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Tony scoffed. “Likely story.”

“What’s a likely story?”

Looking up from his cell phone just as their waiter walked away, Tony lifted an eyebrow high. A tall, fully filled champagne flute had been set down across from him, the bright orange liquid inside glimmering with the reflection of sunlight.

“Is that your third mimosa?” he asked.

May raised her eyebrow right back at him.

“Depends,” she said, glass half-way to her lips. “You still paying?”

Tony made a face, one mostly hidden behind the high-tech, plum-tinted sunglasses resting across his eyes. He nodded, as if the question was ridiculous enough that it didn’t warrant a vocal response.

May smiled, though not before taking a slow, drawn-out sip of the brightly colored cocktail. “Then yes, it’s my third mimosa.”

Tony shook his head with a sigh heavily restrained, a weak smile barely creeping on the corners of his lips. He stuffed his cell phone within the insides of his blazer, carefully smoothing out the dark, black fabric.

“By all means, drink up,” he encouraged, raising his glass of water up in the air for a mock-toast. “A little sauce is the least I can do. Anything for the headache that you’ve miraculously tamed after years of dealing with this troublesome little shit of a teenager you call your nephew.”

May laughed, clinking her glass against his as they both sipped on their respective drinks. The clouds from overhead began to partway, the early afternoon sun peaking down with a gold shimmer, covering the terrace area of the Manhattan cafe.

Tony pushed his sunglasses up higher, debating on whether or not it was worth asking for a seat elsewhere. Between knowing that the paparazzi would jump them if they moved, and watching May take another long sip of her mimosa, he decided that a little sunshine wouldn’t hurt their brunch.

'Co-parenting catch-up' as Pepper had called it — and arranged it, which was no surprise for the woman who could do anything, and everything. An obligation set forth by his fiancée had quickly become an ingrained habit, his monthly brunches with May a time where they could both discuss issues and concerns they were having with a certain spider-kid of theirs.

Granted, Tony didn’t think May would be so literal with her suggestion of co-parenting. He had assumed weekends at the compound would be more professional than anything else, a necessary duty in making sure the kid had the means to not get himself killed when going about his vigilante business.

It didn’t take him long to recognize things were much, much more than that.

It was realized roughly around the same time Wilson was cooking the kid chocolate pancakes for breakfast, and Natasha insisting at least half of the group be around for dinner.

It was solidified when he and Steve grounded Peter no different than a couple of suburban parents punishing their kids.

It was weird.

But a good weird.

Tony pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose — he’d never in a million years think he’d need someone to share the frustrations of raising a mutated teenager. He’d take the loss of normalcy, considering the fact May was still letting Peter gallop around the city as Queen’s local superhero despite all that had gone down recently.

“I’m thinking of writing a book,” he mentioned, carefully folding his arms across his chest. "How to Raise Your Novice Superhero Kid. That way whatever moron follows in my footsteps won’t have to deal with the consistent migraine I can’t seem to shake form all these hurdles. Although, it probably wouldn’t look good next to my autobiography, Cheap Tricks and Oneliners."

May snorted, her lips twitching with a smile that she tried to hide beneath her glass. “I knew it.”

A slight crease formed between his brows. “Knew what?”

“Knew you wouldn’t last long.” She shot him a smug look, her chin raised high with a friendly sense of brass and cheek.

Tony gaped, feigning dramatic offense with small amount of honesty coated around it.

“Excuse me,” he stated, his hand planted flatly and firmly across his chest. “I lasted a whole month on the road with that little twerp. And you of all people should know that he does not use deodorant as often as he needs to. Thus, I deserve at least half the credit you do for surviving those thirty days dealing with his B.O and still having my nostrils remain intact. Nose hairs singed off, of course.”

“Uh huh,” May nodded, her smirk growing. “And now?”

Tony paused, eyeing the half-eaten and certainly now cold egg and cheese soufflé on the plate below him, crushed up by the fork that sat on the side. He was pretty sure that his expression must have looked just as torn up, as May immediately set down her champagne flute with a frown.

“Something tells me this brunch isn’t going to be all curfew talk,” she said, only briefly looking away once realizing a couple seated at the table nearby were gawking at them both.

Beneath his sunglasses, Tony rolled his eyes. The momentary distraction didn’t last long, the waiter of whom he had slipped a few hundred dollars quickly addressing the situation and saving them any headache. It had become as routine as his monthly brunches with May.

In fact, he was pretty sure that he had paid for the new shoes the waiter was wearing. Interesting choice in what to spend the extraneous tip money on. Tony would have gone for a savings or stock, but that was neither here nor there and —

He sighed, running his hand through his goatee. His mind always wandered when avoiding problems he didn’t want to deal with.

“Has Peter talked to you at all since Sunday?” Tony abruptly asked, looking at his water and pessimistically wishing it was something slightly stronger. Sobriety and him were still an ongoing tango most days.

May paused at the question, looking away with thoughtful consideration. Ultimately, she shook her head.

“I’m lucky to see him grab a frozen waffle on the way out of the door,” she chuckled slightly. “Still frozen. Boy rolls right out of bed, doesn’t give himself any time to throw something in the toaster. It’s truly amazing how he’s not all skin and bones.”

Despite her attempt at lightening the mood, Tony’s somber expression didn’t change. He continued to graze his fingers through the prickle hair of his goatee, his sunglasses unable to hide his far-off stare.

May frowned, her eyebrows dipping with concern. “What happened?”

The persistent tapping of his Louis Vuitton dress shoes filled the pause between them. The same dress shoes the waiter wore, walking by to fill his glass of water on the table. Tony squinted one eye, distantly wondering if it was a flattery thing or if the college-aged boy just wanted to buy the most expensive item he could get his hands on.

Distraction. Right.

Tony cleared his throat a few times, briefly considering taking a sip of his drink before deciding to just rip off the band-aid.

“We got into an argument,” he grudgingly admitted.

May’s demeanor softened almost immediately. She waved him off with a half-hearted smile.

“I told you not to let him eat whatever he wants. He gets irritable and gassy and —”

“He had a panic attack.”

May’s face dropped.

“What?” her words were practically spoken in a breath, confusion speaking volumes.

Tony sighed, shrugging with such force that his sunglasses slipped a little further down his nose. He didn’t reach to move them up.

“He’s...expectantly denying it now.” Tony scratched at his cheek, focusing on the sights from within the cafe as opposed to where May was seated. Somehow, it was easier to watch barista’s inside fumble with making a late. “But he did. Have one.”

It was the most he could manage without feeling uncomfortable, or more uncomfortable than what he already felt. Despite having a good four monthly ‘Co-parenting Catch-ups’ under their belt, Tony had yet to encounter a time where he and May needed to discuss something beyond surface level.

Grades, curfews, not to mention pushing her to allow him responsibility for the cost of school tuition and the likes that came with it — their conversations had yet to reach a level quite this deep.

He looked down at his glass of water. Sobriety be damned, he officially regretted not getting a cocktail himself.

May appeared to have trouble letting the information sink in, her face twisting and contorting without ever settling on one specific emotion or the other.

“Are you sure —”

“Yeah,” Tony interrupted, straightening in his chair with faux pose. “I’m kinda the expert. Know one to call one, and all.”

May sat on the news. Though she seemed surprisingly less startled than Tony had expected to be, her moment of reflection hadn’t gone unnoticed.

“That’s strange.” She raised her glass to her lips, the action of her swallowing visible, followed by another mouthful done only to buy herself time. “He hasn’t mentioned that at all.”

Tony nodded. “Not surprised. I want to say he’s embarrassed — hell, I know he’s embarrassed. Stormed out on me, started ignoring my texts, won’t even give Happy much time of day. And you know something’s up when Happy’s questioning why the kid isn’t nagging him.”

It was going on four days, and as of five minutes ago, there was only one text message conversation between them. This was the same kid who spammed Tony’s phone with ridiculous questions and memes at all times of the day.

Now, radio silence.

The entire incident still seemed to boggle Tony’s mind. He wanted to think that it wasn’t like Peter to behave that way, that something had gotten into him recently to provoke such an outburst. But the further he looked back, the more he realized the signs were building up.

The kid was pissed a few weekends back when he'd been grounded.

And the panic attack — well, he had been waiting for that since the moment they rescued the kid from drowning waters.

“What was it about?”

Tony looked up, caught off guard. “Huh?”

May crossed her legs, making sure not to bump into the small metal table between them.

“The fight,” she specified.

Tony pointed a finger her way. “Argument —”

“I know you, Stark,” May said, the smile on her lips breaking any tension from her words. “It was a fight. Deets, now.”

Tony audibly groaned, rubbing at his forehead with his index finger and thumb, his eyes tightly pinched shut.

“Oh god, you talk like one of them.” He gestured his hand out to nothing in particular. “Is this contagious? Will I be next? Should I forewarn Pepper — oh God, don’t tell me I’ll pass it onto her. I cannot have a forty-three-year-old woman representing the company who talks like some Gen Z tween. Our stocks will tank.”

Tony cracked one eye open, not the least bit surprised to see May staring him down, the brown strands of hair that had fallen in front of her face somehow making her seem more intimidating. If he didn’t know better, he’d say that Pepper was giving her lessons on the side.

Not fair. As if his fiancée wasn’t difficult enough to handle on her own.

He waited until after the waiter took their plates before talking again.

“I just...I don’t want him interacting with a certain individual,” Tony finally admitted, pulling at his blazer jacket to smooth out wrinkles that weren’t there. “We have a new guest at the compound, and I think it’s in Peter’s best interest if they don’t associate. For whatever reason, that seemed to get his boxer briefs in a bunch — suddenly we’re throwing words, and the next thing I know he’s...” he trailed off, noticeably clearly his throat a few times before managing, “...yeah.”

It wasn’t a lie.

It also omitted some of the truth.

But Tony was known to do that.

Besides, he couldn’t open the can of worms that was The Osborn's. Not without May discovering details no one but himself and the team knew about. And it needed to stay that way.

The fewer people who knew, the safer they’d be.

Regardless of what caused the argument — who was he kidding, she was right. It was a full-blown fight. Tony liked to think he had seen a lot of Peter’s behavior over the last year. From the high highs to the low lows. From him freaking out over his aunt discovering he had a superhero side gig to freaking out because Captain America passed him a plate of waffles. He had come to realize early on that the kid had intense emotions, riding either the positives or negatives to the extreme.

Yet nothing he could think of came remotely close to the other night. It was a whole other side of Peter. A new side, he was sure. One developing all thanks to the trauma this lifestyle was giving him.

No matter how hard he tried, Tony still had regrets bringing him into this.

May didn’t give him much time to reflect. She huffed a laugh so hard that he could have sworn he smelt citrus and alcohol whiff out from her mouth.

“Oh, there’s so much more to that than you’re letting on.”

Tony rolled his eyes, leaning forward to grab the stem of the champagne glass in front of her. “You’ve had too much to drink.”

May pulled it back just in time, smirking. “I’m having just the right amount for this conversation.”

With a glare that matched the sun’s intensity, Tony’s head dipped low, his purple-tinted sunglasses sliding down to show his brown eyes squinting with resentment.

May fell silent for a moment, though the grin plastered on her face only dimmed slightly. With a sigh, one less heavy than how Tony felt, she crossed her legs and adjusted her sundress, looking him head-on.

“Tony,” she started, “what really happened?”

Damn — Tony ran a hand along the side of his hair, smoothing down the salt and pepper he knew was noticeable in the afternoon light. He had to give credit where credit was due; May Parker had one hell of an impressive bullshit meter. If he couldn’t get past the woman, then there was no way in hell the kid would ever stand a chance.

The Manhattan traffic clogging the streets nearby kept the silence between them from reaching uncomfortable levels. A gridlock of cars blared their horns, folks hollered for taxis, and others went about their day, conversations of the likes taking place as close as four feet away from where they were seated.

Tony looked around, looked anywhere but in front of him where May sat. All things considered, this was a nice cafe. Quaint little outside dining area, friendly staff, decent food. Rogers had actually been the one to recommend it to him. Said it was his favorite spot in the city, where he could sit in peace and sketch some art.

And here he was, so quick to ruin the experience with an intimate one-on-one that would make his skin crawl.

Clearing his throat, Tony leaned closer against the bistro table, resting his forearms down on the rough metal surface.

May waited, not doing so much as twiddling her thumbs despite the pause that stretched on between them.

“After the whole...Battle of New York incident five years ago...” he sniffed, hard. “I started having some, uh...issues.”

What an understatement that was — his fingers tapped along the metal groves of the table, distracting him from the cynical voice inside his head.

“Didn’t realize how much flying a nuke into space would mess up my psyche. Never would’ve thought that seeing what was on the other side of the exosphere would be what finally cracked the eggshell. Probably wouldn’t have done it had I’d known. I mean, who am I kidding, definitely would have still done it, no question about it, one and done – easily. Maybe would’ve just made better choices? Given it a big push instead of following it through the wormhole, closed my eyes once I got there — but whacha gunna do, hindsight's a bitch. Twenty-twenty and all that,” Tony rambled, his eyes narrowing tightly as his brows curved close together.

“The point I’m trying to make here — and I have a point, really, I’m not just airing out dirty laundry for the sake of...I don’t know, whatever people do with laundry — the point is...”

Tony took off his sunglasses with one hand and scrubbed at his face with the other. Even with his eyes closed, the sun seemed much brighter without them on.

“After all that happened, suddenly...things changed. I changed. Something as simple as the word ‘alien’ would set me off. And I don’t mean the kind of being-set-off that you’d see from me on CNN during those weapon manufacturing court trials. I mean...” Tony gestured wildly with his hands, letting out a deep sigh of frustration. “Tell me you know what I mean, because I don’t normally do this,” he waved a hand frantically back and forth between them, “and the more I talk, the more I feel like an idiot so hopefully my point is coming across —”

“I know what you mean,” May thankfully cut in, a ghost of a smile tracing across her lips.

“Good,” he nodded, his shoulders dropping down to his toes, relief easing the burden against his back. “That’s good. Because what I’m getting at...the point here is...it wasn’t...pretty. It wasn’t me. I mean, it was me, but me-with-PTSD, which isn’t...normally...me.” Tony shook his head, leaning back into his chair with a deep breath. “Bless Pepper’s patient heart, she put up with that hot mess and the many, many, many therapy sessions it took before returning to my semi-normal self again. It certainly didn’t happen overnight. Hell, I don’t know if it’ll actually ever end. A very fluid situation, very...day-to-day.”

Floundering for what he’d say next, Tony stopped talking long enough for the city sounds to flow between them again. Someone laid down on the horn of their car with eager frustration, and he nearly jumped out of his chair.

May simply stayed seated, waiting for the next stream of incoherent babbling.

His eyes fell to the ground where he fiddled with the sunglasses in his hands. There was no doubt about it, he had to give it to May for listening patiently, letting him detour left and right, digress when what he needed to say could have been clear, cut, and dry.

He also understood why Pepper was the first to interrupt when he let his thoughts get away from him. Without her, he’d never shut up.

“I’m not...not taking responsibility for my part in the argument with Peter. At the end of the day, he’s a teenager, and teenagers don’t like being told what to do, right? That’s not even a question, God knows I was the worst teenager to exist on this earth, hell, this universe. When compared to me, he can only go up. Way up.” Tony tossed his sunglasses down onto the bistro table, worried that if he kept waving them around in the air, he’d end up snapping them in half. “The argument wasn’t really the problem — it was, but it wasn’t. The thing is...I know what I said right before it happened. Before he got upset. It was like looking in a mirror, five years ago...having heard someone say alien.”

For a moment, neither of them said anything.

For the first time since talking, Tony looked May head-on, exposed eyes telling her everything she needed to know.

“Damn,” she muttered, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “So...what’s his alien?”

Tony blew a deep breath of air through his cheeks, the few napkins still lying on their table tossing onto the ground.

“I brought up the whole...kidnapped, shish-kebabed, nearly dying thing,” Tony said, his voice heavy. “And by the way he reacted, I think it’s finally catching up to him.”

Surprisingly, May kept a straight face at the news. She looked to the left where the traffic passed by, reaching for the stem of her mimosa glass only to decide against it. Her unease, though, was a dead giveaway as she tapped her heel relentlessly against the ground.

“He did have a great distraction over the summer,” she mentioned, managing a small shrug. “Between hanging out with the World Renowned Avengers and going on a tour of the country with you, he didn’t really have time to let anything sink in.”

Tony stared ahead, nodding his head with little feeling.

May uncrossed her legs, the tapping finally coming to stop. “We said it was going to happen sooner or later, right?”

The reality of the situation was alerting, trickling into his brain in ways that he failed to make sense of. Tony’s eyes darted back over to May, a line in his forehead forming at the stress of it all.

“Yeah, but...” he trailed off, unsure of what else to say. But it wasn’t supposed to be now? But I thought we were in the clear?

But I don't know how to navigate this?

He sighed, giving his head a small shake.

How was someone as messed up as him supposed to bring someone else out to the other side?

“Peter ever been to therapy?” he asked, so suddenly that May was taken aback.

She blinked, running a hand up and down her arm before nodding. “At one point, yes. When he was eight, after his parents died. Stopped once he turned ten. I suggested he go back after Ben’s death, but...he didn’t want to.”

Tony paused, considering her words. “Why didn’t you make him?”

May shrugged, sitting up a little bit straighter in her chair, pulling at her sundress to cover her knees.

“Like I said...he didn’t want to.”

A weight heavier than his Iron Man armor pulled at Tony’s shoulders, the realization digging deep into his chest. It twisted and tugged at his gut, and the longer it occupied his mind, the worst he felt.

He leaned back, humming while his fingers pulled through his goatee.

That wasn’t his childhood.

Growing up, when Howard told him what to do, it was a matter of doing it or getting a Scotch thrown in his direction. Maria could only do so much, the only adult that would ever question her husband’s authority. It wasn’t until he went to college at the ripe age of fifteen that he started putting his foot down. He didn’t have much longer to test the waters of what he could and couldn’t disobey.

By then, Obie was the one to boss him around. A literal boss, in every sense of the word.

His childhood was no example to go off of, and yet it was the only experience he held in his back pocket. It was the absolute worst one he could possibly use.

And he had been using it. He had been bossing Peter around when the kid didn’t need to be treated that way — didn’t deserve to be treated that way.

Maybe he shouldn’t have grounded him over that party incident, maybe he should have done something else. Anything else.

He just didn’t know what.

Christ, Tony had no idea how to navigate this. He wasn’t the one who should be writing a book, he was the one who needed to be reading one.

“The kid’s really been put through the wringer in his life,” Tony needlessly mentioned, making no judgments as May finished off her mimosa with a satisfied exhale.

“He has. But it seems every time life knocks him down, he gets right back up. Stronger than before.” May set down the empty glass and forced a grin that felt a little too tense. “He’s a tough cookie.”

Tony arched an eyebrow. “Even cookies crumble at some point.”

“Not the ones I bake,” she gave a lopsided smile. “You should try them, hard as rocks.”

Tony managed a small laugh, raising his glass of water to her in another mock salute. He set it down after a small sip, bringing his sunglasses back to his face with ease. The plum-tinted lenses masked the concern that drowned out his brown pupils, speaking more than his words ever could.

May noticed, kicking his leg gently underneath the table.

“He’ll be okay, Tony,” she insisted.

Her attempt at calming his nerves was ineffective. Tony internalized his sigh, sniffing hard just as a taxi cab blasted its horn at the surrounding traffic.

“You’ll have to excuse my lack of faith,” he said, casting a wary eye at her. “The kid already has an accumulating history of bad-shit-happening-to-him. Add this to an already fragile house of cards, and it’s doomed to collapse. Trust me, I would know...the thing I didn’t expect to break me did just that.”

Tony shifted in his chair, uncomfortable both physically, and especially mentally. He didn’t like to think about Peter becoming him. He liked to think he was doing everything in his power not to let that happen.

The world didn’t need another self-destructive, barely put together Tony Stark. It needed someone better, someone like the man he knew Peter could become.

If only he could stop adding damage to the kid before that could happen.

“So what are you going to do now?”

Tony perked up, confused by May’s question.

May gestured her hand out to him. “You’ve checked in to see how he’s doing, right?”

Tony’s eyes blew wide.

“Yes. Constantly!” he stressed. “The kid has completely turned the tables. He went from blowing up my phone six, seven, eight times a day and now I'm the one doing it to him. Do you know how insulting that is, to reduce me to the likes of a teenager with no boundaries?”

May let out a laugh. “That’s the problem. You’re nagging him.”

Tony gaped with feigned offense, hand smacking across his chest with dramatic effect. “I am not —!”

“You gotta back off, ease off the gas pedal a little,” May plowed right over him, clearly taking the hint that letting Tony talk for too long was a bad thing. Smart woman, catching on fast. “Peter works best when you’re present, but not when you’re in his face. Trust me, I learned that lesson the hard way.”

There was no room for argument. Tony trusted May, if only for the fact that she had an almost ten-some-years of parenting under her belt. Despite her always insisting that she was no good at the job, Tony remained in awe at her skill set. The capability she possessed to handle and defuse even the worst of situations with a teenager who had a heart too big for his own good — let’s just say that he may be able to create clean energy for all of New York, but he was far away from being able to do even one percent of what she could.

“Don’t push him, Tony. You might end up just pushing him away.” May gave him a soft smile, pinching her fingers together as she exampled, “You gotta find that gray area.”

Tony looked up, eyebrow arched high.

“Gray area?”

The irony of her words smacked him so hard against the head they might as well have been Cap’s shield bouncing off his skull.

“Yeah.” May nodded. “Don’t let yourself be one extreme or the other. It’s not good cop, bad cop. You gotta find that gray area between not quite in his face about everything but not so far back that he’ll get into trouble. Peter works best with balance.”

“That’s...” Tony shook his head, trying to hold back the laughter that threatened to escape. “That’s about right.”

If only the version of himself from back then could see him now. Tony wasn’t sure he’d believe it, the past year and a half providing such drastic change to them all. For the better, of course. Or so he liked to think.

“What’s about right?” May asked, nodding an unspoken thank you to the waiter as he dropped off their check along with a small plate of candy mints.

Tony didn’t grace the question with an answer.

Instead, he was quick to digress. "So how long?”

May’s brow wrinkled a bit with confusion. “How long what?”

“Don’t pretend like you don’t know.” Tony barely looked her way as he slid his credit card into the server book. “How long you been in cahoots with my Forehead of Security?"

It was May’s turn to gape, her jaw dropping to the ground. “I am not —!”

“Oh, please. Give me some credit, Ms. Parker.” Tony’s eyes glinted even beneath the tinted lenses of his glasses, and he unwrapped a candy mint with ease, popping it into his mouth with a smirk. “Those hydrangeas I saw sitting on your kitchen table were not from the local market.”

May shook her head and clucked her tongue, drawing a smile that seemed to be more from disbelief than anything else.

“How’d you know?”

“Promise me you won’t get upset?”

She hesitated on a nod.

Tony leaned back into his chair, the mint swirling around in his mouth as formed a grin.

“Hydrangeas are Happy’s go-to for the second date.”

May purposely looked away, the pink blush that spread across her cheeks a clear indicator of embarrassment. It nearly matched the peach color of her sundress.

Tony wouldn’t deny having taken a little bit of pleasure in that.

"Two dates,” he stressed. “When you going to tell the kid?”

May leveled him with a slightly insulted look.

“Not right now. He’s got way too much going on, he’ll...not right now. And you best not tell him either, mister,” she wagged a stern finger his direction. “Besides, it’s just a fling. Nothing serious. By the time Peter finds out, we probably won’t even be seeing each other anymore.”

Tony crossed his arms, staring straight at her even as the waiter took the server book from the table.

“Hm-hm.”

May frowned. “What?”

“I didn’t say anything,” Tony insisted, shrugging.

“You said hm-hm.”

“Again, I didn’t say anything,” he clarified. “That’s not a word.”

May groaned, shaking her head with embellished frustration. She looked off at the Manhattan traffic, caught red-handed with her hand in the cookie jar.

Or that’s how Tony was looking at her anyway, smug as ever.

He brushed this thumb against his nose. “All I have to say is you’re not allowed to get married before Pepper and me.”

May scoffed, leaning forward for a mint of her own. “All bets are off if you keep postponing that wedding, Stark.”

 

 

“You’re hot.”

Peter jumped in surprise, startled into dropping his phone right out of his hands. It crashed onto the gym floor, bouncing carelessly with surprising effect.

When it finally came to a stop, it landed screen-up. The reflection of broken glass taunted him.

Darn it. So much for not cracking the screen again.

“Uh, thanks?” Peter squeaked out, turning around to face the sudden presence that stood behind him. “I think?”

Clint rolled his eyes so hard they may as well have popped right out of the sockets.

“No, itsy bitsy, though I can tell you’re dying for a compliment.” He titled his head to the side, the crow’s feet against his eyes deepening. “You’re warm. You okay?”

Peter eyed Clint briefly, the look of concern written across his features almost making him forget how intimidating the archer looked while in a sleeveless t-shirt. For someone who ate birthday cake like there was no tomorrow, the guy certainly kept his guns polished and loaded.

“Yeah, just...just nerves,” Peter answered, bending down to retrieve his fallen phone. He really needed to get a case for this thing. “You know, my first time really training with — hey, what are you doing!”

Peter hadn’t even gotten a chance to stand up straight before Clint smacked his open palm straight across his forehead.

What the — was this real life?

“Awww, look at daddy Robin Hood,” Natasha called out from across the gym, grinning ear-to-ear as she stretched her leg behind her back.

Peter immediately turned five different shades of red. The last time he remembered being this embarrassed had to be in the sixth-grade, the infamous de-pantsing in the cafeteria finally renouncing its spot of ultimate humiliation.

He was quick to slap Clint’s hand away from his cheeks.

“Dude, I’m fine,” he practically hissed, ducking away from Clint’s second attempt to check his temperature. All the while, Natasha chuckled at them both.

Seriously? Peter slouched his shoulders as he quickly made his way to the bleachers, stuffing his phone inside his duffle bag with a disgruntled sigh. This was not how he wanted to start his start-over training session.

“Will you stop trying to impress these two,” Clint jested, folding his arms across his chest. “They ain’t got nothing on you. Old Man Cap falls asleep with a newspaper in his lap, and Tasha is one peanut butter sandwich away from being vitamin deficient.”

“I resent that,” Natasha spoke up, approaching them both with her own duffle bag slung over her shoulder. She dropped it down next to Peter’s at the bleachers. “Besides, you love my peanut butter sandwiches when you’re not being fed a home-cooked, Pioneer Woman country-styled meal. Remind me again what happened the last time you tried to cook?”

Peter laughed, hiding it underneath a fake cough and looking away as Natasha’s smirk grew larger. He was pretty sure Clint was giving her the stink eye, but he didn’t dare risk the chance of seeing it for himself.

“The bottom of the pan was burnt,” Clint defended.

Natasha arched an eyebrow. “Pretty sure it was just the food that was burnt.”

“It’s not my fault Stark can’t provide proper cooking utensils in this place —”

“Oh, those pans were brand new —”

“Exactly! They were covered in chemicals, and plastic coating and — you gotta have a good cast iron in your home, one properly seasoned —”

“You ready, Parker?”

Peter snapped his head up with lightning speed, looking towards the threshold of the gym with wide eyes.

Steve walked towards them, casually stretching one arm out to the side before switching to the other. His basic white t-shirt looked like it was one tug away from ripping at the seams, muscles so broad that Peter felt like small bug standing next to him.

No pun intended.

“Yes, sir!” Peter called out, adjusting the sweatband wrapped around his forehead with shaking fingers. He really hoped no one noticed how nervous he was, brushing his sweaty palms against his pants in a desperate attempt to stay cool. Yet the more he worried they might notice, the more nervous he became.

God, this sucked. Why couldn’t he just be chill about this? It wouldn’t be so bad if he was in his costume; the mask always seemed to help with his confidence. There was just something about being regular, dorky, average Peter Parker around the Avengers that made him feel so...inadequate.

Steve’s smile easily bled out any stress that had been building up in the room. He stopped a few feet from where Peter stood and placed his hands on his hips, looking down at the young teenager with gentle patience.

“Good,” he noted. “We got a lot of work to do today.”

Nodding a few times too many, Peter felt his throat run dry, his gulp feeling like hay was being shoved down his throat. Really coarse, dry, and itchy hay.

And he only brought one water bottle. He knew he should have brought more than one water bottle.

He was definitely going to need more than one bottle of water.

Within a few minutes, Steve had the three of them standing in a triangle, placing himself dead center in the middle.

Peter’s eyes never once stopped darting around, the four of them barely taking up any space in the large gymnasium. It was huge, at least twice as big as the gym at school. It almost felt weird, just being them, such a large space under-utilized for an hour-long training session.

Unless Cap was planning to bring out like, training robots or something.

Holy crap, that’d be awesome.

And terrifying. Super terrifying.

Panicked at the thought, Peter’s baggy t-shirt quickly began sticking to him with sweat. He discreetly checked his armpits for B.O — he never put on enough deodorant.

“I’ve had the opportunity of seeing you fight before, Parker.”

The voice echoed in the gymnasium, bouncing off the walls and catching Peter’s attention.

“To see how well your skill-set is put to use in the middle of a crisis,” Steve continued, his tone serious, lined with a sturdiness that only a leader could have. “You’re good. But you can always do better.”

Peter shakily nodded. “Yes, Steve – Captain...America. Sir.”

Steve placed his arms behind his back, folding his hands together. “Tell me, son. How often do you rely on your powers during a fight?”

Peter frowned, pausing with contemplation. It felt like a trick question. Or did they want him to think it was a trick question and answer it like it was a trick question?

And oh my god, why had it gotten so warm in here? He was quickly becoming drenched in his own sweat, and could only hope Old Spice was up for the challenge.

“Uhm...uh, all the time? I think?” Peter swallowed, desperate to moisten a dry mouth.

Natasha raised her chin high, looking at him from where she stood at the front of the triangle.

“Your advantage shouldn’t become your standard,” she explained, straightening her posture and pulling back her shoulders. Peter mimicked the pose. “There are too many variables in place for members like yourself.”

“Lose your powers, and then what?” Clint went on to ask, appearing much more relaxed compared to the rest of them. He stood to Peter’s left, his arms crossed casually across his chest. “You’ve already seen what it’s like to be up against a bad guy without that sixth sense of yours. You become an Average Joe like the rest of us, and you’re gunna have to fight like it.”

Peter nodded, this time with much less enthusiasm.

They just had to bring that up.

His eyes fell to the floor, locking onto the dirt that had stuck to his Adidas tennis shoes. He understood why they’d mention that, but there was no diminishing the embarrassment that came from hearing it. It felt like everyone had been bringing it up lately, shoving it in his face when all he wanted to do was forget it.

Just when he thought he was getting ahead of things, climbing a ladder that put him up with The Avengers of all people, the mention of what happened a few months back would knock him right back down to where he started.

“Don’t worry,” Steve spoke up, as if sensing his frustration. “Wanda, Sam, even Tony — they’ve all been taught how to defend themselves in the case of losing their advantage. It’s a necessity. A must for survival.”

“Think of it this way, Spidey,” Clint started. The mention of Peter’s superhero nickname noticeably lit up his face again, and he managed a tiny smile. “Run-of-the-mill street criminals versus intergalactic invasions...you’re good at the former, definitely need improvement for the latter.”

Peter’s eyes grew wide. “Wait, I’m...you think...I’ll be helping you guys with like...aliens and stuff?”

Steve side-stepped, and smiled.

“Only one way to get you there.”

Natasha was running towards him before he could blink.

“Holy —!”

Peter tumbled to the side, barely dodging Natasha as her ballerina slippers almost made direct contact with his head. He could feel the breeze of air waft against his ears as he barely slid to the floor in time to avoid having his skull crushed by her legs.

Oh god, here they went again.

Peter spun around on his knees, eyes locked straight ahead on Natasha. His heart was one beat away from exploding in his chest, pounding frantically, beating laboriously. He stared at her, unable to look away, unable to let himself blink.