Chapter Text
It’s with a literal bang rather than a hush that Thor dramatically enters Peter’s life a few months after the Mandarin incident at two AM in the morning by way of a lightning strike contacting the Avengers tower, waking up all inhabitants with the substantial tremor that accompanies the loud crashing sound of electricity against cement; Peter shocked into waking up in a bolt upright position in his bed. His breath’s still heaving as Tony runs in, his hair matted down against his skull on the right side, which would be hilarious if he doesn’t look so freaked out as he rubs Peter down, checking for nonexistent damage despite the boy himself trying to inform the man so. It’s then that JARVIS decides to inform Tony that the building’s structural integrity has been damaged a fraction of a percentage as a result, and Peter must admit; Tony’s responding scream of absolute anger is funny, watching his adoptive father sprint out of the room, talking aloud to himself about fucking Norse gods and their lack of care for other people’s things.
Peter’s hair has been recently cut, which he figures is the only saving grace he has because when he walks into the main room of the communal floor about ten minutes later, dressed in a Hulk t-shirt and a pair of blue jeans because he’s figuring that a return to sleep isn’t in the books, he feels severely under-dressed to be in the presence of the god. Thor leaks an aura of confidence, of royalty, and Peter feels a bit like a pauper in comparison, which he figures he would be, considering Thor’s a literal prince, and he can’t help but wonder if Thor notices that the shirt he's wearing had been atop his laundry pile. He fidgets with the hem of his shirt, looking down at his feet, cursing himself quietly because he’d thought he was over this phase of not being able to make eye contact with new people, but he also figures that it has more to do with the fact that he’s currently in the room with the goddamn God of Thunder.
Natta hadn’t even bothered to get redressed, still in the Hulk t-shirt she’d bought a while back to match with Peter and candy corn boxers she’d gone to sleep in, and she didn’t look the least bit concerned with giving a damn about what Thor, who’s decked out in full body armor and a cape, thinks of her as she rubs soothing circles on Uncle Bruce’s back, the man having figured that there was some sort of threat and apparently having nearly Hulked out in reaction. Bruce is quiet, but that’s because he’s so busy glaring at Thor with the promise of death evident in his eye, which is amplified by the similar look Natta’s sending Thor in solidarity, and the man has the decency to look sheepish, holding up his hands in needless surrender. Clint’s busy laughing; doubled over with his hands wrapped around his midsection, because it’s admittedly hilarious that Bruce thinks he’s so threatening because although as the Hulk he’s terrifying when he’s just Bruce he’s about as threatening as a de-clawed kitten.
Tony immediately begins to tear into Thor when he arrives, a tablet already in hand as he rushes to figure out the damaged areas of his building, asking him what’s so hard about using the door like anyone else would, not even giving him a chance to explain himself as he rips into him, not just about the building damage, but about how it’s been months since any of them have even heard from him, and it’s been clear that the man is perfectly content ignoring them, so why would he come now in the least subtle way possible when he’s been virtually under the radar for months? It’s rude, Tony insists with a scowl, so damned rude, and then proceeds to inform him that he hasn’t got a prime choice of floors anymore for his choosing, so he better pick wisely and give Tony about ten hours to get it furnished with the bare necessities, which is all he’s getting because the goddamn crown prince of Asgard and keeper of the nine realms can get his own damned furniture.
Peter’s silent all throughout, mostly because he’s entirely too aware that he’s in the room with a freaking god who doesn’t even know he exists, and it’s for that reason that he hangs back on the outskirts of the room despite wanting nothing more than to ask him a million and one questions about Asgard and gleam the truth from the myth of the stories of these gods, because he read a (highly edited) excerpt from the Poetic Edda once and it was so cool. Natta spots him quickly, the glare virtually disappearing as she levels him with a soft look, and she motions for him to come close with a smile, which he hesitantly does, because going closer means getting closer to Thor, and he’s already bursting with nervousness. She wraps a reassuring arm around Peter’s shoulders, whispering that he’s the most adorable little thing in his Hulk shirt, at which Bruce blushes in reaction and mumble out an embarrassed "Natashaaaah," but smiles nonetheless, for the most part calmer now, but still a bit annoyed that it was even brought to such a point, which isn’t unjustified, Peter will admit.
“Where is the Captain Rogers?” Thor asks when he gets the chance, looking around the room at his team members curiously, as if he’s making sure that there’s in fact another person who’s supposed to be there.
“He’s busy trying to tell the orderlies downstairs that there’s nothing to worry about, since you decided to use fucking lightning as a mode of transportation,” Tony hisses, “And there better not be any burns on my building, or I swear—”
Thor’s seemingly beginning to tune Tony out as he looks over at Peter, finally, and the boy’s breath catches right there in his throat as he tries to fall behind his Tetya, eyes going wide because oh god there’s a god looking at me, and Thor points at him and says blankly, curious look present in his eye, “There is a child.”
Clint’s still laughing, but he manages to roll his eyes. “Good observational skills, buddy.”
If looks could kill, Clint would have no remains from the glare Thor delivers him. The incineration would be instantaneous and irrefutable.
“Is the boy a member of the team now, too?” Thor asks, and Peter frowns, because it doesn’t matter if Thor’s a god or not, no kid likes being talked about as if they’re not there by any adult.
So Peter swallows dryly and responds, “I’m Tony’s son.”
Thor looks so utterly confused that it’s honestly laughable—in fact, Tony does laugh, the first positive reaction he’s had to anything all night, and Nat gives him a squeeze in response, a silent display of pride in him. Clint’s practically crying in reaction, his entire body shaking as he’s forced to use the edge of the coffee table for support when he crashes to his knees, his breaths wheezing and labored, skin flushed bright red with warmth. Thor looks towards Tony in reaction, as if trying to confirm it, and when Tony does little more than shrug the confusion seems to worsen, as if he can’t consolidate what he’s hearing with his prior knowledge, and he mutters,
“I think I should’ve kept in contact a bit better.”
Like Peter assumed, sleep isn’t something he returns to, so Steve treats him to an early breakfast at a twenty-four-hour diner none too far from the tower after he’s done securing the building. The owner of the diner knows the pair of them well enough after the past few months of reliable patronage, so Steve shucks the heavy jacket and ballcap as soon as they get to their regular booth, displaying sleep-tousled blond locks and a tired, yet complacent, look in his eye. Steve hasn’t shaved yet, a growth developing on his cheeks, and the t-shirt he’s wearing is covered with charcoal smudges and paint stains, and somehow he looks more put-together than Peter is at the moment, and Peter hopes it has something to do with the fact that abnormal is essentially the Avengers’ M.O as a group. Sure, it’s out of left field, but in the grand scheme of things, it’s pretty much just another Tuesday morning for Steve Rogers.
For Peter, who is usually as far removed from the freaky as they can get him, this is pretty much already the strangest day of his life so far, and he’s only an hour into it. It’s a bit much to take in at three-thirty-two AM, but honestly? It’s so awesome. In fact, it’s probably one of the coolest days of his life so far.
“Thor’s not a bad guy,” Steve tells him as he drizzles maple syrup atop his excessively tall stack of blueberry pancakes (because Steve is a walking, talking representation of American stereotypes and ideals). “He’s actually a giant teddy bear. You’ll like him.”
“It’s weird that you’re calling him a teddy bear when he kinda put a dent in Tony's building,” Peter responds with an arched brow, only half serious, biting into French toast with a vigor. He’s not that hungry, it’s just that this diner’s French toast is the bomb. “He doesn’t scream cuddle me, after all.”
His Pops chuckles. “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Steve allows as he spears the pancakes, “But doesn’t mean that he isn’t, though. He’s a bit overly affectionate considering he comes from a war culture. But, then again, Asgard and the rest of the Nine Realms are pretty far ahead of us down here on Earth in terms of society and the roles of people, so it’s entirely possible that this is the way he was raised. I’m not sure. But I am sure that any man who cries at a limping kitten can’t really be too bad of a guy.” He shrugs. “But maybe that’s just my personal assumption.”
Peter stares at his Pops for a moment longer before asking, “Did he really do that?”
“Little black cat with grey socks on three feet and big green eyes,” Steve says in way of answer before pulling out his phone, looking at the illuminated screen before his face alighting with a certain affection that Peter immediately knows it’s his Dad messaging him. “Tony already harassed a construction crew to come in and look at the building. He’s already spotted the weakened points and he’s annoyed about it all.”
Peter shakes his head. He’s just glad Tony’s not trying to fix it himself. He’s extremely talented with metal and wood, but he’s abysmal with concrete. It’s just not his thing, like cooking or not cheating at Super Smash Brothers—he just can’t do it, and it frustrates him, really, because the man believes that if it has anything to do with his hands he can do it, which is true for many things—just not for something coarse like concrete work. It requires a different sort of precision than what Tony’s capable of, though he’ll never see it this way, though it does speak volumes that his father hasn’t decided to just fix it on his own.
(Which is probably attributed to the fact that Pepper will rain down fire and brimstone if she figures out he’s put the structural integrity of the entire building a risk, considering it houses not only the team itself but a few more people on its lower levels, not to mention the entirety of Stark Industries’ only R&D site for the entirety of the North American quadrant, but Peter figures that he shouldn’t talk about the threats she’s made to Tony.)
“What about Thor’s furnishings? Dad wouldn’t leave him with the bare minimums, no matter what he says,” Peter asks curiously, beginning to tear into the eggs he’s not entirely in the mood for but ordered anyways, eyeing his pops’ blueberry pancakes half-mindedly, smiling with Steve rolls his eyes affectionately and pushes his plate closer to the boy so he can steal a few bites.
“I assume he’ll just have Pepper pull the things he got for Thor out of storage,” Pops responds with a shrug, “If he’s got things in storage, I’m assuming.”
“Please, it’s Dad,” Peter reminds his father, “He’s definitely got something.”