Chapter Text
Never in Peter’s life has he seen so many people whip out their phones so quickly. The class of Midtown High instantly disregards Dr. Grace’s earlier lecture— “No phones out at school, no phones out at the field trip. Same rules as always. As long as I can’t see it, it’s not there.”— eagerly taking pictures and videos as Tony Stark walked towards them. Peter knew he was certain to see at least 500 angles of Mr Stark doing absolutely nothing at all posted on the class group chat by the end of this.
“Your guide is sick today,” Mr Stark apologised with a shooing gesture towards the actual tour guide, who was very much present and not sick, “So you’ve got me instead. That’s not a problem, right?”
If it were a problem (which— It wasn’t. None of Peter’s classmates in their right mind would refuse this opportunity) Mr Stark didn’t give them a chance to respond, launching right into the rest of his speech.
“So,” he says, clapping his hands together, “I think these tours usually start with some sort of spiel about how this building is a brilliant feat of architecture, insanely cool, blah blah blah. And sure, it’s cool, but I didn’t design it, so no one really cares. What do you kids say we skip all that boring stuff and jump to something more exciting? You don’t mind that, do you, Gracie?”
Gracie? Peter turns to look at his science teacher’s reaction. He expected him to have that look he did whenever one of his students tried to call him by a terrible nickname (Last month Flash had taken to calling the teacher ‘Big G’ for two days straight’). It was a distinctive Dr Grace expression— lips pressed thin, but in a way that made it clear he wanted to laugh but knew he shouldn’t. Instead, Dr Grace just looked mildly flustered.
Weird.
“That’s fine,” Dr Grace says, “As long as you keep all my students in one piece.”
“What do you take me for? Everything we do here at Stark Industries is one hundred percent safe. Or— at least seventy five percent, on a good day.” Mr Stark grins, turning on his heel as he gestures over towards the elevator, “Alright, pick up your jaws, kids, or we’re not going to get anywhere today.”
“You’re in deep shit, Parker,” Flash mutters as he pushes past Peter to the front of the crowd following Mr Stark with a triumphant smirk, “You won’t be able to get away with your intern story if Tony Stark himself is here to disprove it. You should see the look on your face.”
Peter imagined the look on his face probably did look a bit terrified— but not at all for the reason Flash was thinking. In fact, he’d much prefer Mr Stark pretended he had no clue who Peter was instead of the alternative.
He followed the rest of the students towards the absurdly massive elevator, taking special care to remain just out of sight of Mr Stark.
"Now," Mr Stark says, "These labs I'm going to show you are Stark Industry's greatest pride and joy— right after me, of course. You need very high clearance to be working in here. Isn't that right—"
Oh no.
"—Dr Grace?"
Wait.
What?
The question is accompanied with a flirtatious wink, and— Oh my gosh, Mr Stark was flirting with Peter's science teacher. And perhaps worst of all, Dr Grace didn't look like he wanted the man to stop.
This was officially the worst field trip of his life, beating the one where he got bit by a radioactive spider by a long run.
Dr Grace is spared from answering as FRIDAY announces the elevator has arrived at their stop. Metal doors open to reveal a hallway where lab techs in bright white coats darted between rooms, a constant high energy that made Peter feel on edge, despite the fact he wasn't working at all.
"This is where the magic happens," Mr Stark says, leading the kids into the hallway. "Stark Industries employs the best engineers from around the world to design the best technology. It's why our products wipe any competitors off the field. If you kids stay in school and study hard— do what I didn't, basically— you could be working here one day."
Not one to miss an opportunity to torment Peter, Flash shoves his hand into the air and asks a question before he'd been called on. "How old do you have to be to intern here?"
Mr Stark blinks, eyes flickering over to Peter as he seems to slot the story into place. "We don't have a specific hiring age here. If you're good, you're on the team."
"Even high schoolers?" Flash presses.
"Usually not. But if there's some super genius teen out there who wants to work for us, we'll probably be looking into it." Mr Stark clears his throat and continues, cutting off Flash from where he clearly still had more questions, hand shot high in the sky.
"Now, of course, I can't be taking you guys into the real real laboratories— that would take an NDA that'd make you kids mute for the rest of your lives. But it's just as cool in here."
He yanks one of the lab doors open with a flourish. Peter recognizes it as what Mr Stark called the "kiddie-lab", where he put anyone he didn't trust around explosives. Peter had spent far too long working inside the walls of this lab.
"Take a look around," Mr Stark invited the kids standing timidly in the doorway, "Most of the equipment won't bite."
With permission given, Peter's classmates quickly moved to investigate all the different pieces of equipment. A StarkPhone laid half assembled on a workbench, and some weird microwave-esque appliance sat beside it. Peter hovered over Ned's shoulder as he examined a shelf of liquids which Peter was pretty sure was just dyed lemon-lime soda.
While he pretended to pay attention, his attention was really on his teacher and his mentor, who hung by the doorway. Dr Grace leans against the wall, hands in his pockets. Mr Stark is shorter than him, but he still attempts to do a suave doorway lean over Dr Grace that would probably look ridiculous if anyone else were trying, but— Tony Stark. With enough confidence, he can pull anything off, apparently.
Thank god for enhanced senses, which allowed Peter to inconspicuously eavesdrop.
"…Nice kids," Dr Grace was saying, "I like teaching. I'm pretty good at it, too."
"I wouldn't have thought that," Mr Stark snorts, "With your temper."
Temper? Dr Grace? The angriest Peter had ever seen his science teacher was the time he'd found out a kid was filming some of the class's group presentations without their permission, and even then, he wouldn't have really thought the man had had a temper. More like a fierce disappointment.
Dr Grace flushes red and pushes his glasses up higher.
"That was a long time ago," he says. "People can change."
"I haven't."
"Last time I saw you you weren't saving the world in a flying metal suit, so… I’d say it’s debatable."
“Touché,” Mr Stark says, and winks. Again. Peter mentally gags and returns his attention to Ned, who’s got his head inside the microwave.
“This is awesome!” Ned shouts out, voice muffled. He withdraws his head, hair messed up. Peter gives him a half-smile and a thumbs up.
“So,” Peter starts, voice low, “Do you think—“
“Bet you wish you worked in a lab like this, huh, Parker?” Flash called out, shoving his way between Ned and Peter, “Rather than a cage?”
Peter blinked. Huh?
“Huh?” Ned asked.
Flash scoffs, “Like… a lab rat. In a cage. Obviously. Cause you’re a fuckin’ rat, Parker.”
Peter would be offended if he knew what Flash was talking about, but the insult went right over his head. But there’s a glint in Flash’s eye— he’s genuinely pissed off. Nothing Spider-Man couldn’t handle with his eyes closed, but Peter isn’t Spider-Man right now. So he stares at the floor and does his best to appear feeble.
“Excuse me, Tony Stark sir?” Ned calls out, cutting through the tension, “I have a question about this uh… device.”
Mr Stark grins and peels away from Dr Grace to approach Ned.
“The microwave?”
Ned pauses. “So it is a microwave?”
“Of course it’s a microwave,” Flash scoffs, “Tony—“
“We’re not that close, kid.”
“I’ve got a real question for you.”
Mr Stark’s eyebrows lift, and Peter imagines he looks intrigued behind his sunglasses. Flash reaches over, placing a hand on Peter’s shoulder.
“My friend Petey here says that he interns here at Stark Industries!” he says, words sickly sweet. The rest of their class has given up on pretending to eavesdrop now, all gathering around them. “But I just wanted to double check if that’s true with the man himself, you know?”
Peter does his best to silently and desperately plead with Mr Stark. Don’t make this a big deal. Don’t make this into a thing.
It fails miserably.
A grin splits across Mr Stark’s face, and he reaches out, rustling Peter’s hair, “Of course! Peter Parker: my very own personal intern. I didn’t see you there, Peter. Why didn’t you say you were coming here for a field trip? If I’d known it was your class coming, I’d have arranged something special!”
“You’re, uh, you’re giving the tour,” Peter points out, even though it’s not much of a tour, “That’s special, isn’t it?”
"Not special enough for my favorite intern," Mr Stark denies, a dramatic change to his voice that Peter knows is the man playing things up just to mess with him.
Flash makes a choking noise beside Peter, turning red enough he could be mistaken for one of Mr Stark's Iron Man suits.
Peter looks over to Dr Grace, hoping the teacher will interject, or… or something.
The teacher clears his throat at Peter's look, clearly noticing his discomfort.
"We should continue the tour," he calls out, clapping his hands together.
Mr Stark nods an apology, "Right. Most of you kiddos have never been here before." He gives Peter a look at that, because of course the man can't just drop it.
The tour continues at a crawling pace, with Mr Stark taking every opportunity to remind Flash that Peter works there, and yes he has an employee card, and yes he can access the super exclusive vending machines. By the end, the bit is thoroughly overdone, and Peter really wishes he could sink into the floor. He can't. But he tries his best.
They're back in the lobby of the building, with kids slowly making their way home— some of them have went to catch the bus, the group of students slowly decreasing, until it's just Dr Grace and Peter remaining.
"Are you doing your internship today?" The teacher asks, "Or do I need to call one of your guardians to come pick you up?"
"No," Peter says quickly, turning on his heel to the elevator, "I'm, uh, I'm working. No need to call anyone."
The last thing he needs is for Dr Grace to get Mr Stark's phone number, especially with the amount of weird flirting they'd done today.
"Right," Dr Grace says slowly, before shaking his head and smiling, "Good luck, then."
Peter smiles back and steps into the elevator, breathing a sigh of relief when the teacher disappears from sight.
He heads up to the lab to finish off the last of his project, before going to the living quarters to finally collapse on the couch and relax. He's just about to do so when he spots a familiar head of hair sitting on one of the leather chairs.
“Dr Grace?” Peter asks, his voice raising in pitch, “What’re you doing here?”
The man’s eyes widen, looking extremely caught, “I— You're an intern, right? How do you have access to here?"
“I don't usually, I'm just waiting to get picked up,” Peter comes up with a quick lie, “Mr Stark offered for me to wait here until my uh… my ride got here.”
“Same here,” Dr Grace says lamely, “Just waiting for my ride.”
“I thought you biked?”
“Ran out of gas.”
“Right.”
“Right.”
An awkward silence fills the room, and Peter takes a seat on the other side of the room. Hopefully Dr Grace is gone before Peter’s cover story gets blown. He doesn’t know how he’d explain why he’s living at Stark Tower. He also doesn’t know how he’d explain why all the information on his school file was incorrect.
As per Parker luck, the elevator door slides open to reveal Tony Stark. His eyes widen in suprise, but… not at Dr Grace.
“Peter!” he says, like a kid who’s been caught stealing a cookie, “You’re here! I thought you were in your room.”
“Your room?” Dr Grace echoes.
“I don’t have a room!” Peter covers quickly.
Mr Stark gasps, fake offended, “I feed you, I clothe you, and this is the payment I get? Fatherhood is just as terrible as they claim it is…”
“Who’s they?” Dr Grace asks, before shaking his head, “Sorry, wait, Peter lives here? Since when?”
Peter opens his mouth to respond, before the last puzzle piece clicks into place.
“You’ve been here before!” he says accusingly, pointing a finger at his biology teacher, “You’re… you’re canoodling with my guardian. My father!”
“I’m canoodling with nobody’s fathers!” Dr Grace waves his hands frantically, “There’s no canoodling being done!”
“Not yet.”
“Not helping, Tony! Wait— Peter’s your son?”