Peter Parker prides himself on his pragmatism. He's twelve years old and he's been on the streets for two years. He's seen men knife each other over a bottle of booze or five bucks, or even just for the hell of it. He's watched dealers ruin people's lives with the drugs they sell, watched junkies OD in puddles of their own shit and vomit. He's seen nightmares on the streets; if not for his powers, he'd probably be dead long ago. But sticky fingers are useful for impossible lifts, and even more useful in finding safe perches for the night. So far, he's managed to avoid getting hooked on drugs or selling his ass for food. So far, he's been lucky. His luck won't hold forever and he knows it; the older he gets, the fewer options he has. But for now, he's scraping by on scraps from the dumpsters, stealing wallets, and spending his days in the library soaking in every bit of knowledge he can wring out of the books there.

He's cynical in the way only street kids can be. He only cares about himself, or so he tells himself. Which doesn't explain why, when he sees a black-clad figure tumbling down, he reacts before he thinks. He doesn't know how to catch her; he knows just enough to know that if she's falling hard enough, he might kill her and himself if he just tries for a straight-up grab. But he's smart; he can do this. He leaps up, clinging to the dirty brick and twisting around, clinging with one hand and his feet, momentarily grateful that his sneakers are worn paper-thin and he can cling like this. One hand is free and he triggers his webs, spraying them down across the alleyway. The uppermost web is thin and single-layered, but the one below it is double-layered and so on, each descending layer thicker and thicker. The Black Widow goes straight through the first layer, but the second slows her a bit, the third a lot more, and she's working with it, rolling so that her impact is spread a bit more, coating herself in the broken strands of webbing to slow her fall still more. She's a mass of webs when she hits the second-lowest web, bounces, and finally stills. Peter lets out a breath of sheer relief—he'd thought for a minute it wasn't going to work, and then what was he going to do?—and scrambles across the web to her. He rips off his webs quickly, then freezes as he finds himself face-to-face with the infamous Black Widow.

"Spasiba," she says finally, and he quirks a smile at her.

"You're welcome," he answers in the same language, briefly marveling at how familiar it is for all that he hasn't spoken it in years. Mom taught him several languages; it was their little game and it drove his Dad nuts. Surprise lights her face, but she smiles at him.

He helps her out of the web, mumbling sheepish apologies as she picks bits and pieces of his webbing out of her hair and off her suit. He expects her to just leave, but she makes no move to go just yet.

"Cleanup," she says idly when he glances skyward again. "The rest are nearly done, I'd be of no use by the time I caught up."

He's not entirely sure he believes her, but…this is the first real interaction he's had with anyone in years. Okay, yeah, so the shelter workers sometimes try to talk to him, but he's too frightened of them to give anything but the shortest answers politeness permits, not when anything he tells them might be used later by cops or worse trying to hunt him down. The librarians will point him to books of interest, but they don't stick around long enough to actually talk to him, and forget anyone else. More to the point, the Widow is the first person who's seen what he can do and isn't treating him like a freak or a monster for it. He didn't realize how much he craved that until now, when he's unexpectedly found that unblinking acceptance.

He perches on the dumpster lid, and cracks a shy smile when she joins him. They fall back into Russian because, as she puts it, it's been too long since she spoke her mother tongue. And, well, it's fun, so he lets his guard down, just a little. He asks her about a phrase that's been bugging him in War and Peace, and she blinks but gives him a translation he can follow, then asks him if he's read any of Tolstoy's philosophy, which he has. He's having so much fun he doesn't even realize they're no longer alone until a throat clears, and he looks up into Captain America's face. Steve Rogers smiles at him, blue eyes warm and so friendly he actually feels a little tongue-tied. His gaze drops from Cap to the red and gold clad figure standing beside the Avengers' leader, the famous faceplate up to reveal Tony Stark's even more famous features. He'll deny it, but he kind of spaces out for a completely fanboy second, but this is Tony Freaking Stark! He's a genius, he's revolutionized dozens of fields, he's created stuff out of pure scifi, and he's right in front of Peter!

"Hey, Nat, who's your friend?" Tony asks.

He probably shouldn't answer, but he can't help himself because Tony Stark wants to know his name. "Peter," he manages, knowing he has to look like an idiot. "I'm Peter."

Tony's smile turns even warmer. "Hi, Pete, I'm Tony. Nice to meet you."

Intelligent brown eyes flick up, taking in the webs. Peter swallows hard, bracing himself for the disdain, the disgust because the webs aren't exactly pretty when they're fresh and they're downright ugly when they're dissolving, like they are right now.

"Cool trick," Tony says instead. "Nice job on that catch too." He looks back at Peter, who gets the distinct impression Tony's just noted every single thing about him and then some. "What made you think of a staggered break instead of a straight-up snag?"

"I-I didn't know how high Agent Romanov fell from," he stammers, "or, well, if she'd reached terminal velocity. I knew I could get her with one web, but the stop might break her neck." He shrugs a little, flushing. "I didn't know if I could catch her with more than one web directly, but I'm pretty quick at layering webs, so I did that instead."

"Smart," Tony murmurs approvingly. "Very smart."

"I owe you my life," the Widow sums up, leaning over. She ignores the way Peter tenses to spring to press her lips against his dirty cheek. "I will not forget that."

They're heroes, but only Captain America and the half-naked dude that must be the Hulk's other half look like they want to stop him as Peter offers her a shy smile and then leaps, catching the fire escape and springboarding off it, then the wall to somersault over the edge of the rooftop.