Chapter Text
Steve Rogers is cold, uncaring, and detests everyone he comes across.
Whenever Tony approaches him, Steve will give a hard, intense Look ™ and move backwards, as if Tony has the cooties and getting too close might infect him.
He’s blunt and rude. Often, he’ll answer Tony’s inquiries with clipped one word responses, as if Tony’s an annoyance.
This reminds Tony of his father, and not in a good way. What did he do to make Steve hate him? Is he just not good enough? Too weird, too talkative, too pushy?
Tony does his best to avoid Steve, but it’s difficult to avoid someone you’re sharing your home with — especially when avoiding them means avoiding everyone else as well.
It’s hard, because Tony thrives off of human interaction. He wants to talk to Steve. He wants to spend time with the others, have movie nights and team meals, and feel like an actual family.
It takes Tony a long time to realize that it isn’t just him.
Steve treats everyone with disinterest: Nat, Bruce, Clint, Thor (when he visits), and even Fury.
So . . . maybe Tony isn’t the problem. Maybe Steve Rogers is just an arrogant asshole — and who would be surprised?
The first time Peter visits the tower, it’s a Wednesday.
Outside, rain pours down onto the streets of New York City, the dark clouds casting shadows over everything and making it appear closer to ten at night than the actual four in the afternoon, as reads the clock above the sofa
All the Avengers (minus Thor) are lounging about in the common area. Tony impatiently checks the clock again — Happy was supposed to be here with Peter five minutes ago.
Damn rain. Tony drums his fingers against the couch, his gaze flickering over to the others. None of them appear particularly bothered at having to wait.
Tony had wanted to introduce Peter beforehand — get it out of the way so that the boy wouldn’t be anxious about leaving the lab for fear that he might run into one of them.
At a quarter to five, Peter trudges in, dripping wet and shivering. “Sorry,” he says as he rounds the corner, only seeing Tony. “There was an accident, and we got stuck in traffic, and then Happy insisted that I take my shoes off, except the laces were wet so it was really hard to get them untied — oh.”
Peter pauses, eyes widening. “Um . . . hello?”
Tony claps his hands together. “Peter, the Avengers. The avengers, Peter, my personal intern. There, introductions done. As lovely as talking to you is, which it really isn’t, Peter needs my help recalibrating a project of his. Ándale, underoos.”
“Don’t you think you should get him a change of clothes first?” Nat says, quirking an eyebrow.
Clint snorts from where he’s perched on the top of the couch. “Yeah Tony, the press would have a field day if your intern got a cold and died because you made him work while drenched in rain.”
Oh. Tony hadn’t thought of that. He wiggles his eyebrows at Peter, smirking to cover his nerves. “I’m pretty sure Nat just offered to lend you her clothes, Peter. What do you say?”
Out of the corner of his eye, Tony sees Steve stiffen, gaze turning wary. Sheesh, it’s the twenty-first century.
Before Tony can start going on about how clothes don’t have a gender, Peter pipes up.
“Thank you, Ms. Romanov.” His tone is practiced and polite, as if he’s quoting from a book.
Nat shrugs. “No problem. I don’t think any of them have clothes that would fit you, squirt.”
“I’m not that tiny,” Peter grumbles, then flushes, shoulders hunching. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to talk back.”
Face void of emotion, Steve says bluntly, “Unless she’s threatening you, assume she’s teasing you unless explicitly told otherwise.” His voice is monotone.
Tony bristles, because for fuck’s sake, does Steve really have to be so condescending? This is Tony’s kid he’s talking to. Er, mentee. Peter isn’t actually his kid, just his mentee, and that’s all.
“Oh,” Peter says, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. “Um, okay.”
The Avengers grow fond of Peter very quickly — duh, why wouldn’t they? It isn’t like the kid is an absolute menace or anything.
Two weeks after Peter is introduced, the Avengers (+Peter) are sitting at the table on the common floor eating takeout Chinese for reasons completely unrelated to none of them knowing how to cook more than basic rations. . . well, except Tony.
But is he going to waste hours of his time cooking dinner for people he barely tolerates?
No, absolutely not.
(The omelets he made them all for breakfast yesterday were just him making sure he hadn’t lost his touch — absolutely nothing selfless about it.)
“How was your day at school, Peter?” Bruce asks politely.
Peter, who had been picking at his food, grimaces and shrugs. “It was fine. I mean, I got called Penis Parker again, but I’ve been called worse.” He phrases it lightly, as if it’s some sort of joke, and honestly?
Tony doesn’t think much of it.
Kids can be cruel, sure, but Peter would let them know if he was actually being picked on. Besides, Tony’s heard that kid mouth off to serial killers before — he’s a big boy, he can stand up for himself.
“Pardon?” Steve says.
Peter laughs nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, I mean, I’m there on a scholarship? Everyone else comes from a lot of money, so I’m the odd one out — I mean, I’ve always been, but that exacerbates it.”
Wincing, Bruce sets his chopsticks down. “And the fact that you’re interning with Tony Stark doesn’t help with that, I’m guessing?”
“No, not really. They, uh, they don’t exactly believe me,” says Peter. “It’s fine though. I’ve gotten good at ignoring them, and it doesn’t bother me that much anymore?”
“If it didn’t bother you, then you wouldn’t have brought it up,” Steve says, not even bothering to look up from his food. “You have muscle, next time they call you names just deck ‘em — it’s not like Stark can’t afford to bribe them if they give you trouble for it.”
Tony chokes on a piece of chicken.
“Steve,” Bruce says, face twisted into a grimace, giving a small, subtle shake of his head. “We’re supposed to be setting a good example.”
Steve gives Bruce a blank look. “Okay? I don’t see your point — hitting a bully doesn’t make you a bully.”
“No, no, he has a point,” Clint says.
Natasha scoffs, shaking her head. “There’s a much easier way to do it: psychological warfare. Slowly break down their self esteem using intimidation tactics, crafted insults, and mind games. Make them question their sanity.”
“Nothing makes a statement like throwing a punch,” Steve argues, expression cold. “Sometimes violence is the answer.”
Peter gazes up at Steve, eyes wide. “Did —” He turns to Tony, and in a low voice, he asks, “Did Captain America just give me permission to beat someone up?”
Tony gives him a Look ™. “Are you going to be the one to explain to Aunt Hottie why you got a suspension?”
Grumbling, Peter turns back to his food.
Out of the corner of his eye, Tony sees Steve whisper something to Nat.