Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"My name is Peter Parker; I'm also a vigilante, Spider-Man. And I'm from the future."

Fury stared at him, unblinking, for a long and uncomfortable moment. Peter started fidgeting in place, rocking himself back and forth on the balls of his feet and biting at his bottom lip. He couldn't bring himself to look straight at the man, so he averted his gaze to the floor.

The lights flickered.

Finally, there was a sigh. The dull throb at the back of his mind eased: Fury let go of his hold on the gun, or, at least, held no intention to shoot him immediately. In the corner of his eye, Peter saw the man shift his weight, a hand raising to rub at the bridge of his nose. He was frowning, an expression so exhausted on his face it would make Peter laugh had he not been on the receiving end of it.

"I wish I could confidently say, 'you're lying.'" Fury muttered. "But we have a literal Norse god running around on Earth right now, and there's another one I'm sure will appear soon enough. Alright, I'll bite: when are you from?"

"Wait, that's it?" Peter looked up, blinking several times. "You're just gonna believe me right off the bat?"

"Are you implying that I should not?" Fury tilted his head.

"Well, no, obviously not, but I mean—" Peter sputtered. "I expected a little more disbelief? More convincing? I was ready to go into a rant to prove my words and all."

"Oh, no, don't be mistaken, Mr Parker; I will still require some spoken evidence for your claim." The man snickered. "I'm simply saying that it's not a claim that I will dismiss on the grounds of whether it's realistic or not. So, I'll bite: when are you from, who sent you, and for what reason?"

Peter regarded the man for a second. This Nick Fury, somehow, felt different from the one he'd met and worked with during the fiasco orchestrated by Quentin Beck. He seemed more assured and more collected; less abrasive and emotional, too. He mirrored the face of a seasoned spy that Peter would imagine much better than the other Fury did. There was a tilt to his expression that spoke of prolonged experience and hardened morals that he hadn't seen in the Nick Fury from a decade in the future.

Were they even the same person? Had Stephen's theory been correct, and the Nick Fury he had spoken to was merely a Skrull?

Peter swallowed down the lump quickly forming at his throat, the earlier awkwardness getting replaced by tight unease.

"I'm from 2024," he started, shifting in his spot. He crossed his arms at his chest and tried to avoid direct eye contact. "I wasn't sent by anyone, technically — I, uh, got caught in the crossfire of a fight between two sorcerers, and I think I was shot by the bad guy's spell?"

He chanced a glance at Fury. The man, if it was possible, looked ten times more exhausted than he did five seconds ago, before Peter started speaking. He gave him a sheepish smile, shrugging and waving his hands with the palms turned up.

"Because of course it gets even more complicated with every word you speak." Fury said. "Who are you affiliated with, then?"

"Uh, well, I'm a freelancer? A vigilante? But—" Peter grinned. "I'm also kind of an Avenger? An honorary Avenger, if you will. Or I was? I don't know. But, yeah, I worked with the Avengers, mainly, and I still help them out from time to time."

There, that should be enough. Peter would wince at his own rambling, but it's no matter — he spoke of the Avengers Initiative, which was a super-secret project made by SHIELD that they had just gotten the chance to go through with because of Loki's arrival.

Fury contemplated that, humming. "Those sorcerers you spoke of. Are they, too, members of the Avengers? Or some of them, I suppose, if they were fighting against each other."

"Uh, no— neither of them are. And I don't know if I'm allowed to tell you about them. Doctor Strange— the wizard I was helping— is a friend of mine. I wasn't supposed to be there, to be honest, and he did tell me to leave once all hell broke loose," Peter winced. "But I didn't listen, so now I'm here. Stuck until he's free to take me back to my time."

"So a troublemaker, too, then."

Peter pouted.

A momentary silence fell between them as Fury mulled over the information Peter gave him. The man was looking at him, staring at the emblem of the spider embedded in the chest of his suit. Peter, in that moment, only wished to be able to read the man's thoughts. Fury grimaced, something complicated sparking in his eyes, and then came the question Peter had been expecting since the start of their car ride.

The light flickered again.

"You didn't want us to be heard by others," Fury said slowly. "Who were you afraid of?"

"That's— uh. Promise me that you won't freak out?"

"That is the last thing you want to ask from someone if you want them to remain calm."

Peter hummed. He tapped his foot against the tiled floor. "I can't tell you the whole story now, not before the Avengers— not until Loki gets taken to prison." He looked up, shrugging. "It's a long one. But I'll tell you the gist of it, because it's important. You can't tell anyone that I'm from the future."

"We're on a time hunch here; be a dear and drop the suspense, Parker," Fury cut in. He seemed panicked, in a way. Straightforward and suspicious of something.

But that was the issue — Peter was stalling because of the answer to that one simple question. There was no guide that would help in Peter's situation. He winced.

So better to bite the bullet, right? Rip off the bandage in a single move and forget all about it.

"SHIELD is compromised," he blurted out. There was a little, barely noticeable twitch in Fury's posture. He heard the minutary racing of the man's heartbeat, going off the rails at the sudden admission. "By HYDRA. Had been for a long, long time."

The mood in the room shifted. Peter could sense that swift change, an air of ominous dread hovering between them. It pressed down, a tension almost palpable. He swallowed the lump forming in his throat.

Fury's heartbeat was still loud, echoing in his ears as clear as his own tapping against the floor. The man stared at Peter, frozen in place, expression as blank as it ever was, and, Peter noticed, he actually stopped breathing. And only that single, rhythmic sound betrayed to Peter any of the emotions he actually felt.

Suddenly, with a hitch, as though broken out of his gaze, Fury took a deep, pained breath. He tilted his head down, averting his gaze towards the tiled floor. Something heavy and complicated clouded his gaze that Peter couldn't discern. Guilt, perhaps, or even regret. "Shit, sometimes I really hate being right," he whispered.

Peter doubted the words were intended to be heard. For a second, he blanched.

"You— You knew?" He hissed.

"I consider myself a fairly smart man. I take pride in being harder to crack and more intuitive than most. There hasn't been a time when my gut betrayed me. Of course, I had my suspicions." Fury admitted, staring away at nothing in particular. The man licked his lips and shook his head. "That famous gut feeling. I hoped that I was wrong; dreaded what it would mean if I was right. I told myself I was imagining things. Evidently not." He waved his free hand at Peter.

It made sense, Peter decided. It would be a mere two years until the HYDRA takedown in SHIELD had begun, which seemed like quite enough time to formulate a theory and either deny or confirm it. Tony did tell him, once, that he only had a mute idea of Fury's sources of information.

"I'm always right. A shame I tried to tell myself otherwise."

"Do you—" Peter hesitated, rubbing his hands together. "The HYDRA takedown was all over the news, back in my time. I can— I know a few things. Followed the news, got a few briefings of 'faces I should avoid or report if seen', and then some insider information after I met the Avengers. Every school did, actually, I think. I could give you some tips, if you want."

"I'm inclined to agree, Mr Parker." Fury shook his head. "But not yet."

Peter raised an eyebrow. "Uh— no?"

He shrugged, and then, like a switch, his entire mood suddenly shifted. The man turned around, composing himself in an instant.

"No. You're right; we have more pressing matters to attend to." Fury clicked his tongue. "Loki, namely, and whoever is following him. I cannot allow myself to hesitate when I face someone I know for sure is a traitor, so for now I'll leave myself in blind denial. I assume I can allow myself that, judging by whatever happened in your timeline. Now, you're coming with me."

And then he simply strode forward, pushing the bathroom door open. He only stopped in the doorway for a brief moment, turning to face Peter, and cast at him a considering glance.

"Do you have anything under that spandex?" He tilted his head in Peter's direction.

"Uh, no, actually," Peter shook himself out of the solemn mood hanging in the air. He quickly gathered himself and joined in on the new tempo, smiling sheepishly. "Just— underwear. I tend to wear the suit without other clothes."

Fury nodded. "No matter. Go wash away any blood off your skin, then, lest someone call the cops on us. I'll be waiting outside. You have five minutes; any longer and I'm leaving you behind."

And then he was out, leaving Peter to his own devices in the relative privacy of the bathroom stall. Peter listened to the man's footsteps, echoing through the corridor, until they grew distant enough to be a muffled echo. They didn't falter, so Peter knew the man wasn't simply standing about to wait for him to get back.

He knew Fury wouldn't leave him behind. A liar or not, bluffing or pouring his heart out, Peter had the potential to become a useful asset. He knew, from both Tony's stories and his own experience, that Fury valued that greatly. But there was still the threat of Loki hanging above their head, so there was really no reason for Peter to stand still anyway.

The light flickered once more. The place might not have the best maintenance, Peter mused.

Peter hurried to get the suit off himself, careful to not pull at any of the blood patches that dried to his skin. With the dirty fabric of the suit off of him, he turned to face the mirror, inspecting both his face and his body. There were several cuts littered across his arms, right over a bruise or two. They looked healed up enough, no longer bleeding or throbbing with pain, so Peter simply washed the blood into the sink until the water running down was clear and dismissed the injuries as insignificant. He did it to all blood smears he could find, too, and then, after turning off the water, pulled the suit back on.

With one last look in the mirror, Peter smirked to himself, satisfied.

He left the bathroom as clean as a sink could allow him to get.

Fury was still in the store, speaking to the cashier at the counter about the price of something he bought. Peter approached him as he was exchanging money for several brown paper bags and a bundle of clothes. Fury turned to look at him and then swiftly handed one of the bags and the clothes into his hands.

"What's this?" Peter asked, inspecting the bag he'd been given. The smell coming off of it seemed like a weird mix of several vastly different things, so he didn't even try to discern it. Instead, he unfolded the fabric — all plain black, a jacket and a pair of pants.

"Food. Some bandages and alcohol wipes, too. I assume you know what 'clothes' are."

"…Uh, thank you, of course," Peter sputtered. "But why?"

Fury raised an unimpressed eyebrow at him. "You just said that you came fresh out of a battle. Did you expect me to leave you starving and bleeding?" The man turned away, walking towards the exit. Peter followed suit with a wince. "Besides, I can't let you run around in what I assume is a supersuit, spiderboy."

"Uh— kinda, yeah." He frowned. "And it's Spider-Man."

"I must be more of an asshole in the future than I am today, then." Fury hummed. "I suppose we're not as acquainted as I assumed, either. Well, tough luck; I actually try to take care of my agents, so if you're not used to it, it's the perfect time to get used to it."

"Sorry— your agents?"

"Correct, Mr Parker. You're hired, effective immediately." Fury exited the store, and Peter slipped after him before the door could shut close. "To everyone we meet, you are an assistant I picked up from the street. Or we can blame favouritism. Call me a family friend. I don't care. Think of this as a temporary internship in exchange for a favour."

"Huh," Peter hummed. "Alright, I suppose…"

They were approaching the car, then. As Peter hastily threw on the new wear he'd been given, almost falling off his feet as he jumped into his new pants, a thought came to his mind.

"Uh, Mr Fury?" Peter stopped in his tracks, right before they would get in.

"No need for the 'mister'. It's a mouthful," Fury muttered, already reaching out for the door — but Peter didn't let him, a hand darting up, and with a sharp thwip, a webstring shot forward, halting the man's movements as his hand got stuck to the door handle, too tight to twitch even a single finger.

He startled, turning around to shoot Peter an incredulous look. The boy grimaced and raised a finger, pointing for Fury to give him a word.

"Uh, right. That aside, I should probably tell you that— well, I have this ability; I call it a 'spider-sense', and it's basically a very simple form of precognition. It alerts me of danger and similar things. I can dodge a bullet before the gun fires, sense a punch before it hits, things like that…"

"Calling it a 'spider' sense sounds like a stretch," Fury sneered. "But it's a handy power, I'll admit. The webs are on par with the theme, though."

"Uh, right, anyway. So, uh, basically, if I say that something is coming—"

"Then I should duck."

"Yup."

"Duly noted," Fury blandly retorted. "We'll talk about your other powers later." He gestured with his free hand at the one stuck to the door handle. "Now get me out of this. Is that stuff coming out of you?"

"Right, give me a second— and, uh, no, it's not." Had he heard the question merely a year ago, Peter would have been appalled, but after meeting the Peters from other universes, the idea no longer seemed as ridiculous as before. "It's spider silk, but artificial. I invented the formula in a school lab."

"You've got quite the brain in that head of yours, then?"

"Uh, I would hope so. I mean, Mr Stark—never mind."

Fury glanced at him curiously but otherwise didn't pry.

This time, Peter properly settled down in the passenger seat instead of sitting in the back, and to his utter relief, the seatbelt did not rip right out of its holder with the little use of his strength that it required to pull on it. Fury settled in the driver's spot and put the other bag down.

He started the car, and soon they were driving onto the highway, back on the road to the headquarters.

"So, uh," Peter coughed, "What now?"

"Now we meet with the council, and then assemble the dream team." Fury tapped the wheel and momentarily glanced at Peter. "Are you familiar with Steve Rogers?"

Peter gasped. "We're going to recruit Captain America? Really? Hold on— I get to see the first time the Avengers assembled?! Holy shit, this is, like, one of the best days in my entire life— right up there with meeting Mr Stark!"

Fury snickered. "I hired an Iron Man fanboy, eh?"

"Well, of course, I mean—" Peter's face flushed with warmth. "Any guy my age would be— a fan. If they're not, then they're weird. Or holding a grudge."

And it wasn't simply Peter's opinion. Tony Stark laid down his life for humanity and for the world; negative opinions towards the man were met with scepticism and distrust, even in the face of hatred that their society carried towards him in the past.

"Quite an accusation to make." Fury chuckled. "Now, here's your first order, Parker: sit tight and don't stick your head out too much. Listen to my every word and try to remember them. Whatever I say, you go along with it; cut the improvisation to the bare minimum. Capisce?"

"Capisco."

"Good. Now settle in; we're still several hours away from our destination."

Peter, before he became a vigilante and started inserting himself into the world of superheroes, secret agents, and government authority, fully believed that the Avengers' work was fast and sudden. He thought that every decision was made in the spur of the moment, with the enemy standing on the other side of the battlefield. He imagined the New York invasion of Twenty Twelve as a day-long conflict, an immediate response to an imminent threat, as the citizens knew it.

In his imagination, all people involved in one incident or another were constantly on the move; he thought that between each step there had not been a minute to take a breather and settle down.

But in truth, things were much more prolonged and complicated. Peter properly learnt about it during the fiasco with The Vulture. He waited in the warehouse, bored out of his mind, expecting action to meet him right out of the corner in a blink of an eye. He waited for the date of the ferry, unable to take any step before his supposed enemies showed themselves.

Sitting in that car, just as bored with the monotonous passing of trees and buildings outside the window, and watching the dashboard display flicker with a date several days before the main battle, Peter was harshly reminded of just how intricate any mission had actually been to carry out.

He thought he could keep his cool. Stay quiet and focused for the duration of the ride, and then smoothly switch to a professional demeanour once they meet that council Fury spoke of.

But half an hour passed. And then another. And they were only one-third of the way to their destination. He had already finished the meal Fury gave him and bandaged any cuts visible or still bleeding, so all that was left was to sit back and wait.

Peter hadn't got the best track record with that, as with lots of other things.

He flung his legs onto the dashboard with a pout, crossing his arms.

"Feet off the dashboard."

Peter scoffed but politely tucked his legs under himself and leaned against the backrest.

"How's Goose doing lately?" Peter blurted, watching Fury's expression from the reflection in the window, conveniently illuminated by the dashboard's lighting. He almost preened at the horrified spark that passed in the man's eye.

"That is classified. Far above your clearance level."

Peter couldn't help the burst of laughter slipping out of him.

The council was not what Peter had envisioned. He didn't have a clear image or a set of expectations in his head prior to this moment, but seeing those people with his own two eyes still felt a little disappointing. They looked like simple government officials docked in suits, and even the holoscreens couldn't take away the bland look. Only the shadow falling over their faces helped to give them an air of ambience.

Peter was pouting throughout the entire meeting, standing in the doorway and leaning against the wall, hands stuck in his pockets.

Some of the words made Peter frown. What, exactly, was phase two? Did it have anything to do with Project Insight that failed in year fourteen? Was it an entirely separate project of some sort, abandoned after the Avengers were assembled?

He would have to ask, once they were out of the danger zone with the Loki situation. Besides, now Peter got the chance to witness from the front-row seat the day the Avengers were assembled, and he couldn't quite stop shaking with excitement on their way to pick up Captain America.

The building they entered looked a lot like a training facility, and the closer they got to the gym, the louder a certain beating sound echoed through Peter's ears — until it culminated in one particularly loud bang. Peter winced, placing a hand against his ear to try and soothe the ringing in his head.

Fury sent him a curious glance. "You've got sensitive hearing?"

"All senses dialled up to eleven," Peter nodded in confirmation. He rubbed two fingers against a spot right under his ear, and when he was confident that no other sound would hurt his ears, retreated the hand. "Enough to know that there's only one heartbeat in the room ahead, and it sounds really familiar to what I remember from meeting Mr Rogers."

Fury whistled. "Artificial webstrings, enhanced senses — enough to recognise a heartbeat. Got the strength to match?"

Peter smirked gleefully. "Mr Stark— the Avengers didn't recruit me for the pretty eyes, after all."

Every momentary mention of his mentor left a bittersweet taste on the tip of Peter's tongue, reverberating through his chest with sharp pain. He shifted his shoulders and bit down at his bottom lip, blinking away the sudden mist that clouded his vision. It was not the time to fall back into the memory void. Peter moved on.

Fury looked like he wanted to ask some more questions, but, luckily for Peter, they finally approached the source of the sound. The gym was poorly lit and looked unlike the one at the Avengers Compound. At the centre of a room, dragging a destroyed punching bag away and instead taking a new one from the pile, was Steven Grant Rogers. Captain America, in the flesh, hands wrapped up and breathing heavily.

Peter, if he were alone, would have probably squealed from the nerves that ran shivers through his body. He still remembered their awkward first meeting at the airport in Leipzig. He was new to the scene, meeting his idols for the first time in his life, stuttering and talking about nonsense all the way. But now he got a second chance on proper introductions, and he wasn't about to lose it.

Fury spoke up first, leading Peter further into the room. He walked past the net, but Peter was ordered to stay back and avoid attracting attention unless spoken to first. Peter pouted but reluctantly complied — he would get the chance to properly meet the Avengers once they were all on the helicarrier. Mr Rogers answered, and like that they fell into a conversation — a short summarisation of the mission. Peter listened, curious, glancing between the two men.

Peter must have done a terrible job at keeping quiet, shifting in his spot as he was, tapping the floor with the boot of his suit, because eventually Mr Rogers glanced his way. The man tilted his head, and Peter waved a hand at him.

"Hey," he greeted. To Fury, he asked, "And he is…?"

"An assistant of mine." Fury beckoned him to come closer. Peter did, with a spring to his step. "Peter Parker. I recommend you two get acquainted, as you will be working closely in the near future."

Peter reached a hand towards the man, offering a handshake. Steve accepted, looking at him with a spark of concern.

"Steve Rogers," the man introduced himself, giving a friendly smile. He raised an eyebrow at the red fabric of Peter's gloves, tapping a finger against the raised webbing design on it. "What's got you mixed up in the field, son?"

"I might be young, but I have the experience to back me up," Peter smirked. They broke the handshake, and the boy hastily shoved his hand back into the pocket of his jacket. "It's an honour to meet you, Mr Rogers. I'm a big fan. I must say, the PSAs they show us at schools do not do you justice."

Steve chuckled and rubbed his chin. "Oh, god. They still use those? Embarrassing."

Peter grinned. "In PE, sometimes, if the teachers got lazy. Always had those in detentions, too."

"And you know a lot about getting detention?"

Peter's face flushed red, and he lifted his hands up in surrender, at which Rogers only laughed. Fury shook his head, muttering to himself something about 'this is why I never got kids'— Peter turned to him, suddenly feeling terribly offended.

Fury pointedly ignored him, swiftly turning the topic back to the matter at hand.

"The point is," he began, "the world got even stranger than you already knew it."

Peter couldn't help but agree. Ever since the Battle of New York, weird things kept popping up, one worse than the other, until it all culminated with the day Thanos arrived on Earth, bringing with him power that humanity couldn't even imagine. He shook his head. It was not the time.

Mr Rogers stood up, however, turning away, and clicked his tongue, sceptical. "At this point, I doubt you've got anything new that could really surprise me."

Peter grinned, biting back a giddy laugh. Fury smirked, throwing Peter a side glance, and then told Mr Rogers, "Ten bucks says you're wrong, for everything I manage to surprise you with."

They made the deal.

Fury and Peter gathered themselves, heading out and straight for the docks— from where a quinjet would then take them to their next stop. Peter couldn't keep down the bounce in his step, a thrill of excitement shooting down his spine.

To the helicarrier.