Chapter Text
“So this is the kid.” Clint shot Tony a flinty, uncertain look as Peter gave the gathered Avengers a nervous smile, the boy wringing the soft material of his mask in his hands. The kid we saw tortured went unspoken. As did the kid who you dragged to Germany, the kid we fought against, the kid we could have hurt or killed without ever knowing.
“Yes.” The inventor slid closer to Peter, slinging a protective arm around the teen’s shoulders; the metal of the Iron Man gauntlet on his hand glinted in the light. “Romanoff” - not Natasha, not anymore - “already had a heart to heart with me about his age, but I didn’t make him Spider-Man, and it’s been proven before that I can’t stop him.”
“It’s true!” Peter nodded his head enthusiastically, an excitable puppy before a lineup of scarred, traumatized soldiers and spies. “One time Mister Stark tried to stop me by taking away the suit he gave me, so I used my old suit, and then the Vulture dropped a warehouse on me, and I didn’t have Karen - that’s my AI; I named her after Plankton’s wife from Spongebob - to call for help or any of the tech, but I still managed to keep him from stealing Mister Stark’s plane, and-”
“Kid,” Tony nudged the boy with his hip lightly, ignoring the sting of guilt that returned every time Peter mentioned his fight with the Vulture at Coney Island, the burn of it no less painful than when Peter had told Natasha and the super-soldiers about the incident, “Make sure to take a breath before you pass out.” Peter gasped in a hiccuping breath dramatically, ready to continue, but Tony silenced him with a gentle squeeze of the arm curled around thin shoulders. “Give Bird Brain a moment to catch up, Pete.”
“Tony.” The word spilled unbidden from Clint’s lips, hoarse and wavering. This was a child, just like his Cooper. “He could have died out there.” And worst of all, Clint wasn’t even sure which time he meant.
“I know.” Tony replied seriously, swallowing hard. “And I hear him screaming in my nightmares. But I can’t stop him from being Spider-Man unless I want to lock him up; what I can do is provide him the training, support, and tools to give him the best chance of getting home safely.”
“He’s strong.” Steve added from the other side of the line, giving Peter a fond, proud smile that did not have Tony bristling in response, thank you very much. “And he and Tony agreed to let Buck and I help train him, so he knows what to do with that strength. Tony also gave him and his aunt more tech for tracking and distress signals, although I hope they won’t be needed. What happened to Peter was horrible, but he’s okay.”
Peter’s smile faltered briefly. He was okay. He was. Physically, at least. But sometimes he jolted awake screaming from dreams that clung to him with greedy hands and tried to drag him back into a bloodstained warehouse, the crackle of electricity in his ears. When it happened at the Tower, FRIDAY alerted Tony, and Peter would fall back asleep under the comforting weight of warm, steady hands rubbing circles against his spine. When it happened at the apartment, he crawled into May’s bed, regardless of if she were home or working a night shift; even just the scent of her shampoo on the pillow was a reminder that he was out, that he was safe. “And now we’re here.” Peter chirped, giving Hawkeye a mostly genuine smile.
“And now we’re here.” Tony agreed flatly, cutting a cold look over at Natasha, “After what happened with Hammer, Peter decided it would be best if the team knew his identity so that fear of compromising his secret wouldn’t endanger him going forward. This is information only to be shared within the current team; anyone else would need to be vetted by Peter himself. Bruce is already aware, and we’ll let Thor know the next time he’s on-world if it seems relevant. I don’t think we need to tell you how important it is that Peter’s identity stays a secret.”
Clint, who had kept his family hidden from his team for years, just let out a sharp-edged laugh. “No, Stark, you don’t. But Nat’s already torn into you for dragging a kid into battle, so I won’t go into it.”
“That’s one way to put it.” Tony countered dryly, gauntlet-clad hand tightening briefly into a loose fist before he forced himself to release it, “Mostly, she thought Peter was a HYDRA spy and tried to take him out.”
Clint’s world stuttered to a halt, vision narrowing to the slender teen in front of him. Natasha - Black Widow and master assassin - had attacked Peter almost immediately after his torture had been live-streamed to the plane? It had been less than a week since then, and Clint didn’t even think the kid should be on his feet yet. “Is he okay?”
“I wouldn’t let her hurt me, Mister Hawkeye.” Peter cut in earnestly, “And she didn’t mean to. We were hiding the fact that I was Spider-Man, and she could tell I was keeping secrets from her. She thought she was protecting Mister Stark.”
But Clint could see already that losing Peter would break Tony’s heart irrevocably, just like losing any of his three kids would shatter his; the underlying tension in the room suddenly made sense. “Is that so?” He asked, his voice sounding strangely hollow to his own ears. He didn’t think there was anything wrong with his StarkTech hearing aids; it was the new, sudden distance stretching between himself and Natasha numbing his senses. If Natasha had suspected a HYDRA infiltration, she should have tagged him in; Clint knew without needing her to confirm it that the reason she hadn’t was because of Peter’s age. He knew Natasha better than anyone, and she knew him, too; she would have known he would have protested lethal force against a teenager, even if he had been a HYDRA agent, that he would have humanized Peter instead of turning him into a threat to neutralize.
“Clint.” Natasha stepped towards him, her foot shifting only inches closer, and he moved away the same distance as something like disgust flickered across his face. She froze, anguish flitting across her own before she reigned it in and stepped back again. “I-”
“Don’t.” The raw edges of his pain had hardened into biting edges, ones he’d lash out with if pressed too hard. “Stark- Tony, if there’s anything I can do for you or Peter, let me know.” The smile Peter gave him was thin but genuine, the overwhelmed teen’s large brown eyes darting between the two SHIELD agents.
“Maybe I could help train Peter?” Natasha offered instead. “He’s smaller and faster than Steve and Bucky; my fighting style would complement him better.”
“I don’t trust you with him.” Tony replied simply, adjusting his body slightly to angle it further between his charge and the red-headed Avenger. Unlike before, there was no anger or pain lacing his words; he felt more secure with the rest of the team at Peter’s back, and his declaration carried only the stinging neutrality of a man who’d been betrayed and moved on without the person who’d hurt him. “If we’re on a mission together, and you’re the only one close enough to help him, I hope you do, but I don’t plan on letting that happen. I would trust you with my life - but not his.”
“Mister Stark.” Peter’s reproach was the only voice rising to Natasha’s defense. “She was trying to protect you.”
Tony bit back what he wanted to say - I’d rather die than accept any protection that put you in harm’s way, kid - and shrugged his shoulders loosely instead. “I think that’s enough excitement for today. Why don’t we get you fed and then check in with Bruce and Helen about your recovery?”
Peter sighed but nodded anyway, flashing a winning smile to the rest of the team. “It was nice to meet you without the mask, Mister Hawkeye.”
“Call me Clint.”
“Not gonna happen.” Bucky snorted, looking fondly over at the kid, “You’ll be lucky to get ‘Mister Barton’. He’s polite.”
“That’s one word for it.” Tony agreed, already turning Peter towards the door to shepherd them out of the room.
“Polite?” Clint asked with exaggerated shock as the door shut behind them, “Tony’s kid?” And if Tony heard, he didn’t bother to correct the man. Peter might not be his son, but he was his kid.
Over the next few weeks, the team fell into a rhythm - one where Natasha was the only Avenger out of sync. Peter spent most nights in the Tower, and his aunt firmly approved since FRIDAY was able to monitor and track him within the building’s walls. His medical team - composed of Bruce Banner and Helen Cho - checked in with him daily to follow his recovery, which had already progressed nicely physically.
Mentally, his shoulders sagged under the weight of warehouses and helplessness; Tony begged him to talk to Sam about the trauma he’d sustained and reinforced, but he’d refused for now. He didn’t have words for the ways he felt hollowed out and brittle, and he didn’t want to stop long enough to think about those terrifying hours anyways. Between training with the super-soldiers and Tony’s near-constant fretting, he hardly felt like he had time to dwell on it.
Still, each day was a little bit easier.
After a week out of school “with a nasty flu”, he returned to Midtown with a plastered-on smile and a mountain of catch-up work; he told Ned and MJ about what happened - with as few details and as many quips as possible - and weathered their painful concern. After class, Happy drove him back to the Tower, where Peter tore through his backlog of schoolwork as quickly as possible and then fell into training with Steve and Bucky. Tony was always watching - either in person or through the cameras - but Peter felt safe with the pair and rolled his eyes at his mentor whenever he saw the man hovering.
Steve and Bucky, who Tony had only barely been able to tolerate before Peter’s abduction, had earned their spots back in his circle of trust through the fierce way in which they threw themselves into Peter’s training. They pushed him gently but consistently, exploring his baseline for days before letting him attempt anything remotely strenuous. When he was at school, they followed up with Tony about his abilities and limitations, asking him what areas the kid needed extra support in, listening dutifully to any concerns, and immediately sitting down to think of ways to address them. They never assumed they knew Peter better than Tony did, and they offered their expertise and experience whenever they could.
They kept their conversations away from Peter’s enhanced ears, instead filling the air with firm but kind corrections and praise as they drilled. Each session left all three of them dripping with sweat, Peter grinning goofily at Tony as he stumbled back onto their shared floor at the end of it. Afterwards, once everyone was clean and dry again, Tony made Peter sit down to a dinner set with a large enough portion to fuel his strained healing factor; when May’s work schedule allowed, she and Pepper joined their boys for a family meal. Occasionally, Tony invited Peter to join the Avengers for a group dinner, and Natasha wisely made herself scarce for the time.
After dinner came patrol. Tony didn’t try to stop him, but Peter knew his mentor was likely monitoring Karen’s feed closely in case he had to step in at a moment’s notice. The first day he’d tried to tug on his suit and swing out into the city, he’d spent an hour perched in an open window, suspended helplessly in the moment before he could gather his courage to face the world again. Tony had joined him without a word, a warm hand on Peter’s back as he leaned lightly against the other’s still frame. When Spider-Man finally trusted in his webs and himself again and flung his body into the sky, Tony Stark stood at the window and watched him disappear into the horizon towards Queens, proud and terrified in equal measure. Each night that he didn’t return to the apartment with May, Peter slipped back into the Tower to find Tony - and sometimes the rest of the Avengers - waiting for him, clean clothes and warm food laid out.
It wasn’t long before the world needed Spider-Man alongside the Avengers again, a fact that had Tony’s heart pounding as the Iron Man suit formed into place around him. “Kid,” Tony schooled his voice into something resembling calm authority, earning himself a knowing glance from Steve as they all suited up for the distress call. “You can sit this one out if you’re not ready for it yet.”
“For Doombots?” Peter asked incredulously, pausing with his mask tugged halfway down his face. “I would fight them alone.”
Tony’s chest tightened painfully, an ache reminiscent of his long-replaced arc reactor. “Don’t say that.” He snapped, turning to face the teen fully. “I just meant that if you still need more time to recover from-”
“Mister Stark.” Peter finished pulling on his mask and came over to stand before his mentor, head tilted back as he looked up at the older man. “I know you’re scared of me getting hurt again, but I need to get back out there, and I’ll have the whole team with me.”
“We’ll keep close.” Bucky agreed gruffly, tugging on the strap holding Steve’s shield in place to check its fit. “Now, can we go crush these robots? The sooner we do, the sooner we get to come home.”
“Yeah.” Even with red fabric covering his face, Peter’s smile was clear in his voice. “The sooner we leave, the sooner we get to come home.”
And if Tony had any further complaints, they withered under the thought of Peter considering the Tower home. “Okay.” The man allowed softly, reaching out one gauntleted hand to squeeze the other’s shoulder. “But let me know if you need me for anything, no matter what.”
“Always.” Peter leaned easily into the touch for a moment before scampering after Steve and Bucky towards the quinjet waiting for them.
The DODC building where the Doombots were swarming wasn’t far from the Tower, and the flight passed quickly as Tony briefed the team on what to expect from Doctor Doom’s latest iteration of robots. By the time they arrived at the site, Peter was nearly bouncing in his seat with barely suppressed energy, bristling slightly at Tony’s refusal to let him swing ahead. The Quinjet hovered overhead, invisible and directed by FRIDAY, as the team jumped into the fray.
The super-soldiers went first with nothing more than a pair of parachutes and brisk salutes, Peter swung Clint down onto a rooftop during his own descent, and Tony flew Natasha to the street to keep her away from his favorite wall-crawling superhero. As they all threw themselves into the fight, they replaced weary and grateful SHIELD and DODC agents who fled from lightning-scorched streets and moved out to establish a perimeter instead, shepherding curious civilians with smartphones away from the scene.
It didn’t take long for Peter to fall into his default position on the team, swinging around the edge of the battle and helping pen in any Doombots that were getting too close to the rapidly forming perimeter. “Thanks, Spidey!” A singed SHIELD agent called out as Peter webbed up a wandering Doombot, the young hero instinctively dodging a bolt of energy blasting from a second robot’s faceplate.
“Kid!” Tony’s voice piped into his ears through his comms, the man’s frantic call nearly causing Peter to stumble through his next dodge as he swerved around the enemy’s next attack, a crackle of lightning from gauntleted hands, a sound that reminded him too much of pain and uncertainty and the deep fear of being alone, of asking his mentor to sever the only connection he had to someone who cared if he lived in that moment. He’d been trapped in that warehouse, just as he’d been trapped under the warehouse on Coney Island.
“Mister Stark?” Peter asked breathlessly, wrestling with the sudden tightness in his chest as he shot webs into a bot’s jetpack, sending it crashing to the ground. “What’s wrong?”
Tony wheezed out a response that might have been “Nothing”, earning them both a snort from Bucky. “He’s just worried about you, Parker. He’s hovering - in every sense of the word.”
Peter titled his masked head back, squinting up at the gleaming sight of Iron Man floating overhead, blasting at Doombots that got too close to Peter. “Why-?”
“We all are, Queens.” Steve admitted, raising his shield in a brief salute across the battlefield before slamming it into a Doombot’s wrist, severing its gauntlet. “You were ready to join back in, but we were going to fret no matter how long you waited. We’re all proud of you, though, and Stark will relax once we’ve done this a few more times.”
Spluttering indignantly, Peter launched a web up towards the Iron Man suit and hauled himself into the air, swinging easily off the man and into the next fight; Tony barely dipped in the sky, familiar with the maneuver and compensating for the increased force with a flare of his repulsors. “I don’t need babysitters.”
“You don’t, little spider.” Natasha agreed in her first contribution to the conversation. “They’re making you a target.” This time, it was Tony’s turn to protest clumsily, his words carrying equal measures of threat and hurt. “Clint, how does it look from the rooftops, is it clear that Peter is being protected?”
“Yes.” The archer allowed reluctantly, loosing an arrow and setting off a small EMP as near to Peter as he could get without catching him or Tony in it.
“Right. And if it’s visible, then enemies will be able to see it, too.” Natasha continued firmly, easily talking over Tony’s furious protests. “I understand why you’re all staying close; even Clint is focusing his fire over there, but it will convey to others that Peter is vulnerable in some way, either that he’s the weakest link or that he’s the most important member of the team. Regardless of which they take it as, that puts him in danger. Besides, we won’t always have such a tight perimeter and small battlefield. Civilians can’t afford for us to focus on one area, and it’s dangerous to be clumped together like that. You’re putting all of us at risk, but especially Peter.”
“Romanoff-” Tony started angrily, swiveling his head towards his teammate.
“She’s right.” Peter interjected, his feet almost skimming the road as he swung close to the ground, staying at the perfect height to slam his feet into the chest of a Doombot; the metal caved under his momentum, and he pivoted immediately to the next closest threat, moving just as surely as before the torture. “Thank you, Miss Romanoff.”
“Call me Natasha.”
“No can do, Miss Black Widow.” Peter replied with a laugh, webbing down a Doombot that made his spidey-sense prickle right before it self-destructed, taking more of its kind out in the small blast. “Hey, duck!” The assassin threw herself forward and down, giving Peter the clearance he needed to shoot a sturdy web at a flying Doombot, yanking hard on the connection and sending it off course because it could launch itself at Natasha.
“Thank you, Peter.” Natasha rolled back onto her feet, sounding as unruffled as ever.
“No problem, spiders gotta stick together.” Peter tore the metal arm off of one of the Doombots, humming in consideration when he realized the gauntlet could still spark. Too close to his experiences for comfort, but maybe it could help one of the people less well suited for the fight. It took all of his considerable enhanced strength to rip apart the bots, and Clint and Natasha were just humans without even the protection of an Iron Man suit. “Miss Widow, have you seen-”
“No more movies.” Tony protested from where he watched the pair closely, juggling his concern and his own fight.
“I think I get the gist anyways.” Natasha held out a palm, accepting Peter’s offering as he passed off the gauntlet. “Good idea, kid.” He beamed at her, mostly visible through the narrowing and crinkling of his expressive lenses, and Natasha hoped her own feelings peeked through her emotional mask the same way. I’m sorry, she wanted to say. I was wrong. Instead, she turned away from Peter with the damaged tech and put as much distance as possible between them before unleashing the crackle of electricity. “You can show me the movie later if you want.”
“Yeah.” Peter attached a web to a nearby Doombot, flinging himself into the air; the Doombot wasn’t as prepared as Tony had been earlier, and Peter used its surprise to send it crashing into another robot. “I’d like that.”