Author's Note:

How do I even begin? Maybe by sounding less like I'm about to introduce Regina George, right? Ok. This is my first story for the Avengers fandom. I actually quit writing fanfiction cold turkey a month ago, but apparently it's just like the mob, because it pulled me back in. So, the story. Expect humour. Expect scenes of a (consensual) sexual nature. Expect at least 15 chapters. Expect me not knowing precisely what's going to happen since I've never planned out a story in my life―by which I mean the year and a half I've been writing fiction.

Let's go, people. My write-y senses are tingling.

I

"Mr. Director?"

"Fury."

Peter paused, gaze drifting sideways as he thought. He twisted a little in his fancy conference room chair, making it swivel soundlessly.

"So… Mr. Fury or Director Fury?"

"Either," one-eyed Morpheus rumbled, staring back at him the way a dead fish stares back. Flat. No blinking. Kinda freaky.

"'K," Peter pushed on, "so, Mr. Fury, do I have to like sign a contract or something? Do I need a lawyer? Do I―"

"What contract are you expecting to sign, Mr. Parker?"

"Ooh, answering a question with a question," Tony commented, not looking up from his tablet. "Fury's in a playful mood. Friday, ready the strobe lights and 'Quill's Sweet Party Mix Number 17.'"

"I have those settings ready," the room calmly assured him.

Peter's gaze slingshoted from his mentor to his… boss?

"Like a good guy contract? I guess?"

"And what is it that you think such a thing would stipulate?" Fury asked, giving no hint whatsoever about whether or not Peter was on the right track.

"Woops, he did it again," Tony muttered. Peter swallowed as Fury turned to give him a narrow-eyed look that the other man did not acknowledge.

"That I have to help when you guys, or civilians, or whoever, need me. Like, a guarantee that I'm gonna be a hero when I'm supposed to be."

"He's pretty hung up on this one," Tony cut in on Peter's behalf, leaning down the table towards Fury. "I tried telling the kid he could just promise to show up and there'd be an automatic no-take-backsies, but he didn't go for it."

"I can't imagine why," Fury replied with a steady drag. He turned back to Peter. "No, Mr. Parker. After the discord within the group a few years ago, we've scaled back on the formalities a little. Besides, the fact that you'd even ask makes me think you're already more reliable than Mr. Stark."

"I resent that," Tony declared, once again totally intent on the screen before him. "Actually, wait, maybe I don't. Ah, I'll get back to you later."

"Please don't."

"Well, I'm gonna have to. I'll slip it in with the minutes from this meeting."

"You're taking minutes?" Peter asked, sitting up straighter. "Whoa, this is important."

"Of course he's not," Fury countered. "Mr. Parker, I think we're done here. Should the need arise, trust that I will be in touch."

Peter started to wheel backwards to get up, but Mr. Director was out of his chair (and the room) with a quick swish of his long coat.

"That was awesome," Peter concluded, a little stunned, palms flat on the frosted glass of the table. He glanced over at Tony, wide-eyed. "What just happened?"

"You've been Avengers-ized."

"Huh?"

"You're officially an Avenger."

"I thought I was before." Peter frowned in confusion.

"You were. Are. I think so, the wizard thinks so. I even told Cap, 'cause I know you've still got a little of that misplaced hero worship thing going on with him, and he thinks so too."

"So everybody thinks so?" Peter checked.

"Yep."

"But not Mr. Fury?"

"Fury isn't an 'everybody.'"

"What is he then?"

"He's the SHIELD seal of approval," Tony explained without really explaining. He did that a lot. "They've identified you, they've met you, they've gotten an eager, voluntary agreement to be a good boy and listen to the babysitter―"

"That's not what I―"

"You kind of did," Tony countered with a shrug that was somehow casual and tense. "But don't sweat it. The more agreeable you are with those goons, the less they'll try to control you."

"Director Fury didn't seem like a goon to me," Peter said honestly, starting to swivel his chair around again.

Tony narrowed his eyes intently.

"What did he seem like? Any superlatives, adjectives, or fictional character allusions come to mind? 'Cause I'm really trying to get away from anything specifically referencing the eyepatch ever since Thor, you know…" Tony graphically mimed what Peter took to be the loss of an eye.

"I think I'm gonna start heading back to the city," he decided, giving his mentor an uneasy look as he stood, bouncing closed fists restlessly against the table.

"Alright," Tony agreed, waving him off.

Peter grabbed his backpack and bounded towards the door.

"Oh, one more thing actually," Tony said, making Peter turn. With a sudden intensity, he looked up from his screen. "Who is Michelle?"

"Uh, Michelle?" Peter caught the end of his sweater sleeve and began rubbing his fingers nervously against it.

"That's what I said, kid." Tony leaned back, the chair moving with him instead of springing him forward again. Pretty amazing how he designed everything unusually cool around the compound.

"She, uh, goes to my school. She's on the decathlon team." Peter cleared his throat, wondering why it was becoming hard to get the words out. "Her last name is―"

"Jones. Also goes by MJ. Yeah, I know. Maybe I wasn't clear," Tony said, how he said it when he meant gee, Peter, maybe you just walked into something you should've been smart enough to avoid. "I know exactly who she is. I want to know who she is to you."

"T-to me? Mr. Stark?" Peter reached up and scratched at the back of his head. Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap.

"Yes, Peter, to you. And before you ask why I ask, not that you'd ever be so deliberately confrontational," he added in a tone that had Peter pressing his lips firmly together just in case something like that tried to escape from his mouth without his say-so, "it's because I look at you and I'm reminded―"

"Of yourself at my age?" Peter guessed.

Tony's face scrunched up in severe discord.

"No way. I was definitely taller. No," he continued before Peter had time to consider the likelihood of that comparison being the truth, "I'm reminded that you're a sixteen year old boy with, you know, urges, and―"

"Wow!" Peter shouted by accident. "I really should get going. It's getting late and the only cars on the highway are going to be transport trucks and I'm not really a fan of riding on the tops of those because of the toxic emissions that make it pretty gross breathing-wise, but also morally gross because I know what that stuff's doing to contribute to air pollution and global warming as a, as a whole," he stumbled to finish.

"Peter," Tony said with what seemed like a fatherly tilt of his head, "let me provide the comfort of assuring you that any of the feelings you may have for Michelle or anyone else at school are totally natural and…"

Peter's entire brain sort of fuzzed out upon hearing her name again. Even he hadn't fully realized how much or what exactly he'd been thinking about her lately. How did Mr. Stark know?

"Actually," he interrupted, "I think I'll stay here at the compound tonight." Peter jerked the door open and pointed vaguely down the hall. "In that room you gave me."

"Yeah, no problem. Hey," Tony said, looking excited, "we could have board games later. You and me against Bucky and Cap. Trivial Pursuit. We would mop the floor with them on any fact post-1940s."

"Sure," Peter distractedly agreed, wiggling his phone from his pocket. Tony noticed.

"Gonna call May? Ooh," he said eagerly, "can I call her for you and come off totally responsible for informing her of your whereabouts?"

"I'm not sure that's a great idea, Mr. Stark," Peter hedged.

"Why not?"

"'Cause of what happened the last time you called."

"What do you mean?" Tony stared back at him unfazed.

"You tried to pick her up."

"And?"

"You had called to invite her to your wedding."

Tony sighed.

"Well, calling is so much more thoughtful and personal than just sending an invitation."

"Riiight," Peter droned uncomfortably until Pepper suddenly pressed the door wider, making him jump back.

"Hey Peter," she said warmly, stepping into the room and tugging the tablet from Tony's hands. "Don't worry. I'll call May."

"Great, thanks Pepper!" Peter said, fleeing the room before he could watch them have a potentially awkward conversation regarding what Pepper must have overheard. Relationships, he thought as he jogged down the hall away from the conference room. Weird.

And then Peter remembered why he'd decided to stay. He reached the elevator, leaped inside when it dinged (pretty incredible almost never having to wait, since there were so few people here compared to the size of the facilities), and extracted his phone to dial Ned. So much easier to hear him in here than sitting on the top of a truck on the highway. Plus, this chat really couldn't wait 'til he got home to Queens.

"Hey man," Peter breathed, keeping his voice down during the short trip between floors out of the instinctual politeness of crowded-space-etiquette. "Any idea how Mr. Stark might know who I've been hanging around with lately?"

"Uh, 'cause you brag about what a stupendous best friend I am all the time in front of the Avengers?" Ned guessed.

"Ummm something like that."

"Thought so," Ned said with a self-satisfied chuckle.

"But also, how else might he know?" Peter pressed.

"Lemme just pull up the map of specs we made about your suit."

"'K." He tapped his foot, then stepped quickly out of the elevator onto his floor when the doors opened.

"I think I found something," Ned told him.

He said what it was. Peter took off for his room at a run.

To be continued...