Chapter Text
As far as Peter was concerned, this was the best day he was ever going to have.
It was a Friday. He’d gotten a 100% on his history test that he’d forgotten about, followed by a whole day of minimal teasing from Flash. Plus, Michelle chose to hang out with him and Ned instead of reading during lunch. Bonus: she actively talked with them for the entire half-hour. Peter didn’t think that would ever happen.
But above all, Happy would be picking him up after school to go stay at Avengers Tower for the weekend.
Admittedly, he still hadn’t spent a lot of time at the tower. He’d never been there for more than a few hours to help Tony with the suit, opting to stay near Queens on patrol. Not only would this be his first whole weekend spent there, he’d also be spending time with one of his idols, Dr. Bruce Banner.
Which hadn’t exactly sunk in yet. Yeah, Peter had briefly talked to Banner on a few occasions, but nothing extensive enough to make conversation with him a stress-free event. He still hadn’t quite gotten over the shock of speaking casually with him; he was on the wall of his science classroom, for crying out loud. Peter was thrilled.
And not to mention, Peter liked spending time with Bruce as a person. The few times Peter had encountered him, he couldn’t help but notice that wherever Bruce was, a calm, pleasant aura surrounded him. Plus, he wasn’t as difficult to talk to as Tony. Bruce liked normal, friendly conversations, while Tony liked what Rhodey had once dubbed ‘verbal chess’.
This weekend, Tony and Peter were still planning to make minor adjustments to his suit, but Bruce had expressed an interest in examining Peter medically. It had been brought to his attention, most likely by a certain aunt, that Peter hadn’t seen a doctor since the bite (mostly to avoid any arachnid-centric questions, but also because they couldn’t quite find the time). Bruce had been asked to assess Peter’s everyday health, but also to determine any other, more unusual effects the bite might have had on his biology. He also may have said something about a personal interest in Peter’s case in particular. (Squee!)
Altogether, Peter couldn’t deny that he was excited.
At the sound of the last bell, Peter hurried to the school parking lot where he knew Happy would be waiting for him. Tony’s most modest vehicles still garnered more attention than Peter was comfortable with, so he always tried to leave campus as quickly as possible to avoid questions from his peers. On the way to the tower, Peter made one-sided conversation with Happy, and in turn, Happy made an honest attempt to stifle his cursing at traffic.
(Sometimes, Happy said really strange things instead of actual swear words. Peter had a comprehensive list of his favorites, including but not limited to “Jesus H Christ in a chicken basket” and “son of a beehive”.)
He thanked Happy when the car pulled up to the compound and practically did a tuck-and-roll out of the car. He greeted the receptionist, made friendly conversation with FRIDAY, and before he knew it he was walking into Bruce’s lab.
“Hey, Dr. Banner,” Peter smiled and swung his backpack onto an unused chair. Bruce waved in reply and good-naturedly rolled his eyes, not quite looking up from what he was studying on a computer. “Bruce, Peter. Call me Bruce.”
“I’m afraid that’s not an option, Dr. Banner.” He gracefully hopped up onto a lab table, swinging his legs to concentrate his unbridled excitement. “How was your day?”
He chuckled and gave a small shrug. “I’ve definitely had worse days,” he said, quite cryptically, and finally tore his attention away from whatever project he was focusing on. “How was school?”
“Really good!” Then he cocked his head. “Almost weirdly good.”
“Happy to hear. Take advantage of those days, Peter,” and the kid couldn’t quite ignore the bit of pain in his voice, gone before he knew it, but still very present and real.
“Today’s gonna be real simple,” Bruce continued before he could dissect his statement further. “We’re just gonna do some blood work. Stuff that you’ve probably had done before.” He was tugging on rubber gloves, and Peter’s eyes flitted to the empty bottle on the table next to Bruce, the packaged needle near, lying ominously in wait.
“Gotcha,” Peter replied (just a little too quickly). He could feel his mouth go dry.
Bruce frowned and examined Peter’s expression.
“Needles?”
“Needles,” Peter sputtered back.
Bruce nodded. “Hey, that’s okay. It’ll be over before you know it.”
Peter had read somewhere that none of Bruce’s pHDs we in medicine. However, he also knew that he’d worked as a doctor somewhere in Asia, and it showed. He was exceedingly gentle as he took Peter’s arm and rubbed the crook of his elbow with a disinfectant wipe.
“Ready?” Bruce picked up the syringe from the table. Peter nodded.
“Okay, look at my face. Tell me about your weirdly good day, Peter,” Bruce asked.
And Peter did. He could feel himself rambling about his test and about Flash and MJ and even shared a few of Happy’s not-swears and before he knew it, Bruce was slapping a Minion-themed bandaid on his arm and telling him that he did good. Peter loved that they kept Minion bandaids in a tower filled with superheroes.
“Uh… thanks, Dr. Banner,” Peter said, and Bruce shook his head.
“At this risk of sounding strange, this- your mutation, I mean- is interesting to me. It’s really my pleasure.” Peter went bright red at the.. Compliment? Was that a compliment? And muttered a thanks in return.
“When should we be getting the results? ‘Cause like, I’m gonna be here all weekend, so whenever is convenient for you, you can come get me-”
“Peter,” Bruce interjected. “They’ll be ready in a few minutes, don’t stress,” he smiled.
He was able to wait semi-patiently until he saw Bruce frown at his results. His mind immediately dove to the worst possible outcomes. What if he was turning into a spider? Was the bite poisonous? Maybe because spiders have shorter lifespans-
“Have you eaten?”
Peter’s eyebrows furrowed. “What?”
Bruce shrugged. “Your blood sugar’s low. It’s nothing to be concerned about, but I would recommend grabbing a snack when you get the chance.”
Peter glanced at his watch. 4:00 PM. “I mean, I’ve had breakfast and lunch. Plus, Ned gave me some of his food today because he wasn’t hungry. How low is it?”
The tablet was tilted towards Peter, and though he wasn’t as experienced in biochemistry as Bruce was, he could decipher the basics of what the chart was telling him. “Enough,” Bruce answered. “A lot of mutants have an enhanced metabolism, so it’s not exactly surprising. Steve’s metabolism is absurdly fast. However, you also have teenage boy metabolism to deal with, so you might have to eat slightly more than him.”
“Huh,” Peter commented insightfully.
It was obvious to Peter that he was more hungry after he received his powers. He remembered needing to change his routines so he could eat more. He’d brought extra food with him every day to school, and regularly ate small supplementary meals throughout the day. He was used to being hungry at the end of every meal. He thought it was harmless, but the way that Bruce was staring at him was telling him otherwise.
“How much more should I be eating?” Peter asked tentatively. Frankly, he didn’t know if him and May could afford to feed him well.
Bruce’s face scrunched up in thought and he double checked the monitor. “It’s hard to say, but easily double the calories you’re consuming now.”
Peter’s brows furrowed. “Is this the type of thing where doctors say that you have to drink like two liters of water a day, but no one has ever done that before and we’re all doing fine?
“First of all, staying hydrated is shockingly important,” Bruce corrected playfully. “But yeah, It would definitely do you good to eat more. You live an incredibly active lifestyle, you can always afford to take in more calories than you need.”
“Huh.” Peter repeated and nodded his head. Then, they moved on to talk about other mundane things like blood pressure and healing factor.
---
After his consultation with Bruce, Tony and Peter worked together in the lab until dinner. Instead of eating with the residents of the tower, Tony ordered a pizza and had it brought down to their lab. Peter teased that he was too impressionable and that Tony was going to make him an edgy, reclusive teenger. Tony argued that Peter was too stubborn to change any aspect of his personality unless someone specifically advised against it. Peter couldn’t necessarily argue with him.
“Are you on your seventh- eighth slice?”
Peter shrugged, feeling heat rise to his face. “Bruce told me that I’m not eating enough and that I have to raise my blood sugar.”
Tony spun in his chair to face Peter. “You usually eat less than me, have you been holding back? Shy or something?” He raised his eyebrows.
“Well…”
“This is a safe space. Here, you can be true to yourself,” Tony deadpanned. “No Place For Hate and whatnot.”
Peter rolled his eyes. “Usually, I just don’t eat as much as I want to because I feel bad about people going out of their way to feed me. Like, I can eat a lot, and I don’t want to inconvenience, you know?”
Peter could recognize the look on Tony’s face. When someone around him does something completely absurd, his face goes slack, and he develops a specific kind of emptiness in his eyes. He thinks it’s ridiculously funny when he’s not on the other end of the expression. Unfortunately, Peter is almost exclusively on the other end of the expression.
“You’re kidding me. Kid, you’re aware of my net worth, yes? Do you think buying an extra pizza will kill me?”
Peter felt silly. He shook his head.
“Exactly,” Tony huffed. “You’re still hungry aren’t you?”
Peter was thoroughly embarrassed. He was tempted to lie, but saw the look Tony was still giving him and decided against it. He gave a terse nod, and Tony pushed the rest of the box toward him.
“Mr. Stark, you really don’t have to-”
Tony cut him off with a simple raise of the hand. “Jesus, kid. There’s so much food in this tower, I’ll grab something when we go to bed. It’s no problem,” he chuckled, shaking his head.
Peter nodded, still feeling a little guilty as he took another slice. However, Tony was already turning back to his work, so he picked himself up and moved on.
“Thank you, Mr. Stark.”
Tony shook his head. “Don’t thank me, this is the noble thing to do. Sometimes to be the perfect mentor to your spider-mutant intern, you have to make sacrifices.”
Peter rolled his eyes, and then they were back to work.
---
It was an understatement to say that Peter was worried about breakfast with the Avengers.
Usually when he came to the tower, Peter just ate whatever was on his floor for breakfast. However, since last night when he told Tony he wasn’t eating enough, he insisted on joining the ‘real’ breakfast they had on Sam’s floor.
Yeah, he was terrified.
He’d met Bruce and Tony, of course, but he’d had little to no introduction to any other members. He’d met Clint once when he was doing his homework. He was in a zombie-like trance and making coffee, so he didn’t get a good read on his personality. He’d seen Steve before, but was too nervous to say anything to him. And now, he’d be trapped around a table with most of them. Or all of them at once. There was really no way to know.
He’s thought about wearing his suit for confidence, but Tony shooed the idea away. Everyone else would be in pajama pants and sweatshirts, he’d probably feel more out of place than before.
So, he woke up the next morning, brushed his teeth, and went to the bathroom. He fixed his hair (but made sure it still looked messy enough that he’d just woken up). He looked at himself in the mirror and spent roughly 20 minutes trying to choose pajamas to wear that seemed effortless enough but still looked nice. And then he was down the hallway, into the elevator, turning the corner, and entering the dining room.
The first thing Peter noticed was the smell. Sweet maple syrup and pancakes and the sharpness of coffee in the air. And then he traced it to the adjacent kitchen and realized that Captain America himself was at the stove. Next to him was one of the largest stacks of pancakes he’d ever seen. Sam was making idle chit-chat with Steve, and across the room, Clint, Tony, and Bruce nursed their coffees at the table.
From the stories Peter’s heard about breakfast, this was rather tame. He took a deep breath and walked over to Tony.
“Hey, Pete,” Bruce yawned. Clearly, no one in this corner was a morning person. Usually Peter wasn’t either, but he was too nervous to be tired.
“Hi,” Peter greeted and slid into a chair next to Tony.
“How’d you sleep?”
Peter shrugged. “Okay.”
That was a lie. He’d tossed and turned and could only think about having breakfast with his childhood heroes the next day.
On cue, Tony shook his head. “He’s lying. He definitely got less than 4 hours.”
Peter flushed bright red and averted his eyes.
“Oh, c’mon Tony. He’s a teenager, it’s his job to lie about stuff like sleep,” Clint teased. Tony just shook his head. “Not when said teenager completely lacks any semblance of self preservation instincts,” he grumbled.
Luckily, the Star Spangled Man With a Plan was there to interrupt the scolding with heaping amounts of breakfast food. Almost immediately, the bickering at the table slowed to a halt and people began to put food onto their plate.
“So, you’re the infamous Peter.”
Peter blinked up at the Captain, who, frankly, towered above him. Infamous? “H-hey, Captain America,” He shakily replied. He held out his hand to shake, and Peter wiped his on his pajama pants before taking it.
Steve smiled, eyes warm and inviting. “Call me Steve, kid. It’s nice to have you around.” Peter felt his heart stop. He murmured out a thank you and realized that all of his wildest dreams from childhood had come true.
And with that, Peter listened to the bustle of the heroes around them as they put food on their plates. Bruce wasn’t kidding about Steve’s enhanced metabolism- he put a mountain of food on his plate, and it seemed like he was planning for seconds. But he was Steve, so somehow he made it look graceful and polite as he did.
Clint raised his eyebrows when he took notice of the food on Peter’s plate. “How can you possibly eat that much? You’re a twig. That surely isn’t scientifically possible.”
Peter felt his face go hot, and he looked at his lab under the kitchen table. Tony sighed at Clint and merely told him that “growing boys need to eat, Barton.”
“Still, that’s a lot,” he continued, turning to Tony. “Also, you made me do this, so don’t get mad. How would you know what growing is? You’re like five foot seven.”
“Why haven’t I bribed Fury into taking you out of the team yet?”
“You love me too much.”
Peter snickered at their bickering and went to his food. He had to admit, it tasted like pure heaven. Peter was used to take-out, fast food, and worst of all, May’s cooking. The last time he’d had something fresh and homemade was at Ned’s house, maybe a month ago. They’d made cookies for a school project. They were good, but they still paled in comparison to the pancakes.
Sam started up conversation again after a moment of silence. “So, Peter...“
It would have been awkward under any other circumstance, but everyone was too tired and engrossed in their food to care. “How old are you, kid? You look twelve.”
It occurred to Peter that Sam had probably been waiting to bombard him with questions since he walked into the room. Which, under the circumstance, seemed completely fair. A teenager spending time with Tony was something no one seemed used to.
Peter paused, almost like he was afraid of giving the wrong answer. “I’m 15, but I’m turning 16 pretty soon.”
Sam‘s eyes widened and he turned to Tony. “Why is there a baby eating breakfast with us? I thought we didn’t eat breakfast with babies.”
“I’m not a baby!” Peter huffed. “I’m a sophomore in high school.”
Tony blinked, and agreed with Sam that Peter was a baby, much to his dismay. “If you have to know,” Tony said, “He’s an intern at the Stark Industries. He’s an honorable science bro.”
Peter’s eyes lit up. “No way, really Mr. Stark? That a big promotion.”
Tony nodded. “Well, you can keep up with Brucey and I, so you’re stuck with us even if you don’t want to be.”
Bruce chose to ignore him. “I forgot to ask, how’d your chemistry test the other day go, Peter?”
“I got a 99%, but only because I forgot units in one of the answers.”
Bruce shook his head. “That’s really your achilles heel, isn’t it?”
Peter sighed and nodded.
After that, the group fell back into their routine of casual banter. Bruce and Tony talked about a few projects they’d been meaning to start, while Clint told Peter absurd, animated stories about his work as Hawkeye.
When they’d all finished eating, Steve stood to do dishes and Peter offered his help.. Steve tried to protest, but he refused to listen. His aunt May had taught him well.
They settled on a routine: Steve refused to have Peter do the brunt of the work, so he washed and rinsed while Peter dried and put away. Except Peter didn’t know where any of the correct cabinets were, so he had to explore around the large kitchen to learn. Peter found that they worked at around the same rate, which made the process very convenient for the both of them. They were mostly silent, but a comfortable kind where Peter was able to slip back to a rhythm. Like what he has with May.
Peter was gathering dishes to dry when a plate happened to slip out of Steve’s grasp. His hand moved almost automatically, effortlessly catching the plate before it hit the ground.
When Peter moved to dry the near-fallen plate, he couldn’t help but to notice a small smirk on Steve’s face. He was shaking his head, rinsing the suds off of one of the large pancake plates.
Peter let his gaze linger as he looked up and down the Captain’s face.
“Nice reflexes, kid.”
He passed the next plate to Peter, who took it after a moment of hesitation.
He blinked. “Thanks.”
Of course Steve had already put the pieces together. It was easy to realize that Peter wasn’t an ordinary kid. He’d practically been clinging to Tony when he first walked into the room, and Tony was the type to hold everyone at an arm’s distance away. He wouldn’t ignore that instinct for any normal intern.
And besides, not many people shared his intense metabolism.