Chapter Text
Mr. Stark was right. Peter loved the labs – even more than he had loved the game room or the new StarkPad, that had been in his bedroom. He had met Dr. Banner who was working on dozens of interesting projects and didn't seem to think it was strange to discuss ideas with a fifteen-year-old or that the teenager could jump to the ceiling and stick there (which Peter had done at one point to get a different angle to consider the way the experiment was laid out.
Dr. Banner was also the one who took a look at the time and suggested something to eat for all of them and showed Peter around the shared kitchen that Mr. Stark hadn't mentioned so far. (Although he probably would have if Peter had thought to ask, right? He had offered him small snacks from hidden stashes throughout the lab and after Dr. Banner had taken something, Peter decided that the “no eating in the lab” rule could probably be ignored as long as no toxic chemicals were involved.)
Anyway, Dr. Banner had put a hand on Mr. Stark's back and pretty much pushed him towards the elevator and the kitchen while keeping up a conversation with Peter and the protesting billionaire and then the day had improved in immeasurable proportions because, guess who strolled into the kitchen?
Really, guess. Okay, maybe the number of really exciting people that lived in Stark tower wasn't that big but CAPTAIN AMERICA. The real Captain America – come back to live, childhood hero of probably every boy Peter's age – in the uniform and without his helmet. The teenager couldn't help but gape and then a string of words wanted to come out of his mouth but got tangled up when the man smiled at him and offered his hand.
“So, you must be Peter Parker.”
And he definitely didn't nearly pass out just shaking Captain America's hand.
“Tony has talked a lot about you.” a smile in Mr. Stark's direction. “I'm Steve.”
Peter noticed Dr. Banner turning his head smiling in an almost bashful way as if there was a joke hidden in this situation.
“You're wearing the uniform, Capsicle.” Mr. Stark let himself be heard while helping himself to a cup of coffee and leaning back against the counter. “You don't really expect him to call you Steve, do you?”
Captain America honestly blushed and took back his hand to rub his own neck in embarrassment. “Just call him, Cap,” Peter was told while Mr. Stark's hand landed on his shoulder, “most of us do. Plus it's conveniently short when we're in a fight.”
The mention of fighting seemed to bring the idol back into the conversation.
“Oh yes, right, we'll be training together. Tony probably already gave you a StarkPad, right?”
The boy nodded. “Yeah, he hands those out like candy. Amazing technology.” Another smile and the impression of sparkling blue eyes. “It will have a timetable for you with scheduled training sessions. Those can be updated, so check the times regularly. As your team leader I expect obedience during training but especially in the field.”
“Yeah,” Mr. Stark chimed in, “failure to follow orders will result in discipline.” and he took a sip of his coffee. Peter blanched and then blushed, the picture of the scene in the training room vividly in his mind.
“I – I - “, he stammered before giving up and trying to save the situation by saluting and saying “Captain.” in a firmer voice. The adults laughed and the pressure on his chest lightened.
The world war veteran tipped his elbow and grinned: “A traditional salute is done with the right hand, pet.”
“Food is ready.” Bruce stated and motioned for all of them to sit down.
Once they were seated, Captain Rogers picked up the conversation. “If there are things you can't do or if you have an idea to improve the plan, you can talk to me but timing can be essential in a fight. It's almost always better to act on a less than ideal plan than not acting at all. Communication is important but it shouldn't waste time that would be better spent getting somebody out of danger. Learning to assess situations will be a big part of your training.”
Later that night, when Peter was lying in his new bed he still couldn't believe it. He would be learning tactics from Captain America himself. Be able to work with Tony Stark and Dr. Bruce Banner on their projects and get their help on his own ideas as well. One day soon, he might be able to become an Avenger. How did a simple orphan boy from Queens get that lucky? It was like befriending Harry Osborn times a hundred.
And then Peter started feeling bad. He had this whole new life because of that spider-bite and he couldn't tell his best friend or his aunt about it. He wouldn't need to hide parts of himself in the tower but outside of it, nobody could know about his powers.
And while everybody seemed very welcoming, he couldn't help wondering what would happen if things didn't work out. What if the Avengers found out that Peter wasn't really cut out to be a hero? What if he screwed up badly?
The list of rules and possible punishments hadn't seemed bad. Not leaving the tower without permission. Be sure to keep to his timetable. Protect his secret identity.
Punishments might range from a scolding over losing privileges to actual spankings but the last only for serious offenses like endangering himself or others needlessly. Some risks couldn't be avoided as a hero in training.
Peter sighed and tossed a bit in his bed.
He had seen the other teenagers again a bit later, when he wanted to visit the game room for a while. The boy, Pietro or Quicksilver, as he had been known to Peter before today, was lying on his stomach on one of the settees and his sister, the Scarlet witch, was sitting by his head, combing fingers through his hair. Both were talking with each other in a language the fifteen-year-old couldn't understand. Probably Sokovian, their mother tongue, but it made him hesitant to intrude and he left before they noticed he was there.
They were closer to his age than any of the others but that wasn't a guarantee that he would get along with them. Being in a bedroom on a floor he was having to himself suddenly felt very lonely.