Chapter Text
The morning sun was just starting to crest the horizon, painting the Washington sky in streaks of pink and orange. Steve Rogers was on his fourth lap around the Tidal Basin, his breathing steady, his boots rhythmically hitting the pavement.
Then came the telltale thwip.
A red-and-blue figure swung down from a nearby monument, landing in a perfect, low crouch on the grass beside the path. Peter Parker popped up, adjusted his mask, and easily fell into step right next to the super soldier.
"Morning, Cap!" Peter chirped, completely unbothered by the brisk 30-mile-per-hour pace Steve was maintaining. "Nice day for a jog, huh? Air's crisp. Perfect for the lungs."
Steve couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face. "Morning, Peter. Aren't you supposed to be resting after that warehouse bust last night?"
"Oh, please. A few bruises? My metabolism burns through that stuff by breakfast," Peter waved a hand dismissively, his legs moving in a smooth, effortless stride to match Steve's enhanced output. "Besides, May thinks I'm at the library. Which is technically true, because I passed one on the way here."
Steve chuckled, shaking his head. Anyone else trying to keep up with him would be gasping for air, but Peter was just gliding along, hands casually resting behind his head for a brief moment before dropping back to his sides.
For the next three miles, Peter did what Peter did best: he talked. He talked about his latest web-fluid formula modification, a frustrating physics problem he had finally solved, and how Flash Thompson had accidentally glued his own hand to a desk in shop class.
Steve didn't say much, content to just listen. His team—the Avengers—was often heavy with the weight of the world. Heavy with trauma, secrets, and cosmic threats. But Peter? Peter brought a light into the compound that it desperately needed.
As they rounded the final bend near the monument, Steve looked over at the kid. Peter was gesturing wildly with his hands as he described a particularly funny meme he’d seen online, completely unaware of how rare it was for someone to look at Captain America and just see a friend to chat with.
Sam and Bucky were his brothers in arms, men who shared his past and his scars. But Peter felt like a younger brother he wanted to protect from ever getting those scars in the first place. He was proud of the kid.
"So anyway, that's why I think pineapple belongs on pizza, structurally speaking, because the moisture content—" Peter stopped, noticing Steve's quiet smile. "What? Do I have web-fluid on my mask?"
"No, Peter," Steve said, slowing down to a brisk walk as they finished the loop. He reached out and playfully shoved the kid’s shoulder, a rare, relaxed gesture of pure affection. "Just glad you decided to join me today. Come on, I'll buy you a massive breakfast. You earned it."
Peter's eye lenses widened in sheer joy. "Stark's credit card?"
"Absolutely," Steve laughed.
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