Chapter Text
Peter pads barefoot into the compound kitchen, moving straight for the refrigerator. Its hum leads the way as a sweet, sweet promise, of satisfying his never-ending hunger. A side effect of his super cool Spider abilities.
Pulling the door open, the bright glow from the fridge is the only light in the kitchen and living room combination. His stomach growls loudly, as he scans the newly stocked fridge for something to eat. Peter sh’s it, “Just wait a minute, stomach. I’ll find something”. For a moment he considers grabbing the leftover pizza from the lab lunch but stops. That, Peter decides, is going to act as a better breakfast than a midnight snack.
The door shuts again with a small thud, leaving the kitchen in darkness. His eyes take a moment just before Peter moves on to the cupboards.
Ever since homecoming Mr. Stark and Peter had hung out a lot more. It’s May’s doing. One loud phone conversation with Mr. Stark, after her finding out about Spider-man, had meant the internship became a real, internship. It was Mr. Stark’s idea with sleepovers and fully stocked cupboards and kitchen shelves. A collection of anything a teenager could ever want, plus a few add-ons because Peter isn’t just a growing teen. He is also an enhanced individual with an apatite to rivel Captain America.
From the top shelf, Peter pulls a pack of instant ramen - NongShim Shin Black Noodle Soup because Mr. Stark refuses to back down on quality. Carefully he crumbles the pack into a bowl and starts the long process of adding water to the kettle to bring it to a boil.
He leans against the counter, scrolling through his phone, waiting. Every few seconds he looks from his, Ned’s, and MJ’s chat group, and over to the water. The time ticks slowly, and Peter’s stomach growls again. Louder this time, echoing through the kitchen.
Sighing, Peter returns to the cupboard, giving in to the hunger. Considering his options – peanut butter with crunch straight from the jar, a half-eaten bag of chips, and twinkies (the last once are Mr. Starks) – he makes his choice. Chip’s it is. He keeps scrolling as he shuffles chips into his mouth, not stopping before the water finally alerts him to his noodle bowl.
Pouring the boiling water over the noodles, they become soft in a matter of moments.
Scuffling the first mouthful of noodle strings down, he is happily reminded of home. May isn’t a bad cook, per se. Still, Peter lingers in the cupboards late at night for noodles – the cheap ones – at home. It’s the same easy-meal-taste that hits his tough now. Spicy filling his body with heat.
NongShim Shin Black Noodle Soup: 280 calories. Most of a half bag of chips: 215 calories. Peter slowly adds up his food intake, attempting to figure out if it will satisfy his hunger for an extended period of time. He hates these late-night snack breaks in his sleep, but can never seem to get enough down at dinner time to keep full.
Some call him lucky, Mr. eat-anything-you-want-and-stay-thin. And sure, for a while, Peter had found that cool too, until it become inconvenient.
Returning to the fridge Peter pulls a high-calory drink out, pushing a straw through the cap, and takes in the deep chocolaty taste. That should keep him going till breakfast.
“Hey kid, pass me the chips”.
“Of course”, Peter does so, without much thought reading another of Ned’s memes.
He swallows the last mouthful of noodles, before discarding the bowl into the sink for somebody else to deal with. Something he’d never do where May could see it. Then slowly starts making his way out of the kitchen again.
Only then does he notice the humming of his Spidey-sense. A pleasant sound alerting him to another person’s presence, but no actual danger. Peter spins on him heals all the same, enhanced senses allowing him to spot the person even in the darkness. A thin figure sits on one of the bar stools, crunching chips and minding their own business.
As if sensing Peter’s eyes on them, they shift, looking up. Greens eyes meet Peter’s brown, his Spidey-sense sending out a panicked screaming signal from pure shock, and Peter jumps.
Sticking to the ceiling is pure instinct, happening involuntarily. It gives him a clear advantage against any attacker unless they have a gun – or a bow, Peter thinks to himself, reminded of Clint’s ability to always hit his target. Hawkeye makes it look easy.
The dark figure chuckles lightly, crumbling over the table. Peter takes in the stranger, observing each movement. Slim, not thin, female, Pete notices. Likely agile. Long hair hangs over her shoulder casually. She waves a hand carefully in the air, alerting Friday to turn on the lights. And so, the AI does.
"Ha! I knew it. Bucky owes me $15” the figure – Natasha, Peter realizes now – exclaims, getting to her feet. She strides over with a smile on her lips, carefully navigating around the spilled drink that’s slowly staining the floor, looking up at him.
Peter feels utterly exposed. He’s spent enough time around the Avengers, to know personal stuff about them. Clint has a secret family; Bruce is very protective of his lab gear and follows every lab rule down to the smallest detail. Steve Rogers and James ‘Bucky’ Barns are in a relationship, well… if they’d care to make it official that is. And Natasha, despite being a cold-hearted ex-assassin, has a sister. Ex assassin sister, technically, but who cares about the details?
But the Avengers don’t know Peter’s secret identity. Mr. Stark has kept them off his back since their very first meeting, and while they know he’s young, they don’t know how young.
Until now.
Peter sucks in a deep breath, attempting to make his voice deeper, but it cracks awkwardly instead. "You can't tell anyone!". Yeah, great, Parker. She’ll totally listen to that. Might as well hand over the mask now.
Natasha just tilts her head, a smirk crossing her lips. There’s something playful in her green eyes. "Are you going to give me $15?" she asks, not unkindly.
Her words don’t truly register at first, but now… Peter realizes. The Avengers are betting on his identity? They’re actively trying to figure out who he is?
Biting down hard against his lip, Peter can taste the blood spilling from his lip. Natasha had known, walking into the compound kitchen, exactly who Peter was. She doesn’t even seem surprised, when Peter stares down at her, worry on his face. Super spies… Peter hates them.
When he says nothing, Natasha pulls a chair over and sits. “So…” Natasha starts, “You’re Stark’s intern. Right?”.
Peter shrugs, crossing his legs against the ceiling, “I guess?”.
“You guess?” Natasha raises an eyebrow. She looks almost judgmentally at him as if to ask if he just tried lying to a super spy. Who clearly, already knows all the answers.
“What does it matter to you?” Peter asks, feeling small under Natasha’s gaze, “And you’re a spy, can’t you just, spy all the answers?”.
She crosses her arms, leaning back in the chair. It balances on the back legs. “Would you prefer that?”.
Pondering for a moment, Peter shakes his head. He’d prefer that the Avengers knew nothing at all about his identity and life outside of the mask, but that game has already been lost. The next best thing is to control what information they’re given. Favorite cereal? That can’t possibly put anyone in danger. Home address? Welp, that’s probably a bad idea.
Or maybe the best cause of action to crawl away, get Mr. Stark to drug the spy with something. Make it look like one big fever dream.
“Bucky is trustworthy. Keeps secrets better than Cap” Natasha starts talking. Not to Peter directly, just casually sharing as she looks down into her phone screen. “Steve once let it slips what we were getting Stark for Christmas, people hated him for weeks. If that doesn’t help, then remember that Bucky used to hide too. So did I. People make mistakes, they do stuff. It’s taken out of their control, or they’re pushed beyond the edge. We don’t judge you for wearing a mask, Peter”.
Ah, Peter nods, so she does know his name. Probably school too, and best friends.
Peter lowers himself carefully to the ground, Spidey-sense quieting. Natasha watches from the corner of her eyes but does her best not to stare. Peter appreciates the gesture for what it is. A chance to pretend this conversation never took place.
But he’s gotten this far. Why not go all the way now that they’re both here? Better her knowing, then someone like… like… like Flash Thompson.
“It’s not official” Peter states, taking the chair nest to Natasha. She studies him with a confused look. “The internship” Peter elaborates, “Isn’t official. Mr. Stark keeps saying we need to sign the papers, make it real. But you know how he is, one second, he’s working on the next Iron man suit, that next he’s standing hands deep in some car engine”.
The man changes activities as often as a teenager changes apps on their phone. Peter just has to try and hold on while it happens, taking any and all of the information he can from the moment.
“That sounds like Tony”.
“So…” Peter looks at her, shyly. “The Avengers are, um, b-betting on my identity?”.
Natasha shrugs, adjusting the top of her tank top. “Not identity exactly, at least most doesn’t put names on” she explains. Oh. “It’s more a guess his age, and he sounds like somebody who’s blond”.
Peter, blond? That’s one he hasn’t heard before. But now that it’s out into the wild, he can’t help but wonder, if maybe he should try it.
“But Bucky owes you $15” he reminds. If not a name, then what had Natasha figured out that Bucky didn’t believe? Had she guessed Peter’s age of 16? His connection to Stark? What did the spy know, that a super soldier didn’t?
“Bucky” she states, “Is completely convinced, that the suit does all the work. The sticking, the strength. The… webs?” That Tony wanted to outdo his dad and therefore created a super suit that anyone can wear”.
Peter tiles his head in confusion. Natasha’s face says nothing, as he chews a handful of chips slowly. That… wasn’t what he’d expected. Super soldiers had super senses too, so why would Bucky think that the suit did all the work? Wasn’t it obvious, that the suit was nothing more than a glorified piece of fabric, that wouldn’t be able to stop a bullet if it came to that?
Maybe you had to wear the suit to truly understand its limitations. Mr. Stark had done awesome work, and Peter loved it, but he knew to back off when a robber pointed a gun at him.
Well… he knew he should. He didn’t always, do it. But that didn’t really matter, cause Spidey-sense. A single web could stop the bullet before it even left the gun. Peter had nothing to fear. But the Avengers didn’t know that.
His Spidey-sense was a powerful tool, but it didn’t usually work around people he trusted. Unless he was tired of being off guard, like tonight.
Lacking anything better to say, Peter just shrugs. “Well, the web isn’t me”.
“Stop downplaying yourself, Spidey. It’s a bad habit” Natasha bits out, “Those webs are cool, and we both know you created them. It’s impressive, honestly. So, start acting like it”.
He can practically feel his cheeks blush, “N-no. I’m serious. I don’t make the webs… in my body, you know”.
“Nerd” Natasha snorts, “Stark told me about the chemistry behind it. Though, you need more to convince Sam. You know, he thinks it comes out your wrist” Natasha shivers, “Worse, he thinks it comes out of less… useful places”. She gestures to the point between Peter’s legs, faces cringing and just as red as Peter’s.
Falling into conversation with Black Widow, outside of superhero suits, is surprisingly easy. The casual chatter lasts for another hour. Laughter and jokes, and life is shared between the heroes. Tips and tricks for fighting, for winning, for losing. They talk about the rough nights, where things fall to pieces, and they talk about the good nights where the team comes together to celebrate afterward. They talk about injuries, big and small.
It's nice, to talk to someone who relates to Peter’s struggles like this.
Their stories are vastly different, coming from very different places in life. But they’re also similar in ways Peter hadn’t been aware of before. A shared sense of responsibility. Hypothetical blood that covers their hands, that has pushed them to make a change. Both to themselves, but also to the world.
When Peter and Natasha finally part, he’s completely forgotten about the fact that she knows. His secret identity is a lot less secret. But he trusts her. She said she wouldn’t tell anyone, so of course, she wouldn’t.
He pads into his compound room, falling against the softness of his bed. Spider-man sheets star up at him with white lens eyes. Tiredness pulls him under in a matter of moments.