Chapter Text
Chapter 1
The low hum of idle conversation filled the Midtown High science classroom as students settled into their seats, half-listening while Mr. Harrington stood at the front, a clipboard in hand. He cleared his throat, beaming with an enthusiasm that was rare for a man constantly on the verge of a nervous breakdown.
"Alright, class, big news—our annual field trip is officially set!" he announced, bouncing slightly on his heels.
A few students perked up. Others barely reacted, still scrolling through their phones. Peter, who had just managed to slouch comfortably in his seat, barely lifted his head.
"This year," Mr. Harrington continued, clearly savoring the suspense, "we’re going somewhere extra special..."
There was a pause. The room quieted, students leaning in slightly. Peter barely paid attention, doodling nonsense equations in the margin of his notebook. It wasn’t until the words left Mr. Harrington’s mouth that his pencil stilled mid-stroke.
"We’ve been invited to tour Avengers Tower."
The reaction was immediate. The classroom exploded into chatter. Someone cheered. A few students gasped in disbelief. Flash Thompson punched the air.
Peter, on the other hand, slumped forward with an exaggerated groan, banging his forehead lightly against his notebook.
"Nope. No way. Not happening," he muttered.
"Dude!" Ned grabbed his arm in excitement. "Do you know what this means?! We’re gonna see Stark tech! Maybe even meet Iron Man! What if we get to tour the labs? What if we get to see the Iron Man suits?!"
Peter rolled his eyes. "Ned, you have already met Iron Man."
Ned waved a hand dismissively. "Well, yeah, but I haven’t seen the rest of it! What if we meet the other Avengers? What if we get to see the Quinjet? What if—"
Peter closed his eyes like he was physically in pain. "Or," he countered, "what if they find out and decide to embarrass me? My life will be ruined."
"Ugh, yes, how tragic," MJ deadpanned from the next row, flipping a page in her book without looking up. "Truly, my heart bleeds for you."
Peter sat up abruptly and shot his hand into the air. "Uh, Mr. Harrington?"
The teacher sighed like he already knew this was going to be annoying. "Yes, Peter?"
"What if, hypothetically, someone couldn't go? Like, say, they have a—uh—personal thing?"
"It’s a mandatory trip for all students," Mr. Harrington said without missing a beat.
Peter exhaled in frustration, leaning back in his chair. "Oh well. That’s too bad, I guess—"
"—And," Mr. Harrington continued, raising his voice slightly over the still-buzzing classroom, "if you want to stay on the Academic Decathlon team, you have to go."
Peter froze. His stomach dropped.
Mr. Harrington’s eyes flicked pointedly to him.
Ned, beside him, sucked in a breath. "Dude. He’s talking about you."
"HA!" Flash barked out a laugh from across the room, smirking as he turned in his seat. "You’re totally trying to get out of this because you know your lies are gonna catch up to you, Parker. Just admit it now, man, you’re toast."
Mr. Harrington's expression darkened as he crossed his arms. "Flash, that kind of language directed at another student is completely unacceptable. You know better than that." His tone was firm, the usual nervous energy replaced with a rare moment of authority. "Consider this your warning."
Peter resisted the urge to smack his head against the desk again. This was bad. If he backed out, Aunt May would definitely ask why he was suddenly okay with dropping out of AcaDec. He had no excuse that wouldn’t sound suspicious.
Okay. New plan. He had to make sure Tony Stark never found out he was there with his class.
Peter leaned toward Ned. "Okay. What if we hack FRIDAY?"
Ned’s entire body stiffened. "Nope."
"Ned—"
"Nope."
"Come on, you hacked Karen!"
"And Tony knows I helped you hack Karen!" Ned whisper-hissed, hands flailing slightly. "I am not getting on his bad side."
"But—"
"Nope!" Ned crossed his arms. "I like being alive, thank you."
Peter let out a long sigh, slumping against the desk as Mr. Harrington started passing out permission slips. "I need these signed by Monday," he said cheerfully, completely oblivious to Peter’s existential crisis.
The bell rang. Students rushed out, buzzing with excitement over the trip. Peter stayed frozen in his seat, staring at the permission slip in defeat.
MJ strolled past him, smirking. "You look pale, Parker. You gonna make it?"
Peter muttered under his breath, "Doubt it."
He shoved the permission slip into his backpack, already dreading the next week.
The drive to Avengers Tower was mostly quiet, save for the hum of the engine and the occasional sound of Happy muttering under his breath at other drivers. Peter sat in the passenger seat, idly tapping his fingers against his thigh, watching the city blur past through the window. He couldn't wait to get to the tower where he would be staying with Tony for the weekend, like he did every other weekend.
It wasn’t that he minded the silence—Happy wasn’t exactly the chatty type—but there was something weirdly comfortable about it. Like even though Happy acted like he had better places to be, he never actually was anywhere else when Peter needed a ride.
As they pulled into the underground garage of the Tower, Happy smoothly navigated toward the private entrance leading to the penthouse elevator. He put the car in park but didn’t unlock the doors yet.
Peter turned to him expectantly. This was the part where Happy would try to act like he didn’t care.
Sure enough, Happy sighed, rubbing a hand down his face before speaking.
"Try not to break anything. Or die. Your aunt will kill me."
Peter grinned. There it was.
"Aww, Happy, you do care."
Happy shot him a flat look. "Get out of my car."
Peter laughed as he grabbed his backpack and pushed open the door. Still grinning, he threw a mock-salute over his shoulder.
"Love you too, buddy."
"OUT."
Peter barely dodged the not-so-playful swat aimed at his arm before the door shut behind him. He chuckled to himself as he headed toward the elevator, still grinning. Stepping inside, he hit the button for the penthouse and leaned against the wall, expecting a quiet ride up.
The doors slid open, and the moment he stepped out, chaos erupted.
Sam and Clint were in the middle of an all-out prank war. A nerf dart whizzed past Peter’s ear, followed by a handful of popcorn soaring through the air. Natasha sat on the couch, munching away like this was her evening entertainment. Bucky was in the corner, arms crossed, completely ignoring the madness.
Tony, barely looking up from his tablet, smirked. "Oh good, Underoos is here. Maybe he can teach these two how to prank with actual skill."
Peter barely had time to process the situation before both Clint and Sam spotted him. Their eyes lit up in unison, and Peter instantly regretted stepping out of the elevator.
"Parker! Just the guy we need," Clint called, ducking behind the couch as Sam lobbed a water balloon in his direction.
"Nope. No way. Not getting involved," Peter said, hands up in surrender as he tried to back away.
Big mistake.
Clint and Sam exchanged a glance before both turned on him. "Oh, he’s fair game now," Sam declared with a grin.
Before Peter could react, Clint lunged for the kitchen. Sam darted toward the sink, fiddling with something under the counter. Peter took a wary step back. "Guys… guys, let’s be rational here."
A second later, the kitchen faucet erupted in a jet of neon blue water, splattering Peter across the chest.
"Welcome to the war, kid," Sam said smugly.
Clint leaned against the counter, arms crossed. "Hope you like blue."
Peter wiped the dripping water from his face and exhaled sharply. "Oh, it’s on."
Without missing a beat, he turned to Natasha, who was still watching from the couch. "Nat, you down for some revenge?"
She took a slow sip of her coffee. "I don’t usually participate in childish games."
Peter tilted his head, giving her his best wide-eyed look. "Please?"
Natasha smirked. "Fine. But if we do this, we do it right."
A swirl of green mist appeared beside them, and Loki materialized with a grin. "I was listening. You had me at revenge."
Clint and Sam looked at each other. "Oh, we’re dead," Clint muttered.
They both turned to Bucky, their last hope. "Come on, man, you’ve gotta even this out," Sam pleaded.
Bucky, completely unfazed, took a sip of his coffee and shook his head. "Nyet. I am always on the little spider’s side."
Sam groaned. "Traitor."
Before the war could escalate further, FRIDAY’s voice rang out through the penthouse speakers. "Dinner is ready."
Tony, appearing out of seemingly nowhere, clapped his hands together. "Alright, enough destruction. Everyone, wash the glitter and shame off your faces. We’re eating."
Sam crossed his arms. "What if I’m not hungry?"
Tony didn’t miss a beat. "Then perish."
Peter snorted into his sleeve, but Loki, standing beside him, actually looked concerned.
Steve shot Tony a look, clearly unimpressed with his choice of words, but ultimately relieved that the chaos was being paused.
Grumbling, the team slowly began filtering toward the dining area, some still lightly bickering as they went.
Peter, however, saw an opportunity. As everyone got up, he reached for a small prank device he had stashed earlier, planning to set one last trap before dinner.
Natasha, ever observant, caught his wrist before he could activate it. She raised an unimpressed eyebrow. "After dinner, kid."
Peter sighed dramatically but didn’t argue. There would be plenty of time for revenge later.
The long dining table was already set, courtesy of FRIDAY and some very well-paid staff. The team began taking their usual spots, but, as always, seating arrangements were a battle in themselves.
Clint refused to sit next to Sam. Sam refused to sit next to Loki. Peter tried to sit next to Natasha, but before he could settle, Tony hooked a hand around the back of his hoodie and pulled him down into the seat between himself and Bucky.
Steve sighed and took his usual place at the head of the table, muttering something about overgrown children.
As soon as Peter picked up his utensils, he froze. FRIDAY, proving yet again that she was an agent of chaos, had given him an absurd amount of fancy cutlery. He stared at the overwhelming number of forks and knives, brow furrowing in confusion.
Tony, smirking, leaned back and watched. "Go on, kid. Impress us with your fine dining skills."
Bucky, deadpan, nudged Peter’s elbow. "You start from the outside and work your way in, kid."
Peter squinted at the ridiculous number of forks. "Or, hear me out… what if I just use my hands?"
Steve, already rubbing his temples, shot him a warning look. Peter immediately grabbed a fork, deciding not to test his luck.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the table, Clint and Sam sat across from each other, arms crossed, eyes narrowed. Eventually, Sam spoke first. "No pranks during dinner?"
Clint sighed. "Fine. Temporary ceasefire."
They shook on it.
And then, the truce was instantly broken when Clint subtly reached for the salt shaker and absolutely drenched Sam’s food in salt. Sam, glaring, took his revenge by swapping Clint’s drink with a glass of vinegar.
The moment Clint took a sip, he nearly choked, gagging loudly while Sam smirked in victory.
"Aren’t you guys on the same team?" Peter asked, glancing between them.
Both Clint and Sam blinked, then simultaneously turned their focus onto Peter, as if considering whether to redirect their antics toward him instead.
Before they could try, Bucky—who had been eating in peace—slowly set down his fork and sent them both a Winter Soldier-level glare.
Neither of them said a word. They went back to their food immediately.
From behind, Natasha leaned down and murmured in Sam’s ear, "Good choice."
Sam, who had not noticed her sneaking up, jumped nearly a foot in the air, knocking over his water. Natasha just smirked and returned to her seat as if nothing had happened.
As dinner continued, Natasha’s sharp eyes flickered toward Peter. Something was off. He was eating, sure, but his attention kept drifting toward his backpack, which sat on the counter nearby. His shoulders were a little too tense, his usual ease dulled by something he wasn’t saying.
Leaning slightly, she murmured, "You’ve been looking at your bag all night. What’s up?"
Peter hesitated mid-bite, then forced a shrug. "Nothing. Just thinking about my homework."
Natasha didn’t press, but she filed the observation away for later.
At some point, Steve brought up upcoming missions, shifting the conversation to work. Natasha, keeping an eye on Peter, casually asked, "How’s school going?"
Peter, still mid-bite, hesitated for just a second before answering. "Y’know. Same old, same old."
Tony nudged Peter’s plate slightly. "You eating enough, kid? You look like you’ve been running on fumes."
Peter rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. "Yes, Dad, I eat." He said it sarcastically, but the second the word slipped out, he froze.
The table went silent for half a second.
Clint and Sam immediately snickered. Bucky smirked, taking a slow sip of his drink, like he had been waiting for this moment. Natasha raised an eyebrow knowingly, while Steve just shook his head with a faint smile.
Peter, backtracking hard, started waving his hands. "I—I meant Dad as in, like, in a totally teasing, definitely-not-real way— I mean, not that you— I mean, I didn’t mean—"
Tony, to Peter’s surprise, just smirked and shrugged. "Relax, Underoos. If the shoe fits... You can call me that if you want."
Peter didn’t know what to say. His face burned, and he quickly ducked his head, suddenly very focused on his plate.
Tony, in full dad mode, ruffled his hair. "Just sayin’. No pressure."
After dinner, Peter tried to slip away to his room, still flustered from the accidental "Dad" slip-up. He made it halfway down the hall before he heard someone clear their throat behind him.
Peter startled, turning to see Tony leaning casually against the doorframe of his room, arms crossed. "Jeez, Mr. Stark—" He stopped himself, still feeling the weight of his earlier slip. "I mean—Tony—uh—what’s up?"
Tony smirked. "Y’know, for a kid with super senses, you spook easy."
Peter huffed, stepping inside his room, but Tony followed, hands in his pockets. He didn’t look like he was here for a lecture, more like he was trying to read Peter’s mood. Settling himself on the edge of Peter’s desk, Tony tilted his head. "Look, kid. I just wanted to check in. You seemed a little… I dunno. Off."
Peter shrugged, sitting on his bed and kicking off his shoes. "I’m fine. Just… y’know. Wasn’t expecting to call you ‘Dad’ in front of, like, literally everyone."
Tony nodded, watching him carefully. "Yeah, I noticed."
Peter let out a nervous laugh, running a hand through his hair. "I mean, it just kinda slipped out, and—" He stopped, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. "But… it didn’t feel wrong. It just… I dunno."
Tony stayed quiet for a beat, letting Peter fill the space if he wanted to. The kid looked conflicted, staring down at his hands like the words he wanted to say were written on his palms.
Peter sighed, shaking his head. "It’s just… May’s great, you know? And I know she loves me. But having someone else—having you—"
He hesitated, glancing up through his lashes, unsure if he should keep going. Tony didn’t push.
Peter swallowed hard and looked away again. "I guess I just don’t want to mess it up."
Tony didn’t push. He just let Peter take his time.
Peter hesitated for a second.
Then, soft but sure, he said, "I think I do want to call you that." He swallowed, voice barely above a whisper. "You’re my dad."
Tony’s heart stopped.
For just a second, he couldn’t speak. He couldn’t even move. The words hit him harder than any explosion, any battle, any near-death experience he’d ever had.
His chest tightened. His fingers twitched. The urge to deflect, to make it easier, to crack a joke and brush past the weight of it all—it was instinctive, ingrained in him like armor.
But Peter deserved more than that.
So Tony did something he rarely did—he let his walls down.
He stepped forward and pulled Peter into a hug.
Not the casual, one-armed ruffle on the head, not the playful shoves or side hugs. A real, tight, unshakable hug. Like he was holding onto something he couldn’t afford to lose. Like he needed this just as much as Peter did.
Peter froze for half a second—because Tony Stark didn’t do hugs.
But then he melted into it.
Because Tony Stark was hugging him, his dad was hugging him. And this time, he wasn’t letting go first.
Peter squeezed his eyes shut, gripping the back of Tony’s shirt like it was the only thing grounding him. He hadn’t realized how much he needed this—how much he had been craving this kind of steady, unwavering presence. For awhile now, it had been just him and May, and she was amazing, but there were moments where he had felt the absence of something he couldn’t name.
Until now.
Tony smelled like cologne and something mechanical, the faint scent of oil and metal always lingering on him. It was familiar, comforting in a way Peter hadn’t expected. His heart was pounding, not from nerves, but from the overwhelming relief of finally saying it. Of not having to second-guess or walk it back.
Tony held him like he belonged there. Like this wasn’t weird, or too much, or something they had to pretend didn’t happen afterward.
Peter’s breath hitched. "I— I mean it," he mumbled against Tony’s shoulder. "I don’t wanna just say it once and pretend like I didn’t."
Tony swallowed hard, his voice quieter now. "You know… I think of you as my kid too."
Peter’s grip on Tony’s shirt tightened. He knew. Of course, he knew. But hearing it? That was different. That made it real in a way that sent warmth spreading through his chest, settling deep like an anchor.
Tony exhaled, squeezing Peter’s shoulder. "I don’t always say the right things. I mess up a lot. But this? You? That’s real, kid."
His voice was steady, sure, like he wanted to make certain Peter understood. "You’re family."
Peter nodded against Tony’s chest, his voice small but firm. "Yeah. You too."
Tony pulled back just enough to look at him, studying his face. "So… ‘Dad,’ huh?" A smirk tugged at his lips. "That’s official now?"
Peter, feeling lighter than he had in a long time, smiled just a little and nodded. "Yeah. It’s official."
Tony ruffled his hair again, but softer this time. "Good. ‘Cause there’s no getting rid of me now."
Peter laughed, a real, genuine laugh, his eyes brighter now. Like he finally let himself have this.
As Tony stood to leave, he hesitated for just a second, as if making sure Peter was really okay. He gave a final squeeze to Peter’s shoulder before turning toward the door.
Peter watched him go, feeling warmth still settled deep in his chest, the weight of the moment lingering. And before Tony could step out completely, the words tumbled out, soft but certain.
"’Night, Dad."
Tony stopped mid-step.
The words hit him like a truck.
He took a breath, steadying himself. If he turned around, he wasn’t sure if he’d make this weird or turn it into some big thing. And he knew Peter didn’t need that. He just needed this to be.
So instead, Tony kept his back to him, voice soft, steady, real.
"’Night, bambino."
And when he left, he stayed in the hallway for a second.
Just breathing.
Because damn.
The room was dark, quiet, and perfect for sleeping—until FRIDAY shattered the peace.
"Good morning, Peter. It is currently 6:30 AM. Mr. Stark has requested that you be awake and functioning."
A low groan came from beneath a mound of blankets. "Five more minutes..."
FRIDAY, completely unbothered, continued. "You have exactly thirty seconds before I escalate to airhorn mode."
Peter shot up so fast he nearly fell out of bed. "I’m up! I’m up! FRIDAY, you’re evil."
"That is incorrect. I am efficient."
Muttering something about heartless AIs, Peter stumbled out of bed, rubbing sleep from his eyes as he dragged himself toward the bathroom. His legs felt like lead, his brain wasn’t fully functional yet, and all he wanted was to curl back up under his blankets.
But no. This was the price of staying at the Tower. The Tony Stark experience came with perks, but it also came with an AI that had no mercy.
He splashed cold water on his face, blinking blearily at his reflection in the mirror. His hair was an absolute mess, and his pajamas were wrinkled beyond saving. He yawned, stretching, then shuffled out of the bathroom and into the common area, still half-asleep. The smell of food and coffee drifted through the air, but his brain hadn’t caught up enough to process anything beyond the need to sit down and consume caffeine.
The moment he stepped into the kitchen, he was greeted by the usual morning chaos: Steve flipping eggs like some kind of breakfast sergeant, Clint blatantly trying to steal Sam’s waffles, and Loki nursing a mug of coffee with the look of someone regretting every decision that led him to this moment. Natasha sat at the counter, lazily flipping through a newspaper, unbothered by the madness, while Bucky observed everything in stoic amusement. Meanwhile, Thor sat at the table, already surrounded by a pile of empty Pop-Tart wrappers.
And of course, there was Tony—fully awake, sipping an espresso, and looking far too smug for this early in the morning.
Peter barely made it to a seat before a coffee cup slid in front of him. "Morning, bambino," Tony greeted, smirking over the rim of his own mug.
Peter, grumbling and too tired to think, mumbled as he reached for the cup, "Not morning, Dad. Just a continuation of last night."
He took a long sip, blissfully unaware of the way the entire room had frozen around him.
Steve's eyebrows lifted slightly as he glanced toward Tony, a look of quiet surprise crossing his face. Natasha smirked knowingly over her newspaper, not even bothering to hide her amusement. Bucky simply nodded, taking another sip of his own coffee like this was the most natural thing in the world.
Across the table, Clint and Sam locked eyes, their expressions shifting from shock to matching, mischievous grins. Loki tilted his head, observing Peter with mild intrigue, as if this was an unexpected but entertaining development.
And then there was Tony.
Chest puffed out just a little, the smuggest, most self-satisfied smirk tugging at his lips. He didn’t say anything right away, but the phrase That’s right, he called me Dad might as well have been flashing in neon lights above his head.
Peter, still too caught up in his coffee to notice the shift in atmosphere, finally blinked at the eerie silence. "…What?"
Immediately, everyone snapped back into motion, eating as if nothing had happened.
Tony reached out and gave Peter’s shoulder a firm pat, still grinning. "Nothing, Roo. Just proud of you."
Peter frowned, still groggy and confused, but ultimately shrugged and went back to drinking his coffee, missing the way Clint and Sam were barely containing their laughter. Steve shook his head with a faint chuckle, while Natasha simply turned the page of her newspaper, unimpressed but clearly amused.
Tony, meanwhile, took a slow sip of his espresso, looking entirely too pleased with himself. "Alright, listen up," Steve finally said, clearing his throat to get everyone’s attention. "Reminder that we have group training this weekend. No skipping."
A collective groan came from Clint and Sam.
Clint huffed, crossing his arms. "Why does Banner get to skip? That's not fair."
Steve, unfazed, replied, "Because he’s in the middle of an important research project. Unless you want to assist him with gamma radiation testing?"
Clint immediately shook his head. "Nope, I’m good."
"And Wanda, Vision, and Pietro will be back from their mission on Sunday," Steve continued.
Natasha nodded like she already knew, while Loki, deadpan as ever, muttered, "Oh, joy. More chaos."
Thor, ever the optimist, grinned. "It will be good to have them back! More allies, more stories, and perhaps—more Pop-Tarts!"
Bucky exhaled through his nose, unimpressed. "More noise."
Sam smirked. "More competition. Wanda still owes me a rematch from the last training session."
Clint snorted. "Yeah, 'cause getting thrown across the room by telekinesis totally counts as a close match."
Sam pointed his fork at him. "She got lucky."
Natasha rolled her eyes, clearly unimpressed with all of them. "You’re all children." She flipped the page of her newspaper without looking up. "Except the actual child, who is somehow the most mature person at this table."
Peter, mid-sip of coffee, raised a tired hand. "Thanks, I think?"
Clint scoffed. "Please, we’re functioning adults."
"Barely," Bucky muttered into his coffee.
Meanwhile, across the table, a new argument was brewing.
"You used all the syrup!" Sam accused, glaring at Clint.
Clint, completely unapologetic, shrugged. "That sounds like a you problem."
Peter, still sipping his coffee, watched the exchange with interest. Then, a slow, mischievous grin spread across his face. He had been waiting for the perfect moment, and now it had arrived.
Reaching into his backpack, he discreetly pulled out a small bottle of syrup—one he had prepared the night before. It looked completely normal, but it had one special addition: web-fluid properties that made it ridiculously sticky.
Feigning innocence, Peter held it up. "Oh hey, I found some extra syrup. You guys want it?"
Clint and Sam, too caught up in their battle of wills, barely spared him a glance before grabbing it without question.
The second they poured it, their hands stuck instantly to their forks.
Cue immediate panic.
"What the—?!"
Sam’s eyes widened in horror. "WHY CAN’T I LET GO?!"
Clint yanked at his fork, only to find it completely glued to his fingers. "PARKER!"
Peter took a slow, smug sip of his coffee. "Huh. Weird."
Natasha, watching the chaos unfold, arched an eyebrow, mildly impressed. "That was efficient."
Bucky smirked, finally setting his coffee down. "Little spider has fangs."
Tony?
He just laughed and did absolutely nothing to stop it.
The last remnants of breakfast were being cleared away, the morning chaos settling into something resembling peace. Plates clinked as they were stacked, coffee mugs were refilled, and for a brief moment, everything felt almost normal.
Then Steve stood, ever the responsible one, and gave the inevitable reminder. "Alright, training at 2 PM. Try not to show up covered in glitter this time."
He leveled a pointed look at Clint and Sam.
Sam groaned, rubbing his temples. "One time. One time, and I never live it down."
Tony, sipping his coffee, smirked. "Oh no, no. The fact that it was neon glitter makes it eternal."
Peter, looking entirely too innocent, chimed in. "Yeah, Sam, you should really be more careful."
Sam narrowed his eyes at him. "I don’t trust you."
Natasha just sipped her tea, unreadable, while Loki watched the exchange with mild amusement.
One by one, the Avengers began to disperse. Steve headed off to review mission reports, Bucky disappeared with his coffee, and Clint went to check his arrows. Sam, still eyeing Peter suspiciously, left for his morning run. Thor? Likely off raiding the kitchen for more Pop-Tarts.
That left Peter, Natasha, and Loki still seated at the table. They exchanged glances.
Peter leaned forward, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "So… strategy meeting?"
Natasha smirked. "Obviously."
Loki crossed his arms, a slow, devious smile forming. "It is time for retribution."
Peter grinned. "I love it when you get dramatic about this."
Natasha rolled her eyes but motioned for them to follow. "Come on, let’s find a secure location."
They made their way to Natasha’s go-to safe room—a hidden nook in the Tower that Peter swore was her personal spy lair. The walls were lined with monitors, a sleek metal table in the center. As they spread out their "war plans," Peter flipped open his notebook, revealing pages of scribbles, diagrams, and pure chaos.
"Alright," Peter said, tapping his pen against the page. "Let’s ruin some mornings."
He flipped to the first page of his notebook, holding up a small vial of shimmering liquid. "First up—Operation Pretty Bird. This… is the key to ruining Sam Wilson’s entire day."
Loki leaned in, intrigued. "Explain."
Peter grinned. "Bruce helped me cook up a dye that reacts to body heat. The moment Sam’s wings activate? Bright. Neon. Pink."
Natasha nodded approvingly. "Effective. Subtle. Impossible to prove in court."
Loki smirked. "I approve."
Peter, rubbing his hands together, added, "Now we just have to swap out his flight gear before training."
Natasha smirked. "Leave that to me."
Loki steepled his fingers, looking far too excited. "Now, Barton. I have something special planned for him."
Peter flipped a page in his notebook. "What kind of enchantments are we talking about?"
Loki, listing them off with delight: "A boxing glove arrow that punches him in the nose. One that screams 'For Asgard' in my brother’s voice upon release. A confetti explosion instead of an actual arrowhead. And one that… simply returns to chase him every time he shoots it."
Peter started laughing immediately. "Oh my God, please tell me you can actually do this."
Loki, smug, waved a hand. "I am not just some sorcerer. It shall be done."
Natasha, raising an eyebrow, leaned back. "Just make sure he doesn’t actually injure someone with those."
Loki dismissed her concern with a casual flick of his fingers. "Fine, fine. Minimal injuries."
Peter scribbled it down in his notebook. "We’ll switch them before training."
Loki casually leaned back, a glint of mischief in his eyes. "You know, a good prank is all about timing. And suffering."
Peter and Natasha exchanged looks.
"Go on," Peter prompted, intrigued.
Loki smirked. "I will enchant Wilson and Barton’s chairs to be invisible."
Peter immediately cackled. "Oh, that’s evil."
Natasha nodded, impressed. "Classic. Subtle. No one gets harmed. It works."
Peter was already imagining Sam confidently dropping into his chair—only to fall straight to the floor. "Okay, we’re doing this."
Peter flipped another page in his notebook. "Alright. I had another idea, but we need a little outside help."
Natasha raised an eyebrow. "Who?"
Peter smirked. "Bucky."
Loki scoffed. "The brooding assassin? He will not lower himself to such petty antics."
Peter, grinning, leaned back. "Wanna bet?"
Peter strolled into the common area, scanning for his target. Bucky sat off to the side, cradling a cup of coffee, his gaze locked on Clint and Sam’s latest argument. His expression was unreadable, but the slight twitch of his brow suggested he was at least mildly entertained.
Grinning, Peter slid into the seat next to him, drumming his fingers against the table. "Sooo, how do you feel about some light revenge?"
Bucky side-eyed him. "…What kind of revenge?"
Peter placed his notebook in front of him, flipping to the page labeled: SAM’S ROOM—TOTAL BIRD TAKEOVER.
Bucky stared at it for a second.
Then, slowly, a small smirk tugged at his lips. "I’m listening."
Pigeon bedsheets. Pigeon posters. A mechanical parrot that says “Polly want a cracker” every time the door opens. Pigeon plushies EVERYWHERE. Feathers on the fan. CHAOS.
Back in Natasha’s spy room, the trio sat around the table, reviewing their finalized plan. Natasha leaned back in her chair, smirking. "Solid strategy. If this were a real mission, I’d almost be impressed."
Loki stood, looking smug as ever. "By the time I am through, Barton and Wilson shall know true suffering."
Peter grinned, snapping his notebook shut. "Alright. Let’s get to work."
Elsewhere in the Tower, Sam and Clint went about their day, blissfully unaware of the storm brewing against them. Clint meticulously checked over his arrows, never suspecting the surprises waiting for him in his quiver. Sam stretched before his run, oblivious to the horror his room would become. Neither noticed the quiet smirks exchanged between Peter, Natasha, and Loki as they moved with purpose, their plan already in motion.