Chapter Text
Admittedly, Peter was a bit confused.
How his weekend plan had gone from catching up on homework to trying not to die whilst hanging off Mr Stark’s Iron Man suit, he really had no idea.
Yeah, Mr Stark was going to kill him – possibly turn him into a pile of Peter ash, and that’s if he was lucky.
Anyway, he was pretty sure it was Cap’s fault.
Arriving at Avengers Tower always had Peter buzzing and jumping up and down in the seat of the too-pristine Audis Mr Stark owned – so much so that Happy always seemed to be giving him odd looks.
Excitedly, Peter gripped the soft leather of the backseat as he stared in wonderment at the building that always seemed to sparkle in the afternoon sun. He could never get tired of all of it, despite the sheer amount of time he spent at the Tower.
‘Cool it, Underoos.’ Peter turned and grinned enthusiastically at the billionaire seated beside him. Tony, with all his usual charisma, pulled off his sunglasses and studied the kid. ‘Remember what we agreed on, Spiderling. No crawling on Vision’s ceiling, and Agent Romanov says she’ll judo-flip you if you try to make her watch another Star Wars movie, so I wouldn’t try it, if I were you.’ Peter made to protest – it had been one movie – but Tony held up a hand to shut him up. ‘Nope. Don’t wanna hear it. Come on.’ With that, the genius pushed open the door on his side and stepped out of the vehicle.
Peter squinted against the sunlight as he exited the Audi, cheerily turning back to give the sombre Happy a farewell wave. Then, slinging his backpack over his shoulder, he trotted to catch up with his mentor.
‘So-so what are we doing this weekend, Mr Stark? Another mission? Are we gonna blow something up – is Cap gonna let me use his shield again? Man, that was such a good day!’ Tony glanced over at Peter in amusement; the kid got too excited for his own good.
‘Yeah, sorry to burst your bubble, Mr Parker, but I believe you have homework.’ Tony smirked at the expression of horror that had morphed on Peter’s face.
‘But-but Mr Stark! Come on, man, not cool,’ Peter groaned, gesturing uselessly with his hand.
‘Your Aunt said you’ve been out late every night this week. Finish your homework, and then we’ll talk,’ Tony replied, as the pair entered the gleaming building and effectively escaped the biting cold of the late January air.
‘I remember when homework wasn’t a good enough reason to not drag me to Berlin,’ Peter murmured, only to be met with a raised eyebrow.
‘Watch it, kid. Romanov’s around.’ Tony pulled off his sunglasses again and pointed them almost menacingly at Peter. ‘And anyway, that was different. The world was ending then.’
‘If you call a tiny airport squabble ‘the world ending’, Stark, I’m even more worried about you than I was before.’ Steve emerged from a hallway to the left, his arms crossed in the usual fashion as he leant against the wall, and Tony snorted.
‘You’re always worried. It’s totally unreasonable. Hey, kid,’ Tony glanced over at the teenager, whose crinkled eyes betrayed the forced passive downturn of his mouth, ‘head up to your room; I’ll be there in a minute.’ Tony watched Peter genuinely frown and shoot him a questioning look before slowly heading towards the elevator.
‘You shouldn’t have brought him here this weekend, Stark,’ Steve started, the second he was certain Peter was out of earshot; those enhanced senses could really be a bitch, sometimes. ‘You know what Nat and I are going to be up to.’
Tony furrowed his eyebrows, looking nonchalant as he spread his arms.
‘Not my problem, Rogers. The kid comes here to train. I won’t deny him that because of a little side project you and Romanov have decided to work on.’ Steve pressed his lips together as he stared at the billionaire.
‘Fine, Stark. Just keep him away from our training room, alright?’
‘No promises, Rogers.’
Peter absently twirled in the desk chair in his room, staring around at the numerous posters adorning the walls. Mr Stark had outdone himself with the whole thing, really – the first time Peter had laid eyes on the room, he was quite sure he had knocked the air out of his mentor with the force of his hug. The following moments had been slightly awkward, suffice to say, but that hadn’t bothered Peter.
Each light-grey coloured wall held three evenly spaced framed posters, ranging from Star Wars-themed to ‘PHYSICS: THE ONLY REAL SCIENCE.’ A double bed, covered shamelessly in an Avengers duvet, stood in the centre of the room opposite the door, and two more doors led to a closet and bathroom on the left and right walls respectively. Peter’s desk stood in a corner to the left of the door, and low bookshelves on either side held a variety of comics and unopened Lego sets. A compact box at the foot of the bed housed a television, on which Peter had access to all of F.R.I.D.A.Y’s movie archives.
Peter was quite sure that the room was one of the nicest things anyone had ever bothered to do for him. When he’d told Mr Stark that, the man had just stared at him for a long moment. Peter still wasn’t certain what had been running through his mentor’s head.
By the time Mr Stark showed up, Peter had decided to pull out his chemistry book and balance equations. Mr Stark’s ‘minute’ apparently translated to over half an hour in human time; Peter had even gone so far as to ask F.R.I.D.A.Y where his mentor was. The AI had sombrely told him that that information was ‘classified’.
‘How’s your homework going, kiddo?’ Peter glanced up as Mr Stark appeared in the doorway.
‘Oh, uh, it’s okay, Mr Stark. Just chemistry,’ Peter answered quietly as he fiddled with his pen.
‘I’ll assume you know what you’re doing, then. Also, I want you to stay away from the training floor this weekend, because your Aunt will kill me if you get blown up, and that’ll make things messy. Capisce?’ Tony’s tone was almost joking, but his expression was serious, prompting Peter to nod more vigorously than required.
‘Of course, Mr Stark.’
‘Good.’ Peter looked back down at his work before glancing to Mr Stark again.
‘Mr Stark… why-why am I here if I can’t train? I don’t understand. Isn’t the point of this to make me… better?’ Peter asked uncertainly – because why would Mr Stark bring him to the Tower if not to teach him; to mentor him? Didn’t the man only put up with him because he could be an asset to the team, one day?
‘Because, kid. I want to keep an eye on you. And you aren’t bad company.’ Peter started in surprise – Mr Stark wanted him around? Peter loved spending time with his mentor, but he really hadn’t thought that feeling was mutual.
‘But… why?’ Peter hesitantly voiced his doubt, causing Mr Stark to stare at him as if he’d grown another head; which, really, he could have, because there were probably crazy side effects to the radioactive spider bite that just hadn’t shown up yet. Mr Stark sighed as he walked over and seated himself on the bed and fixed Peter with an appraising look.
‘You’re a good kid, Peter. But that’s it; you’re a kid. Sometimes you need to do kid stuff, rather than spending your time almost dying because of a guy with a gun in a subway – yes, I know about that,’ Tony said sternly, as Peter opened his mouth to argue. ‘My point is, I like having you around, and I’m going to make sure you take time off from being Spider-Man sometimes. You don’t seem to be very good at doing that yourself. Plus, your hot Aunt is worried about you.’ Tony winked and Peter made a gagging sound.
‘Mr Stark!’ Tony laughed at the disgusted expression on Peter’s face.
‘Sorry, Spiderling. But do you understand what I’m saying, Peter?’
‘Y-yeah. I think so. You won’t take away the suit again, will you?’ Tony’s forehead creased as Peter’s anxious doe-eyes met his.
‘No, kid, that’s not what I’m saying. I’m not taking away the suit. I don’t want you to end up with another building on top of you and not know about it as soon as it happens.’ Peter visibly winced, and Tony almost regretted making the comment. The billionaire remembered that particular day; the day the teenager had told him what else had transpired on Homecoming night almost four months ago. Tony recalled lecturing the kid, again, about the danger of having gone after Toomes, because dammit Peter you could’ve died; when he’d noticed Peter tearing up, however, he’d merely sighed and sat down beside the kid. Having a building dropped on him, Tony thought, was bad enough.
‘That was a bad day,’ Peter muttered in agreement. Peter looked up and out of the window suddenly, pressing his lips together tightly.
‘Yeah, kiddo, I know,’ Tony answered, his tone unusually soft. ‘Now,’ Tony clapped his hands together as he stood from the bed, startling Peter, ‘once you’ve done some more homework, feel free to come on out to the common area. Tonight’s movie night. Rhodey is choosing, so you know it’ll be good.’ Tony felt a smile tugging at his lips as Peter grinned at him.
Upon exiting the room, Tony instructed F.R.I.D.A.Y to keep an eye on the Spider-kid; just to make sure he was working, of course. Nothing more. Or, at least, that’s what Tony told himself.
It started with the Maltesers.
Movie night at Avengers Towers turned out to be an inexplicably rowdy event. A pile of food had been stacked on the table in front of the soft couches, F.R.I.D.A.Y had dimmed the lights, and surround-sound blasted music at anyone’s request. The smell of popcorn filled the air as Natasha and Sam heaped bags into the oversized microwave, and the chatter and banter was seemingly unending.
And damn, Peter had decided that the Avengers were even cooler when they weren’t saving the world. How that was possible, he wasn’t sure; all he knew was that seeing Steve and Rhodey argue over which song F.R.I.D.A.Y should be playing, and F.R.I.D.A.Y constantly switching back and forth between the same two songs, was the best thing he had seen all week.
Once everyone was finally settled, Peter found himself lodged between his mentor and Bruce on the centre couch; Peter fondly referred to them as ‘the science bros’, which always made Mr Stark chuckle. The only two missing from the ensemble were Thor and Clint; apparently, Clint was on house arrest until further notice after the mess of Berlin. Wanda and Vision were curled up on an adjacent couch, and Rhodey, Sam, Steve, and Natasha (though Peter was, admittedly, always too afraid to call her anything other than ‘Agent Romanov’ to her face) were jammed onto a third. There was a relaxed, playful vibe in the room, and Peter wished he could just sink into it; allow it to cocoon him. It felt so nice; like home.
When the Star Wars theme began playing, Natasha let out an indignant groan, and her death glare quickly found Peter.
‘Parker, I swear if this is your doing, I’m going to lob this entire bag of Maltesers at your head.’ Natasha held up the red bag in threat, and Peter’s eyes widened in alarm as he frantically shook his head and sank back into the couch.
‘No, no, it wasn’t me, I swear! I didn’t choose the movie!’ Peter heard a snort from beside him, and glanced over to see his mentor’s face scrunched up in laughter. ‘Mr Staaark!’ he whined, but the man only reached over and ruffled the teenager’s brown hair. Peter pouted, but his sulking was cut short when he felt something small and hard hit him in the head. ‘Ow!’ He yelped, but his expression turned apologetic upon realising Nat really had thrown a Malteser at his head.
‘Romanov! Play nicely and pick on someone your own size,’ Tony teased, failing to suppress a smirk at the fearful apology his Spiderling appeared to be attempting to muster. ‘Throw the Maltesers at Rhodey instead.’
That comment earned Tony a Malteser to the head, too, and soon enough, Rhodey and Steve seemed to be the only ones even attempting to focus on Star Wars: Episode VII (Rhodey was desperately shoving popcorn into his mouth and craning his neck around the superheroes jumping around the lounge area, in some last-ditch effort to watch the film. Tony, quite frankly, found it hilarious).
The Malteser War, as someone had dubbed it about halfway through, spanned a solid twenty minutes and at least fifteen bags of Maltesers. By the end, two couches had been upturned and used for cover, and Peter thought the entire thing was amazing; quite possibly the best night of his life, in fact. He and Mr Stark had somehow teamed up, and he had wasted no time in enthusiastically lobbing Maltesers over the bar they were hiding behind. He’d accidentally hit Mr Stark once (he really didn’t know how that one had happened), and Mr Stark had dumped a whole bags’ worth of the chocolates over his head in retaliation.
Once the Maltesers had run out and everyone had emerged from their hiding places, Peter more than happily plopped himself onto one of the upturned couches and curled in on himself, his attention back on the Star Wars film. The rest of the group was quick to follow suit, but Mr Stark was the only one who seemed bothered by the chocolatey mess they had made. Peter watched him surveying the Malteser-covered floors with his arms folded and a frown adorning his features.
‘Is nobody – am I going to have to clean this up?’ He questioned, and Peter shot him a grin before turning back to the television. ‘Alright – I hate to be the boring one, but… F.R.I.D.A.Y, TV off, and lights up.’
Every person in the room let out a loud groan or protesting exclamation as the film shut off and they were left squinting against the bright fluorescent lights.
‘I’ll help, Mr Stark!’ Peter piped up suddenly, and wasted no time in back flipping off the couch and landing in front of older man, beaming.
‘Yeah, now you will, kiddo. And no flipping off the furniture!’
Somehow, Peter found himself in Mr Stark’s lab a few hours later.
Mr Stark had told him months ago that he was allowed in the lab as often as he wanted, on the agreement that Peter didn’t touch any of his mentor’s projects.
But Peter didn’t think that meant he was allowed down here at three in the morning.
But there he sat, staring down at the web-shooters sitting on his wrists. He never slept without them on, these days, and he knew Mr Stark knew about that sliver of odd behaviour. He hadn’t asked why, yet, which was something Peter was grateful for. He didn’t think he was quite ready to explain it to anyone, let alone his idol.
After Mr Stark had made everyone help in the clean-up, they had finished the movie and headed off to bed. Mr Stark had walked Peter back to his room, telling him to call F.R.I.D.A.Y if he needed him at any point during the night.
So, naturally, Peter opted to sit up in the dark lab and tinker rather than seek out his mentor.
‘Peter, would you like me to turn on the lights?’ The resident AI’s sudden question pulled Peter from his reverie.
‘Uh, no thanks, F.R.I.D.A.Y. My eyes are adjusted, anyway,’ he murmured in reply.
‘Very well. Would you like me to call Mr Stark?’ At this, a breath caught in Peter’s throat.
‘No, no F.R.I.D.A.Y. That’s okay,’ Peter said, as he absently began tapping his fingers against the cool metal of the workbench.
‘Are you certain? It’s uncharacteristic of you to sit down here in the dark for so long.’ The AI sounded almost concerned for him, causing Peter’s eyebrows to furrow.
‘I’m okay, F.R.I.D.A.Y. Thanks.’ As soon as the words left his mouth, however, the teenager was struck with an idea. ‘Hey, F.R.I.D.A.Y?’
‘Yes, Peter?’
‘Do you think Mr Stark would get mad if I went to the training floor?’ The AI didn’t respond for a moment, making Peter’s chest flutter with nervousness.
‘I don’t see why that wouldn’t be acceptable.’
‘Cool.’ Peter slipped of the stool he had seated himself on, and headed towards the doors. ‘Mr Stark told me to stay off the training floor this weekend, but I just… need to do something, you know?’
‘Perhaps I should call Mr Stark to let him know.’
‘I don’t want to disturb his sleep, F.R.I.D.A.Y.’ Peter poked his head around the door to make sure the hall was clear, before he made his way downstairs as quietly as he could.
Peter had not expected one of Mr Stark’s suits to greet him as he stepped over the threshold into the large room. Or, not so much greet, but to be vacantly staring at him in a way that kind of creeped him out.
His previous intentions of finding a punching bag forgotten, Peter wandered up to the suit. It looked newer – possibly a new mark, Peter thought in fascination – and it was so shiny, coloured in the traditional red and gold.
All he did was touch the reactor core.
Next thing he knew, the damn thing had turned on its boosters and was almost frantically flying circles around the training room. Peter barely had time to comprehend what was happening as he clutched onto the torso for dear life.
‘Gaaah; fuck, shit – F.R.I.D.A.Y, do something!’ The suit was loud – louder seeing as the only sound he had heard in the last couple hours was F.R.I.D.A.Y’s metallic voice.
‘I have alerted Mr Stark of the situation.’ The AI responded tonelessly.
‘No, F.R.I.D.A.Y – anything but that!’ Peter groaned; he could feel his hands slipping – why couldn’t F.R.I.D.A.Y turn the damned suit off? – and Mr Stark would for sure kill him. He wasn’t supposed to be in here, after all. If he died, well, Mr Stark would make sure to kill him twice. ‘Why the hell is this thing in here, anyway?’ He cried aloud, surprised when the AI answered.
‘Captain America and Agent Romanov have been training in the suit, in case an emergency arises in which it is required that they wear it.’
‘Okay, but in here? Come on, F.R.I.D.A.Y, can’t you turn it off?’ Peter was almost pleading now; it was hard to hold onto a suit that was flying around a room too small for it to be flying around in.
Before F.R.I.D.A.Y could respond, the lights flicked on, and the suit slowly lowered itself to the floor. Panting, Peter released his tight grip on the metal and fell to his knees, exhausted.
‘Mr. Parker.’ Mr Stark’s tone was clipped, and Peter would never admit it, but he almost wanted to cry. He knew his mentor would be angry, and disappointed, and he hated that he was the cause of that. And god, Mr Stark was definitely going to kill him. ‘You and I are going to have a long conversation about this.’
He was so, so dead.