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THIS ROUND IS NOW CLOSED TO NEW PROMPTS.
ROUND EIGHT WILL OPEN ON THURSDAY THE 28TH.
ROUND SEVEN
closing at 5000 comments
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“If I’m back by closing at three, I’ll get some leftovers for helping my regulars break down their stands,” he says. Clint laughs softly.
“Hard bargain, kiddo, but I think we can do a bit better, right, Phil?”
Phil’s lips quirk. “I think we can.”
They do a lot better. By the time evening falls, he’s been stuffed full with food off a variety of vending carts, good food, the kind of exotic food he’s never had in his life because New York boasts an incredible variety of vending cart fare. Clint decreed they were going to see a movie, so Peter got to see the latest Mission Impossible. Phil and Clint’s running commentary on improbable movie hijinks and the right way to pull off various spy stuff is even more fun than the actual movie itself, and by the time it’s done, he’s even pitched in a few ideas on the actual physics behind the crappy imaginary movie tech, and how some of it might even be adaptable to real life. To his shy delight, Phil actually notes some of it down, explaining that he's a SHIELD agent--Peter has no idea what he means by that, but he gets it's some kind of super-spy agency that makes the CIA cry out of sheer envy--and that if Peter ever needs anything, he can come to their headquarters in Times Square and ask for Agent Coulson.
They both hesitate when he starts making noises about taking off, because being out in the open when night falls is a really bad idea. Clint grimaces, but he looks resigned. Phil’s more quietly upset than Peter expected, but he meets Clint’s stare and huffs an irritated breath.
“I’d tell you to get yourself a room for the night,” he sighs, “but you’re probably worse off in any place that would take you.” He stares at Peter for a moment, and then he sighs again. “All right. Be careful. If you need anything, you’re welcome at Avengers Tower-or you can find me at SHIELD headquarters.”
He won’t take them up on either offer, but he nods solemnly and then bolts across the street, vanishing into the maze of alleys that he calls home. And that night, sprawled out in a web-hammock and chewing absently on some kind of fancy brownie, he lets himself start to believe that maybe the Avengers really do give a damn about him.
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I'm really glad you're continuing to update this! Kid!Peter is one of my most favourite things in the world. This concept is too much fun!
Continue being awesome! :3
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Thanks for the comment, you're encouraging me to go write more!
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Love this part too, it was beautiful done. Coulson and Clint were wonderful! I can't wait for more of this and I'm really excited about the companion piece of this fic <3!
Please, update soon!
Ta!
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It's only up at this meme for now, mainly because I'm not entirely done with it and I'm pretty much posting as I write. When I'm finished, I'll deanon to post this and my other fill on my AO3 account.
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It’s a soaking wet spring day, complete with howling winds driving the sheets of rain onto anyone foolish or unlucky enough to be outside. Peter looks up, watching the rain wash down the windows, hearing it pound against the roof far above him. He likes the Library at 42nd Street best; it’s huge, it’s iconic, and it’s enough of a tourist destination that it’s always got people. There are also plenty of nooks for a kid to tuck himself into where nobody will disturb him, and he’s buried himself in one of them with a stack of college level textbooks, some reference guides, a couple of journals, and three dictionaries. He’s set for the day, and he fully plans on hunkering down and waiting out as much of the storm as he can. Gotta love those April showers, he thinks wryly, then turns his attention to his finds.
He’s wading through a dense article on cross-species gene splicing by Dr. Curt Connors right now, cursing under his breath as he cross-references like crazy, trying to follow everything. He’s smart and he knows it, but he’s also largely self-taught. Aunt May and Uncle Ben wouldn’t let him move up into an accelerated program, stating that they felt he should stay with his peers, so his only formal biology and physics education was pretty low-key. He’s taught himself a lot, but there are still things he doesn’t get. This...he gets the basic concepts, he learned those sitting on his father’s lab bench in the home lab, with Dad explaining theories and sketching out the math on his whiteboard. But this article is geared towards Ph.Ds and grad students, not a self-taught twelve year old, and it’s driving him nuts. Curt Connors was his Dad’s partner at Oscorp, he helped Dad engineer the spiders, including the specimen Dad had smuggled out and kept at home, the one that bit Peter when he was too little to even really remember it. There’s gotta be a reason why his parents died, why his aunt and uncle were killed, and everything in him says he’ll find it here, in Dr. Connors’ research.
“Hey.”
It’s a male voice, soft in deference to the Library’s policies, and Peter doesn’t recognize it. He goes very still, every muscle tensing as adrenaline races through his veins. It won’t be one of the librarians; they’re used to him, and besides, the weather’s foul enough that he risked a shelter last night, meaning he’s freshly showered and his clothes newly cleaned, leaving him looking like any ordinary kid. It may just be a well-meaning adult come to tease or chide him for hoarding research materials he can’t possibly understand, in which case he’ll either spout off some higher level physics or retreat, depending on how pissed off and dangerous the adult is. More alarming is the prospect that it’ll be an adult who’s been watching him long enough to realize he’s not mucking around, he understands most of this stuff...that never, ever leads anywhere good, because that type of adult usually gets very unhappy at the thought of Peter “wasting his talents” on the streets. Those situations usually result in evading security, and then avoiding the Library for a few weeks until the fuss dies down, CPS vanishes again, and he can risk showing his face.
He hates well-meaning adults, he really does. He’s smart enough to get himself into this, do they think he’s not smart enough to find the ways out? He’s got his reasons for staying out on the streets, and he’s not going to let anyone change that.
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He peers over the top of his book, then relaxes a little as Dr. Banner grins at him, hands shoved into his coat pockets, rocking a little on the balls of his feet. Peter’s not entirely sure why the Avengers have decided he’s interesting and worth their time, but they’ve been feeding him for months, it’s earned them a certain amount of trust. Besides, if they really wanted him off the streets, they could’ve done it by force and he wouldn’t stand a chance. He’s not entirely sure what they want, but they’re on his list of safe adults--the only ones on that list, actually--and he knows that Dr. Banner isn’t going to hurt him.
Also, Dr. Banner is probably smarter than Stephen Hawking. He’s revolutionized biology, physics, and he’s the foremost bio-geneticist on the planet now that he’s an Avenger and his name’s been cleared. Peter idolizes him nearly as much as he does Tony Stark, which is really saying something.
He can’t help lighting up, can’t help the beaming smile he shoots at Dr. Banner even as he scrambles up. “Hi!”
Unfortunately, he’s too quick and he sends his teetering pile of texts crashing down with his sudden movement. The next few minutes are a blur of grabbing hands, but they manage to save most of the books from tumbling down-and avoid getting themselves booted out by the ever-vigilant librarians. Dr. Banner drops into a spare seat, laughing under his breath as he takes in the haphazard pile of books and papers before he turns dancing eyes on Peter.
“A little light reading?” he teases, and Peter flushes.
“I like biology,” he murmurs, and it’s true. He loves physics, biology…really, he’s yet to meet a hard science he doesn’t adore.
“Hmm,” Dr. Banner murmurs, a knowing glint in his eyes as he looks at Dr. Connors’ article, still open in front of Peter. “Okay.” He glances at his watch. “We’ve got some time to kill.”
Peter opens his mouth to ask why they’re killing time, but Dr. Banner’s already scooting his chair over, nimble fingers pulling one of the references he hasn’t gotten to yet out of the pile as he flips it open. He’s an awesome teacher, and Peter’s too overawed at having this man’s entire focus to question him on anything not science-based. Besides, Dr. Banner is actually making sense in a way Dr. Connors’ papers just…don’t.
And then Peter’s caught up in it all, because he recognizes this math. He saw it eight years ago in his father’s study. He saw it two years ago, in the folder his father had hidden in his satchel in Uncle Ben’s basement. He still dreams of this math…and of the formula that completes it.
Part of him wants to fill in that missing piece, but he can’t. He won’t. He lost his parents, and his aunt and uncle. He can’t-won’t-risk losing anyone else to a stupid formula his dad hid years ago.
By the time they’re done, Peter actually understands the work he suspects destroyed his family. Dr. Banner-Bruce, he’s insisting that Peter call him Bruce-checks his watch again and makes a satisfied noise. He studies Peter for a moment, and Peter eyes him back, both baffled and intrigued, but completely unafraid.
“Time to go,” Bruce informs him, stacking the books and journals in a neat pile on a reshelving cart. He folds up the scraps of paper they’ve been using and tucks them into his pockets, leaving no trace behind. Peter’s healthy sense of paranoia approves as he scrambles up, briefly wishing that he had more time to spend with the genius, thankful for the time he did have. Bruce hooks a casual hand over his shoulder and steers them both out, pausing briefly at the rain still pouring down. There’s a plain black sedan at the bottom of the steps, and Bruce points at it.
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“What?” Peter sputters, obediently rubbing the thick towel over himself.
“Field trip,” Bruce informs him. “Tony’s running the Stark Future Science Exhibition.”
Peter’s heard about SFSE; everyone has. It’s not the extravaganza of the Stark Expo, but it’s geared exclusively towards science, meant to introduce new ideas and the brightest scientific hopes of the future to the average layperson. Peter’s been drooling over the ads on the Times Square screens and the flyers for months, but it’s an unreachable dream; he can’t afford the tickets, which sold out in the first week anyway.
“I-I don’t have a ticket,” he says stupidly, knowing it’s stupid even as the words tumble out. Bruce quirks a faint smile at him.
“That’s because you’re mine,” he says smugly. “Tony lost the coin toss, or he’d be here.” He searches through a compartment, pulls out two colorful passes and drapes one over Peter’s head. “Here. Your exclusive, better-than-VIP pass. You can go anywhere in the SFSE with this, and it gives you complete access to everything in the building, including food and merchandise, so get whatever catches your eye.”
It’s better than an all-access pass to candyland, and Peter says as much. Bruce laughs and ruffles his hair.
“Uh huh. You’re mine today, Tony gets you tomorrow.” The car pulls up in front of the SFSE and Bruce gently pushes Peter out. “C’mon, kiddo, time to play.”
And play they do. He can’t remember having more fun, or feeling so challenged. Bruce is an awesome teacher, explaining what Peter doesn’t understand by feeding him bits and pieces, giving him enough to put it together on his own. He sees things he’s never thought of, and his mind is a blur of images and half-formed ideas by the time Bruce steers him backstage for one of Bruce’s own presentations. Before he can panic just a little at the idea of being stranded, even if it is only for thirty minutes, Natasha pounces and he spends the presentation glued to Bruce’s every word, safe in the knowledge that the woman next to him won’t let anything bad happen.
The exhibition goes on and on, stretches late into the night, and Peter begins to flag. He’s used to waking in the predawn hush, and bedding down fairly quickly after night falls; that’s the way of the streets when you’re a kid who’s not turning tricks or selling shit. Steve must notice, although he doesn’t say anything, just lets Peter lean more heavily onto his shoulder until he falls asleep. He wakes enough to grumble blearily as he’s carefully moved before he’s lifted, but Clint murmurs soothingly. There’s the brief bite of cold night air, then the quiet hum of a high-class engine as he’s transferred so carefully he barely even twitches, and that’s it, he’s out for the count.
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“Good morning, young sir,” a warm English-accented voice intones from everywhere and nowhere, and Peter jumps so high he hits the ceiling and clings, looking around frantically.
“Wha-“ he gasps.
“I am JARVIS,” the voice says mildly. “It is seven-thirty am. The temperature is fifty-two, and the forecast is clear.”
Well, it doesn’t seem all that threatening, at least. He drums up enough sanity to ask an actual question. “W-where am I?”
“You are in Stark Tower, Avengers quarters, in the floor shared by Sir and Master Rogers,” the voice informs him. Peter relaxes a little as it sinks in. Apparently he fell asleep last night and rather than wake him up, they brought him home. He glances down his body and flushes-somebody changed him into fresh PJs too, and he has no idea where his clothes went.
“Morning, kiddo,” an amused voice says from the door, and he twists to peer at the door Tony’s leaning against, clearly amused. “Now that’s not a sight you see every day.” He laughs softly as Peter lets himself fall, landing neatly on his feet. “Steve should be getting back from his run any minute now, which means Bruce’ll be firing up breakfast in the communal floor.” He looks at Peter with warm eyes, reaching out to straighten his pajama top. “Bathroom’s through there, clean clothes are in the closet and the drawers.” He looks up at the ceiling. “JARVIS, full bioscan on Pete.”
Part of him wants to panic. His parents let him use his powers inside the house, but outside wasn’t permitted. He’s put enough together to figure out that the spider Dad brought home when he was three was stolen from Oscorp, and that its bite somehow made him a living example of Dad’s cross-species gene splicing. He’s pretty damn sure he’s the only successful human sample, and he’s got a bad feeling he knows who sent the goons that drove him into hiding on the streets. But…they’re the Avengers. This is Tony Stark, and if they wanted samples from him, well, he was out cold when they carried him in here, so for all he knows, they’ve already taken whatever they wanted. They haven’t hurt him, they’ve gone way out of their way to help him and he knows it. Hell, there’s no way Tony or Bruce benefits by giving a street kid complete access to Tony’s exhibition, much less spending so much of their valuable time on him.
He trusts them, Peter realizes on a flash of surprise. He really trusts them. When did that happen?
“Bioscan complete, sir.”
“Save to memory, my server only,” Tony orders, holding Peter’s stunned stare. “Full access to communal floor, and this floor. Tower’s open,” Tony tells him, calm and casual like he’s not offering Peter free reign into the biggest, most awesome playhouse on earth. Pete gapes at him.
“Seriously?”
Tony laughs softly, his grin crooked and warm. “My house, kiddo, my rules. You’re welcome whenever you like, whether it’s to grab a meal, get out of the cold, or just hang out. If we’re not there, JARVIS will let you in.”
He gives it a moment to sink in and pretends he doesn’t see the way Peter scrubs a quick hand over his face to hide the tears stinging his eyes, but this…he never ever expected anything like this. He feels safe for the first time in ages, because he’s got a sanctuary now, somewhere to come if he needs it.
“Captain Rogers has returned,” JARVIS announces. “He will meet you and the young sir for breakfast in the communal kitchen.”
“Steve Rule Number One: you have to eat before you can play,” Tony says ruefully. “Go, my young padawan. Shower, change, eat, then we’ll go back to the Exhibition, where we will critique and generally blow your mind with my and Bruce’s awesomeness.”
Tony’s right. The day’s awesome, but not as awesome as the Avengers are.
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I really love this story. Especially how careful the Avengers are being with him.
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I can't get enough of this fic. I love the interactions between the Avengers and Peter; particularly Peter, Bruce and Tony. I also like how the Avengers are handling Peter, slowly gaining his trust, instead of the usual 'I haz an adoptshun you nao' that can be a particular pitfall for stories with similar premises.
Really like the sub/underlying plot of Peter trying to figure out what Oscorp had on his family that got everyone killed, I'm really enjoying the setup for future altercations in the story.
Anyway, you're super-special-awesome as always!
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