"Man, no way! You're gonna get to see Hereditary before me! That's like -" Ned searched for the words to describe the completely indescribable idea that Peter was seriously having movie night with the Avengers. "This is the coolest thing that's ever happened to me. And you. Like, in the history of your internship, this is it. Peter, if it gets too scary, do you think Bruce Banner would let you hold his hand. I wonder what they feel like. I mean, do you think his hands would be soft, or would they be calloused because of the whole Hulk thing.. I mean, does he moisturize, or do they just go from being soft to being killing machines over and over again with no residual rough skin. Also, I wonder if it'll scare them. It's supposed to be like the new Exorcist. You should ask the Black Widow if the Exorcist scared her, because if it didn't scare her, then nothing will. I doubt the Avengers ever get scared. This movie is probably like c-list terror for them. Peter, what if you get scared, what are they gonna think of yo -"
"I'm not gonna get scared Ned! Now shut up or he's gonna hold us here after the bell rings, and Happy is going to be way scarier than Hereditary!" Peter whispered-shouted this back to him, exasperatedly. He was starting to think that telling his best friend he was getting to see the year's most anticipated horror movie one week before the premier wasn't the best idea he'd ever had. Ned had been on a never ending word vomit since lunch, imagining every scenario Peter could possibly find himself in, and suggesting more than once that he'd embarrass himself by getting scared. It was starting to get to him.
Ned closed his mouth obediently, but it seemed that just the mention of Peter's personal chauffeur - and if anyone told Happy that was what Ned referred to him as, it really was going to be a shitstorm - managed to excite him even more. He smiled at Peter from his seat, bouncing up and down like a first grader right before recess. Mr. Harrington droned on in the front, and a minute later, the bell rang.
"Alright class, remember what the rule is: no homework means get thirty extra minutes of sleep - that's an official assignment! Have a good weekend!" Mr. Harrington's usual mantra was already being drowned out by the rush of noise that came after the final bell. Peter and Ned were out of class and on the front steps of the school minutes later, searching for the signature black car Happy always drove to pick him up. Peter spotted it a third of the way down the street, partially obscured by a banner from the science team that said Do Not Trust Atoms, They Make Up Everything.
"Make sure to tell me everything! I mean don't - wait, should you? Do I want it spoiled, Peter? Maybe just tell me when the jump scares are. Also if anyone is gonna like, spontaneously combust. No! I take it back, don't tell me anything. Except what type of moisturizer Bruce Banner uses, it's crucial information." Peter turned and grinned at him.
"Got it, Ned. No spoilers and no warnings. And I won't get scared," He said. They did their handshake, and then Peter rushed down the steps towards Happy.
The drive back to the compound was mostly uneventful, save Happy's regular complaints about teenagers, Peter in specific, traffic, Peter, Tony's lack of radio stations that didn't feature Metallica, ACDC, or Black Sabbath, and Peter. They had a love hate relationship like that.
The moment they got there, Peter bounded up to the kitchen in search of sustenance. On Fridays, Steve always went to the grocery store to restock the pantry with fruit by the foot and Captain America Doritos. He was also probably still licking his wounds from their game of monopoly last week, and Peter felt he needed to give him a warning before making him watch one of the scariest movies to come out since 1918. That is, if they even had movies in 1918.
Instead, he found Tony scrolling through his tablet with a frown on his face. He looked up as Peter came in, and gave him a look that was reminiscent of when May had found his and Ned's secret stash of candy underneath the dresser when he was nine.
"Hey Pete, how was school?" He said, and Peter knew from his tone of voice that they were about to segue into an unpleasant conversation.
"Pretty uneventful, Mr. Stark. That doesn't look like the face of a man who's excited to watch the most suspenseful movie of the year. Did Steve get the right kind of popcorn? Last time he got the stuff with that butter that coats onto the top of your mouth… ," He trailed off as Tony's face became sterner than it was before. "Did something happen?"
"Well Kid, I was just wondering when you planned on telling me that this movie was rated R - or did you ever plan on it?" Peter looked dumbfounded. This is what the dramatic face was about. Watching an R rated movie?
"What do you mean? Of course it has a high rating, Mr. Stark - it's like A-list horror. What respectable movie trying to scare the living sh- crap out of you isn't rated R?" The man looked him in the eyes as if he was about to lay down the law.
"Peter, you're like 12 years old. I'm pretty sure Bambi is too traumatic for someone as sensitive as you. You really think I'm going to allow you to watch Hereditary? Spontaneous combustion and decapitation are not elements young minds such as your own should be exposed to."
Peter was about to fire back with an itemized list of all the fights Spiderman had been in, where he'd dealt hand to hand with murderers, psychopaths, gunmen, robbers, kidnappers, and god knows what else - although admittedly he'd never seen spontaneous combustion - when someone spoke up from behind him.
"Did I hear someone say Bambi? You know, Clint cries every time he sees that movie, no matter how many times he's seen it. Something about the big sad doe eyes really get to him -"
"Hey! It's a sad movie, and I make no apologies for having a conscience. Hereditary on the other hand - that movie is hardcore. I've been mentally preparing myself all day." Clint and Natasha looked like they'd just gotten back from an afternoon run, grabbing water bottles out of the fridge and joining Peter on the barstools.
"See, Mr. Stark! Even Clint wants to watch it! He's been preparing himself all day," Peter said somberly. "Plus, you know for a fact I'm turning seventeen in three weeks. Don't pretend you really don't think I'm old enough for this."
"I'm not pretending! This movie looks way too scary for comfort. You have enough nightmares about legitimate problems, you don't need to be dreaming about getting possessed or being descended from a group of satanic cultists. Hard pass, we're watching something else." Tony looked adamant. He turned to Nat, because she could sweet talk Peter into anything.
"I know you've been waiting to see the movie for awhile Peter, but maybe you just have to wait a little while longer. Let's be honest, Bruce was probably going to get scared anyway, and that would make Steve feel like doing the moral thing and turning it off for them." After Nat said that, Tony looked triumphant.
"Tony just speaks for himself," she went on. "Obviously he's using you to cover up the fact that little girls seeing dead people scares the shit out of him." Natasha smirked. She was getting Tony riled up, an age old tactic that might tease him into letting them see the movie. It wouldn't work, but discreetly, she signed under the table that she had the bootleg downloaded to her laptop. Peter grinned, and thanked God Tony had decided he needed to learn ASL. It was dead useful for overcoming the audible sensory overload his powers sometimes gave him, when all of his senses were dialed up to eleven. It also functioned as his own secret language - one only he, Nat, and Clint could speak.
"Fine then, Mr. Stark. If you're too scared to watch Hereditary, I understand. Maybe someday when you're older, you'll be ready. For now we can watch something childish, so you all don't get scared. Maybe not Bambi though," he said with a glance at Clint. Clint gave him a not so discreet hand gesture that you didn't need ASL to interpret.
And that was how he found himself on the couch of the Avengers compound, under three blankets and balancing a second bowl of the good kind of popcorn between him and Wanda, listening to a man with a wax mustache and a perm sing on about the pirates' life. It was no spontaneous combustion, but he thought he would live, as long as Sam decided not to call him Peter Pan Jr. for the rest of the weekend.
Oh my god, I'm glad so many people liked the first chapter. Please please please drop a review, it would mean the world! And thank you so much for all the follows!