Afterparty
He had peaked too soon.
Surrounded by the Avengers, drinking and eating in celebration of their latest win, Peter knew he had peaked too soon. And he decided that he was one hundred and ninety-six percent okay with that.
“As Thor would say —” Clint held his beer bottle high in the air. “A most wondrous victory hast fallen upon us comrades! Alloweth us rejoiceth and feast until thou sun sets and theth dayth rethstart!”
“Okay…" Natasha drawled out, her one eyebrow arching high. "That got to be ridiculous. And you know he’s Asgardian, not Shakespearean, right?”
“He might as well be.” Tony walked away from the group and to the bar in the kitchen, pouring a drink into his mountain glass and pointing a finger at Steve along the way. “And I still say the elevator goes up.”
Steve shook his head with a chuckle. “It’s not worthy!”
The air between them was light, much lighter than their morning together — not to mention an incredible difference from last night. Even Tony and Steve shared a laugh together.
It was hard to say what had done the trick; maybe they needed a good fight to release their tension, or perhaps now that they had the time to reflect, their problems seemed to be on a smaller scale.
Either way, Peter wasn’t opposed to the change.
Sitting in the lounge area, the other team members relaxing around him, he felt like a giddy child meeting his idols. Only it was better than that — he had met his idols, and was now essentially partying with them. It was like a dream come true.
He could text Ned five billion times. There was no way he'd believe this.
“How is Thor doing, Bruce?” Steve casually asked, one leg crossing over the other.
“Uh, you know…" Bruce, sitting across from the others, nervously fiddled with his cup and plate of food. He looked up at the sound of his name, giving a slight, awkward shrug. "He's been having some, uh...family issues.”
“In space!” Tony chimed in, still pouring his drink from the bar.
“Space…that’s…” Natasha's face softened with a faint smile. “That’s a hell of a place to be for a whole year.”
Bruce could only nod.
“Yeah, it uh…" He met her smile with his own. "It sure was.”
Peter looked between them, taking the smiles in as a good thing. It was an unspoken sorta of dialogue, one that even he could figure it. A 'let bygones be bygones' sort of moment. A moment that seemed to wash over the entire team; any disputes and anger they held at one another washing away like the mud Peter had to wash out of his hair — his nose turned up at he thought. Who would've thought the Hudson River smelt that bad.
“Hey, guys!” Rhodey hollered from behind them. “Check this out. Bug eyes made the news!”
Tony and Natasha emerged from behind the bar whereas Peter flopped around on the couch, his knees pressing firmly against the back and his hands gripping the headrest.
The others turned their heads to better see TV that hung on the wall.
“Would you look at that.” Clint grinned, leaning over to bump his fist into Peter’s shoulder. “New York is all over you now.”
Kelly: “I think it’s safe to say, Mark, that even as we wait for confirmation in the form of a press release from Tony Stark, it certainly appears the Avengers may have just welcomed an additional member onto the team.”
Mark: “Our Twitter feed is blowing up, Kelly. Some people are worried that Queens will be left without their friendly neighborhood protector. Carlie Cooper tweeted out: I hope this doesn’t mean we’ll be losing sight of Spider-Man. He’s a sweet gentleman who saved me from a mugging not too long ago. Either way, great job today Spidey.”
“Awww.” Natasha walked by and ruffled Peter’s hair. “Great job, Spidey.”
He bowed his head and waved her hand away, hiding his blushed cheeks and smile in the couch cushions. Deep, deep in the cushions of the couch.
“Well, kid," Tony all but shrugged. "They’ve practically already announced it for us — looks like you’re in.”
Peter’s head shot up, eyes wide.
“Wha—what?" The taste of couch cushion lingered on his tongue. "No, I can’t — I—”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself, Pete,” Clint said, kicking up his legs on the coffee table and crossing them over one another. “You kicked serious ass out there today.”
Peter stammered for a response. “I know, it’s—it’s not that—I just…”
The words fell flat on his tongue, dissipating with a frustrated sigh. It seemed silly to say out loud. Surrounded by the team — older, more experienced adults who were well above his skill level — he didn’t know how to formulate the words that captivated his feelings.
The only thing that came close was 'I almost died during my Homecoming night and I'd really rather not have another building fall on me so listen I love being Spider-Man but maybe Mr. Stark's right and I should stay on the ground for a little bit?'
Thankfully, for once, he was able to keep his mouth shut.
Small miracles, and all.
"I refuse to schedule Capri Sun breaks for him if he joins." Sam joined Clint in throwing his legs up on the coffee table, sans crossing them. "He doesn’t get special treatment around here just because he’s a young brat.”
From the kitchen, Wanda made a noise that sounded far too similar to the crackle of magic.
“Hush, you smucitură!" she snapped, not once stopping as she loaded a tray full of crackers and cheese onto a large dish plate.
Sam immediately turned around and pointed his finger at her. “That was a bad word, wasn't it? Are you even allowed to say bad words? Don't we have a swear jar for those things?"
“Calculations of many possible scenarios tell me that Mr. Parker would make a great asset in our fights,” Vision calmly stated, talking like the subject matter was no different than any other ordinary problem. "I believe his assistance would benefit us immensely."
While everyone chatted about, Tony had locked eyes on Peter, all the way from across the couches — and even as Peter struggled to speak, he could see that. Orange-tinted sunglasses slipped down his nose and he met Peter's gaze head-on. Latching onto his eyes like a moth to the flame.
It was weird. In that moment, Peter swore Mr. Stark could hear his thoughts. He swore his own voice echoed between them — “I’d rather just stay on the ground…for a little while.”
Whether that same thought bounced back to Tony, Peter would never know. But the look in his eyes didn't go unnoticed — and neither did the sound of him clearing his throat, so loud the others stopped talking.
“I think we can arrange a PRN agreement," he settled on saying, offering Peter a tight lipped smile. "Called in when necessary or needed. Sound good?”
So good. Peter could feel his shoulders slump with relief.
“Yeah. I like the sound of that. Just…" Peter nodded, his grin pulling at his lips. "Just when needed.”
Tony's grin matched his.
It was a weird feeling — a unique feeling. Peter loved May, loved home and Queens and his friends and school. He loved it so much he wanted to keep going back to it, to have a life as both Peter Parker and Spider-Man. But to have a chance at fighting side-by-side with the Avengers again?
That was a feeling he couldn't put to words.
“I keep the new suit until you're full time though," Tony stated, taking a seat next to Bruce and crossing a leg over the other.
Peter rolled his eyes. “You can keep it if it still has the Baby Monitor Protocol.”
Tony smirked. “Kid, when I’m dead and in my grave, you’ll still have that protocol.”
“That’s not fair!” Peter threw his head back onto the sofa's headrest, leaving a wet stain where his damp hair plastered against the cushion. "C'mon, Mr. Stark!"
“Wha—what’s that?” Bruce asked, his confusion evident. "Baby...baby —?"
“Baby monitor?” Clint finished for him, wagging his beer bottle in Tony's direction. “Tell me that’s quirky name and not what I think it is.”
Tony grabbed a cracker off the tray next to Clint's feet, purposefully shoving the archer's boot aside when he did.
“A program designed as a safety, security feature that’s embedded in his suit, recording everything he does, monitors his vitals, reports any abnormalities, and god forbid he screws the pooch, gets in touch directly with moi?” Tony paused for dramatic effect. “Yeah, no, that’s exactly what it is.”
“Unnecessary is what it is,” Peter mumbled under his breath.
Tony’s whipped his head towards him. “Want to say that again?”
A beat of silence passed.
Peter shook his head with a smirk. “No.”
Tony let out a mix of a huff and chuckle, picking up a toothpick covered with cheese squares and tossing it his way. “You’re such a little shit, Parker."
Peter didn’t have to look up to catch the finger food — his hand raised with quick and accurate speed.
Once in his palms, he took a bite and smiled.
“So Tony is watching your every move…” Bruce looked around at the others. “Should-shouldn’t one of us be calling CPS on this?”
“Ha-ha, Bruce made a funny!” Tony sneered, the bite of his cracker harsher than necessary. “Seriously, you guys thought I would send out a minor with a multi-million dollar suit and call it a day? You think so little of me.”
“No, I believe we think the right amount of you.” Clint's hands leveled out in the air like a scale. “It’s an exhausting task, balancing out your ego, with your other ego…and your stubbornness. We should all really get a raise.”
“Wait.” Rhodey approached him from the back of the couch, his palm outstretched. “You’re getting paid?”
The others joked and laughed, throwing out sarcastic remarks one after the other.
Steve silently observed them.
There was a look on his face, one Peter noticed before anyone else. It looked soft on Captain America. Far different from the stern, finger wagging, lecturing face he was used to seeing in the PSA's.
God, Peter hated those PSA's.
“You’ve put a lot into this, Tony,” Steve finally spoke up, his voice almost as soft as his face. Peter decided it was definitely weird now. “I’ll admit, I wasn’t expecting that.”
Tony arched his eyebrow at Steve, the distance between them split with couches and team members. Yet the space between them felt oddly smaller than the couches and bodies suggested.
Peter decided that was weird, too.
“What can I say," Tony watched as the alcohol swished around in his glass. "I like to keep people on their toes.”
For a moment, things fell quiet. Only the TV sounded, some commercial playing in the background that had a jingle Peter hated almost as much as the school's PSA's.
There was that tension again. Back as soon as it left. Peter's eyes flittered about, wondering exactly what the source was. And lowkey wondering if it was because of him.
“And speaking of toes," Tony's voice regained the confidence and style he was known for. "Get your damn feet off my coffee table, Barton. I’m not running a bed and breakfast for a biker gang.”
Clint made a face before lowering his legs.
“I live on a farm,” he defended.
“How is the family, Clint?” Bruce turned towards him, nearly losing some crackers on his plate in the process.
"Pain in the ass." Clint barely contained his huff. "But good, thanks. Cooper just started high school last semester, so imagine what a headache that is. I've been trying to stay semi-retired, for them, but...you know how it goes."
Natasha didn't contain her huff. "You can't call it quits. You'd still sneak out for a mission even if you weren't part-time."
"Hey," Clint sarcastically bit back. "Did I not just say Cooper started high school? I'd sneak out just to avoid whatever drama that's going to entail."
Sam made a noise that sounded an awful lot like a groan.
“Ugh, all this talk about young ones." Sam leaned forward towards the table, grabbing a cherry tomato from the cheese plate and tossing it into his mouth. "You guys got me going down memory lane. I hate memory lane.”
Tony, busy texting away on his cell, didn't even look up when he spoke.
“What, high school wasn’t the glory days for you, Wilson?” he dryly joked.
Sam arched an eyebrow that he didn't see.
“I had an afro…when afro’s weren’t cool anymore.” Sam reached forward again, this time grabbing a whole handful of tomatoes from the plate. “Besides, we all didn’t have piles of money to get us into nice, comfy private schools like you.”
Off to the side, Steve raised his cup to his lips, a quiet shake of his head following suit.
“I don’t like remembering those days either," he spoke mostly into his glass. "Things definitely looked up after high school.”
Bruce chuckled. “Super-serums tend to do that.”
Steve managed a small smile, and an innocent shrug.
“How about you, Peter?” Natasha suddenly asked, finding a seat on the far end of the sofa where Peter sat. “You're a sophomore, right? How are things going at school?”
Peter shot his head around, suddenly very aware that the Black Widow was sitting close to him — and talking to him — talking to him about school.
He wasn’t sure if that made him feel totally awesome or incredibly childish.
“Uhm, well…”
Both. Definitely both.
Peter paused, considering his words. “Last semester I fought the dad of the girl I had a crush on after he stole Mr. Stark’s plane with all your stuff on it. The plane crashed. But I saved everything! He went to jail. And she moved away. So…there’s...there's that.”
Natasha frowned, and her eyebrow shot up so high it threatened the structure of the ceiling.
The others went quiet.
Peter immediately realized that wasn’t the type of answer she was expecting — something more along the lines of “yeah, AP Bio is a bitch” probably would have done the trick.
"And, you know...AP bio...sucks."
That didn't help.
Clint's chuckle was the first thing to break through the silence.
“Ahh, your typical, normal, standard girl trouble,” he joked, taking a swig of his beer along the way.
"That's, uh...jeeze." Bruce furrowed his brows. “You find time to focus on your studies between all this?”
Peter shrugged.
“Yeah, I mean — it’s not hard. Sometimes." Peter looked down at his hands, both wringing together until he felt his joints crack. "School, that is. I have a midterm final next week but I’m sure I’ll pass. Honestly, aside from history, it’s just not that…challenging right now.”
Bruce rubbed the bottom of his chin. “Where do you go?”
“Midtown School of Science and Technology.” Peter wasn't sure if he should've answered that as quickly as he did. Secrets were out of the bag, right? They could know all they wanted to about him...right?
But as Bruce's eyes widened in surprise, Peter doubted his answer.
“Wow. That’s…that’s a prestigious school, Peter,” Bruce quelled any concern he had, his surprise something Peter hadn't expected. “I’ve—I’ve helped fund a lot of their physics programs. It's...it's pretty elite. You should be proud that you’re going there.”
Before Peter could open his mouth to respond, Tony butted in.
“He’s better than it." Almost immediately, Tony pocketed his phone away in his pants. "I keep trying to get the kid into MIT — that webbing he has? Created it himself. He’s smart, he’s better than that school.”
Peter's cheeks heated with a blush that he hoped the skylights from above didn't highlight. Judging from the way everyone looked at Tony as opposed to him, he figured he was in the clear.
Everyone looked at Tony — even Wanda, all the way in the kitchen. They stared at Mr. Stark like he'd grown extra limbs, and for a moment, Peter didn't understand why.
Until he realized Mr. Stark was essentially bragging about him, showing him off in a way Peter wasn't sure he'd ever been shown off before. Peter always just assumed that's what Mr. Stark did. He never gave it a second thought — they spoke science mumbo jumbo back and forth like May would talk fiction at her book clubs. He never thought of himself smart enough to be gloated about — that was always just who he was.
The way everyone looked at Tony, it seemed they were taken aback by his boasting of Peter.
Especially Steve, who had the soft look on his face again.
Wait.
Was Mr. Stark proud of him?
“Your uh, your webbing —" Bruce leaned in, fascinated. "What’s it made of?”
Peter looked up, surprised. It took a moment to find his voice. As if it weren't enough that Natasha sat near him, now Doctor Bruce-Friggin-Banner was asking him direct questions about his invention.
“To be honest, it’s a — it’s a combination of things, Doctor Banner,” he tripped over his own tongue, silently telling himself not to tell Doctor Bruce-Friggin-Banner about how he nearly lost both his eyeballs in a web solution disaster when first creating the formula. “A lot of solvents, and, uh —”
Bruce held up his hand. “Please. Call me Bruce.”
Nope. Doctor-Bruce-Friggin-Banner.
"Uh, y-yeah, right, Bruce." Peter nodded, though a little shakily. He looked back down at his hands, counting his fingers one at a time. “Uhm, it—it has salicylic acid, toluene, methanol, L-Heptane, carbon tetrachloride, potassium carbonate, ethyl acetate —”
“And I need more alcohol.” Natasha got from her seat, a smile bleeding the insult from her words.
“Right behind you on that one.” Clint didn't hesitate to follow her out.
“That’s genius, Pete." Bruce chuckled, elbows on his knees as he leaned further forward in with interest. "I’d love to take a look at it some time, if you'd allow me to."
“Ye—yeah! Of course, that’d be cool.” Peter rubbed the palm of his hand against his pants, reaching out for a handshake that would've seem much more 'adultish' if his arm wasn't shaking. “It’s—it’s an honor to meet you, by the way, Doctor Ban— …Bruce.”
Bruce smiled, taking his awkward handshake and giving it one firm shake.
“Pleasure to meet you, Peter.”
“Easy, Brucey,” Tony warned, watching from the side with a smirk that covered his face. “He might actually wet himself if he gets any more excited.”
Peter dropped Bruce’s hand and looked over at Tony, disgusted, his face scrunched up in a cringe.
Tony winked one eye and leaned back into the sofa, his smug confidence overtaking the room.
"So not cool, dude," Peter murmured, once again finding solace in the cushions of the couch where he could hide away and become one with the plush material.
Tony threw another cracker at him, putting a dent in that theory.
The evening went by without anymore arising tensions, and Peter didn't realize how thankful he'd be for such a small feat. If everyone wasn't fighting, he was happy. If they were happy, then he was thrilled.
And with the way the team welcomed him in, as if he'd been there all along — Peter was very, very thrilled. Any concerns he had about his age being an issue became irrelevant.
That was, until, Natasha noticed Clint hand off a egg-shaped drinking glass to Peter.
She leaned over slightly, taking a whiff of the liquid as the others continued on with their conversation.
Bruce held his hands in the air. “I’m just hypothesizing —”
“And I’m just saying — black widows are deadly spiders. Deadly. You can’t change that,” Rhodey argued right back. “Deadly means dead.”
“I understand that," Bruce didn't let Rhodey deter him. "But from my experience with radioactive material, we’ve witnessed what gamma radiation can do to a human being — me, in this case. And now we’ve seen what a spider injected with radioactive serum can do — Peter, obviously, inherited the abilities of the spider-like…I believe if that spider were still alive, it would be more dangerous than —”
“Clint!” Natasha ripped the drink right out of Peter’s hand. “He’s fifteen!”
Already across the room at the pool table, Clint shrugged.
“Exactly. Let the kid live a little.” His cue stick hit the billiard balls with a clank. “He’s with adults, he’ll be fine.”
Peter seemed at a loss, his hand still shaped as if he were holding the glass.
“You causing trouble, Barton?” Tony stood up abruptly from the couch, his head craned so far out towards Clint he started to look like a bird.
Clint rolled his eyes and set the pool cue down. “It’s a little bit of rum with a lot of soda. Don’t act like you weren’t drinking at his age.”
Sam gaped, standing on the other side of the pool table with his own cue stick. “You have a son, man.”
The feigned, dramatic shock was met with an dramatic eye roll.
“Exactly! And I’d happily let him drink if there were adults present." Clint waved his cue stick at Sam. "Statistically speaking, teenagers are less likely to get wasted if —”
“No, no, no.” Tony stormed forward, finger waging in the air. “Statistics be damned, I have to answer to this kids aunt, and hell hath no fury like a woman whose nephew is returned to her drunk.”
“Am I in trouble?” Peter frowned, looking between Natasha and Bruce with confusion.
Bruce chuckled, and Natasha shook her head.
“No,” she answered. “But don’t accept anything Clint gives you tonight.”
From across the lounge, Clint hollered, “Party poopers!”
Peter looked down at his hand, still shaped like the glass he was holding.
"I don't even think I can get drunk..."
It wouldn’t be the first time Clint tried to pass off an alcoholic drink to him. It got to the point where Steve and Natasha stood close by, each taking guard for the next time Clint would either set down a cup close to him or put it directly in his hands. They’d simply take it from Peter’s grasp before he could even speak, either drinking it themselves or pouring it down the drain of the kitchen sink.
Natasha poured it down the sink. Steve drank it, knowing full well it had no effect on him.
It was only when Tony threatened to cut Clint off from accessing the bar that he finally stopped.
“Tony,” Clint argued, “the kid fought a fifteen-foot rock monster today. I think he can handle a little bit of liquor.”
Tony narrowed his eyes. “Try it one more time and FRIDAY won’t let you three feet near the bar.”
“You know it makes this game ten times more fun, though.”
“Alright, enough bickering." Sam clapped his hands loud enough for them to shut up. "Who’s next?”
There was a round of silence between them, only the chirping crickets from outside the compound sounding in the lounge.
“Okay, uhm…” Bruce clucked his tongue, thinking hard. “Never have I ever…walked in on someone using the bathroom.”
The entire room took a swig of their drinks, Peter’s glass absent of any alcohol despite how hard Clint tried. Sitting on Bruce’s left, the group turned to look at him, awaiting his turn.
“Never have I ever…” Peter hummed in thought, “sent a text to the wrong person.”
Steve was the only person not to drink his beer. Sam and Rhodey both looked at him incredulously.
“What? I don’t really use my phone.” Steve lowered his head in shame. “I don’t…really know how to.”
“That, I believe with my whole heart," Tony threw quick-snappy-banter right back at Steve, with a quick snap of his fingers sounding his contemplation. “Never have I ever...broken a piece of furniture by sitting on it.”
“That’s not fair,” Bruce hesitated on drinking from his cup, the rim right at his lips. “Hulk shouldn’t count in this game. I’m not drinking on that one.”
“Tisk tisk," Natasha winked his way. "You’re only lying to yourself, Bruce.”
“Never have I ever..." Clint's mouth grew into a full-blown grin. "Broken the ‘5-second rule’.”
Both Steve and Peter sipped their drinks.
Natasha cringed in response.
"Boys...that's gross.”
“What?” Peter's defense squeaked his voice, high enough that he had to clear his throat afterward. “I haven’t gotten sick in like, two years. I can handle some floor germs.”
Natasha laughed, but her grimace remained in place.
“Still gross, baby spider.”
“He’s a teenager," Sam immediately turned to Steve — physically turning on the couch to see him. "What’s your excuse?”
Steve looked down at his cup with a smirk that didn't go unnoticed.
“Super-serum metabolism," he said with a shrug. "Plus, I was raised in the 1930’s. You don’t let food go to waste just because it touched the floor. Like the kid said...when you can handle the germs…”
Peter pointed a finger at him with a nod that followed. The smile he got in return was well worth the break in his voice that made auto-tune jealous.
“You damn enhanced,” Rhodey mumbled from across the way.
“Careful there, Rogers,” Tony warned, seamlessly slipping his glasses onto his face. “Helen could only do so much with your reinforced analgesic. Get too sick, and you’ll be one cranky Cap.”
Peter seemed both confused, and interested.
“What’s-what’s that?" He was very interested. "Reinforced…reinforced what?”
Bruce set his drink down and looked over at Tony.
“Actually, that’s something we should probably get started for Peter," his tone changed, dropping from the light-hearted banter to something more serious. "I assume his metabolism is similar to Steve’s? If he’s going to be out in the field, we should make sure he has medicine that his body can properly metabolize.”
“You hear that?” Tony smirked at Peter. “Bruce wants you for a day so he can poke and prod you.”
"Oh." Peter nervously gulped. “Fun.”
Clint took a swig of his drink, no questions needed.
“Don't sweat it, it's no big deal," he insisted, gesturing the cup Peter's way. "Advil probably doesn’t do the trick anymore, does it?”
Peter shuddered — there were the homecoming memories again, rushing through his mind before he could block them off. He tried hide his grimance behind his cup, taking a long drink of his soda while nodding an answer that remained unspoken.
“We’ll get it figured out,” Tony brushed him off, no sooner shifting on the sofa and facing the couch on his left. “Romanoff, your turn. And keep it PG-13, children are present.”
Natasha narrowed her eyes his way. “I’m not the one who went straight to never have I ever had a bedroom injury, Stark.”
“That could go either way," Tony played innocent. "It’s not my fault you have a dirty mind.”
Natasha's eyes only narrowed harder — Peter didn't even think that was possible.
Somewhere down the road, once the evening came and the moonlight began to shine through the skylight, someone had thrown out never have I ever played truth or dare, which of course, quickly changed games before any interjections could be made.
“When did we turn into a bunch of high-schoolers?” Rhodey reluctantly asked, his smile betraying the eye-roll he proceeded to give.
“I blame the actual high-schooler,” Sam immediately responded, already at the bar and topping off his drink with more liquor.
Peter spun around on the couch, his eyes wide and his head shaking like a wet poodle.
“What? I haven’t even suggested these games!” Peter turned straight to Rhodey. “Mr. Rhodes, you’re the one who —”
“Truth or dare, Natasha.” Clint interrupted Peter, eager to start.
She saw his eagerness and met it with suspicion.
“Why do I have a feeling you’re going to love this game.”
“Because I am," he quickly answered, scooting so far forward on the sofa that he was close to falling off. "Now, truth or dare?”
Natasha smirked.
“Dare.”
Clint paused, lips pursed with deep thought. “I dare you…to show us that ballerina side you hide away so well.”
Bruce sputtered on his drink, edging away from Natasha's side of the sofa as if he half expected her to pull out her glock and shoot everyone dead to rid herself of any witnesses.
Sam was already helping Clint move the coffee table out of the way, and Tony mumbled something about breaking boundaries and ending up in coffins.
Peter watched with them all with a smile that he wouldn't let himself actually smile, but it was definitely a smile no matter how hard he tried to hide it.
“That’s not something I need to do." Natasha merely leaned back on the couch and shook her head.
The coffee table was already out of the way, and Clint shrugged on his way back from moving it.
"No," he drawled out. "But you did pick dare…”
He gestured to the now wide open space.
Natasha didn’t budge.
If Bruce looked anxious before, he was now petrified. The only thing that kept him calm was seeing just how unperturbed Tony was, kicked back on the sofa with one leg crossed and a drink resting comfortably in his hand.
Peter was definitely smiling now.
"Okay," Natasha finally broke. "But only if someone joins me."
When Natasha turned to Peter, that smile immediately fell off his face.
"W-what? Who?" Peter jabbed a finger straight into his chest. "Me?"
Natasha quirked an eyebrow and left the answer unspoken.
"He know ballet?" Sam gestured his own finger at Peter. "You know ballet?"
Peter shook his head hard enough to make him see double.
"I don't know ballet!"
“I never said they have to know ballet," Natasha corrected him, her eyebrow confidentially quirked up. "I just said they have to join me."
The room was dead silent for a moment. Not even the crickets from outside were chirping — Peter had to wonder if even they were afraid of the Black Widow.
Natasha stared him head on, her eyebrow somehow managing to quirk higher than before.
Clint let out a halfhearted chuckle. "Okay, okay, I yield. Nat, you don't have to —"
“I’m in.” Peter set his drink down with enough force to spill liquid around the rim.
Half the room hollered in cheers, the other half laughed hysterically. Natasha paid them no mind as both she and Peter approached the center of the common room.
“Okay, okay," Rhodey waved his hands in a time-out gesture. "Who gave him liquid courage?”
"Clint," Steve drawled out in a warning.
“I’ve been trying!” Clint shouted over the laughter, most of which stemmed directly from himself.
Tony leaned back on the couch, doing his best to swallow his smile.
“Kid, this is an embarrassment you can avoid," he tried to warn him, though the laughter in his voice kept him from sounding serious. "Use your big brain, stand down."
Peter shook his arms and jumped in the air to shake off his nerves, moving his body in every which direction as if his muscles were made of rubber.
“Eh, twenty years from now I can say I danced with the Black Widow," he gave Tony a dismissive wave that didn't quite match the nerves showing on his face. "Who am I to give up that? Right? Uh...right?"
The look Tony proceeded to give was enough to have him second guessing his decision.
Peter suddenly gulped. He didn’t even dance at homecoming. He danced alone, in his room, sometimes goofing off with Ned — holy crap, what was he doing? Sweat started to drip down his face — oh crap, he was sweating. May was always throwing deodorant at him, telling him he stunk — did he stink now? He probably stunk, he probably stunk so bad —
Oh god, this was a bad idea.
“Music?” he squeaked with panic, looking to Natasha. “Can I put on some music?”
Natasha was already removing her high-heels when she nodded. Peter reached for his phone, only for Tony to be one step ahead of him.
“FRIDAY,” he didn't dare look away from the scene ahead — the only thing missing from his entertainment was popcorn. “Play whatever latest pop crap is in right now.”
Bad idea. Very bad idea.
“Uhhh — okay, uhm, actually — can I back out?" Peter twisted around, all but begging Clint with eyes twice their normal size. "Is it too late to back out?”
If Clint answered, it wasn't heard over the music that suddenly started playing.
Peter looked up at the ceiling and made a face.
What was this music? It sounded terrible.
This was new stuff?
"It's easy," Natasha's voice jerked him back to reality, her hand resting on his shoulder no sooner than she spoke. "I’m only going to do a foutte spin. One foot spins, one kicks. Real easy. You seem agile, you’ll do fine.”
Peter could've sighed in relief — by the look on Natasha's face, he was pretty sure he did. That was an easy spin, he was pretty sure he knew kind of spin that was — May would watch ballet all the time when he was younger. He remembered her pointing those moves out, because then she'd say 'and I can't even get my socks on without tripping!' and Peter would laugh as if it were the first time she said it.
She stopped watching ballet after Ben died. He always wondered why.
“Okay…spin." Peter nodded, and kept nodding. At this rate his head would fall off before he could do anything. "I-I can do that. I spin — all the time. Just spin. Okay, I got this…”
Peter looked down — his feet were already barefoot, so there was no need to remove any shoes. He cracked his neck instead and shook one more time, desperately trying to rid his nerves. As if that would ever happen in his lifetime.
They stood side by side with room for clearance, and he watched her intently to mimic her actions.
She lifted one foot up — he lifted one foot up. She went on her toes — he sorta went on his toes —
And then they spun.
And spun. And spun.
And spun.
Peter hadn’t even realized Natasha had stopped before him until he was at least fifteen spins in, when his foot finally caught on the floor and he lost his balance, quickly falling into a side flip to regain his balance.
A small, hesitant round of applause greeted him.
Peter gave a half-cocked smile, looking to his right at Natasha — who stood with her hands on her hips.
“Did I do it?” he asked, his voice small with a coating of laughter.
Natasha nodded, with a smile that followed.
Peter grinned, so wide his white teeth began to sparkle.
“Alright!" Sam jumped from the couch and set his beer bottle off to the side. "If Spider-boy can manage, it can’t be that hard.”
Steve let him walk by despite his lukewarm attempt to grab his arm —so lukewarm it could've melted the ice he'd been trapped it.
“Sam, I wouldn’t…” he half warned, half chuckled.
Sam cracked his knuckles, shooing both Natasha and Peter out of the way. They backed away without protest, even as Sam was much less graceful trying to stand on his toes, unable to find balance long before even spinning.
It wasn't long before he stumbled to the side and completely collapsed onto the ground, his butt hitting the floor with a loud thud.
"Bravo!" Rhodey shouted. "Bravo!"
"Magnifico!" Clint slow-capped. "Beautiful, so beautiful!"
Sam grunted as he rolled onto his knees, ignoring the laughs and mock applause from the others.
“Take this in, Parker." Tony pointed straight ahead, even when Sam met that finger with his own. "You just one-upped an Avenger."
Steve hid his laugh behind a closed fist. "Tony..."
His warning, unfortunately, also fell behind a closed fist.
“Oh, shut up, Stark.” Sam stood on his feet and pointed at both Peter and Natasha. “I don’t like spiders. Both of you — you're trouble."
Peter barked a laugh and tried giving an innocent shrug, completely ignored by Sam as he ambled his way into the kitchen, all while muttering something Peter couldn't make out.
Natasha smirked, side-eyeing Peter from where she stood. “One more, for good measure?”
Peter gestured to the open space.
“After you.”
They managed to impress everyone with a few more spins, and with the lively music playing overhead, Natasha took the opportunity to teach Peter some dance moves — which Sam quickly butted in on, demanding he be able to show his own.
“Oh no, if we’re doing this, we’re doing it the right way,” he insisted. “Teach the kid real moves. Something that’ll get him all the ladies.”
Somewhere down the road, Peter found himself following dance steps from both Natasha, Sam, even Clint joining in briefly — while Steve insisted his dance moves were eighty-years out of date.
Tony sat back and watched with amusement. Never once noticing the way Steve would look at him when his laugh got a little too loud, or he smiled for too long.
Eventually, the group dispersed. Rhodey had decided a while ago that he was going to dig deep into his government clearance for the Captain America public service announcements, leaving him in the kitchen where he stayed busy on his laptop. Natasha and Bruce found a quiet corner talk in, and the others were scattered about relishing in their own discussions.
Peter was pretty sure he heard Clint and Sam discussing music tastes once Tony finally turned off whatever the heck was playing overhead — Peter was almost positive that music wasn't new, and if it were, he definitely wasn't listening to it.
The playlist he scrolled through was a testament to that. He couldn't find a single song that matched what Tony was playing — he was about to text Ned when the couch cushion next to him sunk in.
“Hello."
Peter looked up from his phone, practically jumping off the sofa when he saw Wanda sitting right next to him.
Where the heck did she come from?
"H-hi-hey, hi. Hi." he articulately managed, and not a stammer too short.
Wanda simply smiled back.
Peter tried to smile in return, but he knew it looked awful on his face. Nerves had a tendency to do that.
It was strange — Peter could see Wanda hanging out in the kitchen all night, but she never broke away long enough to participate with the others. Vision was where she mostly found herself gravitating towards, and Peter thought it best not to question that.
But now she was here.
Sitting next to him.
His smile got even worse.
“You did good job today,” Wanda told him, either ignoring the nervous grin on his face or deciding not to mention it.
Peter swallowed, licking his lip with a shaky nod.
“Yeah, uh — thanks. Thanks.” Peter gestured towards her. “You-you did good too. I mean, what you could. With…you know. But your powers are cool! They…seem like they could do a lot? I mean, they can. Do a lot. It's just that —" Peter immediately looked away. "Ugh. yeah. Anyway."
He could hang out with the Avengers all day and yet he still couldn't talk to girls.
Just his luck.
“I must be honest with you.” There was no way Wanda didn't notice his nervousness, so her changing the subject was nothing but an act of kindness. Peter was willing to take it.
"Yeah?" He looked at her, confused. "A-about...about what?"
Wanda shifted on the couch, turning so she could face Peter more directly.
“Last night, I looked in your head.”
Peter wasn't sure what kind of face he was making — confused, unsure, timid — hell, he was sure it didn't have a name. He could feel the muscles of his face pinch together and his brows dance in the middle, all while his mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water.
“I…yeah,” he drawled out —drawled out, far longer than even his breath could handle. “I, uh...I sorta figured that."
Wanda lifted her chin, just slightly, and for a moment Peter got a good look at her eyes.
Huh. He never noticed they were green. They always kind of looked amber when he saw her in the pictures.
“I did not mean any harm." Wanda frowned, noticeably, to the point that Peter found himself frowning as well. "I came here with no family. These people, they become my family. And my only desire is to protect my family.”
Peter could feel his face becoming something that he was more akin to. Understanding, sympathetic.
Empathic.
"It's cool," he insisted, a nod bobbing his head. "I totally get it. Trust me, I'd...I'd do anything for my aunt, and my friends. I mean — I get it. I do."
Wanda didn't miss a beat.
"That is what I must be honest with you about."
"No, man, that's not what I'm trying to say!" Sam's shout suddenly sounded from across the lounge. "I'm not trying to talk the science mumbo jumbo nonsense, I'm trying to —!"
Bruce's voice easily overtook his. "That's not a discussion that can be had without the very basics of human physiology coming into play —"
"Banner!" Tony cut through them all. "Just tell them if Cap woke up from his seventy-year sleep with a full bladder or not!"
Peter was busy eyeing the falsely-heated argument from across the room when Wanda spoke again.
"Your pain. Your grief, your loss..." Wanda looked away before Peter could meet her gaze. "I, too, have suffered loss."
Peter's brain shuddered to a halt.
The others were still shouting from across the lounge, but Peter no longer cared about what was being said, or whatever joke caused the next eruption of laughter.
Apparently, neither did Wanda.
“I know you cannot bring them back," she spoke softly, but made sure Peter could still hear her over the commotion. "I wish, every day, that I could bring my brother Pietro back."
Peter suddenly felt hot, his skin flushed and a little bit sweaty. He could only nod, unable to trust himself with a proper response.
How do you even discuss something like that? Peter didn’t exactly have experience with super-powered Sokovians, let alone someone reading into his mind. The emotions there were tucked away, raw emotions he didn't even let May see. Rarely let himself see.
And now, Wanda had seen it all.
Peter was pretty sure he could be naked in front of the entire Decathlon team and he wouldn't feel nearly as exposed as he did now.
“But you have strength that I do not,” Wanda went on to say, momentarily surprising him. "You use your hurt to better others. You remind me of my brother — strong, and brave. You are brave, brave boy.”
Peter's 'thank you' got lost in the lump in his throat.
“And you are growing —" Wanda stood up as fast as she spoke. "I get you food.”
Before Peter could even consider protesting, she walked away, already half way into the kitchen where a smorgasbord of food was set out — she and Vision had been working on it all afternoon. Peter craned his head around as he watched her grab a plate and pile everything on.
Tony passed by the same sight, not slowing his pace — as mosey as it was — to watch Wanda stack a mountain of tortilla chips on a plate too small for her serving size. It was somewhere off in a corner of the lounge that he eventually found Steve.
It wasn't hard; even when shoving himself up against a wall the man stuck out like a sore thumb.
Tony approached him with easy steps, taking stance next to him with hands deep in his pockets. They both leaned against the wall — Steve with his foot kicked up on the drywall, Tony with his legs crossed in front of him.
Steve didn't look his way. The conversations in the lounge continued, but he listened on — watched, silently, with eyes Tony finally realized had been growing soft all night long.
He always did speak with his eyes more than anything else.
“He seems to be a hit." Steve ultimately broke his stare, his gaze briefly falling to the floor only to look back up at the sight ahead.
Tony caught sight of the same thing, locking eyes no differently than he had — Peter failed to notice that either men were watching him from afar.
“What can I say —" Tony clucked his tongue, and then again for good measure. "I know how to pick ‘em.”
Steve gave a small nod, his next words coming out nearly as small.
“He did well out there today.”
He could've whispered it and Tony still would've heard, if only because of close proximity.
“Yeah,” he agreed, his hands somehow finding a way to dig deeper into his pockets. “He really did.”
Tony flittered his eyes away from the couch — from where Peter sat, scrolling on his phone, looking like there wasn't a single problem in his life to be worried about.
He looked so young.
Tony creased his brow.
He was so young.
“You understand why I’m reluctant, right?” Steve asked, quietly — but with the intention to be heard.
Tony found irony in the timing of the question. Sometimes he felt like the man-with-a-plan had a way into his head no different than Maximoff.
The nod he gave felt redundant. But he nodded anyhow.
"Yep, I do." It was the gods honest truth. Tony turned to Steve, waiting until the other man met his eyes before speaking again. "Cause I feel the same way, you know.”
Sometimes, twenty-four hours felt like a blip in Tony's life. And sometimes, like tonight, he forgot that just twenty-four hours ago he and Steve were at each others throat.
Steve wasn't wrong; Peter was young. Too young.
Tony agreed with that, he never not agreed with it.
It was always like that with them. On the same page, just a one of them a few paragraphs down.
“He’s going to do it either way though, Rogers,” Tony turned his head to face him. “Might as well equip him to do it right," his head cocked to the side. "Right?"
The slow nod Steve proceeded to give was enough for Tony.
It was silent, but it was there.
Approval.
“Kid’s got heart," Steve said, all in one breath. He sighed, his shoulders noticeably slumping as he returned his gaze ahead. Even his face had grown soft — jeeze, the man said it all without words.
Tony found himself chuckling.
“Brains, too," he tossed back. “Saved our asses back there on that bridge.”
Steve huffed a quiet chuckle in return.
Tony wasn't wrong — how many plans had they gone through before Peter’s finally worked? Here Rogers had been trying to keep the kid on the ground like Tony, start smart — do an easy task like detour traffic. But low and behold, they needed him in the field all along.
Tony wasn't sure he'd have allowed it if situations were any different. But the kid handled the pressure like a champ.
Neither realized they were both staring at Peter again until the kid looked up at them both, giving a small, awkward wave after the fact.
Tony gave him the peace sign.
Steve saluted him back, all while telling Tony, “Keep him safe.”
buzzzzzbuzzzzz.
Before Tony could respond, the vibration and noise from his cell phone cut through their conversation.
Tony muttered curses under his breath as he dug deep into his back pocket for his cell. One look at the screen was all he needed to give a hearty roll of his eyes.
“Big dogs," he grumbled, slapping Steve against the shoulder before stepping aside. "Gotta take it.”
Again, Tony passed by the kitchen on his way out, where Sam leaned against the counter with a beer in his hand — watching as Wanda practically emptied their supply of food onto one single plate.
“You trying to be his big sister now or something?”
Wanda said nothing in return to Sam as she returned to the sofa, sitting down even closer to Peter than before. The plate in her hands made its way to his lap, where a comically large mixture of food threatened to topple over onto the ground.
Of the entire pile, she took one chip, nibbling on it softly.
“Do not let them bother you about your age," she said, taking small bites at a time. "They teased me when I joined as well. They do not take younger members too seriously.”
At the mention of his age, Peter perked up — nearly losing the plate of food in the process.
“What’s uh — yeah? H-how old are you?”
Wanda was still chewing when she answered. “I am twenty-two.”
Peter had never felt more like a child in his entire life.
And he'd been a child once, so he'd know what that felt like.
“Oh.”
Not able to hold back his sigh, Peter back looked down to his lap, grabbing a chip before resuming the scrolling on his phone.
Wanda noticed, leaning over just enough that her jacket rustled against Peter's shoulder.
“What is that?”
Peter shot his head up to Wanda, the reflection of his phone lighting up his face and highlighting the arch of his eyebrows.
“This?" He pointed to his cell. "Oh, uhm, it’s a playlist. Of, you know, music and songs." Peter looked back down to the screen, where his thumb kept scrolling. "My friend MJ synced up our music library over the summer. We add stuff all the time, I'm just looking to see what she added today."
Wanda stared at his phone, her interest growing with each song title Peter's thumb scrolled past. It was only once having someone watch him go through the playlist that Peter realized it could've been an endless scroll — it kept going on and on, and the more he thought about it, the more he wondered if she'd ever even have access to this kind of music collection.
Peter was about to offer her a look when she reached her hand out.
“May I?”
“Yeah, absolutely, here.” Peter sat up slightly from the sofa, pulling out his tangled ear-buds from his back pocket. There was a brief struggle as he fought to pull them apart, finally getting each side free so he could offer Wanda one end while he used the other.
With a earbud nestled in each of their ears, only they could hear the music that played from his phone. He made sure to take the slightly-broken side that had static.
Peter smiled as the song started. This was the kind of music he wanted Mr. Stark to play. Not whatever noise they ended up with instead.
Wanda adjusted the earbud, holding it in place as if to better hear the music. It wasn’t even thirty seconds in that she grinned, white teeth showing along the way.
“I like this.” She nodded her head along to the beat. “I like this a lot!"
"Yeah?" Peter smiled back. "I’ll send you the playlist. It’s uh, it’s got a lot of good songs in it. MJ's got good taste. And you can add stuff too, so we can...you know. Listen as well."
Before Wanda could say anything, Tony’s voice cut through their conversation — everyone's conversations, all the way from the entrance of the lounge.
“Just got a phone call from the lovely folks over at SHIELD," he announced, his tone betraying the kindness of his words.
As if that weren't enough, Peter couldn't help but notice the grumpy look on his face. He immediately straightened himself on the sofa, his curiosity getting the better of him as the group huddled together across the lounge.
Peter didn't follow them, but he couldn't help listening from where he sat.
“Something tells me they weren’t just checking in," Rhodey mentioned, looking up from his laptop with a frown.
Tony sighed — it was one of the few sighs he gave that could be felt across the compound. If he hadn't caught everyone's attention before, he certainly did now.
"Reports came back on the Awesome Android," he started to say, gesturing his phone in the air before pocketing it away in his back pocket.
“Hey!” Peter never did know when to keep his mouth shut. “You used his name!"
Tony's eye-roll could be seen across the lounge.
"Yeah, kid, well — creature 151963-2861988.27 was a bit of a mouthful.”
“What’d they have to say?” Clint hit this cue stick on the pool table, the echo of balls knocking around overtaken by his voice.
The look Tony proceeded to give Peter was strong enough to burn through steal. His eyes said it all — 'go find something else to do, kid' and Peter didn't waste a minute before turning back to his phone — what he could, anyhow, given that Wanda was now holding it and scrolling through the playlist with a sense of giddiness not even he could match.
Tony purposefully waited until Peter wasn't paying attention before turning back to the group.
“Property of OsCorp," he said, his voice lower than before — but tense, all the same.
Clint's billiard balls rattled against one another as he hit his cue stick again, this time no words following the sound.
Rhodey immediately turned away from his laptop, lowering the screen a tad bit to get a better look at Tony.
“OsCorp?” he repeated, locking eyes dead set on Tony.
“They’re claiming it was an experiment of theirs gone haywire," Tony explained, working his jaw before continuing. "They accepted responsibility, promised to pay the fines — the whole nine yards."
“You buy that?" Bruce hesitatingly put his drink down on the kitchen counter, his brows knitting tightly in the middle. "That — that it was an experiment gone haywire?”
Tony's scoff was hard enough to cause an earthquake. Even Clint hesitated on the next hit of billiard balls, his cue stick pulled back but his arm holding in place as he waited for Tony's answer.
“With OsCorp?” Tony shook his head, firmly. “Hell no. I wouldn’t buy their shit even if it was manure.”
Vision — who had otherwise kept to himself without Wanda around — approached the kitchen with slow, steady steps.
“It is interesting,” he spoke up, his calm demeanor breaking through. The group turned to look at him — sans Clint, who smacked his pool stick with an accuracy that had all balls sliding into the corner pockets. “A creature who has the ability to absorb superhuman powers appears not long after your new device, The Chameleon helmet, has gone missing. Presumably at the hands of a man who could, possibly, teleport.”
When summarized like that, Tony had no choice but to consider the possibility.
A long, low whistle sounded from Sam.
“That’s a lot of coincidences to string together," he said, popping open the cap to a cold beer bottle and tossing the lid into the trash.
Natasha folded her arms across her chest as she stared at Vision, though she looked to be deep in thought more than anything else.
“You think OsCorp is at fault for stealing the helmet, Vis?” she finally asked, quietly — not the only one to ensure Peter didn't hear the conversation.
Vision simply shook his head.
“I do not think so." A long pause followed his next words. "I simply think it is odd. It does not…sit right with me.”
Tony watched from the corner of his eye as Peter sat up from the couch — he was about to say something about him trying to eavesdrop when he realized the kid was taking a phone call, pacing nervously as his hands waved about and he talked frantically to the person on the other line.
“Well, join the club there, buddy," Tony finally said, matching Natasha's own stance with his arms folding across his chest. He turned his head away, forcing his jaw to unclench so he could speak again. “Nothing OsCorp does sits right with me.”
Steve began clearing the kitchen counter of empty bottles and trash, tossing them into the trash can one at a time.
“We still have to figure out where that helmet went,” he chimed in, with no shortage of stress to his words.
Tony arched an eyebrow his way — even while playing maid he could steal the room with the authority of his voice. Tony couldn't figure out if that irked him or impressed him. Probably a combination of both, knowing the blasted man.
Steve simply met his gaze, and held it.
Tony's jaw clenched tight again.
“And who this Mysterio guy is,” Sam added, his scoff trapped in his beer bottle as he took a swig. “Everyone has to have a gimmick these days.”
Not far away, Clint struck his pool cue against the billiard balls before standing up straight.
“Hey, you think if we just smack him across his fish-bowl head,” Clint swung his cue stick in demonstration, “he’ll suffocate or some nonsense, like a fish out of water?”
Natasha's eyebrow could've reached the ceiling. “That’s implying he’s a fish.”
“He could be,” Clint defended, shrugging dramatically. “I mean, we just fought a giant rock android. Who’s to say —”
“Found it!”
Rhodey jumped up so quickly his leg braces knocked down the chair behind him.
“Oh, hell yes!” Sam made a mad dash around the kitchen bar, all but leaping to Rhodey's laptop in six large steps. The only thing keeping him from snatching it right out of Rhodey's hands was the man going for it as quickly as he did, typing a few things so quickly that sounded like he was smacking a hammer across the keyboard.
Natasha shook her head at the sight ahead. “You guys are awful.”
"What’s going on?” Steve looked around, trash can still in his grip, his hand halfway into the bag as he dumped the items inside.
“You might want to call it a night,” Natasha carefully warned him, patting him on the shoulder before making her way to the lounge's exit.
Steve watched her leave with confusion.
“Actually, uhm, I uh —" Peter's voice managed to cut through the increasing sound of Sam's. "C'mon, c'mon, c'mon, load it already!" He stopped a few feet short of approaching Tony, his cell phone clutched in his hand. "I need to call it a night myself, Mr. Stark. That was May…she wants me home. Like...now.”
“Awww,” Clint whined, rounding up the billiard balls before setting his cue stick aside. “Well, if the kid is leaving, the party might as well be over with.”
Standing behind Sam, Bruce flittered his eyes to Peter, half a smirk pulling his lips upward.
“This seems to be their grand finale here, Pete," he mentioned, nodding to the laptop in front of them. "Sure you don’t want to stay a little bit longer?”
With the way the three men were grinning, Peter knew exactly what was about to play on the laptop.
“I’m good, really," he managed, a small shake of his head matching the equally small smile on his face. "Besides, I’m…I'm sure I’ll be watching them again sometime this week.”
Tony's snort was enough for Steve's face to drop.
“Wait.” Steve all but dropped the trash can, his head whipping around to Rhodey and the others at a speed that made Tony dizzy. “Wait. No. Guys, c'mon, stop.”
Steve's protest fell on deaf ears.
Sam began to clap like a giddy school-girl and Tony's second snort went unnoticed as Peter turned to him, his thumb pointing to the door.
“You think Happy would be willing to drive me home, Mr. Stark?”
Tony shot his head around to Peter, no sooner waving a dismissive hand his way.
“He’s been with Pepper all day dealing with this bridge incident," he said, pulling out his cell phone from his back pocket and working his thumbs across the screen at the same time he spoke. "Despite what the man thinks, I’m not the cruelest boss in the world.”
When Tony finished texting whoever he was texting on his phone, he looked up at Peter, his face both impatient and expectant.
“I’m not giving you all night to say your goodbyes —" He clapped his hands together, urging him on. "Come on, chop chop, lets go.”
Peter's eyes went wide. “Right, y-yeah, of course. Uhm, I gotta get my suit —”
Tony nodded his head down the hall. “Quarters are on the way to the garage. Make haste, it's an hour back to Queens.”
It was all while Peter quickly addressed his goodbyes — barely noticed as the group all huddled around Rhodey's laptop — that Tony noticed the oversized AC/DC shirt Peter still wore. His shirt, of course, which he was sure smelt of permanent palladium embedded in the cotton material.
He was pretty sure Pepper had put that outfit in the kids quarters there a few months ago; after his frequent, almost weekly workshop nights with Peter became a constant thing. She said something about how, despite Tony's protest that he never go into the east wing, it wouldn't kill him to spend a night in his own room for once.
Tony was pretty sure the kid didn't truly believe he had a room at the compound. He certainly knew for sure now.
His fingers tapped subconsciously on his chest, the habit from his arc reactor days never fading away.
“FRIDAY, while I'm thinking about it, put in an order for wardrobe attire." Tony looked back down at his cell before pocketing it away. "Mr. Parker’s size, casual and business, please. Have housekeeping stock his closet when it arrives.”
FRIDAY almost wasn't heard over the roar of laughter that followed.
Tony was halfway to the exit when he turned behind him, trying to see if Peter was following suit. He was — not far away when Wanda caught him in a sudden hug, wrapping the kid so tightly in her arms that Tony wondered if Peter's eyes could go any wider.
A roar of laughter filled the room, catching his attention. Off in the kitchen, Sam was wheezing so hard he could barely breathe, while Steve was hiding near the fridge with his face in both his hands.
“Math!” Sam shouted, slapping his knee. “Stop right there, Ultron! Tell me what two plus two equals. Can’t? Ha! That’s because I have the power of — OW!”
Steve may or may not have stepped on Sam’s foot as he left the lounge.
Tony wasn’t a chauffeur.
Hell, half his life he'd barely drove himself around. That’s where his money came into play. It was just the lifestyle he lived, why he hired people like Happy.
Still, he didn’t own handfuls of luxury cars for no reason. Sometimes a nice, quiet drive was a good way for him to wind down and think. Get his thoughts in order, clear his mind of the cobwebs that occasionally built up in the corners.
His hand rested comfortably on the wheel of his Audi, keeping his speed reasonably between the highway limit and what could get him pulled over. After all, he assumed that’s what one did when kids were in the car.
For the first thirty minutes, he was sure Peter hadn’t taken a breath in between words. He let the kid ramble on, excitedly discussing the day’s events as if he hadn’t been there himself.
“And then he was so small, Mr. Stark! How do you go from super big to super small? Well, not super small. He was average small. Kind of like Ant-Man. Hey, whatever happened to that guy?”
It wasn’t too long into their trip to Queens though that he fell quiet, and Tony briefly considered turning on music to fill the silence. Sparing a glance to the passenger’s seat where Peter sat, he ultimately decided against it.
“Damn, kid,” Tony muttered. “Talked yourself right to sleep.”
While he would have liked to believe as much, Tony knew better than that. He could see the day was wearing thin on Peter by the time the sun had set, the bags under his eyes growing darker with each hour. He had to wonder if the kid even slept last night.
Still, he kept up the facade well, eagerly talking to everyone like the energizer bunny he was.
That was the thing with Peter — always moving, always bouncing and jittery.
Tony could only imagine how much adrenaline had pumped through the kid’s veins, between last nights adventure and then his geeky-self getting overwhelmed hanging out with the team. It had to be enough energy to fuel a third world country, and the crash was probably just as bad.
Tonyn looked back to the road, a soft sigh escaping his lips. He wasn’t sure how or when he got into this situation, but deep down inside, he knew it didn’t bother him. The fact it didn’t bother him probably bothered him, but he’d deal with that another time.
The kid did good today. He did better than good, he did great — fantastic, amazing even. This little amazing Spider-Man saving the day like a pro. It was like a sense of pride that bubbled within him, happy to see the kid excel, take the reins at the crazy job he was thrown into.
Tony knew Peter had it within him. To be the hero, to be better than he was. He just needed the guidance.
It was something Howard Stark failed at.
His father gave him all the money in the world, but he never gave the guidance Tony needed. It took Afghanistan for him to realize he needed to be his own light in the darkness. It took more than that to realize he had to do better for the world — the Battle of New York, Ultron. The Accords, and the dismantling that followed.
Looking over at Peter again, Tony softened. He didn’t know what it was about the teenager that drew him in like a magnet. All he needed was an extra hand in Berlin, something to convince Rogers that he was off his rocker and needed to come to his senses. They should have parted ways after that, there was no reason for him to become so connected. And yet half his year was spent focused on the Spider-kid —
No.
Peter.
He was focused on Peter.
It was almost as if they were one in the same. Two damaged souls just trying to make the world a better place, so their pain wouldn’t be experienced by anyone else.
Tony knew he shouldn’t be getting so close. People close to him got hurt — he hurt those close to him. It was instinct by this point; the toxic, inevitable nature within him that he couldn’t shake. And now Peter was close — he was close to the team, his life, his world —
It was asking for trouble.
Somehow, along the journey he had taken as Iron Man, this fifteen-year-old kid looked up to him. He was a role model now — what the hell was he supposed to do with that? There wasn’t anything good about him to look up to. If anything, he was the example of what not to do.
'Don't do anything I would do. And don't do anything I wouldn't do.'
Yeah, that summed him up pretty damn well.
Tony looked up in the rearview mirror, the headlights from behind them highlighting the browns in his eyes. It was strange — an odd feeling, knowing Peter admired him. It kind of made him sick to his stomach, and not just because of the sappiness behind it all.
This was dangerous territory. This wasn't what he set out to do.
Being Iron Man, flying in the skies, saving the world — that seemed like a piece of cake compared to this. There wasn’t a playbook on how to mentor a teenager, guide a teenager — scratch that, a teenage superhero.
The most he could do was try.
It would mean headaches — all kinds of headaches, frustration, stress — Tony knew exactly what kind of trouble this was asking for.
But he owed it to the kid to at least try.
He owed it to himself.
“Is it worth it, Tony?” Steve had asked him. “Is he worth it?”
The procession of streetlights and passing cars illuminated the interior of the car, shinning inside just long enough for Tony to catch the sight of Peter curled up in the leather passenger seat. His head was lolled to the side, his arms clutching the bag that contained his spider-suit. His mouth was slightly ajar, and light snores slipped out with each breath he took.
Yeah, Tony decided. He’s worth it.