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Adjusting had been difficult, despite Tony’s attempts to ease the transition. Peter had a lot on his plate, and he tried to take off as much as possible. He made his meals, helped him with his homework, and he was there for him when he needed to talk about May. Except, he never really did. The kid didn’t even cry at the funeral.
Normally, he’d been worried, but he copes the same exact way. Peter probably is mourning in his own way. He doesn’t question it.
Peter doesn’t talk much, at first. He’s stressed beyond belief, Tony can tell. Some of that stress seems to drop off as soon as the summer hits, which he is thankful for.
Peter, finally being able to catch a break, takes a day off. A well deserved one, at that. “You ready, kid?”
Peter picks his head up from his plate of eggs. “Huh?” he asked, rubbing at his face. “What?”
“Time for training,” Tony said. Peter furrowed his eyebrows. “Come on, kid. Let’s go.”
A week ago, Peter would’ve jumped up at that. Now, he barely moves.
“I don’t feel like it,” he mumbled, and that breaks his heart.
“Come on,” he repeats. He picks up his finished plate, silently thanking the gods that he’s at least eating normally again. “There’s over one hundred rooms in this compound, and you’ve seen maybe five of them.” Peter follows him up into the training room. After an elevator ride and a walk across the compound, they arrive at the training room. Peter flinches as soon as he sees Sam on the other side of the room. Steve’s there, too, punching his heart out through a bag. Peter’s chest hitches, and he shrinks closer to Tony. “Hey, kid, they don’t bite,” he said.
Peter avoided the others whenever he could. These days, he avoided everyone in general, but at least occasionally he’d make an exception for Tony. Peter’d been living here 9 days now, and he’d yet to speak more than a couple words to the others. Even on the mission four days ago, he hadn’t spoken a word to them.
“I’m tired,” Peter said, watching as Tony kicked off his shoes. “I think--what’re you doing?”
Tony stepped on the mat. “Sparring,” he said. Peter scrunched up his nose.
“Mr. Stark, I don’t want to hurt you,” he says, and he snorts.
“Hurt me? Wow, is that really what you think of me?” Tony asked.
The realization of what he said settled in. “Oh, no, that’s not--” He covered his mouth. “I meant, you’re… Squishy.”
“You’re making fat jokes now?” Tony asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Mr. Stark, no! I meant, you’re a squishy.” When Tony didn’t drop his brow, he sighed and continued, “Like, as in, flesh. You fight with an armor on. You don’t need to spar.”
“You do, though,” he pointed out. “And I don’t live in that suit.” Peter gave him a questioning look. “That look right there is what’s gonna get you taken down, kid.”
Peter huffed and stepped on the mat. They were just about to start when Friday announced, “Sir, Pepper Potts is on the line.”
“Put her through,” he said, stepping off the mat. He picked his phone off the bench. “Hello… That was today? Yeah, I knew…” He turned to Peter and made a grave face. “Alright, I’m there now.” He hung up the phone and ran out of the room.
Peter paled, at first because of his boss’s idiocy, but then it was more because of how alone he was in this room. Steve and Sam were doing their own thing, careful to give him space, but he was still anxious. He turned to leave.
“You need a partner?” Peter’s heart froze when Sam started making his war towards him. “I can already tell you I’m better practice than Tony would be.” If that was supposed to be some sad attempt at a joke, it didn’t work.
Peter shook his head. “No, I--”
“Peter,” Friday called, calling him by his specifically requested name. “I am under orders by Sir to keep you in here for an hour.”
Peter groaned, tilting his head back. Sam stood in front of him, already getting into a stance.
He’s going to kill me, he thinks. Sam’s glare is zero-ing on him now, and he thinks he wants to just melt. Is he still mad about the airport? Oh, god, I’m going to die.
The timer starts with a bang, and Peter’s Spidey Sense is already going off. He, clad in the graphic tee and the gym shorts he slept in, flips in the air to avoid his charge. Peter must’ve been out of it, though, because during the hassle, Sam manages to catch him by his ankle. Peter, and damn his superhero strength, raises his ankle, falling back. He sends Sam flying over him as he tries to get his feet away from him.
Peter takes a shot, then, but he gets caught. Sam catches him in a tight hold. While Peter has super strength, he can do nothing in this position. He’s already twisting to get out of his grip. Peter falls on his back before trying to bridge out of there. Sam’s already moving to pin his back, but the second his feather-light fingers trace his side, Peter squeals.
At first, Sam thought he hurt him. On the other side of the room, Steve takes off his headphones to look over at the two.
Peter’s face is a flushed pink, and Sam is making a confused face. “Reset,” Peter requests weakly.
“Are you okay?” Sam asked, fingers still at his side, and Peter’s certain he’s trying to kill him. Peter twists again, anything to get away from him. Then, realization dawns on him, and Sam unfurrows his eyebrows. Peter gulps.
Sam experimentally brought his fingers down on Peter’s side, and he squeaks again. “Reset!” Peter yelps, louder now. He bridges again, face away from him. However, Sam, unrelentless, doesn’t stop his attack.
“Match isn’t over yet,” Sam says rather darkly. Peter turns, finally daring to look at him, and he regrets it instantly. Spread across his face is the most mischevious grin he’s ever seen.
He’s going to kill me, and he enjoys it.
“This--” Peter gasps as Sam moves up his sides, and he chokes. “Ch--Cheater!” Peter starts making punched little sounds, trying to cover his mouth.
“Cheating?” Sam asked, not without an evil chuckle. “This is a spar, Peter. Anything goes, as long as no weapons.”
Peter struggles to push the man off of him. During the attack, he can barely breathe, much less tap into his spider strength. “S-Stop!” he squeaks, giving up on beating him.
Sam’s grin only grows wider. Peter manages to twist his way onto his back before scrambling away. He’d just made it off of his feet when he turned around to point an accusatory finger at Sam. “Stay back,” he warned. He fought to catch his breath back. Sam puts his hands up in defeat. Peter puts his hands on his hips. “Friday, I’m out of here,” he announces. “Mess with me again, and we’ll see what happens.”
“This match isn’t over, Peter, but if you’re that scared…” Sam shrugs. “Go ahead. Go.”
Peter clenches his fist. “I’m not scared!” he protested.
“Then why are you backing away?” Sam’s predatory grin spread. “Still on the mat, Peter…” He jumps off.
“Just as I was telling Mr. Stark, it’d be bad if I hurt you. S-So, it’s best I not spar.”
“That’s fair. I’m no match for you.”
“Yeah… wait, what?” Peter froze.
His Spidey Sense started to off.
There was no escaping it. Sam lunged at him, and Peter ran backwards, but he instantly face planted into the wall. “I’m gonna kill you!” he whined, hands flying to grab his nose. He backed away from the wall, eyes shut in pain. Despite his unadulterated fear for the man, he taunts him. “Birdbrain, you’re going down!”
“Oh, is that so?”
“Uh-huh,” Peter said, cradling his nose. “As the strongest Avenger, it’s my duty--” Peter reached out to put his hand on the wall for support, but the moment his hand touched something soft, he choked. His eyes flew open to find no one other than the Winter Soldier staring at him. “Oh,” he gulps, “Excuse me.” His heart flutters wildly, but he tries his best to swallow down his fear. Talk big. Just like he’s one of the others. Without his mask covering his fear, he feels naked. “You should watch where you’re going.” He dares hold his eye contact.
Then, the man reaches forward and pushes Peter back on the mat. Sam takes a shot for his legs, and Peter jumps to the ceiling. His heart beats wildly.
They’re going to kill me; they’re going to kill me.
Bucky holds him on the ground in a tight hold. “Oh,” he squeaks before being folded into a pretzel roll. “Pin, that’s a pin, that’s a--” As soon as he’s secured, he’s sure they’re going to kill him. The grin on his face only confirms it.
Sam brushes his fingers against his stomach, and Peter kicks at him. Sam catches the foot before daring to attack the underside of his foot. “Nuh--!” he squeaked, writhing in the hold. “Okay, okay, Mercy!”
His attempt to stay strong goes to shit as soon as he grabs his foot. “Mercy?” Sam echoed, snickering. “That’s not a rule.”
“You’re teaming up!” Peter cries, but the argument falls short when Bucky using his free, flesh hand to poke him in the side. “U-Unethical!”
Sam continues his assault, but this time on the other foot. Peter shrieks, but he knows better than to kick at him again, knowing what’s going to happen. “Knee,” Bucky calls, and his eyes widen.
“No!” Peter’s short punched sounds turn into broken laughter. He’s gasping for air. A grin spreads across his face. “I’m sorry,” he cries suddenly, “I didn’t mean it, just, please stop.”
“Mean what?” Bucky asked. Peter’s face was a flushed red at this point.
“Ah-! S-S..Sto--” His words fall short again when Bucky reaches his underarms.
“Knew it,” he seethed. “Steve was the same when he was little.” He talked so… casually while Peter was literally dying under their hold.
“Mercy!” Peter cries again, but it’s no use.
“Look how much fun you’re having,” Sam said.
Peter groans. He twists his head away from them and spots Steve, who had taken his earbuds out. “Capt--Captain, Sir!” he struggled to speak, wheezing. “Help!”
Steve turns, completely overtaken by the hazing takes place before him. Steve walks over, and they stop their attacks. “Oh, thank you,” he says, relief washing over him.
“Did you try right there?” With his right hand being held over his head by Bucky, he can’t do much to keep Steve from poking his armpit. Peter lets out an inhuman screech.
“Why?” Peter choked, laughing. He used his free hand to cover his face.
“This is what happens when you’re nothing but teen angst for a week,” Bucky says, and Sam’s smile drops a little. “This is team initiation.”
“Then I quit!” Peter cries, but he can’t stop giggling. “What kind of torture is this?”
“Torture?” Bucky asked. “Hardly.”
“Y-Yes!” he cried. “Fri, call--” His laughter hurt his sides. He writhed around in the hold.
Her voice, taunting, “Yes, Peter?”
His free hand managed to reach back and slap lightly at Bucky’s arm. “Oh, is that how you wanna play it?”
“Lemme gooooo!” he cried, twisting to escape the never ending torture. “Mr. Wilson, I’ll leave you alone--”
“Kid, the last thing you need to be is alone,” Tony said, and where did he come from?
“Mr. Stark,” Peter rasped, “help me!”
“I think that’s enough,” Tony said, and as soon as they let go, Peter sat up and almost cried out of relief, that was, until he continued, “For now.” Peter paled and Tony laughed. “Oh, kid, they mean well.”
“Uh, no, they don’t!” Peter hissed. “Murder, Mr. Stark, murder!” He scrambled away from the others to Tony’s side.
“You had it coming,” Bucky shrugged. “Don’t you know that’s what happens to smartasses around here?”
Peter paled, going frigid. Tony drops next to Peter’s ear and whispers, “Peter, they’re teasing you.” His face went even redder, if that was even possible, than before. He leaned back.
“They attacked me,” he huffed.
“That’s the rules of spar,” Sam shrugged.
Steve knowingly nodded. “It is,” he agreed.
“No, it’s not,” Peter whined, still pissed about the attack. “Not fair.”
“You expected me not to have a tickle fight,” as soon as he says the childish language, Peter fumes more, “with this absolute, touch-starved teenage angst?”
“I am not!” Peter huffed. Tony dug his finger into the nape of his neck, and Peter screams. “No, no! Mr. Stark!” He scrambles away, far from all the others sitting on the mat. “Stay over there, traitors!”
Steve Rogers sent a frown his way. “You could’ve pushed him off at any time,” he pointed out.
“I didn’t want to hurt him!” Peter said.
It wasn’t until he said it he realized his mistake. “Really? You’re going there again?” Sam asked, amused.
“Noooo,” he cried, backing away at the four’s menacing looks. Tony went for his neck again for a light tease, and Peter pushed him away.
“Maybe you should do that more often,” Tony noted. “Look how smiley he is.”
“Mr. Stark!” he yelped, pushing him over. He knocked Tony to the ground and tried to tickle his sides, but Tony’s face didn’t even break. And when it did, he was smirking. “What? How?”
Tony lifted up his shirt to showcase the thick covering. Peter groaned, realizing his sad attempt at revenge was short lived.
“Oh, shit,” he cursed, but it was too late.
He really was gonna die like this.