Marvel Oneshots

Ao3 | A Chance (of Life and Death) | Part Three

Warnings and type of fic in part one
Picture is of Clint and children in tutus (art belongs to author)

Come Monday morning, Peter ambled into the kitchen for breakfast to find Tony, drinking coffee with a bowl of froot loops in hand.

"Morning, kiddo," Tony said, passing him the bowl and pulling a carton of milk from the fridge. He poured a splash into his coffee before setting it next to Peter at the table.

"Morning," Peter replied, rubbing his eyes a little. Tony smiled at him fondly.

"Loving the hair. Very punk rock."

Peter ran a hand through his rumpled blue locks.

"Thanks," he said, ducking his head a little.

"I like your new friend, too... MJ? I think we have another Nat on our hands."

Peter nodded. "She kneed Flash in the balls. I think Ned's in love."

Tony laughed. "I'd pay to see that. Actually, I don't think I have to. Your school has security cameras, right? JARVIS, remind me to bring up the feed later."

"You... have access to those?"

"I have access to everything," Tony said, waving a hand. "Don't worry. Nobody else will see it. Except for Clint, if I'm feeling kind."

"It would probably make his day," said Peter, smiling.

"Probably," Tony agreed. "Maybe I'll hold it over his head. Bribery. Incentive."

"To do what?"

"Who knows?" Tony grinned. "Maybe I'll have him wear a tutu."

Peter covered his mouth, holding in laughter.

"He might actually enjoy that," said Natasha, appearing out of nowhere, and both Peter and Tony jumped.

"Jesus fucking christ!" Tony flailed, then organized his arms so they were crossed over his chest. "You need a better hobby. Motherfucker. "

Natasha inspected her nails innocently. Tony huffed.

"I'm gonna have a heart attack and it'll be your fault someday. Wait, did you say Clint would enjoy wearing a tutu?"

Natasha shrugged. "He might."

"Are we talking about the same Clint? No way. I bet you a hundred bucks you can't get him into a tutu."

"You're on." Natasha offered a shark-like smirk and slunk off to the living room. Tony watched her go, then looked at Peter.

"Why do I feel like that was a bad idea?"

"It probably was," Peter told him through a mouthful of froot loops.

----

When Peter had told Sam and Bucky that nobody had bothered him at school about his hair, he hadn't taken the locker room into account. He had gym class after lunch on Mondays, and it didn't occur to him that things might go wrong until it was too late. He was pulling on his gym shorts when the hair on the back of his neck stood up and he braced himself for whatever was coming at him. It ended up being a shoe, not a regular one, but a soccer cleat that made a painful acquaintance with the back of his head. He sucked in a breath and turned to face whoever had thrown it.

Surprisingly, it wasn't Flash. It was, unfortunately, Payton Douglas. The kid who'd beaten him up with a bunch of friends after he'd stopped them from wailing on some poor freshman. Joy, Peter thought to himself. What fun. Also, shit. It must've shown on his face, because Douglas grinned.