Chapter Text
“It’s over, kid. You didn’t do it. You never could.”
“No, Mr. Stark, I’ll do better, I promise--”
“I’m gonna need the suit back.”
“No, I--”
“And the watch.”
“Mr. Stark, I promise I’ll do better, I’ll apply again next year, I won’t patrol, I’ll study as much as I can, I’ll--”
“I went to college when I was fifteen. And you can’t do it when you’re eighteen? After everything I’ve given you? My money? My time?”
“Mr. Stark, I swear, I’ll do better, I promise!”
“It’s over, kid. Go home.”
“No, I don’t want him in my home. He can’t come back here.”
“May?!”
“I knew I shouldn’t have put up with this super-hero nonsense...I should have put a stop to it the minute I found it.”
“May?”
“There shouldn’t have been anything to stop, May. That was my mistake, I should have never given him the suit. He can’t handle it. He can’t handle any of it.”
“Peter, wake up. Your heart rate has exceeded one-hundred and forty beats per minute while in a resting position. As such my protocols require me to inform Mr. Stark.”
Peter wakes with a start, and practically falls out of the large bed in his room at the tower. It hurts to breathe, the air whistling in and out of his chest, the crushing weight of the dream pressing on all four limbs. His dreams have never been simple, or calm, but this one is relatively new. Since he sent in the application.
“Peter?” The door to his room opens, and Pepper pokes her head in.
“Pepper?” Of course it’s Pepper; Mr. Stark is in Seoul, his first real business trip after everyone came back, and the wedding, and since he’d told Peter that Pepper was expecting a baby he demanded Peter help look after.
“FRIDAY woke me up, are you alright?” She looks disheveled and is rubbing her belly. After everything, Mr. Stark reprogramed FRIDAY to alert Pepper if he’s not immediately reachable and Peter is in mild distress. If she doesn’t answer, it gets alerted up the chain. When he’s in Queens, Karen is programmed to alert both him and May.
Every base covered. Apparently, even for something as simple as a nightmare.
“Ye-yeah. I think,” Peter is hopelessly twisted in his sheets, the comforter kicked to the floor. His t-shirt feels wet, and is sticking to his back.
“Did you have a nightmare, sweetheart?” Pepper softly pads across the room, her footsteps barely audible even to Peter’s ears in the lush carpet.
“I think so…” Peter slumps back into his pillow, giving up on untangling his legs. Pepper takes over, carefully bending over to pull and untwist the high-count sheets.
“Do you want to talk about it?” She tactfully doesn’t look at his face while she tugs on the material. “Tony told me they were better…”
“They were,” Peter groans, throwing his forearm over his head while he tries to catch his breath and lets Pepper manhandle his legs. “I--”
Suddenly FRIDAY’s speakers crackle through the room, followed by a long beep and a frantic, “Peter?!”
“There you are,” Pepper sighs, smoothing the sheets over Peter’s legs and sitting on the end of the bed. He peeks out from under his arm to watch as she addresses the ceiling. “FRIDAY called me.”
“Ugh, I was in a sauna with a bunch of old men. Disturbing and inconvenient. I packed up as quickly as I could. Where’s Peter?”
“He’s right here,” Pepper squeezes Peter’s foot through the sheet. “He had a nightmare.”
Peter can feel the adrenaline start to seep out of his body as Pepper talks, slowing being replaced with the familiar feeling of shame. He knows what Mr. Stark--and Pepper, and May--would say, that everyone has nightmares and anxieties, and that it’s their job to take care of him when they happen. But it doesn’t stop the swirling of the thoughts in his brain, especially when it’s so keyed up after a nightmare. It would be mortifying for any seventeen-year-old, but Peter is a superhero. He should be stronger than this. He should be stronger than having nightmares about a college acceptance letter.
“Peter?” Mr. Stark cuts through Peter’s ruminating. His voice is electronic and strange, staticky to Peter’s ears over the speaker, not unlike when he’s speaking through the Iron Man mask and Peter isn’t in his suit. “You with us, kiddo?”
“Y-yeah, Mr. Stark,” Peter sighs and pulls his arm off his face, as if Mr. Stark were there to demand he look at him. “I’m alright.”
“What was it this time?” The question is not as testy as his words sound; Mr. Stark knows Peter has all manner of nightmares: his parents, his uncle, buildings collapsing, the Staten Island Ferry, shadowy spaces where no one will answer him, May dying, Mr. Stark dying, his friends dying...every one of Peter’s anxieties has made an appearance.
Once after a particularly bad nightmare, when Peter had actually made himself sick crying, Mr. Stark had given him his list. It made him feel both better and worse, knowing Iron Man had as many, if not more, triggers as he did.
“I-I don’t remember,” Peter lies, exhaling hard. Pepper is still at the end of the bed, gently rubbing his foot. “It was a lot of things, but--but I don’t remember what exactly. S-sorry.”
“No need to be sorry, kiddo. Do you want me to fly back?”
“No!” Peter jumps up, as if Mr. Stark were there and not across the world talking to him over the phone. Pepper jumps slightly. “No, it’s fine. You’ll be back in a few days. It was just a stupid nightmare.”
“It’s not stupid if it bothers you, Peter,” Pepper shifts closer on the mattress and reaches out for his shoulder.
“She’s right, bud.”
“I know,” Peter runs his hand through his hair, the first prickles of exasperation spreading through the base of his neck. Not at them, not even really at himself, but at the situation. “But it’s alright, Mr. Stark. I’ll be ok, and I’d hate to take you away from the important meetings you were so excited about.” He was most definitely not excited about them when he found out he had to go.
“Yeah, I know you’re trying to deflect. But if you’re sure, Peter…”
“I’m fine, Mr. Stark,” Peter wipes the lingering sweat off his forehead.
“Alright. I’ll be back Saturday.”
“I know.”
“Ok. Try and get some more shut-eye before school. Call if you need anything.”
“I will.”
“‘Night kiddo.”
“‘Night, Mr. Stark.”
“‘Night, Pep. I’ll call you in a few hours. Kiss Baby Girl for me.”
“I will, babe,” Pepper smiles serenely and rubs her belly. “Enjoy those meetings.”
“Not likely.” And with that, the line clicks dead. The anxiety in Peter’s belly, that had been slowing dissipating while Mr. Stark was on the phone, ratchets up again.
Pepper must notice Peter start to tense, because she rubs his shoulder gently. “Do you want me to call your aunt, sweetheart?”
“No,” Peter shakes his head, cracking his knuckles. “Her shift isn’t over until six-thirty.” May is now the Nursing Administrator of the emergency room; it’s significantly more money, but she’s also required to cover if any of her staff call off. She loves it though, and Peter doesn’t want to bother her. Not over this.
“Alright,” Pepper stops rubbing his shoulder and pats his knee. “Do you need anything to drink?”
“No. Thanks, Pepper.”
“Alright, then. Lie back down, try and get some sleep.”
Peter does what she says, too drained to put up a fight. The nightmares had gotten better, for awhile anyway. They’d settled back into the real world and Peter’s brain had settled into itself, mostly. He’d gone almost two months without waking up or having someone alerted about his heart rate.
Streak ended, apparently.
“Go to sleep, honey,” Pepper says as she leans over to kiss the top of his head. Peter has buried himself in the linens and comforter, eyes barely peeking above the the edge. “If you need anything, come get me, ok?”
“I will. Thanks, Pepper.”
“Anytime, Peter. Good night.”
The light in the room goes out as Pepper heads to the door, and with a click she’s gone. Peter buries himself deeper, pulling the thick comforter over his head. The letter should be here sometime this month or early next. It makes him sick to think about.
******
“Mail’s here, baby.”
May walks into the kitchen, throwing her shoulder bag on the kitchen island and tossing a pile of envelopes next to it. This is the first night in almost two weeks they’ll be able to have dinner together; adenovirus is going through the city, and she’s had enough call offs of her staff in the ER that she’s been covering more evening shifts than not.
“Oh?” Peter looks up from his Advanced Biochemistry notes, his stomach churning. The letter should be coming in soon. “Anything in there?”
“Well,” May starts flipping through the pile of envelopes. “Bill, bill, ooooh, coupons, bill...here we go, Columbia.”
She tosses the thick envelope at Peter; it lands on the table in front of him. It’s not the one he’s been dreading. Ned received his Columbia letter yesterday, so both Peter and MJ were expecting theirs within the week.
“Ned got his acceptance yesterday.”
“Well, open it, Peter,” May smiles as if she knows exactly what it will say. Peter knows she’s probably not wrong, especially considering how thick the packet it. Peter applied to four schools, New York University, Columbia, and of course, MIT. All three of them applied to the same places, a pact they’d made after the Avengers righted everything and MJ and Peter came back to Ned. Of course neither of them remembered what happened, but Peter had filled them in, on the most basic of facts. Peter had also applied to the City University of New York, knowing that the other three were exceedingly expensive, and that CUNY was more in his and May’s price range. He’d received that acceptance three weeks earlier.
He remembers going to Mr. Stark, embarrassed and worried about asking for letters of recommendation, a month after they came back to New York and two weeks into the school year.
“Why are you dancing around outside my office, kid?” Mr. Stark called from inside the room, off the large, open living space of the penthouse. It’s different from his office in the lab, strictly Stark Industries and government business. Peter doesn’t hang out in that office, not like he does in the lab, unless Mr. Stark is with him. Too many government secrets, and too much for a kid to be worried with, he’d told him when Peter asked.
“Oh...um, I-I’m not…” Peter stepped into the doorway, eyes trained on his feet.
“Yes, you are,” Mr. Stark spun around in his high backed chair, behind the large mahogany desk. The whole room was frankly ridiculous, which Mr. Stark admitted to Peter the first time he was in there, not long after he’d turned down his offer to join the Avengers. “What’s up? What did you break now? Or did Fred break it this time?”
“Ned,” Peter corrected without thinking. “And nothing is broken.”
“Ok, then spill, kiddo. Not that I don’t appreciate the distraction, but all your bouncing back and forth is making me itch.” Mr. Stark’s eyebrow was raised, in his typical ‘I-know-you-want-something-but-are-afraid-to-ask’ way.
“Well, it’s time to start to-to applying to colleges, and-and I was wondering if you’d, I mean, you don’t have to, but I figured I’d ask, even--”
“Peter,” Mr. Stark’s face fell into a warm smile, not unlike the one he had before he’d pulled Peter off the dusty, red ground millions of light years away from earth. He clicked something on his desktop and hologram files appeared in the air around the room. “I wrote them ages ago. They just need to be addressed. Where are you applying?”
The weight on Peter’s shoulders immediately lifted. “Well, um, NYU, and Columbia, and CUNY--”
“And MIT?” Mr Stark flipped through the images, eyeing the wording in each.
“Yeah,” Peter shrugged, stepping further into the office, right through one of the holograms. “It’ll probably be CUNY, though, unless I get a scholarship or really good financial aid, they’re all so expensive…”
“Oh, don’t you worry about that, that’s for me to worry about,” Mr. Stark waved his hand dismissively, pulling up a keyboard.
“Mr. Stark--”
“Is there anything specific you want in these?” Mr. Stark looked up at him directly, effectively silencing Peter’s protests before he can even make them. Peter knows that look. Stop talking.
“Um, I haven’t really thought about it, I haven’t really started filling anything out…” Specific? Mr. Stark was asking him if he wanted anything specific in his letters of recommendation?
“Well, I figured I’d leave Spider-man out, but if you think of anything,” Mr. Stark clapped his hands, and the holograms all folded into nothing. “Just tell me. I’ll sign and mail them as soon as you say the word.”
“Thank you, Mr. Stark,” Peter smiled, watching as he slowly stood up from his desk, shaking out his left arm and cracking his knee. “I really appreciate it.”
“Always, kiddo,” Mr. Stark smoothed the front of his vest, hooking his thumbs into the pockets as he walked behind Peter. He purposely bumped his shoulder into Peter’s as he walked by. “Now why are you worried about this on a Friday night?”
Peter followed him out of the office and into the great room. “Well, I just started this week, so it’s not so much that I’m worried about it on a Friday night, it’s just the first night since I’ve started that I’ve seen you, and I didn’t want to ask Happy to ask you, because that’s weird and kind of disrespectful, and I suppose I could have called you, but--”
“Kid,” Mr. Stark turned around when they reach the stairway down to the real living room and main hallways, the ones they all actually use when there’s nobody else around and no Avengers or dignitaries to entertain. “Relax. Like I said, they’ve been written forever. Now,” he reached out to ruffle Peter’s hair. “Go put your PJs on. No work this Friday night, I need a break. Mac and cheese in front of the tv.”
“Can we put hot dogs in it?”
“Obviously,” Mr. Stark rolled his eyes, and continued down the stairs. Finding out Mr. Stark liked macaroni and cheese and cut-up hot dogs with ketchup was probably the greatest day of Peter’s life. “And remember to put socks on. Your cold feet hurt.”
Peter swallows and looks at the envelope. He hadn’t read the letters, trusting Mr. Stark not to go behind his back and tell the application boards to throw Peter’s away.
“Well, open it, sweetheart,” May turns to the fridge and pulls out a lasagna she’d made the weekend before. “Read it,” she requests, clearly not a worry in sight that it would be anything but good news.
“Alright,” Peter takes a deep breath and rips open the envelope, pulling out a pile of paper.
“‘Dear Mr. Parker, it is with great pleasure that we’d like to accept you--”
“Oh!” May throws the heavy pan on the counter and spins around. “Congratulations, baby! Two for two so far!” She comes over to where Peter is sitting at the table and throws her arms around his shoulders, squeezing tightly.
“Thanks, May,” Peter leans into her hug. Two for two so far.
“Text Tony, sweetie. He’s more anxious for these than I am.”
“Yeah…” Peter cringes when she turns back to her lasagna.
******
Peter can hear them talking, through his bedroom walls and across the hall. He’s back in the Tower, May working the weekend as flu season hits its stride. He could stay in the apartment, but he likes the company and Pepper likes having an extra set of eyes to make sure Tony doesn’t get too crazy with a suit, which he’d promised were for recreational purposes only going forward. Anything beyond helping Peter in the City is now off-limits, especially since Pepper can’t fit in her own suit anymore. Plus, he doesn’t have to make his own dinner.
Peter had collapsed into bed an hour earlier, warm from the exertion of patrolling and a hot shower and cup of chamomile tea from Pepper. He’s falling asleep more easily but still waking up; not quite as panicked as the nightmare from a month ago, but still enough that his stomach roils and he has trouble falling back asleep. The fourth letter--from MIT--still hasn’t come.
“Has the letter come yet?” Pepper says, from their bedroom. They always wait until they think Peter is asleep before talking about him, knowing he can hear pretty much anything that goes on in the Tower.
“Not yet,” he hears Mr. Stark sigh, and the creak of the bed as someone sits.
“It needs to hurry. Poor thing is going crazy.”
“I know,” Peter hears a clink as something is tossed on a dresser top. “I’m kinda of dreading…”
“What? Why? Do you think he won’t get in?”
“Oh, no,” Mr. Stark scoffs as a faucet turns on. “He’s a shoe-in. It’s just--” he pauses. “FRI, is Peter asleep?”
“No, Boss.” FRIDAY speaks only in their bedroom, but of course Peter can hear her as clear as if she was speaking in his. “Peter’s heart rate and breathing pattern indicate he is still awake.”
“Peter, go to sleep!” Mr. Stark calls through the walls and pounds on the drywall as if he were scaring a racoon, knowing very well he can hear him. He can also hear Pepper giggle. “I expect your ass in the lab at eight o’clock sharp to fix the web shooter you broke, and I don’t care how tired you are!”
“Sorry, Mr. Stark. I’m sleeping!” Peter calls, not quite sure if they can hear him in turn. He rolls over and pulls the covers up to his ears, as if it will block out the sound of their voices. At least Mr. Stark believes in him, although he’s not sure if that makes him feel better or worse. The only thing he hears until he drifts off to sleep is the television set in their room.
****
Peter stares at the envelope, sitting in the middle of his work table, in his little corner, in Mr. Stark’s lab. He’d been checking the mail as soon as he gets home from school and pulled it out before May got home, which won’t be until after nine o’clock. And there it was, finally, the envelope adorned with Massachusetts Institute of Technology, gray and maroon across the white paper.
He isn’t even sure why he’s in the lab; Mr. Stark is upstate, his monthly check in with the team he claims can barely feed themselves, and won’t be back until the next morning at least. But it’s Friday evening, and MJ has visitation with her mother and Ned is on a weekend trip to visit family in Buffalo, so it’s not like he has anywhere else to be. Both Mr. Stark and Pepper assured him ages ago he has free reign whenever he wants, and Pepper will be back from the offices in a few hours anyway, so at least he’ll have some company.
And he doesn’t want to open the letter. Columbia, NYU, CUNY, they’d all come one by one, with congratulatory messages and information on how to go about accepting. But this was the one he was waiting for, the alma mater of his mentor and hero, who after three (seven) years had so much faith in him it almost hurts. This is the one he’s least sure but cares most about.
“Pete?” The lab lights up significantly, pulling Peter from his ruminations. “Why are you sitting in the dark, kiddo?
“Mr. Stark?” Peter swivels around in his chair, a smaller model of Mr. Stark’s that had sent him into hysterics when Peter first sat in it, awed he’d been given his own space in Tony Stark’s personal lab. “You’re back?”
“Yeah, they’re a bunch of animals,” Mr. Stark tosses a leather jacket on his own workstation. “And I don’t like leaving Pepper for long. But don’t tell her I said that.”
“I won’t, Mr. Stark. Unless she asks. She’s scary.”
“That she is,” Mr. Stark smiles, the dreamy look Peter has seen more often since their wedding crossing his face. He thinks it’s sweet. “But what are you doing here?”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Stark, I can--” Peter goes to stand up, but he steps over to his desk, placing a hand on his shoulder and holding him down in the chair.
“That’s not what I mean,” he says. “I mean why are you sitting alone in the dark like Roderick Usher?”
“Who?”
“From the Fall of the House of--you know what, never mind,” Mr. Stark looks over Peter’s shoulder and sees the envelope. “Ah. Here at last, I see.”
“Yeah.” Peter swallows hard. He wasn’t quite ready for Mr. Stark to know he’d gotten the letter, and he certainly hadn’t wanted to open it in front of him.
“Well,” Mr. Stark pulls a small metal stool over to Peter’s chair and sits down, tugging at the laces of one of his boots. “Have at it, kid.”
Peter looks at the letter, then back at Mr. Stark. “Um...we don’t have to do it now. I can wait.”
“What are you talking about? You’ve been worried about this for months.”
“No, I haven’t.”
“Yes, you have,” Mr. Stark scoffs. “Don’t forget, I see and hear all. It’s finally here. Open it.”
Peter looks back at the envelope. “I don’t want to.”
“What do you mean you don’t want to? You applied.”
“I know I applied. And I thought…” Peter stops, unsure how to explain this. How do you explain a fear of disappointing someone to a person like Tony Stark? Someone who’s never had to worry about something like that? “...I thought it was a good idea, but, what if it wasn’t?” He looks back at him.
“Jesus, kid,” Mr. Stark’s eyes turn soft. “If you don’t want to go to MIT, that’s fine. You don’t have to go there just because I said I wanted you to. My father made me go there and I hated him for it. It’s your decision, you can--”
“No, that’s not it,” Peter turns to look at an invisible spot on his desktop. “I mean, what if it wasn’t a good idea to apply? What if--”
“What if you didn’t get in?” Mr. Stark states incredulously, as if it’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever said.
“Yeah,” Peter sighs, feeling pathetic.
“Kiddo, look at me.” Peter does, as Mr. Stark leans back--as best he can--on his short stool and shoves his hands in his jeans pockets. His now-you-better-listen-good-kid posture. “I wouldn’t have written you that letter if I didn’t think you’d get in. I meant every word, but frankly, it was a formality. They all were. There’s no way you’re not getting in.”
“You don’t know that, Mr. Stark.”
“Yes, I do,” he says, as if it’s the truest statement he’s ever said. “You’re the smartest, most honorable person I know, and you’re only seventeen. You got in.”
“I thought you said once technically I was twenty-one.”
“See? Four extra years of character,” Mr. Stark hauls himself off the stool with a low groan, and slings an arm around Peter’s shoulders. “Bud, I’m worried about a lot of things but you not being accepted isn’t one of them.” He tugs Peter in closer; he leans his head on Mr. Stark’s stomach and looks back at the envelope on the desk. “Now, we can wait if you want to, or we can pull this band-aid off fast and have a good, restful night.”
“But what if I don’t get in?”
“You are going to get in,” Mr. Stark says sternly, then drops into a crouch in front of him. “And if you don’t, truly honestly, it doesn’t matter.” He lifts his hands to cup Peter’s face, to make sure he keeps looking at him. “It’s their loss.. And if you decide to go to one of the other schools, that’s ok, too. I’ll get to keep you in the city. Whatever happens is fine, Peter.”
“But you want me to go to MIT, Mr. Stark. Like you.” Peter knows he sounds childish and cringes a bit, his face still in Mr. Stark’s calloused hands.
“NO. I want you to be happy and safe and enriched, wherever you are. MIT isn’t necessary for that.”
“‘Enriched?’ Like an octopus at the aquarium?” Peter snorts.
“Exactly like an octopus at an aquarium,” Mr. Stark pats the side of his face, then moves his hands to his shoulders.
“I just don’t want to disappoint you.”
“You won’t. Not only have you already gotten into some of the best schools in the country, but even if you didn’t, you are not a disappointment.”
“It’s just, you’re you, you know, and…”
“And I’ve spent my entire life living up to unrealistic expectations. All I expect of you is to be a kid, and go where that takes you. Just don’t kill anyone until you’re twenty-five. That’s all you gotta do. Alright?”
“Alright.”
“Good. Now, I’m going to stand up now, because this hurts.”
“Because you’re old,” Peter helps Mr. Stark stand up straight, following him. He’s grown in the past few months, and is almost as tall as he is now. Not that Mr. Stark will admit it.
“You will be eventually too, and then I’m going to laugh from my motor scooter.”
“I already told you, I’m not going to plug it in at night.”
“Yeah, yeah, smartass. Get your letter. Let’s do this shit.”
Peter grabs the envelope off the desk, flipping it over in his hands. It is a fairly thick packet. He takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly.
“You got this, kiddo,” Mr. Stark’s hand finds its way to his shoulder.
“Alright, here goes,” Peter tamps down on the butterflies in his stomach and quickly rips the envelope open, probably a bit more carelessly than he should. He avoids looking at it for a second, and just as he’s about to, the letter is ripped from his hand, the rest of the envelope and its contents falling to the floor.
“‘Dear Mr. Parker,’” Mr. Stark reads, stepping away from Peter. “‘It is our pleasure to congratulate you on your acceptance--’”
“Mr. Stark!” Peter lunges at him.
“Hey! I’m reading!” Mr. Stark pushes him away, holding the letter up. Peter could easily get it, but Mr. Stark is grinning as widely as Peter has ever seen, so he lets him hold him off as he reads, hand smushed against Peter’s face.
“‘--your acceptance to the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. Enclosed is your …’ blah blah blah,” Mr. Stark moves his hand from Peter’s face and wraps it around his neck, pulling him close. “I told you,” he says softly, pulling Peter’s head down so he can press a quick kiss to his hair.
“Yeah,” Peter says, tucking his head under Mr. Stark’s chin--he has to bend over now to do it--and taking the letter from his hand. He reads it, and sure enough, Mr. Stark was right. He’s always right.
“Now,” Mr. Stark squeezes his shoulder, then turns to look at the floor behind them. “Where’s the rest of that shit? I think it’s important.”
*****
“You know, I was dreading that letter, too,” Mr. Stark shovels a spoonful of ice cream into his mouth.
“Wait, so all that confidence was a lie? You lied to me?” They’re back up in the living room on the couch, giant screen playing Return of the King. Pepper stuffed them full of spaghetti earlier--she’s been on an Italian kick the past month, blaming the baby with Tony’s genes for it--and went to bed, but not before squeezing Peter tightly and whispering “I knew you’d done it” in his ear.
They’d called May, who squealed and screamed and had her entire department--and some of the more stable emergency patients, hidden behind privacy curtains--yell “congratulations” over FaceTime. When they’d told Happy his only response was “I’m not moving to Cambridge,” before winking at Peter and stomping out of the penthouse.
“NO, it wasn’t. I knew you’d get in. But there was a teeny, tiny part of me that was afraid of it.”
“Why?!” Peter is suddenly filled with dread. He’d be known as the kid Tony Stark wrote a letter for, and the world has certainly seen them together by now (May and Mr. Stark don’t know it, but he’s certainly seen the more salacious tabloid stories). They’d be big shoes to fill, and if Mr. Stark has some dread…
“Relax, Peter,” he pats his knee, apparently reading his mind. “You’re gonna be great. But you’re also going to be far away…”
“Oh,” Peter relaxes into the couch. He hadn’t thought of that. Or of how May would feel. Or what Queens would do without Spider-man. “Well, you know, I haven’t decided yet…” he starts slowly, unsure how to respond.
“Don’t you start,” Mr. Stark shovels his last spoonful of ice cream in his mouth and sets the bowl on the table. “Baby birds aren’t supposed to worry about that when they leave the nest.”
“Still not a baby. Besides, you have a real baby coming soon.”
“Yep,” Mr. Stark leans back into the couch, and Peter leans into his shoulder. On the screen, King Theoden is mustering the Rohirrim. “And you need to let me know as soon as you decide, so I can find another intern to help me keep track of her if I need to.”
“You’ll never find another intern like me.”
“No, I won’t,” Mr. Stark leans his head on Peter’s. “Congratulations, kid.”
“Thanks, Mr. Stark.”
Mr. Stark suddenly flicks his hand, and a hologram image pops up in front of Peter. Mr. Stark pointedly continues to stare at the screen while Peter reads.
Dear Admissions Committee,
It is with great pleasure that I write this letter of recommendation for the truly exceptional Peter Parker. It is rare to meet an individual with as much compassion, intelligence, and ingenuity as Peter. His resilience, positivity, and drive for excellence are especially astounding given the challenges he has overcome in his life, including losing both parents at a young age, and the uncle who raised him when he was not much older. Peter’s strength of character has allowed him to succeed despite these hardships, and he has served as both an education and inspiration to those lucky enough to be in his life, including myself. Peter has an intelligence and maturity well beyond his seventeen years.
I have known Peter for just over three years, and it has been an honor to encourage and watch his growth as a student and Intern at Stark Industries. Peter won a prestigious and exclusive opportunity to work with SI when he was fourteen years old, and within two months his genius and dedication had earned him a position as my personal Intern, a position that was created specifically for Peter and that I will be hard-pressed to find another individual to fill. He has been indispensable in helping me design and perfect both SI and personal technology, and I can say without hyperbole that many lives have been saved due to his inventiveness and dedication. Peter does all this while maintaining a perfect 4.0 GPA at Midtown School of Science and Technology and participating as second-Captain in the school’s nationally-recognized academic Decathlon team.
I'm truly amazed with all that Peter has accomplished, and I feel that he is one of the most determined, caring, and balanced individuals I have ever had the good fortune of working with. His enthusiasm is contagious when you work with him, and his brilliance and persistence drives those working with him to new levels of greatness. I was honored when Peter asked me to provide a letter of recommendation, although I do it with some concern that I will not be able to provide Peter with the recognition he deserves in only a letter.
Peter has my highest recommendation, and I know he will thrive at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. I also know MIT will reap substantial benefits from a student like Peter. I know that if accepted, he will continually impress you with his exceptional intelligence, his commitment, and his unshakeable resilience. I am excited to see how far his educational and professional journey will take him in the future, and I look forward to offering him a permanent position at Stark Industries when he has completed his education. Please call me if you have any questions.
Sincerely,
Tony Stark
