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Working with Iron Man - Tony. Effing. Stark. - was a dream come true for Peter. It was so exciting to him to be working with his idol. Like, how common was it to come home from school and see Tony Stark talking to your Aunt about how he was impressed by you?
Mr. Stark was impressed with him!
That was the best news of his life. Considering most of the news he had ever gotten was about a death in the family, that wasn’t saying a lot, but it meant the world to Peter.
During the ride over to the hotel where Peter would be staying for the weekend to really sell the whole “Stark Industries Intern Retreat” lie that they had told Aunt May so that she’d let him go to Germany. Obviously, Peter knew that he wouldn’t get any real mentoring out of this trip - at least not academically - but he was being driven around by a real life chauffeur, with Mr. Stark next to him, telling him all about the Avengers was perfection.
The way he spoke gave Peter chills. Mr. Stark talked about Captain America’s righteousness, and how he was always starting a war so he could win it. Black Widow being the biggest badass he’d ever known. Hawkeye, the friendliest father to ever approach him, and one of his personal favorites. Thor, the overly loud god that had a quote “stupid hammer that wouldn’t obey the laws of physics”. Bruce - who made Tony’s voice crack and waver and break - was his all-time favorite, his lab buddy, his science bro, the only person who would allow his incessant rambling and actually listen to what he was saying.
Mr. Stark also told Peter all about Vision, the robot, Wanda, the red witch, T’Challa, the king, Rhodey, the other Iron Man, Sam, the Falcon, and Barnes, the Winter Soldier. Whom Peter silently admitted he used to have a crush on. Like, c’mon. Attractive man in a uniform, giving his life for the country? In a museum? How could Peter not have a crush on him?
This trip, this battle, was going to be the best thing to ever happen to Peter, he thought over and over. Logically - and mathematically - Peter should’ve known what was going to happen on this trip. The excitement drowned out everything else, and he forgot. It wasn’t his fault! Not really.
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The new suit felt amazing. The fabric was soft, silky and flexible enough for him to move around in. Even the colors fit his aesthetic as NYC’s favorite wall-crawler. Light, but dark enough to not be pastel or mistaken for it.
Peter adored the suit that it seemed Tony had spent a while on based on how many other designs were stuffed into the suitcase. The web-shooters, he had declined. He knew that Tony had probably made a million upgrades, but Peter liked his webs the way he had them. He knew the amount of pressure he had to apply, he knew how to change the settings, and he liked having something that was his.
Now, left on top of a plane, waiting for Captain America and his posse to show up, Peter was idly wishing he’d at least taken the shooters with him. Maybe he would’ve gotten to use to them in the hours he’d lay there.
None of the others had approached him, deciding not to comment on the new hero Mr. Stark had brought in. Peter appreciated that. He didn’t want to embarrass himself, and figured that it was best that he just fight alongside them. So, instead of going up to any of them, he wiggled his way inside the plane. It was luxurious. Peter’d never been in a real plane before.
A wave of jealousy washed over him as he realized this plane was probably crummy and cheap to Mr. Stark. He wished - oh, how he wished - that the same was true for him. That he was more used to fancy private jets and galas and champagne parties.
He laid himself across two first class seats. They were cushion-y, soft enough for Peter to never wanna leave. A nice, new sort of feeling that Peter never wanted to end. Though, of course, every good thing has to. A sudden, chilling feeling made its way through Peter’s body.
Oh shit.
Immediately, the teenager scrambled off of the seats, but it was too late. The once pristine, virgin white leather was stained with blood. Which meant that so was the suit. The perfect, soft, flexible, advanced suit that Peter just got a few hours ago. A quick look told Peter it wasn’t terrible. A tiny little red spot in a sea of blue between his legs. One little speck on the seats. But still.
That’s one of the single most embarrassing things that Parker Luck has ever brought his way. He’s finally meeting and working with his literal idols, and he gets his period? It’s like the universe is just stabbing him from every which way. But he’s only bleeding from one place.
How was he supposed to get a pad without telling Mr. Stark? Oh this was bad, this was very, very bad. What the hell was he supposed to do now? There was no way he could get inside the airport without setting something off considering they had the place completely closed down.
Black Widow. Perfect. She’s a female, she knows about these things, she’ll probably have some extra on her, just in case. Thank Thor that she’s on his team and he won’t have to fight her for it. Peter wiggles out of the plane the same way he came in, now back on top of the aircraft.
Scanning the tarmac for the red-head, he only finds Mr. Stark and Mr. Rhodey talking to Mr. T’Challa and Mr. Vision. Where the hell did Miss Natasha go? If she left, and took all her hygiene products with her, Peter was gonna shoot himself. Seriously, he was. He’d steal a gun from one of them out there and use it on himself. Couldn’t hurt to try.
With no sign of her still, Peter took to swinging around to look for her. He hoped that to the four men below him, it just looked like he was scouting for Captain America’s crew. The breeze he always loved while swinging now felt constricting, like it was pushing his ribs into his lungs and he just couldn’t breathe. Was that the wind or his binder? Maybe both.
Or maybe it was the overwhelming anxiety of bleeding even more and accidentally coming out to a group of superheroes that would probably never talk to him again if they knew what he was. Would they say what she was? Peter hoped not. He knew that there was some weird saying “Never meet your heroes.” But he really hoped this wasn’t one of those circumstances.
Miss Natasha came into view after a few minutes of aimless swinging and anxious thinking. What if Miss Natasha hated her him after this? What if she told Mr. Stark? Peter decided it was best to just calmly, casually approach her.
Which, of course, immediately went out the window when Peter forgot to shoot a new web out in order to slowly propel himself to the ground and ended up falling on his back. A groan was ripped from his throat, pain shooting through his veins. Miss Natasha rushed over to him, kneeling beside him, but facing the other way.
“Are they here?” She whispered, and it took Peter a moment to realize she was talking about the Rogues, as Mr. Stark had so thoughtfully named them. Peter’s head shook, before stopping and croaking out a ‘no’.
Well, no time like the present.
“Um, Miss Natasha Widow ma’am?” Yeah, great start Peter, just overwhelm her with titles so she gets confused and just gives you pads without a second thought. “Do you - ah, jeez - this is kind of… embarrassing. But normal, but really embarrassing. I probably shouldn’t be asking you for this. However you are the, uh, only one I’d assume would be able to help me. I think. Unless someone else here is like me. Which I sincerely doubt, but that’d be cool-!”
“Spider-Man. Cool it.”
“Right, right, sorry.” Peter sat up straight, ignoring the screaming of his ribs and stomach. That wasn’t important right now. What was important was not ruining this brand new suit.
“What do you need?” Her voice sounded softer, less guarded. Peter didn’t know Black Widow could let her guard down, even the slightest bit. Figured she never would. Especially not for some random kid she just met who is very annoying and obsessive and very much in pain.
“Pads.” Said bluntly, as if it didn’t take Peter all his strength not to spontaneously combust while saying that.
“Pads?” Said confused, as if she thought that he was a real boy that wouldn’t have to deal with that. That thought made Peter smile under the mask, knowing she couldn’t see him.
“I’m kinda bleeding, from you-know-where, and I don’t have anything. Do you?” The young boy's face flushed. So much for not embarrassing himself. Jeez, man, today was gonna suck. He had to fight, and he had to deal with this shit? What the freak man? The universe really hated him.
Miss Natasha’s face was plagued by a slight, pastel pink, finally turning around to face Peter. That was another thing Peter was sure that Black Widow wasn’t capable of. He wasn’t as much of a genius as he thought, oh for 2.
“Fun fact about the Red Room - where I was trained - they don’t like when girls have the chance to be weakened by cramps or accidental pregnancies.” Natasha told him, looking around the tarmac, probably for incoming threats.
“Oh.”
“I’m terribly sorry…?” She trailed off, and Peter realized that she was asking for a name. He never gave out his real name, never risked it. He couldn’t stand the fact that if anyone else knew his identity that they would tell the whole world. But Miss Natasha was a good secret-keeper. Mr. Stark had taught him that.
“Um- that’s uh- It’s Peter, ma’am. Peter Parker.” Nothing to hide now, he supposed, reaching to take off his mask. That felt better. The mask wasn’t meant to be constricting, but Peter felt immediate relief when he ripped it off of himself. Miss Natasha’s eyes widened, then Peter blinked and her expression was neutral again.
“You’re very young, very brave to fight this battle, Pyotr.” That meant Peter in Russian. He knew that. Why did he know that? He’d never learnt Russian in his life, it wasn’t a subject in school, his parents weren’t Russian. The only two languages he had recollection of learning are Italian and English. Well, it wasn’t that hard a word, no reason to ponder over it.
Peter thanked the woman for her kind words, appreciating them more than he could say. He looked up to Black Widow, as a person and a hero, and was once again overwhelmed with the excitement of being in the same vicinity as her and all the others.
“Wanda may have something. I don’t think she was given the same surgery I was.” A whimper escaped Peter before he could stop it. He’d heard all about Wanda Maximoff since her first appearance during Ultron. And she was - in a word - terrifying. There was no way in hell that Peter was going to say anything about this to her.
“Um, that’s- that’s okay, Miss Widow. I…can just, uh - oh, no - I can use my webs, maybe? Or just break into the airport, and warn Mr. Stark that it’s just me and to not send the hounds sniffing.” Peter stuttered, cursing under his breath at his stupid Parker Luck.
Miss Natasha didn’t even blink, as if knowing the boy’s fear. She nodded, standing up and reaching a hand out to him. Peter, gratefully, took it in his and was pulled up to his feet. The woman turned around and started in the opposite direction, before stopping and turning her head over her shoulder.
“Tony didn’t force you, did he?” The genuine concern in her voice made something warm inside Peter. A feeling that she was going to be a good addition to his life. A feeling that she was similar to May in the sense that she was scarily protective of those she just met. A good quality to have as a nurse, and an Avenger.
“What? No, no, uh- ma’am he didn’t. I chose to be here.” Peter stood firm. Even though his ribs were being crushed, his cramps were starting up, and his back still hurt a bit from the fall. Miss Natasha nodded, pursing her lips.
“Spider-Man, let’s go kick some ass.” Miss Natasha smirked. Peter pulled his mask back over his face, smiling like he did when he was younger at the Stark Expo.