Steve straightened up. “You have to have something.”

Something about Tony that wasn’t common knowledge? But also wasn’t extremely classified and/or dangerous for civilians to know? It sounded like a difficult thing to come up with.

Tony looked at Bucky, and Peter got the feeling that if it had been anyone else Tony would have shaken it off and moved the conversation along to Vision, but this was Bucky, and the trust there was shaky, but firming. Tony did give Bucky an unimpressed eyebrow raise before relenting.

“A fun fact, huh?” he asked. And put on his thinking face. Not a fake one, like Natasha had used, but his real ‘I need an idea and I need it fast’ face. And then he blinked. And grinned. Wide. Real. Not his PR smile, his real, honest-to-god, ‘I have an idea’ grin. Peter usually loved that grin. It meant explosions and science and once, flying. But now it just made Peter shift uncomfortably in his seat.

“Ok,” Tony said. “Here’s a fun fact. I’m sure you all know that half of what comes out of R&D in SI actually comes from little ol’ me,” there was some vague nodding, “and it’s also fairly well known that I design most of the armor and weapons that these guys,” both thumbs went out to point to his teammates on either side of him, “wear out in the field. But, what isn’t well-known, is that I actually have help in the lab.”

Peter got a bad feeling about this, and he sunk a little lower in his seat.

“And I don’t mean from FRIDAY,” Tony said, “though she is a big help, don’t get me wrong. You’ve met FRIDAY, right?”

There was more vague nodding.

“FRIDAY,” Tony said, “come out here.”

“Hello,” came a familiar disembodied Irish lilt. “It’s nice to see you all together.”

Peter wasn’t sure if she was referring to his peers and himself, or the Avengers.

“Thank you, FRIDAY,” Tony said, and then to the audience, “FRIDAY is my AI, in case you hadn’t met her yet today, or you forgot. She helps a lot in my lab. But! She’s not who I was talking about. Not many people know this, but I have an intern! I know what you’re thinking. Why would the great Tony Stark need a helper? But I have to tell you, everyone needs help every now and again, even the Great Tony Stark. And my intern, he, uh, he’s a very smart… man.” The pause between ‘smart’ and ‘man’ was so short it went almost completely unnoticed, except probably by only Peter himself, who knew that Tony had caught himself before calling his intern, before calling Peter, a ‘kid.’ 

Someone raised their hand on the other side of the room, but Tony waved it away. “If you have questions about my intern, or the fact that I need an intern at all, feel free to ask it during the upcoming Q-and-A session, but I, personally,” he put a hand over his heart, “think it’d be a waste of a perfectly good Avengers-related question to ask about the guy who helps me solder metal and gets my coffee.”

Peter had never gotten Tony a cup of coffee in his life.

Ok, maybe he had, but, but not because Tony had ordered him to. Sometimes if he was getting himself food, he’d pick something up for Tony because Tony needed to eat too. And it was easier to convince Tony to eat if he was also giving the man his favorite Columbian roast.

But also, he was thankful that Tony had essentially kept the mention of his intern short and fairly anonymous. And had implied that more information about said intern, (Peter), would be boring at most. Of course, Peter would have liked it more if Tony hadn’t mentioned him at all, but he knew Tony, and knew he had to take what he could get.

And maybe it was nice that Peter had come to Tony’s mind when he was trying to think of something nice and fun to share with the audience. If only the audience weren’t Peter’s peers. His entire graduating class, actually.

“My turn?” Vision asked, and Peter focused on him in relief. “I am Vision,” Vision said succinctly. “My fun fact,” he said it awkwardly again, but closer together, like he was trying to make it sound casual and normal, “is that I am a highly advanced android created by—”

“A fun fact,” Wanda said, interrupting him. “Not your history or point of origin. Something you like, or like to do, or dislike.”

Vision did not hesitate, (and that must be partly because he was an android. His brain was a computer. He must think so fast). “I do not like artichokes.”

Wanda laughed, as did most of Peter’s classmates.

“Thank you,” Vision said, expression just as serious as when he’d started.

“Ok,” Rhodey said. “I’m James Rhodes, War Machine. And I can beat anyone in this room in an arm wrestle.”

Bucky scoffed.

“That’s your fun fact?” Sam asked. “Really, man?”

“Also,” Clint said, “so untrue! Have you seen these guns?” He flexed. “Your little twiggy arms couldn’t beat me!”

“I wouldn’t bet on it,” Tony said with a succinct nod.

“He cheats,” Natasha said, which was her way agreeing.

Rhodey shrugged. “Never said how I’d win.”

“This stage is just full of cheats,” Sam said in an overly dramatic tone. “Does anyone else have something they’d like to share with us?”

“I cheated on my driver’s exam,” Clint said, and then, to the audience. “Sorry, Clint Barton, Hawkeye, I cheated on my driver’s license test.”

“How?” Bruce boggled. “How do you cheat on a driving test?”

“Oh,” Steve said sadly, and quietly, too quietly for anyone in the audience except for Peter to hear, but loud enough for his teammates to catch his words. “We’re corrupting these impressionable young minds. PR is going to be so pissed when they find out.”

“Are you kidding?” Tony asked, just as quietly, “These are teenagers! We can just claim they were corrupting us.”

Steve sighed and his eyebrows pulled together in concern. 

“Well,” Clint said, with a show grin, “a magician never reveals his secrets, does he?” he asked with a wink.

The audience collectively groaned. Peter could commiserate. He was also interested in knowing how in the world one would cheat on their driving test.

“But they caught on a few years after,” Clint said, “and I got my license permanently revoked. 

“Uhhhh,” Bruce said, “but you fly our, um, jet.”

Clint waved that worry away with his hand. “That’s a different kind of license. Don’t worry, I’m not flying illegally.” He turned to Bucky and said, “Your turn, Bucko.”

Bucky glowered at him, but then turned to the audience with a dark look. “Sergeant James Barnes, Codename: Winter Soldier,” he barked, like he was reciting rank. It reminded Peter of army scenes in movies. Then Bucky tilted his head to the side, just a little. “Are we still divulging times we’ve cheated?”

“Yes,” Clint said quickly, and then a little belatedly, Sam said, “No!”

“Ok,” Bucky said. “Does stealing vehicles from the Germans count? Because the number of wheels I boosted during the war… I can’t even count ‘em.”

Steve hummed thoughtfully, causing a stirring of whispers from the audience. Someone near Peter said, “I think I’m going to scream,” and someone else said, “Oh my god, our heroes are hooligans,” and a particularly verbose person said, “I’d say I’m being disillusioned except we all kinda knew they were bad boys, right?”

“No, Buck,” Steve said, “I don’t think that counts as cheating. I think I’d call that stealing.”

It was Bucky’s turn to hum in thought. “Ok,” he said, “hmm. Do you remember that time Mrs. Molloy had to pawn her wedding ring to pay for Craig’s medicine?”

“Yeah,” Steve said slowly, “and you bought it back for her. We didn’t eat anything but potatoes and leek stew for a month.”

“Right, right,” Bucky said, “but I, uh, I didn’t exactly use my savings, like I told you I did.”

“I suspected,” Steve said, “because we didn’t have any savings.”

They shared a laugh.

“Right,” Bucky said, and Peter realized the room was silent, waiting on tenterhooks to hear what happened. This was probably the most personality his peers had ever seen of Bucky Barnes, the Winter Soldier. Whenever Peter saw him on tv he always looked particularly stolid. This might be the most they’d ever seen him emote. “Well,” Bucky continued, “I went to the pawnbroker and gave him a ring I told him was worth just as much as Mrs. Molloy’s, and I’d give it to him with a little of the spare cash I had to hand—”

“Our eating money,” Steve interrupted.

“—If he’d give me back Mrs. Molloy’s.”

“And he did,” Steve guessed.

Bucky grinned into the crowd rakishly. “I can be very convincing when I want to be.”

“He means charming,” Steve said, and then waited for the laughter to end before asking Bucky, “But what ring? You didn’t have any jewelry that I knew of. So what’d you trade the man?”

“Becca’s ‘engagement ring,’” he said, making quotation marks with his fingers.

Steve cocked his head to the side and frowned. “Rebecca’s engagement ring? Buck, Becky musta been only twelve or so when—” and then the light dawned in his eyes, and he let out a deep bark of a laugh. “You didn’t!” He crowed. 

“I did,” Bucky said, and then, for the audience’s benefit (thank god. Peter’s curiosity had him, literally, on the edge of his seat), said, “My little sister, Rebecca, won a piece of costume jewelry, a ring, at the ball toss at Coney Island when she was ten, for days wouldn’t shut her mouth about it, how she loved it, and someday when she got engaged that was the ring she’d wear, and so on.”

“But you have to understand,” Steve said, “it was just tin and glass chip, painted all nice. It was worth less than a penny.” He turned to Bucky with a sunny smile. “I can’t believe you traded Mrs. Molloy’s wedding ring for that farce of a thing.”

Bucky shrugged. “What can I say? I cheat when I have to.”

Clint clapped a hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “I love you, have I mentioned recently? That’s perfect.”

A clap brought everyone’s attention back to Tony. “Ok, we’re almost done, this shouldn’t have taken this long, c’mon,” he made a motion with his hand, “let’s hustle. These kids are dying to ask us questions. And then go home and tell everyone they know that we’re liars and frauds and cheats and whatnot.”

“We’re not frauds,” Rhodey said.

“And I’ve never cheated,” Bruce said.

Tony scoffed but didn’t respond.

“Then I guess I’m last,” Steve said. “Hi everybody, I’m Steve Rogers. You may know me as Captain America.” The sudden cheering was deafening. Steve laughed and put his hands up in front of him and looked like he was trying not to look uncomfortable. “Thank you,” he said, “and I guess my fun fact is that I cheat at cards.”

“Thank you,” Sam said. “The first step to recovery is admitting you have a problem.”

“Excellent!” Tony said, “and now that you know us all, let’s get those questions coming!”

There was a mad dash on all sides to get to a helper with a microphone. Peter and MJ stayed right where they were seated, and watched their classmates scurry, specifically Ned, who ended up well behind most of the people lined up on their side of the room. Students were lined up on both sides, leaving less than a third of the chairs filled. Peter felt suddenly vulnerable in the emptiness.

“Now remember,” Natasha said, “we may not have time to answer all of your questions, so please don’t get offended if we don’t get around to yours.”

“And we’re going to try to go quick,” Tony added, “so we can get to most of you, so also, sorry I guess, if we don’t go in depth with your questions.” He shrugged carelessly. “Now, do we have a question?”

The answer must have been yes, because he gestured to one of the lines, and a wavering voice came out of the speakers and asked, “What’s, um, this is a question for Tony Stark. What’s your favorite color?”

“Red,” Tony said, “hot-rod, red, well, Iron Man Red.” He grinned mischievously at the crowd. “Next!”

And they moved on. To be honest, most of the questions were like that, queries for meaningless tidbits about various Avengers’ lives, mostly mundane, like what Thor’s favorite food was, and was Wanda settling into American culture ok, and what shampoo did Tony use (Damn Jason!), and for the most part it went pretty fast. But Peter guessed that was to be expected. No one had known they were meeting the Avengers today. No one had had time to come up with complex questions on the spot (and Peter was sure many a student would be kicking themselves about it for the next few days, if not weeks).

There were some real questions thrown in that several of the Avengers answered, and were meticulous and thoughtful about answering, like when Betty asked what their opinion was concerning the piracy and country-to-country scheming surrounding vibranium acquisition. Her words. Steve spent a long time answering that one, mentioning Wakanda and the UN, and not a few number of students seemed to have glazed-over eyes by the end of it, but Betty’s voice was bright and animated as she thanked them for their time.

Peter let himself lean back and relax as the trivial information washed over him. He was listening but not attentively, and then someone, not Flash, surprisingly, asked, “About the before mentioned intern to Tony Stark…” and Peter sat up straight with a jerk. “Ok, so if you, Tony Stark, have had a personal intern this whole time, why has no one heard about it? Is he an Avenger? How much classified stuff is he allowed to see? How do you know he’s trustworthy?” The student, someone Peter recognized as a peer but had never talked to before, sent question after question, not pausing between each breath and the next. “How smart is he? How did he get hired? And I mean, what does it even take to get hired as your personal intern anyway?”

Tony blinked at the student. “That,” he said, “is more than one question.”

The student didn’t take any back, and Peter held his breath, waiting to hear what Tony would say about him.

“Ok,” Tony said, “then I guess I’ll answer as many of those questions as I can. But quickly. We’re almost done here and I don’t want your buses to leave without you.”

“Thank you,” the student said, kind of sassy, as if Tony was giving him a hard time about providing him with what he owed him. A little presumptuous, if you asked Peter.

Tony’s eyes widened even as his smile stayed, perched on his lips, just so, and Peter could practically hear Tony’s voice in his head, saying, sarcastic as hell, Kids are just so polite nowadays.

“Alright,” Tony said briskly. “Let’s do this: I wouldn’t say no one’s heard of him. He can tell whoever he wants that he works at SI, just like any of the other interns and employees in the building. If you mean why there hasn’t been a press release about it, well, if I had to inform the public every time I hired someone I wouldn’t have enough time in the day to sleep.” He was talking quickly, rapid fire, not holding back or gentling his words like he had up to this point. “No, he’s not an Avenger. He just works for me. He can see whatever I can see, because he works for me. I know he’s trustworthy the same way you know your grandmother loves you. She shows it. I, however, am not going to publicize his resume. That would be a breach of privacy and besides the illegality of that fact, I also respect his privacy.” 

Tony paused here to glance, just for a fraction of a second, at Peter before looking back to the student who was now standing ramrod straight himself. He looked overwhelmed and Peter smiled just a little at that, because that’s what you got when you tried anything with Tony Stark. He’d always come back at you, at a hundred and ten percent.

“How smart is he?” Tony asked “He’s a certified genius. He’s able to keep up with me eighty-five, maybe ninety percent of the time, and in case you don’t know what that means, he’s very smart.” Peter thought Tony was exaggerating on that end. So often he felt like he was barely keeping up with what Tony was saying, but the words made him relax a little, and smile, anyway. “I hired him because I found a genius and I wanted him to work with me. For me. Whatever. That’s what you do in my business. If you come across someone who knows how to do what you want to get done, you snatch them up on the spot. As to your last question, something along the lines of how one could go about getting hired as my personal intern? Is that right?”

The student nodded awkwardly.

“Be a genius,” Tony said simply. “Though I don’t know if that would be enough anyway. I’m not such a narcissist that I’d need two personal interns. That seems a little much don’t you think?”

The student squawked into the microphone.

“Excellent,” Tony said, and turned to the line on the other side of the room, “Next?”

“Awww,” MJ said in Peter’s ear, a weak imitation of actual dejectedness, “he didn’t drop the mic.”

“I’m sure he dropped the mic in spirit,” Peter whispered back.

The next student to speak cleared their throat nervously, and Peter looked over to see that it was Ned’s turn.

Peter had no clue what Ned was about to ask, and was nervous as well, on Ned’s behalf. He was thinking something along the lines of Ned asking Tony what he does to relax or what Steve’s favorite baseball team was (though Peter could answer that one) or … something. Something stupid and innocuous, because apparently that was what Ned did when he got nervous.

So really, Peter should have been prepared to hear Ned ask, “Um, Thor? When you summon lightning you do so through a hammer, right? Does your hammer have a name?”

Peter felt his eyelid twitch.

But Thor just laughed boisterously. “It does indeed, young one.” He pulled his hammer from where it hung on a loop on his belt. “This,” he said, raising the hammer to the sky, like he might at any moment summon lightning and thunder into the ballroom, “is Mjolnir. With Mjolnir’s might I can summon the weather itself to do my bidding. It comes to me whenever I summon it, no matter how great the distance. And, only those who are deemed worthy of its Asgardian might are able to pick it up. I was deemed worthy, so it allows me to hold it and control it.”

Peter blinked.

That couldn’t be right. When Peter had tidied up the coffee table the last time he’d had a conversation with Thor, he’d moved Mjolnir, right? Maybe it had been a different hammer. That had to be it. If only the worthy could move it… or, maybe it was easy to be deemed worthy. Maybe all the Avengers were worthy and could pick it up and move it around all higgledy piggledy at their leisure. 

“He’s a menace with it,” Tony said, “always leaving it in annoying—”

“Inconvenient,” Vision corrected.

“—places,” Tony continued, “and no one can move it. We’re always having to hunt him down to get it out of the way.”

“Likes to leave it on top of stuff,” Sam said, “like his dirty laundry, and the lid to the cereal tub, and in front of doors so we can’t get out.” He scowled melodramatically.

“I do apologize again,” Thor said solemnly, “for my lack in thought in those situations. And that you were stuck in the pantry for three hours.”

Peter laughed, and he was joined by his classmates.

“So,” Ned said, still at the microphone, “no one but Thor can pick it up?”

“Aye,” Thor said unapologetically.

“I almost picked it up,” Steve said.

Natasha scoffed. “He moved it less than a millimeter, maybe.”

“You didn’t do any better,” Steve said.

“I didn’t try,” Natasha rebutted. “I don’t need a hammer to tell me how much I’m worth.”

“Spoilsport,” Tony said.

Ned made a small noise, like he’d just thought of something, an idea that could either be really good, or really bad (Peter was very familiar with that noise, and the ideas that followed soon after), and then said awkwardly, stumbling over his own words, “Could, um, if you don’t mind Mr. Thor, could I try?”

There was a dull roar ringing in Peter’s ears that he at first took to be caused by his shock of hearing Ned Leeds actually ask an Avenger if he could try lifting the very special magical weapon (which, Peter was sure, must be a different, more special hammer than the one he picked up. Perhaps Thor had two Mjolnirs?). But no, he realized after a long moment, when the roar did not fade, it was actually the sound of his entire graduating class breaking out into whispers.

“I do not see why you should not,” Thor said cheerfully, and there was no indication that he saw anything strange or odd with the request or his immediate, positive response.

Peter looked to Ned and saw Ned’s eyes widen in shock, and watched as Ned then shoved the microphone back into the hand of the helper and make a beeline for the stage. 

Someone in the crowd jumped up, “Hey,” she said, “can I try too?”

Thor shrugged carelessly. “Why not? Come!”

She surged forward as well, a ways behind Ned for having to sidle past the people in her row. 

And then hands were going up in the crowd, and the roar increased, and Tony got this look in his eyes, like he was about to feed into the madness instead of put a stop to it. (Peter usually liked that look since what it usually meant was letting Peter stay past his curfew or making something explode for science.) Just as Steve and Rhodey simultaneously opened their mouths, no doubt about to say something helpful, Tony called out, “Why don’t we let anyone who wants to give it a try up here?” He beckoned the students forward. “C’mon! Don’t you want to test the hammer of a Norse God?”

“Aye!” Thor called jubilantly, his smile wide and his cheeks rosy, and his blond hair bright under the ballrooms glittering light fixtures. “Let the children test their might against Mjolnir!” And he placed the hammer on the stage in front of him, handle up.

“Tony,” Bruce complained, and backed away from the lip of the stage and the rowdy audience. Wanda joined him.

And then the kids were streaming towards the stage. Ned had already reached the side, where a small staircase gave him access, and he climbed it cautiously.

Natasha put two fingers to her lips and let out a shrieking whistle that pierced Peter’s eardrums painfully, and caused the students to stumble to a halt almost as one, though a few stumbled too much and fell over each other. “Let’s be orderly about it,” Natasha said pleasantly, which made a chill run down Peter’s spine. “Since apparently this is a thing that’s happening now,” she said, and made eye contact with Tony, who very bravely stood his ground, though his smile lost some of its luster, “we’re going to be polite about it,” she turned back to the gaggle of students, “right?” She didn’t wait for an answer, which was fine, since no one even tried to respond. “Line up here,” she pointed to where Ned was standing stock still, one foot on the lip of the stage, one on the step right below that. “Single file. We can wrap around the back of the room if we want, but I want no pushing, no cutting in line, and no more yelling,” the girl right behind Ned ducked her head guiltily. 

“And,” Rhodey added, looking less than pleased himself, (and elbowing Tony subtly in the ribs at random moments), “only one try per person. You’re not going to be able to lift it, and you’re going to want to try again. And again. And again. And frankly, if it doesn’t work the first time, it’s never going to work. Agreed?”

There was a general mumbling of assent, though not everyone looked happy about it.

“Alright then,” Natasha said, “let’s go.”

Sam sighed.

Students moved towards the side of the stage more sedately now, but not a single person stayed behind. Everyone was going to try their chance at picking up Mjolnir. Except for Peter and MJ, who were sitting alone, an island in a sea of empty chairs. Peter didn’t want to try it. If he really desired to know whether or not he could pick it up (and he doubted it) he could always ask Thor later. But he didn’t want to try. He knew he wasn’t worthy. If Captain America wasn’t, if Sam and Rhodey and Clint and Tony weren’t worthy, of whatever, no way was he. That’d be crazy. He actually kind of agreed with Natasha on this. He didn’t need a hammer to tell him his worth. He knew what he was worthy of. His friends, his internship, May and Tony. He worked hard and he did his best to continue being worthy of the company of the people he considered his family. That couldn’t be determined by a hunk of metal on a stick, even if it was a very cool, very magical hunk of metal on a stick.

Which he respected.

He respected the hammer.

He just didn’t need to test his worthiness on it.

Plus, if it ever bothered him, he could just pretend that the hammer he’d picked up before, the other hammer, was as picky as this one apparently was.

But it honestly didn’t bother him.

He looked to MJ. “Why don’t you get in line?” he asked her.

She blinked at him. “Why don’t you?” she asked.

He shrugged. “I don’t really care if I’m worthy to a hammer or not. No matter how cool that hammer is.”

She made a sharp ‘hmmmph’ noise in the back of her throat. “Mature, Parker,” she said, “very mature.”

He narrowed his eyes at her.

“I feel the same way, of course,” she said.

“You want to go and try it, like Ned’s about to,” Peter said, “don’t lie.”

Her apathetic expression broke, and she smiled. “Yeah.”

“Go,” he said with a shooing motion.

“I didn’t want you to get lonely,” she teased.

Peter rolled his eyes. “I’ll be fine. Go.”

She laughed and jumped to her feet, making her way to the back of the room, where the line had ended after  wrapping around the walls on the side of the room.

Peter turned his gaze to Ned, on the stage, who was moving from foot to foot nervously, realizing belatedly that he was now in the spotlight and required to go through with it. Couldn’t back out now, Ned-o!

He reached down, took hold of the hammer’s handle, pulled… and nothing happened. It didn’t budge at all. It was like it was a part of the floor, welded to the ground, like it had grown from that spot over a millennia, not like Thor had just dropped it there minutes before.

Ned let go with a stumble and then laughed a little, at himself.

“Good try,” Thor said kindly, “you made a valiant effort.”

“Uh, thanks,” Ned said, speaking mostly to his shoes, or perhaps Mjolnir, and then bobbed his head once, twice, before turning around to go back down the stairs.

“This way,” Sam said, and beckoned Ned towards the other direction.

“It makes sense for efficiency’s sake,” Vision agreed. “You may exit down the other side of the stage.”

“Oh, uh, um,” Ned said, slightly pink in the face, “uh, thank you.” And then he turned himself around marched towards the other side, where no doubt another staircase lived. But at the edge of the stage was Steve, and Steve, Peter had come to learn, was polite and welcoming, and so it didn’t surprise Peter at all to see Steve reach out his hand for Ned to shake, and ask him a question, and suddenly they were chatting, as the girl who’d gone up behind Ned wrapped her own hands around Mjolnir and pulled. 

Nothing happened. Obviously.

“Peter,” said a voice at Peter’s side, and he turned, surprised to notice he hadn’t heard Mr. Harrington approach. Too busy watching Ned to pay attention, he reproached himself.

“Mr. Harrington,” Peter said.

“Why aren’t you in line?” he asked. The teacher had taken a seat next to Peter and was now doing a bang up job of trying to look like he was a good and caring educator instead what he actually was, which was a man in charge of teenagers who almost permanently had his head in the clouds. 

“Uh,” Peter said, not really wanting to explain himself to Mr. Harrington of all people. “I don’t really, uh, want to?”

“Is it ‘cause Flash was being mean to you earlier?” Mr. Harrington asked, voice dripping with an unnecessary and artificial amount of sympathy. 

“No,” Peter said simply and frankly. Which was nothing but the truth.

“I know you two don’t always get along,” Mr. Harrington said, ignoring Peter and under-playing Flash’s bullying pretty drastically, “but that shouldn’t stop you from joining your peers!”

“No, really, Mr. Harrington,” Peter said, “I’m not—”

“No, no, no,” Mr. Harrington said. “You might regret it, years from now, if you don’t jump at any opportunity given. Imagine, getting that close to one of the Avengers? Trying to handle a magic artifact?” He lowered his voice like they were participating in joint camaraderie, and said, “I know I’d go up there if I could. But,” he waved his hand magnanimously, “it’s something special for you kids.”

Peter blinked at him, and then said the only thing he could think of to make Mr. Harrington stop talking to him. “I think I’m going to go get in line,” he said, and got to his feet.

“Thataboy,” Mr. Harrington said and patted Peter’s back as Peter walked away. 

Peter was so ready to graduate.

Peter made his way slowly, so slowly, to the back of the room, and joined MJ in line. The very end of the line.

He was going to have to get on stage, in front of all of his classmates, and try not to act like he knew every single person up there. Because if he did, if he did know all the Avengers personally (which, incidentally, he did) that would be weird, and people at school would start treating him differently, and he’d bet, cross his heart and hope to die, that it wouldn’t be in a positive way. 

Flash would probably, if anything, get even worse. 

Tony would know the lowdown, would pretend that Peter was just another kid. But would the others? Would Tony have warned them not to make a scene? Why would he have? It wasn’t like this was planned. Or maybe, maybe they’d figure it out, be mature, read the situation and see that he did not want to be singled out in front of his entire class. His entire graduating class. One-fourth of his school!

Peter crossed his fingers and forced himself to take deep breaths, and just hoped that it would all go smoothly, and nothing weird would happen. When it was his turn, he’d go up there, tug on the hammer, be unable to move it like everyone else, and get off. No stopping for conversation or greetings. Just on and off.

He took a deep breath. He could do this.

“What are you doing here?” MJ asked with a smile. “Thought you didn’t need a hammer to tell you your worth.”

“I don’t,” Peter said, “but it turns out I do need a hammer to get away from Mr. Harrington’s good intentions.”

They both looked to Mr. Harrington, who was sitting next to Peter’s vacated seat. He waved at them and they waved back. Out of the side of his mouth Peter said, “He peer pressured me into doing this.”

“Impossible,” MJ said, “he’s not your peer. He’s your teacher.”

“Then I got teacher pressured,” Peter said. “He told me it’s a once in a lifetime opportunity and I’ll regret it years from now if I don’t do it.”

“Did you tell him you could ask Thor if you could pick up his hammer any day of the week because you know him and are, in fact, personal besties with the guy?” MJ teased.

Peter nudged her shoulder with his. “Stop it. Of course I didn’t. Oh! Look! Ned’s about to sit with Mr. Harrington.”

And he was. The kids who’d already tried the hammer had started filtering back to their seats, and Ned had returned to the seat he’d been sitting at before, not realizing that Mr. Harrington had taken MJ’s seat, two seats away from him. They both watched as Ned introspectively watched, in a sort of a daze, as more kids tried, and failed, to lift Mjolnir.

“Do you think he’ll notice before Mr. Harrington says something?” Peter asked.

“Do I think that Ned ‘What’s an Observation?’ Leeds will notice a teacher sitting two over from him instead of his friend? Frankly, no. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if Mr. Harrington started talking to him and Ned genuinely thought it was me.”

Peter laughed, “He’s not that bad.”

MJ raised an eyebrow.

“Ok,” Peter admitted, “he’s pretty bad.”

The line moved, slowly but surely, and Peter kept one eye on Ned, who continued to look lost in thought to a worrying degree, and his other eye on the stage, where student after student tried and failed to lift Mjolnir.

“Oh look,” MJ said quietly, like she was pointing out a skittish animal at a lower volume so she wouldn’t scare it off, “It’s Flash’s turn.”

Flash ascended the stairs with a pompous, self-confident smirk and enough hot air that he could have started a dirigible company.

“He doesn’t really think that he’ll be able to lift it when no one else has been able to, does he?” Peter asked.

MJ shrugged. “It’s certainly possible. He’s the most self-centered person I’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting.”

Flash made a big show of cracking his knuckles and then shaking out his fingers.

“He’s going to embarrass himself,” Peter said, “and then he’s going to get angry about it.”

“Oh god,” MJ said gleefully, getting out her phone and surreptitiously pointing it at Flash, “you’re right!’

Flash cracked his neck, and then his back; did a few toe-touches.

“He’s warming up,” Peter said in disbelief. “Why does he think that would help? It’s not like the hammer is just super heavy. It’s got magical properties!”

MJ snickered but didn’t respond, and he looked over to see that she was recording Flash.

Great.

And that meant his commentary was recorded as well. 

He hoped this never got back to Flash, or Flash would be pissed, and Peter really didn’t enjoy a pissed off Flash. He didn’t know who did enjoy a pissed off Flash. Probably not even Flash.

“He’s going for it,” MJ whispered.

On stage, Flash reached down slowly, and gripped Mjolnir first with one hand, and then the other, before giving an almighty tug.

The hammer, of course, did not move. At all.

But Peter did hear a loud POP come from Flash’s back, and then Flash dropped the handle and made an aborted motion to rub his back. He stopped himself before making contact, gave a superior sniff, and then walked past the hammer.

“And another failure,” MJ said, “from the schoolyard bully in his unnatural habitat.”

“Color me surprised,” Peter said drily. 

MJ put her phone away. “Look,” she said, “he’s posturing at Captain America.”

And sure enough, Flash was. Steve was chatting with Flash very politely, but it looked like Flash was trying to show off how cool he was as a classmate tried the hammer after him. Peter could hear what Flash was saying, but frankly it was pretty indulgently self-centered, and therefore boring. Steve looked… less than enthused.

“Poor Steve,” Peter said, and meant it.

Steve’s eyes flicked up for less than a second and met Peter’s before flicking back to peer politely down at Flash.

Peter froze. How could he have forgotten that Steve’s hearing was on par with his own? Steve had been able to hear everything Peter had been saying since entering the ballroom. If he’d cared enough to listen. God, had Peter said anything incriminating? He didn’t think he’d mentioned Spiderman at all. 

He sent up a silent wish to any deity that might be listening (probably not Thor) that Steve had heard nothing suspicious, and had, in fact, not even been paying attention to Peter at all. He’d hopefully only looked at Peter because Peter had said his name.

Yeah, that was it!

The line moved up and Peter followed it stiffly. 

“I don’t like being the caboose,” Peter said to MJ, mostly so he’d stop thinking about the fact that Steve could hear this very conversation and there was no way for him to warn MJ not to mention Spiderman because that would involve mentioning Spiderman, which Steve would be able to hear, and oh god what if— 

Which was why he was going to steer this conversation far away from all of that! And force his mind on something else to stop himself from thinking about it! (Like that was even possible)

“Well that’s what you get for being last to get in line. You know what they say, the early bird gets the worm.”

“Oh. Worm,” Peter said, and they both giggled. “Well,” he said, “what about the second mouse? The second mouse gets the cheese in the trap.”

“You’re neither the early bird nor the second mouse,” MJ said, “you’re,” she frowned and put a finger to her lips, “you’re the caboose. Damn.”

“Thanks,” Peter said with a sigh. “You know, I was looking more for, like, a fun idiom or a proverb or something.”

“Then get a friend who goes to the Midtown School of Language and Proverbs. Till then you’re stuck with me and Mr. Unobservant over there.”

“Thanks,” Peter said, “can I cut in front of you?”

“Hell no,” MJ said, “I earned this penultimate spot fair and square. If you don’t want to go last you can just go back and sit down. Keep Ned and Mr. Harrington company.”

Peter looked to Ned and Mr. Harrington, still sitting right where they’d been since Ned returned. As Peter was looking, Ned opened his mouth, turned, and then startled badly upon noticing Mr. Harrington.

“Hey,” Peter said, “he just realized we’re not there!”

“Jesus Christ,” MJ said. “Took him long enough.”

Ned cast his eyes around the room, and when his head turned to where Peter and MJ were standing, now less than twenty people from the stage, Peter waved. Ned slumped a little in his seat, and said, “Dude, why’re you dead last?”

Peter looked at Steve to suss out whether or not Steve might find it suspicious that Ned was apparently talking to Peter, who was half a ballroom away. He didn’t look suspicious. Of course, sometimes people talked to themselves, or to people who couldn’t hear them, and as long as Peter didn’t react there’d be no proof Peter had heard Ned at all.

Peter’s phone vibrated and he pulled it out. It was a text from Ned.

Which made sense, because that’s what cell phones were made for. Communicating long distances. Even if the long distance was just half a ballroom away. 

Why are you at the end of the line?

Peter texted back right away, MJ leaning over his shoulder and reading what he was typing.

Didn’t want to go at all but Mr. Harrington peer pressured me

Yeah, was Ned’s response, well now I have to sit with the guy! So

MJ snatched the phone from Peter’s fingers and sent: Suck it up Buttercup

Peter snatched it back and sent a quick: That was MJ. But also, same

Ned’s head snapped up and he stuck his tongue out at them. Peter returned it. MJ did not, because she was an adult, and no fun.

And then one of the attendants was there. He said, “No phones on stage please,” and Peter realized they were almost there. Two more students in front of MJ: Sue and Seymour, plus Nancy who was trying to pick up the hammer at that very moment and Amanda who was saying a last Thank you and goodbye to Steve at the end of the stage.

Suddenly all of Peter’s worry was right there, sitting like a lead weight in his gut. He looked back towards Ned, and then let himself focus on the waves of students who were sitting back in their seats between him and his best friend, chatting and laughing and watching the stage.

“I think I’m going to throw up,” Peter whispered to MJ.

She turned to him. “I’m going to tell you the same thing I told Ned. Suck it up Buttercup.”

That made Peter crack a smile.

“You’ll be fine,” MJ said, “you’re just going to fail to pick up the hammer like the rest of us and then we can go back to this bizarrely awesome Q-and-A, yes,” she said when he whipped his head around to look her in the eyes, “I’m admitting it’s awesome. It’d be more awesome if Pepper Potts was here, but hey, I got to meet her earlier and one can’t have everything in life. What would be the fun in that?”

Seymour stepped up to Mjolnir, gave it a half-hearted yank, and then strolled casually past it to Steve, who was dutifully chatting with each student, even if it was only a quick ‘hey, hi, how are you doing?’

“Are you not nervous?” Peter asked. “Now that everyone’s—well, almost everyone’s back in their seats, aren’t you nervous about our entire graduating class just, like, staring up at us?”

MJ shrugged as Sue reached down, took a deep breath, and pulled.

Nothing happened.

“Just pretend it’s an Academic Decathlon tournament,” she told him. “The crowds for those are way bigger than this, and you do fine with those. And you don’t even have to talk in front of this group,” she added.

Peter let out a long breath. “I guess you’re right.”

“I’m always right,” MJ said.

“You’re up,” an attendant at the base of the short staircase said to MJ, and without another word, MJ mounted the stairs.

Peter watched her give a short nod of greeting to Thor, and then casually with one hand reach down and tug on the handle of Mjolnir. There was a tiny moment where Peter thought she was going to actually lift it, but it didn’t budge at all, and she let go without so much as a dejected look.

Wishful thinking, he decided with a sigh. If MJ had been able to lift it, she'd be the center of attention and Peter could get away with not going up on stage in front of all his classmates, with these very famous people who he actually knew IRL, and who knew him as well and might start to chat or something and then, and then, and then…. 

“Your turn,” the attendant told Peter, and Peter found himself mounting the short staircase. MJ had moved to the end of the stage where she was—she was grilling Steve on his political views and his stance on the current feminist movement (and Peter could tell that she was begrudgingly impressed with his answers).

Thor beamed at Peter and opened his mouth to bark out a loud and familiar greeting, no doubt, when he abruptly shut his mouth. Though, Peter was glad to note, his smile didn’t waver.

Ah, so someone had made a warning to the other Avengers.

Peter let a little of the tension run out of his frame. He was safe on that front at least. They knew not to act too familiar with him in front of his classmates. Excellent. Excellent.

Peter rubbed his palms on the thighs of his jeans and then lightly, very lightly, grasped Mjolnir’s handle.

It felt the same as the hammer he’d touched before.

But, hey, that didn’t mean anything. Memory of the touch of a handle wasn’t proof of anything. Wasn’t even really convincing. Probably most hammer’s handles felt the same.

He didn’t pull yet. He knew nothing was going to happen, but somehow he felt like his failure would make him an embarrassment. Like Flash, who’d tried too hard. He should have gone in much more casually, like MJ, or Seymour.

God, why was he even worrying about this? It wasn’t like he could become more of a joke at school. And school was almost over! For good! God, Peter, just pick up the Thunder God’s hammer and—

There was a sudden, deafening crashing noise from the back of the room, the shattering of the glass in several of the floor-to-ceiling windows, and a figure in dark browns and blues rolled in, crunching glass as he rolled in, using his momentum to land him on his feet. He was a—a cowboy. In the second after he landed, Peter’s heart spiked, and it was like he could see everything all at once. Tony was pulling the Iron Man Gauntlet from his watch with practiced ease, Thor was moving in front of Peter, Bruce was getting a little green around the gills, and at the end of the stage Steve had pushed MJ behind him as well. The figure who’d rolled in had a full cowboy get-up: ten gallon hat, chaps over denim, dirty-looking woven poncho, and pointy-toed cowboy boots with spurs on the heels that clanked against the glass shards on the floor as he settled onto his feet.

“Yee-haw!” The intruder shouted, pulling dual pistols from each hip, and Peter saw right away that these weren’t normal guns. They had electric blue light gleaming from the seams and they whirred in an anachronistically futuristic way. 

Was it stupid that Peter was more pissed that this apparent cowboy had scifi-looking weapons than at the fact that there was an armed man threatening his entire class and himself?

Probably.

Maybe Peter should talk to Tony about seeing to a therapist or something.

The cowboy spat on the floor and said, “You can call me Dirty Dirk Paulson, the Big Double D! If you don’t cooperate I’m likely to take a hostage so listen well! I want—”

But that was enough. Peter didn’t need to hear anymore.

Without thinking, Peter’s grip tightened on Mjolnir’s handle, and he had it up and swinging without a second thought. He flung it overhand towards Dirty Dirk, and it flew, quick and true, and hit Dirty Dirk right in the dead center of his chest.

And did not stop.

Mjolnir pushed Dirty Dirk straight back out of the building, metal to sternum, through the broken windows and out onto the city below. The arc the cowboy villain and magical hammer made as they fell to earth was wide and long, and Peter had no idea where they might end up. Mjolnir had been going pretty fast after all.

He let out a rough breath and realized that slowly his classmates, who’d turned to look at the stupid villain of the week that had gate-crashed their senior field trip, were turning back to look at Peter with varying shades of wonder and surprise on their face. 

And then there was a hand ruffling his hair, and Tony’s voice, so close, and so warm and full of pride said, “Holy Fuck, Pete!” He cackled, wrapped an arm around Peter’s shoulders, and ignoring Peter’s suddenly cherry red cheeks, said, “That’s my boy! Good job kid! I’m proud of you!”

Mouths dropped open in the crowd. Eyes widened. Peter caught a glimpse of Flash, who looked like he was finding out that Santa Claus was real after all, and vacationed in a Swingers’ resort in Florida.

“Hah!” Thor said loudly, “I knew that I was not mistaken! You have handled Mjolnir before, yes?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “I thought mine eyes deceived me, but nay! You are indeed worthy!”

“Uh,” Peter croaked, “Thanks.”

“Fliers,” Steve said, “check on the cowboy.”

“More like a rodeo clown,” Clint said, and then laughed at his own joke.

Wanda and Vision, the two with innate flying abilities, flew off, following Dirty Dirk through the window.

“Thor,” Steve said, “will you join them? If Mjolnir lands with the cowboy under him, no one will be able to get it off but you. And, well,” he said, slightly more awkwardly, “Peter. But we’re not sending Peter out there.”

Thor nodded sagely and loped off the stage. “The irony,” he said, as he made his way out of the room on foot, “is that I use Mjolnir to fly. I could reach them much quicker if I had Mjolnir, but if I summon Mjolnir before the others restrain him, the dirty little man may escape! It is, as you midgardians say, a double-headed axe!” He laughed loudly, and then was out of the room.

“Do we say that?” Peter heard his mouth asking.

“Definitely not,” Natasha said, at the same time Clint said, “I’m going to start!”

“He meant double-edged sword,” Rhodey said, and then made a shooing motion at Peter. “That’s enough of a show today, don’t you think, Intern-boy? Back to your seat.”

“But Rhodey,” Tony said, unable to hold himself back now that the beans were spilled. “Peter’s already here, can’t we can’t just go upstairs?” He turned to Peter. “I came up with these ideas for compression arrows for birdbrain over there, and if we can get them to work right, the quantity he’ll be able to carry in the field will triple! But I need someone to—”

“No,” Rhodey said firmly. “Peter’s in the middle of a field trip. Let him go.”

Tony reluctantly dropped his arm.

Peter took the moment to hurry towards the end of the stage where MJ was still standing slightly behind Steve, looking uncharacteristically wide-eyed.

“Good job,” Bucky said as Peter passed, and Peter bobbed his head. 

“You did us proud,” Steve said, and then moved so MJ could precede Peter down the steps. The two of them moved on quick feet down the side of the room, towards the row Ned was sitting in. Eyes followed them the entire way, and it made Peter itch.

But, at least they were only staring because they’d found out he knew the Avengers (oh god) and not because they knew he was Spiderman.

He supposed he should be grateful for small mercies.

Very small mercies.

Infinitesimal mercies.

And at least whatever came of this would only be something he’d have to deal with for another month. And then he’ll be graduated! And won’t have to deal with any of these people ever again!

Except Ned and MJ. And maybe Betty, since it was turning out that she was pretty cool too. And maybe Jason? And Cindy?

Well, it didn’t matter now. He’d see what happened after he graduated.

And now, living with how he was literally the subject of everyone’s attention, he could not wait to graduate.

Oh look. A rhyme.

Peter and MJ slipped into their seats next to Ned amid a storm of whispers, and Peter’s face couldn’t decide if it should be blushing or drawing pale. He settled into the seat with a frown on his probably splotchy-looking face. Mr. Harrington had vacated the area, and was now huddled with the other teachers near the exit, talking in hushed, worried tones. 

“Sorry to cut today’s tour a little short,” Tony announced from the stage, drawing everyone’s eyes back towards him. He was alone up there once more, the other Avengers having apparently filed off. “But due to today’s attack we’ll be sending you back early, for safety reasons. Stark Industries would like to apologize for the inconvenience, and I’d personally like to say I’m sorry. That breach should not have happened.” He spoke solemnly and seriously, and the smattering of whispers in the room dimmed and then died. “I know it’s poor consolation, but I will provide everyone, out of pocket, with an array of SI and Avengers merchandise to make up for the poor reception we gave you. Cowboys,” he said, “were not on the itinerary.”

The whispers returned, became a dull roar, and suddenly that was all anyone could talk about. Free stuff! They were getting free stuff! What kind of stuff would they get? What did he mean by merchandise? How much would they receive? And on and on.

“Thank you all for coming,”  Tony said, waved, and disappeared back behind the curtain once more.

“So,” Ned said, “today. Huh.”

“Same,” MJ said, though Ned hadn't really said anything. Peter found himself nodding anyway. 

“Yeah,” Peter said, “it sure is. Today.”

“Wild,” Ned said. 

“Ok, everybody,” Ms. Warren announced loudly. “Find your teacher and line up, single-file. We’ll be heading straight to the buses.

The migration went about as smoothly as Peter would have guessed, considering that the migrating party was a group of teens being forced to go from a place of fun and (oddly enough) adventure, back to school. Which was to say it took a long time and none of the lines were single-file, but after everyone was huddled in some semblance of order, the teachers, group by group, led them back through the halls of Stark Industries, out through the lobby, and onto the waiting buses outside the front doors.

“I really thought Flash would be more annoying about this,” MJ said as they waited to board the school bus.

Peter looked back at Flash, who was standing at the back of the line, mouth hanging slightly open, eyes unfocused. Seymour and Charles were chatting in front of him, but Flash didn’t look like he was listening at all.

“He looks catatonic,” Peter said.

“Maybe the shock will kill him,” Ned said, and then at Peter’s sharp look, said, “Kidding! I’m totally kidding! I don’t want Flash dead,” and then in a monotone added, “that would be a very bad thing.”

“Did you see his face?” MJ asked. “After you threw the hammer?”

Peter shook his head. “I was kind of focused on the weird cowboy villain. Why? Did you see his face?”

MJ sighed wistfully. “It was great. He looked like his entire skeleton had been ripped from his body. He went all shocked and wobbly.”

Peter blinked at her.

“You gonna put his face in your notebook?” Ned asked.

“I’m going to try,” she said. “I didn’t have time to take a picture, so it might be inaccurate, but I’m not going to not put it in.”

“Valid,” Ned said as he stepped onto the bus, followed by Peter and MJ. He sat in a window seat, with Peter next to him, and MJ across the aisle, sprawling in order to take up her whole bench. “So, Peter,” he said, proto-solemnly, “do you think you can get me Thor’s autograph?” He devolved immediately into snorts and guffaws.

Peter rolled his eyes.

“Or Scarlet Witch? Could you get me her autograph?” Ned asked and batted his eyelashes at Peter. “Please?”

Peter pushed at Ned’s shoulder and Ned laughed.

“I can’t believe it,” Flash’s voice said, filtering to Peter’s sensitive ears, through the sounds of the crowded bus as it slammed it’s doors closed and pulled onto the busy New York street. “Penis actually interns at Stark Industries. He actually interns for Tony Stark.” His voice was reedy and high, and Peter couldn’t see him, but he imagined that Flash looked drawn and weak.

“Ok, ok,” Ned said, “if not Thor or Scarlet Witch, what about the Falcon? Surely the Falcon wouldn’t mind if you got his autograph for me?”

“I’m telling you,” MJ said, knees in the aisle, practically leaning across Peter to look Ned in the face, “Pepper Potts is the real superhero.”

Cindy’s voice filtered back from where she was sitting with Betty at the front of the bus, across the aisle from Mr. Harrington. “I wonder if Peter can get me an interview with SI’s—”

“Oh drop it,” Betty said. “If you have something to ask someone in SI, just email them. Peter may work for the owner, or whatever, but that doesn’t mean he knows everybody. And I doubt he’d like just helping all of his classmates get interviews with various SI employees or Avengers or whatever. Let him be.”

“Well,” Cindy said, “if I don’t ask him, someone else will.”

“Then let someone else do it,” Betty said, with a tone of finality, and Peter made a mental note to thank her later. 

About something else...something he could reasonably have heard.

“Fine,” Ned said, “Peter, can you get me Pepper Potts’s autograph?”

“And me,” MJ said.

“You got to meet her,” Peter teased, “isn’t that enough?”

“No,” MJ said swiftly.

Peter shrugged. “Well too bad. I don’t trust you not to sell it on ebay for profit, so, sorry, no can do.”

MJ stuck her tongue out at him.

A loud sigh caught Peter’s attention, and he turned just enough to pinpoint who’d made the noise. It was Abe Brown, a fellow member of the academic decathlon.

“You know,” he said, somewhat loudly (the only volume Abe ever spoke in), “this actually explains how shady Peter’s been the past few years.” Apparently his voice was loud enough for Ned and MJ to notice too, because both of them turned away from Peter at once to see who was talking. But Abe didn’t notice the sudden attention. “I mean, always running off, missing decathlon meetings, making up lame excuses. I thought he was into drugs or something.” 

Peter made a low, offended noise in the back of his throat, and MJ turned to face the window, but not quick enough for Peter to miss the smile she was trying to suppress.

“You’ve been taking drugs?” Ned asked in a whisper, “And you haven’t been sharing? I thought we were friends, Peter!”

Peter bit his lip to keep from smiling.

“But hey,” Abe continued, “it’s not drugs after all, he just had a secret internship with Tony Stark. That's… something. I’m a little more jealous now than I was before, when I thought he was a drug addict, but I guess I’m happy for him.”

“Yeah,” said a voice next to Abe’s. Maybe Sally’s? Whoever it was was talking a good deal more quietly than Abe was. “But do you really think just having an internship would make him so flighty? And why didn’t he just explain himself?”

Abe shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe he was embarrassed. Maybe, he didn’t want to be the talk of the school. Which he is, like, honestly going to be right now. Like, I’m already getting texts from my sister—”

“The freshman?” Sally (maybe) asked.

“Yeah. She’s already asking me about it, so, like, that spread pretty fast.”

“Great,” Peter muttered quietly.

“You’re going to be the talk of the town!” Ned enthused.

Peter rolled his eyes.

“Hey,” MJ said, “isn’t this good? Now everyone knows that you’ve been ‘shady’ because you were hiding how important your internship really is.” She winked, very subtly.

“Yeah!” Ned said, “your internship,” he winked, not subtly at all, “caused you to act so sketchy.” He winked again. “Your internship with Tony Stark.”

“Oh my god,” Peter whispered, “shut up!”

But, he could admit to himself, they were right. This was actually a perfect explanation, a perfect cover-up for him spidering around. Which was, incidentally, why he’d gotten the ‘internship’ in the first place.

Was that ironic? Or just a coincidence?

But if this was the alternative, he could handle it. Everyone would know that his internship was real, which was a major plus, and yeah, he’d have to deal with people asking him about the Avengers and knowing Tony Stark or whatever, but it was only for another month. Just one more month. And then he’d be graduated, and it wouldn’t be a problem, and in the meantime he’d just… deal.

And he had Ned, and MJ, who were even now smiling at him, giving him their silent support.

It was enough.

“What do you think Flash is going to do?” Ned asked, pulling Peter out of his head.

“Flash?” Peter asked, having already put the bully out of his mind. He blinked. “Well, I guess he’ll find something else to harass me about.”

“You don’t think he’ll clean up his act?” MJ asked. “Maybe try to butter you up so you can get him an introduction to the Avengers?”

Peter shook his head. “I mean, do I hope he’ll leave me alone? Yes. Of course. But I doubt it. Bullies don’t change.”

“Maybe they can,” Ned said, but he didn’t sound like he believed it either.

“Maybe,” Peter agreed, “but it’s not my problem either way. What he does is his own business.”

“Good,” MJ said solemnly, “that means you’re an adult now.” And then she couldn’t help but break into laughter. “Psych!”

Peter rolled his eyes, and was suddenly overwhelmed with homesickness. Homesickness for this, for being in a place with his friends, being able to see them every day, eat lunch with them and chat with them. He hadn’t even left yet, graduation was still a month away, but he was suddenly overwhelmed with the reality that graduation wouldn’t just mean leaving Flash and the teachers and the school—It would mean leaving this common ground that him and Ned and MJ could call their own.

But he pushed that thought aside, pushed the homesickness for a place that wasn’t a home back down inside of him, there was no place for that existential crisis today. He’d mourn that loss later. When it was really gone. And he knew he’d never really lose MJ or Ned. They were stuck with him for life.

Chapter Text

Monday came on the heels of Peter’s decision. A big one. Or, at least it felt like a big one to Peter. He’d agreed so long ago, (god, it must have only been a week ago. It seemed like so much longer) to meet the Avengers today. As Spiderman. For another training-slash-sparring session. Honestly he’d put it out of his mind until after the field trip because the field trip had loomed so high in Peter’s mind.

Rightfully so, considering everything that ended up happening on Friday. But he’d also ended up having a good time as well, which was unexpected. 

But all of that worry, all of the what-ifs about the field trip had completely filled his mind until late Friday night when he’d realized that, ka’duh! He was meeting the Avengers again Monday after school, as Spiderman.

And he also realized that, without thinking about it, he’d come to a decision about what Tony and Aunt May had both, separately, brought up with him. Namely, telling the Avengers who he was, beneath the mask.

And once he thought about it without all the worries of the field trip coloring his thoughts, the decision was easy to make. Aunt May was right; the more people there were to watch his back, the safer he, and Aunt May, would be. And Tony was right, too. The Avengers were all good people. Not always great, not always the paragons of virtue that the media made them out to be, but good people. They could be trusted with his name and his face. And they already all knew Peter anyway. It was inevitable that they’d find him out eventually. Vision already knew. And the thought of them knowing didn’t fill him with dread. Which was maybe the final deciding factor. He didn’t hate the idea of them knowing, didn’t hate it at all.

So, after school, after Happy picked up ‘Spiderman’ somewhere in New York, and drove him to the compound, he’d tell them. Somehow.

Hadn’t figured that part out yet.

But first he had to make it through the school day.

The first school day back since the Field trip.

It was… exhausting.

“I think I’m going to cry,” Peter said into the cafeteria table at the beginning of lunch. He hadn’t even gotten his food yet, had just plopped down at the table he usually shared with MJ and Ned, laid his head face-down on the table, and started talking, even though Ned hadn’t arrived yet.

MJ was in the middle of pulling her salad out of her lunch bag as she spoke. “Is it that bad?”

Peter moaned. “Yes it’s that bad. Freshies keep asking me if I’m a secret agent or a secret avenger.”

“And you say yes, of course,” MJ said.

Peter moaned again. “I’ve had three different people I’ve never met before ask me out! And people keep asking me if I can get them autographs or introduce them to various superheroes. Not even just the Avengers! There’s a kid that keeps following me around, begging me to introduce him to Daredevil! I don’t know Daredevil!”

There was a loud thunk of trey on table, and then Ned said, “Hey Peter, can you introduce me to Daredevil?”

Peter moaned again.

“Get up, get up,” Ned chided. “I brought you lunch. But you owe me one.”

Peter’s head was off the table in record time, and he snatched his basket of tater tots and a fairly questionable burger from Ned’s trey.

“You’re welcome,” Ned said. 

“Thank you,” Peter said belatedly.

“There,” MJ said, “that’ll make you feel better.”

“Hey, Peter,” someone greeted, and the three of them turned to look at a younger student that none of them knew.

“Uh, hi?” Peter tried.

“I hear you know the Avengers,” the kids said.

Peter forced himself not to roll his eyes.

“Really?” MJ asked. “At lunch?”

“Better than being stopped between classes,” Peter told her. “I was late to Chem and Physics this morning.”

“So you don’t know the Avengers?” the kid asked with a scoff. “I told them it was all fake.”

Peter looked to his friends. “Is this better?”

“No,” MJ said with a sigh, “unfortunately it’ll just cause confusion. Since our year knows for certain that you know the Avengers, lying to the younger years will just gum up the works.”

“Stop ignoring me!” the kid demanded

“Well then don’t just walk up and interrogate me,” Peter said. “But yes, I do know the Avengers. Passingly. I’ve met all of them at least once.”

“Can you recommend me?” The kid asked. “Tell them I’d made a good Avenger too! I don’t have any superpowers, but I’m fifteen and I’m very smart.”

“Absolutely not,” Peter said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I refuse. Goodbye.”

The kid’s face turned red, but Peter didn’t soften his gaze and finally the kid turned and stalked away with a huff.

He shoved his burger in his mouth and ate it in only two bites. “I am going to cry,” he said, amending his earlier statement. “Or,” he said thoughtfully, “explode.”

“I vote for exploding,” Ned said, “that’d probably get us out of school for the day and I have a test this afternoon in history that I didn’t really study for, so…”

“No exploding,” MJ said.

“Fine,” Peter and Ned groaned in unison, and then grinned at each other. Good food and good company were helping to restore Peter.

Of course, the restorative power of hamburger, tater tots, MJ, and Ned only lasted until fifth period Spanish, where the teacher asked Peter if he knew if any if the Avengers spoke Spanish, and would they like to come to class to demonstrate.

Peter grimaced at the teacher, and had to wait till the excitement of his classmates died down before saying that he didn’t really know them well enough to know if any of them knew any foreign languages (a lie. Tony cursed in anything from Italian and French to Latin and Pig Latin depending on how long he’d gone without sleep and how frustrated he was).

By the time school was over, and he’d said goodbye to his friends (and they’d wished him luck with his big Avenger reveal, as Ned called it) and changed into his Spiderman suit, he was mentally and emotionally exhausted.

Maybe… maybe he’d postpone the reveal. He’d texted Tony a head’s up the day before, but he could text him again, tell Tony he'd changed his mind. He could postpone it until he was less exhausted.

“Hey, Spidey,” a voice greeted, pulling Peter from his thoughts. He looked up to see Tony’s car parked in front of him, the passenger window rolled down all the way, revealing an empty seat, and then Happy, who was grinning at him with his trademark I’m-not-as-happy-to-be-here-as-you-better-be-to-see-me smile.

“Happy,” Peter greeted, and quickly dove into the backseat.

“Back to the compound, I see,” Happy said as he pulled back into traffic. “Tony asked me to pick you up some food so you’d have enough energy to actually put up a fight this time. His words, not mine. I hope you like Pret.”

“Pret A Manger?” Peter asked, “a little uppity—”

Happy threw a giant bag of delicious-smelling food over the console and into Peter’s chest.

“—but I’m excited for it,” Peter finished.

“Good,” Happy said. “Eat up.”

“Thank you,” Peter said, his voice muffled by the bag of food he was rifling through. 

“How was school?” Happy asked after Peter had already gone through several sandwiches and a fruit cup.

Peter groaned.

“Yeah?” Happy asked with a laugh.

Peter bit into another sandwich (balsamic chicken and avocado, how fancy), chewed, swallowed, and finally spoke. “So, Friday was the field trip.”

“Ah yes,” Happy said, “the dreaded field trip. Boss told me it went well?”’

Peter scoffed. “Don’t you sarcasm at me.”

“I’ll sarcasm at you as much as I want,” Happy said. “That’s my right as an American.”    

Peter let out a huff. “I guess it was ok.” He shrugged. “Ok,” he admitted, “for the most part it was better than I was expecting…”

“Until the villain crashed the party?” Happy prompted.

Peter nodded, and then remembered that Happy was facing away from him. “Yeah. He called himself Dirty Dirk? Cheap cowboy villain. But, I, uh, threw Mjolnir? And then Mr. Stark called me by my name, which, well, kind of let the cat out of the bag.”

“I’m sorry,” Happy said, wide-eyed, “you threw Mjolnir? Isn’t that hammer supposed to be impossible to pick up?”

Peter winced. He’d completely forgotten about that little fact. “I don’t know. I mean, yes, I did, I guess, but there must have been a glitch or something.”

He specifically didn’t think about the last time he’d lifted the hammer, that this was in fact the second time he’d lifted the weapon.

The action was repeated, and the results were replicated. Things were pointing towards Peter being… worthy… after all.

Happy made a curious noise. “But you said, the cat’s out of the bag?”

Peter was happy to change the subject. “Yes, so, my entire graduating class found out I actually intern for Tony Stark himself, and, well, you know, have met all the Avengers.” He laughed awkwardly. “And that little tidbit got around, so school today was…” he sighed.

“Ah,” Happy said. It was his turn now to sound awkward. “Difficult,” he offered.

“Very,” Peter said. “People kept asking if I’d introduce them to Natasha or Steve or Tony or, well, everyone. Or if I could get their autographs?”

Happy laughed at him.

“Thank you,” Peter said and sighed.

Happy didn’t say anything for a long moment, and Peter got his phone out to keep himself occupied during the rest of the ride, and then Happy spoke. “Are you going to be ok?”

Peter blinked, and then considered the question seriously. “Yes,” he said, “I think it’ll die down sooner or later. And even if it doesn’t, I graduate soon.”

Happy hummed. “And then what?” he asked.

“College,” Peter said. “I’m not going to stop interning.”

“Good,” Happy said, “but I meant, what if the rumors, well, the fact of you being Tony Stark’s intern follows you?”

Peter hadn’t considered that.

“I don’t know,” Peter said. “I guess I'll—I’ll figure that out if it happens.” He considered the possibility. “I guess people will just think it’s a rumor unless Mr. Stark actually announces it somewhere along the way. I mean, it is kinda impossible-sounding. I don’t know. Campus will be kind of huge, right? I can be anonymous there.” 

That homesickness feeling came back, which made his stomach churn a little bit. He swallowed it back down, feeling stupid and homesick all at once, because he wouldn’t really be losing this. Things were just changing. Change was good! That’s what science was all about, learning new things, changing, and making leaps and bounds in knowledge and technology. 

And he was excited, but not knowing what was ahead of him, not knowing the future, it didn’t feel quite as safe as what he had right now.

He shook his head, exhaled, and realized he’d been quiet for a long while. More than half the drive had already passed. “It’ll work out,” he said finally.

“I’m sure it will,” Happy agreed, which was the kindest, if not the most truthful, thing he could have said at that moment.

“Thanks, Happy,” Peter said, and Happy hummed, and then purposefully turned on the radio, obviously having used up his empathy for the day.

Peter pulled out his phone and opened his messages. One from Tony was waiting for him. It said: Alright, Pete. Can’t wait for your reveal. Don’t worry, my lips have been sealed, so your coming out should be a bang of a surprise.

Peter worried his lip, took a bite of a sweet, berry and yogurt concoction with a plastic spoon he found in the bottom of the bag, and responded with: What if I changed my mind?

He watched the dots next to Tony’s picture gyrate, and then finally a response.

Peter, I’ll support you no matter what. You know that. If you’ve changed your mind, or even just want to postpone, of course that’s your decision. 

And then a quick second text:

What brought this on?

Peter thumped the heel of his palm against his leg a few times before typing: Nothing, and then, thinking, fuck it, typed, Rough day at school.

Tony wrote back: Then wouldn’t it be better to have even more support? Not that they don’t already support you, as Peter, as much as they can. It’s actually pretty annoying how often they bug me about when you’re coming over, and when they can see you again. Which is never BTW Peter, because you are MY intern, not theirs, so they can suck it.

Peter laughed and typed, Alright, you convinced me, I’ll tell everyone tonight.

Damn, Tony wrote, and then, Guess I’ll have to learn to share

I’ll warn Pepper, Peter responded, to which Tony replied:

Double damn. Knew I shouldn’t have let you meet her. You’re fired.

Peter sent the laughing face emoji, and then the thumbs up, and finally, see you soon, and then put his phone away.

“What are you laughing about back there?” Happy asked.

“Mr. Stark fired me,” Peter said.

“Join the club,” Happy said drily, and that made Peter laugh as well. Between the food he was still munching on, and the conversation, he realized he was feeling better. Well enough to actually train with the Avengers, at least. And brave enough to try to tell them who he was. Who Spiderman really was.

Maybe. 

It didn’t take too much longer for them to get to the Compound, and Peter pulled his mask back on (taking one last bite of parfait before doing so) as they were pulling through the gate.

He drummed his fingers against his thigh as they pulled up to the front of the building. A different group was waiting for him this time. Still Natasha in the middle, but Sam on one side of her and Rhodey on the other.

He didn’t wait for Happy to even fully stop the car before bounding out of it. 

“Hi,” he said, “hi guys, hey, uh, what’s up?”

Natasha reached out and patted him on the head, as if he were something cute and small, like a puppy.

“Welcome back,” she said, “you remember Sam and Rhodey?”

“Of course,” Peter said. Sam was wearing his uniform this time, and Rhodey was wearing black joggers and an Air Force T-shirt. Natasha was wearing her familiar pink sneakers, a black tank-top, and running shorts. Sam waved at him. Rhodey did not.

“Is everyone else inside?” Peter asked, as Natasha started inside and Peter followed, Sam and Rhodey coming behind him, “Or is it going to be just us four today?”

“Nope,” Sam said as they walked, “the whole gang’s inside. It’s like a family reunion.”

“This is nothing like a family reunion,” Rhodey said. “For one, there’d be more barbecue if it was. Second, I actually like my family.”

Sam whistled. “That’s harsh, man.”

“I am a harsh man,” Rhodey said, “so that makes sense.”

Sam stepped a little closer to Peter. “Don’t listen to him, Spiderman. He’s just crotchety because we’re making him actually exercise today. He’s really a nice guy.”

Rhodey sputtered.

“No arguing at family gatherings,” Natasha said, and then pushed through the familiar doors, and then they were back in the same gym they’d sparred in last week. Bruce was once again in khakis. Tony was wearing long black joggers, like Rhodey’s, and a Led Zeppelin T-shirt. Steve, Bucky, and Thor were also dressed in athletic wear, but of the basketball shorts variety, and Thor had his Hammer hanging off his wrist by a strap. Bucky’s metal arm glinted under the fluorescent bulbs in the ceiling, and Peter was surprised, though he didn’t know why, to see that he wasn’t trying to hide it. Vision was in his usual caped attire, but Wanda had her hair up in a ponytail and looked ready to work out in leggings and a loose t-shirt. 

At first Peter thought Clint was missing, but then he realized that he was just lounging on the floor in grotty-looking cut-off sweatpants (shorts?) and a tank top that was more hole than tank top, with a cartoon dog on the front.

“Welcome back,” he said, jumping to his feet, “are you ready for more abuse?”

“Oh,” Peter said, “um, yeah, totally. Abuse. I love it.”

“Look,” Wanda said with a little smile, “Clint, you’ve frightened him.”

Peter scoffed. “He has not.”

“Ooohh,” Clint said, “are you scared of me?”

Peter rolled his eyes, and then belatedly realized no one could see that. “Absolutely not.”

“Methinks the Spider dost protest too much,” Clint said.

Peter shook his fist in the air. “Methinks the archer’s gonna get his butt kicked if he keeps—”

“Ok,” Steve said, “enough. No more antagonizing each other.”

“Sure,” Peter said, “now you call it. But it was fine when he was being mean to me, but as soon as I give as good as I get, it’s—” he caught sight of Steve’s solemn expression, “—jeez, I’m joking. It’s cool. You’re fine. Oh my god.”

Immediately Steve’s lips curled upward.

Bucky leaned in to Steve’s side, and said quietly, obviously an aside meant just for Steve, “He sure is a fire-cracker, isn’t he?”

“So,” Nat said, moving to Peter’s side so the group of them formed a large ring, “today let’s start with a strength check, shall we? Since we didn’t get to it last week?”

Peter shrugged. “Sounds good to me.”

Clint hooted. “Hell yes! I want to see this super bust through one of Tony’s walls!”

“First,” Tony said, “this is your home, so it’s not just my walls, it’s all of our walls. Second, please no more destruction of property. I owe my contractors too many favors as it is.”

“We don’t need to know your limit,” Natasha told Peter, “but it’ll help to know what you can handle.”

“Okay,” Peter said slowly. “Still not sure how to quantify that.”

“It should be simple,” Bruce cut in, “we’ll start with the weights on the wall, then move on to the ones made for Steve, and if those aren’t too hard for you, we can think about how to increase from there.”

“Sounds good, doc,” Natasha said.

“That sound good to you, Webhead?” Tony asked Peter, and when Peter looked in his eyes he realized that Tony was a little on edge. Waiting, maybe, to see what Peter would do. How he’d reveal himself.

The problem with that was, of course, that Peter hadn’t gotten that far yet in his planning. Peter shrugged, and then nodded, and asked, “Where do we start?”

So they all moved to the weightlifting area, and Peter laid back on the bench, feeling silly. “I feel like I’m in school,” he said as Steve and Sam added weights to the bar. “Only at school I’ve got to pretend I can bench, like, no more than fifty pounds. How much do you have on there?”

“Two hundred,” Steve said.

“And two hundred on this side,” Sam said.

“Four hundred? What’s that, a car?” He lifted the bar above him easily, without thinking, not even letting the bar press into his palms, but instead resting it in the curve of his two index fingers. “I have no idea how much a car weighs.”

“The Average car,” Vision said, “weighs three thousand and five hundred pounds, with Sport Utility Vehicles going as high as five thousand and five hundred pounds.”

“Oh,” Peter said, “well I can deadlift a truck no problem.” He dropped the weights back down. “How high does this go?”

Clint’s voice cracked when he said, “Uh, four hundred.”

“Oh.” Peter thought about this. “On to Mr. Captain America’s?”

“I suppose so,” Steve said, sounding oddly off-put. “But now, seeing how easy that was for you, I’m not sure mine will be much better.” But they gamely moved to Steve’s special weight-lifting area.

Peter didn’t even bother laying down this time. He loaded the weights onto the bar, four hundred on each side, and then went behind the bench and picked it up with one hand. He did a few lifts with his left hand, tossed it to his right and did a few more. “Do you have more weights?”

“You’re lifting 800?” Steve asked.

Peter nodded. 

“I think I have maybe two hundred more… somewhere. But honestly, Spiderman, 800 is my max, so ...”

Peter bit his lip at Steve’s drawn expression. “I’m sorry, man. I told you I could lift more than you.”

“And you did not lie,” Sam said, sounding impressed.

“Are we sure those aren’t fake?” Clint asked. “Like, what if he replaced them with Styrofoam or something?”

Peter lowered the bar back down into its resting place and stepped to the side. “Please,” he said politely, “why don’t you test them out for me.”

“My pleasure,” Clint said, and then, pushing up imaginary sleeves, approached the bar.

He couldn’t lift it even a millimeter, no matter how much he strained. And he did strain. His face was turning red and his arms were bulging.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Peter said, worried. 

Clint let go with a huff. “What the fuck,” he said, breathless and puffing. “How did you… you were just throwing that thing around!”

“Yeah,” Peter said slowly. “I’m—that’s like—that’s my thing. I have enhanced senses, enhanced strength, and can walk on walls and the ceiling and whatever. That’s like, my whole schtick.”

“Sometimes,” Rhodey said, “seeing is believing.”

Peter blinked at the man, and then turned to Tony.

“Platypus means,” Tony translated, “that knowing you can deadlift a truck, and seeing you deadlift a truck are very different things.”

“But you didn’t see me deadlift a truck,” Peter objected.

Tony rolled his eyes. “Don’t play your word games with me.”

“So,” Natasha said, “we’ve reached the end of our weightlifting a lot quicker than I was expecting.” 

“That’s your fault,” Tony said. “Last time I told you to watch some youtube videos on the—the spider. I said that. Cross my heart. I told you. And there is at least one video of the dude lifting a school bus full of children!”

“What’s that?” Natasha asked. 

“Over ten tons,” Tony said. “Ten tons is—”

“Twenty thousand pounds,” Bruce said. “Wow, that’s… that’s enormous!”

“Why are you impressed?” Clint asked. “Can’t Hulk lift, like a hundred tons?”

Peter whistled. “Dang! That’s a lot!”

“Yes,” Bruce said, “but the Hulk is, himself, humongous. I couldn’t lift nearly that much. Frankly, I doubt I could lift over a hundred pounds. And I’m bigger than Spiderman. No offense, Spiderman, but you’re pretty small.”

“I’m a beanpole,” Peter said, “that’s what my au—relative always says. But, I’m like,” he flexed, “pretty ripped I think.”

“Well,” Wanda said, tossing her head to make her ponytail bob behind her, “I can lift a hundred tons easily. With my mind.”

“That means your mind is ripped,” Peter pointed out. “And that’s pretty legit. Congrats!”

Tony groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Oh,” Wanda said with surprise, as if she hadn’t been expecting that response, “um, thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Peter said. “I wish my mind was as ripped as yours.”

Tony groaned.

“No you don’t,” Wanda said.

“You created your own web formula, right?” Bruce asked. “That’s what I believe you said last time. That is, in and of itself, pretty amazing. I’m sure, if you were able to invent that yourself, that means your mind is already pretty, ah, impressive.”

“C’mon Bruce,” Clint crooned, “say it. Please? Say his mind is totally ripped.”

Bruce opened his mouth.

“Absolutely not,” Natasha said. “Let’s move on to some actual training, shall we? Now that we know, approximately, what Spiderman can do without hurting himself.”

“Thanks,” Peter said, though it hadn’t sounded much like a compliment. 

“I had not realized,” Thor said, “how weak the rest of humanity is. I too can lift several hundreds of tons.”

“Show off,” Clint said.

Thor grinned at him. “But only through my physical prowess,” he continued, “I cannot, either, use my mind to lift objects.”

“Wow,” Peter said, “I’m with my people!”

“Only you,” Tony said, “would react to people being able to lift more than you as a good thing.”

“Alright,” Natasha said. “This isn’t a pissing contest. Stop telling me how much you all can lift. Who wants to fight Spiderman?”

Steve and Thor raised their hands immediately, followed by Sam, and then very slowly, Clint. 

“Clint, put your hand down,” Natasha said. “You got to spar with him last time. And you didn’t even get close to beating him.”

Clint shrugged. “I’ve practiced since then.”

“You train every day,” Natasha said, “that’s not really a deciding factor. I just saw you fail to even move something Spiderman lifted with no problem.” She turned away from him, dismissing him completely. “Let’s do Sam and Steve vs Spiderman, and if he can still raise his head, Thor can try his hand.”

“Why am I suddenly scared?” Peter whisper-asked.

“Because,” Bruce said, “sparring is terrifying.”

“I’m not terrifying,” Sam told Peter. “Frankly, I’m barely a blip. There’s no way I’m strong enough to hurt you even a little. But hey, I’m curious to see how I’d do against you. And I guess I’ll have Steve at my six.” He shrugged, and then grinned. “Maybe we’ll even beat you.”

“I mean,” Peter said, “I’m not really convinced you won’t beat me. Like I said last time, I’ve got the strength but not a whole lot of experience. You both could very easily beat me.”

“I love your confidence,” Natasha said sarcastically. “Go!”

“Now?” Peter asked, and then with the reactions of someone who has, so far, been surprise attacked twice in this building during these ‘training’ sessions, leapt onto the ceiling.

“What are you doing?” Thor bellowed up at him.

Peter looked down to find the Avengers all assembled exactly the way they had been before. Thor was looking up at him curiously.

“Sorry,” Peter shot back, “I’m just used to people attacking me with no warning. Habit.”

“Why don’t you get down here so we can start?” Natasha asked.

“Why not let him start up there?” Sam countered, and then great metal wings unfolded from the backpack-like device on his back, and he rose into the air with a great downward flap of his wings.

Peter had helped design the latest iteration of Sam’s wings, and somewhere in the corner of his mind it was satisfying to see the product of his effort in action

“Ooohh,” Peter said, “a flying enemy. How fun,” and then they were on each other, Sam trying to flip Peter off the ceiling, and Peter using Sam’s wings against him, crawling around the other hero’s body, making it impossible for Sam to get a solid grip on him. Steve got involved only once they were close enough to the ground to reach, Steve raising an arm up to grab onto Peter’s ankle as Sam made a low-flying sweep of the room.

Peter was embarrassed to note that he couldn’t help but let out a small “eep” when Steve yanked him down from his Sam-top perch. They exchanged some blows. Or, well, Steve tried to exchange blows, but Peter, without thinking, had defaulted back to his tried and true fighting method: Dodging.

“You’re not even trying,” Steve told him, as Peter jumped out of the way of a high kick that was aimed at the underside of his chin. 

“Oh,” Peter said awkwardly, “I forgot I was supposed to be trying.” And he lashed out with purpose, hitting Steve in the chest with his foot and sending the man backwards a couple of feet.

“There you go,” Steve said cheerfully, and lunged at Peter, increasing his speed by more than double.

Peter “eep”ed again, and then they were moving too fast for Peter to even think and his body responded to fist to foot to lunge and retreat without it even crossing his mind. A punch or grab from Sam or Steve were practically interchangeable, and then they got faster. He wasn’t able to completely dodge a foot to the ribs, and when he rolled, a knee was right there, coming for him, and he pushed himself to the side, his heart jumping in his chest, and it was suddenly like the Vulture all over again, desperation and weakness churning in him, along with adrenaline and the will to survive, to fight, to win.

He caught a punch aimed at his face, grabbed the wrist, spun the arm, and a body hit the mat. 

A tingle went up his spine and he dodged in time to avoid a swipe of metallic wing, and the body he’d spun to the ground (Steve?) got back to his feet and lunged for Peter while he was down. He passed under a kick from the flying-Sam, grabbed Sam’s leg and flung him as far as he could, not waiting to see where, or how hard, he landed before rising to meet Steve’s fist, but Steve was stronger than Sam by a country mile, and his hit, now that he, too, was holding back less, sent Peter flying as well.

As Peter flew involuntarily through the air, he realized that he must’ve stopped chattering because the room was quiet except for the whispering from the peanut gallery and the sounds of his own, and his opponents’ heavy breathing. 

“Hey, uh,” he croaked as he landed against a far wall on the balls of his feet and the tips of his fingers.

“You’re hard to squish, aren’t you?” Rhodey asked from the sidelines.

Peter bobbed his head rapidly, not wanting to waste his breath on answering such an obvious question.

“Hey,” he tried again, “are we—I mean, do I have the same… handicaps? As last time?”

“Are you fighting Hawkeye?” Natasha asked, and then without waiting for an answer, said, “Of course not. Do whatever you can to win.”

“Ok,” Peter said, and shot one web at Steve, sticky-ing him to the ground, and the other to a point in the ceiling half the room’s length away, which he then used to swing to the other side of the room, above the tiny crater in the wall that Sam was resting in.

“Hey!” Steve said from his place on the floor. Peter looked over to him and watched the man struggle against the substance. “I can’t move!”

“Oh yes,” Peter said conversationally. “That’s one of its many perks. I made it for that express purpose.” He crawled down the wall until he reached Sam, and saw with relief that the man was awake, and was watching Steve struggle with a mischievous smile on his face. “Oh good,” Peter said, “I’m glad I didn’t hurt you.”

Sam blinked up at him. “Nah man. You’d make a mean pitcher, but I’m pretty tough. Plus I’m, like, ninety percent sure Stark designed these walls to absorb impact or something cuz I swear walls in the outside world are a lot tougher.”

“Shock absorbent walls, huh?” Peter said, and then tested the walls against his strength. It was like punching a stress-relief ball. “Huh,” he said again, and then tested it against a stronger punch. The wall dented, but the impact was a great deal less than he was expecting.

“What are you doing up there?” Steve called. “I thought we were fighting.”

“How’re you going to fight, punk?” Bucky asked. “You’re stuck to the floor.”

Steve strained against the webs, and one snapped. “Aha!” he said.

“Sorry,” Peter said to Sam. “I got side-tracked. Shock-absorbent walls, that’s something I’d never considered before. It’s neat!”

“Yeah?” Sam asked with a laugh. “You’re a bit of a nerd, aren’t you?”

“Guilty,” Peter said without hesitation.

“You should talk to Tony about them,” Sam said. “I’m sure he wouldn’t mind answering some science questions. Might as well talk to Bruce too while you’re at it.”

“Ah,” Peter said, awkwardly. He… he already talked shop with them on a fairly consistent basis. And he’d reveal that. Today. At some point. “Yes,” he said.

“Oh, don’t be shy,” Sam said, misreading Peter’s tone. “They won’t bite.”

“Do you need help down?” Peter asked, changing the subject.

“Nah,” Sam said, “I coulda jumped, but I was enjoying the view.”

Peter couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or not. 

There was a loud tearing noise, and Peter turned to see Steve had ripped away most of the webs keeping him down, and was now working on some thinner ones that were trapping his legs.

“Ok,” Peter said, “I’m going down now.”

Sam waved a hand. “Buh-bye. Have fun.”

Peter nodded, and then pushed off from the wall, landing on his feet on the mats below.

With a final tear all the webs keeping Steve down were torn away and he jumped to his feet, an energetic smile on his face. “Alright, let’s go! I’ll be more careful of your webs this time.”

“Afraid not,” Natasha said.

Steve and Peter looked at each other for a second longer before both turning to Natasha.

“What do you mean?” Steve asked.

“Well,” Natasha said, “If he was an enemy he would have had you once you underestimated him and got caught by his webs. And he knocked your colleague through a wall.”

“Hey!” Sam said. “I didn’t go through it.”

Tony scoffed. “If it had been a normal wall you’d have been through it completely. You’d be in the next room over sitting in a pile of rock and rubble.”

“I think Spiderman won this round,” Natasha said.

Steve gave a sheepish grin. “But I was looking forward to trying to beat him even with his webs. Oh well,” he turned to Peter and put a hand out. “Good work today. Thank you.”

Peter shook Steve’s hand. “Hey, uh, you too! Thanks. And if you ever wanna spar again I’m down.”

“Likewise,” Steve said.

“Yo man,” Sam said from his crater. “Me too!”

“Don’t listen to him,” Steve said, sotto voce, “I did all the heavy lifting.”

“Hey, asshole!” Sam said, “Say that to my face!” And he jumped out of his crater, and aided by his wings, landing on the mats in a crouched position. 

“Enough, you two,” Natasha said. “God, it’s like herding cats. Your turn is over, back to the sidelines with the rest of us.”

“Does that mean it is my turn to face our small arachnid warrior-friend?” Thor asked.

“I do believe so,” Vision said.

“If I knew it was going to be a show,” Tony said, “I would have brought chairs.”

“Tony,” Rhodey said in a chiding tone, “please.”

Steve moved to Natasha’s side, and Sam followed, though he stopped long enough to pat Peter on the shoulder as he went and say, “good fight.”

“Thanks,” Peter said.

Thor approached Peter on the mat. “Are you ready young friend? It looks like we are to do battle.”

Was Peter ready? His confidence was back a little after kind of winning in his sparring match against Steve and Sam, but this was different, this was Thor. Thor was a god. With magic.

“Are you going to use your hammer?” he asked. “I’m not really too keen on getting electrocuted or anything.”

Thor let out a loud belly laugh. “Mjolnir? Nay. I do not have the desire to see my cohorts the victim of Mjolnir’s strength either. Here, I shall place him aside, shall I?” And then he walked back to the watching Avengers and placed Mjolnir on the floor at Natasha’s feet, the handle sticking straight up into the air. “There. Though, Natasha, do remember not to trip over it.” And then he laughed and made his way back to the center of the room.

“Ha ha,” Natasha said drily. “Such fun. This is fine, but if you leave it in the middle of the floor one more time, and I trip on it I will find a way to pick it up so I can throw it out the window.”

Thor, unconcerned, laughed again.

“Now,” Thor said to Spiderman, “Shall we begin?”

Peter nodded.

“Excellent,” Thor pronounced loudly, and then with a large smile on his face, he started forward with an unholy roar, and the sudden noise startled Peter, badly, and he jumped backwards, and then up and over Thor’s head, to land on the other side of Thor on the balls of his feet. 

He didn’t stop moving, which was a good thing because Thor turned on a dime and was after him once more, not quite as quick as Sam in the air, but with more brute energy. It seemed his strategy was just to be an immovable force. He rushed headlong without holding back, and assumed that anything that came at him he could face head-on. He did not dodge or dip, try to find a weak spot, he just went for it.

And in this case, ‘it’ was Peter, and it was kinda freaking Peter out.

“I’m going to die,” Peter said, and jumped to avoid Thor again, but Thor just turned again and kept coming for him.

Dodging wasn’t helping. Thor just kept coming. There was no strategy, no hesitation, no point of weakness, he just kept coming. So Peter rushed to meet Thor head on.

A second of indecision was all it took. To go for the chest (a big target, but definitely not a weak spot), or to try to side-step Thor and get him from behind, Peter hesitated for one second too long, and then Thor’s hands were on him, and instead of punching Peter, or throwing him to the ground, Thor just grabbed Peter by both upper arms, swung him around (his grip was too strong to wrestle out of), and then threw him with all his strength.

And Peter was so surprised at the sudden turn of events that he couldn’t help but let out a shocked bark of laughter as he hit the far wall. Further up, and to the right of the crater Sam had left in the wall.

The shock-absorbent wall.

That was supposed to absorb the shock of the impact and reduce it.

Well, he’d have to talk to Tony about that, because unlike Sam he went right through it. Laughing all the way.

He landed in a small, locker room-like area. No lockers, but there were changes of clothes sitting on benches and towels hanging on rods, and a door that had a symbol he was sure meant a shower. It reminded him of the locker room next to his school’s gym.

Well, he didn’t really land in the room so much as crash into the opposite wall and slide to the ground in an ungainly heap.

How strong was Thor after all? He must not have been holding back at all for Peter to go soaring completely through the wall.

He laughed again, and brushed the rubble off himself. Slamming into the locker room wall had hurt more than going through the gym’s walls, which felt almost more like punching through tough rubber or foam then something hard and solid. He didn’t even hurt that much. Thank god.

There were loud voices, raised voices, coming through the hole in the wall. A certain strain of panic that sounded a lot like Tony’s voice.

“I’m fine!” he called, loudly, and the panic died down.

He looked around at the destruction he’d inadvertently caused (Thor was also to blame) and winced. 

“Don’t think my allowance is going to cover that,” he said to no one, and then jumped back up the wall, crawling partially since the hole was pretty high, and then slipped through the hole and dropped back down into the gym on the other side. The other Avengers were there, restless, with worried expressions. Wanda was floating up above them, like she’d been on her way straight for the hole in the wall when he’d called out that he was ok. And Tony was right at the front, right between Thor and Bruce.

“So,” he said, a little breathless, but still unable to help from laughing (it wasn’t even shock, it was just funny how easily Thor had completely yeeted him through an actual wall).

But then, before he could continue, Bruce approached. “Are you ok? I’m not technically a medical doctor, but this lot use me as one often enough that I can probably help if you got hurt.”

“Which you must have been,” Rhodey said from over Tony’s shoulder, voice somewhere between solemn and hesitantly amused, “going through the wall like that.”

“I apologize,” Thor announced seriously, “I was not thinking! Your strength does not impact your weight, and I should have considered that when deciding how much of my strength to use in my throw.”

“That looked dangerous as heck,” Clint said, sounding mostly impressed.

“I’m glad the boy didn’t hurt himself,” Wanda said to Vision, and he responded:

“He is strong,” which was perhaps nice, or maybe just really ominous.

But Tony’s voice cut through it all, a sharp question amid the worried chatter around him. “Are you hurt?” His eyes were serious, like they sometimes got when Peter made a mistake in the lab, or injured himself.

Peter shook his head quickly. “I’m fine. I didn’t hurt myself. I didn’t even tear my suit! Look.” He turned around quickly, showing off his unblemished costume, and casually wiping away white drywall dust, and chunks of wall, as he did so.

“Good,” Tony said, and then turned to Thor with his shoulders pushed back and his face dark and stormy. His expression said he was about to go rage-dad-mode on Thor who already looked so guilty…

“Really,” Peter said intently, forcing Tony to look back at Peter. “It’s amazing how completely ok and unhurt I am right now. Sam said you made the walls shock-absorbent? How did you do that?”

“Oh,” Tony said half enraged still, but torn, obviously, because he also wanted to talk science and invention…

“I’d love to know the details,” Peter prompted.

And Tony’s face fell, and rage turned into something softer. “Well,” the older man said, practically preening, “it actually all started when I was talking to platypus here,” he gestured to Rhodey, “and he was throwing a—”

“I think,” Natasha said, cutting Tony off and making him frown at her, “that we’re done with today’s sparring. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” Steve said, and then turning to Peter, “are you sure you’re ok?”

“Of course you’d ok the session ending after I already work my butt off,” Sam added as an aside.

Natasha started walking back towards the exit, a sign for all of them to follow her. Wanda landed so she could walk next to Vision as they went.

“You should be lucky,” Clint whined as they followed Natasha out. “Your fight looked good.” He flexed. “I wanted to get in another try against Spiderman today.”

“Tough,” Tony said. “We’re going to let Spiderman recuperate from being thrown through a wall.”

“I’d like to apologize again,” Thor said to Peter.

“It’s fine,” he said, trying to comfort as much as possible. He really did feel fine after all.

“What do we think about dinner?” Steve asked. He turned to Peter as they walked. “Would you be amenable to staying for dinner? If you have the time.”

“Join us,” Sam added.

“Oh just do it,” Clint faux-whispered. “Steve thinks it’s like a bonding thing. Like family-style dinner.”

“Oh,” Peter said, “well that does sound nice...”

But really this had gone on too long. How long had he been here already without telling them he was Peter? He’d fought in two sparring matches, and he still hadn’t figured out a way to just say it? Tony was looking at him. He had to do something. He couldn’t just go to dinner with them still having not told them. That’d be insane!

And then they passed Thor’s hammer, Mjolnir, and the man (god?) left it there, didn’t pick it up. 

Peter already knew Thor wasn’t good at picking up after himself, so him forgetting to grab it didn’t concern Peter, but it did give him an idea.

“Wait,” he said, and stopped walking, “I’ve got something I want to tell you first. Before we go any further.”

Everyone else was a little slow on the uptake. Tony was the first to pause and turn back, but then everyone else did as well, Natasha stepping up last of all since she was in the lead.

“Yes, Spiderman?” she asked.

“You don’t have to come to dinner if you feel uncomfortable,” Steve said.

“Awww,” Clint cooed, “he’s hurt the captain’s feelings!”

“Shut up, Barton,” Sam said, and slapped Clint lightly on the arm.

“Hey!” Clint said. “That’s work-place harassment! I’m calling OSHA!”

“How do you even know what OSHA is?” Rhodey asked. 

“I don’t know what OSHA is,” Wanda said.

“It’s U.S. Government thing,” Tony said, “workplace hazards and the like. I’m sure Sokovia had their own version.”

“OSHA,” Vision recited, as if he was reading from a page, “is the Occupational Safety and Health Administration. It is an agency of the United States Department of Labor. Congress established the agency under the Occupational Safety and Health Act, which President Richard M. Nixon signed into law on December twenty-ninth, nineteen-seventy. OSHA’s mission is—”

“Thank you Vision,” Natasha said with finality, and Vision stopped talking. “Now, Spiderman? You had something to say?”

“Uh, yes,” Peter said awkwardly. He fidgeted a little, couldn’t help but rub his palms against his thighs. And he shuffled back a little, and then a little more, until he saw Mjolnir on the floor beside him. “So,” he said, and then tried to sound more confident. He straightened his spine (good posture is always important, according to Aunt May), and tried again, “So, uh, hey, no judging, but can I tell you all something?” And then he, casual as could be, reached down and lifted Mjolnir with ease. He dropped the head of the hammer over his shoulder, hoping he looked relaxed.

For a moment no one moved. Thor’s eyes were impossibly wide and his mouth was gaping, but that was the most extreme reaction.

But then Tony got it—After all, who else did the Avengers know who could pick up Mjolnir like it was nothing?—and broke down laughing. It started with a cackle, and then a hand to his mouth to stop the flow of guffaws, and then Tony was bent over, laughing so hard he sounded almost like he was choking.

“Oh no,” Peter said, genuinely worried. He hadn’t meant to make Tony react like that. “Did I break Mr. Stark?”

“Oh shit,” Sam said, eyes widening. “It’s the kid! The—the kid! Stark’s kid!”

“The poker kid?” Wanda asked, and then, eyeing Peter holding Mjolnir up, said, “Ah! Oh! My goodness.”

Peter obligingly pulled off his mask and stuffed it into his waistband. He grinned at them all.

Bucky said something guttural in Russian (Make note: Learn Russian. Ask Bucky to help), and Natasha laughed (or Natasha).

“Awww,” Clint said with a pout, “Sad Face emoji! Here I thought I’d made two new friends, but it turns out they’re the same friend.”

“Thank you,” Natasha said, “for that astute, and mature, observation.”

“I already knew,” Vision said, and his voice was so level that Peter couldn’t tell if he was bragging or not.

“I can’t believe this,” Rhodey said, head in his hands. He groaned. “Next you’re going to tell me Tony’s the kid’s biological father.”

Tony laughed. “Oh Honey Bear no. Not that I wouldn’t adopt him in a second but his Aunt is very protective and may take some, um, measures against my person if I were to try anything like that.”

Peter squawked and abruptly pushed Mjolnir back into Thor’s hands to cover up the fact that he could feel his cheeks warming.

“Thank you for telling us,” Steve said, all wide and welcoming smile. “I’m glad we’ve earned your trust. I know your secret identity was important to you. We promise not to ever use this knowledge in any way that would hurt you, or in any way you don’t want.”

“God Cap,” Clint said, “you’re so serious! Just say you’re happy about it and move on.”

“I’m happy about it,” Steve said obligingly, and Clint groaned. Steve gave him a shit-eating grin.

Tony, whose laughter had become repressed squeaks and sniffles finally pulled himself together, pulled himself upright, took in a long breath, and said, “Just—pick up—hammer!” And started laughing again. Peter took a worried step towards his mentor and friend, but got side-tracked by another voice.

“Oh,” Bruce said, as if Tony’s words had somehow blessed him with a realization, “that means we’ll have one more scientist in the field. And to prep for dangerous missions. And for research!” He beamed at Peter. “You’re going to be a great addition to the team.”

“Oh great,” Clint moaned dramatically, “another nerd!”

“Thank you,” Peter said reverently, ignoring Clint completely. “Also, I was bitten by a radioactive spider—that’s how I got my, um, enhancements—so we’re kind of like radioactivity bros!”

Tony guffawed.

“Vision,” Wanda said, “could you get Tony a glass of water?”

“A radioactive spider, you say?” Bruce asked, a gleam in his eye. (It was a gleam Peter recognized. A gleam of scientific and academic interest.)

“Is this a club now?” Sam asked. “Like, is there going to be a newsletter sent out every month? ‘Radioactivity Today!’”

Vision returned with a bottled water (flew straight through a wall, making Peter blink in wonder) and handed it to Tony. And then forced Tony to open it and drink from it until Tony was no longer laughing.

“Well,” Bruce said, “There are already several academic and scientific journals that pertain to research into radiation, such as the Journal of Environmental Radioactivity and the Journal of Radiation Research, of which I subscribe to both, so—”

“So there already is a club,” Sam said.

“And they’re both card-carrying members,” Rhodey added.

“Sure,” Peter said, “here, I’ve got my membership righ—” he mimed sticking his hand in his pants pocket (this suit did not have such a pocket) and then in the other one (still no) and then smacked his leg. “Damn, I must have left it in my other supersuit.”

Sam laughed.

“I have mine,” Bruce said in earnest, and the laughter trickled off. He pulled his wallet from his pocket, opened it up, and pulled out a plastic card, the size and thickness of a credit card, and held it out for Sam.

Sam took the card, read it, and then laughed once more. “It just says, ‘Never trust a Scientist.’” 

“Awww,” Tony said to Bruce, “you still have it? Wow, I must have given that to you, like, five Christmases ago. At least.” 

“Of course,” Bruce said, “I’ve been waiting for the perfect opportunity. Thank you, Sam, for being it.”

“You’re welcome,” Sam said seriously, amid much laughter.

“So,” Clint prompted, “Dinner? Are we still on for dinner?”

“I’m there,” Peter said, “as long as I get back home at a reasonable time. It’s a school night.”

Wanda laughed. “I love it! High school, my goodness. You know, Peter, the best thing about you being here is that I’m no longer the youngest.”

Peter scoffed, “You’re not that much older than me.”

“No,” Wanda agreed, “but I’m a little older than you.” And then she laughed again. “You can be my little brother.”

Peter got the feeling that being Wanda’s ‘little brother’ would entail more of her teasing him than actually being a supportive family member, but what did he know? He was an only child.

“Then it is agreed!” Thor said, “We are adopting Peter!”

Tony sputtered, and then laughed. “Sure, fine, yes, we’re adopting Peter.”

“Oh goodie,” Natasha said, “a permanent spiderling.”

“Mr. Stark!” Peter objected, and then “Thor! Natasha!”

But it was too late, Thor had a hand on Peter’s shoulder and was guiding him out of the room, the rest streaming behind, regaling loudly how wonderful, how great, how amazing Peter was going to find living with them.

And Peter made a mental note to, at the next possible moment, tell Thor that he was not moving into the compound, that he was still going to live with Aunt May, and would for as long as possible, but that it was very nice to hear Thor’s enthusiasm.

It made Peter feel warm, and welcome, even if it was unrealistic. But that was ok.

Chapter Text

4 Years Later

Peter stepped off the stage in his beat up and dirty Spiderman shoes. The web design was nearly worn off of the top of the shoe. Thin, nearly undefined lines on a once-red field that was now closer to a rust in some places, and faded salmon pink in others. The skyline against a blue sky that had wrapped around the heels had seeped together horribly on the right shoe, making a navy and periwinkle, black and grey tie-dye design on that heel. The other one was nearly perfect, except for a tiny tear, bisecting a skyscraper, that he’d torn knocking against a bicycle rack once. Only a few of the original tiny, asymmetrical spiders remained but he’d doodled in replacements in black sharpie during boring lectures and procrastination fugues over the years.

They’d lasted him through four years at Columbia, through long night patrols and early morning classes, lectures and exams and labs and his never-ending internship. They’d become his favorite pair of shoes, a reminder that he was still Spiderman, even when he had to go two weeks without putting on the suit because finals were coming up and he was going to fail! Ned, I’m going to fail and die and everyone will hate me!

He didn’t fail, and he didn’t die, and no one hated him.

Except maybe Flash, but what else was new?

These had been the shoes he’d worn to the first class he’d TA’d, and the shoes he’d worn when he’d gone to the patent office to get a patent for his ‘Humanoid, remote-controlled aerial drone’ (Mini-Me), and the shoes he’d worn to late-night poker tournaments with Ned in the dorms, and the shoes he’d worn when Aunt May had taken him out to dinner as a reward for getting straight A’s his first semester.

It made sense that these were the shoes he’d be wearing to his graduation, though they clashed horribly with his pale blue cap and gown, and the dark blue legs of his suit pants that poked out, long and gangly, beneath the hem of his gown.

May was still hooting and hollering from her seat in the stands, and beside her, Tony was clapping very politely, trying not to stand out too much. He’d told Peter earlier that he’d even tried to dress dourly, leaving his brightly colored sunglasses and eclectic outfit choices at home, because he didn’t want to cause a ruckus of “Oh my god! Is that Tony Stark?”s. 

Because this was Peter’s day.

His words.

The other Avengers were also scattered among the crowd, not near each other, all dressed casually. They wouldn’t be recognized either.

He’d tried telling them they didn’t all need to come, but Bucky had looked so offended at the idea (and Clint had agreed, dramatically and loudly, trying to stir up trouble, asking things like “Why don’t you love us anymore, Peter?” and “What did we do to offend you?” and “Are we too embarrassing to be seen with?”) that Peter took it back immediately.

Plus it wasn’t so bad having so many people in the crowd cheering for him, even if they were all acting like undercover operatives on a secret mission.

He tried to find everyone in the crowd as he walked back to his seat, clutching the roll of paper that wasn’t actually his degree. He’d get that in the mail in 4-6 weeks.

Bucky was easiest to spot, as he was the only person in the crowd wearing a leather jacket especially in late May, when Peter had switched almost entirely to short sleeves during the day, just reveling in how not-cold it was. Bucky could have worn a suit jacket to cover his metal arm, but when that had been recommended by Steve, Bucky had scowled magnificently and stalked off. So there he was, scowling, but with his hair tied back nicely, and a collared shirt (no tie) peeking out from the neck of his leather jacket. He was probably wearing a matching leather glove, but as his arms were crossed, Peter couldn’t see it. Next to him was Wanda, who, in a simple rich purple sleeveless dress, was blending in amongst the graduates' families and friends with much more ease.

On the other side of the crowd was Pepper, dabbing at her eye with a tissue, and sitting next to her, Steve, who was also dabbing at his eye with a tissue. They were gushing, emotionally, to each other. Thor was on Pepper’s other side, and was very manfully not dabbing a tissue at his eyes, despite the rivers of tears rolling off his cheeks. Peter knew, from experience, that Thor would be giving him a very big hug when next they were in touching distance of each other.

Rhodey had come in his dress uniform, which made Peter feel all proper and proud for some reason, and Natasha, who was sitting next to him, rocking sandy blonde hair (wig or hair dye, Peter might never know) and a tailored men’s suit (looked like one Clint owned, but that Peter had never seen put on, altered heavily), was grinning at him in such an open and un-artificial way that Peter almost cried.

Literally almost cried. A tear sprang to his eye and only through strength and willpower did he not let it fall.

In the row behind Natasha and Rhodey sat Happy, and he was crying, though he was also scowling about it. Like if he frowned hard enough the tears would retract.

Sam and Bruce sat together, both of them clapping almost as boisterously as Aunt May, and then Bruce said something to Sam that Peter couldn’t hear over the din of the crowd, and Sam burst into laughter and patted Bruce’s shoulder.

Clint was the hardest to find. Odd, in and of itself, because by rights he was the loudest and brashest of the group, but it wasn’t until he let out a ear-piercing whistle that Peter was able to locate him. Just in time too, Peter had almost made it back to his seat. Clint was actually sitting fairly close to the front, wearing a navy suit jacket over a pale yellow polo. He didn’t look cool, but he didn’t really look dumb either. He looked Dad—big Dad energy, and Peter wasn’t sure he liked it. But, hey, he had blended in with the crowd perfectly, so, whatever he was doing was working. 

For a moment Peter though Clint was sitting alone, but then a blonde head next to Clint’s moved, mechanically, and Vision’s human face turned to Peter, met his eye, and smiled.

Peter sat back in his seat, clutching at his faux-degree, and smiled down at his lap.

He wished Ned was sitting next to him so they could chat and Peter would have something to distract himself with, but alas, “Leeds” was not close enough to “Parker” for that to have been possible.

He sat through the rest of the ceremony (so many graduates, so many names, so many hours lost), squeezing and then straightening his faux-degree, and when they rose to throw their mortarboards in the air, he tossed his as high as he could.

With the proportionate-strength of a spider and all that, his cap went pretty high.

Maybe a little too high.

“Oh,” he muttered to himself, unable to see where the thing had fallen, “damn. I wanted to keep that.”

But then voices all around him were laughing and cheering and the orderly rows of seats had fallen through and become swirling crowds of periwinkle blue, clumping up and separating as the noise rose.

“Dude!” Ned said, startling Peter with his sudden closeness. “Dude! We did it! We’re graduates! We have—we have degrees!”

“We do,” Peter said with a laugh, and then laughed again when Ned, without warning, enveloped him in a great bear hug.

“Oh,” Ned said, looking over his shoulder, “my moms are over there. I’ve gotta split! We’re having a barbeque and they invited the whole family. Cousins and cousins,” he complained.

“You like your cousins,” Peter said.

“I like some cousins,” Ned said, “I like the cute ones. The small ones. I don’t like the ones with jobs and families and people who do their taxes for them. They’re always sneering down at me.”

“Well,” Peter said, “Today you can sneer down at them. It’s your day after all.”

Ned hooked an arm around Peter’s shoulder. “It’s our day!”

“Yes, yes,” Peter said.

Ned’s mom (one of them) called his name and he glanced at her before turning back to Peter apologetically. “Sorry, but I’ve really got to go. Are we still on for this weekend?”

“Yes!” Peter said. “How is that even a question? We planned this trip months ago! Now we just have to wait for MJ to show, and we can head out.”

“Ah, a road trip,” Ned said gleefully, “I’m so ready I’m going to pass out. Thank Mr. Stark again for—”

“No,” Peter said, “I already let you kowtow to Tony when he agreed to back our little graduation trip. He doesn’t need any more thanking. He still practically preens when I mention your name.”

“A little vain, is he?” Ned asked.

“Hardy har-har,” Peter said. “You’re hilarious.”

“When’s MJ getting in?” Ned asked.

“Read your email for once in your life,” Peter complained amiably. “She said she’s heading out tomorrow, just has to pack. Traffic’s probably going to be a nightmare—”

“Ick,” Ned said.

“That’s what she gets for going out of state,” Peter said. 

“Yale,” Ned agreed with a scoff.

“Ned!” Ned’s mom shouted, and he ducked down.

“Whoops, gotta go!” Ned said, gave Peter one last hug, said, “See you Saturday!” and scampered off.

The euphoria of graduating had no doubt fried Ned’s brain. He was acting like they’d have no communication for days! When in fact, Peter could bet he’d get a text from Ned within the hour.

Though Peter had to admit, he was excited too. A month-long, cross-country road trip with his two best buds, one of whom he only got to see on special occasions (Connecticut always seemed like a lifetime away since Peter didn’t own a car. But why would he own a car? He was a college student living in New York City) was just what the post-graduation doctor ordered.

But his musings were cut short as he was suddenly enveloped in a patented Aunt May Hug^TM, the warmest kind of hug.

“Peter!” she exclaimed, “Oh, Peter, Peter, Peter!” She was practically jumping in place making Peter feel almost sea-sick, since she was clutching him tight to her as she did so. 

“Congratulations,” Tony said to Peter, arriving seconds after Aunt May and looking less out of breath then she did. He grinned at Peter, who was looking at Tony over May’s shoulder, and Peter grinned back.

“Thanks,” Peter said.

“Did Ned already leave?” May asked, letting go of Peter for only long enough to look him in the eyes as she asked her question, before reeling him back in for an even tighter hug.

“Uh-huh,” Peter said.

“Well darn,” she said, “I wanted to congratulate him too!”

“You’ll see him Saturday,” Peter said.

May sighed.

“Can I have my body back?” Peter asked.

“Absolutely not,” May said, clutching tighter. “Soon you’re going to be going away, leaving me all alone in my mid-sized apartment! You’re all grown up now. Soon you’ll have a job and a house and a family and kids and you won’t need me anymore!”

Peter blinked at May’s word vomit. He patted her on the back. “May, you know I’m not going anywhere. And I moved out of the apartment four years ago! I still visit multiple times a week. I don’t know why that would change now that I have less homework I have to do and fewer tests to study for.”

“Don’t worry, May,” Tony said, casually prying May’s fingers off the pale blue cloth of Peter’s graduation gown. “He’ll get antsy for graduate school sooner or later, and then it’ll be back to ‘I hate School, how do I adult’ Peter. No need to worry. It’s not like he’s going to leave the country.” He laughed. “Or the state for that matter.”

May reluctantly let go of Peter’s gown, but then surged forward to pinch his cheeks. Her eyes were wet but she wasn’t crying. “He’s just all grown up now!”

“He’s been grown up for a while,” Peter said, talking about himself in the third person with the ease born of long practice. “Now he just has a piece of paper that says he’s good at science.”

“Don’t knock it,” Tony said, “I have tons of papers saying I’m good at science.”

Peter normally would’ve shot back with something snippy maybe, or at least something clever, but he really was over the moon (Graduated!), so he just grinned back, all wide-eyed and guileless.

“Oh enough of this gushy stuff,” May said, wiping at her eyes, “this is a day of celebration!”

“Who’s being gushy?” Tony asked. “I’m not being gushy.”

May eyed Tony with an unimpressed expression. “I give you 24 hours before you’re in a state worse than I am.”

“Hah,” Tony said, “I’d take that bet, except Pepper’s already bet on 12 hours, and if I lose to her I won’t have enough money to pay you as well.”

“Speaking of Pepper,” Peter said, looking around for her, and for anyone else as well. He saw no one.

“They headed back first,” Tony said. “Didn’t want to draw unwanted attention by all flocking to you right in the middle of a crowd of your peers.”

“Smart thinking,” Peter said, “but still, I’d have liked to have said hi to everyone.”

May pulled him in for another hug.

“Please, May,” he said plaintively, “you’re going to crush me.”

“I’m not going to crush shit,” May said, hugging him even tighter. “You’re too strong for that.”

“Stop hogging him,” Tony complained.

She let Peter go with a watery chuckle, and just as Peter was straightening himself out of her spine-crinkling embrace, Tony pulled him in for a hug of his own, less crushing than May’s but just as long.

“I’m so proud of you,” Tony said quietly, and then tightened his hold on Peter for a single moment before letting go altogether. “Now, we’ve got a group of superheroes who all want to congratulate you, waiting for us at my very fragile building—”

Peter cut him off. “Your very fragile, reinforced skyscraper built to withstand attacks on all sides, that can—”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tony said, with a wave of his hand. “Still, with almost a dozen antsy superheroes laying in wait there, who knows what kind of trouble they could get into with no one supervising.”

“Pshaw,” Peter said, “Like you were ever the one trusted to supervise.”

May laughed.

“Let’s go,” Tony insisted. 

May took Peter’s arm and followed behind, both of them laughing quietly, as Tony stomped through the throng of students and their families, making melodramatic harrumphing noises the entire way. At the car (a limo! Had Tony always owned a limo???) (Of course he had, what the fuck Parker, use your brain), Happy met them, scowling and trying to look like he hadn’t been crying.

“You’re late,” he complained, mostly to Tony, as he opened the back door to the man.

“Blame the kid,” Tony said, hooking a thumb over his shoulder at Peter. “He kept chatting with his little friends.”

“Stop pretending you don’t know Ned!” Peter complained as Tony climbed into the back of the limo.

May patted Peter’s arm consolingly before following Tony in.

Peter approached the door behind them.

“Congratulations,” Happy said, voice scratchy and frown turned up to eleven.

Peter went in for a hug, and Happy’s arms closed around him.

“Thank you,” Peter said.

“That’s right,” Happy said, “after everything I’ve done for you,” he sniffled, “you’d better thank me.” And then he turned his head away, but not before Peter saw the tears welling up in his eyes.

Peter jumped into the limo to give Happy some privacy, and the door slammed closed behind him. 

Peter had never been inside a limo before. It was… long. And opulent. Was that a mini fridge?

“Hey,” Peter said, “is that a mini fridge?”

“Sure is, Pete,” Tony said, and pulled it open, revealing a variety of alcohol and a single soda.

“I guess I’ll take the Fanta,” Peter said.

“Aww,” Tony said, “I wanted the Fanta. Why don’t you have this?” He removed a tiny bottle of clear liquid and shook it. The label said ‘Bacardi’ and below that ‘Carta Blanca.’

“Uhhhh,” Peter said, looking at first Tony, and then May with wide eyes.

May shrugged. “You’re twenty-one, Peter. It’s up to you.”

“Uhhhhhh,” Peter said again, at a higher register. “No thanks?”

Tony shrugged and put the tiny Bacardi away.

“Hold up,” Aunt May said, “just because Peter doesn’t want it, doesn’t mean I don’t want it. My kid graduated today! It’s time to celebrate!”

“Amen to that,” Tony said, and pulled the bottle back out before tossing it to May.

“Oh dear,” Peter said quietly to himself. His Aunt twisted off the cap and guzzled the bottle all at once. Peter escalated his exclamation to, “Oh fuck.”

“She’ll be fine,” Tony told Peter. “You sure you don’t want anything?”

“Maybe later?” Peter said. “I kind of at least want to not make a fool of myself right away.”

“Would you even get drunk?” Tony asked. “What with your enhanced metabolism.”

Peter grimaced.

“Peter can get drunk,” May said, handling her liquor with experience. If Peter hadn’t seen her just down that whole bottle, he didn’t think he’d even notice anything different. Of course, the rum was sure to kick in more later on, as the alcohol flowed through her blood stream. 

“What?” Tony squawked. “You’ve seen Peter drunk?” He turned to Peter. “And why haven’t I had the honor of seeing a drunk Peter, hmm?”

Peter could feel his cheeks warming. “Uh…” he said very succinctly.

“I haven’t seen him drunk,” May said. “He did drunk dial me.”

“Once,” Peter said, “it was only once! Ned and I were visiting MJ and we wanted to celebrate.”

“Ah to be twenty-one again,” Tony said wistfully.

“The thing is,” May said conspiratorially to Tony. “Peter can get drunk, but he sobers up very quickly. I think maybe he’d gotten six words in,” Peter hid his head in his hands as May talked, “and I’d just realized he was drunk, babbling and word-slurring and everything, when BAM!” She clapped her hands together to add emphasis to that bit of foley work. “Suddenly he says, stone cold sober, no slurring to be heard, ‘Oh, I’m so sorry Aunt May, I-’”

Peter kicked lightly at May, not removing his reddening face from behind his hands. “Stop it! Haven’t I apologized enough?”

May laughed. “You didn’t need to apologize, Peter. You didn’t hurt my feelings. I just think it’s funny.” But she obligingly stopped telling the story.

Tony scoffed. “I thought it was going to be something really embarrassing. You should hear half the stuff I did as a teenager.”

“I’m not a teenager,” Peter said, “and I’m sure I have heard at least half the stuff you did in your,” he made finger quotes, “‘misspent youth.’”

“True,” Tony granted, not the least bit ashamed.

They pulled into the parking garage beneath the tower, and Happy opened the door for them, but then joined them in the elevator, not bothering to park it after dropping them off.

“Someone else has that duty tonight,” Happy said.

“Well I’m glad you could join us,” Peter said, and it was the truth.

Happy scoffed unconvincingly.

“Ooohh,” May said, “I’m so excited!”

“Shouldn’t Peter be the one saying that?” Tony asked.

May shrugged. “But I am! My boy’s all grown up, and we’re going to celebrate!”

“Any excuse for a party,” Peter said.

May grinned at him. 

The elevator doors opened into the Avenger’s common area, the big living room in which he’d first met Thor and introduced himself to Natasha and Clint. It seemed bigger somehow, now, even though it was filled with more people, and had a giant banner strung across the far wall that announced: “CONGRATULATIONS ON GRADUATING!” and beneath that, in font that was only slightly smaller, “New Designation: O’ Employee O’ Mine.”

It looked hand-painted. Or, claw-painted, as it had probably been the work of DUM-E and U.

Peter laughed. Tony had been hinting at hiring Peter officially through the entire four years Peter had been in college. Had tried to hire him straight out of High School, but Peter was having none of it. He wanted to work on his degree. 

But now, degree in hand, (actually, degree in the mail), it seemed right. The time had come. And heck, if he could get paid for doing what he loved doing, working in this tower with Tony and Bruce and Dr. Loomis and a whole slew of other intelligent and innovative scientists, well, why wouldn’t he take it?

Still, what a way to ask.

To tell.

Peter got the feeling that if he had wanted to work someplace other than Stark Industries, he’d be in for the sales pitch of his life. But why would he want to work anywhere else?

“Peter!” Clint called with a whoop, and then there was laughing and clapping, and one ear-piercing whistle that Peter thought must have come from Rhodey.

“Congratulations!” Pepper called, swooping in for a tight hug, and then suddenly everyone was there, and laughing, and hugging, and wishing him the best. Gifts were foisted on him, one after another, and then taken away again, to be placed in a position of prominence on a tabletop against one of the floor-to-ceiling windows. 

Food was offered to Peter and he took it, and he found himself eating and chatting, moving between people, from friend-to-friend-to-friend, a smile wide on his face that he just couldn’t get rid of.

The excitement quieted after a few hours. People breaking off into smaller, quieter groups, though the drinks had flowed the whole afternoon through. It had become late evening somewhere along the way, though Peter couldn’t have told you when, exactly, as he’d been buffeted back and forth amongst well-wishers and funny anecdotes, friends and family with so much to say and so much Peter wanted to hear.

Now he stood, alone, against the window, now showing only the darkness of the night and the twinkling of the streetlamps, head lights, and glowing windows below.

It was a nice evening. Warm and dry.

Traffic moved down below, lights flashing, but they all looked so small and far away from up here.

He could hear May and Pepper chatting over wine glasses that were not their first, and he knew if he focused, they’d be gushing about him, and talking about his GPA and the clubs he’d joined and what he’d be doing in the future. Just the thought of it made him hot-faced.

And a little anxious.

With all the excitement of the day, graduating and then partying, he hadn’t noticed that he was nervous. Just the tiniest bit. He was excited for the road-trip, to his month of fun and adventure with MJ and Ned, but he didn’t… he didn’t really want to think any further. He didn’t want to think about what would happen after that. He didn’t want to consider the unknown.

He pulled his phone out to give him something else to think about. 

There were several texts from Ned, pictures of his own graduation party with mostly family, and a few underclassmen he’d tutored in the past couple of years. He’d taken a selfie with three of his younger cousins, and an unflattering picture of a be-suited, bored looking sneering man that Peter took to be one of his annoying older cousins.

Peter sent back a thumbs-up emoji, and then took a selfie [himself, sticking his tongue out, with Thor guzzling a crockpot of spicy queso in the background] and sent that off as a reply.

He then thumbed open his other messages and found only one. A text from MJ:

I heard you finally graduated. Knew you could do it, Smarty-Pants. Can’t wait to see you Saturday. I’m bringing my game face, so you better have yours as well.

He smiled at his phone, which probably made him look like an idiot. He was kind of used to looking like an idiot, and didn’t let himself be bothered by it. 

Can’t wait to see you too, Smarty-Pants. My Game Face is laundered, dried, and already packed. See you Saturday.

“What are you smiling about?” Tony voice said from much too close, and Peter’s eyes jerked up from his phone and into the face of his mentor and friend.

“Just talking to MJ about Saturday,” Peter said.

Tony grinned at him. Peter thought for a minute Tony was going to tease him for chatting with MJ, but instead Tony said, “So you’re all looking forward to your little vacation road trip, are you?”

“Very,” Peter said with open relief. “Frankly, if I never have to take another final exam again in my life, it’ll be too soon.”

“That’s what you say now,” Tony said, “but I know you. Soon enough you’ll have more Masters degrees and PHDs than you’ll know what to do with.”

Peter groaned. “Please, no doctorate talk today. I just graduated! Can’t I have a little break?”

“That’s what your road trip is for,” Tony said with a smile. “Are you sure you don’t want a personal cruise? Or I can give you all a private jet and you can jet-set around the world, doesn’t that sound like fun?” He waggled his eyebrows.

“Please don’t offer a jet to Ned,” Peter said, his voice as dry as he could make it.

“Why? ‘Cause you know he’d accept?” Tony asked. “You know it’s ok sometimes to actually accept the gifts I offer you. You deserve them.”

Peter rolled his eyes and shoved lightly at Tony’s shoulder. Tony made a big show of stumbling against the window, and then rolled himself across the wide pane of glass, clutching at his heart with a dramatic expression on his face. 

“You wound me, Peter,” Tony said. “You wound me greatly. I demand reparations for how you’ve hurt me.” He paused, and let the pause grow, and then grow some more, and finally after the silence had reached peak melodrama, said, “I insist you let me buy you a jet.”

Peter made a loud buzzing noise with his mouth. “Denied!”

Tony pasted a wounded expression on his face. “Fine, but if you ever need a jet…”

“I’ll call you,” Peter said, trying very hard to look stern and keep his smile at bay. 

Tony was less successful. A genuine laugh broke out, along with a smile, and he dropped an arm over Peter’s shoulder. “Seriously, Peter, how are you feeling?”

“Pretty good,” Peter said, looking out the window at the darkened and glittering city.

Tony hummed a tuneless note. A thinking noise. “Why don’t you try that again?”

“I do feel good,” Peter said, a little too quick. “I’m happy to have graduated. I’m glad me and Ned got to graduate together… I was worried for a little bit that I’d graduate first, and…”

“And that’s why you double majored?” Tony asked, though Peter was sure he already knew the answer.

Peter nodded.

“I know it’s scary to be out in the world,” Tony said. “The structure of your life is changing, and I know that can be—”

“I’m not scared,” Peter interrupted, and then bit his lip.

Tony tightened his arm around Peter’s shoulders, turning the casual hold into a hug. “Of course not,” Tony said, “you’re the bravest and most compassionate Avenger. Our friendly neighborhood Spiderman.”

Peter shoved at Tony, ducking his head to hide the pink in his cheeks, and muttered, “Shut up.”

Tony laughed. “Peter, change happens. But not everything is changing. We’re still here for you. May and Pepper, Nat and Clint, Wanda, Vision, Bucky, Steve, Sam, Bruce, Rhodey, Thor, Ned and MJ. We’re not going anywhere.”

Peter nodded silently.

Tony let out a quiet breath. “You got like this when you graduated high school, too.”

Peter frowned. He didn’t remember feeling this… worry when he’d graduated high school. That had been nothing. Going from high school to college, keeping Ned, still interning at SI, nothing had really changed.

“It’s true,” Tony said, as if he could read Peter’s mind. Or maybe he could just read Peter’s disbelief in his silence. “You were quieter at the beginning of that summer. You spent more time in my lab tinkering then you needed to, didn’t take as many breaks.” He shrugged. “I didn’t say anything, I didn’t think it was something you wanted to talk about, but I could tell something was on your mind.” He let out a long breath. “But then you started talking more. Around the middle of the summer. You went out more with Ned and MJ, started chattering at me again.” He turned to Peter, and seeing Peter’s pronounced frown, let out a small laugh. “You don’t remember?”

Peter shook his head, but now, now that he was thinking back, he wasn’t too sure. “I mean, that’s silly. College was fine. College was fun.”

“But you didn’t know that before you got in, did you?” Tony prompted.

“No,” Peter admitted slowly. He frowned first down at Manhattan, and then up at the dark sky. He couldn’t see the moon. Maybe it was hidden behind a cloud, or maybe it was behind him. “I mean, I guess, now that I think about it, when I graduated high school I was nervous.” His lips thinned. “It felt, I— This sounds so stupid. I think I felt homesick. For high school.” His laugh was self-deprecating. “Why would I ever feel homesick for high school. That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard come out of my mouth.”

Tony sighed, and Peter must have been hearing things because he could have sworn it sounded just a tinge wistful. “Because change can be scary, Peter. I bet you feel, just a little, homesick for Columbia right now too. Don’t you?”

Peter grimaced instead of answering.

“It’s ok to feel homesick for University. For campus and classes, for rooming with Ned and eating in the dining hall, even for the structure of semester after semester after semester. You lived there for four years, Peter. It was your home. Just as much as High School was your home for four years, even if you didn’t sleep there. You saw the same people day in and day out, had to do similar, familiar tasks… you made habits Peter. You had order. It would only make sense, when you have to move away from that, that you’d feel a little homesick.”

Something like recognition twisted in Peter’s gut—and then it loosened. The breath that fell from his lips was stronger than before. A push of air from his lungs, and then he inhaled, sucked in a deep breath, and nodded. But all he could make his mouth say was, “Yeah, I… yeah.”

Tony ruffled his hair. “So,” Tony said, “how are you doing, Peter?”

“I’m getting there,” Peter said, and found, amazingly enough, that it was true. “I’m excited that MJ’s moving back. I missed her. And I’m ready to actually get work done in the labs again.”

“And get a paycheck for it,” Tony said.

“And get a paycheck for it,” Peter agreed with a laugh. “I don’t know if Ned’s found a job yet, but his moms have him signed up to volunteer at the soup kitchen until he figures it out, so he’ll be busy too.”

“I like his moms,” Tony said.

“You just say that because they send Ned over with sweets and coupons for the bakery Ned’s Uncle works at.”

“I’m a simple man, and I have simple pleasures,” Tony said unabashedly. “One of those pleasures is baked goods that Pepper doesn’t want me to have. What’s MJ going to do?”

“I think she has a paid internship lined up for the fall. Something about graphic design? Or maybe being a lab assistant. Maybe both.”

“Those two things aren’t really similar,” Tony pointed out.

Peter shrugged. “I’m just telling you what she told me. MJ could tell me that she’s starring in the next big blockbuster and running for Governor of New York and I’d believe her. Frankly, her confidence and general can-do spirit bowl me over.”

“I’d vote for her,” Tony said with a decisive nod of his head.

“Big same,” Peter agreed. “And I, uh,” he stuttered, his mind shifting gears, “I’m excited to be a real, full-time member of, uh—”

“Your favorite boy band?” Tony asked. “Earth’s mightiest heroes? The Big Avengers on Campus? The Midgardian clean-up crew? Iron Man and the Pussycats?”

“Panic! at the New York,” Peter added. “The Twelve Musketeers. Ta-ta-ta-Tony and the Jets.”

“Twelve Angry Avengers,” Tony added. “Peter in the Skyscraper with Heroes. ”

“We who shall not be named,” Peter offered. “This Ain’t a Scene, it’s a Superhero Clubhouse.” He paused for a second trying to think of anything else. “Heathens?”

“That wasn’t even a pun,” Tony said. “I’ve failed as teacher!”

Peter broke into laughter. “I’m sure you did fine,” he said, through his mirth. “And you have to admit. You all are kind of heathenous. Heathenous? Is that a word?”

Tony shrugged. “Why not?” he asked. “But I think you mean that we’re all kind of heathenous. You are officially one of us now. And I’d hate to think that a colleague of mine wouldn’t accept his rightful title of ‘Heathen’ beside the rest of us. I’d feel so abandoned—and that would break me. As a person.”

“A colleague, huh?” Peter wondered aloud. Not an intern, not a mentee, not a student. A colleague. Someone on equal standing. “How about a friend?” Peter tried.

Tony scoffed. “Peter, I’m rethinking offering you a job. I didn’t know you were this dense. You’re supposed to be a genius! Of course I’m your friend. Jesus, you’d think after all these years you’d have figured it out by now, that golly gee, of course I’m your fucking frien—”

The rest of Tony’s sentence was cut off when Peter turned the tables on the man. He stepped out from beneath Tony’s arm, only to reach around simultaneously give Tony a noogie, and hug him for all that he was worth. 

And as anyone would attest to, he was worth quite a bit.