Introductions, Here We Go
The room immediately descended into silence.
Tony straightened at once, his brain shrieking at him in confusion. I’m from 2024, Peter had said and meant it. But how? How could Peter be from the year 2024, when he was already dead in Pepper and Rhodey’s 2018?
None of this made any sense. And yet, from the vulnerable look on Peter’s face, Tony knew it had to be true.
“That’s not – that’s not possible,” Pepper stammered. Tony had never heard her so much as falter before. She had always been so headstrong, so composed and infallible; she was Tony's rock. “Tony sawyou. He saw you die.”
All of a sudden, Tony felt sick to his stomach. According to Pepper, he would be there at the time of Peter’s death. He would witness an innocent kid’s death. God, how was he supposed to react to that?
Peter’s face flooded with sorrow. “I know,” he whispered, voice choked. “I know. I died in 2018—I was dead until –– ”
He paused, swallowed down the rest of his sentence, and corrected, “I was dead for a long time. Sorry, I don’t know if I should tell you how long.”
“Pepper,” Happy chimed in, serious and grave, “I know it sounds unbelievable, but it’s true. Peter’s alive in 2024. I don’t think I’m allowed to tell you how it happened—because despite his intentions in saying it, Fury was right to claim that time should not be messed with—but just know that he will come back.” He paused, sparing the other two teenagers a fleeting glance. “They’ll all come back.”
Tony fought off a wave of nausea. All? Had Peter’s friends died, too?
“Okay, no,” Clint jumped in. “I was coming around to the idea of time travel, but resurrection? There’s no way. That’s not a real thing.”
“We’re standing in a room with two Norse gods, a man who can turn into a green giant, and people from the future,” Natasha pointed out dryly. “Who can really say what’s possible anymore?”
“Yeah, but all of those can be explained!” Clint exclaimed. “But resurrection? Resurrection is a child’s fantasy, Nat, you know that! We all know that! Come on, Stark, back me up. You’re a man of science, aren’t you?”
“I don’t know what I know anymore,” Tony muttered to himself. “Because Peter’s obviously standing right there, and Pepper and Rhodey both look like they’ve seen a ghost.”
“Listen, I know it sounds unreal, Mr. Barton, but trust me, there’s a lot about the future that sounds unreal. There’s a lot you wouldn’t believe.” Peter shared a quick, commiserating look with Happy. “I’ve learned to just roll with it. So maybe we can all just, I don’t know,”—he shrugged helplessly—“table the discussion of what’s possible or not until after we’ve found out what we’re all doing here?”
His female friend snorted. “Wow, I can’t believe you of all people are acting as the voice of reason,” she teased with a smirk, eyebrows waggling pointedly.
He rolled his eyes at her, but couldn’t help the returning smile that climbed up his face. “Oh, come on! I can be reasonable!” he protested.
It was Happy’s turn to chuckle. “Yeah, right,” he snickered. His teasing was rewarded by Peter sticking his tongue out at him and punching him playfully on the shoulder.
Clint cleared his throat and interrupted them, “You know who I am?”
Peter hesitated, and then nodded with a quiet sigh. “Yeah, I do.” He smiled wryly. “I know everyone here, but I can tell from the look on your face and the fact that you’re apparently from 2012 that you’re unfamiliar with most of these faces. Maybe we should start with introductions?”
“Good idea,” the African man agreed, stepping forward and taking the lead. “I’m a little confused as to who some of you are supposed to be, too. I suppose I might as well start. I’m T’Challa, son of T’Chaka. I’m from 2016.”
Peter winced. “Ooh,” he grimaced. “2016. Right.”
“This coming from a boy who’s apparently been dead,” Clint muttered quietly to Natasha and Fury, still struggling to wrap his mind around the apparent reality that, by the time 2024 rolled around, Peter had both died and been revived.
“Right?” Natasha nodded in agreement, a smirk snaking across her lips. “What could possibly be wrong with 2016?”
Fury sent them both a sharp glare, before clearing his throat and addressing T’Challa, “‘Son of T’Chaka’… I've heard that name from somewhere before.” His one eye narrowed at T'Challa, realization brewing in his expression. “You’re the heir to the throne of Wakanda, aren’t you?”
T’Challa hummed, a joyless smile appearing on his face. “Something like that,” he murmured, barely loud enough for Fury to hear. Fury looked at him strangely, but T’Challa didn’t bother to elaborate, the recent memory of his father’s death and his subsequent bloody ascension to the throne leaving him silent, stuck in the past.
“I’m this idiot’s sister,” the African girl introduced obnoxiously with a jab of her thumb at T’Challa, trying to change the subject and distract her brother from the thought of their late father – and the cousin their ancestors had wronged. “My name is Shuri, and I’m the head of Wakanda’s science division.”
“Science division?” Fury echoed, lips twitching downwards. “Last I heard, Wakanda is supposed to be a struggling third-world country.”
Shuri just smiled smugly, a superior lilt to her voice as she said cryptically, “That’s what you think.”
T’Challa sighed in exasperation at her antics. “Shuri,” he scolded her. She shrugged unapologetically, and he rolled his eyes and explained, “We’ve never been a third-world country. That was just a front to keep us isolated from the rest of the world, but we recently came out and opened ourselves up to the outside world.”
“In truth, we are likely the most technologically advanced country in the entire world,” Shuri added, and though her words were boastful, there was nothing egotistical about her tone of voice; she said it frankly, as if it were merely a fact.
Tony raised a skeptical eyebrow, but figured he should keep his thoughts to himself for the moment. If Shuri truly was a genius in charge of a technologically superior nation, then he couldn’t wait to see what she was capable of.
“I can attest to that,” the metal-armed man agreed, drawing all eyes to him and his prosthetic limb. He cast Steve a hesitant glance before continuing, “I’m James Buchanan Barnes, but most people just call me Bucky. I was a part of the Howling Commandos with Steve back in the forties.”
“B-Bucky?” Steve whispered. “I thought I recognized you. Is... is it really you—?”
“Hi, Stevie,” the man, Bucky, smiled, expression earnest and vulnerable. “It’s really me.”
“How are you—”
“Alive?” Bucky finished for him. When Steve nodded, a little confused and a lot desperate, Bucky averted his gaze, his smile fading. “It’s a long story. Maybe I’ll tell you the whole sordid tale when we have more time, but for now...” he offered a helpless shrug.
Steve nodded absently. “Okay,” he breathed, “okay. God, it’s good to see you again, Buck. It’s been way too long.”
Bucky’s serious demeanor was quickly replaced by a cheeky grin. “Well,” he smirked, “I just saw you a week ago, so...”
Steve’s jaw dropped. “You really came back,” he whispered. The ‘to me’ was left unspoken, but it was heard by everyone in the room regardless. “I… I get to have you again, in the future?”
“Yeah.” Bucky’s flesh hand twitched nervously. “Like I said, it’s a long story. We don’t really have the time to get into it right now.”
“Is anyone else seeing the connection between Steve’s friend’s revival and the kid’s?” Clint wondered absentmindedly. “Because wow. I'm still a little doubtful, but if the future truly is full of technology that can bring people back to life, then I am so here for it.”
“Clint,” Natasha hissed, rolling her eyes. He’d always been a little more prone to childish tendencies than the rest of SHIELD.
Clint just smiled innocently at her.
“Unfortunately,” Peter’s voice swept over them, dark in a way that immediately made Clint deflate, mood sobering, “no. It wasn’t quite technology that brought my friends and I back to life, and from what I’ve heard, Bucky didn’t truly die in the first place.”
Bucky looked surprised at that. “You know what happened to me?”
Peter just nodded mutely. “Let's just say I know you in the future,” was all he had to say in answer to that.
“Why am I not surprised? Bucky—the literal man-child—befriends an actual child?” the dark-skinned man beside him joked. He paled, however, when he remembered that the ‘actual child’ had clearly been through several traumatic events, not the least of which was his own death. “Sorry,” he coughed. “Moving on, I’m the guy stuck babysitting this one-armed disaster. Sam Wilson, or the Falcon.”
Bucky rolled his eyes and smacked Sam over the head with his flesh hand. Sam remained unfazed, flipping him the finger before gesturing for the auburn-haired woman beside him to speak.
“I’m Wanda Maximoff,” the young woman introduced quietly, intensely aware of the tension between her and Vision, who was hovering only a few meters away from her. If there was one thing she regretted about siding with Steve, it was that it had necessitated the betrayal of a close friend.
She smiled nervously beneath the weight of everyone’s attention and tucked a strand of her reddish, chestnut-brown hair behind her ear. “Or some people call me the Scarlet Witch,” she added as an afterthought, a hint of her Sokovian accent shining through her voice and slurring her words, the way it always seemed to do whenever she was anxious.
“‘Witch’, huh?” Fury repeated, voice deadpan and eyebrows arched in disbelief. “Really?”
“Hey, back off,” Sam said defensively, crossing his arms over his chest. “It’s just her superhero name because she has telekinetic and telepathic powers.”
Telepathic. “Holy hell,” Clint gaped, focusing on his awe because if he didn’t – if he let his thoughts wander – he knew he’d start to spiral and fall into the abyss that accompanied his vague memories about being under Loki’s influence. “Did you guys get that? She has freaky mind powers. Damn.”
“We can all hear him, too, Clint,” Natasha replied without any humor. (A part of her knew, just as well as he did, that this was her best friend trying to cope –– trying to distract himself from how his hands and his body had betrayed his mind and his heart so unforgivably. Natasha might have forgiven him without hesitation, sure, but that didn’t mean he had.) “Although I have to admit, it does sound impressive. I wonder how powerful her telekinesis and telepathy are.”
Very, Loki thought to himself, though he was unwilling to voice his thoughts. It’s undeniable: the Midgardian is more than just powerful. She is power.
He eyed Wanda cautiously, keeping a careful watch over the telltale red magic he could sense swarming her body. He’d felt her use just a fraction of her telepathy some time earlier, right after Stark had admitted to being from 2012. He figured she had wanted to ascertain for herself the truth of Stark’s claims; he could only assume that she’d found what she was looking for, because she’d retreated after only a few seconds.
In the end, he could tell that she’d only used the bare minimum of her capabilities, but even then, her power had been unavoidable. He could still hear the remnants of her powers now, whispering in his ear and becoming entangled with his own seidr. For a mortal, her power was immense, intoxicating and overwhelming.
(If he dwelled on it for long enough, he could sense the barest hints of his scepter—the Mind Stone—mingling with the scent of her humanity. He dreaded to think of how that had come to be.)
“She’s one of us—one of the good guys,” Sam carried on, barely seeming to notice the 2012 travelers’ reactions to his revelation about Wanda’s powers. “We’re all from 2016, too, by the way.”
Vision frowned and looked away when Sam said one of the good guys. Wanda pretended not to notice, hiding a flinch of pain by shooting Sam a small, grateful smile, “Thanks, Sam.”
“Awkward,” the man in flannel whispered. Sam and Wanda both immediately turned to him, and he cringed. Before they could comment, he pushed through the embarrassment and pointed at himself, “Scott Lang, otherwise known as Ant-Man. I’m from the same time as these guys. I can turn really small or really big.”
“You can say that again,” Sam snorted, briefly flashing back to the airport in Berlin, when Scott had enlarged himself into a giant to distract the other team.
“I believe it is now my turn to introduce myself,” Vision commented. “I, too, am from the year 2016. I’m an android based on Tony Stark’s AI, JARVIS. I was created by Tony Stark, Bruce Banner, Helen Cho and Thor. You can call me Vision.”
“Oh,” Tony made a noise of realization. “You’re an android. That makes more sense. And here I was thinking that you just painted yourself red.”
“...How does that make more sense? Aren’t you even the least bit surprised that, by 2016, we’ll evidently manage to create a fully-functional, sentient android?” Bruce asked, his jaw gaping open as he stared blankly at Vision.
“Indeed,” Thor added. “I myself am curious as to how I could have factored into his creation.”
Tony just shrugged. “Oddly enough, this isn’t the most surprising thing we’ve heard today,” he reminded them. Privately, he thought of Project Ultron and wondered if Vision was a result of that. Right now, Ultron was barely even a fully thought-out concept in his head, simply the half-baked results of a madman in desperate search of a solution to the spaceship he’d seen in space earlier today. He’d only just begun considering it, and yet here Vision was. Does this mean Ultron becomes necessary?
“Are you allowed to explain how you came to be,” Tony pursued the topic, a little anxious, “or at least, why I create you?”
“It’s a long—”
“—story,” Tony finished, defeated. “Yeah, yeah, I get it. Fine, whatever. I didn’t really want to know, anyway. Let’s just get introductions over with. Pep, Rhodey, you two are up.”
Rhodey rolled his eyes, more than used to Tony’s antics by now. He could recognize a Tony Stark Deflection™ when he saw one. Still, he didn’t bother calling his best friend out on it, figuring that Tony was already out of his depth as it was, surrounded by people from the future on all sides. This, at least, was one thing Tony could still control — and after decades of friendship, Rhodey knew how important control was to his best friend.
“It’s James Rhodes, at your service. Or Rhodey, I guess, if you’re Tony,” he humored his friend. “And, well, Pepper already told you guys we’re from 2018. In my time, I’m a part of the Avengers; the public know me as”—he hesitated and snuck a glance at Tony, who was staring at him wide-eyed—“War Machine.”
Tony sucked in a breath. He didn’t know why he was so surprised to find out that Rhodey would end up joining the Avengers—Rhodey was his best friend, after all, and he’d stuck by Tony’s side through thick and thin. But… Tony eyed Rhodey’s metal braces again, suddenly feeling sick to his stomach. Is his injury my fault? he couldn’t help but wonder. Things are always my fault. If I made Rhodey join the Avengers only to get him hurt—
Tony couldn’t help the whimper that ripped from his throat. God, it had to have been my fault. Why else would Rhodey need braces to walk? It’s me who’s the danger-magnet—I destroy everything I touch.
“Tones,” Rhodey’s soothing voice dragged him out of the trap that was his self-loathing. When Tony looked up, he found Rhodey staring at him knowingly, an expression of immeasurable fondness on his face. Tony’s heart stuttered in his chest. “I know what you’re thinking,” Rhodey started, and Tony could hear the unconditional forgiveness in his voice, “and I promise, it wasn’t—”
“Actually, I’m thinking, I knew you’d come around and see it my way. War Machine is a thousand times better than Iron Patriot as a superhero name,” Tony cut him off, swallowing down the lump in his throat and automatically reverting back to witty banter—his number one coping mechanism. Rhodey just sighed and narrowed his eyes at him scrutinizingly, but Tony cleared his throat and carefully avoided his gaze. He wasn’t in the mood to have his vulnerabilities exposed in front of their audience. (Besides, he didn’t deserve Rhodey’s forgiveness. He didn’t deserve absolution, period.)
Rhodey leaned back on his heels and nodded, resigned to letting the words die in his throat. If Tony wanted to avoid the elephant in the room, then he would let him. The last thing Rhodey wanted to do was make Tony—any version of Tony—uncomfortable.
He shot Pepper a meaningful look; Pepper, unsurprisingly, was quick to step forward and distract the rest of the room from the tension that still simmered in the air: “And I’m Pepper Potts, the current CEO of Stark Industries.”
Rhodey smiled at her gratefully. Thank God for Pepper, he thought, relieved. If there was one person who was as in tune with Tony and Tony’s emotions as Rhodey himself, it was Pepper Potts. She knew, just as well as Rhodey did, how much Tony despised appearing vulnerable. Trusting other people had always come difficult to Tony.
Rhodey turned back to Tony, and, upon seeing the unbidden curiosity on his friend’s face, grinned unabashedly. “Before you ask, Tony, yes, you two are still together,” he informed Tony gleefully, taking joy in the subtle blush that painted itself across Tony’s cheeks at having been found out. “You can stop worrying now.”
Tony huffed, flushing an even deeper scarlet. “I wasn’t worrying,” he denied with a forceful scoff, turning away from Rhodey and Pepper both before they could catch him in the obvious lie. Because truth be told, he had worried. Up until the moment Rhodey confirmed Pepper’s status as his still-girlfriend, Tony admittedly hadn’t been sure. He’d hoped, of course, but he knew better than anyone how hard it was to love him. And yet somehow, miraculously, Pepper was still his. She’d stayed.
He cleared his throat, muffled an emotional sniff, and resorted to executing another one of his signature Tony Stark Deflections. “All right, we don’t have all day,” he feigned impatience, snapping his fingers and pointing at his bodyguard. “Kids in the corner and Happy, step up.”
Happy made an offended noise. “Why are you lumping me in with them?” he complained.
“Uh, maybe because you’re literally standing with them right now,” Tony pointed out as if to say duh.
At the same time, Peter nudged Happy with his elbow and teased, “You know you love us, Hap.”
Happy scowled and crossed his arms over his chest, muttering something about stupid spiders (seriously, what was going on with the future??) and ridiculous kids, but it was impossible to miss the way his lips tugged up at the corners in a semblance of a smile as soon as Peter looked away.
Wow, Tony thought to himself, more than a little stunned. I can’t say I ever expected to see the infamously strict Happy Hogan go soft because of a kid.
“Why are we even doing this,” Happy grumbled to himself. When Peter poked him insistently in the ribs, he rolled his eyes and gave in, “Fine. Happy Hogan. In my timeline—that’s 2024, like Peter’s—I’m the Head of Security of Stark Industries, and more importantly, this little shit’s”—his hand plopped down on Peter’s mess of curls—“babysitter. If anything happens to him, I’ll kill everyone in this room and then myself.”
Everyone aside from the three teenagers from 2024, who shared unsubtle high-fives, and the princess of Wakanda, who laughed delightedly, just stared uncomprehendingly.
Peter stared up at him. “Oh my god, Happy, did you just quote Brooklyn Nine-Nine?” he snickered, a beaming grin already taking over his face even before Happy could reply. “You totally did. I knew you were paying attention!”
Happy rolled his eyes. “Shut up and go introduce yourself, kid.”
Peter’s chuckles tapered off as he nodded. “Okay, okay, I get it.” He turned to face the rest of the room and waved cheerily.
(MJ face-palmed in disbelief. “Only you, Peter, only you,” she muttered, only for Peter to shoot her a sidelong grin and mouth, it's called being polite!)
“Hey everyone!” he greeted excitedly. “My name’s Peter Parker. As you probably already know, I’m from 2024 and I, uh, died a few years ago, but you know what, let’s just move on from that.”
He faltered and laughed nervously, eyes flickering from Rhodey and Pepper to his friends, who both stepped closer towards him in a wordless show of support. He flashed the two a smile of thanks and cleared his throat. “Anyway, in my timeline, I’m a part-time vigilante, part-time superhero known as Spider-Man.”
“You know, ‘vigilante’ and ‘superhero’ are really the same thing,” Happy pointed out. Peter looked up at him, and Happy nodded seriously. “Even if you’re working outside of the Accords, you’re still a hero, Peter, because you’re saving lives. Everyday you go out there, you save lives. That’s not nothing.”
“Wait–– saving lives? Are you an Avenger?” Steve blurted out. “But you’re so young. Surely you have other things to focus on. School? Friends? How could any of us let you go around risking your life?”
Peter blanched and looked away, hurt.
Happy’s expression immediately soured, indignant that Steve had distressed Peter. Better than nearly anyone else in the room, Happy knew that Peter still carried with him his insecurities that he wasn’t good enough—as Spider-Man and as Peter Parker.
“Trust me,” Happy snapped, “he’s heard it all already. He’s never asked for our permission, and he certainly doesn’t need yours either, Captain.”
“Mr. Hogan’s right, you know,” Ned added. Peter looked at him in surprise—he had never imagined that Ned, of all people, would willingly go against one of the very Avengers he revered—but Ned didn’t waver, firm in his resolve.
As much as Ned admired the Avengers, his hero-worship had been tainted by their failure to defend Peter after Beck framed him for a crime he didn't commit. By now, his best friend had already been on the run for the better part of two months (and counting), and—with the exception of Ms. Potts, Colonel Rhodes, Happy, and surprisingly enough, Daredevil—no one had tried to stand up for Peter. Ned might not know the Avengers personally, but still it felt like a betrayal.
(To Peter, who did know them personally and had fought by their side, it was probably even more so of a betrayal.)
“Don’t get me wrong, I have every respect for the Avengers,” Ned continued, though his polite smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, “but you only appear for the world-ending disasters. All you care about is the major leagues. You’re there to help with alien invasions and to take down HYDRA bases—and I’m not saying those aren’t important, because obviously they are—but what about all the little things? The little things are life-changing, too. And yet when it comes to the robberies, to the rapes, to the hostage situations and the school shootings, you’re nowhere to be seen.”
Steve colored with shame and guilt, while the rest of the Avengers stared at Ned, taken aback by his straightforward accusation. Even for those without Wanda’s powers, it was clear what Ned was thinking: can you really call yourselves heroes if you don’t save the ordinary people, too?
“It’s true,” MJ agreed with a sardonic curl of her lip. “Look, we’re not trying to blame you or make you feel guilty, but Spider-Man—Peter—makes a difference where the Avengers can’t be bothered to.”
“And before you tell yourself that they’re just children who don’t know what they’re talking about, think again,” Happy said, distinctly unhappy as he eyed the doubt on a few of the Avengers’ faces. “They know exactly what they’re talking about. And I know that some of you are new to this—especially those of you from 2012—so I’m telling you now: if you want the people’s genuine respect, you have to actually be there for them. Peter’s there for them. If nothing else, realize that the people need heroes like Spider-Man.”
He paused for long enough to let the claim settle amid the tension that had enveloped the room. After a moment, he added, his voice grave and severe, “The people need Spider-Man, period.”
Peter blinked back tears, and the rest of the gathered heroes and not-heroes alike looked away out of respect, feeling inexplicably like they were intruding on a private moment. “Thanks, Hap,” he whispered hoarsely. “That means a lot, you know, coming from you.”
Happy shrugged, looking only mildly embarrassed. “I’m just saying, don’t put down all the good that you do. Even if no one is thanking you for it right now, they will. And don’t forget, I’ve got your back.”
Peter nodded, sniffling quietly. “I, uh, I’ve got your back, too,” he said, his youthful enthusiasm fading in a moment of seriousness. His eyes rose to search for Steve. “Well, you heard what they said. And honestly, I have nothing against the Avengers—you guys have always been my heroes—but Happy, Ned and MJ aren’t wrong. The people are grateful for what you’ve done, but aliens aren’t the only danger they have to face. So with all due respect, Captain Rogers, I’ve been through too much and seen too much to stop just because you don’t approve.”
“Damn straight,” Happy huffed, lips lifting into a brief smile before it vanished once more beneath his usual facade of practiced indifference. “Don’t let anyone discourage you from doing what you can to help, kid.”
Steve bowed his head in a mixture of shame and acknowledgement, and Peter swallowed. “I mean, when you can do the things that I can, and you don’t, and then the bad things happen…” Peter trailed off for a moment, the memory of his first meeting with his late mentor one he knew he’d never be able to shake off.
(Something else he’d never be able to shake off: If you were good enough, maybe Tony would still be alive.)
Peter flinched violently. Weakly, he finished, echoing his own words from what felt like a lifetime ago, “They happen because of you.”
(Because of me. Mr. Stark is gone, and it’s my fault. I couldn’t save him. Peter knew, with a bone-deep certainty, that he’d never be able to forgive himself for that.)
There was a moment of thick, unbearable silence before Tony abruptly butted in to break the gravity, his throat dry, “I hate to interrupt the moment—"
(A part of him knew he was lying—he didn’t feel guilty for interrupting; he’d needed to interrupt, because otherwise, the weight of Peter’s words would have dragged him down to the bottom of the Atlantic. Peter might be young, but no one could deny that he clearly understood the world around him and the meaning of sacrifice far better than most adults twice his age. Hell, Peter certainly understood it better than Tonyhimself did at his age, at least.
When you can do the things that I can, and you don’t, and then the bad things happen— they happen because of you. God, still a child, and already Peter had a superhero-sized guilt-complex. Tony ached at the thought of this stupidly young kid taking on the weight of the world all on his own.)
“And I mean that,” he spouted on, “I really do, because wow you are great with kids, Hap, but…” He wracked his brain and latched desperately onto the first thought that came: “Earlier, you said that Peter's working outside of the Accords. What exactly are the Accords?”
Peter froze. He and Happy exchanged a panicked glance, the color draining from both their faces at once.
“The Accords, heh,” Peter started nervously, sheepishly scratching the back of his neck. “That one’s a really long story. But basically, to summarize, the Accords are a set of laws that were implemented to try to minimize the, um, collateral damage that’s caused by superheroes during battles by regulating their movements.”
“Basically,” Happy agreed hastily.
Tony nodded, unsurprised. He‘d experienced enough politics to know that the world governments all hated feeling like they weren’t in control. And considering the massive structural damage the Avengers had wrought on New York just that morning, he could understand why they might come to believe the Accords were necessary.
Steve, however, did not take the news nearly as calmly. “Regulating our movements?” he echoed, blanching.
When Peter’s only reaction was to wince and look nervously at Happy, Steve frowned and demanded, “How did the Accords even pass? What will happen if we’re needed at an emergency and lives are at stake, but the government refuses to let us fight? The safest hands are our own.”
Peter’s face fell. “Please don’t argue,” he begged. “The Accords have caused enough conflict in our past. Just— we don’t need another Civil War. Especially not right now.”
“Civil War?” Steve parroted.
“Don’t ask,” Happy said firmly, taking a step forward so he was partially shielding Peter from the rest of the room. “You heard what he said. We don’t need to get into this right now. We have more important things to worry about—like where we are, what we’re here for, and how we’re going to escape, for three.”
Steve swallowed thickly and nodded. “You’re right,” he agreed.
Peter visibly sagged in relief, and Happy nodded approvingly. Unnoticed by Steve, Peter wasn’t the only one who appeared distinctly relieved by Steve’s decision to stand down. Rhodey, Pepper, and the entire group of people from 2016 all seemed to relax, too, the tension visibly leaving their bodies.
Natasha noted their reactions with narrowed eyes. There’s something they’re not telling us about the Accords, she was quick to realize. Maybe something about this ‘Civil War’? She made a note to revisit the topic of the Accords later, resolving to figure out why Peter had looked so worried at Steve’s upset reaction.
She traded glances with Clint and Fury, both of whom seemed just as suspicious, and nodded conspiratorially. The time travelers were hiding something, and she wanted to know what.
“Oh, wow, that took up a lot of time,” Peter changed the subject. “We should probably get back to introductions.” He nodded at his friends to go on.
The girl offered them all a nonchalant nod. “‘Sup,” she greeted emotionlessly. “I’m Michelle Jones. My friends call me MJ. You guys can call me Michelle.”
Peter snorted and buried his face in his hands exasperatedly, imitating MJ as he used her own words from earlier to tease her, “Only you, MJ.”
Fury blinked, stunned by the girl’s—Michelle’s—noncommittal behavior amidst a group of heroes. She doesn’t seem to be impressed by the Avengers at all, he speculated. Either the Avengers stop mattering in the future, or it’s just this girl who doesn’t care. Or, perhaps, going by her previous words, the more likely answer is that she respects Spider-Man far more than the Avengers.
Tony was similarly stupefied by her indifference. Even before Iron Man, everyone he’d met had reacted to him with awe and amazement. And yet here was this girl, boldly implying that she didn’t see them as people worthy of being friends, or as anyone important. For a moment, he found himself admiring her audacity; it was refreshing, honestly, to come across someone who clearly wasn’t affected by his fame and reputation.
The Filipino boy perked up, realizing that it was his turn to go. “And I’m—”
“Ned,” MJ cut in. “This is Ned Leeds, Peter’s best friend and guy-in-the-chair. Don’t ask what that means –– he’ll take two days to explain it to you.”
“Oh, come on, MJ,” Ned whined. “Everyone else got a chance to introduce themselves! Why did you have to stop me? I wanted to make a good impression on the Avengers—even if they’re not really our Avengers, you know, they’re still Avengers! They're heroes, even if I don't really agree with some of their stances! And did you really have to mention the two days thing? That was so embarrassing. You know it only happened once, and I thought we agreed never to speak of it again—”
MJ stared at him, visibly unimpressed as she waited for him to snap back to reality and remember himself.
When he finally did, he flushed, realizing who he’d just rambled in front of. “Oh,”—his mouth formed an ‘O’ as his cheeks bloomed red—“so that’s why you stopped me. Good call, good call.”
MJ just sighed in a mixture of exasperation and fondness. “Loser,” she snorted.
Ned grinned sheepishly at her. “Sorry,” he whispered, and then waved gracelessly at everyone else, expertly ignoring MJ’s snicker of you’re just digging yourself a deeper hole, loser. “Sorry about that,” he repeated, his smile morphing into an awkward grimace, “I can get a bit carried away sometimes.”
“A bit?” MJ echoed under her breath. “Sometimes?”
A snort from beside her caught her attention, and she looked up to find Peter frozen, staring back at her with an expression that somehow resembled both a deer caught in headlights and a toddler on the verge of laughter.
Her lips twitched upwards into a smirk, and she nudged Peter subtly with her elbow, whispering out of the corner of her mouth, “You’re just as bad, dork.”
His eyes twinkled under the dim lighting of the home theatre. MJ could practically hear the words on his mind before he even said them: ‘Hey! I am not! Besides, if we’re bad, then what does that say about you that you keep hanging out with us, huh?’
“I’ve missed this.”
I knew it— wait, huh—
MJ blinked, amusement receding to the back of her mind for a moment as she cocked her head sideways, curious eyes taking in Peter’s reverent expression. The twinkle in his eyes was not born of humor, she realized, or even mock-indignation.
No, his eyes were glowing with fondness. With wonder and a dazed sort of raw happiness.
Later, MJ would refuse to admit it, even to herself, but right now, faced with Peter’s longing, she softened. Later, she would claim that she’d never let her guard down, never unlocked the chains around her heart for long enough to duck her head closer towards him and murmur, “It hasn’t been the same without you.”
(What she really meant was: I’ve missed this, too. And what she was really thinking was: I’ve missed you. And she and Peter both knew it.)
Later, she’d deny it until her last breath if ever Peter accused her of showing that she cared. She’d shake her head and bury her thoughts in yet another murder mystery book and pretend she wasn’t truly a part of their little group.
But for now—for now—the awed little smile that crept up his lips at the sound of her words was enough. For now, she took refuge in his happiness and let herself simply be.
“Great,” Tony interjected loudly, as boisterous as always even despite feeling out of his depth. He was smiling blandly—it was the same smile he always gave to the media: insincere, distrusting, and vapid. “Now it’s just those of us from 2012 left.”
MJ reluctantly tore her eyes away from Peter and spared Tony Stark a glance, her heart sinking when she finally caught sight of him. She’d never gotten to know him personally, not the way Peter had, but she had been intensely aware of how much Tony had mattered to Peter. (How much he still mattered, despite everything.) And as much as she personally wasn’t much of a fan of Tony and the quintessential rich white man he embodied, she couldn’t help but respect him for looking out for her friend.
Now, though, Tony was looking more and more like the disinterested persona he presented to the media. MJ bit back a sigh, knowing that Peter would undoubtedly notice the sheer phoniness of Tony’s muted gaze and react poorly.
Sure enough, when she dared to look back at Peter, she was met with the sight of him recoiling physically at Tony’s voice and expression, his own smile falling from his face. His eyes misted over with regret and more than a little bit of longing.
After nearly a year without Mr. Stark, after nearly a year with his mentor’s death weighing on his shoulders, he finally had Tony Stark in front of him. And yet, he felt no happiness, no joy.
Because as much as he wished he could let himself savor Tony’s presence, this wasn’t the Tony Stark he knew. This wasn’t the Tony Stark he cared about, the Tony Stark he loved and once dreamt of calling dad.
And with every second he spent in this theatre, Tony proved it over and over again: there was not a trace of his Mr. Stark here.
Because every time Peter let himself look at Tony, all he saw was distance. There was no recognition in this Tony’s eyes, and it hurt. Even though he knew, logically, that in 2012, Tony Stark had no idea who he was, it still stung to think that he meant nothing to this Tony.
That he was nothing to this Tony.
“Peter…” MJ whispered, one hand raising as if to reach out to him. A split-second later, she regained her composure and shook her head, letting her hand drop. “Peter.”
Peter swallowed roughly and shook his head, turning away. “I’m fine,” he whispered, insistent. “I’m fine.”
MJ pursed her lips and looked away. He wasn’t fine, she knew. But she also knew that she’d never be able to force him to admit it, not until he was ready to tell her himself.
“I’m sure you all already know who I am,” Tony’s lips tucked into a haughty smirk, “because who doesn’t?” His smirk faltered when Natasha jabbed him sharply in the ribcage with her elbow. He rolled his eyes, groaned exaggeratedly, and amended, “All right, fine. I’ll pretend there’s someone in this room—someone on this planet—who still doesn’t know my name and introduce myself: I’m Tony Stark, otherwise known as Iron Man.”
“Finally,” Natasha harrumphed. “God, your ego is appalling. Tell me, how do you fit your head inside that helmet of yours?”
Tony glared, unamused.
Thor coughed forcefully and hid an entertained grin behind one hand. Clint and Loki, on the other hand, showed no such restraint, guffawing freely.
(Tony glared at them, too.)
“Break it up, all of you,” Fury sighed. “Honestly, one would think you’re all a bunch of children from the way you act. Come on, show some sensibility and stop prolonging this. You’re the Avengers.”
“I don’t see the problem with a little team banter, director,” Steve countered, eyes crinkling fondly at the corners as he gazed upon his teammates. “But I do agree that we should get our introductions over with quickly so we can all proceed. My name is Steve Rogers, but most people know me as Captain America.”
“Bruce Banner,” Bruce followed suit quickly, not wanting to draw attention to himself for any longer than necessary. “I, uh, turn into the Hulk when I get angry,” he explained quietly after a second’s pause, grimacing.
Peter and Happy exchanged a narrow-eyed look. “Should we tell him?” Happy whispered, quietly enough that only Peter could hear him. “We should probably tell him, right?”
“It might be helpful,” Peter admitted, frowning. It was strange to hear Bruce like this: ashamed and self-conscious about the Hulk. He’d only ever met Bruce personally after he’d further modified his genetic makeup to fuse his two personas and become Professor Hulk.
He’d never known Bruce before Professor Hulk.
“Well, we can give it some more thought,” Happy suggested. “We don’t have to let him know now. We can’t be sure how telling him will affect the time continuum, after all.”
Peter hummed in agreement, though his gaze remained fixed on Bruce’s vulnerable expression. It felt wrong, staying silent when he had information that could help Bruce.
“Yeah,” he murmured absentmindedly, “yeah.”
“Clint Barton,” Clint spoke up next. “You may know me as Hawkeye — master archer and one of the Avengers.”
“Black Widow,” Natasha said shortly. Clint turned to look at her expectantly, but she merely shrugged, refusing to elaborate.
It wasn’t until Fury cleared his throat impatiently that her eye twitched and she relented, though only enough to reveal her first name: “Natasha.”
“I guess that’s the best I can ask for,” Fury grumbled. “I’m the Director of SHIELD. My name is Nick Fury, but I better not hear anyone call me anything other than Fury or Director.”
Peter bit back a smile, vividly remembering Carol’s fond, albeit exasperated, retellings of her adventure with Fury in the 90s.
(“‘Everybody calls me Fury. Not Nicholas, not Joseph, not Nick,’” Carol adopted an exaggeratedly low voice as she imitated Fury with surprising accuracy, her hands waving around grandly. “‘Just Fury.’”
Peter chortled with laughter. “You’re really good at that,” he remarked with a delighted grin. Carol never failed to bring a spot of light and laughter into his life.
“Oh, yeah?” Carol smirked at him. “You like my Fury impression? Well, you better—I’ve been working on it for decades.” She paused, then winked at him conspiratorially, as if swearing him to secrecy. “Don’t tell him that, though. He’ll think we’re mocking him—and he’d be right, but I don’t want to have to deal with the inevitable temper tantrum that would ensue if he ever found out.”
Peter’s eyes brightened with elation. “I won’t breathe a word, Ms. Danvers, ma’am,” he promised as he mimed zipping his lips. Too preoccupied with the thrill of sharing a secret with the all-powerful Captain Marvel (!!!), Peter never noticed the fond, almost adoring, expression that engulfed her features. He never realized that, in that moment, Carol vowed to protect him with everything she had; he was just a kid, after all—granted, a kid with super-strength and enhanced abilities, but a kid nonetheless—and he deserved some happiness amidst the struggles of being a teenage hero.
Carol decided, then and there, that she would do whatever she could to make him smile as much as humanly possible.
Tucking the promise safely into her heart, Carol forged on and put on the mask of Nick Fury once more. “‘How dare you insult me this way, Danvers,’” she acted out her imagination of Fury’s reaction to finding out about her impression of him, her voice returning to the overdramatic booming imitation. “‘I am the director of SHIELD! My station demands respect!’”
Carol had a feeling that, by the time the next day arrived, her voice would be hoarse and raspy from overuse and playing up the bellowing effect, but it was entirely worth it when Peter fell off the couch, giggling uncontrollably.)
The pleasant memory faded, but the content smile lingered on Peter’s lips. He missed Carol. Some time before his trip to Europe, she’d left Earth temporarily to carry out an errand or ten in outer space –– and until now had yet to return.
“I also work for SHIELD,” the female agent beside Fury announced, snapping Peter out of his haze before he could fall down the rabbit hole of wondering how much better Carol would have handled the whole Mysterio situation compared to him. Peter swallowed his self-pity and refocused on the present, eyes flitting to the agent. He was briefly brought back to his recent formal introduction to SHIELD before the woman continued, “It’s Maria Hill.”
“And I am Thor,” Thor declared, undeniably majestic in a way no mortal could emulate. “Son of Odin and God of Thunder. I had the pleasure of working with my fellow heroes to best my brother in battle earlier today.”
Loki coughed. “I would not call myself bested,” he protested mildly, eyes lidded. “I, meanwhile, have the misfortune of having to call you brother at all. I’m Loki, God of Mischief.”
“Fantastic,” Tony snarked. “Now that we’re all acquainted, perhaps we should move this to the couches? I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’d love to stretch out my legs.” Without waiting for an answer, he spun on his heel and strode over towards the sofas. He immediately claimed the wide sofa situated directly in front of the TV, plopping comfortably down in the middle.
Everyone else was quick to follow, with Bruce taking the seat directly beside Tony. Steve squeezed himself in next to Bruce, while Pepper and Rhodey exchanged a fleeting glance before taking their seats on Tony’s other side, with Pepper huddled in between Tony and Rhodey.
Clint rushed towards another sofa, located to the left of Tony’s and diagonal to the TV. As soon as he was within feet of the sofa, he launched himself at the cushions and landed with a breathless exhale. Natasha rolled her eyes at his childish behavior, but wordlessly sat herself down next to him. The other SHIELD members trailed after them, Fury taking the outermost seat.
Happy spared Tony a lingering glance before shaking his head and heading towards the last sofa to Tony’s right, the memories of Tony’s death and funeral still too raw in his mind. “Peter,” he murmured when he saw the kid frozen in between the two sofas, eyes wide and indecisive.
Peter turned to Happy. “Happy,” he whispered Happy’s name like it was a plea, a desperate call for help. It broke Happy’s heart. “I…”
Happy shook his head minutely. “You know you’re only going to hurt yourself,” he said under his breath, well aware that Peter’s hearing was sensitive enough to catch the words. “You know that. Don’t do this to yourself, Peter.”
Peter let Happy’s words sink in and nodded jerkily, turning away from Tony with finality and falling into the seat beside Happy. He inhaled sharply, breath shaky with grief and anguish, and buried his head in his hands.
“You’re okay, Peter,” his best friend’s voice soothed, a familiar warmth gripping one of his hands and easing it away from his face. “You’re okay. We’re all okay.”
Peter looked blearily up at Ned, tears making his vision blurry, and smiled weakly. Ned blinked rapidly and leaned in closer, wrapping Peter up in a comforting hug. “We’re going to be okay.”
“He’s right, nerd,” MJ called out from Ned’s other side. Peter opened his eyes, head still leaning against Ned’s, and found her smiling slightly at them. She nodded once, a thousand unspoken words conveyed through that single nod, and he nodded back.
Ned released Peter finally, and Peter smiled at both of his friends as he settled back into his seat. I’m so lucky, he thought, breathless with awe and gratitude, to have you guys.
When he turned back towards the rest of the room, he saw that the Rogues from 2016 had discovered a nest of pillows and blankets hiding in a wardrobe near the entrance; together, they’d quickly formed a makeshift bed on the floor in the middle of the three long sofas. Now, Wanda, Bucky, Sam and Scott were huddled together on one side of the bed, while Shuri was sprawled out on the other side, T’Challa perched nearby. Vision, meanwhile, was hovering in the air a few feet away, legs folded into a cross-legged position in a semblance of normalcy.
Finally, Thor had jogged over and seated himself on the floor beneath Steve and Bruce, with his two fellow Avengers tucking in their legs to make space for him. He had his legs stretched out in front of him, his fingers curled lightly around Mjölnir as he made himself comfortable.
Peter looked around the room, taking note of everyone’s positions in a habit that did not escape his notice. This is on Beck, he thought. I can’t trust myself, and I can’t trust that everyone is who they say they are anymore.
Without trust, who am I?
He stopped short, frown deepening, when he spotted Loki on his own, standing quietly off to the side with a dark (lonely) expression on his face. He looked around again, noting that the other sofas were already mostly full (except Fury’s, but he knew better than to make Loki sit with the SHIELD agents; he didn’t have a death wish). The makeshift bed, too, was beginning to look cramped.
(He definitely noticed the way Steve kept glancing at the tiny empty space next to Bucky with longing every so often.)
There was only one other option, then.
His eyes narrowed, and he hissed at Ned out of the corner of his mouth, “Move over a bit.”
Ned blinked, uncomprehending, but nonetheless did as instructed without so much as questioning his best friend. Not for the first time, Peter wondered how he’d ever gotten so lucky to have earned Ned’s unconditional trust and loyalty.
Peter steeled his resolve and raised his hand, calling out fearlessly, “Loki!” He fought off a wince when Loki’s head snapped around towards him, the god’s dark glare drilling into him. “Come sit with us!”
“Peter,” Happy hissed in warning, hand gripping Peter’s raised wrist and tugging it down sharply. “What are you doing?”
Peter gently but firmly pulled his hand away. “Just trust me,” he muttered, eyes never leaving Loki. “There’s an empty seat here for you,” he projected his voice again, patting the newly cleared space next to him softly. Ned squeaked quietly, but Peter resolutely ignored him, instead choosing to continue smiling encouragingly at Loki.
Loki hesitated for only a few seconds before evidently coming to a decision. With a curt, regal nod, he glided over, his cape swirling behind him.
Sorry, Ned, Peter mouthed silently at his friend just before Loki sat down, blocking Ned’s wide eyes from view.
Ned leaned backwards and peered at Peter through the small gap behind Loki. I hope you know what you’re doing, he mouthed back, one eyebrow arched.
Peter paused, chewing his lip contemplatively, before nodding. Trust me on this, he pleaded.
Ned sighed and gave Peter a small smile. You know I trust you, he conveyed and shook his head exasperatedly, turning back to the front and settling in as comfortably as he could with a villainous (quasi-villainous?) god sitting beside him.
Peter expelled a silent sigh of relief and faced Loki, beaming. “Hi!” he greeted boldly, tilting his head sideways. “It’s nice to meet you.”
Loki blinked, floundering in the face of Peter’s kindness. In the face of kindness, period. (Kindness without an ulterior motive, kindness without traitorous intentions, kindness without a knife hidden behind his back.) “It’s…” his throat felt hoarse, choked with emotion, raw and genuine. “It’s nice to meet me?” he finished, voice barely a whisper in the dark. A secret.
Peter’s smile gentled, eyes flashing with sadness but not pity. He knew better than anyone how grating pity could be. “Of course,” he replied without deceit. “I mean, I definitely wish the circumstances were different—speaking of which, we really should get to figuring out why we’re here—but yeah. It’s really nice to meet you.”
Loki swallowed. He wanted to deflect, wanted to doubt, wanted to turn away and ignore the Midgardian child and his innocence, but something stopped him.
Peter wasn’t lying. Loki knew that. He was the God of Mischief, after all, and he’d been wielding lies since long before Peter was even born. He was an expert in the art, and he knew what dishonesty looked like. There was no such trace in Peter’s expression, his voice, his eyes.
Faced with those eyes, how could he do anything but believe?
The answer was he couldn’t. (The answer was he did believe, and it terrified him. It terrified him because of how much he wanted this, Peter’s friendliness. It made him feel like he mattered, in some unfathomable way.)
“It’s – it’s nice to meet you, too,” he struggled to say, but Peter’s rewarding smile made it worth it, somehow. His uncertainty eased, and he found it in himself to smile back, just barely.
Loki didn’t notice the way Fury’s gaze turned thoughtful, contemplative from across the room. He didn’t notice the way Tony choked in shock. He didn’t notice the way his brother hid the smallest of smiles—hid pride—behind a facade of disbelief. (No matter how angry Thor was at Loki for attacking the Earth, no matter how much Loki had hurt him, a part of him would always be Loki’s brother. That would never change.)
Loki didn’t notice anything but the way Peter’s smile widened in understanding just before he looked away, well aware that any more emotion would overwhelm Loki. Loki was privately grateful. He’d never felt so exposed, so vulnerable, before now, and he needed a second to think—to breathe.
Peter seemed to understand that. He pressed his knee against Loki’s—briefly, very briefly, for barely two seconds before he let up on the pressure—and addressed the rest of the room as if nothing had happened: “So. Now that you’ve gotten the chance to stretch out your legs, Mr. Stark,”—Peter’s voice wavered over the shape and sound of his mentor’s name, his breath shallowing with uncertainty—“we should cut to the chase. Does anyone have any clue why we’re all here?”