A vicious clap of thunder sent Peter bolting into his fathers' room.
"Ssshh, Peter. You're fine, it's only a thunderstorm, not even a bad one," Steve consoled, lifting the six-year-old off of the ground and taking the boy to his fathers' bed.
As Steve placed Peter in a spot on the bed between his fathers, Tony briefly woke up. "'S wrong, Peter? Nightmare?"
Steve rolled his eyes. "If you weren't such a heavy sleeper, Tony, you would have noticed that New York City is being amassed by a thundercloud."
Tony rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and put an arm around his shivering son. "Don't worry, Peter. This storm isn't so bad. Besides, the way to tell if a storm is really bad or not is if there is a-" A bright flash of lightning shooting across the city skyline interrupted him, followed by a thunderclap. Every single electronic within the Stark-Rogers household stopped working. As little Peter burrowed into Steve's side, whimpering, Tony finished his sentence, "-blackout."
"W-what's Uncle Thor so angry about?" Peter asked. Tony and Steve exchanged a look, agreeing not to tell their son what had actually transpired.
"I dunno, son," Steve said, "Maybe Loki did something."
Peter glanced up at his papa. "But…I thought that you and Dad and Natasha and Uncle Clint and Uncle Nick and Uncle Bruce and Uncle Thor beat Loki. I thought he couldn't hurt us!" Both of the men could clearly see that the small boy was seconds away from a full on breakdown. While Steve instantly set to soothing the terrified child, Tony made the boy look him in the eyes.
"Now listen here, Peter. Your papa and I would never, ever let anything happen to you! You've seen us fight on TV, right?"
"R-right," the sniffling child murmured.
"If you, our son, were threatened, your papa and I would fight even harder than we do on TV to protect you. It wouldn't matter how many Norse gods we'd have to fight; we will always take care of you. Got that?" The little boy rubbed his eyes and nodded.
"I can't hear you, soldier," Steve said, nudging his son.
"SIr, yes, sir!" the little boy cried out.
His fathers, in silent agreement, both started tickling Peter's sides at once. The little boy practically squealed with laughter, limbs flailing in an attempt to cease his fathers' torment. The men stopped, a thoroughly distracted and exhausted six-year-old between them.
"C-can I sleep here? W-with you?" Peter asked.
"Of course you can, son," Steve said lovingly, smoothing back the boy's hair.
And so, the little boy slept, cocooned by his two fathers as the storm continued on. None of them awoke when all the power came back on.