Archive of Our Own ^beta

Peter thinks, privately, that Tuesdays really just suck.

Sure, the universal fact that Tuesdays suck might, possibly, be due to the fact that he’s been drugged, kidnapped and tied to a chair in the most cliché warehouse ever. However, his awful day started out several hours before with an alarm clock that didn’t go off on time, a coffee stain on his brand-new shirt and an English lit test during first period. Not that he even made it to first period, because apparently his kidnappers took the early morning shift instead of the late night one.

Honestly though? If he has to choose between being kidnapped and taking that English Lit test, he isn’t quite sure that he’d pick the test.

Being kidnaped isn’t so bad, either. With the drugs almost out of his system, he gets to sit in a chair and watch as his four kidnappers bumble around their secret warehouse. There’s two women and two men—perfectly even for diversity purposes, Peter assumes—dressed in black ski masks, black pants and black shirts. They shift around in the relative darkness of the warehouse since the only light is through the sky-high windows near the ceiling of the building. Every once in a while, Peter will hear a curse or a panicked whisper from one kidnapper as they try to desperately set up…whatever they’re setting up.

It’s basically free entertainment.

Distantly, he’s aware that he should probably be a little more suspicious of why they kidnapped him of all people, but logic works its way through his brain and he knows that there are a multitude of reasons why someone would go after him. It’s obviously not a Spider-Man reason—he can tell that just by the rope, instead of vibranium, around his wrists. That typically leaves the whole Tony Stark intern reason which isn’t common knowledge, exactly, but definitely not hidden if someone wants to do a little digging. Peter has to put something on his college resumé, after all.

His kidnappers are all more than a little frustrated if the muffled curse words and low bickering are anything to go by. They don’t seem to take notice of him, either, which is really just bad etiquette at this point. They’re messing with something tech based (A camera? Or perhaps a phone?) at their lone desk a couple feet away from where Peter sits, alone, in the middle of absolutely nothing but dust bunnies and old wrappers.

Obviously interior design is not a concern when it comes to warehouse decorations.

“I thought you said this would work,” one of them hisses, loud enough that his voice bounces off the walls.

“You should probably film a kidnapping video if you want to seem professional,” Peter offers, helpfully, but Peter’s never kidnapped someone so he can’t really be considered the expert here.

All four of them snap their heads in his direction. The woman on the left—tall, broad, and in high heels of all things—has her mouth open in shock. The man holding the tech (which is a phone) is rather short, sandy blonde hair and the obvious black ski mask that comes up to his nose. There’s the other two—one short haired woman and the other tall, buff guy with a bat. They vary in their levels of surprise but it seems than none of them accounted for Peter’s super metabolism getting rid of drugs fast than it should.

“Hey,” Peter says.

“What the fuck—” High-heels woman starts, then turns and snaps, “Why is the kid awake? Josie! I thought I said give him enough to take him out for another couple hours!”

“I did!” Josie hollers right back.

“That’s really unfortunate,” Peter tells her, just because he can. Also because if they had to ruin his day then he might as well have some fun before he completely demolishes theirs.

High-heels doesn’t seem to like that very much and marches right up to grab his face. She leans in really close—too close, actually, because Peter knows she has not brushed her teeth recently by the way they smell—and forces him to look upward. Peter hopes she sees how apathetic he feels right now.

“So this is Tony Stark’s intern,” she muses, eyebrow raised like she isn’t impressed. Tough crowd. She lets go of his face. Peter stretches his jaws where her nails dug in. “Whatever. You are going to sit here, shut up, and look pretty until we get everything ready.”

“Sure,” Peter agrees easily because he’s fantastic at sitting and looking pretty. Like, truthfully, talented.  

His tone surprises her enough that she pauses before shaking her head and yelling, “Derek! Is the phone ready yet?”

Derek, the short guy with the phone, yells back, “Almost!”

“Well hurry the fuck up!”

“Shouldn’t you have this pre-prepared before the kidnapping victim gets here?” Peter asks because he’s never really been good at the whole shut up part. High-heels turns to glare at him. She grabs his face again and shakes it around. Peter has to stop himself before he bites her fingers.  

“I told you to shut up,” she hisses, “Derek!”

“It’s ready!”

High-heels gives him a particularly vindictive smile as she snakes around his chair and yanks the back of it so she’s dragging Peter across the floor. The scarping sound grates on his sensitive ears and Peter tries not to be annoyed, but, really, why not position the chair closer to the desk if she’s just going to drag him over anyways? If it’s for dramatic effect, well, Peter can’t say he’s intimidated.  

It must show on his face because Tall-buff Dude asks, “Shouldn’t you be screaming in terror?”

Peter gives them the most incredulous look he can muster, “You took me away from my English Lit test. If anything, I should be thanking you.”

“The fuck is this kid,” Derek is eyeing him, more than a little confused. If Derek didn’t willingly kidnap sixteen year olds, Peter might have more sympathy.  

Josie won’t meet his eyes. High-heels rattles his chair aggressively from behind him. Tall-Buff dude snorts. At least someone here has a sense of humor.

“Enough of this,” High-heels snaps. She must be the leader or something because the other three seem to stop what they’re doing and listen. She pokes Peter in the chest, “You are going to call Tony Stark—"

“Isn’t he going to track the phone?” Peter interrupts because what kind of plan involves calling Tony Stark? “Why would you want to call Iron Man? He’s a tech genius. An actual superhero. You guys do realize he makes a living by saving people, right?”

“He can’t track that phone,” High-heels says.

“Can he though?” Peter says, offhandedly, “I mean, he is Tony Stark.”

High-heels looks unsure enough to glance at Derek, but Derek only shakes his head. She narrows her eyes and continues as if Peter hadn’t interrupted, “You’re Tony Stark’s intern, so you are the one that’s going to call Tony Stark.”

“Why do you even want Mr. Stark?” Peter complains because if he’s gonna be tied up in a chair, then these asshole are going to hear about it, “Money? Glory? Any specific goals besides pissing off the man in a weaponized suit of armor?”

“We don’t want Tony Stark,” Josie snorts, like Peter made a joke. Peter thinks she’s an asshole.

It’s High-heels that answers in that smug way that all villains do—head high, slight smirk and cocky tone. Her eyes flicker in the dimly lit room and she says, slowly, “We only want Spider-Man.”

Oh. Huh. That's new. 

“You have got to be kidding me,” says Peter Parker, who conveniently happens to be Spider-Man unbeknownst to his kidnappers.

They must take his surprise for terror. Josie actually looks at him with a smirk when she says, “We’re not.”

Peter goes through all five stages of grief in the time it takes him to process the fact that they unknowingly kidnapped Spider-Man while trying to get to Spider-Man. His life has officially crossed the border from unusual to downright weird as if being bitten by a radioactive spider, becoming a teenage vigilante and hanging out with The Tony Stark isn’t already a trip and a half on the abnormal scale.

Derek punches in a number. Peter can hear it dialing even before he puts it on speaker and near Peter’s face. He almost hopes that Mr. Stark doesn’t answer at all because wouldn’t that be an ego boost.

As per Parker luck, Mr. Stark does pick up.  

“Who is this and how did you get this number?” Mr. Stark’s voice comes through the line. He sounds more than a little exhausted and rightfully pissed off, “I am in a rather important, albeit stressful, meeting right now so if this can wait—"

“He cannot wait,” Tall-buff Dude says. Derek smacks Peter on the side of the head and makes the universal start talking motion with his hands, “Talk.”

“Ow,hey—” Peter tries not to roll his eyes, but starts talking anyways, “Mr. Stark! So funny story, I actually got kidnapped. I mean I was just minding my own business right? I had that English test, the one that I was telling you about yesterday. Remember when we were in your lab? I think I remember mentioning it but I’m not sure—”

“Peter,” Mr. Stark tries. He sounds surprised, so that’s pretty neat. Peter hasn’t managed to surprise Mr. Stark in a while.

Peter continues on, “Anyways, my alarm didn’t go off so I was late leaving the door and I was kinda already stressed about the entire thing y’know? I was almost late for class and still really, really far so I was speed-walking to school like a normal kid, not at all taking the fast way ‘cause you got mad last time I did that. I’m still trying to go over English test stuff in my head because I did not study for this test at all so I’m not exactly paying attention when—"

High-heels must have enough of him talking which, rude, because she snatches the phone from his face.

“Bring Spider-Man to us,” High-heels says and rattles off an address “If that bug isn’t here in the next twenty four hours, then the intern gets it. We are not going to ask a second time.”

There’s a pause.

Then, “You want Spider-Man?”

“In exchange for your intern,” High-heels affirms.

“Spider-Man,” Mr. Stark repeats. Peter thinks he sounds more amused than worried for Peter’s apparent safety.

“Twenty four hours, Stark,” High-heels says, “Spider-Man is not an easy person to get in contact with, so I would hurry.”

Peter bites his lip hard enough to leave a mark in order to keep his big mouth shut.

“You interrupted my meeting, kidnapped my intern and are demanding I hand you Spider-Man? Is this a joke?” Mr. Stark actually laughs this time.

“This is not a joke, Stark—” High-heels tries but Mr. Stark is a man on a mission and no one is going to stop him when he gets going.

“This is ridiculous,” Mr. Stark snorts. He does seem rather serious when he says, “Peter, I’m going to come get you, so just stay—"

High-heels makes the cut motion with her hands. Derek goes to hang up the phone. Peter has just enough time to shout, “It’s all cool, I’vegotthisbye!”

The phone goes silent. There’s a good ten seconds of silence from everyone in the room.

“So I think that went well,” Peter says.

High-heels turns to him furiously. She grabs his face again and sneers, “You had one job, brat.”

Peter thinks he did a pretty good job considering so he sticks his tongue out at her. She smacks his face like an asshole. It’s not his fault that all the directions they gave him were call Mr. Stark. It’s not like they said beg for your life or bargain for your safety. Besides, Peter has never really been the begging type of person.

He’s definitely not the type of person to sit around and wait to be rescued, unfortunately for these baddies. With Mr. Stark hunting him down, he’s now on a time crunch.

“You know people who call and threaten Mr. Stark always lose right?” Peter says as he flexes his wrists and feels the rope stretch under his strength. He conveniently leaves out that Iron Man is not the person that they need to worry about the most. “That’s a thing that happens.”

“He’s never met us before,” Josie says like a stereotypical villain.

“That is so obnoxiously cliché,” he tells her.

Of course, it’s High-heels who gets annoyed first. She turns to give Tall-buff Dude a pointed look and says, “Put his chair back.”

Put his chair back means dragging him back to his lonesome spot in the center of the warehouse. Peter thinks it’s because it’s far enough out of hearing range for a normal person. They just leave him, alone, to congregate by the desk. To add on to their bad luck, they don’t take Peter’s enhanced hearing into consideration so Peter’s privileged enough to hear all about their whispered plans, information and other drama that goes on when you kidnap a sixteen year old off the street in broad daylight.

Peter’s not sure how much time passes while he sits in silence—it’s not like he’s got a clock or anything—but he is aware of how boring it is. It’s almost enough to make him wish that he’s taking that English Lit test because at least he’d be able to do something. 

Peter knows Mr. Stark is on his way. He’s not worried in that aspect, but he’s also not really prepared for the mortal embarrassment that he’s going to feel when Mr. Stark flies through the warehouse like a knight in shining Iron Man armor. He could just break the ropes and kick ass, but that runs the very high risk of outing his identity to a bunch of criminals for the second time.

Ugh. Stupid secret identities. Stupid kidnappers.

“So why Spider-Man?” Peter calls from his spot in the chair. If he’s stuck debating whether or not he wants to break out, then he might as well make some conversation. “New York is full of vigilantes and heroes. I hear Daredevil is pretty easy to contact if you know the right people. Deadpool’s probably in the area. You could’ve just gone for Mr. Stark directly.”

“That’s none of your business,” Josie says. It kinda is Peter’s business but he’s not going be the one that says that.

“All you need to know is when we get him, we are going to squish him like a bug,” Derek says and laughs.

Peter stares at the ceiling and imagines that he’s currently taking his English lit test.

“The bug joke is so old, you guys. It’s so old,” Peter says as if he hasn’t been called a bug for the last two years. Just to be inconspicuous, he tacks on, “He’s a spider.”

“Spiders are bugs,” says Josie, who has obviously never taken a basic entomology class.

“They’re not.”

“Insects, then,” Tall-buff Dude says.

“They’re not!” Peter huffs, “They’re arachnids.”

“You can squish both,” High-heels says, making it sound like the end of the conversation.

Peter’s not done, however, because he’s spent most of his free time researching spiders and he knows when he’s right. Hours and hours of research, in fact. He’s made a game of reading as many articles, papers and undergrad or graduate thesis that he can get his hands on. If Mr. Stark noticed the charges made to his card for spider-related paywalls, he’s never mentioned it.

“Have you ever seen a Bird-Eater in person?” Peter asks with a challenge in his voice, “A Giant Huntsman? Hercules Baboon Spider? They’re a little bit too big for you lot to just smash with your feet.”

“Then we’ll use a gun,” Josie snaps, “Just like with Spider-Man!”

Peter wrinkles his noise, “You can’t squash something with a gun.”

“Can you please shut him up?” High-heels says, sounding more than a little exasperated. Peter sticks his tongue out at her when her back is turned. “Knock him out or something!”

“Please,” Peter says, “A nap would be nice right about now.”

Derek stares at him. Peter winks. Derek leans just a little bit further away and says, “Literally what the fuck is with this kid.”

“Shut him up!” High-heels screeches.

That must be at the end of their string of patience because Tall-buff Dude comes at him with a bat and, yeah, Peter decides that he really doesn’t want to heal from a concussion tomorrow. Kidnapping has been fun and all, but Peter has homework and an aunt to worry about so he really doesn’t have much time to stay and chat with a group of assholes. 

He thinks that a kid breaking rope with his bare hands might be a little suspicious, but if he can play it right, he might just be able to get out of here with his identity intact. He’ll just be remembered as that sixteen year old kid who can secretly throw hands pretty damn well. If ten year old Kevin McCallister can send a bunch of baddies running, then there is no reason that sixteen year old Peter Parker can’t do the same. New Yorkers have always been made out of some tough stuff. 

If that doesn’t work out, then Peter’s Plan B includes hitting them really, really hard and hope that they forget this every happened in the first place.

He snaps the ropes behind his back just in time to catch the bat hurtling towards his face. Tall-buff dude is so surprised that he hesitates for just a second. Peter takes that second to wrench the bat out of his hands and throw the handle into his stomach. He’s down on his knees and out before the other three even realize what was happening.

High-heels stares at him. Derek drops his phone. Josie actually has an emotional expression on her face.

Peter holds out the bat with a friendly smile, “I think you dropped this.”

High-heels is so mad that she pulls the gun out of her clothes with an angry screech. Derek takes a nose dive towards the computer and Josie eases back to grab another firearm from the desk.

Peter’s spidey-sense screams in the back of his mind. He has just enough time to duck out of the way and into the shadows of the warehouse before they start shooting at him.

Bullets rain past. Several hit the walls a ricochet around him. Some splinter on impact. High-heels is screeching like an owl with how mad she is. Peter speeds around the edge of the warehouse and just generally tries not to be shot. He’s covered enough by the darkness that they can’t, technically, see that he’s dodging most of them.

Thank you, spidey-sense. Sometime you are more than just weaponized anxiety.

 “Shooting at people is rude!” Peter snaps.

He snakes out, snatches what remained of his kidnapping chair before throwing it hard enough to knock High-heels off balance. He’s on her before she can recover, throwing her to the ground and out of the way. She skids for a few feet, puffing. Peter uses the time to snatch Josie’s gun from her hands and flip the desk so it lands squarely on Derek’s back. Their guns skid out of their hands and go catering to the other side of the building. 

Derek squirms, but is unable to move. Josie holds up her arms, looking mildly terrified, and says, “I didn’t know we were dealing with a James Bond. Jesus fucking Christ, don’t kill me.”

“What the hell does Stark feed his interns,” Derek wheezes from under the desk.

Peter crosses his arms over his chest, raises his eyebrow and gives them the most disappointed look he can muster, “Don’t kidnap people. It’s tactless.”

“Please get this desk off of me,” Derek sounds actually pained.

“You deserve that,” Peter tells him. Then he knocks Josie and Derek out in just enough time to catch the fist that High-heels has aimed at the back of his head. It’s sloppy, at best, and Peter has no problem throwing her over his shoulder.

“You,” she hisses, sounding enraged but she’s the one who kidnapped him so, really, who’s at fault here?

“Can we not do this,” Peter says. She doesn’t listen. When she lunges again, Peter takes the time to slip under and elbow her in the stomach. She goes down, hard, and luckily for Peter she doesn’t look like she’s going to be moving any time soon.

The fight doesn’t even last five minutes. The worst Peter got out of it is some dust on his brand-new jeans that he and Aunt May got on their last shopping trip.

There’s an exit door in the corner. Peter starts walking towards it when a thought occurs to him. He stops, the feeling of defeat pooling in his stomach, because he distinctly remembers that he has absolutely no idea where he is. When he opens the doors, he is not, in fact, surrounded by the skyscrapers of New York City but instead thousands and thousands of trees.

Peter is in the middle of absolutely nowhere with no way to get home.

“Well fuck,” Peter says to the four unconscious people and empty warehouse.

Peter decides, eventually, that waiting to be rescued might be his best bet. He lumbers around the outside of the warehouse for a while, walking in circles just to keep himself busy. He makes sure that criminals one through four are safe, securely tied up and definitely not about to wake up any time soon. For a while, he lounges on the grass outside and counts the number of clouds. He tries to use the phone to call Mr. Stark again, but it had been broken in the shooting, which, in Peter’s opinion, is pretty standard luck.

There’s a point that Peter wished he was taking that English test. That point is the lowest Peter has ever been as a person, second only to the time when he ordered ten Big Macs from Uber-eats instead of walking down two blocks to pick it up himself.

It’s about four hours in when Peter, having nothing better to do than nap against the doors of the warehouse, hears the distinct sounds of Iron Man’s repulsors from above him. Mr. Stark lands not ten feet from him and steps out of his suit when Peter finally opens his eyes and blinks languidly.

Peter gets to his feet and stretches his arms over his head with a casual, “Hey, Mr. Stark.”

“You couldn’t have waited at all?” Mr. Stark says. He sounds amused even though he knows Mr. Stark is doing that weird worried parent once over that all adults seem to do after he takes names and kicks ass.

It’s cool and all to be picked up by Mr. Stark, mostly because Peter really doesn’t want to walk back to NYC on foot—his driver’s license is still a work in progress, but, well, he lives in New York City and he’s Spider-Man. There’s really no need for a hurry, he can get around just fine. He stops, though, because during his fixation on Mr. Stark he failed to realize that Mr. Stark brought company.

Peter stares at the Avengers, rouge and all. The Avengers, rogue and all, stare right back. Mr. Stark doesn’t seem to be very inclined to fight them, so Peter assumes there’s some Avengers resolutions that he’s missed in the past few hours he’d been gone.

Peter looks at Mr. Stark, “If I had known you were making this an Avengers field trip I would’ve made myself more presentable—holy shit, that’s Captain America.”

Actual Steve Rogers stands before Peter Parker, not in an airport in Germany but in the middle of Bumfuck, New York dressed in nothing more than a faded T-Shirt and jeans. He looks different than before, beard and all, but Peter’s looked at his Captain America trading cards enough to know how to recognize him on site. Captain America looks more than a little confused and rather overwhelmed for a guy that was supposed to be pretty unshakable.

“Peter,” Mr. Stark tries to reign him in, but Peter’s got a one track mind and right now that mind is set in Captain America mode.

Peter reaches out to shake Mr. America’s hand. Mr. America accepts, but the confused expression on his face is about as readable as a children’s book. Mr. Falcon looks like he might pass out from repressed laughter. “Wow, sir, I’m a huge fan, really—”

“Peter," Mr. Stark tries again. Peter legs go of Actual Captain America’s hand and backs off to stand next to Mr. Stark. Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff and Sam Wilson stand across to them, looking both amused and confused at the same time.

“What are you all even doing here?” Peter asks and shifts his weight to the balls of his feel and back to his heels. “Y'know, war criminals and all.”

He glances at Mr. Stark, who’s a little tense but doesn’t look like he’s about to create Berlin 2.0 again. Peter knows there’s some bad blood there—most of the world, at this point, knows of Mr. Stark and Mr. Roger’s disagreement. Peter had a little post-airport googling session on the accords, but what happened during the split seems a little more personal. Peter’s never really been one to poke his head into nasty personal problem, so he never really got the chance to ask.

“Stark,” Mr. Rogers says and he’s a little quiet. Peter wonders how much Mr. Stark told about the entire situation and about him especially. If the looks he’s currently getting were anything to go by, Peter assumes the answer to both is not much. “What, exactly, is going on?”

Mr. Stark sighs and pushes Peter forward.

“Hi!” Peter says, “I’m Peter.”

Sam Wilson looks at him like he’s grown a second head, “I thought you were kidnapped?”

“That was almost a dad joke,” Peter informs him brightly. Mr. Wilson looks like he can’t decide between laughing and throwing Peter out a window. “Kidnappers didn’t do a really good job of kidnapping. They’re inside.”

“Are you hurt?” Mr. Stark asks and yanks him back a little bit. Peter stumbles, but Mr. Stark catches him by the shoulders and does another one of his once overs. Peter tries not to roll his eyes because he’s fine, really. Mr. Stark comes to the same conclusion if the small, teasing smile on his face is anything to go by. When Peter is deemed, in fact, A-okay, he says, “They really kidnapped you to get to Spider-Man?”

Peter grins, “Isn’t that funny?”

“I’m missing something here, I think,” Mr. Wilson says. Ms. Romanoff is watching the two of them, eyebrows raised, like she knows exactly what is going on here. She probably does. Super-spies are intimidating like that.

“Whatever, I was planning on doing this anyways,” Mr. Stark says and pushes Peter forward a little bit. Seeing the nod on Peter’s face, Mr. Stark plows on, “Team, meet Spider-Man. Spider-Man, meet team.”

“Hi,” Peter says.

There’s silence for all of five seconds. Mr. Wilson looks like he’s about to have an aneurysm but Ms. Romanoff and Mr. Rogers seem to be incredibly composed. Peter wishes he has that kind of unshakable vibe.

Mr. Stark must see something on their faces because he sighs and makes a get on with it gesture with his hands, “Alright, get it out of your systems so I don’t have to deal with this on the ride back.”

“You’re letting a child on the Avengers?” Ms. Romanoff asks smoothly. Peter almost sticks her tongue out at her, like an adult, but her tone isn’t mocking, exactly. More curious than accusing.

“Please,” Mr. Stark says, “Please try and stop him. I’ve tried. His aunt has tried. We have all tried.”

Mr. Stark actually sounds exhausted and Peter knows he’s the sole reason for that so he flip-flops between feeling amused and guilty.

“I’m more like Junior Varsity Avenger anyways,” Peter says, “I’ve got things to do, y’know? Old ladies that need help crossing the street. Grand theft bicycle. A mugging or two if I’m lucky.”

“His Weenie Hut Juniors ticket hasn’t expired yet,” Mr. Stark confirms which is just a really crass way of saying that Peter's actually ten years old.

“He’s younger than Wanda. I don't know if this is the best idea,” Mr. Wilson says, slowly. He really seems like he’s the only one worried about an actual sixteen year old swinging around New York City in brightly colored spandex with a spider theme.

“He can stick to walls and bench press a truck,” Mr. Stark says as a way of defense. Peter throws out a peace sign when they turn to look at him. “Any more concerns?”

There are no more voiced concerns.

“Any hidden comments, Rogers?” Mr. Stark asks, but there’s an edge to his voice.

Peter glances at Mr. Stark, then at Mr. Rogers and very quickly decides that he is not, in fact, going to be wrapped up in this bullshit any time soon. They can sort their own problems out like adults. Peter has homework to do and kidnappers to avoid.

“When I was around his age, I faked my registration papers and enlisted in a war, then agreed to be experimented on in order to create the perfect solider,” Mr. Rogers aka Actual Captain America says, “It would be hypocritical of me to say anything about Peter’s situation.”

Mr. Stark seems satisfied with this answer, at least. Mr. Wilson certainly is not and tries to rip a new one then and there, but no one seems to be listening to him. Peter thinks he’s secretly bitter that he got his ass handed to him by a sixteen year old rookie in Berlin, but he doesn’t voice his thoughts for fear of a lecture. Instead, he turns to Captain America.

“I would die for you,” Peter informs him.

“Please don’t,” Mr. Rogers says. Ms. Romanoff hides her smile by looking the other direction. For a spy, she really isn’t fantastic at hiding how funny she finds this entire situation.

“That’s slang, Rogers,” Mr. Stark says even though Peter is dead serious. He’d die for Mr. Stark too, but doesn’t voice that thought because Mr. Stark is finally starting to relax a bit and Peter has been know to bring a sort of structured chaos into his life when least expected. “Now that this mess is all figured out, Underoos, you ready to head back?”

“My aunt is going to kill me,” Peter tells him in leu of an actual response. He’s dying to get back to the city. He’s never been one for trees and nature and kidnappings. Ned, predictably, is going to flip when Peter tells him. Peter's english teacher is going to, predictably, flip for an entirely different and much less fun reason. 

“Oh, absolutely,” Mr. Stark says, “She’s already left me sixteen angry voicemails.”

“My aunt is going to kill you,” Peter amends. Mr. Stark nods, like he’s already accepted his fate.

“Spangles, Birdy, Widow,” Mr. Stark says. “You coming or not? We still have a meeting to finish, accords to amend, and Avengers business to settle.”

“Ross’ ass to kick,” Mr. Wilson adds.

“Ross’ ass to kick,” Mr. Stark agrees.

That’s where Peter finds himself; exactly seven hours after his initial kidnapping on a quinjet surrounded by people he’s looked up to his entire life. It’s a little awkward, a little weird, but Peter finds that he’s not uncomfortable with any of them. Even Mr. Wilson, who hasn’t stopped shooting him looks since he first introduced himself as Spider-Man. Mr. Stark, while tense, doesn’t seem partially malicious when he teases the others and no one tries to stab Mr. Stark when he isn’t looking so Peter has some hope for the future of the Avengers.

There’s a long way to go and a lot of stuff to be talked over, but it’s a start. It’s fine, truthfully, because starting is always the hardest part. Peter is pretty damn confident they could figure out the rest.