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Chapter Text

Under any normal circumstances, Peter Benjamin Stark-Rogers could be considered a lucky kid. He had two parents who loved him—the Tony Stark and Captain America themselves—three supportive best friends, who had his back no matter what the world threw their way, a boyfriend he still didn't know how he snagged, and a dysfunctional group of super-powered misfits he called family.

There were plenty of folks who would give their right kidney to be in his position, yet Peter Benjamin Stark-Rogers would beg to fucking differ.

As he sat in the back of his AP Physics lab, he couldn’t help the quiver of his hands at the jarring sight of black-bolded lettering that made his entire being want to curl up and die.

“Field Trip this Friday to Stark Industries.”

Peter clenched his fingers tighter around the paper, while Ned was practically vibrating beside him. 

“Dude! Can you believe it?! We’re going to Stark Tower!” his voice held such an energy that Peter thought the boy may combust (He’d read a book about that once).

“Ned, you’ve been there a thousand times. You were there last week,” Peter reminded his friend, doing his best to stifle an inward groan. He didn’t mean to rain on Ned’s parade, it was just that this field trip was no doubt about to be the end of his already dwindling social career. 

You see, under any normal circumstances, Peter Benjamin Stark-Rogers should be considered a lucky kid. Stark Industries very rarely allowed tour groups to come through the facilities due to the highly-classified technology it developed. 

However, Stark Tower also happened to be Peter’s house, where his “loving parents” would definitely let something slip about his identity as Spider-Man, his dysfunctional family of super-powered misfits were surely already cooking some kind of plan to embarrass the shit out of him, and judging by the smirk of amusement he was receiving from MJ, at least one of his “supportive” best friends was in on it.

“I know,” Ned did his best to calm himself, “but we always hang out either in the penthouse or your lab. It’ll be cool to see the tower from a different perspective!”

Peter couldn’t dispute that entirely. Stark Tower was over a hundred floors high. There were some parts of the building that even he hadn’t explored to the fullest yet. Perhaps this could be somewhat fun in that light?

“YO, PENIS!”

Or, on second thought, maybe not.

Peter released the exasperated sigh building in his throat, glancing upwards to catch a  glimpse of the elated look plastered on Flash Thompson’s face. 

He stared them down over the back of his chair. “Ready for all your lies to be exposed?”

Normally, Peter would ignore the bully’s existence, having better places to focus his energy, but it’d been a grueling day of mostly exams, and he was honestly at his limit. “Have you ever thought for one moment that perhaps my internship is, in fact, real?” Peter retorted, raising a questioning eyebrow like he’d seen his Pops do in one-too-many PSA tapes. 

Flash jerked his head back a fraction, Peter’s response taking him by surprise, but quickly recovered, sneering in his face again. “Like hell it is. No way Tony Stark has enough fucks to give about a charity case like you.”

To be fair, Peter wasn’t an intern in the traditional sense. It was mainly a cover story for his presence at the tower—his fathers’ adamant that his parentage remain confidential to keep him out of the media’s frenzy—but that didn’t mean he made no contribution to the projects developed within the company, and he certainly wasn’t any kind of charity case.

“Eugene,” MJ rubbed her fingers against her forehead as though ridding herself of a headache, “if you could kindly cease being a cosmic bitchwagon for five seconds, that would be wonderful. Our collective IQ lowers with every bit of bullshit you spout.”

Peter failed to stop the laugh that bubbled out of him at the rebuke, and it would seem even Flash was rendered speechless for a moment, Mr. Rose, their physics instructor, impeding on any other comment he might’ve had to make. 

“As all you can see,” the teacher began, “I’m excited to announce that our class has been awarded the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to experience the day in the life at the esteemed Stark Industries!”

A chorus of cheers circled the classroom, save for Peter’s praying to whatever gods would listen that he’d fall suddenly ill and not have to go (As if. Peter hadn’t even gotten the common cold since his spider bite).

“That being said, I’ll need these permission slips and NDAs signed and back here by Thursday,” Mr. Rose called over the loud blare of the final bell, students scattering for the door. 

Peter began to collect his own things, hoping to perhaps be relieved of any further inconveniences for the day, only to find that he’d spoken too soon.

“Mr. Parker,” Mr. Rose motioned him towards his desk. “A word?”

Ned shot Peter a questioning look, but he shrugged, equally confused, telling his friends that he’d see them tomorrow.

“Peter,” his instructor met him with a stare that bordered somewhere between concern and disappointment—which was strange, because he’d never had a problem with the man before, “As an educator, I'm well aware of how to detect when a student is in pain or struggling.”

The confusion only built as Peter gave himself a mental check-over. He’d picked up a few bruises on patrol last night, but thanks to his enhanced body structure, he barely felt a thing. Surely it couldn’t be that noticeable?

“Now, I know things have been hard for you since the loss of your parents, and the staff here have done our best to be lenient with you, but I cannot let you continue to drag yourself down with these lies about an internship at Stark Industries.” 

You had to be kidding. 

One, Peter hardly knew his biological parents. He’d only been a few years old when they were lost to a mission with SHIELD. He’d been under his fathers’ care since he could remember, spending the occasional weekend with their close family friend, May Parker—the third of his official guardians, who’s last name he was registered with for school.

May had accidentally fabricated the incident’s recency during a Parent-Teacher conference when asked if 'his mother and father would be joining.’ The only hardship Peter found himself dealing with at the moment, was falling subject to Tony’s dad jokes everyday.

And two, he technically hadn’t been spreading any kind of false information, as both his parents and his Aunt Pepper had filed official paperwork with the administration. His dad felt that having Peter follow the internship curriculum would help prepare him for eventually inheriting the company. 

“With all due respect, sir, it’s not a lie–”

“I know how high school can be, Peter,” Rose cut him off. “Receiving an invite to the popularity circle can sometimes feel like your only chance of survival, but I would hate to see these tall-tales fall into the wrong hands and skew future opportunities for you down the line.”

“I swear, I have documentation–” he tried again. However, the teacher still refused to let him get a word in. 

“The school is well aware of that little stunt you pulled this fall, and you’re lucky they decided to overlook it on the basis of maintaining your wellbeing, but it’s gone on long enough. You’re a smart kid, Peter, and I think you know how it would reflect on both you and me if I hear you spreading more falsities while we’re away, so I expect you to be your most honest self when we load that bus on Friday. Understood?”

Seeing no way out of this without racking up more than just an “interventional warning”, Peter dropped his head. “Understood,” he mumbled.

Mr. Rose smiled, posture immediately relaxing. “Good. Then I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Pulling the hood of his sweater over his face, Peter wordlessly turned away, spirit officially dampened for the day. 

He hadn’t cared if the other students believed him or not, he only had another two years with them, but to have his teachers think he was a liar brought an unpleasant feeling to the pit of his stomach. 

By the time Peter reached the door of Happy Hogan’s awaiting Audi, he’d retreated into himself almost entirely. All he wanted now was to go home, shove his face into a bowl of cold, strawberry licorice, and go the ever-loving fuck to sleep.

“Hey, kid, how was school?” Happy asked as Peter situated himself in the backseat. 

“Fine,” he muttered in a quiet tone, moving to stare out the window.

This immediately pricked Happy’s senses, because usually, he couldn’t get Peter to stop babbling on about his day, or his friends, or whatever new gadget he couldn’t wait to mess with when he got home.

“You okay?” The older man pressed. He twisted in his spot, searching the boy for any signs of injury. 

“Yeah,” Peter nodded, “just tired.”

He doubted his driver was even the least bit convinced, but he was thankful when Happy didn’t prod at the matter any further, letting their journey home be filled with somewhat comfortable silence. 

Pulling out his phone, Peter switched on the device, his lock screen making him feel the slightest bit better. It was a photo of himself and Harley that Shuri had taken during one of her overnight stays at the tower. The two boys were cuddled together, half-asleep on Peter’s bed, Loki’s tower cat, Vesper, snuggled between them. 

Harley was currently away at MIT for a research trip, meaning Peter hadn’t seen his boyfriend at all in the past few weeks, but they’d at least been calling every night.

In desperate need of distraction, he unlocked his phone and swiped through his messages until he found the conversation he was looking for.

Five Dollar Bad Bitchwaffles

Peter - 2:36pm

There is not enough aspirin in the world to cure the amount of pain I’m currently in.

MJ - 2:36pm

I have pitchforks, I have knives, I have tennis rackets, and I have hands. Who hurt you?

Peter - 2:37pm

Rose pulled me aside and told me I had to stop lying about working at the tower. 

Shuri - 2:38pm

He sounds like an assfish.

MJ - 2:39pm

I’ll pour windex in his coffee tomorrow if you want.

Shuri - 2:39pm

I’ll supply.

Ned - 2:40pm

So ready for our field trip to prove everyone wrong

MJ - 2:40pm

Fuck security regulations, I WILL be recording their reactions

Shuri - 2:41pm

Oop, what field trip?

MJ - 2:42pm

Lol we’re going on a tour of the tower

Peter - 2:42pm

OF ALL PLACES, WHY DID IT HAVE TO BE MY HOUSE???

Shuri - 2:43pm

DEAD

Harley - 2:43pm

I’m about to board a plane, but I’ll be there for the windex pouring in spirit.

Peter - 2:44pm

Ooooo where are you going??

Harley - 2:45pm

That’s classified :P

Peter - 2:45pm

T-T

Harley - 2:45pm

Sorry, Darlin’ <3

Ned - 2:45pm

Dw, Peter, I can hack it.

Harley - 2:46pm

No you can’t, I Ned-proofed the coordinates.

Shuri - 2:47pm

DAMN IT, KEENER, YOU NEVER LET US DOING ANYTHING FUN

The edges of Peter’s mouth curled upwards in the inklings of a smile at his best friends’ antics—though, he wouldn’t put it all the way past MJ to actually pour windex into Mr. Rose’s coffee. Perhaps if he just conveniently “forgot” his permission slip at the bottom of his bag, he could spend a long weekend upstate at his Uncle Rhodey’s house instead, and pray for the whole thing to blow over.

Chapter Text

Peter spent the rest of his twenty-minute ride gazing absent-mindedly out the window, so much so that he was practically given a jump-scare when the tower's private entrance flared in the corner of his vision. 

He blinked a few times, shaking off the slight adrenaline rush, and pulled his backpack over his shoulder. Happy was still shooting him wary looks through the rearview mirror, but Peter did his best to play it off with a smile, thanking the man for the ride. Once the car rolled out of sight, however, he let himself drop again, shoving his hands into the pockets of his (Harley’s) dark-blue hoodie, and kept his head low as he pushed through the double doors. 

“Welcome home, Peter,” FRIDAY greeted, scanning his security badge as he stepped over the cheery “wipe your paws” mat Clint had jokingly placed there. “Should I alert the Boss to your arrival?”

“That’s okay, Fri,” he responded, waving to the receptionist while he trekked into the elevator. “I think I’ll just head up to the house for now.”

“Right away.”

As the lift began to move, Peter leaned back against the cool, metal walls, gaining much-needed relief from their subtle chill. He could feel the faintest touch of a headache beginning to form, and prayed his dad had left at least one can of coke in the refrigerator for him, caffeine working better wonders on his super-powered systems than your average painkiller would.

The doors spread open with a soft ping once he reached his destination, the connecting hall passing him off into the kitchen, where Steve leaned against the bar counter, deep in conversation with his Aunt Pepper, while Sam and Bucky were busied with a spiced-smelling-something near the oven.

It was Bucky who spotted him first, a wide grin breaking out across his face. “Well, if it isn’t my favorite Captain Chaos.” The super-soldier roped Peter in for a hug, and he happily relaxed into his uncle’s warm grip. It’d been quite some time since Peter had seen either of the Wilson-Barnes unit, as they resided together in Louisiana—closer to Sam’s family—for the majority of the year.

Behind them, Sam scoffed, feigning jealousy. “What, no love for your Uncle Sam?”

Peter laughed, pulling away, his mood lightening at the pleasant surprise while Sam reached over and ruffled his hair. “How’ve you been, little man?”

He shrugged, dropping his backpack by the counter. “You know..school.”

“Gross,” Bucky wrinkled his nose, reaching for the steaming tray behind him. “Want a waffle fry? Made them myself.”

“Sure,” Peter plucked one from the stack. Nobody knew what Bucky put in his food, but anything the man made was culinary magic (Regardless of Dr. Strange’s opinion on what could and could not constitute as such).

“Not too much, Pete,” Steve chided after the boy reached for seconds. “Wouldn't want to ruin your appetite for dinner.”

“Ah, come on, Steve,” Bucky waved him off, “it’s my job to spoil him.”

“Spoil, not send him into cardiac arrest,” Steve poked back, “I watched you triple fry those things.”

“Sorry, Pops.” Peter muttered around a mouthful of chili-powdered goodness, Steve handing him a glass of water to wash it down. “Where’s Dad?”

Pepper rolled her eyes, fingers tapping against the stack of paper spread in front of her. “Holed up in his workshop, as per usual. I swear to God, it’s college all over again. The second I ask Tony to do anything he deems remotely boring, the man B-lines for the nearest machinery for the next week and a half. How he passed finance after skipping almost all of our study sessions, I will never know. ”

“I’ll go see if I can drag him out,” Peter joked, snagging one more waffle fry and that much needed coke for the road, despite his Pops’ call of protest.

Barreling back into the elevator, he lightly knocked against the steel interior. “Floor 85, please, FRIDAY.”

“Of course.”

With the afternoon’s dilemma momentarily pushed to the back of his mind from the arrival of his favorite (don’t tell Clint) uncles, Peter swayed along to the soft lo-fi music FRIDAY always played for him until the rising compartment jolted to a halt. 

The background noise immediately switched from a faint remix of the Pokémon theme to the floor-quaking sound of AC/DC’s “Thunderstruck” blasting through his dad’s bluetooth speakers. 

He tried calling Tony a few times over the ruckus, but alas, his voice couldn’t compete with Brian Johnson’s, resulting in Peter having to power down the entire system.

This immediately caught the engineer’s attention, his father looking up from where he’d been messing with the engine of an old-fashioned, red corvette. “Hey, kiddo, didn’t notice you there.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Peter playfully replied, ignoring the “watch your language” stare Tony had picked up from Steve. He nodded towards the vehicle, one he didn’t recall seeing in his dad’s garage before. “Whatch’ya working on?”

Tony slapped the hood shut, wiping his hands on a stray grease rag. “Favor for Coulson,” he pointed his wrench out as though hosting a lecture. “You know, you’d think the man would be willing to go out on a limb sometimes with me having saved the world and all that, but I’ll tell you, he drives a stiff bargain.”

“Oh, no, what happened?”

“I needed him to go pick up a package.”

“Dad…you do realize you have plenty of other people to ask? I could have gotten it for you.”

“Absolutely not,” Tony fixed him with a firm glare. “Not until I’ve installed the updated Baby Monitor Protocol in every one of these vehicles.”

“Come on!" Peter protested, “I passed my driver’s exam on the first try! I’m not a baby anymore!”

“Correction, young one,” His father countered, pulling him into his side, “you’ll always be my baby.”

Peter snorted, squirming beneath Tony’s hold until he eventually set the boy free, nudging him towards an open tool box on the nearby roll-away counter. “Alright, alright, but since you’re a big boy now, how about you lend your old man that genius brain of yours. Then we’ll talk about driving.”

“Deal.”

Whoops.

In the end, it was Pepper who had to march down to the workshop and haul both Peter and Tony out from under the corvette, muttering something about not being paid enough to babysit yet another Stark. 

By the time she managed to herd them back into the penthouse, it was well after five, Peter apologizing profusely as he went to clean up for dinner, while Steve corralled Tony into signing whatever papers his aunt brought up in the hours before—Pepper giving them both a most exasperated look on her way out the front door.

When Peter re-emerged from his room fifteen minutes later, headache finally dissipated after 17 ounces of pure caffeine and the warm water of his shower, the remaining faces of the tower-dwelling Avengers had begun gathering together around the kitchen table. 

Padding across the floor to join them, a cozy feeling spread itself across Peter’s chest. He was grateful that, no matter what, he always had a family to come home to.

Until, of course, he wasn’t.

Any warm-fuzzies Peter ever felt regarding Earth’s Mightiest Heroes were immediately stomped out the second Natasha met him with a shit-eating grin.

“So, Peter,” she placed her chin upon folded hands, staring him down from the end of the table. “What’s this I hear about a field trip to our humble, little abode?”

Peter felt his entire body go on high alert, panic dripping down his spine like a baby deer caught in the headlights of an eighteen-wheeler as the school day’s events came rushing back to the forefront of his memory again.

Play it cool, play it cool, play it cool, play it cool, Peter chanted internally, straightening himself before he looked anymore a fool. “Uh, what field trip?” He asked, idly twirling a strand of his Pops’ famous spaghetti around his fork. 

He was praying she’d take a hint and drop the subject, yet the dread only sank deeper into the pit of his organs when Natasha pulled out his half-crumpled permission slip. “This one.” 

Intrigued, Tony snatched the paper from the spy’s grip, reading it aloud for all to hear. “Field trip this Friday to Stark Industries?” He dramatically slapped a hand against the arc reactor on his shirt in a Shakespearian faint. “Petey, how could you keep this from me?”

Peter only raised a sarcastic eyebrow .

“I’m not quite sure I understand,” Vision piped up. “It’s to my knowledge that fields are noted as particularly peaceful environments, appropriate for clearing one’s mind after a taxing period of time. What’s not to like?”

“It’s not that kind of ‘field trip’, Vis,” Wanda struggled to stifle her laughter across from him. 

Peter groaned, just about slamming his face straight into his bowl. “Please don’t make me go.”

“Sorry, kiddo,” Steve replied, crushing Peter’s every hope and dream of still having a social life, “you know the rules about skipping school. Besides, you’ll be with your friends. It’ll be fun.”

“Don’t worry, Peter,” Wanda smirked, clearly reading his current trainwreck of thoughts, “We won’t embarrass you that much.”

Which was absolutely a lie, as the Scarlet Witch took her older-sister role in his life far too seriously.

Before he could object any further, Tony rose from the table, fetching a pen, and placed his signature in large, elegant characters under the “sign here” portion. “Kinda funny that I have to give permission for my own kid to come to his house,” he joked, returning to his seat. “You think we could do that to Fury?”

Natasha cackled, shaking her head. “Absolutely not.”

“I don’t know,” Tony countered, “I’m a big fan of not knocking things until you try them,” he rocked his chair back, calling over his shoulder, “FRIDAY, remind me to open a private file on protocol ‘secret passcode’.”

“As you wish, sir.”

“Alright, that’s enough of that,” Steve reprimanded, though there was no real sternness behind his words. “The man’s our boss.”

“I’m sorry, but who’s name is on this tower again?”

“Just eat your dinner, Tony.”

“You better watch it, Rogers, ‘cause you’re next.” Tony warned, spitefully shoving a piece of garlic bread into his mouth. “FRIDAY, open a separate file titled ‘Operation My House, My Rules’. Rule number one, Steve Rogers is no longer to be granted access to this facility unless he comes bearing cheeseburgers.”

“Really?” Steve asked, but his husband just smiled.

“With milkshakes!” Peter added. 

“Of course, Peter. Under the jurisdiction of ‘My House, My Rules’, Steve Rogers is no longer welcome on the premises without items ‘cheeseburger’ and ‘milkshake’ in his possession,” the AI confirmed. “Will that be all?”

“I think so,” Tony answered, while Steve only glared, knowing both he and Peter were going to be taking full advantage of this one whenever they could (Not that he really cared, he was absolutely defenseless when it came to either of his boys).

“Don’t worry, Cap,” Sam clapped his friend on the shoulder. “When you get sick of these two, you can always come bunk with us.”

“No he can’t; we have cats.” Bucky frowned. “He’s been allergic to cats for the past 97 years.”

“Not anymore,” Steve reminded him. “Serum magic, remember?”

“The fuck?” Bucky gave the other super-soldier an incredulous look. “Then why do I still have a damn peanut allergy?”

Sam shrugged. “Zola stupidity. You can never trust the intellect of a man who doesn’t like steak.”

“Amen,” Tony raised his glass to that.

After dinner, Peter and Wanda were left on dish duty, everyone else relocating to the communal lounge area for further socialization and most likely a movie night since Sam and Bucky were visiting.

Peter, however, was back to fixating on his current problem of how he was going to explain the signature of the one and only Tony Stark on his permission slip to a school who didn’t believe that he could even achieve an internship with the man, despite his incredibly high intellect.

He was so busy pre-writing the entire dialogue in his head that he hardly noticed when Wanda used her powers to cage his face between two dish sponges. “Peter, what are you?” 

 “An idiot sponge-wich,” he giggled, rolling his eyes at the witch’s antics.

“Very good,” she replied, leaning against the counter. “And now that I have your attention, would you mind telling me what’s really going on in that head of yours? Or must we play the guessing game where I eventually cheat and always win?” 

The humor immediately slipped from Peter’s eyes, and he shied away a little. “It’s nothing important,” he tried, but Wanda wouldn’t hear it.

“Come on, baby brother,” she only used that name for him when she felt it genuinely necessary.

Peter eventually sighed, giving in. “My classmates don’t think my internship is real. Which I guess is kind of true? I’m not one of the traditional development interns, but I technically do intern with Dad,” he told her, stacking another plate back into the cabinet.  “I was okay with that, though, because my real friends know I’m telling the truth and that’s what mattered. But today, I found out that even my teachers think I’m lying! They thought the internship papers Aunt Pepper filed were fake, and apparently I’m ‘fabricating stories for attention’. So how am I supposed to explain Dad’s signature on my permission slip to people who I know will think it’s a fraud?”

Wanda frowned. “Is this why you didn’t want to go?”

Peter shook his head. “No, that was more of me being one-hundred percent sure Dad and Uncle Clint are going to be scheming all week on how to ensure I never make friends again.”

Wanda snickered, “I’m afraid that can’t be helped. But I assure you, Peter, teachers have so much to do in a day, I doubt they’ll even look twice at your form. And once you’re here, you’ll be able to prove them wrong, which if I recall, is a Stark’s favorite past-time.”

“Ned said the same thing.” The corner of Peter’s mouth twitched up at the memory.

“Then you should listen to your friends more often. They know things too.”

Peter nodded, releasing the breath he’d been holding in since dinner. “You’re right. Thanks, Wanda.”

“Of course,” the witch enveloped him in a hug. “Now, I think we’d better go rescue our friends from whatever terrible film Sam will try to make us watch this time.”

Peter hummed in agreement, flashbacks of the night they’d been stuck in a marathon of those horrible knock-off Avengers movies resurfacing (Seriously, his family would never split up like that. If anything, Tony would just play Steve’s old PSAs on loop for a week).

Sometimes having Wanda as an older sister wasn’t always horrible.

Chapter Text

That next morning, Peter had wanted everything to be different. 

He’d woken up with his alarm this time instead of sleeping through it, was granted the ethereal experience of Bucky’s banana-cream pancakes, and made it to homeroom eight minutes early, where he spent his free time talking with Ned and MJ about the new lego architecture sets and which ones they wanted build—Ned and Peter thought the New York City set might be a fun project, while MJ had her sights set on Paris.

Even Flash was scarce today, having to leave early for an appointment, meaning Peter could enjoy all of his last period without the boy’s taunting in his ear.

By the time physics rolled around, Peter was sure at least some of the day’s change in tempo had to be Wanda’s doing as he took his seat beside his friends and pulled out his notebook, ready to dive deeper into advanced Quantum Mechanics. 

He barely even flinched when Mr. Rose clapped his hands to gather the students’ attention.

“Alright guys, I’ve got some fun activities planned along with our power points today, but before we jump into that, does anyone have permission slips they’d like to hand in? If not, that’s fine, you have until tomorrow.”

Placing his slip on the corner of his plastic desktop surface, Peter leaned over to tap Ned on the shoulder for a pencil, when he suddenly became caught in Mr. Rose’s harsh glare.

“Is something wrong?” he asked, noticing the tight grip the instructor held on his permission form. 

“Peter, I would appreciate it if you stayed after class today. I think you and I need to have another discussion,” Mr. Rose responded in a rather curt manner.

It was safe to say, Peter’s optimism about the way of the world went from a ten to a negative three real quick. For the remainder of his class time, he was a jittering mess, almost screwing his lab work at least three times before Ned kindly suggested that maybe he should take a break.

When last bell struck its final chord, Peter once again found himself hanging back from the crowd, MJ handing him a vial of Windex on her way out the door with Ned. 

“Peter,” Mr, Rose began, rubbing his finger to his temple, “I’m honestly not sure why I need to have this conversation a second time, as I remember making myself painstakingly clear yesterday about the importance of honesty in this environment, but today, you bring me a permission slip with Tony Stark’s signature.”

“Sir, I–” Peter did his best to keep himself in check, channeling his inner Pop’s in his response, but Rose wouldn’t even give him an inch.

“No, I’ve had just about enough of your excuses. But because I always try to see the best in my students, I’m giving you one more chance, Parker. You can return here tomorrow with a valid permission slip, or you can consider yourself suspended.” He thrust a clean sheet at Peter’s chest. “You’d better not disappoint me.”

“Yes, sir,” Peter muttered, shrinking into himself again.

Trudging from the classroom, he pulled his phone from his back pocket, sending a text off to Happy about taking the long way home today, before making a sharp right towards the back exit.

Crumpling the new sheet between his textbooks and laptop, Peter powered up the watch his dad had built for him, which contained the new and improved nano-spider suit, letting the cool metal slip over his skin. Sometimes, after a particularly bad day, he found it therapeutic to let Peter Stark-Rogers take a backseat to the world for a little while. 

Aiming with his web-shooters, he swung his bag over his shoulder and latched on to the nearest building, letting kinetic energy drag him up the rest of the way. 

There was always something so exhilarating about swinging from the tops of New York's highest structures, the rush of adrenaline pushing any excess thought out of mind as he focused on nothing but the next jump-point.

Thankfully, his destination wasn’t too far from the school, so he avoided having to drain himself substantially of any energy. His body only started to relax when he slid himself through the open window of his designated bedroom in Aunt May’s apartment.

“Peter?” He heard her call from further inside. “Is that you?”

Retracting the nano-suit back into his watch, Peter straightened out his clothes and poked his head around the corner. “Yep, just me!”

May’s footsteps sounded down the hall as she appeared from the laundry room with a basket full of folded clothes in hand. “I didn’t know you were stopping by today.” She sounded a bit frazzled. “Did I forget to put it in my calendar? I swear your dads sent me all the dates they’d be away. Or did something happen?”

“No, no, they’re okay. It was kind of a spontaneous decision?”

May narrowed her eyes. “Peter, do your parents know you’re here?”

Peter passed her a sheepish look, hand reaching to the back of his neck. “Uh…maybe?”

“Well, please call them before Tony sends out a search party, and then if you wouldn’t mind, I could use some help in the kitchen. It’s my turn to bring the cookies for book club tonight.”

Peter chuckled. “Why don’t you just ask Uncle Bucky to do it? He’s in town this week.”

“Peter Stark-Rogers, have you no faith in me?” May gawked at his response, even though they both knew quite well that she was almost hopeless when it came to making anything past ‘put slices of meat between bread’.

He shook his head, and retrieved his phone again, only to find he had four missed calls from Tony and two from Steve.

Shit.

He’d forgotten to take the suit off ‘Do Not Disturb’ on his way over. Cursing himself, he dialed the first number.

“FRIDAY, it’s a miracle; my son’s moody, little teenage ass remembered to call me back,” Tony scolded after not even one ring through to the other end. “ Peter, you can’t just send Happy cryptic texts about “taking the long way home” and then ditch your phone for the rest of the afternoon.”

“Sorry, I went to May’s to help with some baking and had my notifications off,” he apologized.

The engineer audibly sighed on the other end, and Peter could already visualize his face palm. “Pete, we’ve been over this. You need to keep your messages enabled when you're wearing the suit. What if something happens?”

“I know, Dad. I’ll remember next time.”

“You’d better,” Tony warned. “Otherwise both you and Spider-Man are grounded.”

“Okay, okay! I’ll turn them on right now,” he squawked, fiddling with his watch. “There.”

“Good. And your father and I expect you home at a reasonable hour. Heard?”

“Yep. Got it.”

“Alright,” His dad’s voice immediately softened. “I love you, Peachy Pie.”

Peter cringed at the baby-name, but reciprocated nonetheless. “Love you too, Dad.”

The line cut out moments after, and Peter threw the device onto his bed, grabbing his backpack and lugging it into the kitchen.

“Jesus, kiddo.” May’s eyebrows almost went into her hairline at the sheer weight the bag possessed when he set it down with an ‘oomph.’ “What are you keeping in there? A dead body?”

“Just my school books.”

“Are they trying to throw all your backs out?” she asked, icing a crooked, blue smiley face onto a half-burnt sugar cookie.

“Something like that,” he joked. “But hey, on the subject—do you think you’d be willing to sign a permission slip for me? It’s for a field trip.”

“I dont see why not,” she answered, trading her piping bag for a ball-point pen, “but don’t you want one of your dads to do it? Or is this a super secret ‘Parents can’t know, but May can because she’s the cool, fun aunt’ thing?”

“It’s…kind of complicated,” he managed, passing her the paper.

“Field Trip to Stark Industries? Oh, you poor child, I agree, we’re never letting your father see this one.” If only she knew…

Handing it back to him, May picked up her frosting job again, glaring hard at the bit she’d just completed. “These still look salvageable, right?”

Peter was about to give her his honest answer when a buzzing noise rang in from outside the apartment entrance.

“Were you expecting anyone?” he asked.

“Not to my knowledge. Could you go answer it while I start these over?”

“May, I’m telling you!” Peter shouted over his shoulder as he padded down the hall, “Just call Bucky!”

“That’s cheating!” she yelled back.

Snorting as he undid the chain-latch, Peter pulled open the front door, prepared to give the newcomer a full interrogation as to what their purpose was at May’s doorstep, only to be frozen into shock by the sight of one Harley Keener, lopsided grin crinkling the area beneath his bright-blue eyes, and a box of freshly-baked ginger-snap cookies in hand.

“Hi there, Darlin’,” he greeted, leaning against the doorframe. “You miss me?”

It took a minute for Peter to fully recover, because what the fuck? Harley was supposed to be in Cambridge, Massachusetts working on telescopes, not in the middle of Queens, New York.

Eventually, his brain reloaded, and he all but tackled his boyfriend, causing Harley to almost lose his balance and grapple for the baked goods. 

“Dear Jesus,” he yelped with surprise, “Hello to you too.” 

Peter didn’t respond, instead just clinging on tighter, because it’d been kind of a shitty past two days and he really needed this right now.

“Do I at least get to come in?” 

“Oh my god, yes!” Peter finally gave the older boy some space, though just about dragged him through the front door anyway.

May turned the corner from the kitchen, a smile appearing when she caught sight of their unexpected visitor. “Harley! What a surprise!” She tossed a dish-cloth over her shoulder and pulled him into a hug. “I’m just getting all sorts of drop-ins today.”

“My bit of the project ended earlier than expected, so Tony flew me into New York, and I followed the trail of Life 360 to come see my two favorite people.” Ah. Harley’s secretive messages plus Tony’s favor to Coulson made so much more sense now.

“These are for you, by the way.”  Harley held out the box of cookies. “Courtesy of Steve and Bucky.”

May rolled her eyes at the triumphant look she was receiving from Peter, yet tucked the gift under her arm. “Well, you boys just make yourselves comfortable out here while I go clean up, and then what do you say we order a pizza?”

“Do you want some help in there?” Harley asked. 

May waved him off. “Don’t you worry about it. I know you haven’t seen each other in a while. But do be mindful that I am still in the house.”

Hiding their laughter at her last comment, Peter and Harley fell back on the plush, gray couch, Peter immediately curling up into Harley’s side. He shut his gaze from the world for a moment, letting time cocoon him there as he breathed in his boyfriend’s familiar presence while Harley gently carded his hands through Peter’s hair.

“Long week?”

Peter nodded. “And it’s only Wednesday,” he mumbled, words slightly muffled by the fabric of Harley’s faded Stark Industries sweatshirt.

“Yeah, Wanda mentioned school was giving you a bit of trouble before Tony sent me after you to make sure you weren't dead in a ditch somewhere.”

Peter shrugged. “Just people still insisting on being assholes about my work for Dad. MJ gave me a thing of Windex, though.”

“Of course she did,” Harley didn’t sound at all surprised. 

Peter rolled over onto his back, staring up at the ceiling as he worked on piecing his thoughts together. “I guess it’s not so much the ‘non-believing’ that upsets me, but the fact that it sounds like they don’t think I’m intelligent enough to even be considered for an internship there. I guarantee you if Flash or even any other of my classmates said they’d gotten one, it’d be all over the local news. We know Dad takes interns my age, I’ve met them. I work with them everyday.”

“But those people are all well-known prodigies,” Harley finished for him. 

“And I’m just Peter.”

“If it’s any consolation, I think ‘Just Peter’ is pretty damn cool,” Harley pressed a kiss to his forehead, “and so does Ned, and MJ, and Shuri, and the rest of your family. Adults have this weird thing of always trying to keep their pupils one step below them, and it’s a dick move, but that’s got everything to do with them. It doesn’t reflect a single bit on you. Besides, you can always ask Tony to homeschool you. You know he would.”

“Nah,” Peter shook his head. “I like going to school and seeing my friends. It’s not all awful. I just wish some parts of it were different.”

“Hey, two more days until the weekend, and then you don’t have to think about it for a full 48 hours.”

“Sounds heavenly,” Peter agreed. 

It was then that May re-entered the sitting room, phone in hand. “Alright, you two, it’s pizza time.” She pointed at Peter, “But don’t tell the Captain, or he’ll lecture me about feeding you too much junk food before dinner again.”

“Pizza isn't junk, it’s a food group. Don’t be disrespectful,” Peter informed her as his aunt crashed down beside them reaching for her old case of DVDs.

“Potato, pototo, whatever,” she replied teasingly, “Your fathers are never to know. Now help me pick out a movie before I have to go sell my soul to society again.”

Chapter Text

Thankfully, Mr. Rose accepted Peter’s second permission slip with little fuss, but Friday rolled around faster than he would have liked, starting with the one and only Clint Barton invading his bedroom at six o’clock in the morning. 

“Field trip day!” His uncle squawked, throwing open his shades, “Time to rise and shine, kiddo!”

Peter groaned at the sudden assault of sunlight on his face, instinctively rolling over. “Five more minutes,” he muttered.

“Nope, sorry,” the spy countered. “Unless you want me to come back in here with a cold bucket of water.”

“No! Okay, I’m awake!” Peter shot upright in his bed, still traumatized from the last time his uncle had pulled a stunt like that. 

“Good!” Clint clapped his hands together, backing his way towards the door. “Now you’d better get downstairs before Wanda eats both your breakfasts. Bucky made muffins and she almost stabbed Tony with a fork over ‘em.”

That got Peter going. 

Breakfast Wars with Bucky were no joke in the Stark Tower household, and Wanda was notorious for playing dirty, using her powers to steal off your plate if you didn’t pay close enough attention. When it came to their sweet tooth, the Avengers did not mess around (But it was all in good fun, of course).

Throwing on one of his Dad’s old MIT zip-ups, his favorite science pun T-shirt, and a faded pair of black jeans, Peter stumbled out of his room, attempting to rub the last of the sleep from his eyes as he did so, almost slamming straight into Harley in the process.

“Whoa, there, Spider-Man,” he laughed, reaching out to steady Peter before he face-planted entirely. The embarrassment didn’t need to start before he’d even gotten a foot out the door.

“Why are you up so early?” Peter asked, sinking further into his boyfriend’s embrace, already feeling tired again (If he could just close his eyes for two more minutes…).

“Because someone had to act in the good name of chivalry and defend your food from the forces of evil,” he said, passing Peter the plate of chocolate-chip muffins he’d been shielding from the rest of the kitchen dwellers. “And I’m filling in for one of the interns today. Jocelyn called out sick.”

“Well, that sucks,” Peter chided, shoving one of the muffins into his mouth before Wanda got too close. Not only could he no longer execute his plan of discreetly ditching the tour to go hang out with Harley, Jocelyn was one of Peter’s favorite research interns and he’d been planning to invite her to the movie night he, Ned, and MJ had all correlated this weekend—MJ had a massive crush on the girl, and Ned had been trying to play cupid for a year. He made a mental note to get her a card later. 

Washing the stickiness from his hands once he was finished, Peter shoved the plate into the dishwasher, and double checking the time, packed the essentials he would require for surviving what was sure to be a grueling afternoon. 

“See you soon, Pete,” Steve grabbed Peter into a hug on his way out the door.

“Promise you’ll keep Dad far away from me today?” he pleaded one last time, to which he earned a “Hey! That’s rude,” from both Tony and Clint, who were surely plotting against him.

“I’ll do my best,” Steve chuckled. “Now, you go have fun with your friends.”

“Thanks,” he said, slipping out the door with a very playful “I hate all of you, except Pops!” as it shut behind him.

“...That kid has no clue what’s coming for him.”

“Hell yeah.”

The first three classes of the day rushed by in jumbled blur, Peter’s noise-sensitivity interfering with his focus because all anyone seemed to be capable of doing this morning was scream in his ear about their field trip to his literal house.

He inwardly groaned at the growing throb in the back of his skull while Mr. Rose ran down the attendance line, filing each student onto the bus that would carry them across the city and into his front yard. 

“Mr. Parker,” the instructor called before Peter could shuffle himself inside. He turned, catching his teacher’s watchful eye. “I hope you remember what we’ve talked about this week, young man.”

Peter only nodded, retreating into himself a little, before shouldering down the aisle to the back of the vehicle, slotting himself in beside Ned so MJ could stretch out on the seat across from them. 

“I’m so excited, man,” Ned was saying. He glanced at Peter. “Were you able to weasel out any information on what they’re showing us?”

“Don’t ask dumb questions you know Parker doesn’t have the answer to,” Flash was more than happy to answer for him, listening in on their conversation from a few seats over. “Penis can’t tell you shit.” He loomed over the trio from above. “Isn’t that right?”

“Eugene, I’m going to give you exactly five seconds to turn around and stop being a corrosive fuckchop before I hack your grades and flunk you out of Midtown altogether.” MJ wiped the smug look straight from his face. “Some of us are actually trying to enjoy our day.”

“Whatever,” Flash played it off as though he didn’t share the entire sophomore class’ collective fear of Michelle Jones, “It’ll just make Parker’s demise all the more worth the wait.”

“If you say so,” MJ turned back to the book she’d brought along for the ride.

“You can’t, like, actually hack the grading system,” Peter asked, once their antagonist slunk back into the safety of his friend group, “right?”

MJ only eyed him over top her copy of Wicked, mouth curling upwards into an impish smile. “You keep telling yourself that.”

Thankfully, Flash heeded the taller girl’s warning and somehow managed to leave the three alone for the remainder of their bus-ride, only occasionally throwing Peter dirty looks from across the aisle—but, hey, if Flash Thompson wanted to pick a fight with MJ, it was his funeral. 

Peter, on the other hand, was feeling his claustrophobia begin to kick in as their transportation pulled up to the tower’s main entrance, everyone piling near the window to catch a glimpse.

“This is insane!”

“We’re actually here.”

“I think I might pass out.”

Meanwhile, Peter felt himself on the verge of it until MJ began whacking people away with her book. “Back it up, folks. Some people need to fucking breathe.”

“Alright, guys, settle down, we’ll be inside soon enough. Michelle, thank you, that’ll be all,” Mr. Rose quickly grabbed hold of the novel before MJ could bring her wrath down upon one of Flash’s main accomplices. 

“Killjoy,” she muttered, but retracted her grip anyway as everyone began to move from the bus, filing out into the afternoon air.

Peter lingered closer to the back of the herd, Ned and MJ falling in step as they finally entered the lobby. He tried to do a back-track in his mental list of which interns might be working today while Mr. Rose confirmed their appointment with Jennifer, the receptionist. 

Usually tour groups were filed under intern duties because Tony wasn’t too keen on postponing scientific breakthroughs for the sake of the public, or the fact that those personnel were usually so jittered with caffeine that they might accidentally unveil confidential intelligence.

Sadly, Jocelyn wasn’t feeling well, but he thought he saw Skyler and Tobie clocking in on his way out this morning. Though, maybe they’d get lucky, and be graced with an intern whom Peter hadn’t interacted with yet, letting him remain anonymous as long as humanly possible. Or, perhaps–

“Howdy, Midtown!” a familiar southern drawl greeted them from around the corner. “I take it you’re here for the tour?”

All hope drained from Peter’s body as none other than Harley fucking Keener entered the chat. Because why wouldn’t it be—no doubt part of his father’s plan to spy on his location all day.

“The name’s Harley Keener, and I’ll be filling in for your tour guide today. Normally, I work in mechanical development, but since our best gal is currently ill, I promise I’ll do my best to live up to her standards.”

“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Keener,” Mr. Rose shook Harley’s hand. “We’re all so grateful to be receiving this opportunity today.”

“We’re excited to have you,” Harley replied. “Mr. Stark is all about feeding the great minds of the future. But, before we get started, I do have to lay out some ground rules,” he fixed them all with his best “I am an entire year older than you and therefore you shall do as I say” look, “Some of what you’re going to see is highly classified information. That means no photos or video. In a moment, I’m going to pass out your temporary clearance badges. You’ll need to keep these with you at all times during the tour, and they’ll deactivate automatically the second you leave the building, so feel free to hang on to ‘em as a little souvenir. Once I give you your badge, you’ll have to walk through the security monitor to our left, that way your presence will be recorded in the system. Capisce?” He scanned the crowd of nodding high-schoolers. “Magnificent.”

Peter reached into the pocket of his sweatshirt, pulling his own lanyard into view while Harley set his classmates up with their day passes.

Flash, as expected, was the first to push his classmates out of the way, waltzing through the gate like he owned the place, which Peter couldn’t help but roll his eyes at.

“Eugene Thompson, clearance level one: visitor. Threat level: None.” 

Everyone collectively jumped at the unexpected sound of FRIDAY’s voice, the amusement written across Harley’s features telling Peter it was the tiniest bit of payback for how the school was currently treating him.

“Don’t be shy,” his boyfriend chuckled. “That’s just FRIDAY, Mr. Stark’s AI. She’s our eyes and ears here at Stark Industries alongside Ms. Potts and the big man upstairs himself.”

“Hello, Midtown,” FRIDAY chirped in response. “We sincerely hope you enjoy your stay.”

After shaking off the initial shock, the rest of the class cautiously made their way through the monitors. 

It was the last three to scan in, however, that caused quite a few heads to turn.

“Ned Leeds, clearance level six: Friends of Baby Stark. Threat level: None.”

“Michelle Jones, clearance level six: Friends of Baby Stark. Threat level: High.”

“Baby Stark,” Peter cursed Tony to the high heavens for today’s nickname, “clearance level ten: All Access. Threat Level: Moderate. Welcome back, Peter.”

Peter turned to the nearest camera, shooting FRIDAY’s sensors a heated glare, too distracted by the AI’s sheer betrayal to notice the stares of absolute bewilderment he was receiving from both his peers and instructor. “Hold on. How come MJ gets a high threat rate and I only get moderate?”

“If it makes you feel any better, I got none,” Ned shrugged.

“It’s because try as you might, Peaches, the only thing you can successfully threaten is DUMM-E,” Harley added. “And that’s on a good day.”

“Thank you so much for that, Keener,” Peter retorted.

The southern boy only winked at him. “Anytime, Darlin’. Now, who’s ready to get this show on the road?” 

A chorus of agreement erupted across the group again, Harley beckoning them onwards, yet any excitement Peter might have felt towards the day’s surprise events instantly dissipated the moment Mr. Rose fell in step beside him, his harsh look of disappointment almost suffocating.

What now?

“Mr. Parker,” he hissed in a low tone, “I don’t know what games you think you’re playing at, fiddling with this tower’s security system of all things, but I hope you understand that you are about to be in very serious trouble for it.”

“I-” Peter blinked a few times, needing a moment to take that one in, because in what universe did this man believe that he possessed the intellect to hack Tony Stark’s personal AI (which he did), but not have the intelligence to achieve the much less taxing Stark Industries internship invite?

“No; I’ve had it,” his instructor held up a hand. “From here on out you will be silent, remain in my sight, and I’ll be sending a lengthy email to your guardian at home about your ridiculous behaviors today. Are we–”

“Is there a problem back there, sir?” Harley interrupted Mr. Rose’s tirade, his eyes zeroing in on the rigidness of Peter’s stance.

“Not anymore,” the teacher composed himself again. “Please, carry on.”

“Right..” Harley picked up where they’d left off, making a left around the next intersection until they regrouped outside a room Peter genuinely hadn’t ever visited before. “Our first stop is the newly improved Stark Industries and Avengers Tower Museum. Mr. Stark would like the improvements to be noted as: he’s finally cleaned out the garage and this space now stores all of his original models for the Iron Man armor.”

Peter couldn’t help but laugh under his breath at that one, remembering the many dinner-time conversations of “I’ll get to it, when I get to it” any time the subject was brought up.

“If the schedule Joc sent me is correct, then I think you’ve got…” Harley pulled out his phone to double check, “about forty-five minutes to look around before we move on to the next thing, so have it, friends.”

Peter’s class wasted no time in scattering to their cliques, the background noise bubbling up again as they marveled in awe at the company’s fruitful history, as well as the results of Tony, Bruce, and even his life-long work.

Ned grabbed both Peter and MJ, dragging them over to see the Spider-Man exhibit that Peter had only heard about in consultation. He didn’t miss how the glass compartment was strategically placed between Tony and Steve’s, showcasing the first uniform he’d hand-crafted from a pair of old-pajamas, both his original and current models of web-shooters, as well as the previous suit Tony had made for him before they’d developed nano-technology. Below the precious items was a silver plaque, listing information about the resident spider-teen.

Spider-Man

• Identity: Unknown

• First recruited to the Avengers: 2016

• Powers include: The strange ability to stick to everything, enhanced strength and flexibility, increased sensory awareness

• Fun facts: Terrified of spiders and the proud owner of far too many Legos

“Peter, you can’t actually be afraid of spiders,” MJ snorted.

 “Um, excuse me, yes the fuck I can. Have you seen a spider?” He shivered. “So many eyes…so many legs. MJ, who needs that many legs?”

“Plus they’re the only creatures his spider-senses can’t detect,” a third voice pitched in, and Peter immediately let his guard ease a little when Harley approached them, subtly drawing Peter into his side. “Are you okay?” he asked in a soft tone, concern present in his features.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Peter sighed, leaning into his boyfriend a little more.

“Just too many asswipes, not enough fucks to give,” MJ offered.

“And here I thought I’d never meet a human who understood me so well.”

All four teens turned at the sound of a newcomer’s footsteps, the culprit sending a large grin spreading across Peter’s face. “Uncle Loki!”

The Asgardian keeper of mischief leaned against the Captain America display, eyeing the little collective. “Salutations, children.”

“What are you doing here?”

“My brother is visiting on official trade business and insisted I come along,” Loki scoffed. “Something about Midgardian pastries I needed to try. Pop-Tarps.”

“I think you mean Pop-Tarts ,” Peter corrected. “Might be my fault; I got him hooked last time he was here.”

“Regardless, I really must thank you. I’ve recently discovered how food-motivated he is.”

“Uncle Loki, you can’t use Pop-Tarts as a means to bribe Uncle Thor into funding your plans for world domination,” Peter reminded him.

“Your family has no concept of the word ‘fun’,” Loki prodded. “This makes the nature of my visit absolutely pointless.”

Peter raised an eyebrow. “Wait, what do you mean?”

“Well, young Starkson, I may have happened to over-hear a certain scheme regarding a certain you, and I came as quickly as I could to offer my services in whatever revenge ploy you may have had in mind.”

“Wonderful.” Peter’s face paled. 

“If I may contribute my professional advice–” He suddenly halted his speech, narrowed gaze cast beyond him into the sea of silence Peter had failed to notice his classmates fall into, their attention drowning them entirely. While the Prince of Magic had a taste for dramatics, he was only comfortable about showing it around people he knew well. At any other hour, he much preferred slinking undetected through the shadows.

“Penis knows Loki?” Flash's whispering was unfortunately made audible to both Peter and Loki’s enhanced sensory systems.

The asgardian acquired a sour expression as he slowly bowed out, hissing his parting words for only Peter to hear. “I’ll be here all week.”

It unfortunately left Peter and his friends alone to face the barrage of “What the fuck’s” tossed their way.

“Uh..” He sheepishly racked his brain for an adequate answer, “he’s a friend from work?” 

Chapter Text

God bless Harley Keener. 

Any other intern may have fumbled at the brewing frenzy Loki had left in his wake, but Harley was quick to recognize when his boyfriend was experiencing sensory overload, and diverted the attention to an in-depth walk through of Tony’s Iron Armour collection, providing both commentary and insight on the mechanics that went into building such a beast. 

Meanwhile, Peter caught his breath against the Spider-Man display case, Ned and MJ strategically placing themselves to shield him from any wandering eyes until Harley announced they’d be heading to their next location—one of the intern labs.

Peter immediately perked up, knowing that a couple of his good friends were in the building today, and he’d been meaning to drop by to check up on their capstone project development. Skyler, in particular, was days away from a breakthrough in their water-based conductivity research, the most recent model of their electrical mill catching the eye of potential investors already. 

It did, regrettably, constitute the unwanted presence of one Eugene “Flash” Thompson in his general vicinity. 

The bully crept up from behind, roughly shoving Ned from his side and throwing an arm around Peter’s shoulder. 

“I gotta say, Penis,” he jostled the boy a little as they walked, “I really didn’t think life could get much better than when my parents booked this tour, but the opportunity to watch your ass get exposed in real time? I am living the dream, Parker.” 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” MJ finally snapped, elbowing Flash away from them, “Get off somewhere else, Eugene.”

Sadly, their classmate’s less-than-fashionable stumble into the back wall was clocked by Mr. Rose, the man swiftly turning on his heel, face beginning to redden around the edges when he saw Flash in the presence of today’s least-favorite students.

Yet, somehow, by the will of whatever god Peter had worked himself into the good graces of, his impending doom was interrupted by the clangorous sound of the ceiling’s vent cover colliding with the floor, causing the entire class to startle as a combat-clad Clint dropped into view by one of his wires. 

“Peter Piper!” His face lit up when they landed on Peter, who was desperately trying to hide behind Ned and MJ. “Just the guy I was looking for!”

“Hey…Clint.”

“Clint? Just Clint? That’s all I get? What happened to me being the favorite uncle?” the archer asked, and Peter just motioned to the star-struck audience behind him. “Ah, I see. You’ve gotta look cool in front of all your friends,” he ruffled the teen’s hair, no doubt knowing exactly what he was doing. 

“Did you want something?” Peter grimaced beneath the spy’s grip. 

“Oh, yeah,” he snapped his fingers, “I’ve been keeping tabs on Loki ever since those two showed up, but the little bastard seems to have escaped me. You don’t happen to know where he is by chance?” 

“He dropped by the museum while we were there, but after that, I’ve got nothing.”

“Welp, I’m sure he’ll turn up on the scanner somewhere. All I need is some lime jello as bait. But speaking of food,” a devious grin crawled across his expression, “You forgot your lunch.”

Peter wanted to absolutely bury himself eighteen feet under when Clint held up the most obnoxious, loud-colored, light-up Iron Man lunch box. Where did he even get that thing? Peter hadn’t seen it in years, and he certainly didn’t miss the muffled giggles from a few of his classmates.

“Mr. Parker, I expect to hear a word of thanks towards Mr. Barton for inconveniencing himself with such a task," Mr. Rose chided.

“Inconvenience?” Clint sounded genuinely confused. “Trust me, we’ll all take any chance we can get to steal Pete here away from the boss. Tony’s not a huge fan of sharing.”

“Thanks, Clint,” Peter still offered him anyway. 

“Anytime, bud,” he winked, tugging on his zip-wire. “Stay in school kids!” he called on his way back up.

For a moment nobody spoke. Even Flash had no words.

Finally, Ned turned to Peter, a little awestruck himself. “Did that really just happen?”

Peter just held up the tin lunchbox. “Unfortunately.”

Harley on the other hand, shook his head, laughter bubbling up to the surface. “You really can’t catch a break.”

“I fear you’re the only one left who actually loves me,” Peter lamented, which earned him an insulted slap on the arm from MJ. 

By the time FRIDAY delivered Midtown to floor 45, where Peter spent most of his freetime, the spider-teen thought that perhaps his class would be so fascinated by the works-in-progress around them that he might get a moment to actually breathe again.

As usual, he was wrong.

The second the door opened, the world was thrown into chaos once more.

Tobie and Kendra, another R&D intern, were frantically shouting at each other in short, incoherent increments, while Skyler was lying face down on the floor laughing themselves into hysteria as the acting floor supervisor, the Princess of Wakanda herself, chased a thin-necked robot hot on fire around the room, trying not to slip and crash while she doused the thing with the fire-extinguisher.

The creature, nonetheless, continued to evade her efforts, relentlessly shaking a can of Lysol in its twig-like arms and amplifying the flame, screaming “EGGS! EGGS!” in a high-pitched, metallic voice.

“Peter!” Tobie clambered through the havoc, grasping onto one of the boy’s hands and collapsing at his feet. “Please, Your Supreme Greatness, save us from the fate of our sins.”

“GOD HAS OFFICIALLY ABANDONED US AND IT’S YOUR FAULT, MEYERS!” Kendra sounded as though she were ready to slam her head through multiple brick walls.

“What in the fuck did you four even do?” 

“Tobie was attempting to build a lab-assistant version of Closet, but it all went haywire!” Shuri panted, finally managing to get ahold of the thing. 

“Closet?” Peter asked, scurrying to pin it so she could access the wiring beneath its silver coating. “Like from Life in the Dreamhouse? ”

“Precisely,” the princess answered, yanking at the batteries. “DIE, MOTHERFUCKER, DIE.”

“Jesus, Shuri, language,” Harley reprimanded. “There are children present.”

Shuri immediately looked up. “So there are.”

Standing from the floor, she brushed the suds from her arms and held the lifeless bot out to its original creator. “I believe this is yours.”

Then she turned back to the half-terrified, half-utterly befuddled tour group, demeanor doing a complete one-eighty as she clapped her hands together, garnering a cheery smile. “Welcome to Lab I-45!”

“Currently known as Hell,” Skyler finally lifted their head.

“Occasionally we do let curiosity and one too many youtube edits get the best of us,” Shuri shrugged. “But I’m sure that’s a universal experience.”

At least in this house it was.

“If you’ll please just mind the floor—this was supposed to be the demonstration of an educational activity Harley and I had planned—we have some tables set up in the back,” Shuri led the group further in, everyone careful not to lose their footing around the entrance.

Spread on a couple of the spare work benches were loose wires, nuts and bolts of all assortments, and the running stash of scrap metal they usually used for minor repairs. 

“Since you’re joining us for the day, we thought it might be fun for you to experience the kind of high-pressure work our interns do," Harley explained. "You’ll each be working in pairs of two or three to design a bot or device with at least one manual function and one automatic. We’ll give you about an hour to construct and present your final product before I drop you off for lunch.”

It didn’t take long for swift chatter to break out, friends grabbing friends into their small clusters and letting themselves fall into their real element.

“Dude,” Ned followed Peter and MJ to a vacant table, “did you see the look on Rose and Flash’s face when Tobie came up to you?” He sounded fresh out of seeing his new favorite movie.  “There’s no way they can deny your internship now.”

“And yes,” MJ held up her phone. “I did get it all on camera.”

“Don’t let my dad hear that,” Peter warned, but MJ’s smirk stayed on. 

“He should be thanking me. I’m a blessing to the entertainment of this company.”

“Shut up and help me build my revenge plot.”

In the end, their creation was beautiful—a hand-crafted Iron Man glove designed by MJ, coded by Ned, and equipped with a silly-string variant of Peter’s web-fluid that they would be using on Peter's family later that evening, especially since they were able to keep their designs. 

“Anyone mind if I crash the party?” Shuri asked, sidling up to Peter while Harley and Mr. Rose rounded the class back into the elevator for lunch. 

“Absolutely not,” MJ shifted, making space for the final member of their friend group to slip past the closing doors. 

“Epic. I feel like I haven’t had a real piece of pizza in three months.”

“A crime,” Ned gasped, holding a hand to his heart.

“They don’t have at least one pizza joint where you live?” Betty asked from where she stood nearby.

“They do, but New York pizza is far superior,” Shuri responded. “Especially at the tower. No one does a slice like Big Rico’s.”

“No one,” Peter reiterated. 

But Midtown would soon be able to formulate an opinion for themselves as the lift shuddered to a stop, its grand doors releasing them into the free range of Stark Industries’ elaborate dining area. Many of the tower’s employees worked long, strenuous hours, so his parents had funded pop-up stands for local businesses inside the cafeteria to ensure proper nutrition needs were being met.

Sensing that Peter definitely needed a minute away from the riff-raff, Harley sent his classmates on their way before returning to Peter’s side, gently guiding him to one of the far round tables, complete with just enough chairs to compensate for the five companions.

“Lunch is on me today, bois,” Shuri started counting orders. “What do you want?”

“Want to just get one big pizza for all of us to share?” Ned suggested, none of them crazy enough to pass up the chance. 

“You got it!” Shuri yelled over the noise, disappearing into the crowd. 

Releasing the breath he felt like he’d been holding in all day, Peter placed the lunch box Clint had delivered on the table, unlatching the metal clamps and lifting the lid. Despite the initial embarrassment, his heart couldn’t help but swell a little at the contents. 

Inside was his favorite sandwich—tomato, basil, cheese, and bacon on his Pops’ home-made sourdough, a tupperware container with the last of Bucky’s waffle fry adventures, and a plastic bag filled with his favorite assorted fruits. Tucked between the sandwich and a metal can of sparkling water, a sticky note had been added into the mix, Peter recognizing his Dad’s handwriting. 

Love you, kiddo. Have a great day ♡

He was so busy sinking into a state of soft exhaustion, that Peter didn’t process the way in which the entire dining hall fell into silence until it was too late and the tray of fresh-baked butter cookies was already slid in front of him.

His eyes tracked upwards to find Sam and Bucky occupying the last two vacant seats, the Winter Soldier still wearing his bright blue “I’m a fucking angel” apron.

“Hey, Pete,” Bucky greeted them, the most innocent look on his face, “and Pete’s friends.”

Since they weren’t around as often as the others, Ned was still getting accustomed to Bucky’s intimidating presence—even though this was literally the man who read his cat bedtime stories every night—only mustering a tiny wave. MJ, on the contrary, leaned back in her chair, giving both new arrivals a nod of her head. “Gentlemen.”

“What’s up, trouble?” Sam went in for a fist-bump from the younger girl. 

When MJ first started hanging around Peter, she was still incredibly shy and overly wary of new faces. But Sam, keen as ever, had seen right through it, and since taken her under his wing. Now the two shared a bond that even Peter sometimes envied.

“The usual,” MJ crossed her arms behind her neck. “Refuting the assholes, beating the system, gaslight, gatekeep, girlbossing.” 

“So we’ve heard,” Bucky stated, dropping a couple of the baked goods into Peter’s lunch box. “Which one’s the ‘Flash Thompson’?”

“That’d be eight o’clock, Sergeant Barnes,” Shuri cut in, returning to their spot with a steaming tray of margherita pizza. She pointed to where Flash was glaring at the collective across the room.

Bucky bit into a cookie, menacingly staring back.

“Him?” Sam asked. “Pete, you could pound that guy in seconds.” 

“Yeah, but if not me, then he’ll go after someone who might not be able to handle it,” Peter admitted. 

“That goddamn Rogers Righteousness,” Bucky grumbled. “Is murder legal in 2023 yet?”

“Uncle Bucky, you’re not allowed to kill Flash or Pops.”

“Kid, I’m the Winter Soldier. Illegal activity is kind of my whole brand.”

“Really, I’m fine,” Peter assured them. “Just…don’t tell Dad.”

“Pete,” Sam warned, but Peter wouldn’t hear it. “Please. It’ll only cause a scene. Just let me get through today.”

“No promises,” Bucky replied, standing from his spot, Sam following suit. “But, I’ll see you back at the house, alright?”

Peter nodded, hoping his uncles would follow his request.

He spent the rest of lunch, however, tucked into Harley’s side, joking about with his friends until the alarm on his boyfriend’s phone signaled it was time to move on to the next part of their field trip adventure.

“Don’t worry,” Harley promised them. “You’re going to love this one.”

Chapter Text

Harley Keener liked to consider himself a pretty reasonable guy. 

When you become caretaker to a younger sister at an even younger age, there are three virtues you learn quite quickly: Compassion, negotiation, and patience. 

Yet, somehow, in the few hours he’d spent in the presence of Peter’s classmates and instructor, he’d managed to completely lose hold of all three.

Jocelyn, bless her heart, had been kind enough to write him a precise schedule of the day’s anticipated events despite her weakened immunal state, but Harley was at his wit’s end with people discounting Peter and his intellect. Both the class bully and their high-and-mighty teacher had been speaking down to him all day, and quite frankly, Harely didn’t care how many rules he was about to break with their next destination. They were going to see Peter the way that he, his friends, and everyone else in this damn tower did.

“Normally we don’t take tour groups up here, but since you’re Peter’s friends, I’m gonna go ahead and say it’s all good,” he started, plastering his best ‘Prince Charming' smile (as Peter deemed it) across his face. “FRIDAY, Floor 89 please.”

“I’m sorry, Harley, but Floor 89 is not authorized to clearance level one,” the AI answered.

“It’s okay, Fri. It’s a necessity under the Peter Protection agreement.”

“Very well.”

“The what?” Peter sputtered.

“Don’t worry about it,” Harley laughed. The Peter Protection agreement was the only way Tony let him ask Peter on even a single date. Steve had thought his crush was sweet, but the minute the other Stark-Rogers found out, he just about chased Harley into a corner with his own potato gun raving on about a list of “there-will-be-nos” until he was blue in the face. One of these conditions was, in Tony’s words, “My son's well-being will come before all, at all times, including the law.”

 And this was most certainly one of those times.

Shuffling back against the wall with his friends, he waited for FRIDAY to finish bypassing security, Peter creeping up to his side.

“Care to share with the class?” the shorter teen asked. 

Harley cocked his head, taking on an innocent manner. “Whatever do you mean?”

Peter narrowed his eyes, presumably trying to emulate one of Bucky’s world famous death glares, but he ended up looking more like an annoyed puppy than anything else. “What’s the Peter Protection agreement?”

“Nothin’ really,” Harley joked, grabbing onto the open flaps of his boyfriend’s sweater and reeling him in. “Just me makin’ sure that my baby is treated like no less than royalty.”

At that, Peter hid his face away in Harley’s shirt, rose-pink blush creeping up his neck. 

They were unfortunately forced to part once the lift slowed to a complete rest, Harley having to reclaim his title of “World’s Best Tour Guide” (maybe Jocelyn would let him borrow her hat) as the floodgates opened on the Avenger’s training center. 

The training center was a spacious location, littered with obstacles, blunt weapons, soft mats, and a plethora of Peter Projects.

Because it was a space specifically for practicing advanced combat and safety-testing technology that was highly under wraps, this area remained off limits to anyone without Avengers or Stark-Rogers level clearance. But, there was something in its contents that he felt Peter’s class—the infamous Mr. Rose, in particular—needed to see.

And it was just his luck that three volunteers happened to be hanging around. 

Today was a Friday, meaning most of the Avengers who didn’t occupy Stark Tower as their primary place of living would’ve already gone home after lunch—any who did remain only here on business matters—leaving the training space wide open for Wanda, Natasha, and Carol to hold their weekly gossip debriefs. 

“Is that Junior I see?” Carol immediately paused the animated discussion they’d been having over the latest off-world political scandal, expression brightening when her sharp gaze plucked Peter’s face from the crowd. She rose from the mats, the ocean of teenagers parting around her as the air-force veteran made a B-line straight for him, playfully tucking the brunette under her arm. “There’s my favorite, little genius.”

The comment earned her a scoff from Shuri. “Well, that’s the last time I’m letting you test-drive my space engines.”

“Don’t worry,” Peter groaned, desperately trying to save his hair from the amount of tussling it’d been given today, “you’re welcome to take the title back.”

Carol only laughed, while Wanda nudged the princess in the side. “It’s okay, Shuri. You’re my favorite.”

“What brings you up to our humble gathering spot on this newly dubbed ‘Field Trip Day’?” Natasha asked, inspecting the multitude of silent, starstruck high schoolers they had in tow. “Shouldn’t you kids be torching stuff in Bruce’s lab?”

“I could, but it’s all content I’m sure minds of their caliber have seen before,” Harley reasoned. “I was actually hoping to show ‘em some of the simulations Pete and I built.”

“Simulations?” a young blonde, potentially one of MJ’s journalism friends—Harley couldn’t quite remember—timidly asked.

“Sure,” Natasha replied. “Part of the job is being ready for quite literally anything. So these two programmed a system that simulates potential threats, terrains, war zones, or combat situations that we might find ourselves facing.”

She beckoned them towards a large, glass vestibule. On the outside sat a touch panel and monitor screen, while the inside had been hollowed out with enough space that one could run from one side to the other.

"Would you like to see?"

A nervous clamber fell over the class, one of them finding it in them to ponder, "Is it safe?"

While the functions Nat had listed were the equipment's primary source of operation, Harley knew Peter had written more tranquil scenery into its coding, for when someone just needed a break from their environment. 

"Yes, don't worry, it's safe. We come in here all the time to ensure the system is running properly," Harley assured them, unlatching the door.

The class was small enough that they were all able to comfortably fit, Shuri remaining on the other side of the walls to man the controls.

It took a few moments, but the machine eventually whirled to life, glass panels flickering with a blue sheen before the lights went out completely.

"Is that supposed to happen?" Harley heard a small voice whisper.

But their question was answered when a border of bright light rose around the space, the darkness replaced by an expansive lake-side landscape. 

Patches of pastel wildflowers brushed against their ankles, thinning out as you looked farther down, until they merged completely with soft, pebble-lined sand.

A cool breeze rolled off the steady, lapping waves, winding its way around the occupants, then disappearing into the forestry at their backs. 

This was Peter's favorite get-away place, and Harley made the internal promise to one day build that boy a real lake house where he could spend all his time tinkering out by the water with nothing but the open sky.

A couple of the students reached down to weave their hands through the vegetation, murmuring with amazement when they felt the tingling contact of fragile stem and leaf on their skin. He chuckled to himself when he noticed MJ had her camera out again.

"Peter, you made this?" Even Ned had never been up here before.

Peter looked rather embarrassed by his classmates’ reactions, gaze trained on the floor, but Harley nodded for him to take the reins.

"It's a play on Da-on Mr. Stark's B.A.R.F technology," he began. "Harley and I built the skeleton we're in right now, then Shuri helped me with the interior programming." Harley noticed the nervousness in Peter's voice slowly fading away with every word he spoke, eyes beginning to sparkle with excitement. "I wanted to make something that could be used as exposure training for those of the Avengers who don't frequently spend time off-world, but also dually function as a method of meditation. When you're in this industry, a healthy mind is just as important as a healthy body," he quoted Sam in his last bit. "In our latest upgrade, Shuri helped me program neuro-sensitive light figures that feel real to the touch. Everything you see around you is a part of those pixelations. But, like…don't tell anyone," Peter quickly added on, realizing what he'd just revealed.

Harley, on the other hand, only felt a swelling sense of pride. 

Take that, teacher man, he thought.

“You build stuff for the Avengers?” another asked. 

“Well, yeah,” Peter shrugged. “I intern with Mr. Stark, but he’s kind of busy with the other 50,000 things he has to do here, so sometimes I take on the development advancements for them. Although, this particular design was mainly just a fun side gig. I usually work with Spider-Man, Natasha, and Clint since they’re the ones who use advanced weaponry rather than natural ability.”

“And I fix the get-away cars,” Harley joked.

“That I’m still not allowed to drive,” Peter complained. “I swear, he lets me come in and mess with vibranium every day, but God forbid I use a car. I passed my driver’s test. I have a license.” Harley had forgotten how salty he was about that.

“Fear not,” He laughed, sending a text off to Shuri, letting her know they were ready to exit the tank. “One day when he’s not looking, I’ll let you do a test drive.”

And on that note, the room went dark, training equipment flickering back in sight.

“Pretty cool, right?” Shuri asked, pulling open the glass door. “Peter’s always coming up with projects like this. Though my personal favorite remains our world-class attempt for never-melting ice cream.”

“Never-melting ice cream?”

“That sounds absolutely dope.”

“Please tell me you guys cracked that.”

“You guys made unlimited ice cream without me?”

The class directed their questions towards Peter, now, all but Flash intrigued by this internship that really did seem to exist.

“Unfortunately, they attempted,” Pepper’s voice filled the room from behind, “and I will not be cleaning it up again.”

“Note to self,” Harley offered. “Don’t infuse heavy cream with Wanda-magic.”

“Don’t worry, Ms. Potts,” Shuri turned to the CEO, “we’ve moved on to the world’s largest burrito now.”

“I would sincerely like to know what circle of Hell I pissed off for you to even think that into existence, but I’ll have to save it for later, because I’ve been instructed by Tony Stark himself to gather you all for a little Q&A, or demonstration, I don’t even know anymore; he never tells me anything,” Pepper sighed. 

Excitement rippled across the audience at the prospect of meeting the most idolized man at Midtown Tech, but Harley didn’t miss the way Peter muttered, “That fucking traitor,” under his breath.

“Poor, Peter,” Shuri cackled beside him. “He really can’t ever catch a break.”

Chapter Text

Peter Stark-Rogers was going to disown his father. Scratch that. Both fathers. Was that a legal action that sixteen-year-olds could take? Either way it didn’t matter. Everyone knew his Uncle Bucky’s golden rule was “nothing is illegal if you can run fast enough,” and Peter was ready to defend that to the grave.

He’d specifically asked Steve to keep Tony far, far away from him today, so he could maybe end this field trip unscathed, and honestly things had started to spiral upwards thanks to Harley’s spontaneous location choices, but knowing how much his dad loved to embarrass him, that was all about to end.

He kept his eyes turned down the entire trek up to Tony’s personal lab, Black Sabbath barraging his ears the moment the elevator doors opened onto Floor 85. 

Tony was back at work, hunched over Steve’s motorcycle, while the other man in question had his head in his hands, seemingly trying to (unsuccessfully) convince Tony of something, though what that was, Peter couldn’t tell over the blare of the sound-system.

Harley, however, just snorted, muting the volume to compensate. 

“...telling you, it’s fine how it is,” Peter could finally pick up on Steve’s (still failing) negotiation.

“Which one of us builds motor-vehicles for a living, Rogers, me or you?”

  “It’s actually Harley,” Peter interrupted, arms crossed as he glared at his parents—neither of whom succeeded in taking the hint.

“Pete! You made it! Good,” Tony set Steve’s bike on the floor again, wiping his hands. 

“You’re not supposed to be here,” Peter answered, switching his stare to Steve. “You said you’d keep him out!”

“I’m sorry you feel that way, kiddo,” Tony tutted, “but I'm not about to let this madman continue roaming the streets on a high-powered scooter from Hell without the proper safety precautions. This is a necessary intervention.”

“I can guarantee you it’s not,” Peter fired back.

“By safety precautions, he means programming my bike to automatically stop outside any registered burger joint,” Steve lamented. 

“And this all could have been avoided if you’d just let me lock Fury out of the house for fun from the beginning,” Tony argued. “Peter, back me up here.”

Peter only shook his head, not even knowing where to begin.

“Tony,” it was Pepper who finally stepped in, “please do not tell me you dragged me from an important phone call to fetch Peter and his classmates and bring them into yet another restricted area, just to function as a tiebreaker.” She sounded ready to kill a man, or two, in this case.

“Alright, I won’t tell you,” Tony answered without even batting an eye. “But you should know me better than that, Pep, I always have a bigger picture in mind. I’m honestly offended that you’d forget my most important character trait.” 

“That you’re stubborn beyond the point of help?”

“No, my ability to know everything, everyday, at all times.” Tony straightened himself out again, fixating specifically on Mr. Rose. “It’s come to my attention over the past few months that there’s been a general consensus to brand Peter here, as a liar.”

Peter’s blood froze over. 

Bucky and Sam. It had to have been. And this was exactly the thing he’d wanted to avoid. He knew his uncles had good intentions, but he didn’t want things with Flash and his teacher to escalate, or worse, have them move on to tormenting some other kid, who most definitely did not deserve it more.

“So what I’d like to know, is why the fuck— and don’t you ‘language’ me, Steve, I’ve earned this one—you would take to allowing this harassment occur, rather than confirming the validity of his position with me through the information provided to your school?”

“Surely you can understand–” But Mr. Rose would never get the chance to make him, as the frustration that Flash had been brewing all day poured over at last.

"Because he's Penis Parker! " he exclaimed, "There's quite literally nothing special about him! Everyone knows that to get an internship here, you have to be some kind of prodigy."

"Nothing special, I–" Tony seemed to be entirely lost for words, while the rest of Peter's class took a good five steps back, not about to get themselves tangled in whatever dumpster fire Flash had just lit. 

Except MJ, who was always the first to come to Peter’s defense, "I'm sorry, were you napping through that entire demonstration in the training room, or are you just more of an unintelligent, fishious fucknugget than I thought?"

“You know, I would love to hear that answer as well,” Tony spat. 

“Dad–” Peter hissed under his breath, but his father was far from reason now.

“How dare you assume that Peter is anything less than extraordinary?” The seething engineer cut him off. “In the short span of the past six months alone, this young man has contributed to the development of life saving medical technology, energy conservation blueprints that could keep mankind from self-destructing for another hundred years, and quite frankly, he’s been putting up with your bullshit for,” Tony glanced at MJ, “how long?”

“One year, six months and twenty-seven days,” she confirmed.

“So, for far too long, is what I’m hearing,” Tony scoffed. 

“And it's unacceptable that a place of learning would turn a blind eye to a student, who is clearly in pain,” Steve finally managed to weave his two cents in.

Tossing away his grease towel, Tony brushed his hands together and snatched one of his holo-casters off the work-side table. “You know, I really didn’t think I would have to do this, it was mainly to embarrass the little guy, maybe give a spiel on our internship qualifications, because what kind of Stark would I be if I didn’t? But I believe it might serve us all a greater purpose.”

Hopefully it wasn’t something that made Peter want to bury his head in every grain of sand available to him, but knowing his father, he probably wouldn’t be that lucky.

A color-projection lit the air, rolling film fading in on Peter, hunched over one of Clint’s arrow-heads, fidgeting with a few of the inner-wires. 

“Pete!” Tony’s voice could be heard from somewhere off-screen, “smile for the camera!”

Peter glanced up, an annoyed look over-taking his features. “Ew, Dad, no, get it away from me!”

“Come on,” Tony prodded, “whatsit you kids say now? Do it for the limes?”

Peter rolled his eyes. “Do it for the Vine, and that company died in 2016.”

“Alright, then do it for marketing purposes. Lemme see what you’re working on.”

“Fine,” Peter sighed, holding up the delicate item. “Uncle Clint wanted a larger collision on impact, so I’m calibrating a more sensitive pressure point. This one’s just a prototype though. I don’t even think it works.” He attempted to twirl the thing between his fingers, but accidentally flung it across the room, the arrow divulging into flame the minute it made contact with the ground.  

The two Starks stared at it blankly. 

“Huh,” Peter cocked his head. “So that’s what it does.” 

The scene cut out with Peter looking sheepishly into the center lens, before transitioning in to the next bit: A shaky clip of Ned, MJ, Shuri, and himself sitting around the coffee table in the Penthouse sitting room, various bowls of candy spread out between them while they worked on Ned’s lego death star.

The camera swiftly zoomed in on the group, Harley shouting from behind it, “Y’all are a bunch of fuckin’ nerds!” to which Peter only turned, eyebrows raised, and with a smug grin, slowly lifted a hand to reveal their latest model of potato gun, complete with garlic-mashed ammunition. 

“Wait, babe, no–”

But his plea went unheard as Peter pulled the trigger, blasting Harley’s phone with the soft, grainy substance.

“That’s what you get!” Shuri yelled over the dramatic “Oh, shit’s” from MJ and Ned , noise fading out as the next shot flickered in.

“Is it rolling?” Peter called from across the room, while Ned’s face could be seen close up in the frame as he attempted to steady his phone on whatever set-up they’d thrown together.

“Just a second…okay, yep! We’re good!”

“Is this take one of Peter and the Giant Frisbee?” The sound of a door closing echoed from the right of the lab as MJ came into view, nodding to the new proto-type of his Pop’s shield that they were testing.

“That’s the hope,” he answered, flipping the thing. “If I’ve done my math right, this thing should be light as a feather, but hit like a bitch.”

“If it works can we use it on my brother? He defiled our shower last week.”

“I’m not sure Pops would condone that as ‘appropriate’ usage of the shield.”

“No, but your dad would,” MJ laughed.

“Guys, come on!” Ned begged, “I wanna see this in action!”

“Okay, okay,” Peter, fell into a fighting stance. Then, bringing his arm up behind him, let the shield fly.

Unfortunately for them, it was at this moment, Bucky decided to walk through the door, the shield accidentally slicing his metal arm right off. Startled, the super-soldier looked to the sparking limb, to Peter, then to the camera. 

For a moment, everyone held their breaths, until Bucky made a face of approval, giving them a thumbs up with his remaining hand. “Yeah, I’d say it works.”

“Maybe don’t tell Shuri?” Peter asked.

“Oh no,” Bucky shook his head. “You three are most definitely about to be very, very dead.”

“Shit.”

When the film progressed to its final stage, Peter recognized the memory as one he knew well. 

He was eight years old, standing in his kitchen over a science fair project. He’d been dead set on finding a way to make ice cream grow on trees, his father even helping him build a little mechanical model that used a chemical reaction to form ice crystals on the branches where leaves would have been.

Currently, they were fitting the tree onto a light-up stand, Tony sat behind Peter, guiding his hands while the little boy attempted to screw it into place. Steve was on the other side, painting detailed markings of bark for texture. 

“Peter!”

The little boy’s attention swerved towards the camera, causing him to drop the screwdriver, Tony scrambling to catch it before it fell and stabbed him in the foot.

“Hey, Rhodey, can’t you see we’re assembling important technology of the future here.”

“That’s a tree, Tony.”

“An ice cream tree,” Peter corrected. “Papa said he’ll help me plant one in our backyard. It’s all I’m gonna eat for the rest of my life.”

“Maybe not the rest of your life, buddy,” Steve suggested, earning himself a disapproving glare from his son.

“You’re not the boss of me.”

The captain gave Rhodey an amused look, while the other man just laughed. “This is Pete’s house, Cap, you’re just living in it.”

Back in the present, Tony paused his video, while Pepper dropped her head into her hands, probably rolling in her grave at the PR nightmare she was about to have, as in his heated attempt to prove a point, he’d accidentally revealed the Stark-Roger’s biggest family secret.

“So, as you can see, Peter’s position within Stark Industries is in no way a fabrication,” Tony continued, not even bothering to note the subtle signals his CEO was giving him to shut the hell up. “He possesses incredible intellect, plenty of creativity, the imagination necessary for a young intern to thrive within my company, and most importantly, uses every instance, the successes and the mishaps as a learning situation on how he can better both himself and his results. I’d go on, but I think you’ve seen enough today for me to prove my point.”

Oh, they’d seen enough indeed, because the next question out of anyone’s mouth was, “Peter Parker is your kid?”

It took a moment for the realization to dawn on him, but much to what was sure to be Pepper’s dismay, the engineer shrugged. “Yep,” he brought Peter and his friends into proximity. “And as his official guardian I’m sure you’ll have no qualms of me pulling my kid and his lovely friends from your classes for the remainder of the day?” he asked with a false sweetness in his voice. 

“O-of  course,” Mr. Rose stuttered. “It’s no problem at all.” He turned to Peter. "I truly am sorry.."

“Good," Tony hardly sounded satisfied, but it was a start. "You should be.

“Alright, and on that note, I think I’m going to be escorting these children back to their bus before my job becomes any more stressful than it needs to be,” Pepper shot Tony a “we’re going to have a long discussion about this one,” glare, though the man was hardly phased, shouting after her, “Don’t forget to schedule a court date as well for the prolonged harassment of precious cargo.”

Peter waited for the door to slam shut behind them before turning back to his parents. “Was that really necessary?”

“Absolutely,” Steve roped him into a hug. “Pete, why didn’t you tell us this was going on? That’s not the kind of thing we want to be hearing from your uncles.”

“I just didn’t want them to start taking it out on someone else.”

“Like a high-minded idiot,” MJ added. 

“Bucky was right,” Tony huffed, shaking his head. “Goddamn Rogers Righteousness. Hey, you think we can trademark that?”

“Tony, now is not the time,” Steve scolded. 

“No, but you know what it is time for?” Tony snapped his fingers, “Ice cream. Who wants some?”

“After the shit I’ve seen today, absolutely,” Harley answered.

“Milkshakes then movie night?” Peter offered, which earned him a round of “hell yeah’s” from his friends.

“You lot, go drop your stuff off, and I’ll have Happy bring the car around while we clean up here,” Tony reached for his phone, sending a text off to his head of security. 

Peter smiled this time when he boarded the elevator, his four favorite people by his side. It was good to have friends who always made you feel wanted. 

Perhaps, Peter Benjamin Stark-Rogers really was a lucky kid after all.