Chapter Text
Tony never planned to bring Peter along. First of all, it was a school night, and the mission was all the way in Montana. Second, the new and improved Avengers were well…new. And probably the opposite of improved. Not a great place for the kid to test his metaphorical wings. Not until they were more well-oiled, and the threat was hopefully less menacing.
(Besides, the longer Spider-man stayed in New York, the longer it would be before Ross started asking questions).
Unfortunately, doesn’t listen to a word you say, was on top of the list of things that Tony didn’t anticipate about recruiting a teenage vigilante, but definitely should have.
So, when halfway through the flight Clint looked up, found Spider-man asleep on the ceiling, and proceeded to shriek in an un-Avenger-like manner, Tony wasn’t surprised. Frustrated, sure—he should have checked for stowaways—but not surprised. (Ok, maybe he jumped a little).
The eyes of the Spider-man suit shot open comically wide as Peter tumbled to the ground.
“What the hell!” Clint said. “What the actual...holy....what?”
Peter pushed himself to his feet. “Uh, hi?” He had a hoodie over his suit. It pooled around his hands and made him look especially young and absurd standing on the Quinjet where the likes of Thor and Captain America stood less than a year ago.
Rhodey clutched his chest. “Jeez.”
Natasha, who had pulled out her widow bites at Clint’s scream, put them away. She tilted her head, almost amused. “Who’s this?”
“I’m...Spider-man?” Peter looked to Tony as if asking for confirmation of his own damn name.
“Yup. That’s your designated hero title.”
“Tony,” Clint said, “You don’t seem to be appropriately freaking out about the guy who was on our ceiling.”
“Yeah,” Tony pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yeah, I know.” He’d fought aliens. He’d saved the world. Why was one teenager so stressful?
“You’re the little punk from Germany?” Natasha said.
“Uh. I guess? I mean I’d consider myself more nerd than punk but—”
“And on the ceiling,” Clint repeated. “He was on the ceiling.”
“Yeah. That...That’s one of my powers.”
“Well, congrats, kid.” Tony set a steadying hand on Peter’s shoulder and he immediately relaxed into it. “You made a hell of a first impression today. Second impression? Your first in Berlin was also nothing to scoff at.”
He could almost see Peter’s smile under the mask.
(At the top of the list of things that Tony didn’t anticipate about recruiting a teenage vigilante, and definitely could not have, was the warmth he felt when Peter did...whatever this was).
“You didn’t tell us he was coming,” Natasha said.
“His presence on the mission was unplanned.”
Peter shrunk a little at Tony’s tone. Oh yeah. We’re having a talk about this.
Clint’s hand shot in the air. “Can I ask a question?”
“Let me guess?” Rhodey said. “It’s about him being on the ceiling.”
“What the fuck were you doing on the ceiling?”
“I was right.”
“I was catching a ride, I guess? Hitchhiking by car from Queens to Montana would have taken too long. I gotta be home by ten.”
It was meant as a joke, but Tony had no doubt this was a thought Peter actually considered.
“But couldn’t you have hidden in the vents like a normal person?” Clint said.
Rather than going with the obvious, normal people don’t hide in vents, Peter chose the more practical, “Planes don’t have vents.”
“Better question,” Rhodey said. “There was no reason for you to sneak along. This is an all-hands-on-deck mission.” He always saw through Tony’s shit. Or in this case, through the pubescent crack in Peter’s voice and the nervous fidgeting with his sleeves that screamed, I’m not an adult!
“That's not a question,” Peter said.
“He’s not an Avenger,” Tony said at the same time.
Rhodey frowned but—hearing Tony’s silent plea—didn’t press the subject.
Natasha, however, did. “Still in training?”
“It’s complicated.”
“He does seem pretty green.”
“My suit is red,” Peter said. “And blue. I mean you could mix them. But it’d make purple.”
Tony rolled his eyes. “Yeah. Very cute. Come to the cockpit with me. I’m going to debrief you away from these numbskulls.” He steered Peter toward the front of the Quinjet. The kid waved at the still-confused Avengers before they reached the cockpit.
“The ceiling,” Clint muttered.
“Let it go, man,” Rhodey said, as Tony slid the door shut behind them.
Alone and out of earshot, Tony leveled Peter with the most pants-shitting, Howard-Stark-inspired glare he could muster. “Are you kidding me?”
The kid pulled his mask off and twisted it. “Right. Yeah. You look mad. But I was just—”
“Save it. I should turn this thing around right now and dump you off in the middle of bumfuck North Dakota. Did you forget our conversation? Because I remember, clear as day, you swore you weren’t going to try anything.”
“Well. You know. ‘Do or do not. There is no try.’ ”
“Look,” Tony gestured to his face, “Do I seem amused?”
“No, you still seem pretty pissed.”
“Yeah. I do. Because you aren’t supposed to be here. We agreed you aren’t an Avenger, yeah? You wanted to stick to the ground for a while. I told you not to come. Your Aunt told you not to come. Even your friend Ted told you not to come. The team hasn’t dusted off all our cobwebs yet, and the mission is dangerous.”
“Which is why I’m here!” He squared his shoulders. His eyes were as firm as Steve’s—in those moments where he’d made up his mind and not even the Hulk could move him. “People are in danger. And the brief said ‘all available team members and auxiliary support.’ I’m auxiliary support, right? Because you brought me to Germany. And I took down the Vulture. So why should I turn away when people could get hurt? You could get hurt.”
Tony directed a sigh to the ceiling. Unfortunately, it held no advice. “You’re fifteen.”
“And you’re forty-six.”
“Which means, unlike some people, my prefrontal cortex is fully developed, and I can legally drive without adult supervision. I’ve been doing this for eight years. Everyone here has dealt with this kind of thing. We’re all adults. We can handle it.”
“But you said the teamwork gears were still squeaky and stuff.”
“No means no. We have ground rules. I say you’re benched for a mission, you’re benched.”
“What did you expect me to do? Just wait at home while you fly off and hope you come back?” His voice cracked at the end, eyes glistening. “Watch the news and hope no one dies, knowing I could help? I can’t let anyone else…I shouldn’t.”
Oh. That thought hadn’t even crossed Tony’s mind. This was a kid who’d been orphaned once and lost his second father barely a year ago. He'd been here before—watching his parents fly off on a trip and never come home. He was still grieving his uncle. Still living with the much too recent memory of someone dying in his arms. Tony didn't know the details, just that Peter blamed himself. Despite neither of them wanting it, Tony showed up right in time to wedge himself into that gaping, abandonment-issue-shaped hole in Peter’s life. Which sucked, because there were no guarantees in this line of work. Tony would have to leave sometimes. And he would never be able to promise he’d come back.
“Kid.” What did he even say?
Peter stuck his chin up, looking every bit the stubborn orphan that he was. “I’m going with you.”
“You kinda left me no choice. We don’t have time to dump you in North Dakota. And I doubt you’d wait in the Quinjet.”
Peter grinned. “Nope.”
“Don’t look so happy about it. You’re still in trouble. Like, ‘grounded until you die,’ trouble. And I’m definitely calling your aunt.”
He didn’t look upset about it. “Of course.”
“If you’re going to come, you’re going to follow my rules. You break them, then so help me, I will strand you in Yellowstone with nothing but your hello kitty pajamas and a flashing neon sign that says, ‘I’m a little shit.’ Got it?”
Peter nodded, forcing his grin into a serious expression.
“First rule: you stay in my line of sight. If something happens and you can’t do that, you make sure another teammate can see you. Someone has eyes on you at all times. Got it?”
“Got it.”
“Rule two—and actually try to follow this time okay? Keep your distance. Use your webs to neutralize enemies. Get civilians to safety. And remember, ‘keep your distance,’ does not mean, ‘immediately throw yourself head first at the world-class super soldier assassin.’ Capiche?”
“That was one time.”
“Like you wouldn’t do it again.”
Peter shrugged. “Fair enough.”
“Rule three—You listen to me. I make a call, you listen. If Steve or anyone else makes a call, you listen to them too. Unless I make a different call, then you listen to me. And if I make a call you don’t agree with, you still listen to me. Even if that’s, ‘run away and protect yourself.’”
“But what if—”
“And that leads to the most important rule: Your number one priority is getting out alive.”
“That feels more like a number three or four priority.”
Tony couldn't tell if he was joking or serious. Probably both. “I’m not kidding here.”
Peter wrinkled his nose as if Tony just waved a big pile of shit under it and asked him to sniff—which, in Peter’s mind, he probably had. “I won’t try to die,” He said, “But you can’t make me put myself before the people I’m trying to save. I’m not doing that, Mr. Stark. That’s not what being a hero is about.”
Peter was right, and Tony hated that. He also sounded a lot like Steve fucking Rogers again, and Tony hated that too. “Fine,” He conceded. “But no reckless stunts. Listen to that freaky Spider-sense. Also, listen to common sense. And to me. If you need help, ask for help. No heroic stoicism, no hiding injuries, no going it alone, call someone the second you need backup. Understood?”
“Yeah.”
“Repeat the rules.”
“Stay near you. Keep my distance. Don’t launch myself at the Winter Soldier, who probably won’t be there anyway, but it’s a metaphor so I get it. Listen to you. Listen to my Spider-sense. Don’t be reckless. Don’t die. Call for help if I need it.”
“Alright. Also never, ever sneak into a mission again.”
“You and I both know I’m gonna break that one.”
Tony could feel the impending headache. “Yeah,” he admitted. “Yeah, I know.”
Peter listened as Mr. Stark explained the mission. He tried to keep his face neutral like he didn’t already know this, and like he never stole the mission briefing from Mr. Stark’s desk. (He did exactly that. They both knew it).
The abridged version? Some guy in a gas mask and a trench coat was threatening to gas-bomb all 20,234 people in Fort Wolf, Montana. In Peter’s opinion, that was an oddly specific threat. Didn't these goons usually have some kind of demand? Like...Give me a lifetime supply of pizza and I'll spare the city. Or at least a tragic backstory. The Mayor of Fort Wolf, Montana murdered my pizza.
Something like that anyway.
This guy didn't have any of that. He was just some weirdo with a power complex—one who presumably threw a dart at a map of the U.S. and said “Ah! The middle of nowhere! That’s where I should test my brand-new deadly gas bombs!”
It was refreshing, actually. Too many supervillain types tried to justify their mass murder.
Mr. Stark found that very funny. His mouth was twitching like he was trying hard not to—he was still mad—but Peter could tell. He had a good sense of humor.
"See this?" he held out what looked like a high-tech fidget cube. "Everyone on the team is getting one of these, and thankfully for stowaways, I made extras. If you run into Gaseous Doom—"
"—Is that what he’s calling himself? Mr. Stark, no self-respecting teenager can let that go. It’s a fart joke waiting to happen."
This time, Mr. Stark didn't hesitate in letting out a snort of laughter. "I'd scold you for interrupting me but you aren't wrong."
"It's an affront to humanity. We should pick a new name. How about Tim? Villains never call themselves Tim."
Mr. Stark rolled his eyes. "Alright, if you run into 'Tim'—which you won't because you'll be following rule two—you trap him in this box as fast as possible."
"Oh. Okay. It's a little small isn’t it?"
He turned the cube in his hand and pointed to a button on the top. "It expands. Press this and throw it. Do it fast. If he gets off one of those bombs, anyone in a five-block radius is dead. Got it?"
Peter nodded. "And the fidget cube keeps the gas inside?"
"Stop naming my inventions for me," He said. "The cube turns into an airtight chamber that traps the gas and neutralizes it. The process is extremely toxic, so it can't open until it's finished. Don't get trapped in there."
Peter's stomach twisted at the words. "What about Tim? He's getting trapped in there, isn't he?"
His voice went quiet. "Kid, if you hadn't snuck along you wouldn't have to face this moral dilemma." There was no bite in the words, though, only sadness in his eyes. "No one wants to play judge, jury, and executioner. But this is the best I could come up with in the timeframe I was given. One life or twenty thousand."
It settled heavily on Peter's shoulders. Deep down, he always knew this was the kind of choice he'd have to make someday. It was part of the responsibility he took when he picked up the Spider-man mantle. He just thought that day would be further away.
"Hey," Mr. Stark grabbed his arm, his grip firm and comforting. "It's my invention. This decision is on me. If things go right, you won't even be throwing it. You're not killing anyone."
"Yeah, but I'm here, aren't I?" Peter said. "So that makes it a little bit on me, too."
Tony spent the rest of the ride adjusting the gas filters on the Spider-man suit. It was something he planned to do anyway after this mission was over. Peter made the interesting decision to put a paper bag over his head before he sat with the rest of the team, rambling on in that endearing way of his. Clint thought he was a riot. Even Natasha looked amused.
Peter took the we’re definitely going to have to kill the bad guy thing...weirdly well. Tony didn’t mind the casualty—this guy definitely deserved it. But he did mind making a fifteen-year-old kid complicit in that. Peter took a lot of care to cause minimal harm. He was good and kind. Tony expected more of a fight out of him. Then again, Peter had been surprising him from the moment Tony found the grainy footage on youtube.
He’d talk to the kid about it later. When the dust settled and they all got out of there okay.
They eventually landed in a town square still under evacuation. Mountains loomed like ghosts over the horizon. Homes and storefronts looked hollow as the National Guard ushered their occupants down the sidewalk. Cars huddled together on the street.
Intel said they had another four hours to get everyone out, but they couldn’t be sure about that. Tony never quite got used to it, this sense of foreboding before a battle. Peter must’ve felt it too because he went quiet as he put his mask back on.
Sam and Steve waited on the ground. Everyone had said their apologies since Berlin. Cleared the air. Or, tried to. Things were still rough between Tony and Steve. Yet, here he was—all suited up, eyes weary and hard—still smiling like he didn’t hold any grudges at all over Tony for trying to murder his best friend. He probably didn’t. That’s just how he was.
Sam gave Rhodey a one-armed hug, whispering something that made Rhodey smile and pat him on the back. They were both better people than Tony could hope to be.
“Good to see you, Tony,” Steve said.
“Yeah.” Tony wasn’t as good at being the bigger person. Bitterness still crept into his tone. “Nice to see you.”
A tense silence followed, their eyes locked on each other’s. Tony couldn’t figure out what either of them was trying to say.
Peter took that opportunity to step out from behind Tony. He stuck out his hand. “Mr. Captain America sir? I don’t know if you remember me but—”
Steve broke eye contact with Tony, smile looking suddenly a lot more genuine. He grabbed Peter’s hand. “Queens.”
Peter preened under Cap’s approving gaze. “Wow. Your hands look so smooth, what moisturizer do you use?”
“I uh...don’t really.”
“Oh no,” Sam said, noticing Spider-man for the first time. “Don’t tell me they brought this little shit.”
“Is it a super soldier thing?” Peter said. “Like you get sick abs and soft hands? That sounds way more convenient than my powers. I can’t use my favorite moisturizer anymore, because it’s lavender, and lavender is a spider-repellent. I also get hives from peppermint. One time—”
“Kid.” Tony said, trying not to cackle at Steve’s expression, as if he’d been hit by a hyperactive bulldozer. Clint and Nat were snickering behind him.
“Oh.” Peter tugged the sleeves of his hoodie. “Right. Yeah, I guess I forgot to apologize for stealing your shield. But in my defense, it was really cool.”
“It was pretty cool,” Steve conceded.
“Don’t encourage him,” Sam said. “Geez, somehow you’re even more annoying than I remember.”
Peter shrugged. “I get that a lot. Your wings are carbon fiber by the way. I checked.”
“Uh-huh.” Sam turned to Tony. “I don’t like this. Are we sure he’s old enough to be here?”
“Yeah,” Rhodey said, “I was wondering the same thing.”
“Me too,” Natasha admitted.
"I wasn't until you brought it up," Clint said, "But now I am."
He isn’t, Tony thought. “I told you, I didn’t carbon date him.”
“He’s here either way,” Steve said. “Not much we can do now. I need fliers in the air looking for signs of trouble. The rest of us will continue helping with the evacuation efforts. We’ve got some safe buildings away from the battle area we’re trying to get people into. We’ve all been briefed on the plan?”
He was talking about Peter. “Yeah,” Tony said.
“Good. Let’s move. Nat, show Queens the ropes for a second, I wanna chat with Tony.”
When they locked eyes this time, he had a feeling they were on a similar page. Natasha seemed to be on that page too, whatever it was. She nodded and ushered Peter away.
“He has super hearing, just so you know,” Tony said quietly. “Like, freaky good super hearing. He once heard a kitten whimper from four blocks away. And he knows we’re talking about him so he’s definitely listening.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Steve replied, matching Tony’s volume. “How old is he?”
Despite everything that had broken this year, Tony still knew he could trust Steve with this. “Fifteen.”
Steve looked away in the direction Nat and Peter left. He sucked in a breath like he was trying not to launch into a lecture.
“He snuck on board the Quinjet, I didn’t bring him here.”
“You brought him to Germany.”
He didn’t have a defense for that. “Yeah. I did.”
“The team will keep an eye out for him,” Steve decided. “Whatever direction this mission goes, we’ll make sure he’s paired up with someone. I’m not too worried about his skills. He gave a good fight in Berlin. I think he can hold his own with the rest of us.”
“To be honest, the issue is less his skills and more his complete and utter lack of self-preservation instinct. Also, an inability to listen to anything anyone tells him.”
Steve grinned. “Sounds like a good kid.” Because of course that would win Steve tried to illegally join the army with asthma and polio Rogers over.
“He is,” Tony said. “And he’s my responsibility. So he stays close to me during this. Where I can see him. Get him out of here if I have to.”
“We might not have control over that.”
“I know.”
Steve nodded. “Go check the skies, I’ll take him off Nat’s hands.”
“Right. Try not to rub any patriotism off on him, he’s enough trouble already.”
He let out an almost laugh. “No promises.”