So two days after I posted this I realized I missed a prime opportunity for a punny name, and I was kicking myself. So yes, I changed it. \ (•◡•) /
Chapter Two-
Peter's walking back from his morning lecture, his messenger bag thumping against his hips, his phone peacefully dead and therefore silent, in his back pocket- when someone bursts from a batch of hedges and gives Peter a placebo heart-attack.
"What is wrong with you?!" Peter squawks at Johnny, his voice embarrassingly high pitched, hand still clutching at his chest as he glares at the blond.
Johnny's smile is far too wide, not remorseful at all. Ever since he figured out how he can scare Peter without setting off his spider-sense beforehand he has been getting more and more creative with how he sneaks up on Peter. "Just thought I'd pop in," he says, somehow popping both P's.
It's excessive.
Peter makes his glare that much deadlier, he has perfected it over the past two years- he's had to in order to survive the Avengers, his glare does not take on just mere mortal men, it must be strong enough to melt bone- or at least the drive to cause catastrophe and/or spend all of S.I's research funds on Asgardian metals.
Peter steps away, rolling his eyes as he asks, "what are you doing here?" and then twisting so he's facing Johnny, walking backward and dodging other students like a pro. "Also, how did you know where I was?"
Johnny shrugs, jogging a few steps to catch up with Peter. "I texted Gwen."
Peter blows out a resigned raspberry, glancing up to the slightly overcast sky. He should have figured that. It was a mistake to introduce them, they team up on Peter- which, by the way, should not be allowed, his friends do not get to go and form some sort of alliance against him.
Doing so would constitute them as evil masterminds, and Peter cannot continue to live in a world where he is outsmarted by Gwen and Johnny.
Only thing that could possibly be worse is if they somehow managed to rope Harley into their evil club.
"Don't get all pouty on me, dude," Johnny says, draping an arm over Peter's shoulders as Peter turns back to face forward. Peter tells himself the only reason he doesn't shove Johnny off is because it's cold and Johnny is a living heated-blanket, that is the only reason. "I come baring good news."
Peter glances at the other man, squinting in suspicion from behind his glasses. "Last time you said that you dragged me on a road trip that ended with us fighting aliens."
Johnny scoffs so loudly it sounds like it hurts on its way out. "That was one time. One Time."
"One time is already too many times," Peter argues, indignant.
"You're only saying that because that one alien tried to hum-"
Peter slaps his palm over Johnny's mouth abruptly, cutting the other man off. "Is that never talking about it again?!" he whisper-screeches, and then makes a disgusted noise of surprised when Johnny licks his fingers.
"Fine!" Johnny says, smacking Peter's hand away when Peter tries to wipe his spit-covered fingers in Johnny's overly manicured hair- everyone thinks that windswept look is natural, but Peter knows better, he's seen Johnny's haircare products!
Johnny continues, "obviously someone is still sensitive-"
"Johnny, I swear to Thor!"
"-about Intergalactic Reproductive Social-Norms."
They both tumble into the grass as Peter tackles Johnny to the ground, his knee getting soaked in a mudpuddle in the process…it's totally worth it to hear the way Johnny squeals.
Peter walks off the elevator and onto the common floor of Avengers Tower and immediately regrets it.
Up on the large flat-screen is some slightly blurred news footage from yesterday, Spider-Man and The Human Torch taking on the Rhino in the middle of Manhattan.
Peter watches out of the corner of his eye as Spider-Man gets hit in the head with a manhole-cover, falling to the ground dazed and disoriented for a moment, The Human Torch scooping him up an instant before Rhino can finish the job.
Peter still has the scabbed over gash on his forehead, it reaches into his hair, still red and painful looking, but the most annoying thing about it is how much it itches.
Bucky hisses a sympathetic breath at the television. "That sure looks like it hurt," he says, glancing over to Peter with something twinkling behind his eyes, full of intent and not so secret meanings.
It's an expression that Peter does his absolute darndest to ignore.
Natasha's sitting at the kitchen table, reading over something in a language that Peter can't decipher. She glances up as he steps in, giving him a scan over. "One hell of a scrape," she comments, eye's on Peter's forehead.
Peter gives her the slowest blink that he can manage. "Yup," he says, deadpan, because if he allows any inflection into his tone it'll just come out as a thready scream.
"How'd it happen?" Steve asks, sitting down next to Natasha innocently, as he poses the question Bucky turns up the volume on the TV, making sure the sound carries.
The reporter on screen says, "it looks like Spider-Man must have been suffering from some sort of head injury. The Human Torch had to escort him from the scene once Rhino was incapacitated. We hope that the Wall-Crawler got the medical attention he needed."
Peter thinks that maybe this situation would be hilarious, if it were happening to anyone else, or maybe it's even funny right now, there's a nervous, borderline hysterical laugh begging to burst from his mouth that he has to convulsively swallow against, so maybe this is funny, maybe it is fudging hilarious.
Is this what an out of body experience feels like?
What constitutes an aneurysm as an aneurysm?
"I was…" Peter has to take a breath, staring the Black Widow and Captain America in the eye and blatantly lying to them- while not anything new -will never be easy.
"Skateboarding," Peter snatches onto the lie like a lifeline, (a 'lieline?'). "I was skateboarding and fell." It is, decidedly, an overused excuse, but it isn't the worst story Peter has told, so he will mark this one down as a small victory.
Nat hums at him, but her sharp green eyes don't leave Peter's for a second. She stares at Peter like a determined cat stalking its prey, and it's all Peter can do to stand his ground and not wither to the floor in a shaky puddle of nervous-sweat and guilty-tears.
"You should be more careful," Steve says, and he isn't laughing, not out loud, but Peter knows, he can hear it in the undertone, and Steve is in fact laughing. "Make sure to wear a helmet next time, son."
Peter's upper lip is twitching, and he can't seem to make it stop. Natasha's eyes have locked onto the involuntary movement with deadly precision, and Peter pretends he hasn't developed a stress-induced tick.
"I will be sure to do that Cap," Peter promises, the words choked into a strangled-whisper.
"I should have known what I was signing up for," Peter says as he drags his fry through a pile of ketchup. "There is a designated psychologist on retainer for my department."
Gwen scrunches her nose in confusion from the other side of the booth. "But you're the sole person with your particular job description…?"
Peter swallows down his french-fry with difficulty, and says, with more intensity than Gwen deserves, "yesssss."
Gwen nods, her pony-tail bobbing on the back of her head, rubbing against the red vinyl of the seat. "Well it's not like you don't need one, I think you've gone over the edge, Petey-pie."
Peter leans back in the booth, his legs stretched along the seat, hanging out the side as he lounges. "The edge would be a welcome place at this point, I fell off that metaphorically ledge about a year ago and have been in a free-fall ever since."
Gwen makes a noncommittal noise, stealing some of Peter's fries as she asks, "when do'ya think you'll hit the bottom?"
Peter sighs, thunking the back of his head against the window behind him. "With my luck, there is no bottom, just eternal nothingness until one day, I Die."
"Sounds magical," Gwen says, throwing a fry at Peter's face.
"Mr. Stark," Peter tries again, a sort of pleading tone has entered his voice, that is how desperate he is. "Tony, please just sign the paperwork, I need payroll off my back, they have been sending me passive-aggressive borderline threatening emails." Peter holds up his phone, showing the multiple emails there, the latest in all caps with explanation-points instead of spaces between them.
How they so efficiently make an email seem intimidating Peter will never know.
"Have you not learned how to forge my signature yet, kid?" Tony asks from where he's hidden under machinery, it smells of singed metal and burned wires in here, it makes Peter want to go hide down in R&D and never leave.
But Colleen from payroll is hunting him, and Peter is scared for his literal life.
"If I knew how to do that, I'd have signed my transfer paperwork months ago," Peter throws back.
Tony scoffs from under- Peter thinks it's some sort of satellite. "If I remember correctly, Mr. Parker, you took on this job willingly," the man comments.
"I was coerced," Peter hisses back. "I was young and stupid and naive."
Tony rolls himself out into the open, grease smeared on his cheek, his hair sticking up wildly. "So…exactly the same?"
Peter shoves the paperwork at him and physically pries a screwdriver from Tony's hand and replaces it with a pen. "Signature on the yellow, initials on the pink and thumbprint here. Don't test me Mr. Stark I can get Pepper down here with one text, she owes me."
There are three coffee shops near Peter's College Campus.
There's a small place called 'Déjà Brew', that makes their own pastries and their drinks are rich and delicious. It's quiet enough to do homework in, and the chairs are plushy and comfortable. The downside is that it's more pricey, so Peter only camps out there when he is on a study binge.
Then there's another place, 'Joe's Joe', the atmosphere there could only be described as grimy. They water down their coffee and their snacks are either this side of soggy or just a hair away from burnt. The only reason Joe's is still in business is because their prices are dirt cheap and they are closest to campus- preying on helpless zombie-students and their desperate need for caffeine.
Then there's Peter favorite place, 'Kool Beans', who sits somewhere between the other two, a happy medium. It's a hipster place, artsy graffiti on the walls and a sitting place with a few scattered tables and a bar. The coffee is good, and their food is edible, so they win.
Peter frequents Kool Beans more than what is strictly necessary, (even for a young adult) but as an exhausted college kid, he fits in with all the other customers that haunt the coffee shop at all hours.
Peter limps into Kool Beans, windchimes singing overhead as he pushes open the door, he smiles tiredly at Aazeen as he walks over to the counter. Yes, Peter is on a first name basis with the baristas here, does this reflect on his life choices?
Absolutely.
"Hey, Peter," Aazeen smiles, her eye makeup is on point today, and Peter kind of wants to ask her if she could make him look less like a corpse with her mad skillset. "Hard day?" she asks, probably because of Peter's black eye and split lip, not to mention his sort-of, kind-of, little-bit, maybe-probably, broken ankle.
Doc Ock is rude and unnecessarily mean.
He is an unpleasant man, Peter's seriously considering quitting their amateur frisbee league, it's just not worth the physical and emotional pain it causes him on a bi-weekly basis.
Ha.
Peter smiles tiredly at Aazeen, it doesn't even feel fake on his face when he's talking to her, because Aazeen is a sweetheart and she is the Keeper of the Coffee. "Adulting is especially hard today," he replies, smirk still on his face, she doesn't even know.
"Tell me about it," she agrees, "what will you have today?" she asks, dark eyes scrunching with her grin.
"Uhhh," Peter starts, tapping his chin contemplatively with a single finger. "I'm gonna be a total white girl today and have a caramel macchiato," he orders.
Aazeen types it into the cash register, "and you didn't even wear your ugg boots," she quips, winking at Peter with the statement.
Peter gasps, mock-scandalized, hand over his heart. "What a fraud I am," he bemoans, making Aazeen snort.
It's after Peter has paid and been handed his drink, making small talk with Aazeen the whole time she whipped it up, that he turns around and sees a man with dark-purple sunglasses and a redhead sitting at a corner table, smirks on their faces, a glint in their eye.
Peter marches over to them imminently, doing his best to cover over his limp. "This is not allowed," he says, there is no need for a greeting, because this is blatant stalking.
Clint looks at Peter over the top of his sunglasses. "Nice to see you too, Peter," he says.
"This. Is Not. Allowed." Peter hisses again, with feeling, he has Many Feelings, Many Intense Feelings!
"I don't know what you're talking about," Clint says, taking a sip of his coffee, not breaking eye-contact with Peter even as he makes an exaggerated 'aahhhh' sound after he swallows. "This is our favorite place. We come here all the time."
"Lies," Peter jabs a finger at the man, "I know all your favorite places, and this is not one of them. It's Nowhere Near The Tower."
Natasha doesn't say anything, just looks on as Clint progressively chips away at what's left of Peter's sanity. She's in a leather jacket and boots, her hair French-braided, which means Bucky needed something to do with his hands this morning.
Peter makes a mental-note to text Steve or Bucky to see how the man's doing.
"You don't know everything, Pete," Clint argues, smug behind his shades- also, sunglasses inside? What a loser. "We've got plenty of secrets."
"I don't know everything," Peter agrees, actively loosening his grip on his coffee cup so he doesn't break it…last time that happened Peter wore his drink for the rest of the day and Gwen wouldn't stop laughing at him.
"But I know Nat likes that one tea shop and you prefer Tony's brand of So Dark It Rots Your Stomach-Lining coffee," Peter goes on, rapid-fire. "I also know that you stole Bucky's vodka and it's hidden in the airducts above the livingroom, also, that you are the one that keeps eating Tony's imported chocolates- I saw you feed some to Lucky -and by the way, you shouldn't be feeding dogs chocolate, even if it's just a little bit." By the end Peter's talking so fast he has to suck in a large breath when he's done. "I might not know all your secrets, Barton, but I know enough."
Clint looks vaguely mortified, maybe a tad bit impressed, mouth working for a moment before he mutters, "touchy."
Natasha smirks, eyes glinting with barefaced amusement. "We were sent to make sure you are alight," she says.
Peter suddenly remembers his scabbed over lip, the purple shadowing his right eye. The stalking suddenly makes sense, Spider-Man and Doc Ock fought it out last night in the middle of Time Square. Half the Avengers were on their own mission, the other half didn't make it to the fight until Doc Ock was knocked out and Spider-Man was webbing away to lick his wounds in private.
And well, Peter is 99.9% sure that they know, it's the big red and blue elephant in the room.
So yeah, he maybe should have seen this coming.
"I'm peachy," Peter says, shrugging because if they aren't gonna come out and say it, then neither is he, he will not lose the game, he refuses. "Peachy keen, swell, dandy."
"Well if you're 'dandy'," Clint remarks, chugging the rest of his drink.
Natasha gives Peter a scan-over, not even trying to hide it. "Fell off your skateboard again?" she asks, smug.
Peter's eye wants to twitch, he does everything in his power to stop it from doing so. "I was mugged, actually," he says, deadpan, staring right back at Natasha, daring her to call him out on it.
Natasha blinks at him, "maybe you should learn some martial-arts, I'd be happy to teach you."
"Oh no," Clint says, crossing his legs, "that'd be too advanced for a beginner like Pete over here, gotta start off with small steps. First; how to throw a punch, then work your way up, how to duck, how to kick without falling on your ass. Y'know the kiddie stuff."
Peter's eye wins, starts twitching in that uncontrollable way, he feels a headache coming on. "I'm not much of a fighter," he forces himself to say.
"Obviously," Clint remarks, and it's all Peter can do not to break right here right now, but if they're gonna play it That Way than Peter is gonna give it his all.
"Plus," Peter goes on, tries to be casual as he says it, turning away from them, "I have asthma, physical exertion isn't exactly my forte."
He catches the way Clint's whole frame freezes in bewilderment out of the corner of his eye, doesn't miss the slight twitch Natasha's fingers give around her cup. Peter pretends he isn't looking, doesn't care, walking away from the two, and slowly losing it on the inside.
Two can play at this game, two can play at this game indeed.
So Avengers Endgame, huh? I am both incredibly ready and so very unprepared...lord.
As always, comments give me life!
