Trigger warning in the end notes to avoid spoiling anything
Steve was in the living room, directly in front of the elevator. He was turned to the side so that a bit of his profile was visible, but the rest of it was blocked by the newspaper he had completely opened in front of his face. Peter blinked at the sight – who even read paper copies anymore?
Well, old men, he supposed, remembering that Cap was born in 1920 and was by definition an old man, for all he hadn't lived those years conscious or looked like he was older than his early thirties.
"Hey, Buck," Steve called, not lifting his head from the newspaper in front of him. "You find him yet?"
"You could say that," James grunted beside him, and Steve glanced over at the tone, before doing a double-take upon seeing Peter standing there.
"Peter!" he yelped, dropping the paper and jumping to his feet. "Are you okay? We've been so worried about you – Bucky's been looking all over the city for days; I'm so glad he found you! Are you staying? You better be staying. Please?"
"Calm down and let the kid breathe, Jesus," Bucky said with a long-suffering sigh, walking in further and going to the kitchen. "He's fine, and he's staying. What do you want for lunch?"
Steve looked like he might protest the casualness with which Bucky was handling things, but Peter was glad for how offhanded James was treating his stay here. It made him feel less like a charity case and more like a buddy crashing here for a few days. He went to follow Bucky into the kitchen, hoping it would be clear to Steve that way that he didn't want to deal with questions.
Steve seemed to get it, and after a pause slightly too long to be natural, Steve followed into the kitchen, calling before him, "I think we have stuff for sandwiches."
Bucky nodded wordlessly, and with his back turned to them as he got food out of the fridge, Peter was the only one to see a crease appear between Steve's eyebrows as he gazed at his friend. The blond man was clearly worried about Bucky's silence, which irritated Peter a little bit, because he knew how hard it was to talk sometimes and clearly Bucky had the same issues and Steve needed to just accept that and move on without making that stupid look with his face.
He chided himself a moment later though for where his thoughts had gone, startled with himself at the protectiveness that had roared up inside him. He knew that Steve cared about Bucky – he was his best friend and practical brother; they'd said so themselves. It was just that Steve couldn't understand and relate to Bucky's silence in the same way that Peter did, and Peter couldn't fault him for that or even wish that he did understand. He wouldn't wish this…vocal problem on anyone, not even for better understanding with the people around him.
Bucky rose from his bent position, tapping the door closed behind him with his foot and then going to lay all the stuff out on the counter.
Steve looked between them, looking lost and unsure of what to say in the face of the two silent brunettes in front of him. Peter approached Bucky, holding out a hand and tilting his head a bit, a wordless offer to help. Bucky grabbed the loaf of bread from off of the fridge, as well as a long Italian loaf. He slid the Italian loaf across the counter over to Peter, a knife quickly following behind it. Peter relaxed slightly, pulling the loaf from the bag and picking up the knife to cut the bread lengthwise for a hoagie sandwich.
"Veggies," Bucky said to Steve shortly, and Steve's expression fell into relief at the direction of what to do, even as he went around them to grab a cutting board and another knife. Bucky moved aside silently to make room for him, pushing over the cucumbers, tomatoes, onion, and peppers to Steve's space. He himself pulled the other bread from its package and began applying liberal amounts of mayo, mustard, cheese, and Italian dressing.
They worked quietly, comfortably, Peter and Bucky switching places so that Peter could put the meat on the sandwiches and Bucky could continue with the spreads. In the end they had nine regular sandwiches and a long Italian hoagie that they divided in three. Peter had to laugh inwardly when Bucky tossed the end pieces of bread in the trash with a vague look of disgust and Steve gave the other man a disapproving look at the waste. It seemed to be a common action though, and an argument that Steve continued to lose, because they didn't even say anything beyond that other than a raised eyebrow from Bucky, like he was daring him to say something about it.
Personally, Peter would have been fine with the end pieces of bread, after having gone without for so long, but considering the amount of food laid out before them, he was okay with the butts of the loaf being discarded, too.
"Tony's going to want to meet you soon," Steve told Peter with a wry smile after they'd all made their way through at least one sandwich apiece. Peter blinked up at him, waiting for him to elaborate, and thankfully the huge blond did. "I'm sure JARVIS has already told him you're here to stay. I asked him about it while you were gone today," he directed that last bit to Bucky, before addressing Peter again. "He's totally willing to let you stay, though he was a bit offended that you'd be staying with us and wouldn't want your own floor." He nodded understandingly at Peter's definite nod – Peter definitely didn't want to live on his own floor, that was way too much, and he'd much rather be with Bucky because he was familiar and made him feel safe –
Peter shut down that line of thinking immediately, grateful that Steve continued to talk as it distracted him from his own thoughts. "If you do decide you want your own floor, let him know and he'd be more than willing to redecorate." A fondly exasperated look crossed his face. "Pretty sure if he wasn't a Stark he would've gone into interior design – that's how much he loves it."
Peter nodded in response to his words, though he knew already that he would never be asking for his own floor. Even if he wasn't living with Steve and Bucky, a whole floor to himself just seemed very…excessive.
"You can hold off on meeting him, though," Steve went on. "He'll either get more excited, like an overeager puppy yapping at your heels, or he'll be distracted by something in the meantime and by the time you meet him he'll act like you've always been here. It's your call, really."
Peter thought it would be pretty cool to meet Tony Stark, because honestly the guy was a legend. His advancements in technology and science had always made him a fan of the billionaire, even before he became Iron Man. And without the fear of everything to do with Spiderman getting in the way, he was merely excited at the thought of meeting his idol.
But he probably shouldn't do it that night, he supposed. He was exhausted both mentally and physically, and it was getting later at night and now that he was in a warm place he just honestly wanted to go to bed right then. He could meet the others in the morning. He didn't even want to go out as Spiderman tonight – he just wanted to get some sleep.
Steve understood before Peter even had to mime something, probably having seen Peter blink sleepily as he thought.
"Finish your sandwich," he directed gently, a kind smile crossing his face. "When you're done we can show you your room."
Peter blinked his eyes open, feeling very warm and cozy with the sleepy fog just beginning to lift from his brain. It was such a strange feeling, this feeling of warmth and safety, that in moments his brain jerked itself awake, certain that something must be wrong for things to be so different from what he was used to.
Sitting up in bed though, everything came rushing back to him when he saw the shaded windows with just the tops of other skyscrapers visible outside. He rubbed his hands over his face, rubbing the goobers from his eyes and stretching to wake his body up a bit more.
It was light outside, and Peter would guess it was midmorning based on the way the light reflected off the skyscrapers. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, unable to feel guilty for sleeping in so late when he could practically feel his body mending itself after getting proper food and rest in the same twenty-four hour window.
There was a bathroom connected to his bedroom, so that he didn't even have to leave the comfort of his bedroom to take care of his morning ablutions. He felt like he was in a hotel or intruding in someone else's space, but he nonetheless tried pushing away the feeling as he hopped in the shower and enjoyed being clean once again. Something about being clean just made him feel automatically better about himself, more hopeful for the day ahead.
When he stepped out of the shower though, he had to stop and stare when he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror.
The mirror must have had some kind of temperature control on it to keep it from fogging up, because where Wade's – Deadpool's – had been too foggy for him to see his reflection in, this one was completely clear, and he was startled by his ability to see himself.
He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen himself in any kind of reflection, because he usually tried to avoid looking. Now though, he was startled and caught off guard, and now that he had noticed he couldn't tear his eyes away.
He looked terrible. There were no two ways about it. His hair was long, even the shortest bits coming past his earlobes, and it fell in uncombed clumps around him. His eyes looked hollow, cheeks sunken in, and he could see his collarbones and every one of his ribs without sucking in. He was pale, gaunt, with dark circles under his eyes like he'd smeared makeup there and tried wiping it off.
Abruptly he was filled with such utter self-loathing, and he watched as his face twisted up with a sneer of disgust, just making him that much uglier.
He hated his body. It was ugly, it didn't work right, and his stupid Spiderman powers insisted on giving him a six-pack before making sure that his skin wasn't going to rip around his bones for how it had to stretch to contain his insides. His forearms were still, as ever, an angry pink that he wasn't feeding himself enough to create webs. He hated that his Spidey powers made him look like this, that it was his being Spiderman that caused so many problems that he tried so hard to atone but he knew he'd never be able to manage it. How on earth was he supposed to meet the other Avengers, let alone Tony Stark, looking like this? And not only did he look like this, but he couldn't even speak and contribute to any kind of conversation. Surely it must be pity that had Bucky and Steve bringing them into their home. Why else would they see any kind of worth in the skin-and-bones mute teenager he actually was?
He was startled out of his thoughts by a soft knock at his bedroom door.
"Peter?" Bucky's rough voice called quietly. "You awake?"
Peter chided himself immediately and vociferously upon hearing the nervous trepidation in the older man's voice. Bucky wouldn't do what he'd done for pity, he knew that. He just got – stuck in his own head. That was never a good place to be, and he felt guilty for thinking about Steve and Bucky the way that he had. They didn't deserve that.
He knocked twice on the bathroom door to let Bucky know that he'd heard him, seeing as how he couldn't call out to him.
"Good," Bucky sounded relieved. "Uh…Steve had to go to an Avenger's meeting, so it's just you and me here. Do you…want to order in? Watch a movie?"
Peter considered this. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen a movie, couldn't even remember what it was. He didn't know of any new movies that had come out in about the past year. He wasn't even sure what he liked anymore.
But Bucky was trying to be friendly, make him feel more comfortable here, so Peter supposed he could go along with it. He didn't want Bucky to think he didn't want to be around him.
He knocked twice again on the bathroom door, hoping Bucky would understand as he usually did. He opened the bathroom door, going to the dresser and grabbing the first clothes he saw, which turned out to be a comfy pair of lounge pants and a long-sleeve Henley. Good enough for him – they were clean, and they surprisingly actually fit.
When he opened the bedroom door, Bucky was standing there a bit awkwardly, and Peter quickly recalled, trying to remember if Bucky had said anything after he'd knocked on the door the last time. He didn't think he had, but he had been known all his life for getting lost in his own thoughts and forgetting to pay attention to the things and people around him.
But Bucky didn't look like he'd been expecting an answer to anything, so Peter figured (hoped) that he hadn't said anything important.
Curiously, Peter plucked at the hem of his shirt, tilting his head slightly and giving Bucky a questioning look. He really wanted to know how there were new clothes here that were only slightly too big for him but fit him comfortably enough.
"Where'd the clothes come from?" Bucky guessed, and Peter nodded. It was close enough to what he wanted to know. "I told JARVIS my guess of your height and weight – he matched it with clothing sizes a size up from yours, so you can grow into them when you eat more."
Peter blinked. That was – okay, yes, a bit intrusive, but also somehow really sweet. Not just the clothes, but the thought and care that went into getting them as well as the expectation of being able to fill into them over time. That definitely showed that Bucky was serious about him staying for a while, even if nothing else had. He gave Bucky a smile, causing the man to relax from his slightly stiff, nervous posture that Peter hadn't even realized he'd fallen into.
"Come on," Bucky said, nodding with his head toward the living room. "What kinda food do you want? JARVIS can order anything."
An hour or so later, they were in the middle of munching on chicken wings while watching The Proposal ("Because Sandra Bullock is amazing and romantic comedies are the best, I will fight anyone on this, including you, Peter") when the elevator dinged its arrival on their floor.
Peter hardly had any time to tense up before Steve was coming into the room, surprisingly not in his Captain America uniform, as he might have expected upon learning that he was at an Avengers meeting. Then again, he reflected, if it was just the Avengers they probably met on a different floor somewhere and in that case there was no reason to change into a battle uniform just for a meeting with people he lived with, anyway.
Steve looked tired, but he smiled genuinely when he saw the two of them. "Hey, Buck. Hey, Pete," he greeted, even as he moved towards the pantry.
"What's it this time?" Bucky said as the movie continued to play.
"Just more Hydra shit," Steve answered with a sigh, surfacing with something in plain packaging that Peter couldn't identify. Then Steve glanced at Peter, seemingly remembering something, and he huffed out a tired little laugh. "Don't worry about it." He opened the package, and Peter thought it looked a bit like a protein bar.
Steve saw the screen then, and his eyes lightened a bit as he came over to them. "Hey, I like that actress," he said, pleased. "I don't think I've seen this one, though. Have you seen the one where she's undercover in a beauty pageant?"
After finishing The Proposal, Steve asked JARVIS to turn on Miss Congeniality, which Steve insisted was a must-see. Peter had heard of it before, and knew references to it that he hadn't realized were from it, but he'd never actually seen it before. He enjoyed it, though – found it funny.
He couldn't remember the end of it, though, because somehow, over the course of the movie, he had listed to the side and ended up leaning against Bucky. Bucky readily and easily accepted the movement, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and using the flesh hand to scratch against his scalp. And even though Peter had had a good night's sleep the night before – great, even – he still found himself dozing off before they were an hour into the movie.
The sequel began playing after the first one ended, but by then, Bucky was asleep, too.
Steve was the one left alone, awake and content to watch the two dozing on the couch more than the movie playing in front of them.
"Mute the movie please, J," Steve murmured quietly enough that he didn't wake the other two. JARVIS obeyed silently, leaving Steve to sit there quietly with the movie flashing lights across their faces from the images.
He was glad that Peter was safe, and he was glad that Bucky had found him – not just the day previous, but the first time. But he also worried, because Peter was a teenager who needed help, and he wasn't wholly certain that they were qualified to give it to him. Oh, sure, he cared about him, and he knew that Bucky would try and do his best because he cared even more about the kid than he did. But Peter was still a teenager, and a traumatized one at that. And he was mute, so they didn't even know what kind of trauma they were dealing with, and he couldn't help explain in that regard. Steve didn't know the first thing about raising a normal teenager, and Bucky was in the same boat. How were they supposed to help this one?
Not to mention the fact that they were Avengers, and their lives brought danger, and how could they really be certain that they wouldn't traumatize Peter further with everything that came with that fact?
Looking at the two of them together, though, Steve's felt his heart clench with determination. Bucky hadn't attached to anything in particular since coming to the Tower several months ago. He hadn't even developed any hobbies of his own, for all that the others tried to encourage him. He had gone along with whatever Steve suggested, but it was clear that he didn't particularly care for it. Mostly, he had stayed in his room all day, surfing the Internet for hours at a time and only emerging for his therapy appointments, the odd meal with the others (even then usually only when Steve invited him), and his runs in the morning.
And sure, maybe it wasn't particularly healthy for Bucky to rely so heavily on another person rather than finding his own coping mechanisms, it was still the first interest Bucky had shown in anything since he had returned. And Bucky had attached so immediately and so strongly to Peter that while Steve didn't wholly understand their closeness after really not knowing each other very well at all, he wasn't going to try taking this away from his best friend. He was going to do all he could to make sure that Peter was safe and happy and maybe they could see about some kind of therapy for him too – or at least get him to talk with Sam a bit. Or, communicate anyway, because he couldn't talk.
He would keep watch though, because while he would do his best by Bucky, he also needed to do his best by Peter. And if being among the rest of the Avengers was too much for the boy, if it became too dangerous…well, then he would need to have a serious conversation with Bucky about their options. Because they couldn't unwittingly let Peter become Bucky's crutch – he was still a person with his own needs and problems.
Steve just hoped that there could be a solution that would make everyone happy all around.
And so, it was with all of this in mind that Steve determined to protect both Peter and Bucky for as much and as long as he was able. And he had never been one to back down from a fight.
Peter woke up in the early evening feeling ravenous. This was a familiar feeling, and one he easily pushed away before he even remembered where he was and what he had been doing before he fell asleep.
The television was off now, and the apartment was quiet. Peter's enhanced sense of hearing detected the usual sounds of New York outside, but the walls and floors must have been built soundproof, because he couldn't hear anything from the other floors. He supposed distantly that this made sense, because both Steve and Bucky had enhanced senses too and it probably would have been pretty tiring to hear others having nightmares or listening to loud music. Soundproof floors made sense in that respect, and it made Peter wonder if the other floors were soundproof too or just this one.
He was leaning on a soft surface, and he pushed himself upright before he realized that what he had thought was the couch he was leaning on was actually James' side. He felt his face flush when the other man looked at him, clearly having been awake for a decent amount of time. Peter wondered why the guy hadn't moved or woke him up. It had to have been pretty boring to just sit there.
"Hey," Bucky said with his usual rough voice. "The rest of 'em are gathering on the common floor for dinner. You hungry?"
Peter was grateful that they could just brush by the fact that he had slept on top of the man – again – and talk about the important things. Like food.
Except…part of that was meeting the Avengers. Was Peter ready to face them? Not as Spiderman, but as plain old Peter, the mute homeless kid? Well, formerly homeless. Not anymore, with Bucky bringing him back to live with them.
He supposed he would have to get over with it eventually, and he had never been accused of being a coward (well, at least by the people who actually knew him – not his high school bullies or the villains he fought with who tried to taunt him into foolishness with petty jabs). So, he supposed he could resign himself to meeting the rest of them tonight.
"We don't have to go up there if you don't want to," Bucky continued while Peter pondered. "We have stuff in the fridge if we want something else, or we can order in. Whatever you're comfortable with. Steve's already up there, but it won't look weird to stay down here, because I do most nights anyway."
Peter had already decided though, and he wasn't backing down now, so he pointed to the elevator with a look that probably crossed between resigned and hopeful.
"Alright," Bucky accepted immediately, not questioning his decision, which Peter was grateful for. Not only because it would make him second-guess himself, but also because it showed that Bucky trusted Peter to make his own decisions, even knowing he was "just" a teenager, and that meant more than he could say.
Well, everything meant more than he could say, because he couldn't speak. Haha, get it? Peter was punny.
"Come on," Bucky said, rising to his feet and waiting for Peter to stand up next to him before going to the elevator. "If we stay too long, Steve will take all the food."
Peter hardly had time to take his first breath on the common floor before his Spidey sense hummed a small warning and he ducked instinctively away from the projectile about to smack him in the face. His heart began to race, even though his Spidey sense went quiet after that, as Peter began to doubt and wonder just what he was getting himself into that someone was already trying to hit him with something – and before he even got off the elevator, too.
"Shit!" a semi-familiar voice said, and Peter looked down to see that the projectile was in fact a cornbread muffin, and felt his heart begin to calm again as confusion took over. Why was cornbread being thrown at him? Scratch that, why was it being thrown at all?
"We apologize in advance for Clint," a woman's voice drawled, and Peter looked up, still confused, to see the Black Widow herself standing a few feet away from him, rolling her eyes. Even in a blue tee shirt and grey sweatpants, feet bare and painted pink toes poking out the bottom, she still inspired a certain kind of fear and respect for what he knew she was capable of.
Clint – Hawkeye – was standing with folded arms and was…actually pouting.
"It would have made it in if the elevator doors hadn't opened right then," Hawkeye protested.
"And we believe you," Black Widow soothed, though the roll of her eyes showed her utter lack of patience for the other Avenger's shenanigans.
Bucky had been still beside Peter while they conversed, but now that it was clear that there was no immediate threat, he walked out of the elevator, and Peter followed his lead.
"Sorry, we didn't know you guys would be coming up," Hawkeye apologized. "I could've used the wall to bounce off of otherwise, but Steve said you were still sleeping when he left so I thought the elevator was a safe surface."
"Good reflexes though, kid," another voice said, and Peter looked over to see Falcon, smirking while he spooned up servings of some kind of casserole that Peter couldn't identify by sight or smell. Peter looked away, not sure how to react and unable to respond, and followed Bucky to the table, where holy shit Tony Stark and Bruce Banner sat discussing something quietly to themselves. His inner fanboy was shrieking and running around, because he was in the presence of the two biggest geniuses on Earth and he was wearing slightly too-big jeans and a tee shirt. He compulsively ran a hand over his hair, trying to flatten it where he was sure it had gone crazy in his sleep.
Mr. Stark himself glanced over, seemingly to think about what he was saying to Dr. Banner, but then caught sight of Peter and stopped talking to the other scientist abruptly. His face lit with an unholy smile, and he turned his chair, scooting closer to Peter as Peter sat down next to Bucky in the corner against the wall.
"So," Mr. Stark said, sounding like he was trying to hide his excitement. "You're the Super Soldiers' kid. Peter, right?"
Peter nodded, honestly a little surprised that the billionaire hadn't gone to use one of the obvious adjectives to describe him – mute, homeless, teenager…it warmed him a bit that those weren't what Mr. Stark remembered him by. He was just someone's kid.
Sort of. He was an orphan, but like…it was kind of the same idea.
"Well, Barnes and Noble have been keeping me out of your bedroom for too long now!" Mr. Stark proclaimed, smacking a hand on the table and causing Peter to startle. Bucky leaned a bit closer to him, and Peter welcomed it, drawing comfort from his nearness.
"We need to go over colors, Pete," the genius went on, and Peter couldn't help feeling like for all that the man postured and was loud, there was a certain sharpness in his eyes that showed he caught everything going on. This was supported by the fact that he lowered his voice just a notch, as though he'd noticed Peter's startlement and accommodated for him, to make him feel more comfortable.
"And even if you cover the walls in posters, you still need a good color underneath – a teenage boy should not have to deal with beige! Actually, we need to look at posters, too. If you like those, anyway. You want them for movies? Or is music better? Come to think of it, we need to think about…"
"Let the kid breathe, Tony," Steve said, coming up behind the man and giving him a little frown. "He just got here."
"Exactly!" Mr. Stark exclaimed, pointing a finger in the air and giving Steve a wide-eyed look of innocence. "So we should waste no time in figuring out what makes him the most comfortable! We can have painters in tomorrow!"
Steve sighed and shook his head a bit, though Peter was sure that most of his exasperation was overshadowed by fondness for the other man, based on the little smile that tugged at the corners of his lips. Steve came and sat down beside Peter, and Peter relaxed a bit at the confirmation that he would be sitting only between people that he knew and was at least somewhat familiar with.
"Later, Tony," Falcon put in, appearing behind him from the kitchen while carrying eight bowls at once in his arms.
"Were you a waiter in a past life?" Mr. Stark demanded, switching gears so abruptly that Peter might have thought that Mr. Stark was an easily distracted jerk because he didn't actually care about what he was talking about before. And the first part of that was probably true, that he was easily distracted, but Peter didn't think that the man was a jerk, no matter what the media said. Steve and Bucky wouldn't like him if he was – their anti-bullying stance was legendary.
"I was a waiter in this life," Falcon snorted, sliding the bowls into their places. "Not all of us had a scholarship to college at fifteen – I had to work during college for food; military only paid for the school itself." He turned his head to Hawkeye and Black Widow, who were bickering quietly in the living room. "Come on, losers! Food's up!"
When one of the bowls landed in front of Peter, he blinked a bit, looking over at the rest of the servings. Yep, they all had less than him. Except for Steve and Bucky – they had marginally more, which made sense because they had super soldier metabolisms. But Peter was uncertain why he had so much – did Falcon somehow know that he had a super fast metabolism as well?
He looked up at the dark-skinned man as he returned from the kitchen with a large bowl of salad in one hand and three kinds of dressing in the other. Falcon caught him looking at him warily, and gave him a reassuring smile, which really didn't tell Peter anything about what the man might suspect but did its job in telling Peter not to worry. At least, not for now. Not when there was food in front of him.
"As usual, there are enough for seconds," Falcon said, seemingly to everyone, but Peter was pretty sure that it was said for his benefit. "Youngest to oldest, of course."
"If you make one more crack about my age, Wilson…" Steve began heatedly, though there was a definite twinkle in his eye at the teasing.
"I'm older 'n you, punk," Bucky grunted, cutting him off as he took a bite of his casserole. "By a hundred an' sixteen days."
"Yeah, and Steve's older than me by fifty-two years and ten months," Mr. Stark proclaimed, waving his spoon. "I am not the oldest person in this room."
"I'm only older than Tony by five months – do I really have to wait for him to be done?" Dr. Banner called out.
"Excuse you, Brucie," Mr. Stark said, affecting offense. "It's five months and eleven days. That's almost two whole weeks – own those days!"
"Why were you complaining about not being the oldest when Bruce is already here?" Black Widow said with an arched eyebrow.
"Because he looks younger!" Mr. Stark whined. "It's not fair!"
"Good genetics," Bruce teased, sounding satisfied.
"I'm only a year and twenty days younger than you," Hawkeye cut in, and Mr. Stark whined again, because Hawkeye looked at least five or six years younger than him even still. "And then there's the huge jump to Natasha – about eleven years."
"When is your birthday, anyway?" Mr. Stark directed to Black Widow with eyes squinted in thought.
"1985," Natasha said placidly, blowing on her bite of casserole to cool it off before putting it in her mouth. "I have no idea of the actual date – records of girls that went to the Red Room were destroyed when they were brought in. I only know that I was six when the Soviet Union dissolved."
They were all quiet for a minute, not sure how to respond to that when Peter waved his hands to get their attention. He motioned to himself and then opened and closed his hands to make the fingers pointed up add up to sixteen. He gave them a dorky, sheepish kind of smile.
Falcon laughed first at his wordless input. "Yup, you've got us all beat," he said while the others chuckled. "Congrats, you can get seconds first."
"At least Thor's not here," Tony pouted. "He's like, fifteen hundred years old and he still looks younger than me."
"Everyone looks younger than you, Tony," Black Widow said unsympathetically. "Including Pepper."
"What the hell?" Tony screeched. "She's three years older than me!"
Peter huffed a silent laugh to himself at the bantering, and turned his attention back to the casserole. Who cared who was oldest, really? They'd still all get seconds, and that was really the important part.
Trigger warning: Peter sees himself in the mirror, and ends up with some pretty serious thoughts of self-hatred. I don't know what this is called…body dysmorphia? Does this apply here? Not sure – anyone worried about themselves, tread lightly, though it is only a couple of paragraphs
