"you're not allowed to scare me like that again"
The Quinjet touched down on the roof of the abandoned warehouse, its cloaking shields lowering as the engines powered down. Natasha Romanoff stepped out, surveying the area with a practiced eye. A light rain was falling, dots of moisture catching in her red hair. Other than the patter of water, the night was still and quiet.
Too quiet for her liking.
She glanced over her shoulder as Peter Parker hopped out of the jet, his blue and red suit vivid even in the darkness. He flipped up his mask as he joined Natasha, inhaling deeply.
"Ah, smell that fresh New York air," he quipped. Natasha suppressed a smile. The kid's energy was infectious. She wouldn't admit it, but she'd come to find his rambling endearing.
"Focus, Spider-Man," she said, lightly cuffing the back of his head. "We've got work to do."
Peter ducked away from her hand, grinning. "I'm focused, I'm focused! Come on, we gotta take down these evil weapons dealers. Pow!" He mimed a couple of punches.
Natasha let a short laugh escape. She couldn't help it. His youthful enthusiasm reminded her of...another young recruit, once upon a time. One with metals wings and a smart mouth. Her chest tightened at the thought of Sam.
No. She forced the pain down, locking it away to deal with later. For now, she needed to be present. Focused. She activated the scanner on her gauntlet, scanning for signs of life in the warehouse.
"I'm picking up fifteen heat signatures on the first floor," she reported. Peter nodded, face grave now beneath the mask.
"Let's get 'em," he said. Together they approached the roof access door. Natasha hacked through the keypad lock while Peter kept watch. With a click, the door opened. Natasha held up a fist, signaling Peter to wait. She slipped inside, trusting the spiderling to follow her lead.
They descended the stairs swiftly and silently, Natasha's widow bites at the ready. As they neared the bottom, voices drifted up - multiple men speaking low in Russian. She felt Peter tense behind her.
"Use your senses", she signed to him in their self-developed battle code. "Tell me what you detect."
Peter paused, head cocked. He held up two fingers, then made a walking motion with them. "Two guards approaching".
Natasha nodded approval. Peter's heightened senses made him a valuable recon asset. She pointed at him, then herself, miming that they'd each take a guard. Peter gave a thumbs up.
Natasha slowed her breathing, listening intently. The moment the guards' footfalls reached the stairwell entrance, she and Peter struck as one. Her widow bite discharged, dropping the first man soundlessly. Peter webbed the second guard's hands and mouth, following up with a blow to the head that left him unconscious. They dragged the bodies out of sight.
"Well done", Natasha signed. Peter's lenses widened in an imitation of a smile. She almost hated to lead him into danger...but the Avengers needed all hands on deck these days, even young ones. And Peter had proven himself many times over. Together they would get this done.
Natasha peered around the corner. A handful of men stood around crates of illegal Chitauri weaponry, negotiating with their buyer. She spotted the arms dealer in charge immediately - Viktor Pushkin. They'd been after him for months. Finally they had that slimy weasel cornered.
She counted ten hostiles in all. Odds she and Spider-Man could handle. She motioned the plan to Peter - web the buyer immediately so he couldn't rabbit, then she'd go high with her pistols while he struck from low with webs and fists. Peter bounced on his toes, fired up and ready to go.
"Wait for my signal", Natasha reminded him with a stern look. Impatient as always, but she needed him to follow her lead. Peter made an exaggerated sigh, but nodded.
Natasha adjusted her bite gauntlets, triple-checking her weapons. Once in position, she glanced back at Peter one last time. His gaze was focused, adrenaline thrumming through his coiled muscles. Natasha suddenly saw the boy who'd dropped everything and flown halfway across the universe to help his mentor. The boy who had dissolved to dust in Tony's arms.
Unthinking, she placed a hand on his shoulder. Their eyes met, unspoken emotion passing between them. Natasha squeezed gently.
"Be safe."
Peter's lenses softened. He patted her hand in return.
"I will."
Satisfied, Natasha stepped out of cover, pistols raised. "No one move!" she shouted. "Hands in the air!"
Chaos exploded. Peter instantly webbed the buyer to the wall. Natasha vaulted off a crate, firing her widow bites rapidly. Two men dropped but the rest scattered for cover, returning fire. Natasha twisted mid-air, bullets whizzing past as she landed and rolled. From the corner of her eye she saw Peter flip into action, webbing guns away and taking enemies down with targeted punches and kicks.
They fought in sync, Natasha flowing around Peter as he contorted between her shots. She took down two more with her bites as Peter disarmed the last of the guards with expert web shots. In moments only Pushkin remained, trembling behind a crate with his golden pistol leveled.
"It's over, Pushkin," Natasha said, stalking toward him. Her own guns were empty but she had another bite ready to fire. "Lower the weapon."
"Please, please don't hurt me!" Pushkin whimpered in Russian. "I surrender!"
He placed the pistol down, raising his hands. Natasha kept her aim steady. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Peter straighten from restraining the last fallen enemy, body language relaxed.
"Come on out," Natasha ordered Pushkin. He complied, still mouthing desperate pleas for mercy. Natasha's finger hovered over the trigger as he exited cover.
Without warning, Pushkin snatched up the pistol, whirling toward Peter. Two shots cracked the air before Natasha could fire.
"No!" The scream tore from her throat as she watched Peter twist sharply, too slow. Twin blossoms of red erupted on his chest. He crashed to the ground.
Pure rage coursed through Natasha's veins. With lethal precision she fired her widow bite straight into Pushkin's forehead. The arms dealer collapsed, dead before he hit the floor.
Natasha was at Peter's side in an instant, horror rising in her throat. Blood poured from the bullet holes beneath his spider emblem. Peter's chest heaved raggedly, eyes wide and panicked.
"Oh god. No no no." Natasha pressed her hands over the wounds. "Just hold on, Peter. Hold on!"
Peter sucked in a wet gasp, fingers scrabbling at his chest. "Hurts..." he choked.
Natasha blinked against the burning in her eyes. This was all her fault. She'd let the boy get hurt, let her guard down...
No. She couldn't lose it now. Peter needed her. With ruthless focus, she engaged the emergency nano-compressor in her gauntlet. The tiny bots flooded into Peter's wounds, expanding rapidly to stem the bleeding. Peter groaned in pain but his frantic gasping eased slightly. The nano-bots were buying him time.
Natasha grabbed Peter's hand, squeezing hard. "I've got you. Just stay with me."
"'s okay," Peter mumbled, bloody fingers tightening around hers. Natasha secured his mask back over his pale face.
"I'm getting you out of here," she said fiercely. "Stay still."
As gently as she could she lifted him in her arms. Peter was all gangly limbs, but enhanced strength made his weight manageable. She had to get him to the Quinjet's medbay stat.
Peter moaned as she carried him up the stairs, his head lolling against her shoulder. Natasha's gut clenched. "I know it hurts, but we're almost there," she soothed. "You're doing great. Just hold on."
She reached the roof access and hit the panel with her elbow. Cold rain pelted them as she made swiftly for the Quinjet, Peter cradled protectively to her chest. She refused to consider the possibility that she might be too late.
The cargo door lowered and Natasha raced inside, laying Peter on the medical table and slamming the emergency sequence. The Quinjet's scanners immediately activated, assessing his injuries with sterile beams of blue light.
"Multiple traumatic ruptures detected," the AI's calm voice reported. "Administering emergency treatment."
Mechanical arms extended over Peter, cutting away the blood-soaked suit. Natasha clenched his hand as the Quinjet injected him with anesthetic and injected skin sealant into the wounds. Bandages applied pressure while IV fluids and blood replenishers flowed into his veins.
Peter's pained breaths evened out as he lost consciousness. Only once his vitals stabilized did Natasha allow herself a shaky exhale. He was still critical, but the nano-bots and Quinjet treatments had prevented him from bleeding out. She silently thanked Tony again for equipping their gear with emergency tech. Peter would live - for now.
Exhaustion swept over her. Natasha collapsed into the chair beside the medbay table, head in her hands. God, how could she have let this happen? She was supposed to protect the kid, not let him get himself shot on her watch...
"I'm so sorry, Peter," she whispered. Sorrow threatened to crush her chest. She hadn't been fast enough. Hadn't been good enough to keep him safe. And now...now he could still die, if the internal damage or blood loss proved too extensive.
Peter didn't respond except for the beep of the heart monitor, reassuringly steady for now. Natasha carefully brushed a stray curl off his forehead.
"You're gonna be okay," she told him - an assurance for herself as much as him. "I've got you now. I won't let you down again."
The Quinjet engines rumbled as they turned toward home. Toward help Peter desperately needed. Natasha stayed anchored to his side, monitoring his condition obsessively. She owed him that much.
It was a hazy, painful blur after that. The other Avengers swarming as she carried Peter inside. Bruce and Dr. Cho immediately prepping him for surgery. Natasha pacing relentlessly outside the OR doors until finally - finally - Bruce emerged looking drained but smiling.
"He made it through."
Natasha's knees nearly buckled in relief. Peter was still under heavy sedation but Bruce assured her the worst danger had passed. His enhancements and their treatments had prevented any permanent damage. He just needed time now to recover.
Natasha didn't leave his bedside for the next two days. She helped change his bandages when needed, held his hand when the pain meds wore off, and even caught a few hours of sleep slumped in the chair by his bed. The others stopped by periodically to check on them, eyes gentle. They knew better than to try and make Natasha leave.
When Peter finally stirred awake, blinking against the medbay lights, Natasha shot upright.
"Hey," she breathed, clasping his hand. "How are you feeling?"
Peter gave a raspy groan. "Like I got hit by a train. What happened?"
Natasha's face fell. "You got shot, remember? Twice in the chest." Guilt still clawed at her. "I'm so sorry, Peter. I should have had your back better."
Peter shook his head weakly. "Wasn't your fault. I got...careless." He managed a faint smile. "Not bad for my first serious gunshot wounds, huh? Do I get some cool scars?"
Despite herself Natasha huffed a tearful laugh. Even laid up and injured, his spirit shone bright.
"You scared me, kid," she admitted softly. "I thought I wasn't going to..." She trailed off, throat constricting.
Peter's expression sobered. With effort he lifted their joined hands, giving a gentle squeeze. "Hey. I'm okay. We're both okay."
Natasha could only nod, emotion welling within her. She let her other hand rest lightly over his bandaged chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. Peter was right here. He was alive. The terrible hollow ache inside her was slowly receding.
Impulsively she leaned down, brushing a kiss over his curls. "You're not allowed to scare me like that again," she whispered.
Peter's eyes widened slightly in surprise before crinkling into a smile. "I'll do my best," he promised.
They stayed like that a moment, Natasha drawing comfort from the living warmth of him. Peter leaned into her touch like a flower to sunlight. Her brave, precious boy. She'd come terrifyingly close to losing him. She was suddenly reminded of a term she'd never thought she'd have reason to use.
My kid.
The words nearly escaped her. But no - she couldn't lay claim to that bond. Shouldn't overstep that line, no matter how closely she'd come to thinking of Peter as...as her own.
But maybe...maybe she didn't have to say it out loud. Peter was uncannily good at reading her, even without spider senses. His eyes softened now with understanding.
"Nat..." He trailed off, searching for the right words. Settled for simply squeezing her hand again and murmuring, "Me too."
Natasha exhaled slowly. That was all she needed. Peter was here. He was safe. They both knew what he meant to her, even if she could barely put it to words.
Peter yawned then, eyelids drooping with exhaustion. Natasha smoothed his hair back. "Get some rest. I'll be here when you wake up."
" 'kay," Peter mumbled agreeably. He was out again in moments. Natasha settled in her chair, thumb gently stroking the back of his hand. She would watch over his healing. Guard him as fiercely as any mother spider safeguarding her young.
And heaven help anyone who tried to threaten her boy again.
\*\*\*
It took another week before Peter was strong enough to leave the medbay. Natasha kept a sharp eye on him as they made their way to the common room kitchen. The others had returned from missions and were gathered around making dinner.
"Hey hey, he lives!" Sam called out as Natasha helped Peter ease onto a stool. "Good to see you up and around, kid."
"How are you feeling, Peter?" Steve asked with a smile.
"Much better, thanks." Peter leaned onto the counter. "Those painkillers were awesome. I mean, uh, very medically helpful."
Natasha shot him a look and Peter had the grace to appear sheepish. Bucky chuckled as he stirred a pot on the stove.
"At least your appetite seems intact. Hungry?"
Peter perked up. "Starving. Is that chili I smell?"
"Barnes family recipe," Bucky confirmed. "Fix you up a bowl?"
Peter nodded eagerly. Natasha hovered as Bucky dished him up a generous serving. Peter dug in with gusto, making appreciative noises through the mouthfuls.
"This is amazing!" he mumbled around a bite.
Natasha cuffed his shoulder. "Don't talk with your mouth full." But she was smiling, affection welling in her chest. It was good to see his energy and enthusiasm returning.
Sam passed Peter a napkin with a laugh. "Trust me, Nat's gonna mother-hen you to death now. You're her kid, she's gotta take care of you."
Natasha froze. From the corner of her eye she saw Peter's eyes widen almost comically. Sam either didn't notice or was choosing to ignore the sudden tension. Her throat locked up, expression carefully neutral.
Luckily Steve came to her rescue. "Alright, leave them be," he admonished gently. "Peter needs to eat and rest." He met Natasha's eyes with a knowing look. She managed a small grateful nod.
"C'mon shrimp, you can help me with dessert," Bucky said, clapping a hand on Sam's shoulder. Sam yelped in protest but allowed himself to be steered away.
The others gradually dispersed throughout the room, leaving Peter and Natasha in relative privacy. Hesitantly Natasha glanced at him.
Peter was staring down at his bowl, cheeks faintly flushed. Natasha bit her lip. Had Sam overstepped? She'd never explicitly referred to Peter as...as her kid. But it was clear the thought didn't upset him.
"Peter..." she began uncertainly.
He looked up at her, shy hope in his eyes. "Did you...did you mean what Sam said?" His words were barely a whisper.
Warmth blossomed in Natasha's chest. Slowly she reached out, brushing an unruly curl off his forehead. Peter's breath hitched, leaning into her touch.
"Yes," she said simply. There was no point denying it, not to herself or him.
Peter's answering smile outshone the sun. With a joyful little laugh he surged up, throwing his arms around her in an exuberant hug. Natasha let out a soft "oof" but wrapped him close, burying her face in his hair.
"Careful with the merchandise, sweetie, it's still healing," she murmured. But she was smiling, happiness swelling inside her. Peter's grip tightened in response.
"I love you," he whispered into her shoulder. Natasha's breath caught, tears stinging her eyes.
"I love you too, Peter," she whispered back. "So much."
She cradled the back of his head, unwilling to let go. Her kid. Hers to cherish and protect, for however long this world allowed.
Around them the kitchen clattered with life. The others' voices rose and fell in familiar patterns. But Natasha was only distantly aware, her focus centered wholly on the precious boy in her arms.