#Ned: IS THIS OLD STONEFACE?

[cakesandfail]

Every time I get to this bit I wonder how much Sam Vimes looks like Suffer-Not-Injustice Vimes, because if they do look alike then this is even better than it already is

[garamonder]

Trust Falls, a Spider-Man: Homecoming story

Trust Falls

Even after the Avengers reunite, Peter harbors doubts about his place on the team.

1608 words - General, Friendship

Peter Parker, Ned, Aunt May, references to the other Avengers.

AO3, Fanfiction.net, or:

“But…this is like the dream, right?” asked Ned, taking the gun turret and fastening it securely in place. “The gang’s back together and you’re part of it. You’re like, really an Avenger now, for real.”

Peter was not so sure. “I’m not an Avenger ’til I sign the Accords, and the Accords say no secret identities,” he said glumly. It was a point he hadn’t originally considered during his enthusiastic ‘probation’ period. He pawed around one of the neatly organized piles of Lego pieces until he found the next one.

There was a chance he may not have to worry about the Accords much longer, as the cataclysmic events that had brought the Avengers back together had also served to underscore how inadequate the legislation really was, and a protest had gone up anew. Even Everett Ross had done an about-face after some time in Wakanda, which surprised them more than anybody.

Not to mention, the UN had been happier when Tony Stark was footing the major bills.

“Still, though…you’re hanging out with Thor!”

In truth, Thor had mostly ignored him. Peter couldn’t really blame him; the guy was AWOL for the breach and had been totally bemused when a kid in red-and-blue spandex had swung into the fight. Somebody had wisecracked about spider monkeys and Peter felt suddenly like an asinine kid, even though he’d more than held his own.

Peter held up their half-completed Millennium Falcon while Ned fitted another piece.

The Avengers’ reunion was awkward but touching, the super heroes drawn inexorably together in the moment of crisis. During the battle Peter had the same breezy rapport he’d had with his teammates at the Leipzig airport, but when the dust settled he’d found himself in his usual spot, on the outside looking in. The fracture was tentatively mended, and it was nothing to do with him.

At least nobody had taken up the “Penis Parker” chant DJ Flash had made so popular.

“I dunno if I fit in,” he mumbled.

“Sure you do,” said Ned. “You’ve got superpowers. It’s kind of an exclusive club.”

It sure was, but Peter’s innate tendency to orbit the inner circle from afar apparently lent itself to even the Avengers. At the end, when they’d all drifted toward each other and reclaimed some lost unity, he’d lingered on the fringe. He yearned to join in but was held back by an inexplicable guilt, like he was intruding on someone else’s history.

Also, it didn’t do much for teambuilding that he did not take off his mask around them. He was hyper-aware of being the only one to stick stubbornly to keeping a secret identity, wandering around in his suit when everyone else was barefaced. The others either had bigger-than-life personas that eclipsed any alter egos they could play at and were indifferent to the idea, or they simply had never had the opportunity for secrecy. Surely Banner would have preferred it, given the chance.

He liked them, he even trusted them, but he knew they would not die to protect his secret.

Maybe he was just the substitute hero. He didn’t think he’d spoken aloud until Ned scoffed.

“Dude, give yourself some credit! At the very least you’re the honorary Avenger. Auxiliary squad. Is this one of those ‘never meet your hero’ things?” He took the Falcon model and examined it from every angle approvingly.

“No!” said Peter, which he meant. “They’re everything you’d want them to be. I don’t…maybe that’s the problem. They’re like myths. Larger than life. I go around giving old ladies directions to the G train.”

“Which they buy you churros for,” said Ned.

Peter did like churros.

“And it’s not like they go around getting ladies’ purses back. That stuff matters too, you know. They’re not better than you just because they save it for Loki or whatever.” Ned glanced up from the Falcon, knowing he’d hit a point.

“I guess,” Peter conceded. He liked doing the little things, like getting cats down from trees and recovering bikes. Maybe they didn’t keep the world safe, but they did brighten somebody’s day. And he felt good when he was there for the house fires and holdups, serious events that still rated somewhere below ‘world-ending’ on the spectrum of importance.

As if reading his thoughts, Ned set down the Falcon and said, “Besides, you can save the world and all but it’s not gonna stop some asshole from sticking up a bodega. You can’t let ‘em think they can operate below the radar.”

Ned was right. Feeling better, Peter took the Lego model and admired their progress. For once he was ahead of his homework and it felt great to spend a little time on geeking out. There was a little Lego Chewbacca you were supposed to snap into the co-pilot’s seat, but they mischeviously switched him to the first pilot’s chair instead. Han Solo got the co-pilot.

“Has Stark called you or anything since you got back?” asked Ned, leaning back against the bunk. They both were biding their time until Aunt May’s inevitable suggestion of going out for some Thai.

“Naw,” Peter said. “Probably busy reuniting. Doing trust falls and stuff.”

He wasn’t bitter about it. To tell the truth, he was kind of relieved. Happy was in contact every now and then, so Peter wasn’t worried there was a problem on Tony’s end, and he was a little glad to back off the fringes.

“That’s a lot of trust falls they gotta do. If I were you, I’d crash the party.”

“Uh-huh. ‘I’m not old enough to drink or order crap from late-night infomercials, but I can totally hang with you guys.’ They’d love that.”

Ned took the Falcon back. “This isn’t Midtown High. They’re grownups, you know? It’s not like you’re dealing with, I don’t know, Flash Thompson or whoever. It’s not a clique, there’s no homecoming king.”

Maybe not, Peter reflected. Maybe this was all in his head, and Mr. Stark was bewildered by Peter’s uncharacteristic silence and waiting for him to reach out first. He resolved to do it soon. Just, maybe not that day. Maybe the next. Or next week, after Peter had taken his driver’s test. Getting his license wouldn’t exactly place him on a level with Captain America, but it was one of those little things Peter still cared about.

It wasn’t like the Avengers were jerks. They were pretty cool, really. Noticing the youth fidgeting on the edges, wanting to join in but uncertain if he had the right, Captain America had even pulled him into a debate about the best delis in New York, each of them certain of their own burough’s superiority and ribbing the other. Sam Wilson had started an argument about the designated hitter rule after somebody explained to Barnes what a designated hitter was. And Bruce Banner was always glad to yakk with somebody about particle physics. Peter was pretty sure he was also a Trekkie.

Aunt May pushed open his bedroom door. “Grab your jackets, boys, it’s Thai time.”

Ned whooped and snatched up his hoodie after gingerly placing their Falcon model on a stand. Both of the boys stared at it lovingly before trooping out after May, debating happily which joint had the best papaya salad. May was shooting down Ned’s declaration that the corner place four blocks away overseasoned the shrimp soup when Peter, following them down the stairwell, finally admitted to himself his biggest and most private reservation about the Avengers.

They were heroes. They were also killers.

This, not age, was the fundamental divide between them. They weren’t murderers, not at all—well, not anymore, anyway, in some cases—but they fought with an understanding that sometimes lethality was inevitable, while Peter had never accepted that as a given. They chalked it up to his youth, probably, just some naivety he’d grow out of.

He’d never confronted Mr. Stark about the lethal mode originally installed in his suit, which had been magically removed before Stark returned it to Peter following his fight with Toomes. Nor had Iron Man ever volunteered any explanation for it. But Peter hadn’t forgotten.

It was in the name; they avenged. If he were really one of them, how long before he allowed a death to just…happen?

When he’d dropped everything and risked his neck to snatch one of Loki’s minions before the man could fall to his death, he’d seen their faces. Black Widow gave him a guarded look, Banner was sympathetic, T’Challa stonefaced. Well, Wilson and Barnes and Rogers had all been soldiers, they’d signed on for this a long time ago, they expected enemy casualties. Afterward Cap had murmured something encouraging to him in a tone he couldn’t decipher.

Mr. Stark had actually been really angry, and if not for the other distractions he would have delivered a blistering lecture made the more furious for masking his worry over Peter.

Peter worried they’d think of him as a liability.

“Dude, no,” said Ned later, out of Aunt May’s earshot. Though she was aware of Peter’s “extra credit,” as it was referred to in compromised hearing, Peter didn’t like to address it in front of her. She was stressed out enough. “They need you. Like maybe even more than you need them.”

Peter snorted. “Not a chance.”

“Seriously. Stark came to you, both times. You’re totally the cavalry.”

Maybe, thought Peter, when Ned had gone home holding his container of leftovers. They’d get used to each other sooner or later, they had to.

(Anyway, it wasn’t long before the Avengers had to call in the cavalry again.)