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Peter shivered and pulled his jacket closer as he walked through Central Park. Snow fell, covering the trees and the path Peter walked on and the hat on top of his head. Just the kind of weather that looked pretty, but felt miserable, especially to spider, but Peter pressed through it.
He needed the fresh air.
He needed his feet on the ground, instead of soaring through the sky, between buildings, although he could at least admit his heated Spidey suit would feel nicer, lighter but warmer, than his jeans, coat, hat, gloves and scarf.
He needed the cold to cool off, even if he hated shivering, hated the way the cold crept under his skin and stayed there, how it affected him twice as bad since he became a spider.
Peter kept pushing forward through the park and tried to let go of his anger, although he didn’t know why he should, didn’t understand why he should be so accepting of Steve with the way he’d treated Mr. Stark when everything with the accords went down.
Didn’t understand why they were trusting him, but mostly, Peter didn’t understand himself, the way he’d lost control and gotten into a full-blown shouting match with Captain America. That he’d been so angry even Mr. Stark thought he’d need a few seconds to calm down.
Peter jerked his head up at the sound of sad whimpering. He looked around and narrowed his eyes when he saw from the noise came from. A dog was stuck in the lake, in a circle of water where the ice was broken. He was wet and shivering and whiney, trying to climb up out of the water and into the ice, but his legs and paws only slid around.
Peter didn’t think about it.
He took off his coat, gloves, scarf and hat and threw them on the ground. He lowered himself on the, slowly sliding himself on his belly towards the dog until he could reach out and pet him.
“What’re doing way out here?”
The dog whimpered in response.
“Don’t worry,” said Peter. “I’m gonna get you out here and warm, then give you lots of treats, okay?”
“Peter!”
He turned his head and saw Mr. Stark standing at the lake’s edge.
“Oh, hey Mr. Stark,” he said. “This isn’t what it looks like.”
“Do you just automatically say that when you get yourself into these situations?” asked Mr. Stark. “How is this not what it looks like?”
Peter ignored him, not wanting to admit Mr. Stark was right and it was a reflex and turned his attention back on the dog.
He didn’t think about it, didn’t think that grabbing the dog and trying to lift him up would cause the ice Peter was lying on to break from under him. Peter, at least, held onto to the dog when he was submerged into the cold water, that stabbed at him.
The dog let out another whine at the same time Peter’s feet hit the bottom of the lake. He’d gotten lucky. The lake wasn’t deep enough to go over his chin, and although it was sheer cold, Peter was able to walk forward, breaking the ice as he did, and walk both himself and the dog to dry land.
He collapsed to his knees, releasing the dog and grabbing his coat, ignoring Mr. Stark’s protests when he used his coat as a towel to help the poor dog to get warm and dry.
“Kid,” he told him. “You need better survival skills. This isn’t what I meant when I told you to go cool off.”
Peter looked up at Mr. Stark, saw the mix of frustration and concern in his eyes, and shrugged.
“Y-you k-know me, Mr. Stark. Go big or go home,” said Peter, his teeth chattering so bad, he was surprised he was even able to get any words out.
“Next time I’d prefer it if you just went home,” said Mr. Stark, taking off his coat and aggressively throwing it down to Peter. For a few seconds, Peter considered using that on the dog, too, but Mr. Stark seemed to read his mind. “Don’t you dare make my coat smell like wet dog.”
*
Less than an hour later Peter was in dry clothes, in a room in the Tower’s Medbay, and under a mountain of blankets. Mr. Stark kept adding more and more, and Peter’s protests that it wasn’t doing any good, that was warm and dry, seemed to simply bounce off of him.
No amount of reassurance would stop him from mother-henning, so Peter supposed he’d better get used to it.
When Mr. Stark sat down in the chair beside his bed, Peter thought it was finally safe to ask the question that’d be on his mind the entire night.
“Mr. Stark – “
“No.”
“You don’t even know what I was gonna say.”
“Maybe not,” said Mr. Stark. “But I can guarantee the answer is no.”
Peter went ahead and asked his question anyway. “Can we keep Icicle?”
“What is Icicle?”
“The dog.”
“You named the dog icicle?” asked Mr. Stark.
“Yep,” said Peter.
Mr. Stark shook his head. “You know we can’t. You’re not allowed pets at your apartment, and I’m sure as hell too busy to look after a mutt.”
Peter opened his mouth, to argue, but closed it again, knowing it wouldn’t do any good. Besides, he’d had enough of arguing for one day.
*
Mr. Stark fell asleep first.
He was cramped up in the armchair, his feet kicked up on Peter’s bed, and his head lolled back, his nose pointing straight up in the air and his mouth wide open. He was also snoring. Loudly.
There was only thing Peter could do. He grabbed his cellphone from the table next to him, opened his camera and pointed it at Mr. Stark. His thumb was hovering above the record button when Icicle came padding into the room.
His tail wagged and he gave a happy bark as he jumped up to join Peter on the bed. He licked his face as Peter petted him.
“Hey,” said Peter, with laugh. “You’re feeling better… how’d you get all the way over here?”
His question was answered not by Icicle, but by Steve hovering in the doorway.
“Oh.”
“Thought you might want to see him,” Steve said. “He’s going to be just fine. Thanks to you.”
“Yeah,” said Peter, stiffly. “Thanks.”
Icicle laid down as Peter kept scratching his ears, feeling awkward and angry and a little bitter that Steve had done something for him, bitter that he was actually happy that he had.
“I was thinking we could keep him.”
Peter’s ears perked up. “Mr. Stark said no.”
Steve shrugged. “I’ll keep him in my wing… he doesn’t have any tags. He’s not chipped. Nat and I made some flyers, but if no one claims him, he’ll just be our dog. The Avenger’s dog.”
It was hard work keeping the smile off his face, hard work not to show exactly how excited he was that they wouldn’t be taking Icicle to a shelter. That instead he’d get to live there, with lots of people to give him treats and attention and belly rubs.
“You can’t just buy me off with a dog,” lied Peter.
“It’s a start,” said Steve. He took a couple of steps backwards. “I understand why you don’t trust me and why you tense up every time you see me around Tony, and I’m sorry for that.”
“You also threw a bus at me.”
“I knew you could catch it,” said Steve, with a smile, telling Peter something he already knew. “We’re going to be a team again, and I’m excited and terrified to have you be a part of it.”
“Terrified?”
“Hate to see a little kid get hurt.”
Peter frowned. “I’m not a little kid.”
Steve laughed, then nodded his head. “Guess not, but still, it’s a family thing. We gotta protect the youngest.”
Great, thought Peter, now there were two mother-hens.
Steve told him goodnight, and Peter continued giving Icicle all the pets he deserved.
With his anger finally cooled, he shut his eyes and drifted off, listening to the sound of Mr. Stark’s snores.