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A slip of a lazy arm against a pile of textbooks is what yanks Peter Parker out of his daze. A small yelp escapes his lips in realization of one deadly mistake: he didn't call Aunt May. Too occupied in his latest experiment, he overstayed in one of Tony Stark’s labs. He's the worst hypocrite when it comes to Peter’s curfew.
He scrambles for his phone, cringing at the missed calls. A dumb move on his part - do not disturb works to keep him focused and also doomed. She picks up immediately. “Peter! I've been calling all night--” She broke off into a wild ramble, and Peter just waited it out.
He bit his lip. “I'm sorry, Aunt May. I crashed during my studies…” There was a sigh on the other end. “I'll be home soon.”
“It's almost three, Peter. I was worried sick! I even called Tony,” a cringe at the first name basis found itself on his face, “But he didn't pick up.”
“I'm sorry,” he apologized again. He leaned back in his chair. His unfinished project glared at him, jealous of the attention. “I got caught up. I'm the worst.”
“It's dangerous out there. A lot of crime has been happening lately! I don't want you staying out too late.”
Peter smiled wryly. He'd know about the crime lately. In fact, he's sporting a giant bruise under his Star Wars tee. “I'll be careful.”
She paused, seeming to be thinking. “It would be better if you stayed the night…” Peter perked up.
“Yes! Yes, it would!” He looked back at his neglectful experiment. “Thanks, Aunt May!”
“I love you,” she said. “Make sure you get some sleep!” Peter said a “I love you” back before ending the call. He grinned, pumping a fist in the air.
While sleeping over at the Avenger’s tower wasn't his favorite thing, Peter has done it a couple times now. More than once before, he's fallen asleep there. Every time, he feels like he's imposing. Like he doesn't belong.
He's sure Tony wouldn't mind. A fellow scientist would understand. He went back to tinkering with his prototype of a self manufacturing web fluid factor. It's quite large and going to be very difficult to hide. He might have to keep it at his internship, but if Tony finds it he's not sure how to explain his whole “I'm secretly Spider-Man” ordeal.
And, of course, being the largest (physically speaking) of his typical lab projects, he finds himself short of the proper tools. He looks around him for a hammer and falls short. Tony’s tool box is a few tables away. He'd be a dead man if he took them, though.
Well, without asking anyways. Not a bad idea to find Tony, not a bad idea to ask. If he values his life that is. Which he does.
The tower is terrifying at night. Nothing a superhero can't handle, but a spider bite isn't going to stop him from being scared.
“Mr. Stark?” he calls out. “Excuse me? Mr. Stark?”
Is he in trouble?
He's Iron Man, so it's not impossible. Aunt May said that he didn't pick up, which just rings in his ears as the silence grows and grows.
Whispering can turn into speaking, which can turn into yelling then screaming. Silence is silence. Somehow, the silence is louder and louder with each step he takes.
He gulps. “Mr. Stark!” His voice echoes throughout the quarters. He could be on any floor, the tower has hundreds, but he's usually in the common rooms if not his bedroom, which he had already tried.
“Tony!” His desperate voice screeches so loudly and so childlike that he doesn't recognize his own voice right away.
No response.
He could just be out at the store.
No, no. Tony Stark doesn't just go to the store. Jarvis shops for him. If he had a meeting or a conference, he would have said something.
He had to have been kidnapped.
Peter felt naked without his Spiderman suit. Push comes to shove calls for an unexpected bravery. Secret identity aside.
“T-Tony?” He's done some serious stuff before.
When he's not in his costume, he feels like a fifteen year old.
He is a fifteen year old, whether or not he's dressed up or not. Still, it makes him different.
“Not funny!” He calls out, hoping he's just trying to play some type of prank on him. “Tony! Are you h-here?”
He's stepping into the living room when he hears a loud crash.
He spun on his heels and ran towards it. “T-Tony!” He screeches, pushing the door open and the next five seconds passing in a flash.
In his blind rage, he had slipped on some weird liquid spill on his way to “rescue” Mr. Stark. He found himself face down on the floor, his clothes drenched.
He doesn't move for a couple moments.
“An intruder?” A man’s voice inquired sharply. He sucks in his breath.
“An intern.”
He wants to sob. Tony.
Arms grab him and he's hoisted to his feet. A rosy pink blush dusted his cheeks. “An idiot intern,” Tony says fondly. “Did you call me ‘Tony’?”
“I thought you were in danger!” he insisted, crossing his arms.
“I win! You finally called me Tony!” He cackled. “Down with the Mr. Stark BS.”
“Not fair! I was just worri…” he cut himself short. “I was looking for you.”
A savior, it’d seem, cut Tony off before he could run in the embarrassment even more.
“So this is the intern I've heard so much about?” A hand is held out to him.
Holy mother of motherfluffin’ bunnies.
Captain America.
“Hopefully good things?” Peter says, playing it cool.
In his confusion in the quick passing seconds, he failed to realize the multitude of persons in the living room. Lots of avengers.
Is this a dream?
He's covered in mysterious liquid.
Is this a nightmare?
He quickies fixes his hair to look what he guesses is somewhat presentable.
“Um, Mr. Stark,” he says, earning a groan, “Is it okay if borrow some tools?”
“There should be some on the table over there. Knock yourself out,” Banner said, stepping in. “You sounded pretty scared earlier. You okay?”
“Fine,” he replied. “Thank you.” He hesitated. “But, where were you guys? Didn't answer your phone…”
Tony waved him off. “Avengers Assemble, the whole shebang.”
Peter nodded. “I'm, uh, going to get back to work.” He fled the scene before he could hear any protests. He stopped by the table, grabbing a toolbox. Next to it lay a huge hammer, a fancy one at that. He grabbed it and started down towards the lab.
He plopped back down into his seat with the tools sprawled out in front of him.
Finally, he could finish this project.
He grabbed the hammer and was about to strike the nail when his door creaked open. Bruce poked his head through the doorway. “I made some coffee.”
He's setting the coffee down when he gazes upon the hammer in his hands. He shrieks, dropping the coffee. “ Peter!”
He drops the hammer. “I'm sorry! Tony said I could use it.”
His jaw is touching the floor. “Peter,” he seethes. “Do not use the hammer.”
“I didn't-”
“That is not Tony’s. Oh, no…” his mumbling of “oh god” and various curses are cut off by a lightning strike.
The whole tower shakes. “Peter, get the hammer. Now!” He didn't waste anytime. He reached out and grabbed the hammer and raced upstairs behind Bruce.
He raced back into the kitchen where the avengers were still lazing around. The Black Widow was sitting on the couch in her pajamas with a controller in her hands. Next to her was a visibly deflated Hawkeye, who was obviously losing at Mario kart. Steve Rogers and Peter’s boss were conversing by the couch. Lowering to the ground, a new sight, was the Norse god Thor.
Peter wasn't an idiot.
Bruce’s reaction, the fancy looking hammer, the god before him…
Why.
Peter ducked behind Bruce, his shield from what was about to follow.
Is he going to be mad? I did steal his hammer… how was I supposed to know?
“Peter has something to show you all.”
The tone in his voice sent Peter back to kindergarten. He spoke in the tone of an adult to a child when they're caught doing something wrong or dirty, but they don't know what they did wrong.
Peter wanted to drop the dirty book in his hands. The pressure was unbearable.
“Peter?” Bruce called. “Step out, please.”
He grimaced, wincing. He steps out, a child cowering behind his father.
“I-I am, uh,” he stammered, shaking. He didn't dare lift his eyes up the floor. “I am very, v-very sorry, Thor, Sir!”
The silence made him that much more nervous. He filled it with his own rambling. “I, uh, I needed a hammer for a project, and I thought it was Tony’s. I'm so, so sorry…!”
“Kid, just--”
“Look me in the eye, Young Peter.”
He gulped. Slowly, painfully , he eased his eyes up the ground to see the Avengers all in front of him. Tony looked… proud. Black Widow wore a small smile, Bruce still had that strange expression on his face, and Captain America was smiling.
Thor, however, was in shock. A few moments of awkward eye contact passed before Thor’s stoic face broke off into a ear to ear grin. “Worthy!”
Before he knew it, Peter was being hoisted up off the ground and thrown on top of his shoulder. A confused “huh!?” called out as he struggled to balance himself.
“Worthy! Worthy! Worthy!” Thor kept shouting.
“Mr. Stark! What's happening?” he exclaimed, gripping to Thor in fear he might fall off. “I'm sorry!”
“You did nothing wrong,” Mr. Stark said in a promising voice. “Trust me.”
Thor wouldn't let him off his shoulder through the rest of the night. The dark turned to light and by the time it was morning Peter was passed out asleep in Thor’s grip.
Hawkeye was in a similar state. Natasha had her feet propped up on his sleeping back. Steve was asking a wild rampage of questions about the movie they had watched, as being in a coma for a long while makes you miss a lot of movies.
“He's a good kid,” Steve said, smiling fondly at the small teen curled up against the god.
“He opens up more when he's tired,” Tony grinned, never seeing him being so out of bounds. If he wasn't dead tired, he wouldn't have crashed on top of a God of thunder.
The silence of the morning fell on them again.
A dangerous look passed on Natasha’s face, sending shivers down the spines of every wake person. Curiosity.
Peter Parker, inhaling and exhaling deeply in his sleepy state, has gained the interest of several avengers: a dangerous thing to do.