Chapter Text
Not a lot. Peter didn't talk about school much - Peter didn't talk about anything much, which was its own problem, one of many problems Tony was cataloguing in a mental file labelled THINGS PETER PARKER WON'T LET ME FIX. But there'd been pieces. Peter mentioning a name with a specific flatness. A teacher pulling Tony aside at a parent-teacher thing he wasn't technically supposed to be at, saying something about a "social dynamic" and "persistent targeting" in the careful language of someone who knew Flash Thompson's parents donated to the school.
May had said even less, which meant it was worse than the teachers made it sound.
So Tony knew the name. Knew the kid was rich and loud and made Peter's life harder. Filed it under PROBLEMS I WILL EVENTUALLY SOLVE, subcategory SATISFYING ONES.
Right now, though, he had a more immediate problem, which was Peter Parker standing in front of him on the sidewalk outside Midtown refusing to accept a paid lab position for the third time in two weeks.
"It's not charity," Tony said. "It's a title change. You're already doing the work. I'm just - formalizing it. With compensation. Like a normal employer. Because I am your employer."
"You're not my employer. I'm an intern."
"You're an intern who re-derived a novel polymer synthesis in my lab last Tuesday because you were bored. That's not an intern. That's a researcher, and researchers get paid."
"I don't need to get paid."
"Everyone needs to get paid, Peter. That's how money works. I give you money, you buy food. It's a whole system. Very established."
Peter's jaw was set. His backpack straps were twisted in his fists. He was doing the thing - the Parker thing - where his whole body went rigid and his voice got quieter and more precise and Tony could feel the refusal calcifying in real time.
"I'm fine with the internship. The internship is fine. I don't want a - it's too much, Mr. Stark."
"It's sixteen dollars an hour. It's minimum wage. It is literally the minimum I am legally allowed to pay you."
"Then don't pay me."
"That's not-" Tony pinched the bridge of his nose. "Kid. I'm trying to-"
"I know what you're trying to do."
Peter said it quietly. Not angry yet, but getting there. Tony could see the route - two more sentences and Peter would say something polite and final and walk away and they'd be back here next week having the same conversation. Tony had been through this exact sequence four times. He'd tried cash, he'd tried gift cards, he'd tried equipment, he'd tried a Stark Industries credit card "for lab supplies only" that Peter had left on Tony's desk like it was contaminated.
The kid wouldn't take it. Tony Stark, who had solved cold fusion in an afternoon, could not get a seventeen-year-old to accept minimum wage.
"Peter-"
"Hey, Parker!"
Tony turned. A kid was walking across the parking lot. Tall, athletic build, expensive jacket, the kind of haircut that cost sixty dollars and was supposed to look like it cost nothing. He had the walk - Tony recognised it, he'd had it himself at that age - the walk of someone who'd never been told no by anyone who mattered.
Flash Thompson. Had to be.
Tony's eyes narrowed. Peter's shoulders had gone up, just a fraction, a flinch he probably didn't know he was doing.
"Nice ride, Parker." Flash nodded at Tony's Audi. At Tony, standing next to it. Flash either didn't recognise Tony Stark or didn't care, which - actually, Tony didn't know which one was more insulting. "Is this your Uber? Fancy."
"Go away, Flash."
"I'm just saying. Big step up from the subway. Did your aunt win the lottery or-"
"Go away, Flash."
Tony opened his mouth. He was going to say something. He wasn't sure what - something cutting, something adult and devastating, something that would make this kid understand exactly who he was talking to and exactly how inadvisable it was to-
"What are you even doing here?" Flash had stopped walking. He was looking at Tony, at Peter, at the space between them. "Is this your boss? From the fake internship?"
"It's not a fake-"
"Oh my god, it IS." Flash laughed. "And what, he's firing you? That tracks. I'm amazed you lasted this long."
"He's not firing me."
"Promoting you? That's hilarious. What, did you accidentally cure cancer while getting coffee?"
Peter's whole body changed. Tony watched it happen. The rigid refusal, the hunched shoulders, the careful quiet - all of it gone, replaced by something sharper and hotter. Peter squared up. His chin came forward.
"He's offering me a paid position, actually."
"A paid position." Flash said it like it was the funniest thing he'd ever heard. "You. Parker. Who can't afford shoes. Getting a job."
"It's a lab researcher role."
"Which you're obviously not qualified for."
"I re-derived a novel polymer synthesis last week."
"I don't know what that means, but it sounds fake."
"It's not fake, Flash. None of it is fake. And I'm taking the position." Peter turned to Tony. His face was flushed and furious and his eyes were bright and he said, directly to Tony, with the force of someone slamming a door: "I'm taking it. Sixteen an hour. Whatever. Send me the paperwork."
Tony stood very still. His mouth was open. He closed it.
"Great," Tony said. "I'll - yep. Paperwork. Will do."
Flash snorted. "Wow. Lab researcher. Hope they don't let you near anything breakable, Penis." He hitched his backpack and walked away. He was already pulling out his phone. He didn't look back.
Peter was breathing hard. His hands were shaking, just slightly, the way they did when his pride had been touched and the adrenaline was still going. He wasn't looking at Tony.
"So," Tony said. Eyed the clench jaw. Decided to exercise restraint for once in his life. Redirected. "I'll have the paperwork ready by Friday."
Peter looked at him. His jaw was still clenched. "Fine."
"Fine."
Peter walked away toward the subway. Tony stood by his car and watched him go, and then he looked at the parking lot where Flash Thompson had disappeared, and he stood there for a long time.
He got in the car. He sat there.
He called Pepper.
"You're not going to believe what just happened," he said.
"You got Peter to accept the position."
"I - yes. How did you-"
"You've been talking about it for three weeks, Tony."
"A kid bullied him into it."
Silence.
"I'm sorry, what?"
"A kid. His - there's this bully. Flash. He came over and insulted Peter, and Peter got so angry proving him wrong that he accepted the job. To spite him. I was standing right there. I've been trying for weeks. I had spreadsheets, Pepper. I made a PowerPoint."
"A high schooler outmaneuvered you."
"He didn't outmaneuver me, he - it wasn't on purpose. He was just being an asshole. He's apparently always an asshole. He just - happened to be an asshole at exactly the right moment and Peter-"
Tony stopped.
"Tony?"
"I'll call you back."
He hung up. He sat in the car. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel.
Flash Thompson. Rich kid. Bully. The one the teachers talked about in careful voices. The one Peter flinched at. The one Peter argued with like his life depended on winning.
The one May went quiet about.
Tony pulled up the school's donor page on his phone. Thompson. There it was - substantial annual contribution, two names, a family photo on the fundraiser page from three years ago where nobody was standing close to anyone else. He closed the tab. He drove home. He sent Peter the paperwork. Set the pay at $20.
Peter signed it that night, 11:47pm, without changes.