Chapter Text
Five months later
Avengers+
Steve
We’re getting meeting room 021
IronDad
Ugh is that the one that smells like Fury shot a rat and left it there?
OG Bird
noooooo it is ):
Steve
Yeah.. I have to agree it’s not great
OG Bird
Were the Avengers man they cant put us in there
Boss Lady
Its an hour long meeting, its not going to kill you
IronDad
Pepper, I love you, but it actually smell like Death in there
Boss Lady
Breathe through your mouth then
IronDad
You wound me
IronDad
Also weve got people with super senses on the team that are going to lose their sense of smell if they take a step in there
IronDad
Right? @Steve @SpiderMAN @BBarnes
Steve
I’m sorry Pepper but I do have to agree with Tony on this
Steve
Bucky is still visiting Shuri and T’challa, he won’t be attending
IronDad
@SpiderMAN
IronDad
@SpiderMAN
IronDad
@SpiderMAN
Boss Lady
Tony stop that, you know he's studying
Boss Lady
I'll see what I can do about the room
IronDad
Thats why youre my favorite Avenger
The Banner
I think I would’ve not been able to hold the Hulk back if we were in there..
-----------------------------------------------
Peter was panicking.
This wasn’t the mild, background kind of panic he could usually shove aside with a bad joke or a web-swing through Manhattan. No, this was full-body, heart-racing, brain-melting panic. The kind that made every Spanish word he’d ever learned evaporate into thin air.
“Okay, okay, okay,” he muttered, pacing his room. “Ser, estar… I know this. I knew this yesterday. Why did I know this yesterday?”
His Spanish test was tomorrow. Not just any test-, the test. The one that could drag his already-terrible grade out of the danger zone. Or bury it permanently...
And in three hours, there was an Avengers meeting.
A mandatory Avengers meeting.
Which meant: no last-minute cramming, no all-nighter, no desperate Googling “how to Spanish in one night.”
Peter groaned and flopped face-first onto his bed. “I’m doomed. This is it. This is how Spider-Man falls. Not to a supervillain. Nope. To irregular verbs.”
His phone buzzed under his pillow. He ignored it. Then it buzzed again. And again.
With a sigh, he grabbed it, and saw that Tony was spam pinging him in the Avengers groupchat.
Peter froze.
Avengers groupchat… Spanish…
Peter pushed himself up slowly, his brain catching up with a memory. Somewhere between alien invasions and late-night patrols, he’d learned that Jake Lockley, Moon Knight, spoke Spanish.
Fluently.
Why did he know that again? Unclear. Had it seemed important at the time? Also unclear.
Was it important now?
Oh. Oh, absolutely.
Peter stared at his phone like it might explode. “This is insane,” he whispered. “This is a terrible idea.”
He clicked on the Avengers Chat and viewed the ‘past members’ tag, and there it was, WhereIsGus.
He hit call.
It rang once.
Twice.
Three—
“Yeah?”
The voice on the other end was low, rough, and immediately alert.
Peter sat up straighter. “Uh—hi! Hi! It’s Peter. Peter Parker. Spider-Man. The kid? We met that one time? With the—uh—thing?”
A pause.
“Can-, Could I take to Jake please if it's not too much of a bother?”
“Soy yo, what’s happening?” Jake said, concern already evident in his voice.
“Cool! You’re here.. I’m here. We’re both-”
“…Kid. You’re calling me,” Jake said slowly, “to remind me you exist?”
“No! I mean—no, that’s not—okay, look, I have a Spanish test tomorrow and I’m failing and I don’t understand anything and I remembered you speak Spanish and I have an Avengers meeting in three hours and I’m panicking.”
Silence.
Peter squeezed his eyes shut. “I know this is weird. I know this is really weird. You can hang up. I would hang up. I deserve that.”
Another pause.
“…You’re calling me,” Jake repeated, “because you need help studying.”
“Yes.”
“For school.”
“Yes!”
“…You’re an Avenger.”
Peter winced. “Technically, yeah, but-”
“And this is what you’re panicking about.”
“I am multitasking my crises!”
Jake exhaled, something between a sigh and a quiet laugh.
“Kid,” he said, “you got a notebook?”
Peter blinked. “…What?”
“A notebook,” Jake repeated. “Or you just planning to absorb knowledge through your big ass forehead?"
“I-, yes! I have like five!”
“Good. Grab one. Sit down. We got… what, tres horas?”
Peter scrambled off his bed, nearly tripping over his backpack. “Two hours and fifty-three minutes!”
“Plenty of time,” Jake said.
Peter froze mid-scribble. “…That doesn’t sound like plenty of time.”
“It is if you stop talking and start listening.”
Peter snapped his mouth shut.
“Alright,” Jake continued. “We start simple. You’re messing up ser and estar, yeah?”
Peter’s eye twitched. “…How did you?”
“Everyone messes that up. Write this down.”
Peter obeyed instantly, pen poised.
“For permanent stuff, identity, what something is, you use ser.”
Peter wrote furiously.
“For temporary stuff, feelings, location, conditions,you use estar.”
“…Okay,” Peter said slowly. “Okay, that actually makes sense.”
“Good. Now say: ‘I am tired.’”
“Estoy cansado,” Peter replied automatically.
“Why?”
“Because… being tired is temporary?”
“Exactly.”
Peter’s eyes widened. “Oh my gosh. Oh my gosh, that actually clicked. That—why didn’t my teacher say it like that?!”
“Maybe you talk too much in class.”
“…No.”
Jake huffed a quiet laugh.
And just like that, something shifted.
Peter's panic didn't disappear but it loosened its grip. Words started sticking. Rules started making sense. Every time Peter stumbled, Jake didn’t get frustrated but just repeated, rephrased and broke it down until it clicked.
Time blurred.
At some point, Peter ended up sprawled on the floor, notebook filled with messy notes and half-legible examples. His room was a disaster. His brain felt like it had run a marathon.
But for the first time all day, he didn’t feel doomed.
“…Okay,” Peter said, staring at his notes. “Okay, wait. So ‘I am at home’ is… ‘Estoy en casa.’ Because location is temporary.”
“Muy bien.”
“And ‘I am a student’ is ‘Soy estudiante.’ Because that’s… like… identity.”
“Exactly.”
Peter grinned. “I’m getting this. I’m actually getting this!”
“Told you.”
Peter hesitated, then laughed softly. “You did.”
There was a brief pause on the line.
“…Hey,” Peter said, a little more quietly. “Thanks. Really. You didn’t have to..”
“Kid,” Jake cut in, voice softer now, “you called for help. You’re trying. That counts.”
Peter swallowed, something warm settling in his chest. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess it does.”
His phone buzzed again, this time with a reminder.Avengers Meeting. 10 minutes.
Peter groaned. “Oh no.”
“What?”
“I have to go. Avengers thing. World-saving. You know.”
“Yeah, I’ve heard of it.”
Peter scrambled to his feet, grabbing his mask. “But-, wait- can we.. maybe later? Just a little more practice?”
A beat. “…Yeah.” Jake said. “Call me after your meeting.”
Peter blinked, surprised. “Really?”
“Yeah. We’re not done fixing your grades yet.”
Peter grinned. “Okay. Okay, yeah. Deal.”
He hesitated again, then added, “Gracias.”
“…De nada, kid.”
Peter hung up, heart lighter than it had been all day. He grabbed his mask, pulled it on, and headed for the window.
---------------------------------
Marc didn’t expect to see anyone he knew on a bus. That was probably his first mistake. The second was not paying attention for exactly half a second too long.
The bus lurched to a stop, doors hissing open, and Marc stepped inside just as someone else stepped forward from the opposite direction.
They collided with a solid shoulder to shoulder.
Marc’s stance adjusted instantly, balance correcting, eyes snapping up and then narrowing.
“…Really?” he said flatly.
Clint Barton blinked at him, equally surprised for about half a second before it melted into something more amused.
“Well.” Clint said, glancing around the bus, “this is either a weird coincidence or I’ve finally lost it.”
Marc scoffed, stepping past him into the aisle. “You? On public transport? Yeah, I’m leaning toward ‘lost it.’”
A couple of passengers glanced over at the tone, then quickly looked away.
Clint followed him without hesitation.
“Hey,” he shot back, “some of us like to stay humble.”
Marc grabbed onto one of the overhead rails as the bus jerked back into motion. “You have a multi-million dollar compound.”
“Not my compound.”
“You live there.”
“Temporarily. I own a building now.”
Marc gave him a look. “Right.”
Clint just grinned back.
The bus wasn’t full, but it wasn’t empty either. A few scattered seats, a handful of people minding their own business.
Clint nodded toward an open spot near the back. “C’mon, sit down. You look like you’re judging everyone in here.”
“I am judging everyone in here.”
“Yeah, see, that’s exhausting. Sit.”
Marc hesitated out of principle more than anything. Then, with a quiet exhale, he dropped into the window seat.
Clint sat down beside him like it was the most natural thing in the world.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The bus rattled along, city blurring past them outside.
Marc glanced sideways. “So what, your fancy jet break down?”
Clint snorted. “Yeah, had to park it next to my private yacht.”
Marc’s mouth twitched, just barely. “Thought so.”
“Car’s in the shop.” Clint added after a second. “Figured I’d try being a normal person for once.”
Marc hummed. “And? How’s that working out for you?”
Clint leaned back in his seat, stretching his legs out slightly. “So far? I’ve been body-checked by a guy in a hoodie and judged by at least three strangers.”
“Four.” Marc corrected. “Driver’s watching you in the mirror.”
Clint glanced up, caught the driver’s eye, and gave a small wave.
The driver did not wave back.
“…Yeah, okay, four.” Clint admitted.
Marc let out a quiet breath that might have been a laugh.
The bus slowed at a light.
“You take the bus often?” Clint asked.
Marc shook his head. “Less traceable than cabs sometimes.”
“Of course it is.” Clint muttered.
Marc tilted his head slightly. “You don’t think like that?”
“I try not to think like that,” Clint said. “Doesn’t always stick.”
Marc studied him for a second.
“…Yeah.” he said quieter.
A brief, comfortable enough, silence settled over them.
Then Clint nudged him lightly with his elbow. “You ever not in work mode?”
Marc didn’t even hesitate. “No.”
Clint sighed. “That sounds exhausting.”
“It’s efficient.”
“Mm. Sure.”
The bus jolted slightly over a bump.
Up ahead, someone pulled the stop cord.
Clint glanced toward the front, then back out the window.
“That’s me.” he said.
Marc nodded once. “Figured you wouldn’t last long.”
Clint stood, grabbing onto the overhead bar as the bus slowed. Then he looked back down at Marc.
“You should come by my building sometime,” Clint said casually, like he was suggesting grabbing coffee. “Rooftop barbecue. Nothing fancy.”
Marc raised an eyebrow. “You inviting me to a social event?”
“Don’t make it weird.”
“It’s already weird.”
Clint smirked. “Yeah, but it could be fun-weird.”
The bus hissed to a stop.
The doors opened and immediately, movement outside caught Marc’s attention.
A girl in a purple sweater stood on the sidewalk, practically bouncing on her toes, waving both arms like she was trying to flag down a plane.
Beside her, a one-eyed dog wagged its entire body, tail going at full speed.
“Clint!” she called, grinning. “You’re late!”
Clint sighed, but there was no real annoyance in it. “I’m on time Kate!” he called back, stepping toward the door. “You’re just early.”
The dog barked, tail somehow wagging even harder.
Kate pointed at the bus. “You took the bus?!”
Marc snorted under his breath.
Clint shot him a look over his shoulder. “Don’t start.”
“Too late.” Marc muttered.
Clint shook his head, then glanced back at him one last time.
“Offer stands,” he said. “Rooftop next Sunday. Food. Minimal judging.”
Marc leaned back slightly in his seat. “…No promises on that last part.”
Clint grinned. “Wouldn’t expect any. I'll text you the address.”
Then he stepped off the bus.
Kate immediately grabbed his arm, still talking a mile a minute, while the dog circled them both in excited loops.
Marc watched through the window as Clint said something that made her laugh, reaching down absently to scratch the dog behind the ears.
The doors slid shut.
The bus pulled away.
Marc looked forward again, the faintest trace of something thoughtful settling in his expression. “Fun-weird..” he muttered.
He didn’t smile but it was a pretty close thing.
-------------------------------
Steven wasn’t supposed to be here.
Well.. technically, he was. The museum was open to the public, he had a perfectly valid ticket, and no one had stopped him at the entrance.
But still.
When he was… let go, Donna had told him with no uncertainty that he was not welcome in any more museums.
But they had just gotten in a new collection-...
“Okay, just-, just a quick look,” he muttered to himself, clutching the little brochure a bit too tightly. “In and out. No trouble.”
He stopped abruptly in front of the glass display, next to him stood a man and Steven really didn’t mean to start talking. It just… happened.
“Oh, that one’s interesting.” he said, stepping up beside the man. “Most people miss it, but the detailing there—see the inscription along the edge? That’s not purely decorative, it’s, well, it’s doing something a bit more specific, I think-”
The man beside him gave a small nod, eyes still on the artifact.
“Yeah,” he said. “I can see that.”
Steven brightened immediately. “Right? It’s like a layered meaning situation, where it’s not just about general protection but something more targeted, almost personal-,”
He stopped.
Blinking.
Because he’d finally, properly, looked at who he was talking to.
“Oh, Dr. Banner!” Steven blurted, straightening up so quickly he nearly smacked his elbow against the glass. “Sorry, I didn’t—I didn’t realize-, hello.”
Bruce Banner glanced at him, recognition settling in with a small, familiar smile.
“Hey, Steven.”
Steven clasped his hands together, immediately flustered. “Right, yes, hello, um, good to see you again. I didn’t mean to just start lecturing you about artifacts, that’s-, well, it’s a bit rude, really.”
“You’re fine.” Bruce said with a smile tugging at his lips.
Steven let out a small breath. “Right. Good. Brilliant.”
A short pause.
Steven shifted his weight, clearly trying to recover some sense of normal conversation.
“So..” he started, then winced slightly even as the words came out, “how has… Avengering been?”
Bruce’s expression tightened just a fraction.
“I’d rather not talk about work,” he said gently, almost apologetic. “If that’s okay.”
Steven nodded immediately. “Yup-, thats completely fair, I get that, boundaries, very important, yes, no work talk at all.”
Bruce’s shoulders relaxed just a little. “Thanks.”
Steven glanced back at the display, then back at Bruce, then back at the display again, brain clearly scrambling for a safer topic.
“…Are you interested in Egyptology?” he asked, a bit more cautiously this time.
Bruce huffed a quiet laugh. “I am now.”
That was all the encouragement Steven needed.
“Oh, brilliant,” Steven said, visibly perking up. “Right, this piece here-” He said and pointed at the golden atrefact. “What’s fascinating is how the inscriptions aren’t just decorative. They’re structured almost like instructions.”
Bruce leaned in slightly, hands tucked into his pockets, listening.
“Instructions?” he echoed.
“Yes! Like, look-” Steven pointed carefully closer, keeping a respectful distance from the glass. “The way the symbols are arranged, they follow a sort of directional logic. It’s less about storytelling and more about function. They’re guiding something or protecting, maybe even activating.”
Bruce studied it a moment longer. “So not just symbolic, but practical.”
“Exactly!” Steven said, pleased. “Most people see hieroglyphs and think ‘story,’ but a lot of it is about purpose. Protection, transition, identity, especially in funerary contexts. It’s all very intentional.”
Bruce nodded slowly. “I like that. That there’s intent behind it.”
“Oh, absolutely,” Steven continued, warming up now. “And this one-, see the placement? It’s positioned near the center of the object, which suggests it wasn’t just decorative, it was meant to be seen and interacted with.”
Bruce raised an eyebrow slightly.
Steven hesitated, then gave a small, slightly sheepish smile. “I mean, not in a magical way, well, maybe in a ritual way. It's more about belief than literal power.”
Bruce’s expression softened. “Got it.”
Steven nodded quickly. “It’s all about context. The people who made these believed these symbols had weight. Even if we interpret them differently now, that belief shaped how they were used.”
Bruce glanced at another artifact nearby. “That’s kind of like… how we treat technology now, I guess.”
Steven blinked. “Oh?”
“People assign meaning to it,” Bruce said. “Trust it, fear it, depend on it. Even if it’s just… tools.”
Steven considered that, then smiled. “That’s a very thoughtful comparison.”
Bruce gave a small shrug. “Occupational hazard.”
Steven let out a quiet chuckle.
They moved slowly along the exhibit, Steven occasionally pointing things out, Bruce asking quiet, thoughtful questions. The conversation flowed easily.. just two people genuinely interested in what was in front of them.
At one point, Steven paused at a different display, his voice softening slightly.
“This one’s… more personal,” he said. “See how the markings are smaller? Less formal. It suggests it belonged to someone who wanted something more intimate and less about status.”
Bruce nodded. “Feels different.”
“Mm,” Steven agreed. “Sometimes the smallest pieces carry the most intention.”
They stood there for a moment in comfortable silence.
Then Bruce glanced at his watch.
His expression shifted slightly.
“Ah,” he murmured.
Steven noticed immediately. “Oh—sorry, I’ve kept you, haven’t I? I do tend to lose track of time when I get going.”
Bruce shook his head. “No, you’re good. This was… nice.”
Steven smiled, a little bashful. “I’m glad.”
Bruce turned to face him fully now.
“I’m sorry, I have to go,” he said.
Steven nodded quickly. “Of course, yes, no problem at all, important Avenger things-”
Bruce gave a small, knowing look at the last part but didn’t comment on it.
Instead, he smiled. “You’re good at that,” Bruce said. “Explaining things. Making them easier.”
Steven blinked, caught off guard.
“…Thank you.” he said quietly.
“You’d make a great tour guide, Steven.” Bruce said and stepped back, then adding, “Let’s talk more about Egyptian symbolism soon, yeah?”
Steven’s face lit up slightly. “Oh! Absolutely, I would love that! There’s a new exhibit on the 31st..?”
Bruce nodded once, satisfied, then turned to leave.
Steven watched him go for a moment, then looked back at the artifacts with a soft, thoughtful expression.
------------------------------------
Avengers+
BetterBird
I don't even care anymore what we watch
IronDad
Im not watching Nats Cold War Documentary
Natasha
And Im not watching Forbbiden Planet
OG bird
ughhhhhhhhhhhhh those both suckkkkkkk
OG bird
You guys suckkkkkkkkkk
SpiderMan
Why can’t we just watch Alien?
IronDad
cuz Steve and Sam watched that like two weeks ago without telling any of us
OG bird
Boooooo
BetterBird
Steve didn't like it anyways
SpiderMan
I HAVE A SOLUTION
[SpiderMan added WhereIsGus to the Group]
SpiderMan
MOON KNIGHT SHALL DECIDE OUR FATE
WhereIsGus
What the fuck does that mean
WhereIsGus
This is Marc btw, Hi
WhereIsGus
What am I doing here
SpiderMan
YOUUUU HAVE BEEN SELECTED
TheBanner
Were indecisive what to watch for movie night
IronDad
You're welcome to come btw Moony
Natasha
You can come as long as you don't suggest watching Forbidden Planet
BetterBird
Oh my god at this rate were not gonna watch anything
WhereIsGus
You guys have movie nights..?
IronDad
Regularly. Apparently we have to “culturize” ourselves
WhereIsGus
Okay..?
SpiderMan
Please come!! Its super fun :DD
OG bird
What Spidey said
WhereIsGus
Uh
WhereIsGus
Sure I guess I can come over
