Chapter Text
The last few days had been rough.
Peter wasn’t eating. He wasn’t sleeping. But it wasn’t like last time- he wasn’t forcing himself to stay awake, or to ignore his hunger. He just, genuinely couldn’t bring himself to eat, and his sleep was frequently interrupted by… dreams. And, it wasn’t because he was disgusted with himself.
Well, he was disgusted. But for a different reason.
The last few days, Peter’s many eyes had been glued to the TV screen every afternoon at 5 PM sharp for the news update.
There was… a man.
A very bad man. The kind of bad that made the news. He was a primary school teacher in Brooklyn. A PE teacher. He coached the school’s junior footy team. And it came to light a few weeks ago, that he had been… hurting them. Some of the kids, during after school practice, while their parents were away getting coffee – catching up.
Apparently, it had been happening for months. A lot of months. And it made the news because, well, everyone wanted to know how the school had allowed this… man… to hurt their children for so long. How had no one noticed? How had none of them – not the other teachers, the principals, the nurses – seen the warning signs?
It sparked a lot of debate online about whether or not things in the school system needed to be changed. Some people said that it was just a one-time, freak occurrence, but many many more saw this as a wake-up call to start evaluating how this-kind of safety was handled in education.
And when it was time for the man’s trial, Peter saw it. And then he stayed with it, every afternoon, for updates. It was a compulsion- he felt sick to his stomach every time he flipped to the right channel, but he couldn’t look away. He needed to know.
Because it was reminding him of… things. Things that had not bothered him in a long, long time.
Tony was worried, Peter could tell. He kept telling Peter that he was here to talk if he needed. About anything. Peter appreciated it, but… Tony didn’t know. No one did, except May. And she was away at the moment- a friend of hers who ran a charity similar to FEAST in another state needed help with this big fundraiser and- well, May was not one to ignore people in need.
So it was just Tony and Peter at home, and while Peter did want to talk to him about it, desperately – it would mean explaining why this whole thing was bothering him so much in the first place. And that made bile rise up the back of his throat.
The last few days had been rough, but this afternoon had been by far the roughest.
The trial had been going well. There was a lot of evidence – and didn’t that make Peter want to throw up what little was in his stomach – and it looked like. It looked like. The jury was going to convict him, for all of it.
And then the evidence got thrown out. Every bit of it.
Mishandled, they said. Inadmissible in court.
Mishandled.
It had been stricken from the record, the jury ordered to disregard it when making their final decision.
And now, without testimony from the victims – because they were just little kids, of course they wouldn’t make them testify – the prosecution had next to nothing.
And then, this afternoon, they acquitted him.
That man. That- that man. Walked free.
And sure, people were mad. They argued about whose fault it was, who should be fired, held accountable. The news talked about how this was proof that the people assigned to handle evidence needed better training. So that next time, this didn’t happen. So that next time, they can do better.
Next time.
Next. Time.
Everyone was talking about how the trial was handled, everyone was talking about how to make sure it didn’t happen again.
But all Peter could think about was that man walking the streets. He’d never teach again. Even if he hadn’t lost his teaching credentials just on account of the accusation going to trial, the reputation he had now... it would have followed him no matter where he tried to teach.
But, as Peter was so unfortunately aware of, bad people didn’t need teaching licences to get access to kids. It just made it easier.
Peter thought he was familiar with how anger felt. It burned, like fire. Coursed through his veins like adrenaline with a bite. He knew how it twisted his thoughts, wiggled through his restraints, nudged him to hit just a little bit harder, come on, they deserve it- but this…
This was cold. It didn’t make his thoughts messy, it solidified them. Made them clearer. He watched the smile spread across that smug son of a bitch’s face when he heard the ruling, watched the news waffle on and on about the lesson to learn from this, and the anger spread through him like an injection.
Peter realised that this feeling was hate. Peter hated that man.
His Aunt taught him about hate. Raised him to never let that poison into his heart. But Peter figured, May wasn’t here. And surely one, just one, couldn’t hurt. He could keep this close to his chest. No one had to know that Peter hated.
(He realised, belatedly, that he felt more ashamed about this than he ever had about his mutations).
No doubt May had seen the trial on the news too. She’d probably talk to him about it when she got back. Until then, Peter just had to hold on. He just had to continue like normal (as normal as normal could be for him) and then when May got home, he’d scream and cry and whatever he needed to feel better again.
So, like normal, Peter went on patrol.
Normally, on a Friday night, one of the Avengers would join him, but they all had some publicity-gala-event-thing to go to. Pepper’d really put her foot down about this one- they were all attending, whether they liked it or not, because they all liked the Avengers being rich and that only worked if people liked them. Peter was exempt because, well, he was a 16-year-old boy. Not exactly publicity material.
Peter was honestly a little glad for it – he swung through the city on auto pilot, lost in his thoughts, dispatching criminals with a silence and efficiency that seemed to unnerve them. He didn’t have the energy for his usual chatter.
He was on his way back to the tower when he spotted a young girl, probably around his age, walking the streets alone. This immediately flagged for Peter. It sucked, but women really shouldn’t walk home alone at night – even as adults – and so he usually offered to escort them. Or, at the very least, he watched to make sure they didn’t get into to trouble.
Tired and still not feeling up to chatter, Peter chose the latter.
He stalked along the rooftops beside her silently, peering into every dark alleyway she passed to ensure they were empty. They all were, luckily – unless you counted various rodents and foul-smelling garbage heaps.
It was as she turned around the corner of the block that a man began to follow her.
Or, at least, it looked like he did. Peter’s eyes narrowed, and he crawled down to follow him along the wall just up and behind.
The man was wearing dark blue jeans and black jumper. The hood was off, but he walked with his head down and his steps quiet in such a way that screamed stalker. Peter frowned. The man hadn’t done anything yet, and Peter didn’t like to make assumptions, so he decided to just follow a little closer – like he already was – and nab the guy if he tried anything.
It was a solid plan, something he’d done plenty of times before. Most of the time the following party did turn out to be trouble – Peter’s intuition had been honed over the years – but he’d been wrong enough times that it was routine to hang back and wait.
But something about this guy itched at him. His Spider-sense wasn’t whispering danger, per say, but rather that he needed to get closer, get a good look, look at his face-
The stalker passed under a streetlamp where the light hit his shrouded face just right, and immediately, Peter understood. Following some whispered instinct, he fell back into the darkness of the rooftops.
The next alleyway they passed wasn’t empty.
The man from the news barely got out a startled mmph! before Peter webbed his mouth shut and dragged him into the shadows. The girl didn’t even look up from her phone.
Peter didn’t hesitate. A hand of the back of the man’s head snapped it hard into the brick wall, knocking him out instantly. Venom, carefully bitten into the pulse points, ensured that even if the man were to wake, he wouldn’t be able to move. The urges, the instincts, were bubbling up stronger and stronger from somewhere hidden within him, overwhelming any rational thought that might have told him to stop and think. Arms came out, gloves came off, and six hands weaved an intricate – and most importantly thick – cocoon around the man, starting from his grubby trainers and up and up to his-
Peter stopped at his face.
He stared, breathing laboured and heavy, like he’d just run a marathon. He was shocked. He vaguely remembered the news said something about the man living in New York, but still – Peter had never expected to run into him on patrol.
Or maybe he had. Maybe his Spider-sense had been silently leading him towards this the whole time. Peter couldn’t tell. He could barely think around the hate pulsing in time with his heartbeat.
He waited for that odd freezing rage to stop rushing his veins but it didn’t, it didn’t. It built in him like a tsunami, until he was shaking with the effort of holding it back. But he did, he held it in, because he was just stuck on the man’s face.
His skin was rough, pockmarked with old acne scars. There were bags under his eyes, framed by blonde lashes, like the colour of his hair. He had the beginnings of wrinkles, and the shadow of a beard coming in around his chin. He looked old. He looked tired. He didn’t look evil. But he was.
How many children had this man hurt? How many that they don’t know about, even now? How many children would he hurt if allowed to walk free?
It plucked at something in his chest, a discordant note deep and buried and muffled by layer after layer of scar tissue that he hadn’t dared examine in almost a decade. But now, looking at this- this criminal, this monster, Peter hurt. He hurt so deeply, for those children in afternoon practice, for that girl walking home alone, for a little boy who was too smart for his age and just wanted a friend-
Peter’s monster got caught. His monster got put away, far behind walls of concrete where Peter never had to see him again. But this monster, this monster- he got almost nothing for what he did.
And Peter realised how tired he was of this, of watching bad people do bad things and get away with it.
He realised how long it had been since he’d last eaten.
His Spider-sense whispered in the back of his mind. No one was around. No one was watching.
The man in front of him was silent, asleep, wrapped up so neatly in his beautiful, glistening web. It just seemed such an awful waste not to do anything with it.
And Peter was oh so hungry.
. . .
Happy was not happy. He rarely was, but this time he had like, a specific reason, rather than just a general discontentment with his situation and the behaviour of people around him. ‘People’ being Tony Stark. You know, because, for some reason, Happy decided it was a good idea to care about that absolute asshole and want him to not die and stuff. Sure, it was easy for the media to question Tony’s need for a bodyguard, given he was literally Iron Man, but Happy (and many of the people in Tony’s life) knew that what the media failed to account for was the level of sheer, reckless stupidity the billionaire engaged in. Happy had never someone so smart and so dumb at the same time.
Hence why he spent his days driving the idiot around and getting weird looks when he told people ‘Oh yeah I’m Iron Mans bodyguard.’
Happy used to have dreams, you know. He used to have hope for the world.
Now he just had a headache.
(He liked to moan and groan about it, but Happy did love Tony, and he did love watching out for him. The man was brilliant – and the fact that he needed someone like Happy? It gave him a sense of fulfillment he didn’t think he’d get doing anything else.)
The reason why Happy wasn’t happy today was because Pepper had decided that this time, the Avengers were going to attend the Gala, they were going to behave, and there would be no excuses. (Barton once claimed that he had to leave early because his daughter Lila called and said that her homework ate the dog, and he had to be home ASAP to help save him. Somehow, this excuse worked.)
Which is why she had confiscated their phones and left Happy to sit in a car and field their calls.
All of them.
So far, Natasha had received 6 calls from someone named Pyotr who kept threatening him for the location of a package that, from his vague explanations, was either cocaine or a live octopus. Sam had received 4 calls from an elderly man who kept forgetting that Happy had the phone and swore at him colourfully whenever he was told that Sam was unavailable. Steve received a call from Peter’s friend Ned sheepishly asking for help with a history assignment he forgot about, and what must have been a butt dial from Bucky’s cat, Alpine. (Happy absolutely did not stay on the phone with that cat for a full minute making cooing noises and listening to her sweet little trills.) Thor received 2 calls from someone who claimed be reaching out about his cars extended warranty, but was almost definitely actually Loki. (Which, um. Wasn’t he meant to be dead?) Wanda was called 17 times by someone who’s ringtone was a song that graphically described removing someone’s organs through their throat, and Happy refused to pick up. Clint only received one call from his son Nate asking for a bedtime story (which Happy begrudgingly provided)
All this to say that when Tony received a call from Peter Parker (Saved as Spider-Son, gag), Happy was already so, so so so so done.
He picked up.
“Hi, Tony! Erm, so, I kinda did something-”
“Yeahh, Tony’s busy Kid. Its Happy. Call him back in the morning.”
He hung up.
Immediately, Peter called again.
“Happy! Don’t hang up-”
“Peter, I am under threats from Pepper not to let Tony out for anything unless it’s vitally important, and that woman is not only terrifying, but she also pays my wage.”
“I know! But this is-”
“SO, UNLESS someone is dead or dying, Tony is unavailable. Capeesh?”
“but-”
“Dead or dying, Peter.”
“…um.”
“Peter, please tell me no one is dead or dying.”
“Yeah, so, about that…”
“Shit. I’m getting Tony now.” Happy got out of the car and walked swiftly to the elevator, a conveniently placed tracker hidden in his tie telling him that Tony was loitering near the bar. Surprise Surprise. “Are you okay?”
Peter laughed. “Oh yeah, I’m great. It’s the other guy who’s not looking too hot. In fact, I’d even say he’s looking cold. Because he’s, y’know, dead. LMAO.”
“…WHAT?”
“No no Happy chill it’s okay!! No one saw what happened, I’ve found a pretty good hiding spot for me and the uhhh, body, so really I just need a pickup from Tony and maybe like a biochemical waste disposal unit-”
“Did you kill someone???”
“No, I ate him.”
“You-” What? What??
Happy was at a loss for words. Where did he lose them, you ask? Probably the same place he lost his dignity and the $20 bill he found on the ground that one time.
The silenced stretched like a piece of bubble gum about to pop.
“He was very tasty.”
And there it went. Pop!
Happy groaned, preparing himself to figure out what the fuck was going on, and then he realised- wait! This isn’t my problem!
It’s Tony’s!
“You know what? I don’t have to deal with this. I do not physically have the capacity to handle the things coming out of your mouth. This is so far above my pay grade, I can’t believe Pepper has me doing this.”
“If it makes you feel any better Happy, I think you’re doing a great job. You’ve been very calm about the cannibalism.”
“Yeah so that actually doesn’t make me feel better. I’m gonna need you to stop saying words now.”
Finally, finally, the elevator doors opened to a very fancy, very shiny dining hall full of people and loud chatter. The décor was a little bit garish, but perfect for the breed of rich old person Stark Industries and the Avengers were attempting to bleed dry. Happy was momentarily concerned about getting through the simpering crowd to Tony, because Peter needed to be not-his-problem like, yesterday, but it seemed his resting bitch face was powerful enough to part the throng of drunken elderly like Moses with the Red Sea.
As he strode across the ballroom like The Winter Soldier on a mission (who Happy was amused to notice was currently swarmed by tipsy old ladies attempting to pinch his cheeks- all of them) Peter began to release his usual stream of innane chatter through the line. Happy was having none of it. He held the phone out like a bomb (which only helped people move out of his way) and walked it directly into Tony’s waiting hands.
The slightly drunk man had actually been reaching out to receive a drink from the bartender, and looked very confused to be holding a phone instead.
He looked at the phone. Looked at the drink. Looked at Happy.
He blinked.
“You know, Pep won’t be very happy with you for giving me this, Happy. Hah! Happy with Happy.”
Happy just sighed. Just sighed.
“It’s Peter, he ran into a problem on patrol.”
That seemed to sober Tony up pretty quick.
“Peter?!” Panicked, he brought the phone up to his ear and ran over to a quiet corner of the room near the entrance to the service halls. Happy deliberated just going home, but then he realised Tony would probably need a ride to wherever Peter (and the body!?) was, so he just sighed again and followed. Un-happy-ly.
“Kid? Kid, what’s going on. Happy said you ran into a problem?”
Unfortunately, Happy had not been given the gift of super-hearing, so he was stuck puzzling out the other side of the conversation from Tony’s facial expressions.
“Uhuh. Uhuh. Yeah.” Tony frowned. “Yeah, I can come get you. Are you hurt?” He paused to listen. “What do you need a biochemical waste disposal unit for?” His face darkened in a way it only did when someone he very much did not like was mentioned. “Yeah, I remember the man from the news. What do you mean how do I-? I hate the guy. I’ve been thinking about using some of my ‘blood money’ as May so aptly dubbed it to fund some less-than-legal means of justice, if you get what I mean. What does he have to-”
Tony’s face paled.
“WhAT DO YOU MEAN YOU ATE HIM?!”
His outburst was loud enough to catch the attention of some of the party-goers nearby. Most of them were understandably weirded out and shuffled away, but one or two (who Happy was willing to bet money were actually reporters) seemed intrigued and inched closer. Happy’s ‘Do Not Fuck With Me’ face was more than enough to send them running with tails between their legs.
It was unfortunately not enough to stop Pepper – having noticed the commotion from across the room - spotting Tony with his phone and making her way over.
Shit.
He turned back to Tony.
“Hey, boss, you might wanna wrap this up. We’ve been made- Peppers closing in.”
Tony didn’t answer, too busy talking to Peter, but he did start walking down the service entrance and gestured for Happy to follow.
“Okay. Okay! Let’s table the whole eating him thing for now. Why did you even- He was what? Oh, that son of a- Yeah, yeah, I’m not exactly sad he’s gone either. But still, you seem- No! I’m not saying you should be sad, he was a fucking pedophile. But I figured when you did finally snap you’d be a bit more… torn up about it. It’s not like you.”
Tony led them down a few twists and turns – Happy had no idea how Tony knew where to go – and eventually they emerged into the parking lot. He paused at the door, and Happy took that as his cue to lead them to the car. Happy totally remembered where he parked. Even if he didn’t, Tony was to busy listening intently to notice Happy’s fumbling.
“Look, kid, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” Whatever Peter said seemed to throw Tony for a second. “May? Are you sure you want me to call her- yeah, okay, I’ll call Aunt Hottie- Underoos, you just ate someone, you don’t get to be pissed at me for stupid nicknames.” Happy could hear unintelligible screaming from the other side of the phone. “Alright alright! No need to bite my head off… no, no, that was a perfectly appropriate joke for this situation, and you know it.”
Happy gave up trying to find the car and just used the keys to unlock it, and was relieved when the car lit up only a few feet away. He walked over and opened the door for Tony like nothing happened. Nailed it.
“Okay, your highness, we’re on our way now. Is there anything else I can get for you? Oh, that. Peter what the fuck do you have that requires hazardous waste disposal.” The answer seemed to make Tony simultaneously disgusted and unbearably curious. “Right, I forgot about the whole… cocoon thing. Hey! This means I don’t have to hide a body! Very convenient. Wait, wait- remember when I asked if you would take care of Ross for me? Do you think maybe now you could-” More yelling. “OKAY I’M SORRY.” The screaming calmed. “…Please don’t eat me.”
Happy held back a tired sob as he started the car and sped to Peter’s location. One day, Tony’s incapability to keep his mouth shut was going to get him mauled, and Happy was going to be too exhausted to do anything but watch.
At least Pepper would probably be watching too. With Popcorn!
. . .
Bucky thought that he had seen the worst humanity was capable of during his time as The Winter Soldier, both in what was done to him and what he did to other people.
The Winter Soldier, however, had never been waylaid by a gaggle of wine-drunk rich old women who ‘all want a piece of dat ass’ as Sam so kindly explained to him.
When Pepper told him he was coming to this Gala (Told him, because even Bucky was a little scared of what she was capable of) Bucky had expected to be awkwardly trailing after Steve, hiding behind him when necessary, and maybe, maybe making light conversation if he needed back up.
He hadn’t expected Steve to abandon him.
‘You need to relearn how to socialise’ he said. ‘It’ll be good for you’ he said.
Timidly, optimistically, (stupidly his HYDRA brain contributed) Bucky had thought Steve was right. Was even a little excited to try a hand at recovering that silver-tongue smooth talk everyone told him he used to have. (He already had, a little bit, if only in the privacy of his own bedroom. Much to Steve’s enjoyment).
Well, the Old Bucky Barnes might have been good with the ladies, but New Bucky thinks even he might have paled at the sight of what must have been 15 or so tipsy grandmas coming right at him.
He’d been trapped there at their mercy for a good few hours before he spotted Steve across the room, alone and looking much too happy with himself. Bucky did not hesitate for a second to point directly at him and exclaim “Look! Its Captain America!”
He made his escape in the ensuing chaos, and didn’t hold back from laughing loudly at the horrified look on Steves face when he noticed the pack about to descend upon him.
Suddenly bereft of burdens, Bucky decided he needed a break, and discretely made his way around the corners of the room to the service entrance, where there was a little supply closet tucked into the wall with his name on it.
Well, no. It actually said ‘Servers only- Do Not Enter’, but Bucky had pretended to be waiter at fancy rich people parties enough times that he figured he counted as an honorary member of staff. Besides, he’d uh, done much worse than trespass.
On his way, he noticed Stark by the bar with Happy- and the bastard had his phone.
Well, if Stark was allowed to make a call, then Bucky was too. Hopefully that logic would be enough to save him when Pepper’s wrath inevitably descended upon him.
The closet didn’t have good service, so he stood just outside tucked into the shadows of the service hall and pulled out his super-secret assassin back-up phone, planning to call Natasha. She’d been the only Avenger exempt from attending- none of the rest of them even complained, given that (despite her sordid past as a Russian spy) she was arguably the least problematic member.
He was about to dial her number when he heard Stark and Happy come his way. Swearing, he quickly tucked himself into the closet. Haha, never thought I’d be in here again.
Stark sounded panicked. Bucky’d be a sorry excuse for a spy if he didn’t at least eavesdrop a little.
“Kid? Kid, what’s going on. Happy said you ran into a problem?”
Kid? He must mean Peter. Bucky shifted into his ‘I’m being serious about this’ mode. Unfortunately, he’d come to care about the spider-child since Stark adopted him. (He, Barton, and Sam had a bet going about whether or not he’d actually gone and got the paperwork to make it official. Bucky had money on no, but that he would by Christmas.)
From the sound of it on Tony’s end (Bucky couldn’t hear Peter’s side from several feet away and through a door, though Steve with his super-fancy A-grade All-American-Patriotism serum probably could have, the jerk) Peter wasn’t hurt, but he’d had a run in with someone from the news- not a good someone, from the tone of Stark’s voice and his threat of assassination. Bucky had just about decided to come out of the closet – HAH! – and offer to help deal with it, when-
“WhAT DO YOU MEAN YOU ATE HIM?!”
He what.
Bucky waited for Stark to laugh, make a joke, but he doubled down.
Then Happy said something about Pepper, and before he knew it, the two of them were running down the service tunnel and out of his range of hearing.
What the shit.
He stayed in the closet for a little while longer, frozen, trying to comprehend what the fuck he just overheard. He was glad for it when the familiar clack of Pepper’s heals on the tile came angrily down the hall. Was it possible for shoes to sound pissed?
He waited a few seconds, then ducked out of the closet and back into the throng of the Party.
He thought about Peter. About that night in the med bay. The incident with Barton and the ceiling vent. That thing with the Spider Steve gave him tormenting Sam. (yeah, Bucky knew whose Spider it was when Sam called him. He knew it wasn’t a Ghost, or a demon, or a Nazi, fucking hell Sam. Did he tell anyone this? No. That would be boring). He thought about that conversation Steve had with the kid on the roof, about pigeons and drugs and growing boys- honestly Steve had been a little delirious when he told Bucky about it so he wasn’t entirely sure what happened.
He added what he just overheard to the list.
Yeahhh, Bucky was so calling Natasha.
. . .
Natasha was pleasantly surprised with how her Friday night was turning out.
It used to be that she either spent her Fridays stuck on a job, hunting down whatever mark SHEILD had assigned her, or curled up in front of the TV in some shitty safe house accompanied by a tub of ice cream, and occasionally Clint. Then the Avengers happened, and she either spent her Fridays stuck on a job hunting down whatever mark SHEILD assigned her, or curled up in front of a bigger TV in the common room accompanied by a tub of ice cream, and occasionally all of the Avengers.
And then the little spider moved in and brought that lovely aunt of his with him.
Now, she either spends her Friday nights out for dinner and wine with May Parker, or curled up in front of the TV in the common room accompanied by a tub of ice cream and (you guessed it) May Parker.
She hadn’t had a, uh, ‘girl-friend’ like May for a very long time (or ever) and their chats had become very dear to her. Dear enough that she blackmailed Nick Fury into giving her every Friday night off ever, and enough that she may have (HAHAHAHA MAY HAVE) even begged Pepper (just a little, as a treat) to let her stay home from the Gala. (Not even Natasha was skilled enough to successfully black mail Pepper Potts).
May was in another state, but they didn’t live with the owner of the worlds most successful tech company for nothing, so they video called instead. It wasn’t as good as being in the same room as her, but it would do.
Natasha was curled up in her bed in front of her laptop. May was telling her a story about Ben, her late husband. She didn’t tell Natasha about him often- but the ex(ish) assassin could tell that he had been a very kind soul, so she treated each tid-bit of information she was given with the appropriate level of care.
“-and then, well, he couldn’t just leave her to the wolves, could he? She might have accidentally blown up the building with her mind, but it wasn’t like she asked for any of it to happen. It really was just an accident. So then Ben, the idiot, unlocks the handcuffs while they’re all distracted looking at the giant lizard and whispers her directions to our apartment. Honestly, it wasn’t the most surprising thing I’ve ever come home to. I-”
Suddenly, ‘Material Girl’ by Madonna blasted from somewhere behind May. She jolted in surprise.
“Ah! Oh, sorry Nat, I think Tony’s calling me for some reason.”
Natasha just smiled and told her it’s alright as May walked off screen, and only slightly raised her eyebrow at the choice of ringtone.
It wasn’t like it wasn’t accurate. She sipped her wine idly and hummed the tune to herself, musing over how Tony might react if he knew about May’s ringtone for him.
Then she remembered the fact that Stark was supposed to be phone-free at the event, and realised she should probably lock in and pay attention to May’s conversation. No way Happy would risk pissing off Pepper if it weren’t important.
“-no, is Peter alright…? Okay, so he’s not hurt or anything? Then what’s wrong?” There was a long pause. Natasha wished she had bugged May’s friend’s apartment like she had been planning to, but Clint told her that would be weird and stalkerish and honestly kind of insane. Well, now she couldn’t hear the other side of the conversation she was eavesdropping on, so fuck you, Clint.
“What? What do you mean he ate someone??”
Huh.
“Who did he- Oh. Ohhh. Oh, Peter. The trial… I knew I should have come home the second I saw it on the news, but I Peter didn’t even mention it and I just thought, and it’s been so long since he- wait, has Peter told you what happened yet?”
Hmm.
“If he hasn’t told you, then I won’t. Just… be careful, when you pick him up. I’ll catch a flight back tonight. Also, Peter didn’t… go after him, did he?” A longer pause this time. “Oh, that motherfucker. Yeah, I’m glad Peter ate him… What, did you expect me to be sad?” May waited and then huffed out a laugh, but it was humourless. “Yeah. He wouldn’t be. Look, just look after him, I’ll be there soon. Yeah duh you’re paying for it, rich bitch. Bye.” She hung up.
Natasha schooled her features to look like she hadn’t been listening, like a professional, before May came back into frame. She looked frazzled.
“Nat, I’m really sorry to cut this short, but I’ve gotta catch a plane back to New York.”
“Oh no, how could you. However will I survive now.” She lamented, deadpan.
May laughed. “I’ll make it up to you- drinks on me at that fancy beige mom bar. I know you like to watch them all and tell me about the affairs they’re probably having.”
“You mean the affairs they’re definitely having, I ain’t no amateur.”
“Sure, sure. Rain check?”
Natasha grinned, one of the few genuine smiles she had.
“Yeah. Fly safe.”
She ended the facetime. She needed to call Bucky immediately.
Almost as soon as she had the thought, her phone lit up with his contact. That’s convenient.
She picked up.
“Natasha, somethings happening with the spider kid. I just overheard Tony say that-”
Hmm. Interesting. Natasha interrupted him.
“That Peter ate someone?”
Bucky was trained too well to gasp audibly, but Natasha could tell he was shocked anyway.
“…How.”
“I just heard May say the same thing.”
“The aunt??”
“Yes, May, Peter’s aunt.”
They were both silent for a second.
“You know, they’re hiding something. About Peter, I mean.” Bucky began.
“Hm. I think you’re right.”
“Doesn’t it bother you that you don’t know?”
She paused. “Does it bother you?”
“Yes.”
Natasha was surprised. Bucky wasn’t usually very good with answering questions about how he was feeling. She considered.
“Alright. It bothers me too. Wanna team up, see if we can figure out?”
Bucky sounded relieved. “Yes, please.”
Wow. Manners. Seems Steve was doing a lot of good for him.
Natasha smiled. “Good. I’ll see you tomorrow at safe house #6, 0800.”
“You’re on.”