Work Text:
Perched on the edge of one of the tallest buildings in New York City, Peter Parker sat with his knees drawn up, boots resting against cold steel. Below him, the city stretched endlessly in every direction, a maze of streets and skyscrapers slowly coming alive as the sun dipped toward the horizon. Warm orange light bled across the sky, reflecting off glass windows, while thousands of artificial lights flickered on one by one, until the city glittered like it was made of stars.
It was overwhelming.
New York was loud, crowded, and impossibly big. Peter still wasn’t used to it. All his life, he had lived in a small, quiet town in Denmark, where everyone knew everyone and nothing ever really happened. Life there had been peaceful - safe, even - but painfully boring. His powers had been almost useless back home. There were no supervillains, no bank robberies, no collapsing buildings. Just calm streets and ordinary problems.
Here, though? Here he mattered.
At least in New York, he could help people.
The move hadn’t been his choice. The only reason they had come was because Aunt May had finally landed a job opportunity she couldn’t afford to turn down - one that actually paid well enough to keep them afloat. Peter knew she’d done it for both of them. Still, that didn’t make the transition any easier.
Especially since Peter couldn’t speak English.
He could read it just fine. Write it perfectly, even. But speaking it? That was a whole different story. Whenever he tried, the words tangled in his mouth, his accent thick and uncooperative, like he had a frog lodged in his throat. It was humiliating. Most of the time, when people talked to him, all he caught were fragments, “hello,” “yes,” “no,” “never”, just enough to know he was missing everything else.
That became a serious problem when he was trying to save people.
After a lot of late-night thinking (and tinkering), Peter had built a small in-ear translator. It filtered spoken English and converted it into Danish in real time. It wasn’t perfect, but it worked well enough to keep him from completely panicking mid-rescue. Unfortunately, it didn’t help him speak back. No amount of tech could fix that.
So he stayed quiet.
As Peter stared out over the city, lost in thought, the fine hairs on his arms suddenly stood on end.
Spider-sense.
A familiar, controlled hum followed - repulsors.
Peter turned just as a red-and-gold armored figure descended onto the rooftop, boots touching down with practiced ease. He relaxed slightly. No danger. Just Iron Man.
Peter had been crossing paths with the Avengers a lot lately. Not officially, no introductions, no invitations. It just happened. New York attracted trouble, and whenever trouble showed up, Peter showed up too. He helped where he could, stayed out of the way when he couldn’t. He hadn’t spoken a single word to any of them, but they didn’t seem bothered. If anything, they probably assumed he was just another quiet, awkward kid.
“Hey, Spidey,” Tony Stark said casually.
Peter turned fully and lifted a hand in a quick wave, waiting for the translator to process the words before reacting.
“Still no words?” Tony continued, helmet retracting as he sat down beside Peter, dangling his legs over the edge of the building like this was perfectly normal.
Peter shrugged, gaze dropping back to the city below.
When no response came, Tony sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Look, you’ve been helping us out a lot lately,” he said. “Like… a lot. So the others asked me to invite you to sit in on some of our strategy meetings.”
Peter’s head snapped up.
The Avengers. Inviting him. To meetings.
Tony watched the reaction with interest before adding, “But there’s kind of a catch. If you’re there, you’ll probably have to talk. So, how about we rip the Band-Aid off now? Just say something simple. ‘Thanks,’ maybe.”
Peter immediately shook his head, panic flashing through him. He dug into one of the hidden pockets of his suit and pulled out a small notepad and pen. (Yes, Spider-Man carried a notepad. It was practical.) He scribbled quickly before holding it up.
I won’t speak.
Tony squinted at the words, brows furrowing behind the now-open mask. “Kid, it’s just a few words-”
Peter was already writing again.
No. I’ll come and use my notepad, but I won’t speak.
Tony stared at the message for a long moment, clearly weighing his options. Finally, he exhaled sharply and stood. “You’re a weird one, you know that?”
Peter tilted his head, unapologetic.
Tony shook his head, then pointed a finger at him. “Fine. Avengers Tower. Tomorrow. Four p.m. Don’t be late.”
With that, Iron Man’s helmet slid back into place, repulsors flaring as he lifted off into the evening sky.
-
Peter had officially been working alongside the Avengers for two months now.
It still felt strange to think about. After that first interaction with Iron Man on the rooftop, he had actually shown up to the meeting, terrified, silent, and clutching his notepad like a lifeline. The first two meetings had been… awkward, to say the least. Whenever someone asked him a question, the room would go quiet as they waited for him to scribble down his response. It always took a few extra seconds, and Peter could feel every pair of eyes on him while he wrote. No one rushed him, but the silence alone was almost unbearable.
Despite that, he kept coming back.
Somehow, after those first meetings, things slowly got easier. The Avengers adjusted. They learned to pause after asking him something, to watch his hands instead of his face. Steve would wait patiently, Natasha would give him time without comment, and Bruce always smiled reassuringly whenever Peter finished writing. Tony pretended it didn’t bother him, though Peter caught him watching a little too closely sometimes.
Before long, Peter not speaking wasn’t strange anymore. It was just… how things were.
He even attended movie night.
That, admittedly, had ended in complete disaster.
Clint had somehow managed to accidentally shoot a goat - an act which, according to a very offended Thor, meant he had just killed a creature that was apparently the Prince of Asgard. The shouting that followed had been loud enough to make Peter retreat into the corner of the couch, silently clutching a bowl of popcorn while Loki laughed himself breathless. (Peter still wasn’t sure how Loki had even been there.)
Now, Peter sat quietly at the long table in the common area of Avengers Tower, listening as Natasha spoke. The translator in his ear worked as usual at first, smoothly converting her words into Danish.
“I’ll be on the rooftop over at Hawkins Street while-”
The sentence suddenly fractured.
“he- maple- now-”
Peter frowned, brows knitting together as the words stopped making sense. He lifted a hand and subtly adjusted the translator, fingers brushing the small device tucked behind his ear.
Nothing changed.
Natasha kept talking, but the translation only got worse. Disjointed syllables overlapped, entire words dropped out, and then-
A sharp, high-pitched screech burst from the device.
Peter flinched violently, hands flying up to clamp over his ears as pain lanced through his head. His enhanced hearing only made it worse. The noise cut off abruptly, leaving behind nothing but silence.
The translator had shut down completely.
Oh shit, Peter thought.
Heart racing, he reached up again, desperately fiddling with the device, trying to reboot it without drawing attention to himself. No luck. Dead. Completely dead.
Around him, the Avengers were still talking- no, arguing now. Voices overlapped, rising in volume, English blurring into incomprehensible noise. Without the translator, it was just sound without meaning. Peter caught nothing but tone and frustration.
Then, suddenly, Tony turned toward him.
Peter froze.
Tony said something- longer than usual. His mouth moved quickly, expression sharp and tired, and whatever he said sounded like absolute nonsense to Peter. The words might as well have been made up on the spot.
Peter swallowed.
Not knowing what else to do, he slowly nodded, pretending he understood.
The moment he did, Tony’s brows furrowed.
-
Tony Stark had learned two important things about Spider-Man over the past couple of months.
One: the kid was weirdly competent.
Two: he was weirdly quiet.
Normally, though, the quiet one followed along just fine. He nodded at the right moments, wrote answers that actually made sense, and never once ended up on the wrong rooftop. That’s why today stood out immediately.
Spider-Man was nodding too much.
Tony watched him from the head of the table as the meeting rolled on. Every instruction earned the same immediate, enthusiastic nod. No pause. No notepad. No clarification.
Tony decided to experiment.
“Okay, Spider-Man,” he said casually, “you’ll take Hawkins Street, rooftop overwatch.”
Nod.
Tony didn’t miss a beat. “Actually, ignore that. Go underground with Banner.”
Another nod.
Tony squinted. “Impressive multitasking.”
Spider-Man froze.
Ah. There it was.
Tony leaned forward. “Alright, buddy. Repeat the plan.”
Nothing.
Spider-Man’s shoulders tensed, and his hands lifted slightly toward his ears before he caught himself and dropped them again. His head tilted, like he was listening hard… but not understanding.
Natasha frowned. Steve leaned in. Bruce blinked.
Tony softened his tone. “Hey. You good?”
Spider-Man inhaled sharply.
Then, very suddenly, he spoke.
“Jeg forstår ikke hvad I siger, vent, nej-”
The words came out fast, frustrated, and very much not English.
The room went dead quiet.
Tony blinked. “…FRIDAY?”
“Danish,” FRIDAY replied brightly. “Translating.”
“I don’t understand what you’re saying, wait, no-”
Spider-Man winced and reached up, finally pressing two fingers behind his ear and speaking again.
“Min oversætter gik i stykker..”
FRIDAY continued.
“My translator broke.”
There was a beat.
Then Clint burst out laughing. “Oh thank god. I thought we broke him.”
Steve looked relieved. “So you usually understand us?”
Spider-Man nodded emphatically at friday’s voice., then stopped himself and gestured to his ear instead.
“Ja. Jeg har normalt en oversætter. Den stoppede med at virke et par minutter siden.”
FRIDAY translated.
“Yes. I normally have a translator. It stopped working a few minutes ago.”
Tony leaned back in his chair, letting out a long breath. “Okay. That makes way more sense.”
Natasha crossed her arms, amused. “So the nodding?”
“Det var bare et gæt.”
“That was just a guess,” FRIDAY translated.
Bruce smiled sympathetically. “Been there.”
Tony stood. “Alright, tech emergency, not existential crisis. FRIDAY, live-translate Danish to English for the rest of the meeting.”
“Already doing so, boss.”
Spider-Man visibly relaxed, shoulders dropping as the tension left his posture.
Tony pointed at him. “Next time the translator breaks, you don’t guess.”
Spider-Man hesitated, then spoke again, Danish quieter now.
“Jeg havde ikke lyst til at afbryde.”
“I didn’t want to interrupt.” FRIDAY translated.
Tony snorted. “Buddy, this team runs on interruptions.”
Clint raised a hand. “It’s kind of our brand.”
Tony grinned at Spider-Man. “You’re good. We’ll get your translator fixed, or upgraded, before you leave.”
Spider-Man nodded.
This time, Tony knew exactly why.