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As soon as the elevator door opened, Peter threw his head back and groaned as loud as he could.
“What is it this time?” an exasperated voice came from the couch.
Peter buried his face into his hands as his feet dragged him over to his dad. With surprising accuracy, he flung himself down, his face landing right into the old man’s lap. Peter couldn’t suppress the small smile that crept onto his face when his dad automatically began running his finger through Peter’s locks. However, that small reprieve was not enough to distract from the disaster that was his life.
“I hate everything,” Peter groaned out, his voice slightly muffled.
He could practically feel his father’s eye roll.
“And why is that?”
Peter reached his arm around to grab the piece of paper that was rolled up and shoved into the side water bottle holder of his backpack. He held it up and let it be taken.
The paper crinkled as it was unrolled. Silence followed only to be interrupted by a barking laugh.
“A field trip to Stark Industries!”
Peter let out another massive groan.
“My downfall,” he whined out.
“Don’t you think you’re being a little dramatic, Pete?” his dad said.
Peter scoffed in offense, turning his head just enough to shoot a short but disdainful look at his father before hiding his face once again.
“I’m moving,” Peter declared. “I’m dropping out of school to become a hobo in Canada.”
“Is that right,” his dad chuckled.
Peter reached into his front jean packet and pulled out another paper, this time folded.
“Ned and I already made plans for the cardboard box I’m going to live in,” he said, holding it up.
The paper left his hand, and Peter heard it being opened.
“Impressive design. I like that you added a tarp to keep your box dry,” someone, who was not his father, said.
Peter tensed. He wasn’t aware anyone else was there in the room with him and his dad. Then again, he didn’t actually look when he came in. Thankfully, he recognized the voice.
“Uncle Rhodey?” Peter said, looking up past his father. Once he did, the teenager immediately regretted it. It wasn’t just Rhodey there. The entire Avengers team sat, staring at him with various looks of disbelief and concern.
Peter just gaped at them, his brain having trouble processing what he was seeing.
“Tony, who is this?” THE Captain America said, looking up to his dad.
“Well, Canada is no longer good enough,” Peter said, hopping up. “Death is the only option. Where do we keep the bleach?”
Captain America literally choked at Peter’s words. He look absolutely horrified.
His dad sighed, grabbing Peter’s wrist and yanking him to that Peter fell back into the couch next to him. His dad wrapped his arm around his shoulders. It probably looked affectionate to everyone else, but to Peter, it was an iron chain keeping him from fleeing.
“This dramatic, little shit is my son, Peter,” his dad said.
“I resent that,” Peter immediately scoffed.
“No, Tones is on point with that description,” Uncle Rhodey laughed.
Peter responded maturely by sticking his tongue out at the man.
Then came a barrage of questions at his dad that he handled with the practiced ease he got from years of press conferences.
“Yes, I have a son… No, I’ve know him since he was born and help raised him… Hey! I’m responsible… Yes, he is fine. Kids his age are just really into fatalistic humor for some odd reason.”
Peter tuned most of the conversation out and focused more on keeping his inner fanboy at bay. His dad had been working with the Avengers for a long time by now, but he always kept Peter away and his existence a secret. Now he was older, Peter understood why his dad did that and was thankful. He knew it was hard for his dad growing up as “Tony Stark” and didn’t want the same experience. They had talked about slowly introducing him, starting with the Avengers, but Peter had no idea it would be today and like this!
Peter’s attention drifted back into the conversation when he heard his dad address him.
“Peter, do you have anything to say?”
Peter cracked a shit eating grin. His dad sprung meeting the Avengers on him without notice, but two could play that game. He was going to make his dad regret it all.
“Actually, instead of bleach, I think jumping out the window is a better idea. Throw a flip on there for style, and I’ll be ending on a metaphorical high note at the same time as ending on a literal low note. Poetic, right?” Peter said, shooting finger guns at his dad, who then let out the most pitiful groan as he sunk his head into his hands.
Checkmate!