Archive of Our Own ^beta

1.

“Tony, why the hell did you invite a kid?” Steve’s voice cut through the hum of the training room, arms crossed over his chest, eyes narrowed into a skeptical glare. He watched Peter fidget nervously, words tumbling out in a rush to impress Natasha, who stood nearby with an incredulous arch of her brow. The 15-year-old’s hands waved helplessly as he tried to explain how honored he was to meet her, and Natasha’s gaze lingered, half-amused, half-shockingly doubtful.

“Well, he needs practice, doesn’t he?” Tony replied, a rare flash of paternal pride softening his usual smugness. “Self-defense, agility, the usual kid-stuff. I figured he’d love sparring with you.”

Steve raised an eyebrow. “Tony, I can’t fight with him. I’ve got years of experience, super strength, enhanced reflexes. Your son wouldn’t even stand a chance. No offense, of course.”

Tony froze. Just froze.

“Peter’s not my son?” he asked, disbelief creeping into his tone as his eyes darted from Peter to Steve and back again.

“What? Then why is there a kid here? He’s not a superhero. Stark, did you just… grab some random kid off the street?” Steve asked, stepping back slightly, doubt etched into every line of his face.

“What? No!” Tony protested, waving his hands. “Who do you think I am? I actually got permission from his aunt this time. Fully above board.” He puffed up, proud as a peacock.

“Underoos!” Tony shouted suddenly, snapping Peter’s attention toward him. The kid’s face lit up instantly.

“Time to practice with Captain America here,” Tony continued, grinning like a proud parent. “Don’t go easy on him.”

Peter’s face turned a shade brighter, a mixture of nerves and excitement. “Coming, Mr. Stark!” he called, bowing dramatically toward Natasha before rushing toward the two Avengers.

“It’s… uh… it’s nice to meet you, Mr. Captain America,” Peter stammered, eyes wide as he looked up at Steve, who had the expression of a man questioning every life choice that had led him to this moment.

Steve extended his hand, shaking Peter’s with a curt, “Nice to meet you… Peter.”

Peter’s jaw practically dropped. “Oh my god… Captain America knows my name,” he muttered under his breath, awe-heavy and barely able to comprehend the fact.

“Let’s head to the sparring mat,” Steve said, motioning toward an empty area. Peter followed, glancing nervously back at Tony, who responded with a confident thumbs-up.

“Okay, son. We’ll start with some simple self-defense movements. I want you to attempt a punch. Use all your strength,” Steve instructed, lowering into a defensive stance.

Peter blinked. “All… my strength?”

Tony nodded. “Yes. All of it. Go ahead.”

Steve smirked to himself. This kid would feel like a fly against him, he was sure of it.

Peter’s grin widened. “Oh, really? First time someone said they could handle my strength.”

Steve shrugged. “Attempt the punch whenever you’re ready.”

Peter launched forward. The moment his fist connected, Steve was blasted backward, through reinforced walls that would normally withstand a minor explosion, and landed hard on the floor some distance away.

“What the hell?!” Clint exclaimed, jaw dropping as he witnessed the chaos.

“I… I didn’t even use a quarter of my strength, Mr. Stark!” Peter cried, hands flying to his mouth, shock written across his entire face.

Tony’s own eyebrows shot up. He knew Peter was strong, but this… this was something else entirely. STRONG. Stronger than any human he’d ever seen.

“Rogers, you okay?” Natasha called, striding over to the jagged hole in the wall, eyes flicking toward Peter.

“Oh god…” Peter ran over, panic in every step, peering through the hole to find Steve lying a little ways away, still breathing, but very much out of commission.

“Mr. Captain America! I’m so sorry! I- I thought you could handle it!” Peter cried, voice cracking with guilt. Steve, for his part, gave a weak thumbs-up, though his arm collapsed onto the floor immediately afterward.

“Friday, contact the medbay. Prep them for the captain,” Tony said, smirking slightly. Not that Steve deserved it exactly… well, maybe a little.

Moments later, the training hall doors swung open and a team of medical personnel stepped in, backboards at the ready, nervously glancing at the Avengers in general and Peter in particular. As soon as they lifted Steve onto a board, Peter rushed forward, guilt written across his face.

“I’m so sorry!” he said, voice pleading as he hovered beside the captain.

Steve managed a weary, “It’s alright, son,” sounding like he was teetering on the edge of complete exasperation.

A quiet voice cut through the tension. Natasha stood beside Tony, arms crossed, expression unreadable. “The kid’s Spider-Man, isn’t he?”

Tony yelped, startled. “Well… yes. How’d you figure that out?”

Natasha shrugged, casually. “Recognized the high-pitched quip from Civil War. Obvious once you hear it.” She glanced at Peter, who was still frantically apologizing to Steve as they rolled him out.

Tony shook his head, partly impressed, mostly terrified. “Yep. Definitely going to need a stronger sparring mat… and maybe a bigger wall.”

Peter sank onto a bench nearby, still wide-eyed, still apologizing, still utterly in awe of the heroes surrounding him.

2.

Thor was visiting for the first time in over six months. Naturally, he announced his return by crashing straight through one of the Tower’s windows and landing in the middle of the Avengers’ living room- right as they were watching a movie. Natasha had already launched herself halfway across the room, ready to attack, before she realized it was just Thor being… Thor.

Now, a few days later, everyone was camped out on Tony and Pepper’s private floor while the broken windows were being replaced. Tony was very clearly losing his mind with the Avengers invading his personal space.

“So, how’s your day been, Tony?” Pepper asked gently, placing a hand on his arm as they sat around the dining table.

“Yeah, Tonyyyy, how’s your day beeeeen?” Clint echoed, dragging out the words teasingly. Natasha and the others snickered behind their forks.

Tony let out a long, suffering sigh. He shot Pepper a small smile before glaring at the rest of the table and stabbing another bite of dinner.

Just then, the elevator dinged. A massive cardboard box entered the room, followed by two skinny legs underneath it.

“Hi, Mr. Stark!” Peter’s muffled voice came from behind the box. “I hope you and Pepper don’t mind that I’m here right now since we didn’t technically schedule anything, but May’s working the night shift and I was bored so I went outside to get some fresh air, you know, and then I found this absolutely huge box with this metal thingy inside, and I can’t open the metal thingy, so I thought maybe you could help m-”

He dropped the box with a thud, finally freeing his face, only to freeze in horror when he saw the entire team staring at him. His eyes went wide, and he looked like he might physically evaporate on the spot. When his gaze landed on Thor, he choked on his own breath.

“Hi, Peter. The Avengers are here,” Pepper said softly.

“Yeah, I think he got that, Pep,” Tony muttered.

“Oh- oh my god. Is that Thor?” Peter stammered, voice high and panicked as all the Avengers studied him curiously.

“Man of Iron,” Thor boomed, leaning forward with interest, “what is this child doing in your home?”

Tony rubbed his forehead with a sigh. “This is my intern. Peter, meet Thor.”

Thor beamed, immediately standing and striding toward Peter with all the subtlety of a bulldozer. Peter looked like a terrified baby deer as the god approached.

Without warning, Thor seized Peter’s hand and shook it enthusiastically. “You have a strong grip, Stark-Intern!” he declared, still shaking.

Peter remained completely shell-shocked, his arm flopping helplessly up and down as Thor continued.

“T-thank you Mr. Thor.” Peter replied hesitantly, looking at Thor with an admirering look in his eyes, as he glanced over at Tony, who simply gave him a thumbs up.

“Why don’t you sit down, Peter? I’ll get you a plate,” Pepper said after an awkward second of silence as she stood from her chair.

“Yeah, uhm, thanks, Mrs. Potts,” Peter replied with a small, nervous smile. His eyes flicked to the large metal box on the floor and then to Tony. “Uhm… I know you’re eating, Mr. Stark, but I really wanna see what’s in the box thingy. The box was actually kind of heavy for me, which probably means that it’s, you know, a heavy item.” Peter rambled, fidgeting with his hands as he looked at Tony pleadingly.

“Fine. Carry it over here,” Tony said, trying to sound unbothered, though he was definitely smiling far too much.

Peter immediately hurried over and grabbed the box, seemingly forgetting completely about the Avengers who were watching with open curiosity.

“Eugh… it’s a bit heavy,” Peter mutered, tightening his grip around the massive crate.

“I’ll help, Starkintern!” Thor boomed.

Peter blinked in surprise. “Uhm, thanks, Mr. Thor!” he said excitedly, extending the box toward him.

The moment Peter released it into Thor’s hands, the box dropped straight to the floor, along with Thor, who still had his hands beneath it. Luckily, he jerked his fingers free just in time before the box slammed down with a thunderous clang.

“Oh my God!” Clint shouted, nearly launching out of his chair as Thor stumbled backward. Even Natasha looked alarmed.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry, Thor! Maybe I just placed it in your hands wrong!” Peter babbled, panic written all over his face as he stared at him.

“It’s alright, Stark-intern,” Thor said, though his smile was now a little strained. “Let me try again.”

He crouched and grabbed the sides of the box, then grunted. It didn’t budge an inch. Thor’s brows knit together as he tried again, muscles straining beneath his armor.

“This box is… quite heavy, Stark-intern,” he admitted.

“Let me try, Thor.”

Steve set his napkin down calmly and stood, walking over. Thor looked mildly offended but stepped aside. Steve bent, braced his stance, and pulled.

The box shifted, only a fraction of an inch.

“What the hell…” Steve muttered, trying again, his jaw tightening with effort.

“What’s even in this damn box?” he grunted.

“I don’t know,” Peter said hesitantly. “It just looked like a metal thingy…”

He stepped forward, gently reaching beside Steve, and with both hands, casually lifted the box as if it weighed next to nothing.

The room went dead silent.

All eyes locked onto Peter.

Thor stared. Steve stared harder. Honestly, Steve shouldn’t have been that surprised, Peter had literally thrown him through a wall last time, but still.

“Is this some kind of prank?” Steve asked as he stood, brushing dust from his jeans.

“Why would it be a prank?” Peter asked nervously, shrinking slightly under the attention.

“Bruce,” Tony finally said, rubbing his temple, tired but far too amused. “Get something to weigh the damn thing. And Peter, put that down.”

“Sure thing, Tones,” Bruce replied, slipping out of the room and quickly returning with a scanner-like device. “This thing,” he said, adjusting a few settings, “can scan up to sixty tons. Not that anything would realistically weigh that much… but you never know.”

He pressed a button. A thin red laser swept slowly over the entire box. Thirty seconds passed. Then it beeped.

Bruce looked at the result.

His jaw dropped.

“Fifty-five tons…” he whispered.

Everyone froze.

Everyone stared at Peter.

“Peter,” Bruce said slowly, eyes wide. “Are you some kind of super-soldier… but better?”

Steve shot him a look.

“Uhm, no, Mr. Banner! I just, uh, I’ve trained!” Peter winced immediately at how ridiculous that sounded as he slowly set the box back onto the floor.

“What the hell, Stark?” Steve snapped, turning sharply toward Tony. “You’ve been hiding something from us? I knew something was off after he threw me through that damn wall, but I left it alone because I respected the kid’s privacy, but this?”

“Well, Rogers,” Tony replied calmly, taking a casual sip of his wine, “my kid will tell you when it’s time.”

Steve threw his hands up in frustration, scoffing.

“Listen… I’m just gonna, uh, take this box to the lab,” Peter said quickly, forcing a shaky smile. He grabbed the crate again and slowly backed toward the hallway.

The slow walk turned into a full sprint within seconds, fifty-five tons flying down the hallway like it weighed nothing at all.

3.

Clint moved slowly through the narrow air vent, careful not to make a single sound. Every shift of his weight was deliberate, every breath controlled. The metal beneath his elbows was cold, the familiar hum of the Tower’s ventilation system vibrating faintly through the ductwork. Through the thin slits in the vent floor beneath him, he could see agents and staff moving through the hallway below, completely unaware that one of the Avengers was crawling around above their heads like a raccoon in a wall.

He was hiding.

Specifically, he was hiding from Natasha- which, if he was being honest with himself, was a terrible plan. Natasha didn’t lose people. Ever.

But in his defense, he had accidentally broken her Widow’s Bite gauntlets, and he valued his continued existence.

Clint paused, peering down through the slits again, then froze.

There was a sound behind him.

A soft metallic scrape. A shift. The unmistakable noise of someone else crawling through the vents.

His entire body went rigid.

“Oh, no,” he mouthed silently.

The sound grew closer, slow, controlled, deliberate. Whoever it was knew exactly how to move without rattling the metal. Clint swallowed hard and reached for the knife strapped to his belt, carefully pulling it free. He pressed it to the screws securing the vent beneath him and began to twist, trying to loosen them.

They didn’t budge.

He tried again. Nothing.

“Of course,” Clint muttered under his breath. “Stark.”

Tony had apparently decided that vents were not for easy access, modifying them with “security in mind,” though Clint suspected it was mostly to make his life harder. “Vents are not hallways, Legolas,” had been the official explanation, though Clint had spent long hours silently seething over it. Now, that modification was biting him in the ass, quite literally.

“Shit, shit, shit,” he whispered, glancing back over his shoulder.

A shadow appeared at the far end of the vent, stretching long and thin like a dark ribbon in the flickering light. Clint’s stomach clenched. Then, before he could even react, someone was right in front of him.

Clint yelped and scrambled backward, hitting the side of the vent with a loud clang that echoed unnervingly through the metal tunnels.

“Ah! Mr. Barton! What’s wrong?”

The voice was high, nervous, almost trembling, and definitely not Natasha’s. Clint blinked, trying to process what he was seeing.

“…Peter?” he asked, disbelief heavy in his tone.

Peter- Stark’s intern, the kid who somehow survived being around Tony Stark every day, was crouched in the vent, wide-eyed and gripping the edges of the duct like he was trying to convince the metal not to crush him.

“…Yes?” Peter replied cautiously, glancing down at the hall below them through the slits. His voice was tight with nervous energy, almost like a cat caught on a ledge.

Clint stared at him, eyebrows raised in a mixture of exasperation and awe. “Why,” he said slowly, letting each word stretch, “are you in the vents?”

Peter hesitated, glancing around as if the vents themselves might offer a better answer. “…I was, uh… searching.”

“In the vents,” Clint repeated flatly, tone steeped in disbelief.

“Yep!” Peter said, far too quickly, and then fidgeted with the edges of the duct. His hands were trembling slightly, betraying the cool calm he tried to project.

Clint shifted back, sheathing his knife, and let out a slow sigh. “Okay, kid. What are you actually doing up here?”

Peter bit his lip, clearly debating something internally, before letting out a long exhale and blurting out, “I’m hiding from Natasha.”

Clint snorted, leaning back against the metal wall and letting out a humorless laugh. “Good luck with that.”

“I accidentally destroyed her Widow’s Bite,” Peter continued, rushing to fill in the gaps, “and I’m really, really sorry!”

Clint froze mid-laugh, eyes wide. “…What?”

“I’m sorry!” Peter insisted, his words tumbling over each other in panic.

Clint rubbed his face slowly, shaking his head in incredulity. “Kid… you’re not gonna believe this, but… I broke them too.”

Peter’s mouth fell open. “What?”

“Yep,” Clint confirmed, a small, wry grin breaking through his tension.

For a long moment, the two of them simply stared at each other in silent comprehension. Then, slowly, Clint’s shoulders shook, and a short, incredulous laugh bubbled out, a laugh that came not from amusement, but from the shared doom they were facing.

Peter frowned. “Hey! This isn’t funny. If she finds us, we’re toast-”

He stopped abruptly, his head tilting, eyes widening.

“…Oh no.”

Clint’s laughter faded. “What?”

“I can hear her,” Peter whispered urgently, his body tensing as the sound of footsteps approached through the vents above them.

Clint blinked. “…You can hear-” His eyes widened in sudden, terrifying realization. “Oh. Oh, that’s not good.”

The footsteps grew louder, accompanied by the subtle, but unmistakable, click of tactical heels against metal grates. The sort of sound that made even seasoned spies reconsider their life choices.

“Wow,” Clint muttered, a trace of awe in his voice despite the tension. “Impressive hearing.”

The realization hit him fully. They had seconds, maybe less, to get out.

“Shit. We gotta move.”

Clint yanked his knife free again, jabbing at the screws with renewed urgency. “Come on, come on-”

They didn’t budge.

“Stark,” Clint growled, voice low and furious.

“Let me!” Peter whispered sharply, shoving Clint aside with surprising strength.

“Kid, it’s not gonna-” Clint started.

Peter punched the vent. The metal caved in instantly with a deafening crunch, the sound echoing like a gunshot down the duct. Clint’s jaw dropped as Peter widened the hole with his hands, bending the aluminum-like metal with an ease that made Clint wonder if he had superpowers he hadn’t been told about.

“…Holy shit,” Clint breathed, eyes wide.

“Please hurry,” Peter said, already dropping through the newly made opening. He landed lightly in the hallway below, bending his knees to absorb the impact like it was nothing, his body a blur of nervous energy and precision.

Clint followed a second later, less gracefully, hitting the floor hard and landing squarely on his ass with a loud thump. “Ow,” he groaned, scrambling to his feet as quickly as his aching limbs allowed.

Peter was already halfway down the hall, moving like a shadow. Clint cursed under his breath, kicking his legs into action. Jesus, that kid was fast.

Then he heard it, a loud, heavy thud behind him, followed by rapid, deliberate footsteps.

Clint glanced over his shoulder and immediately regretted it.

Natasha was sprinting toward him, her expression cold, deadly, and terrifyingly calma combination that somehow made the situation worse.

“Oh, come on!” Clint yelped, pushing himself harder.

It didn’t matter. Natasha’s stride was flawless, her speed terrifying. A moment later, she slammed into his back, sending him crashing to the floor. Pain exploded through his arm as it bent in a way arms absolutely should not bend.

“OW- what the hell, Natasha?!” Clint shouted, twisting beneath her grip.

“Running was a poor choice,” Natasha said pleasantly, the calmness in her voice sending chills down his spine.

“Peter!” Clint yelled desperately, still wriggling beneath her.

Natasha scoffed. “What is a child going to do to-”

Suddenly, all the weight vanished. Natasha flew across the hallway, skidding to a stop with a graceful, controlled flip that ended with her in a ready stance.

“Oh my god, Miss Black Widow!” Peter blurted. “I’m so sorry! I just meant to push you off Mr. Clint, but I might have pushed a little too hard!”

Natasha stared, clearly trying to reconcile the physics of what had just happened. “…Peter?” she asked, disbelief thick in her voice.

“And I’m really sorry about your Widow’s Bite!” Peter added, voice almost apologetic.

Clint pushed himself up, rubbing his arm and looking between them. Natasha slowly turned her head toward Clint.

He shrugged. “…Accident.”

Natasha exhaled sharply. (Secretly not suprised, but still.)

They were so dead.

4.

The smell of sizzling bacon and brewing coffee filled the Avengers’ kitchen. The morning sun poured through the wide windows, reflecting off the stainless steel appliances and gleaming countertops.

It was rare for the team to have a morning where they were all awake and coherent enough to enjoy breakfast together, but somehow, today had worked out.

“Pass the syrup,” Steve Rogers said, his fork poised over his stack of pancakes. His hair was still ruffled from sleep, and the sight of him, casual and content, made Peter stifle a laugh.

“You mean, ‘please, young lad, bestow upon me the amber nectar of the maple tree,’” Thor corrected with a dramatic flourish, holding Mjolnir at his side like it was a scepter rather than a weapon of mass destruction.

Peter rolled his eyes behind his cup of orange juice. He’d learned early on that Thor lived in a world where everything was an epic poem, or a comedy, depending on your tolerance.

“Can you just, like… eat your pancakes without a lecture?” Peter muttered, though the words were lost under the sizzling of more bacon on the stove.

“Ah, the youth of Midgard, so brash, so impatient,” Thor said, finally putting Mjolnir down on the table beside him, where it made a distinct metallic thunk. “You are like the lightning itself, Peter Parker. I can feel it in your very bones.”

Peter choked on his juice, coughing violently. Steve shot him a concerned glance.

“Uh, I’m fine,” Peter croaked, waving his hand. “Just, uhm, drank too fast. You know, like, hero problems.”

“Hero problems, indeed,” Natasha said dryly from across the table, scrolling through her phone. “I’d like to see you handle a week in my shoes without complaining about a little juice.”

“Or a week in mine without getting struck by lightning,” Thor added, giving a dramatic shiver.

Peter grimaced. “Yeah, okay, fair.”

The morning was peaceful- too peaceful. Peter had learned that when Thor was present and peace settled over the Avengers’ kitchen, chaos was lurking somewhere just beyond the pancakes.

Thor’s eyes gleamed mischievously. “You know, I have been curious,” he said, twirling Mjolnir in one hand, “Peter, young spider, do you think you could withstand the might of Mjolnir if I were to, say, toss it in your direction?”

The entire kitchen froze.

“What?” Steve said, almost dropping his fork.

“Thor, don’t even joke about it,” Natasha warned.

“Relax,” Thor said, beaming. “It is but a jest! Only a minor test of reflex and courage.” He raised his arm, and with a gleeful grin, he hurled Mjolnir across the kitchen.

Time slowed for Peter. He had just enough presence of mind to notice the gleam of enchanted metal spinning through the air.

And then… he caught it.

Well, “caught” might be an exaggeration. He didn’t stop Mjolnir entirely, it was still moving, but he reached out instinctively, and his fingers brushed the handle. The hammer’s flight slowed, spinning lazily in his grip as though it had suddenly realized it was no longer free to hurt anyone.

The room erupted into stunned silence.

Thor’s jaw dropped. “What manner of sorcery is this?!”

Steve’s eyes widened like saucers. “Peter… you, how, what?”

Natasha’s phone clattered to the floor. “Wait, what just happened?”

Mjolnir thudded lightly on the floor, spinning for a moment, then lying still. Peter’s arms shook slightly from the effort of simply slowing it, though to the naked eye, it looked effortless.

“I- I don’t know,” Peter said, his mind racing. He wasn’t supposed to be able to touch Mjolnir like that. None of them knew. And he certainly wasn’t going to tell them he was Spider-Man, let alone about the strength he had because of it. “It… I mean… I caught the… uh… I’m really strong? Yeah. Super strong. Really.”

Thor’s eyes burned with a mixture of confusion and awe. “By the gods… young Parker, I have never seen such might from a mortal who is not deemed worthy!”

“I, uh, thanks?” Peter mumbled, looking anywhere but at Thor.

Steve stepped forward cautiously, glancing at Mjolnir lying innocently on the floor. “Do you… do you know what you just did?”

“I think so?” Peter said, his hands raising defensively. “I mean, I slowed it. It was moving really fast. Physics, right? Momentum and… air resistance. Totally scientific.”

Natasha blinked. “You slowed it? You didn’t stop it, but you… like… interrupted it?”

“Yes! Exactly!” Peter said, hoping his increasingly shaky explanation sounded plausible. “See, it was moving really fast, and then I, uhm, I applied… force. Opposite direction. Physics.”

Thor stared at him, eyes wide. “Opposite force… from a mortal hand?”

Peter swallowed. “Yeah. Totally mortal. Um… human.”

“Parker,” Steve said slowly, “are you telling us you just… like… slowed Mjolnir in mid-air… by yourself?”

Peter’s mind raced for a believable excuse. “Yeah… uh… I mean… I lift a lot of, uh, textbooks? And… I sometimes, you know, help the neighbor move furniture? Yeah. Really heavy stuff. Like… hammers and, uh… enchanted Asgardian weapons.”

“Hmm,” Thor said slowly, his brow furrowed. “It is… most impressive. And yet… I feel it is not the full truth. There is some spark of divinity in your veins, I can sense it.”

Peter froze. “Divinity? Uh… no, I’m just… you know… really into, uh… vitamin D? And… protein? Yeah.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow with a smirk. “You’ve been taking protein powder to slow Thor’s hammer?”

Peter floundered. “Uh… only on Tuesdays?”

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to process what he’d just seen. “I’ve read a lot about Mjolnir. And I know Thor, and I know how… you know… worthy it is. Peter… you just- this is impossible.”

“I said it was physics,” Peter insisted weakly, though he knew it was not physics. Not at this level. Not that anyone could understand it. He could feel his heart hammering in his chest. That had been way too close.

Thor, however, seemed… delighted. “Then I shall have a new respect for you, young spider! Truly, your mortal strength is remarkable!”

Peter’s eyes darted to the rest of the table. Steve looked stunned, Natasha looked skeptical, and Bruce, who had wandered in mid-event, just stared at the hammer like it was a UFO.

“Uh… thanks, I guess?” Peter said, shifting awkwardly. “So… uh… breakfast?”

Thor waved his hands dramatically. “Aye! Let us continue! For we have feasted, and now we have witnessed the strength of legend!”

Steve looked at Peter with a mixture of disbelief and concern. “Peter… maybe sit down. You, uh… you’re shaking.”

“I’m fine,” Peter said again, forcing a smile. “Just… adrenaline. Totally normal. Very scientific. You know.”

Natasha smirked. “You’re shaking like a leaf, Parker. Science or not, you almost got yourself turned into a pancake.”

Peter laughed nervously, trying to eat a piece of bacon to mask the adrenaline surging through him. Thor, on the other hand, was practically vibrating with excitement.

“You have done a deed worthy of song!” Thor bellowed, picking up a sausage and waving it like a sword. “Young Parker, you may have proven yourself among the mightiest!”

Peter froze mid-bite. “Uh… or… or maybe it’s just… luck?”

“Luck!” Steve repeated slowly, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah, luck. That’s a very plausible explanation, right, Thor?”

Thor tilted his head. “Luck? Nay, Rogers. The gods themselves would recognize such power. Surely this is no mere chance!”

Peter groaned quietly under the table. This was going to be so hard to explain if Thor kept talking like this in front of everyone.

“I think… maybe we just… uh… keep the hammer on the table from now on?” Peter suggested, hoping to redirect the conversation.

Thor’s eyes gleamed. “A wise suggestion! Yet… I cannot deny my curiosity! Peter, perhaps another demonstration?”

Peter’s stomach dropped. “Uh… maybe another time? I have… uh… to, um… check my, uh… sugar levels. Yeah. Very important. Doctor’s orders.”

Natasha snorted. “Doctor’s orders, huh? Sure, Peter. Whatever you say.”

Steve gave him a long, suspicious look but didn’t press further. “Okay… but you need to sit down and eat something before you collapse.”

Peter nodded fervently. “Absolutely! Food first, science second, you know how it is.”

Thor grinned, clearly undeterred by Peter’s feeble excuse. “Indeed! And I shall regale tales of your heroic might to all who would listen! By Odin, this will be a story sung for ages!”

Peter groaned quietly again, sliding his chair further from Mjolnir. “Yeah… ages… maybe not too loudly,” he muttered under his breath.

Bruce, still staring at the hammer, finally shook his head. “I need coffee,” he muttered, retreating to the counter.

Natasha leaned back, smirking. “I have to say… Parker, you’ve officially earned your reputation today. I mean… who casually slows Mjolnir in mid-air?”

Peter gave a weak shrug. “Uh… apparently, me. Totally accidental. Science.”

Steve shook his head, still in awe. “Well… Peter… don’t get any ideas about, I don’t know… swinging hammers around. Just… keep breakfast civil.”

Peter smiled nervously, hoping Thor wouldn’t decide to “test” him again before the pancakes were finished.

For the rest of breakfast, the Avengers eyed Peter with a mix of suspicion, awe, and quiet fear. And Peter, in turn, carefully avoided looking at Mjolnir again, silently vowing never to underestimate the chaos that could come from a simple kitchen breakfast with Thor.

5.

The Avengers Tower was buzzing with the usual chaos. Peter had offered to help that morning, thinking it would be low-stakes. He was in the kitchen, trying to organize a mountain of appliances, when he heard a commotion from the workshop down the hall.

“Uh oh,” he muttered, narrowing his eyes. He could hear Tony’s laughter and the whirring of one of his inventions. Peter had been warned that Stark’s gadgets tended to explode if you looked at them funny. Today, apparently, was no exception.

As he stepped carefully into the hall, he noticed tools and components scattered across the floor. Something heavy teetered on a workbench. The large metal crate stacked on top started to tip. Peter froze. No way would it stay upright.

He could hear Natasha shouting something from the opposite end of the hall. Steve was moving fast toward the mess, but he wouldn’t reach it in time.

Peter reacted without thinking. He leapt forward, wrapping his hands around the metal crate. It did not crash to the floor. Instead, it hovered in his grip, wobbling slightly as he adjusted his stance. His knees bent, arms shook a little, but the crate stayed suspended.

The hallway fell silent for a fraction of a second. Everyone was staring, processing what had just happened.

Tony’s jaw dropped. Steve froze mid-step. Natasha narrowed her eyes, suprise written across her face. Even Bruce looked baffled, clearly trying to calculate how someone could hold that much weight with bare hands.

Peter felt heat rise to his cheeks. He was not uused to this much attention, especially after just doing something impossible for a human.

“I uh, I got it,” he said, voice wavering. “It was falling and I just… caught it. Physics, you know? Momentum… stuff.”

Bruce tilted his head. “Wait. You just caught that crate before it crushed my lab equipment? By yourself?” He took a step closer. Peter braced himself.

Peter nodded quickly. “Yeah, totally. Reflexes and core strength. Really, it’s nothing special.” He forced a laugh. “Just, you know, gym stuff.”

Steve stepped forward cautiously. “Peter, that crate must weigh at least ten tons. How is that even possible? You’re joking, right?”

Peter swallowed. “No. Well, kind of. Not really joking. I do a lot of homework. Lifting textbooks. That’s probably it.” He grimaced. Ridiculous, but better than saying the truth.

Clint approached, posture tense. “Peter. Explain. Right now. How did you hold that? That is not humanly possible. This isn’t even the first time this has happened, what the fuck?”

Peter gulped. “Uh… I eat a lot of protein. And, um, I do push-ups. Lots of push-ups. Yeah. That’s it.” He smiled awkwardly. Clint did not smile back.

Bruce spoke again then, more calm and analytical than before. “Peter, that’s… not an adequate explanation.” He leaned closer. “How are your muscles generating that much force? That crate should have crushed you.”

Peter panicked. “I mean… I have, like… good form? Yeah. Totally good form.”

Tony clapped his hands. “Alright, alright. Let’s test this. Peter, pick up something else. Something smaller.” Oh Peter was so getting back at Tony for this later.

Peter froze. “Uh… maybe not right now?”

Natasha raised an eyebrow. “You don’t get to pick, kid.”

Before Peter could respond, another crash sounded behind them. A large piece of equipment toppled from a shelf, headed straight for Steve. Peter reacted instantly. He caught it effortlessly, shifting the weight to keep it from falling.

The Avengers froze again. Tony’s mouth hung open. Steve blinked rapidly. Natasha’s eyes widened slightly. Even Bruce looked like he had seen a ghost.

Peter dropped his voice, panicked. “Uh… reflexes! Quick reflexes! That’s it!”

Clint crossed his arms. “Peter, I don’t think that explains it.”

Peter laughed nervously. “No, no, it does! Really! I just… practice catching things! Yeah! Very normal.”

Steve stepped closer, studying Peter. “You are seriously not humanly strong. Not even close. What are you hiding?”

Peter’s mind raced. “Uh… nothing! Totally nothing! I just… I have strong hands! And arms! That’s it!”

Tony leaned back, smirking teasingly. “Kid, I think you just made the top of my weirdest Avengers moments list.”

Peter swallowed hard. “Uh… thank you?”

Clint finally shook his head. “You’re hiding something. I can feel it Pete..”

Peter nodded frantically. “No! Absolutely not! It’s totally normal human behavior!”

Bruce muttered quietly. “This is scientifically impossible.”

“No! It’s very possible.” Peter said, not convincing anyone, before slowly backing away, before turning into a full on sprint.

+1.

Peter had been tapping his pen against the desk for so long that the repetitive click had almost become comforting. Mr. Harrington’s voice drifted over him in a dull, unbroken stream of words that refused to stick in his head. Dates, places, treaties- none of it mattered right now.

Then the sound cut through everything.

Beep. Beep.

Peter froze.

His fingers stilled against the desk, his breath catching painfully in his throat. That sound didn’t belong in a classroom. It wasn’t a text message or a calendar alert. It was mechanical. Sharp. Familiar in the worst possible way.

Slowly, dread pooling in his stomach, he looked down at his backpack.

The entire class turned to stare at him.

MJ leaned back in her chair, eyes narrowing slightly, clearly suspicious. Ned looked between Peter and the bag with wide eyes, his face already pale.

Mr. Harrington let out a tired sigh.

“Peter,” he said, sounding like a man at the very end of his patience, “please turn off your phone.”

“Y-yeah, sorry, Mr. Harrington,” Peter replied quickly, already dragging his backpack into his lap.

His hands shook as he pulled the zipper open, silently begging that this was some kind of malfunction. That the sound meant nothing. That he was overreacting.

The red flash inside the bag told him otherwise.

The emergency receiver pulsed once more.

Peter’s heart dropped straight into his stomach.

Mr. Stark would never use that button unless something had gone horribly wrong. He hated the idea of Peter being in danger. Hated it enough to make the receiver an absolute last resort.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Peter muttered under his breath.

“Peter, language,” Mr. Harrington snapped.

Peter barely heard him.

“Not right now, Mr. Harrington. I have to go,” he said, already on his feet.

Before anyone could react, Peter vaulted over the desk and bolted for the door, leaving the classroom in stunned silence.

Whispers erupted behind him.

Since when could Peter Parker move like that?

He ran through the halls without slowing, ignoring Mr. Harrington yelling after him. The moment he burst outside, he veered sharply around the building, staying well clear of any windows.

Only then did he stop.

His fingers flew to the Stark watch on his wrist.

The nanotech suit spread over his body in a familiar rush, sealing around him from the feet up. The weight of it steadied him, even as his heart continued to race.

He shot a web and launched himself into the air.

“Karen,” he said breathlessly as he swung between buildings, panic threading through his voice. “What’s going on?”

“Mr. Stark has been kidnapped along with the other Avengers,” Karen replied. Her tone was calm, almost unnervingly so. “Happy Hogan has tracked their location, but they currently lack sufficient reinforcement. I do not have eyes on them.”

Peter’s chest tightened painfully.

“What?” he breathed. “Where are they?”

“I would advise against immediate engagement-”

“Karen,” Peter cut in sharply, fear bleeding into his words, “give me their location.”

There was a brief pause.

“The address is Hawkins Street 67. An abandoned warehouse.”

A holographic map appeared in front of his eyes, a glowing line marking the fastest route.

“If you continue at your current speed, your estimated arrival time is ten minutes. However, web-assisted travel will reduce that to approximately two minutes.”

“Then that’s what I’m doing,” Peter said, already accelerating.

As the warehouse came into view, his stomach dropped.

Guards stood posted outside, armed with heavy rifles. He spotted the faint glint of sniper scopes near the roofline.

“Shit,” he muttered, crouching on a rooftop well out of sight.

“There is an unguarded entrance approximately three hundred and forty meters ahead,” Karen informed him.

“Thanks,” Peter whispered.

He moved quickly and quietly, sticking to shadows as he made his way toward the warehouse. The door Karen had indicated opened far too easily when he pulled on it.

That should have been his first warning.

The moment he leaned inside, a deafening bang echoed through the hallway.

Peter’s spider-sense screamed.

His arm snapped up on instinct, fingers closing around something small, hot, and solid.

He stared down at it in disbelief.

A bullet.

For half a second, his brain short-circuited.

Since when could he catch bullets mid-air?

He didn’t have time to think about it.

Peter looked up to see a soldier frozen in place, gun still raised, his face pale with shock.

“Well,” Peter said faintly, “that wasn’t very nice.”

He fired a web, ripping the weapon from the man’s hands and pinning him to the wall in one smooth motion. A second strand sealed the man’s mouth just as hurried footsteps echoed down the corridor.

Peter moved immediately.

He sprinted down the hall, flipping up onto the wall as several soldiers rounded the corner and opened fire. His body reacted before his mind could catch up, dodging, twisting, webbing weapons and limbs until the hallway was a chaotic mess of stuck soldiers and tangled guns.

“Karen,” Peter panted as he landed, “can you find them?”

“I have located six heat signatures,” Karen replied. “Proceed down the hallway to your right and continue for one hundred meters.”

“Thanks.”

Peter took off again, running along the wall as alarms began to blare.

Sudden pain tore across his chin.

He gasped, instinctively slapping a hand over his face as warm blood seeped between his fingers.

He had been shot.

“Mask down,” he said shakily, feeling suddenly claustrophobic. “I-I can’t breathe.”

“You have sustained a minor gunshot wound to the chin,” Karen said. “It is not life-threatening.”

“Good,” Peter muttered. “Because that would really suck right now.”

He forced himself forward, ignoring the sting as he reached a heavy metal door at the end of the corridor. A keypad blinked beside it.

“Karen, figure out the code.”

“Scanning,” she replied.

A red beam extended from his suit, sweeping over the keypad. Seconds passed before Karen spoke again.

“The code is 1987.”

“Thanks.”

The door slid open.

Inside, the Avengers sat bound together, eyes snapping up in shock.

“Peter?” Tony Stark said, disbelief clear on his face.

Clint’s eyes widened. “Kid?”

Steve looked genuinely stunned. “Peter?”

Peter winced as the realization hit him.

Right. No mask.

“Okay, yeah, we’re gonna talk about that later,” Peter said quickly. “Right now, we need to go.”

He rushed forward, tearing through the restraints.

“They’ve got power-dampening cuffs on Thor, Bruce, and Steve,” Clint said as he rubbed his arms.

Peter didn’t hesitate. He grabbed the cuffs on Bruce and ripped them apart with ease, then did the same for Thor.

Bruce stared at the broken metal on the floor. “Huh.”

“Super strength,” Peter said weakly.

He moved to Steve next, snapping the cuffs with another sharp pull. As he turned, he noticed Natasha sagging against Clint, her face pale.

“What’s wrong with Natasha?” Peter asked, concern cutting through the adrenaline.

“They drugged her,” Clint replied. “All of us, actually. She just got the worst of it.”

Tony stepped closer, his eyes locking onto the blood smeared along Peter’s jaw.

“Pete,” he said sharply, “what happened to your chin?”

Peter hesitated.

“I, uh- i got shot.”

“You got shot?” Tony demanded.

Before he could say anything else, a violent crash tore through the warehouse wall.

A car burst through the concrete, scattering debris across the floor and taking out several soldiers in its path.

“Holy-” Peter started.

“Language,” Tony snapped automatically as he shifted protectively in front of Peter.

The driver’s side window rolled down, revealing an angry-looking Happy Hogan.

“Get in,” he ordered.

There was no time to argue.

They rushed toward the vehicle, Clint half-carrying Natasha as Bruce climbed in first. The moment they were all inside, Happy slammed his foot on the gas, reversing hard as chunks of wall collapsed against the car.

Soldiers began to pour out of the warehouse.

“Drive!” Steve shouted.

Happy didn’t need to be told twice.

As the car sped away, Peter finally allowed himself to breathe.

“How did you even manage to get kidnapped?” he asked, trying - and failing - not to laugh. “Mr. Stark?”

Steve shifted uncomfortably.

“.. Someone drugged our shawarma.”

There was a beat of silence.

“Seriously?” Peter said, snorting.

Tony ignored him, his focus snapping back to the blood on Peter’s face. “How did you get shot?”

“It’s nothing,” Peter said quickly.

“Next time,” Tony snapped, “you don’t rush into a fight like that.”

Peter bristled. “What was I supposed to do? Just leave you there?”

“Yes,” Tony shot back. “If you get hurt, that’s on me.”

Peter’s voice dropped. “Then why send the emergency signal?”

Tony frowned. “I didn’t.”

Happy exhaled heavily from the front seat. “I did.”

Tony rounded on him instantly. “You don’t call him, Happy. He’s my kid- I decide.”

The car went quiet.

Clint blinked. “Wait. Your kid?”

Peter stiffened. “What- no!”

Tony opened his mouth to argue with Clint, but quickly closed it again when he didn’t have anything to say.

-

By the time the sirens finally faded into the distance, the inside of the car felt less like an active crime scene and more like an overcrowded van full of people who had absolutely had enough for one day.

Peter shifted in his seat, testing how he felt now that the adrenaline had begun to wear off. Tired, sore, and definitely going to have a bruise somewhere new tomorrow, but overall, still upright. His chin throbbed faintly, more irritating than painful, and he tried not to think too hard about how close that had actually been.

Tony, unfortunately, noticed everything.

He leaned in, squinting at Peter’s face like he was inspecting a cracked circuit board.

“You know,” Tony said, “most kids skip class to play video games. You skip class to stage a rescue mission.”

Peter shrugged. “In my defense, yours seemed more important.”

Clint snorted from across the car. “Kid’s got priorities. I respect that.”

Bruce nodded mildly. “Your situational awareness was impressive.”

Peter blinked. “Oh. Uh. Thanks?”

Steve leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on his knees. “You kept moving under pressure. That’s not easy.”

Peter winced. “I was mostly guessing.”

Steve smiled. “So was I, my first few missions.”

Thor let out a booming laugh. “Then you guessed gloriously, young Spider-Man.”

Peter smiled despite himself.

Natasha stirred slightly against Clint’s shoulder, her eyes fluttering open just long enough to focus on Peter.

“So,” she murmured, voice rough but amused, “you’re the one who ruined their whole operation.”

Peter hesitated. “I mean… kinda?”

“Good,” she said, closing her eyes again. “I hated that place.”

Tony’s attention snapped back to the smear of dried blood along Peter’s jaw.

“Okay,” he said, pointing. “That.”

Peter instinctively covered his chin. “It’s nothing.”

Tony raised an eyebrow. “It’s bleeding.”

“Very minimally.”

“Peter.”

Peter sighed. “Okay, fine. It’s a scratch.”

Tony hummed skeptically, but the edge was gone from his voice. “You’re getting checked anyway.”

Happy glanced at them in the mirror. “He did good, Tony.”

Tony didn’t argue. “Yeah. He did.”

The car slowed as they pulled into the compound, lights flashing briefly as security cleared them through. Clint stretched with a groan.

“So,” he said casually, “is this where we talk about how the kid somehow untied all of us in under a minute?”

Peter flushed. “I’ve had practice.”

“With knots?” Clint pressed.

“With bad decisions,” Peter replied.

That earned a laugh.

As the doors opened and agents rushed forward, Tony stayed close, guiding Peter out with a hand at his back like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“No hospitals,” Peter said immediately.

Tony sighed. “We’re not negotiating.”

“It’s really small.”

“You’re really stubborn.”

Tony steered him toward the med bay anyway, muttering about teenagers and liability waivers.

Clint followed, smirking. “For the record, Stark, your kid’s got guts.”

Tony paused just long enough to glance back at Peter.

“Yeah,” he said. “That part’s genetic.” Tony joked.

Peter groaned. “Please stop talking about me like I’m not here.”

Tony’s hand settled briefly at the back of his neck, warm and grounding.

“Relax,” he said. “You saved the day. You’re allowed to enjoy that.”

Peter smiled, just a little.

And this time, no one argued.

He was probably going to get berated by a worried Pepper when he got home, but that was a future problem.