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A sliver of soft, golden sunlight filtered into Peter’s room through a crack in his, supposedly, black out curtains. It was just a thin ray of 6 am sunshine, and it lay right across Peter’s bed, and therefore, right into…
His eyes.
Groaning, Peter shut his eyes tight, and pulled his plush, cotton blanket right over his head. It was way too early for this shit. Especially on a Saturday morning. He deserved to sleep in, he had just sat through exactly 50 exams in the last two weeks and he was completely, and utterly exhausted.
Okay, maybe not exactly 50 exams, but that was close enough. Peter wasn’t too worried though, he was one of the top students at Midtown High, so there was nothing to be nervous about. He always scored above average, and he would be lying if he said he wasn’t smug about that sometimes.
Peter let out a breath as he stretched, his back cracking. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes as he sat up with great effort. Pushing his blanket off, Peter swung his legs over the edge of the mattress and stood up, taking a few seconds to steady himself.
He slowly waddled his way to his desk, where his favourite navy blue hoodie and dark grey sweatpants were draped over his chair. After tossing his pyjamas onto his messy bed, and changing into his hoodie and sweatpants, Peter took a second to just look up and stare at the ceiling.
It was weird. Not the ceiling itself, but the concept of a ceiling, a roof. It was always there; it provided protection and shelter and held embedded lights you could switch on with just a flick of your finger. It was a bit like how sky holds up the sun. People admired the sky, yet, no one ever admired ceilings. No one ever truly appreciated them. No one ever noticed the scars they carry.
Every little scuff mark, dent, or chip in a ceiling told a story. A story that no one ever bothered to listen to. It was weird. Peter thought ceilings were just like people sometimes.
…
Anyways, breakfast would be ready soon, and Peter didn’t want to be late and risk Clint or Sam eating all the waffles Steve was probably already making. Yawning, he made his out of his room and to the elevator, where Friday greeted him with a weirdly joyful voice. No one should be anywhere near joyful in the mornings, especially not an AI, but not even Tony can explain the things Friday does.
///
Stumbling out of the elevator and into kitchen, Peter immediately padded his way over to the couch in the living room and unceremoniously collapsed face first into the cushions. He never understood why this particular couch was so comfortable and nao worthy, but it just was.
Peter basically never occupied any of the other couches or loveseats in the living room. Not during a movie, or a game night, or in the mornings. This specific couch was his and he would not hesitate to bite anyone for it. Though, the others already know this, as they had all unanimously agreed that this couch, was Peter’s Couch. Well, maybe not everyone.
Right as he was about to let himself fall into a peaceful nap, an annoying, grating voice called out to him. Clint. “Still half asleep there, kid? If you don’t want any waffles, I’ll be happy to eat yours.”
Peter could practically feel Clint’s smirk. That would change soon enough, however. “Touch my waffles and you die a horrible death.” Peter mumbled out into the pillow he currently trying to merge with.
“Wow, straight to the death threats I see. What are you gonna do, bite me?” Clint chuckled, walking out from the kitchen and to Peter’s Couch, resting his arms on the backrest and leaning over to look at Peter’s limp form.
“I wouldn’t test him Legolas, the kid can and will bite you. Trust me when I say you don’t want to get bitten by him.” Tony mused from where he was sitting at a bar stool at the kitchen island, swirling his second cup of coffee in his favourite mug. (It definitely did not say “NO. 1 Irondad” in Peter’s printed messy scrawl.)
Clint just rolled his eyes and reached his hand down to ruffle Peter’s tangled curls. He completely ignored the offended grumbles that followed as he walked back over the kitchen and slumped onto a barstool next to Tony.
Steve was standing at the stove, wearing the “World’s Okayest Cook” apron Tony got him as a gag gift, and skilfully pouring carefully measured portions of batter into the waffle iron.
“How about, instead of chewing Clint’s arm off, we have waffles instead? I’m sure they would taste marginally better than human flesh.” Steve chuckled, staying completely oblivious to the teasing agreement Clint sends towards the couch.
And that’s when Peter’s voice suddenly sounds from right behind Clint, making both him and Tony practically jump out of their skins, though Clint ends up on the floor. “Nah, I personally enjoy the taste of human flesh, especially when it’s fresh and warm.” Peter purrs, leaning down towards Clint. His eyes are half lidded and a sharp grin pulls at his lips.
“Jesus Christ kid, what the hell!” Clint yelps, hurriedly standing up and backing away, rounding the kitchen island so he’s standing opposite of Peter, safe from any attempts at getting his arm bitten off.
Peter just giggles and takes a seat at on what used to be Clint’s barstool, seemingly much more awake than he was just a few minutes ago. It was always Saturdays when Peter would fall into his habit of causing chaos, and inadvertently turning Tony’s hair grey, but everyone would be lying if they said they minded the chaos.
“We should really invest in getting a bell for you, kid. Otherwise, you’ll end up taking any remaining years from everyone’s lives.” Bucky’s gruff voice calls out as he makes himself known. He’d just walked out from the elevator, looking like he had climbed three mountains and fought off a particularly angry goat.
“Morning Buck, did you sleep well?” Steve couldn’t keep the smile of his face when he saw his best friend (?) looking as dishevelled as ever, wanting nothing more than to untangle Bucky’s tussled hair with his fingers.
“Ha ha, does it look like I slept well?” Levelling Steve with a deadpanned stare, Bucky immediately made a beeline towards the coffee machine, all but desperate to get the sweet nectar of the gods into his bloodstream before he has to face the day.
Steve holds in a laugh, shaking his head when Peter gags. “Ew, get a room you too!” Peter shouts, dramatically collapsing into Tony’s side, almost making him spill his precious cup of life juice.
“I agree with the kid, this has gone on for too long. I can hire an officiator and order a few diamond rings for you two to pick from-”
“What!?” Steve whips around to look Tony dead in the eyes, and Bucky, honest to God, blushes, turning away towards the coffee machine and facing the wall, and it might just be the best thing Clint has ever seen because he starts wheezing with laughter.
“Relax Capsicle, ever heard of a joke?” Tony pauses to take a sip of coffee and continuing before Bucky or Steve can say anything. “Seriously though, don’t think Pete’s the only one who can see the hearts in your eyes every time you look at Barnes.”
“That’s- that’s not even- where did you-” Steve seems lost for words, a light dusting of pink rising onto his cheeks. That’s when Bucky raises a hand to rub at temples in a futile effort of trying to ward of the budding headache he could feel slowly growing.
“Christ,” Bucky mumbled out, barely audible. “Steve, get back to the waffles or they’ll burn, Tony, Clint, shut up.” Tony scoffed, clearly offended and grumbling something about owning the Tower. Clint however, was now lying on the floor for the second time that morning, visibly struggling to catch his breath.
Immediately turning back to the waffle iron, Steve just managed to save the now, slightly crispy waffle. Peter took a second to look around him from where he was still leaning against Tony’s shoulder. He took in a deep breath, smiling softly at his family.
Peter paused.
Family? When had he started thinking of them as his family?
Maybe it was all the late nights with Tony and Bruce in the lab, or training with Steve, Bucky and Natasha, or maybe it was the countless times Clint and Sam fought over who was the fun uncle.
Whatever the reason was, Peter found that he didn’t mind. In fact, he was glad that he finally belonged somewhere he didn’t have to lie about who he really is, about Spider-Man and his powers.
Other people had wide open fields of grass in their happy place, meadows brimming with flowers and butterflies, but Peter? Peter had the Avengers. All of them so imperfect that it made them perfect in every way that counted, just like him.
And this was enough, because it just was.
…
Omg finally Peter, jeez how long did it take for you to figure that out? And no, I did not purposely write you like this, you’re just incapable of being written in any other way. But that’s why we love you :)
THE END