Chapter Text
Peter swung away from the Green Goblin as the villain launched bombs that exploded behind him, the force from the explosion sending the webslinger crashing into the street.
“Owww…” he groaned. He was going to have some fun-colored bruises tomorrow morning.
“You have no chance of defeating me, Spider-Man.” Green Goblin crowed as he hovered over the prone superhero.
“They always monologue…” Peter muttered as he pushed himself off the ground, firing web at the hovercraft. Through some Jedi-like miracle, the webbing disappeared into the crevice of the machine. The whole thing shuddered as heavy thunking echoed from inside before the whole thing came crashing down. Green Goblin screamed as he was thrown from the glider and skidded to a halt.
Peter stood up and hobbled over to the villain. He quickly webbed him up and left him in a cocoon for the police too find before added his signature note signed “Your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.”
“You almost had me, Gobbie, but then you went for the cliché villain monologue and it all went downhill.”
Unsurprisingly, the unconscious Goblin did not answer.
“Well, looks like we’re all done here then.” Peter swung away to where his backpack was stashed and changed quickly, yanking his jeans on and hauling on his sweatshirt before looking at his watch.
“Shit!” He scrambled for his stuff before racing towards the tower, haphazardly snagging a book that fell from his open bag.
It was late, way past his curfew. His dads were going to kill him, and J.A.R.V.I.S. was snitch whenever Peter tried to sneak in so there was no way around it. Peter really had to work on tweaking the A.I.’s code so he could climb in his window unnoticed.
Swinging back to the tower would be the quickest way, but there was always a chance his Dad would notice, what with all the security he has for his precious tower.
Playing it safe, Peter swung back before setting down a couple blocks away from the tower. He made sure his web shooters were safely hidden under the cuffs of his sweatshirt before going to face his fathers.
The private elevator for the family – “Because I refuse to have sweaty workmen in my elevator again, Steve! – opened on the communal floor even though Peter distinctly remembers pushing the button for his and his fathers’ floor.
“Traitor,” Peter muttered at J.A.R.V.I.S. as he stepped out of the elevator, only after jamming the “close door” button and his own floor again. You know, just in case.
Some violent explosions were lighting up the TV as some action movie played, the entire Avengers team sprawled across the couches.
Movie night.
Oh no. Movie night was sacred in this household. Clint still told him rumors about how Tony turned off a call to assemble because it was Steve’s first time watching Star Wars. Apparently, even the great Captain America was fine with letting the Fantastic Four handle a call when he was enthralled by classic nerd movies.
Peter knew he was screwed. This was the end.
He dropped his bag – making sure it was securely closed – before warily walking into the den.
Only his Dad and Pops looked up as he approached. Without saying a word, his dads made room for him between them.
They were going to drag this torture out.
With a resigned sign, Peter dropped between them and squirmed to get comfy, burrowing into the cushions. If he was going to suffer, at least he can do it comfortably. His Pops draped an arm around Peter’s shoulders, his hand idly carding through his son’s brown hair, so similar to his Dad’s curls. His Dad merely leaned into him a bit while working on his Stark Pad. The brunette man could never keep his hands still even during movie night, and people had long ago stopped pretending to be upset about it.
“I am sorry,” Peter mumbled, eyes never leaving the screen.
His Dad just hummed noncommittally, but he obviously had more to say on the matter. His Pops on the other hand leaned down to him, “You could’ve at least called, Petey. We know you like hanging out with Ned, but you have a curfew. We worry about you. And having a tower full of worried superheroes is never a good idea.”
“I know Pops, but it’s a Friday and it isn’t that late.” It sounded fake even to him.
“It’s almost midnight, Peter. It isn’t safe for you to be out that late,” Pops lectured, sounding more concerned than angry. The super soldier always babied his son. Steve had had years to learn that despite being small, his son was not nearly as fragile as he seemed. The blond had nearly had a heart attack the first time the boy had taken a tumble when he was younger. But the boy always got back up and kept going.
“I was just at Ned’s,” Peter mumbled, guilt tightening his throat as he lied to his parents.
Thankfully, Ned was in on the whole superhero thing, so Peter could rely on him to be a solid alibi to his dads but that didn’t mean he felt good keeping things from his parents. As much as he hated lying, he knew his parents weren’t ready to find out their precious baby boy was out in the middle of the night fighting bad guys. It would be even worse when Tony found out that his son’s mutant gene had been triggered by spiders from his enemy. His Dad would go ballistic and probably try to get Oscorp shut down… again.
“Well, a call would be nice. Let us know you aren’t bleeding out in an alley somewhere,” his Dad muttered, more to himself than anyone else.
Peter internally winced as his Dad wasn’t too far off the mark. Although, most of his injuries were healed or at the very least closed so there was no bleeding.
Peter decided not to answer and leaned on his Pop’s shoulder, pulling his legs up into his Dad’s lap. The movie raged on in a series of unremarkable fight scenes and explosions, punctuated by Clint’s joking remarks and Natasha’s scathing comments on the inaccurate fighting techniques. The long days and his fight with Green Goblin caught up with him, and Peter’s eyes grew heavy and the body heat from his Pops pulled him into a comfortable sleep.
Peter was awoken as strong arms lifted him up. He blearily opened his eyes to his Pop’s face as he carried him out of the elevator and into his room.
“I’m too old to be carried,” Peter protested half-heartedly. It was more out of pride than anything.
“Never too old for me, baby boy. Super strength. I’ll always be able to carry you.”
“That’s an abuse of your power.”
“And yet, I don’t care,” his Pops answered as he dropped him on his bed.
Peter noticed someone was missing.
“Is he that mad at me?” Peter asked.
Steve’s eyes softened as he sat on the bed, “No, he’s not THAT mad. He’s caught up in a design for S.I.. I’m going to haul him to bed right now. He’s just upset you don’t listen, especially to him. You know he worries. We both do.”
The guilt hit him again. “I don’t mean to worry you. I just get carried away and…”
“We know, kiddo, but we need to be careful and check in. Okay?”
“Okay.” Lies.
“Well, now that we have that covered, I’m going to go wrangle your Dad into bed. Good night, Peter.”
“Night, Pops.”
As soon as his Pops was gone, Peter jumped out of bed.
His backpack was still sitting on the common floor where any super hero could stumble upon
it. And with numerous spies and geniuses in the building, the longer his backpack – and suit – were in the open, the higher the chance of his secret coming out. So, he had to go grab it before a curious aunt or uncle snooped through his bag.
Peter waits by hid door and listens for the telltale sound of Tony whining as his husband dragged him into their bedroom. “Steve, some of us have work to get done that doesn’t involve punching people. I need to finish this before…” The complaining was abruptly cut off as the door to their room slammed shut.
Slowly opening the door, the boy peeked out to make sure the coast was clear. The hallway was empty, and his dads’ door remained firmly shut, so Peter ran quickly to the elevator.
“Common floor, J.”
“Of course, young Sir.”
Peter was relieved when the doors open, and his bag was lying in the same spot he left it. He let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding as he opened the bag and sees his suit.
Closing the bag, he turned to go back to his room.
Only to jump nearly out of his skin when he found Natasha standing behind him, hands on hips.
“Looks like someone’s been busy.”