Chapter Text
Peter puts his Hairspray plan on hold. He’ll come back to it once the raw terror of having the barrel of a gun digging into his unmasked head wears off a bit more.
Peter lost a lot of time, after Captain America and Iron Man rescued him. He remembers Mr. Stark extracting Peter from the suit so that he could take it off and hug Peter for real. He remembers hearing Mr. Wilson talking with Mr. Stark, remembers being placed into Happy’s car, a metal hand gently brushing sweaty hair from his forehead. Someone tucked the shock blanket around him as his head was maneuvered into another person’s lap.
Peter doesn’t remember the drive upstate, but he wakes up shouting in a bed at the compound. He turns over and vomits onto the floor. A large, warm hand rubs his back as he heaves, tears leaking out of his eyes.
Peter says, “Sorry,” but Mr. Stark tells him that it’s not a problem. He helps Peter to the bathroom so he can brush his teeth, and then they relocate to the lounge, where Mr. Stark asks Friday to put on Star Wars with the volume and lighting real low, and he wraps Peter in the happy snowmen blanket, and they snuggle up on the couch. Peter sleeps.
Mr. Stark wakes Peter up a couple times and checks his pupils, but Peter doesn’t really feel aware until The Force Awakens is on, and he’s alone in a nest of pillows because Mr. Stark is burning an omelette in the kitchen. He can hear May in there, trying and failing to help. Their bickering is noisy, but it’s good noise. Peter smiles.
And that’s how Peter spends the weekend after his first kidnapping. He watches Star Wars , eats homemade food of dubious edibility, and is babied by Mr. Stark and Aunt May.
All in all, it’s pretty okay. Peter almost has a freakout over missing a day of school, but Ned texts him all the homework, and MJ tells him to stop being a gigantic nerd for one second, so he doesn’t lose more brain cells than he’s already lost. She still sends him her AP Euro notes, though. They’re covered with hilarious caricatures of all the inbred monarchs they’re studying.
However, much to Peter’s surprise, his kidnapping doesn’t magically make Mr. Stark and Captain America besties again. The gates of open communication are still firmly closed, and Mr. Stark insists that the team is not gonna be reassembled, no matter how many times Peter asks.
It’s a little disappointing, but to be honest, Peter’s kinda glad Mr. Stark didn’t magically make up with Captain America after they teamed up to save him. He feels like that would set a bad precedent. He doesn’t want to get kidnapped every time the adult superheroes need to talk to each other.
In the meantime, Peter’s picked up another project to distract himself.
“Wait— Sorry, I didn’t mean to make it sound like I was using you. I just— You’re just different to be around, that’s all. I don’t have to think about so much stuff when we hang out, you know?”
“That’s a weird thing for a hero to say to a mercenary.”
“Nuh-uh, you’re an ex-mercenary. It says so on your website.”
Peter may not have been very lucid during his rescue, but he knows that the guy he got kidnapped with played a part in keeping his brains intact. Neither Captain America nor Mr. Stark do a lot with throwing blades, after all.
So, one of the first things Peter does after being released from the tender mercies of Mr. Stark and May is google Deadpool. It’s definitely not the hardest Internet-stalking mission Peter’s done. Deadpool has a pretty popular and pretty well-designed website. There are mini games. Custom cursors. It even has a fun facts page that lists his favorite chimichanga place in the city.
Peter swings by that chimichanga place every half hour during his patrol, until he glimpses a flash of red and trails it to the Bronx, where Peter gets a katana pressed to his throat in an alleyway for his trouble. Peter fends off the katana by shakily offering up a homemade pumpkin roll.
Now, Peter and Deadpool host a weekly potluck on the roof of the building whose wall Deadpool threatened to decapitate Peter on. No one else has shown up yet, but Peter’s working on getting Daredevil to come, too.
“Don’t let the Iron Maiden hear you say that,” Deadpool says through a mouthful of gingerbread. He’s bitten the arms and legs off the gingerbread men first because he “wants them to know his pain.” Peter is judging him. “Being exploded to death isn’t my favorite way of going.”
“Mr. Stark’s not my real dad,” Peter says. “He can only tell me what to do thirty-three percent of the time.”
Deadpool tosses Peter a chicken taquito. Peter quickly tugs his mask up and catches it in his mouth.
“Hook shot!” Deadpool cries. Peter chews and gives him a double thumbs up.
Hanging out with Deadpool is pretty fun. Deadpool spends fifty-five percent of the time talking to Peter like he’s a little baby and forty-five percent talking to him like he’s a peer, which is a higher percentage than any other vigilante Peter knows. Peter likes being treated as a peer. It’s a feeling that he could get used to.
So, yeah, Peter considers Deadpool a friend, despite all the blood in his past. He hasn’t had to work through a moral quandary about this relationship yet. Maybe it’s because Deadpool’s never killed anyone he loves.
Hmm.
Well, Peter believes that people can change. And ex-mercenary is really only two steps away from hero in training, so what’s the harm in letting Deadpool run around with Spider-Man?
There’s enough room in New York for three red-clad vigilantes.
——
Peter really should’ve seen this coming.
It starts with Mr. Wilson, during their regular morning jog and talk.
“Any headaches?” Mr. Wilson asks. Despite Peter’s reassurances that his super healing would take care of everything, Mr. Stark and Aunt May have been nagging him to watch out for any post-concussion symptoms. Mr. Wilson is on their wavelength, which makes Peter feel warm and cared about but also kind of annoyed. The desire to be babied wore off real fast.
“Nope, I’m all healed up,” he says.
“Well, still keep an eye on it, just in case. Concussions can be nasty.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. Don’t worry about it, Mr. Wilson.”
“And the nightmares?”
“Just the usual. I slept, like, four hours straight last night, though. It was awesome.”
“That’s good.” Mr. Wilson pauses and starts slowing down. Peter can feel that there’s something else he wants to say.
“Mr. Wilson?”
“It’s nothing, kid. Just—“ Mr. Wilson stops and turns to Peter, looking him straight in the eye. “Remember that there are lots of people around who’re willing and able to help you, no matter what kind of trouble you’re in. If someone is— threatening you with anything, tell an adult. You hear me?”
Peter stares blankly.
He says, “Uh…Yeah. ‘Course.”
Mr. Wilson nods solemnly, and they continue to jog.
Okay. That was kinda weird, Peter thinks. But he quickly puts it out of his mind. After all, he has a timed in-class English essay to do today, and if he screws this one up, his grade might slip down to an A-.
Peter shudders. The horror.
The next person to get weird is Black Widow, who’s lounging on the roof where Peter and Deadpool have their tête-à-tête midnight potlucks when Peter swings by.
“Miss Black Widow!” he says as he sticks the landing. “What’re you doing here?”
“It’s rumba night,” Black Widow says. “But I thought we could practice the tango again. You’ve almost got a handle of the Apache throw-out. You can’t get rusty now.”
“But I was gonna—“ Peter thinks he spies a flash of red over Black Widow’s shoulder, but he doesn’t get a chance to confirm before Black Widow is spinning him around and dipping him until his head almost brushes the ground.
Peter laughs and clutches at her shoulder with one hand. “You know I’m still recovering from a head injury,” he says.
Black Widow smiles and says, “I’ll be gentle.” And then she maneuvers him to their usual dancing rooftop by leading him in the most athletic, long-distance parkour-tango he’s ever seen.
So, Peter misses the potluck that week. He resolves to make it up to Deadpool by baking him some Deadpool-mask-themed sugar cookies. They’re the good kind, huge and sweet, with shiny red and black icing that’s crisp on the outside but soft on the inside. They also look really cute, in Peter’s not-so-humble opinion.
Ten minutes before his May-approved patrol start time, he bundles the cookies into plastic wrap, and he’s practicing his costume quick change to see if he can put on the suit without stripping all the way down to his boxers or exposing his face for more than seven seconds when he hears Aunt May calling.
“Peter!” She says. “Someone from your, ah, internship is here to see you!”
Peter pokes his head out of his bedroom, making sure to hide the spider suit, which is still hanging around him like a full-body smock, behind the door, just in case the internship May’s referring to isn’t actually the internship he’s thinking of. However, he quickly realizes that he’s being overly cautious when he spots Mr. Bucky standing in the doorway and handing May a cheerful mixed bouquet that looks comically out of place with his emo grunge aesthetic.
“Mr. Bucky!” Peter says, tapping the spider on his chest to properly put on his suit before stepping out into the kitchen. “What’re you doing here?”
Mr. Bucky turns to Peter as May goes searching for a vase. “Got some left over ninjas causing trouble in Brooklyn, so I need to borrow Spider-Man for a night. Hope you don’t mind.”
“No, no, no, not at all,” Peter says, ecstatic. This is the first time Mr. Bucky’s ever asked for Spider-Man’s help. Peter would literally die before refusing to go with him. “I’m ready right now.”
Peter rushes into his bedroom to grab his mask, but then he sees the roll of Deadpool cookies waiting on his desk. Crap.
Well, Deadpool will probably understand. He thinks Mr. Bucky is really cool, too. Peter grabs a fluorescent yellow index card and scribbles a note on it with a blue sharpie. Then he scotch tapes the corners of the card to the plastic wrap.
Peter sticks his head back out into the kitchen and says, “Mr. Bucky, is it okay if we take a detour to the Bronx first? I have to drop something off.”
Mr. Bucky shrugs, which Peter has learned means “sure” in Mr. Bucky language.
“Cool, thanks, man.” Peter grabs his cookies and pulls on his mask. “Meet you on the roof! Bye, May!”
“Bye, Peter, stay safe! You bring my boy back in one piece, James.”
“Will do.”
When Mr. Bucky makes his way onto the roof of Peter’s building, Peter’s already standing there with his hands on his hips.
“James?” he says, in a tone that is very much not accusing Mr. Bucky of anything.
Mr. Bucky doesn’t speak or make any facial expressions.
“And the flowers?” Peter raises an eyebrow that Mr. Bucky can’t see under the mask. But he bets that if Mr. Bucky could see it, he would be very intimidated. Peter’s very intimidating.
Mr. Bucky shrugs, and this time Peter does not know what the shrug means. “Pretty woman like her saddled with a punk like you?” Mr. Bucky says. “If she doesn’t deserve flowers, no one does.”
“Hey! You— What’s that supposed to mean?”
Mr. Bucky almost smiles.
——
Peter finally gets a clue when he walks into the movie night lounge at the Avengers Compound and sees Captain America sitting with Mr. Stark at the bar. Talking to each other.
Peter’s gonna explode with excitement.
But, he doesn’t want to make them feel awkward by making a big deal out of this, so Peter waves in a casual fashion and walks over at a reasonable and casual pace.
“Hey, Mr. Stark. Hi, Captain.”
“Hey, kid,” Mr. Stark salutes Peter with a whisky glass of apple cider. “How was school?”
“Normal, boring,” Peter says, quickly glancing back and forth between the two men. They don’t look that tense, so everything seems to be going okay. Peter mentally sighs in relief.
“How did your timed essay go?” Captain America says.
“Uh, I felt okay about it, but—“
“You mean you aced it. Geez, this kid,” Mr. Stark points his right thumb at Peter. “Always acting modest.”
“Not everyone can be that confident in their genius,” Captain America replies, and Mr. Stark lifts his hands and shrugs, as if to say “Nothing I can do about that.”
“Uh, not that this isn’t great,” Peter says, “but...what’re you guys doing here? Together, I mean.”
Mr. Stark and Captain America exchange a look. Peter jumps to a conclusion.
“Ohmigod, is Captain America joining us for Saturday Movie Night?”
“No, no,” Mr. Stark says, before glancing at Captain America’s kicked puppy face and amending with “— unless he wants to.”
Captain America beams.
Mr. Stark elbows him, and he quickly resumes his serious face. They stand up together and cross their arms in unison. Peter takes two steps back and bumps into the back of the couch.
“...Is this an intervention?” he says.
Mr. Stark ignores the question. He goes, “Now, Pete, I know that the Avengers’ split has been hard on you. You may have felt the need to— I don’t know— fill a missing role for us, and I know that’s put a lot of pressure on you.”
Captain America nods solemnly.
“And any feelings of anger, confusion, frustration and sadness are all normal parts of the roller coaster of emotions that you may be experiencing due to our separation. But, if you need— something, you know that you can talk to us—“ Mr. Stark gestures back and forth between himself and Captain America “— instead of any, say, strange mercenaries who may be hanging around New York, right?”
“Oh my God.” Peter says. “Is this about Deadpool?”
Captain America clears his throat and assumes his PSA stance. “Now, son, we aren’t going to forbid your friendship with Deadpool. But, you should always remember that you don’t have to do everything your friends do. Listen to your conscience, and avoid danger. We’re trusting you to make the right choices about your life.”
“Yeah,” Mr. Stark uncrosses and recrosses his arms. “And the right choice is to stop hanging out with a murderer for hire.”
“…He’s an ex-murderer for hire.”
“Did— Did you just backtalk me? Steve, did this child just backtalk me? I knew that Deadpool was a bad influence; this just confirms it. Peter, you better— ”
“We don’t want you to think that we’re picking on your friend,” Captain America interrupts, shooting Mr. Stark a look. “But, we’d prefer it if you kept an open dialogue with us about your interactions. We just want you to be safe, Peter.”
“I am being safe. I am— “
“Wow, I didn’t know that befriending an immortal killer was what kids considered being safe these days— “
“Good, thank you, Peter,” Captain America says loudly. “We trust you,” he finishes.
Mr. Stark opens his mouth like he wants to disagree, but Captain America clears his throat again and then jerks his chin towards the hallway.
Mr. Stark struts out, and Captain America follows. The compound was built with superpowered people in mind, so the walls are pretty soundproofed, but Peter can still sorta hear through them if he tries.
He tries.
“— why— you— him?”
“— parenting guide— don’t —“
“— dumb— Google— friends!”
Well. Peter can connect the dots. Everyone’s recent weird behavior is starting to make sense now. He guesses that the Avengers must really not approve of Peter hanging out with Deadpool if they reunited the team just to keep Peter away from him.
Which, okay, may be understandable. Deadpool has killed people in the past, and he’s a little crazy sometimes, and he always carries a ton of guns and swords. But Peter’s aware of that. He knows what he’s doing. Deadpool’s not being a bad influence on Peter. Peter’s being a good influence on Deadpool!
Peter throws himself face down onto the couch. This is so not how he imagined bringing Mr. Stark’s family back together again. He totally does not need the Avengers assembling to monitor who he makes friends with.
Wait. Peter concentrates on his hearing again.
Aunt May is involved? And…Daredevil?
Oh my God. Why.
Peter smushes a pillow into his face, takes a deep breath, and lets out a closed-mouth scream. Then he takes two more deep breaths. Then he rolls over and pulls out his phone.
It’s okay. It’s all gonna work out. Peter has a plan.