Chapter Text
Peter wakes up before Morgan. Naturally, this means revenge for all the kidney punching and nose pinching. Without much thought, he grabs one of her feet that’s poking out from underneath the covers and tickles the sole.
She wakes with a shriek.
And then he gets kicked in the gut anyway.
“Peter,” Morgan whines, trying to sink into the mattress and out of sight while Peter tries to come up with reasons why a first grade can kick better than a bank robber. “Five more minutes.”
Ah, sweet sweet revenge. “Nope!” he takes his pillow and as gently as one can when they decide to initiate a pillow fight...whacks her. “Get up, get up, get up! It’s…” he pauses when he looks over at his bedside clock.
9:56 AM
“Shit!” Peter swears, and vaults off the bed. “We’re late. Like, super late. Go get dressed.”
Luckily, Morgan complies and rushes out of his room to her own. Peter starts rummaging through his closet when he realizes he doesn’t really know what he should wear. Morgan mentioned that it was also a field day type of thing, a picnic outside, but how serious is it? Are there gonna be teams? Oh my god, do they have to pick teams? Being 6th grade’s perpetual last pick for basketball, Peter is well aware that’s never good for anyone’s self esteem.
“Hey Morgan!” he yells from his room. “What are we supposed to wear?”
“What?” her voice is muffled.
“I said: what are we supposed to wear?"
She reappears in his room a few moments later, already dressed: pink shirt, navy shorts, and favorite yellow converse. “You wear clothes,” she says.
Peter shrugs his sleep shirt off and throws it on the floor. “Thanks, Captain Obvious. But are there team colors? Like are we supposed to match or something?” He has pink shirts, but they’re all button downs.
“I don’t think so.”
“You don’t think so.” Peter sighs. He ends up picking one of the company shirts out, hot rod red with Stark Industries written across it. “What are we sending you to school for if you aren’t thinking ?”
Morgan rolls her eyes. “We’re just playing games for fun. I think it’s like the Olympics.”
“If it’s like the Olympics then it’s not just for fun. There’s teams and there’s a medal to win. Morgan. I want that medal.”
“There’s no medal, Pete.”
“I don’t care if it’s plastic or made of chocolate. I want the gold.”
“You’re weird.”
“Do we get to pick our countries? I want to be Genovia. I want to be Queen of Genovia.”
Morgan’s face screws up in confusion. “That’s….is that a real country?”
Peter blinks before his mouth falls open in shock. “Oh my god. You haven’t seen that movie. This is horrible. But also, fantastic. After you and Mom have your little breakfast in bed slumber party this weekend, I’m crashing at your place and we’re watching the Princess Diaries. You’re gonna love it.”
Morgan sighs, clearly unhappy with the tangent. “Fine. Just! Hurry up! We’re super late.”
“And whose fault is that?” Peter scoffs. “You wanted a story last night.”
“I had a nightmare! And I wasn’t up that late. The story wasn’t that long.”
“I didn’t even finish.You fell asleep in the middle of Chapter Five: Ned and I Nearly Destroy a National Monument. Which is honestly like, the best part."
"It's not like it was Harry Potter." She crosses her arms and grumbles, "Shoulda asked to start Chamber of Secrets instead..."
"Did you just say -" He stops, face falling blank. "I've never been so offended in my entire life. I don't know how I'll go on."
“Peter!”
“Okay, okay,” he says, giving her a light shove out his door. “Let me finish getting ready.”
She rushes out to do God what knows what while Peter hastens to find a pair of shorts and appropriate sneakers. He’s so used to running around in the Spider-Man get up he forgets to buy more than one pair of shoes. He’s stuck with a ragged pair of converse.
Ironically, yellow. Like Morgan's. Guess they get to match after all.
When he gets into the kitchen he sees Morgan sitting on top of the counter top, legs kicking idly, a Pop-Tart in her mouth.
“Those are for your classmates,” he complains, leaning down to take a bite. Morgan’s eyes almost fall out of her head when he manages to eat most of it with said one bite. When she composes herself and looks up at him, mischief sparkling in her eyes and a smirk on his face, he’s knows he’s been duped. “We don’t have to bring anything, do we?”
“Nuh-uh,” she takes another bite.
Peter grumbles to himself, something about being tricked by a toddler, while he opens his own package of Pop-Tarts. “Well,” he sighs, taking another super sized bite. The panic of being late has started to subside. It’s not like they can do anything about it at this point. “We’re not gonna get any later. Stop for coffee?”
Morgan jumps off the counter. “Cappuccinos!”
“Ah, nope. Orange juice for you.” She pouts. Peter has to physically look away so he doesn’t cave and give the gremlin a cappuccino. “I don’t think I can legally give someone your size that much caffeine. It stunts your growth, you know.”
“Did you drink coffee when you were my age? Is that why you’re so short?”
“Excuse me?” Morgan giggles at his outburst. “I’m not short.”
“Happy says you are.” She reaches over and takes a revenge bite of Peter’s Pop-Tart.
“I’m taller than you. I'm...I'm Spider-Man. I don’t have to take this.”
Morgan’s expression brightens at the mention of Spider-Man. “Ooh! Can he take me to school?”
His chewing slows as he considers what she’s asking. “What, like, swing you to school?”
“Yeah!”
“Absolutely not. You must be….” He holds his hand up at about his shoulder. “This tall to swing like Spidey. Recreationally. Exceptions will be made for emergencies.”
“There can’t be a height requirement if you're Spider-Man.”
It's like the Tony Stark in her jumped out.
“Once again: Not. Short.”
She drops it. He considers it a win. “Can you at least braid my hair?” Morgan asks. Her hair brush and ties are on the coffee table.
He can picture May weaving braids in his head, but he’s not sure his own fingers will cooperate. “Now that, I can do. Well. Try. I can try. If you look like Pippi Longstocking, that’s God’s will.”
“Who?”
“God? Jeez, that’s a toughie. People have been asking that question for centuries.”
“Peter.”
He cracks a grin and nods to the coffee table. “Go sit down, bug. Let’s figure it out.”
It takes him a few minutes. Several minutes. He tries the pigtail braids before he realizes the part is all wrong and she really might actually look like Pippi Longstocking. Then, with Morgan’s quiet instruction, he switches to a single braid down her back. It’s nothing like the pretty French ones that May does, or the Fishtail that Happy can do. But it’s clean and simple and….a braid. He gets the task done.
“There,” he finally says, wrapping the bottom with a bright orange tie. He turns her around and pulls her in close, kissing her cheek. “ Bellissimo.”
“Thank you,” she says. “Don’t worry about the pigtails or the fishtail. It took Happy a long time, too. Rhodey had to help.”
“Well, that makes me feel better,” he admits. “Practice makes perfect, yeah?” she nods her head, enthusiastic, before Peter chimes in with, “Except at water balloon fights. War is war, little lady. There will be no second chances given out today. So before we go: you got your A Game?”
She pats her backpack that’s resting on the chair by the coffee table. “Packed and ready to go!”
“Oh, yes!” Peter screeches, actually screeches, because that was just witty as it can get. “That’s some Spidey fighting snark if I ever heard it!” He holds up a hand for a high five and Morgan hits it with all she’s got. “We’re gonna crush it, kid. Let’s go!”
They show up just in time for the afternoon activities to get started. Her teacher doesn’t seem to mind that Morgan missed the early part of school. Miss Sadie is just happy that Morgan seemed to show up at all. The school rec field is littered with fathers and their kiddies stretched out on picnic blankets. Morgan was right about the food: there seems to be a few tables of it, nothing extreme, but pretty nice all the same. There’s a few things of cornhole, hula hoops, some sort of place for a relay race (he’s guessing three-legged race) and then, of course:
Big buckets of water balloons.
It’s all very nice. Way nicer than anything Peter ever had when he attended school in Queens. “I thought we were sending you to public school,” he teases, but it goes right over Morgan’s head as she scans the small crowd.
“Ah!” she shouts, tugging on his shirt. “I see Annie! I’m gonna go say hi, be right back!” and she’s off in an instant, leaving Peter to his own devices.
He’s not the only one who’s been momentarily abandoned. It seems the first graders are still busy catching up. He’s not sure what’s so exciting. Maybe last night’s episode of Spongebob was absolutely riveting. It’s all good though, because it seems that all the dads seem to be catching up with each other as well. Peter realizes that they probably know each other from PTA meetings, play dates, and other school sanctioned events. He recognizes the other parent who was a chaperone on the same field trip that Peter chaperoned, but otherwise, he’s quite lost. The oddball out.
He doesn't really...know how to interact.
“You must be Morgan’s.”
Peter blinks and looks to his side to find a somewhat elderly man standing beside him. He’s got thick round glasses, high-waisted shorts, and a bow tie to boot. It sort of reminds him of Mr. Fredricksen from Up and it makes him smile.
He takes the man’s outstretched hand, giving it a light shake. “Yeah, sure am. I’m her …” he hesitates with a nervous laugh. Even with all that’s happened in the past few days, Peter isn’t quite sure he knows what he is. He just knows he matters. “I’m Peter.”
“Nice to meet you, Peter. I’m Rob. I’m Jack’s grandfather.”
“Right, right,” Peter nods. “Morgan was telling me he’d be bringing you.”
There’s something calming about the older man’s smile. It pairs nicely with the wise twinkle behind his eyes. He has a cane grasped in one hand and Peter can tell it’s a bit difficult for him to stand so in typical Spider-Man fashion, Peter helps him to a nearby chair that’s been set out, and even goes to dig out two cold sodas out of a cooler while Morgan continues to catch up with her friends.
“You know,” Rob starts as he sets his cane aside and Peter takes a seat in the grass. He passes Rob one of the cokes. “There’s a lot of us.”
Peter tilts his head quizzically as he takes a sip.
With his shake hand, Jack starts pointing to the other dads in the class. “That’s Kyle. He’s Susie’s uncle. And that over there?” He moves his hand to a man in a red polo. “That’s Dylan’s cousin.” He keeps pointing around. “Neighbor. Family friend. Brother.”
Eventually, Rob gives Peter a kind pat on the shoulder and a smile worth a million bucks.
“Families come in all shapes and sizes. Dad’s day is just a catch-all. Thanks for coming out, Peter.”
Having to hash out his place in the world has been hard. Defining family has never been easy, if the last few days is any proof. But there’s something freeing remembering that he’s not the only one. That people, hundreds and thousands of people, build their families like he has.
It’s nice to see it all laid out in front of him.
“Peter! Catch!”
He does, with reflexes that might have caused suspicion had it not been a water balloon. Be it spider strength or regular human strength, Peter does catch the balloon, but it bursts in his hand, soaking his lap. Knocks his coke over, too.
Morgan is a giggling mess, braid already wet. It looks like the kids don’t care much about any sort of structure to this game - they just want to pelt their friends and family with water balloons. Jack tries to do the same to his grandfather, but Peter makes a dive in front of him and takes the hit. It’s all very James Bond and cool, but then Morgan’s friend Annie comes up from behind and ends up getting Rob over the head with a balloon anyway. Rob doesn't seem to mind, if his loud laugh is anything to go by.
“Oh, it’s on,” Peter says, lunging forward to grab Morgan and toss her over his shoulder. He looks behind him and sees that two other children have come over to Rob’s aid, hell bent on protecting him from other water balloons. Which is good. Because now Peter can focus all his attention on absolutely ruining Morgan. “I thought we were going to be a team! This treason will not be tolerated.”
“No, I’m sorry!” she laughs. “We’re a team, we’re a team!”
“Are we? Because I was just shot -”
Both Morgan and Peter get hit with about five water balloons.
“Yes!” a kid shouts. “I told you I’d get Morgan’s brother.”
“Okay truce,” he tells Morgan and sets her down. “Get the water balloons.” She sets off like a cheetah, going for a bucket of balloons. Like, the whole bucket. It’s heavy and she has to push it, but she manages as he turns to the other kids and adults, all circling him like giggling hyenas. It almost feels like some sort of Spider-Man face off, only G rated with no crime and all fun.
Eventually, Morgan tosses him a balloon. This time, it doesn’t break.
“Get ready, kiddies,” he grins, holding it above his head as he scopes out his first target. “This is war.”
There’s no score, no body count per say (but man, did John go down kinda hard ), not even a chocolate gold coin he can pretend is an Olympic medal, but Peter’s pretty sure he and Morgan win. Someone takes off their white t-shirt, waves it around in truce and everything. If only Spider-Man had it so easy.
But he’s glad, at the least, Peter Parker does.
It’s hard not to when he has the best family in the world.