It was a small blessing that when Peter walked into school Monday he got to his locker without running into anyone he knew—that is, anyone he knew who would acknowledge him. Since 'dumping' Liz at Homecoming the previous year he hadn't managed to turn the tide of cold shoulders from her many friends—not her fault, she'd tried to warn them off. That, and the rock star disregard he'd drummed up with the popular kids already, made for a pretty quiet hallway strut.
First and second periods had been canceled for a mysterious assembly, as announced over the speakers on the Friday before. Or had Principal Morita said the reason? He couldn't remember. It was probably another pep rally. Their football team was shooting for a city championship, which was a rarity for the technology magnet school and kept the cheerleaders in business. Usually some of the band geeks got conscripted into this stuff but Peter apparently hadn't drawn the short straw this time. Probably for the best, as his tuba practice had borne much of the suffering of his limited attentions.
Peter slung his backpack into his locker and picked up the media bag he'd had the responsibility for over the weekend (the members of his academic decathlon club rotated.) Checking that the Apple TV, remote, and sundry other gear was present and accounted for, he started for Mr. Harrington's office to drop the bag off.
Students were taking advantage of the relaxed schedule and milling around before filing into the gym. There was an unusually excited hum in the air, and Peter caught snatches of conversation as he threaded his way through the crowd.
"Can't believe he's here—"
"He's even better looking in person—"
"I'm gonna ask him to be my prom date, didn't Justin Bieber tell that one girl yes—"
"Think he'll lift a car for us?"
That last one made Peter swing around, but the speaker had already moved on toward the gym. Something a little more interesting than the standard rally this time, it would appear, unless the quarterback had really upped his game. Some ways off he spied Betty Brant talking excitedly before a camera. Even her normally poker-faced co-host was animated, waving his mic around with a big grin.
A gaggle of students had formed at the cement-block corner of the next hallway, peering around it in the obvious way of kids who were trying to not be obvious. Peter needed to go down that hallway, where Mr. Harrington's office sat at the other end in a sad little cluster of advisory offices. Ned had called it the jail block once because no one ever went down there willingly. Mr. Harrington's office was always stacked full of new theses he never seemed to finish, which Peter found slightly depressing.
Engrossed in parting the sea, he'd forgotten to check for whatever everyone was obsessing over until he'd fought his way around the corner and came face-to-face with—
Captain America.
He stood there chatting amiably with Principal Morita, whom they knew to be the grandson of Private Jim Morita, a Howling Commando and Steve Rogers's brother-in-arms. Instinctual paranoia made Peter freeze—shit, had Captain America tracked him down? What had Mr. Stark told him? No, he was here for the assembly, right?
They glanced in his direction and Peter barely had time to think Oh, God, before the Principal waved him over.
No time to pretend like he hadn't seen. He came forward stiffly. Somehow his knees had forgotten how to bend. Students stared at his back.
Steve Rogers would recognize his voice, Peter knew, mind racing. Why hadn't he asked Mr. Stark for a voice modulator, something lower on the scale of ridiculousness than the interrogation mode? He was plum shit out of luck. Shit on a stick, hopefully Cap wouldn't just give him away in front of everybody…wait!
"Peter!" Principal Morita greeted warmly. "No need to tell you who this is, I'm sure…"
Captain America smiled at him, and Peter almost forgot they knew each other. "Hi," he rasped, gesturing at his throat. He dropped his voice to a hoarse whisper. "Sorry—had a cold over the weekend—"
"Oh," frowned Principal Morita. "Was it the mono? I know the nurse is trying to stamp that out, it's going around the chess club—"
God, he was such a principal sometimes. "No!" said Peter, trying to strangle the horror in his voice. Exactly who in the chess club did Mr. Morita suspect of giving Peter mono? Then he remembered that Liz had been a member the previous year, and went scarlet. Captain America stifled a grin.
"Well, I'm glad to see your commitment to school," Principal Morita continued on with what Peter was convinced was deliberate obliviousness, "assuming you're not contagious."
"I'm not contagious," Peter muttered, wondering if this was a brilliantly passive-aggressive swipe at his absences.
"A dutiful student," said Steve Rogers with a small smile.
Peter tried to smile, feeling uncomfortably exposed. He'd underestimated the security afforded by keeping the mask between himself and the Avengers; the anonymity had come to be a second skin.
"Peter here interns for Stark Industries," said Principal Morita with a gesture to the youth, who felt his stomach drop. "Oh—actually, would you have met already? I know some of Peter's duties have had him cross paths with Avengers before."
"Oh, really?" Captain Rogers said with interest, peering at him.
"No, uh, not yet," croaked Peter, whose hands were getting clammy, "I started interning when…um, during the time when…"
"Ah," said Captain America with understanding. "Yes. We wouldn't have met then. Well, it's good to meet you now."
He held out a gauntleted hand and Peter shook it. Anyone else might have been overawed yet Peter couldn't help but stare him in the eye and think, I saved your neck once.
That was the thing about secret identities: you hid them even from your fellow Avengers. He'd fought Captain America and fought beside him; he'd stolen his shield once, and recovered it another time. Together they had worked to gather the Infinity Stones before Thanos could construct the weapon of ultimate, devastating power. They'd argued over the best delis in New York. And Peter had, in fact, saved Cap's neck, as Cap had saved his.
"What do you do for Stark Industries?"
"Engineering department," said Peter automatically, concentrating on keeping his words to a phlegmatic whisper. "Robotics."
"Very hush hush," said Principal Morita, and Peter was positive he'd caught a sardonic note this time. His suspicious glance at the school administrator was interrupted by Captain America's knowing chuckle.
"Are you in a nondisclosure contract? What's he got you up to?"
Peter smiled weakly. "Programming a better toaster."
Both men laughed and Peter relaxed a hair. One single hair. Stark Industries had its hands in many pies, not all of them related to security and homeworld defense. Peter was pretty sure they'd patented one of the coffee pots he'd seen at IKEA. Sometimes Mr. Stark said things about sentient microwaves that Peter was not entirely certain were in complete jest.
The month before, Peter had asked Mr. Stark for something to show-and-tell his programming teacher for some of the time spent at his internship, and the billionaire had tossed him a funny discarded device he'd called an UnLazy Susan that had made for a pretty neat little robot once Peter had reprogrammed its purpose to be more comprehensive than passing the butter. He renamed it the Desk Caddy and it brought him his pencils and made dumb jokes when prompted and he felt sort of bad for it.
Suddenly Peter wondered whether Captain America was the only Avenger there that day, or if Principal Morita's connection to the Howling Commando had warranted a trip from the rest of the team. "So uh, you're the big guest today?" he prompted hoarsely, mentally crossing his fingers. Black Panther was the one who really made him nervous; for some reason he suspected the Wakandan king had a keener sense of smell than he let on, and it would not be fooled by Peter's new Axe deodorant (the suit came with its own) and the myriad grody scents a high school gym offered.
"Yes, just me. I knew your principal's grandfather back in the day," Captain America said, and Peter reflected, a little sadly, that Steve Roger's 'day' must feel much more recent than the interim decades after they'd parted. To him, a young Private Jim Morita had last grinned only six years ago.
"Yeah," he murmured, smiling at Mr. Morita's pride.
Principal Morita noticed the media bag Peter was clutching. "Don't make Mr. Harrington fret, you know what happened to the last Apple TV—" another student had programmed it to go rogue and wildly misinterpret their YouTube search requests until Mr. Harrington, almost in tears, had slammed a textbook on it—and waved him on, reminding him not to be late for the assembly.
Before he moved forward, Peter paused and met Captain America's gaze for what would probably be the last time.
The next time they saw each other it would be on a battlefield as likely as not, and the Captain would see only the mask. For the first time Peter was a little sorry about that. He wondered if the Avengers ever withheld any of their trust for the comrade who refused to show them his face. If they did, he couldn't blame them. They did not even know his name.
For his part, he trusted them wholeheartedly. It was not out of suspicion that he hid. Maybe he'd tell them that next time. It was important to tell people they mattered to you, Uncle Ben always said.
"It was really good to meet you," he said, and held out his hand again.
Steve Rogers considered him for a moment, then shook his hand firmly.
"You too, Peter."
Peter could not help but smile. He nodded and went on through the crowd with relief, distantly noting the strange looks other students were directing his way but mostly glad to get out from under the scrutiny.
Mr. Harrington was delighted as he always was every Monday when the brave little Apple tv found its way back to him. Ned caught him once he'd left the jail block and seized his arm. "Dude!" he hissed.
"I know!" Peter whispered back. "I saw him already, Principal Morita caught me, I had to pretend I had a cold and lost my voice but if anybody asks it's not mono, okay?"
"Okay," buzzed Ned, craning his head for a glimpse of the Avenger, "but who knew the chess club got around like that?"
Liz had briefly been in chess club. She'd moved to Oregon well before the mono outbreak and her rep was thus in the clear but Peter still felt vaguely compelled to defend her honor, which had extended to every one of her pursuits.
"White knight to D2," cackled Ned, when Peter told him. "Queens get to make any move, remember? Ow—I'm joking!"
They joined the current of students swarming into the gym. Normally the auditorium was reserved for speeches but the gym bleachers could pack more seats. Peter and Ned squeezed into a row near the top and joined in the enthusiastic applause once the Avenger was introduced and walked to the microphone stand.
It was weird, thought Peter, staring at him, how he could look small in that space.
Rogers raised his hands for silence that was some time coming. To the side Peter could see a couple of camera crews trying to be inobstrusive and preened a little that their school would be the one to get featured on the evening news. Mr. Delmar would lose his mind; he loved Captain America almost as much as he loved Spider-Man.
To the student body's collective disappointment Captain America didn't address the temporary war between the Avengers or his part in defending the world. There were no anecdotes or name-dropping.
Instead, he spoke to them very seriously about integrity. He talked about doing the right thing, about respect, about the kind of quiet courage that stood up to the insidious natures of greed and anger.
Although it was another wholesome topic that could have been expected from the Avenger, Peter uneasily recalled the recent William Burnside disaster—which the UN had denied subsidizing but Peter had his doubts, as did Mr. Stark, who had been white-faced with fury by the debacle's end—and wondered whether the Captain's words were inspired by it, as he detected a note of melancholy in them.
Teenagers tended to tune out lectures of the after-school special variety. They heard them all the time in homeroom class and saw them emblazoned on inspirational posters, fluffy kittens optional. Even the rerecorded pep talks Cap seemed to have for every occasion like Hallmark cards were usually ignored in favor of whispered gossip and last-minute homework. Not here. The gym was quieter than Peter had ever heard it during an assembly: no fidgeting, no hissed chatter or suppressed giggling, not even Dan Young's noisy asthmatic inhales.
They got lectured at often but were rarely spoken to like equals, like adults. Someone was actually taking notes and when they dropped their pencil people rows away flinched. It was like a spell had stilled the students and held them with rapt attention.
Did Peter have integrity? He wondered, listening and staring at the makeshift platform the speaker stood on. He sort of did, right? He made mistakes sometimes, results of inexperience and youth and recklessness, but he wanted to do the right thing. Were morals and integrity the same? Suddenly he wanted to ask Aunt May, wanted her to tell him yes, he was a good person. Even when it felt like he was balking at some of the things asked of him.
Once Thor, possibly after a few Asgardian ales he'd squirreled away somewhere, told Peter he thought the kid might have been able to lift Mjolnir but for his refusal to kill when necessary. It was a compliment, the hero rumbled, and by the looks on the other Avengers' faces he thought it really must have been. Peter had been kind of flattered but also unsure. They'd never know, the hammer had shattered. Deep down Peter was secretly glad it wasn't a test he'd ever have to fail.
Uncle Ben could have told him too, he'd been the kindest man Peter had ever known.
The talk wasn't long, or maybe it was. When the Captain stopped speaking there was a hush in the auditorium before the break of applause roused everyone. Ned turned to Peter, his face shining.
Peter had seen living example of all the things Cap had just spoken of; yet he was a little spellbound too. Every once in a while he was a kid among giants again. He knew he belonged on the Avengers. He did. It was sometimes just hard to believe he was there at all. Maybe it was just humbling to be reminded why he spent most of his free nights swinging around Queens, doing what he could there.
Low chatter resumed once Captain Rogers had taken his exit from the ad hoc stage and spoke more with the principal, who seemed pleased. The next rally would be considerably less interesting, and Peter would probably have to dust off his tuba for it.
They were filing out when Rogers caught Peter's eye from across the gym floor.
Sometimes the world tossed you a little scrap of karma. "Good luck with the smart toasters," called Captain America. "See you around." Peter grinned and waved back. Students regarded the in-joke with awe and glanced at Peter in new appreciation, who silently thanked the Avenger for single handedly restoring some of his street credit.
If only Liz had been there to see it, he thought, sighing.
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there's a tiny Ricky and Morty joke in this one.
Hope you enjoyed!