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Crash.
Tony’s eyes flew open, mind racing a million miles an hour as he tried to place the noise. Had someone just knocked over something? Was the noise even real or was he dreaming?
Bang.
Yup, that was definitely real. Tony whipped off his covers, glad that Pepper was away on a business trip.
“FRIDAY, what was that noise? Are there intruders? Why the hell didn’t you alert me that there are intruders?”
“No intruders are detected, Mr. Stark. The loud noise you are concerned about was Mr. Parker bumping into the living room coffee table, and, unfortunately, there is no protocol set to inform you when an authorized figure is being noisy.”
Tony swore he heard a defensive undertone in the AI’s mechanical voice. However, he didn’t have time to dwell on FRIDAY’s growing sass, because at the moment he was more concerned as to why Peter Parker was banging around the compound at such an ungodly hour.
Resignedly, Tony rubbed his eyes and slipped on a pair of sandals. So much for sleep.
* * *
“Oh my God, Tony is going to kill me,” Clint groaned as he watched Peter stumble to catch the coffee table.
“He can’t killllll you Mr. Hawkeye, that’s illgle- illelegal- illeglal,” Peter giggled, his words slurred from all the alcohol he had consumed.
“I take my eyes off you for two seconds, kid, and you know what you do? You drink the entire liquor supply! You even told me you don’t drink!” Clint kneaded his forehead, groaning. Thinking back, maybe it had been a bad idea to take Peter to a party at a bar, but the kid had begged. Despite being a father of three, Clint still couldn’t resist puppy dog eyes.
“I d’nt drink! They s’id it was iced tea!”
“Long Island iced tea, Peter,” Clint hissed, “did that not tip you off?”
He was answered with another fit of giggles from the teenager.
Huffing, Clint grabbed Peter by the back of his shirt before he could knock over the credenza. There was still a loud bang as Peter twisted, his knee bumping into the table as he tried to see what grabbed him.
“Hey Mr. Hawk what are you doin’ that f’r?” Peter whined.
“I’m trying to prevent you from killing yourself. Which really won’t matter since Tony’s going to murder you once he finds out how inebriated you are, anyways.”
Clint shifted, attempting to support Peter in his journey back to his room, which was proving quite hard, since he wasn’t exactly sober either.
“Mis’r Stark likes me too much to kill me.”
“Mr. Stark likes smart, sober Peter. Not drunk Peter,” the archer said slowly, voice dripping with ridicule. Peter scowled, his mouth opening to quip back a reply, but Clint slapped his hand over it at the sound of a floorboard croaking.
“Wha-“ Peter slurred against his hand, but was interrupted by a sharp “sh” from the older man.
“I heard a floorboard creak a couple floors up, probably the one outside Tony’s room. We need to get out of here. Now,” the assassin calculated. By his estimates there wasn’t nearly enough time to get out of the compound, but maybe, just maybe he could coach Peter into acting sober.
“Hey!” Clint exclaimed, pulled from his thoughts as something wet slid across his palm. “Did you seriously just lick my hand?!”
Peter giggled as the man withdrew his hand, the brief separation causing him to stumble. Clint was barely able to pull him back before he rammed into a table. This was going to be harder than he thought.
“Follow me, Spiderboy,” Clint said through gritted teeth, grabbing the kid’s hand. Peter obliged, tripping slightly as he stumbled after Hawkeye. Just a couple paces later, he was shoved into a couch.
“Owwww,” he moaned as he fell back, his head hitting the back with a bang. Wiggling, he shuffled his body into a more comfortable position.
“Good. Stay like that. Don’t breathe heavy. Don’t talk. Just sit there and act like you’re tired and watching TV. I’ll do all the talking. Just whatever you do, don’t move, stand up, or say anything. Capiche?”
“Quiche,” Peter responded.
Clint let out a slight groan, but kept moving around the room, flipping the lamp and TV on, and shifting everything into its proper place. After just thirty seconds, when everything was prepped to the best that drunk Clint could manage, the man took a deep breath and sat down next to Peter.
“Showtime,” he murmured.
* * *
Tony stifled a yawn as he walked down the stairs, pulling up his grey sweatpants up as he went. He knew he looked like a mess with his mussed up hair and rumpled AC/DC t-shirt, but he was too determined to figure out why in God’s name Peter was bumbling around the compound at 2:30 in the morning to really care.
As he approached the bottom floor, Tony noticed light spilling into the hallway, seemingly from the TV room.
Gotcha, he thought, quietly approaching the room. He stopped just short of the doorway, listening to the sudden murmur of voices.
“What are we doing here?” Tony recognized Peter’s voice, though it was slightly slowed with what Tony guessed was sleep.
“Really, Peter?” a voice responded. Clint, Tony identified.
“That’s a good question,” Tony chided, taking the opportunity to step out of the shadows, annoyance lacing his voice, “what are we doing here?”
The look of utter horror on both of their faces was priceless. Peter’s mouth popped into a little O, and Clint’s adam’s apple bobbed up and down. Tony smirked, but his victorious expression faded slightly as he took in the disheveled appearance of the two.
“Hiya, Tony,” Clint croaked, a nervous smile playing on his lips. Tony’s eyes narrowed as he scanned the man: shirt buttons popped, hair untamed, eyes squinted.
“Hiya, Clint! Do tell me, whatcha doing wandering around at 2:30 a.m. with a sixteen year old?” Tony asked, his voice creeping up a pitch with anger.
“We’re actually just watching a movie. I promised Peter if he couldn’t sleep he could come to me and we could watch a movie,” Clint replied smoothly.
“Oh really?” Tony raised an eyebrow as his gaze shifted to the kid. Peter looked back at him with wide, slightly red eyes. His curls stuck every which way, his science t-shirt rumpled under his open, long sleeved plaid shirt. There was definitely something off.
“Why are you both still fully dressed if you came from bed?”
“Well I was already up, I’m sure Peter probably got dressed before coming to get me, wouldn’t want me to see his iron man PJs.” Clint winked, mentally cringing at his drunk lie. Tony just glared in return.
“Peter. Care to comment?” Tony stared pointedly at the boy, who now seemed to be avoiding eye contact with him completely. He released a string of unintelligible mumbles.
“Speak up, kid, I can’t understand a word you’re saying.”
“I’d take it easy, Tones, the kid’s really tired.”
“Well then he should be in bed, shouldn’t he?”
“Yeah, we’ll go in a few minutes. Sorry for disturbing you. Why don’t you go back to bed?”
“Did I say he should be in bed in a few minutes? No. Now. Let’s go, kid,” Tony demanded. Peter continued to stare at the floor.
“Peter,” the billionaire clipped once more, taking a step forward.
“Too t’red to walk,” Peter mumbled, his voice slightly slurred. Tony frowned, his protective instinct screaming that something was wrong.
“Then I’ll help you. C’mon.”
Tony took a step closer, leaning towards Peter and offering his hand. As he looked the kid up and down, his instincts practically shouted that there was something he was missing.
“Kid?” Tony asked softly, leaning in. That was when the pungent smell of alcohol hit him, and everything clicked.
Clint watched in terror as Tony’s eyes widened in realization, then hardened. And then they set on him.
“Remind me what you were doing tonight, Clint?” Tony asked, voice sickly sweet as he took a step back from Peter, who had ignored his offered hand.
“Errr,” Clint looked at Tony with guilt, knowing any response would just add more pain to his most certain murder.
“Right,” Tony nodded, “anything to add to that Peter? Perhaps an explanation as to why you’re slurring?
“Ti-er-d,” Peter choked out slowly, as if trying to sound out every syllable to prevent stumbling over his own words.
Tony rolled his eyes.
“Sure. Get up.”
Clint buried his face in his hands.
The teenager grabbed the edge of the couch as he stood. Even with the extra balance, he still managed to trip, catching himself on the ledge of the coffee table before he hit the ground. Tony watched with very little amusement. Peter grinned sheepishly up at him.
“T’red,” Peter lied once again, this time dramatically clapping a hand over his mouth as if covering a yawn.
“Oh wow! I get a yawn this time!” Tony exclaimed sarcastically. Peter just stared back with wide brown eyes. “Anything you want to tell me, Spiderman?”
“Nope.” Peter denied, vehemently shaking his head. Tony raised an eyebrow.
“Really? Nothing at all? That’s interesting.”
Silence.
Right then and there, Tony resolved that he was going to get Peter to admit that he was drunk, even if it took all night.
“Right, well I’m glad you don’t have anything going on, because we’re about to go on a mission. We could use your help. You in?”
“Tony wha-”
Clint was silenced by Tony’s “each word you say will result in a creative new torture method” glare. The single, terrifying look was enough to communicate that Tony was testing Peter. And he wanted no interference. With the amount of trouble Clint was in, he didn’t want to give Tony any more reason to hate him.
“Well, Peter? Are you in?” Tony asked again. The boy looked visibly nervous, eyes on the ground as he let out a slurred reply.
“Whatev’r you need, Mis’er Stark.”
Tony’s eyes flashed.
“Good. FRIDAY, assemble the team.”
“Sir, just to confirm, you wish to assemble the Avengers right now? May I ask for a reason to give them?” FRIDAY’s voice echoed through the abnormally unoccupied room.
“Tell them there’s a mission,” Tony replied, eyes steely. He was positive that the team would be completely pissed when they discovered Tony had awakened them at 2:30 a.m. for no reason other than to prove a point to Peter Parker. He didn’t care. Coffee was invented for a reason.
“Yes, sir,” FRIDAY responded, “alerting them now.”
“Oh wait, Mis’er Stark, I forgot! I don’t have my suit.” Peter attempted to slap his forehead as if he’d been stupid, but completely missed his head. It would’ve been comical if Tony wasn’t so pissed. What was the one thing he had told the kid to never do? Drink or do drugs. He was supposed to be smarter than this. He was supposed to be better than Tony.
“No worries, kid. I’ve got a spare one here. FRIDAY, have Mark XLlX bring the kid’s spare suit up.”
FRIDAY clicked out a reply, and soon Peter could hear the whir of tech coming towards them. Mark XLlX flew into the TV room, dropping Peter’s suit into his arms before allowing Tony to step inside of the armor. It easily clicked into place around the man, and suddenly Peter wasn’t just lying to Tony, he was lying to Iron Man. The boy gulped. He was in too deep.
“Well what are you waiting for? Get dressed,” Tony chided, his mask opening to reveal his expression of disapproval.
Peter nodded groggily.
It was at that time the other Avengers started pouring into the room. First Captain America, followed by a disheveled, sleepy eyed Bruce, then Wanda and Vision, and finally Sam, Bucky, and Rhodey. The rest of the team was currently residing elsewhere, much to Tony’s dismay.
Iron man threw his arms up in welcome.
“Glad you all are here! We’ve got a very important mission. We’re just waiting on Peter to suit up,” he bellowed. Everyone stared, confusion evident in their sleepy expressions. Peter looked around with widened eyes.
“Wait, where’s Natasha?” Tony wrinkled his brow, glancing around as if it was possible she had camouflaged herself against the wall or a spare lamp. Which, of course, it most definitely was. However, as everyone surveyed the room with confusion, Steve Rogers interjected.
I passed her room on the way here,” he announced, “she said something about cutting your throat next time you try and wake her at 2:30 to prove a point? I didn’t really understand, and definitely didn’t have time to think about it with the emergency mission.”
Tony scowled in response. How did that woman always know everything?
“Odd. Maybe she was dreaming. It doesn’t matter. What does matter is that Peter still isn’t in his suit,” Tony said pointedly.
“S’ry,” Peter murmured, shifting from foot to foot. He pulled off his shirt, his head and limbs tangling into the fabric while he floundered. Peter couldn’t help the grunt that slipped out as he tried desperately to get unstuck, eventually stumbling into the couch as he fell. His situation worsened as he attempted to pull himself out of his pants, tripping into the side table and slipping into a heap of jeans and lengthy limbs.
“Issok I’ll just change down herrrre,” Peter slurred. Everyone looked at him with varying degrees of bewilderment.
“Wait,” Rhodey interrupted the muddled silence, “is he- is he drun-”
Tony swung around, cutting the man off with a single look.
I’m trying to prove a point,Tony mouthed silently. The room immediately rioted.
“Wait so does that mean-”
“So there really isn’t a-”
“You woke us up for TH-”
“Damn it, Natasha!”
“I did not calculate this-”
“Did everyone forget I have anger-”
Tony waved his hand over his neck in a “cut it out” motion. The voices quieted, but the team all glared at him murderously. Tony returned a scowl, then turned back towards Peter, who was currently trapped, his head pressed against the spandex near his armpit. Tony shook his head.
“Well, while we wait on Peter, I’m going to go get in ‘The Quinjet’. K Tones? Good,” Rhodey said sarcastically, clearly indicating that he was, in fact, going back to his room to sleep despite Tony’s protests. A few others began shuffling behind him, rubbing their tired eyes and yawning.
“Uh-uh, oh no you don’t,” Sam clucked, grabbing at everyone in the vicinity, “I do NOT want to miss this conversation. And you guys most certainly aren’t going to leave me alone. Unless you want to get me popcorn. Don’t forget I have killer wings. Yeah, you all remember, I know you do. So what’s it gonna be?”
The team groaned, shrugging and swatting at Sam’s grip. However, they stayed behind, though not without mumbles of disapproval.
Sam cut the murmurs off, turning to Rhodey and whispering, “Twenty says that he continually denies he’s drunk until Tony threatens to blast him.”
“Forty says he’ll confess within the next ten minutes. Can you imagine lying to Iron Man? At age sixteen? He’s definitely confessing. Probably while crying,” Rhodey countered. Sam cracked a smile.
“Sixty if he throws up more than three times tomorrow,” Bucky offered.
“Deal,” Sam leapt up immediately, shaking his competitor’s hand. Wanda shook her head, a smile playing around the edges of her mouth. Bruce and Steve both looked on with slight disapproval, but sleep deprivation seemed to conquer any rampant arguments.
While everyone bet on Peter’s future, the young boy declared, “I’m doneee!” Oblivious, he stood with some support via the couch.
Rhodey cursed. “C’mon, Pete, your mask is on backwards. At least try to act sober.”
Sam chuckled. Even with his heightened senses, Peter appeared not to hear.
“Peter, your mask isn’t on right,” Tony echoed, looking pointedly at Rhodey.
“Ohhh I was wondering why I couldn’t see,” Peter muttered, pulling at the spandex. “Now I’m ready!”
Tony rolled his eyes.
“Good, took you long enough. You two ready?” Tony asked, gesturing at Peter and Clint, the latter having not moved an inch since being confronted.
“Yeah, yeah,” Hawkeye grunted, standing up slowly while grabbing the couch for balance.
“Ooooo, now we now who’s going to be murdered,” Sam chuckled, “anyone wanna take bets on how Tony kills him?”
“The most efficient way to commit murder is to administer an air shot between the toes,” Vision answered automatically.
Everyone turned towards him.
“Damnnnn, Vision, that’s dark, man,” Sam grinned.
“Yeah, well, we all know Tony doesn’t usually take the easy road,” Rhodey countered, looking at Clint with something like pity. The other man threw his arms up.
“You guys are not seriously betting on if I’ll be murdered right now,” he growled, joining the cluster of other Avengers.
Wanda cocked her head, “I think it’s more of a bet on how.”
“You coming, Pete, or what?” Tony interrupted, gaze steadily trained on the teen.
“Umm, what’s the mishishon- miss’on- mission, Mr. Stark?”
Tony blanked.
“An aquarium is… uh… on fire... AND being attacked by, um, aliens... at the same time. A lot of people, er, animals relying on us.”
So much for him being a genius.
“Yeah,” Bucky added with a snort, “you’d think all the water in the aquarium would prevent a fire. Very tragic.”
Tony narrowed his eyes, “Alien fire. Lots of injured… pufferfish”
A chorus of laughter erupted from behind the billionaire, and he cursed his inability to lie in the early morning hours.
“Not the pufferfish!” Peter wailed, looking truly distraught.
“Yeah, well, we gotta go save them. C’mon.”
Peter paled, looking at his feet shamefully. Tony raised an eyebrow. This was it, he could feel it. Peter was going to come clean, and they could all move on, not without a lengthy lecture, of course. All he had to do was say the words.
“You coming?” Tony prompted, positive that Peter was two seconds away from confessing how plastered he really was.
“I d’nt know… I don’t know if I should,” the boy mumbled, words barely coherent.
Tony felt a seed of victory implanting in his stomach.
“And why’s that, Peter?”
A pause.
“Cuz….umm, I’m scared of sharks?”
Tony was going to scream.
Sam, however, beat Tony to any reaction, instantly bursting into a fit of uncontrollable laughter. Steve, noticing the unadulterated rage in the billionaire’s gaze, lowered his head, grabbed Sam by the arm, and forcibly dragged him out.
“Mist’r Stark… I don’t… I don’t…feel so...”
Peter stumbled forward, grabbing for Tony. The man whipped towards him.
“Peter!”
All traces of fury dissipated, turning into pure worry as Tony rushed towards the teenager. He grabbed Peter just as the boy tipped over, leaning over the man to violently retch. With tolerance the billionaire never thought he had, he pulled Peter into his lap, rubbing the boy’s back and murmuring kind words as he vomited. Paralyzing fear bubbled in Tony’s chest. Should he call an ambulance? Was Peter really just drunk, or was this alcohol poisoning? Shit, there was so much he didn’t know. After years of self neglect, he couldn’t exactly normalize anything correctly.
“I need to know you’re ok, buddy. Can you hear me?”
Peter nodded, but stayed bent over Tony’s side. The genius wanted to gasp in relief.
“Let’s get a medic up here just in case, what do you say, FRIDAY?”
“On it boss.”
Tony’s thanks was stifled as Peter threw himself over his side to retch once more.
“Make that at least three medics, FRIDAY.”
The teen groaned, pressing his clammy forehead into Tony’s chest after leaving a sizable pool of throw-up next to, and thankfully not on, the man.
“I’m s’ry, Mis’er Stark.”
“Shh, it’s ok,” Tony whispered softly, his maternal instincts dominating. “You’re ok. You know I’m here for you no matter what, Underoos. But you’ve got to tell me what’s wrong or I can’t help you.”
Peter looked up at Tony, big brown eyes wide with guilt. He took a deep breath and flickered his gaze to the floor.
“I’m drunk. I’m sooo drunk Mis’er Stark. Like plast’red. Soooo plast’red. Like wayyy plast’red. Or pissed. Sooo pissed. Whatev’r the lingo is.”
Tony would’ve laughed if he wasn’t so fucking torn. He didn’t know whether to be proud for Peter’s honesty, no matter how long it took, outraged for the boy’s actions, or relieved that he was ok. He supposed that was parenthood in a nutshell: a whole hell of a lot of feelings and no idea what to do with them.
“What am I going to do with you, kid?” Tony mumbled, pressing his forehead to Peter’s. The boy leaned into the touch, his ragged breathing slowly decelerating.
Had the two deviated from their positions in the slightest, they would’ve noticed the team behind them slowly disbanding in respect. As it was, however, they just sat there, Tony attempting to tame Peter’s drunken energy, and Peter attempting to not vomit all over his mentor.
It took a few minutes of silence before Peter began to lapse into sleep, eyelids drooping as a second, much more exhausting wave of drunkenness hit him.
“Wait just a minute now, Spiderling,” Tony whispered, poking the boy, “We’ve got to wait for the medics to check you out before you’re allowed to doze off.”
Peter shook his head groggily.
“They’re professhonals- proff’ssionals. They’ll know I’m not dead. I d’nt stop breathing when I sleep, you know.”
Tony chuckled.
“I think you’ll be impressed- I did know that. I also happen to know that you have to be conscious for them to do their tests.”
Peter groaned.
“I knew there was a reason I hate tests.”
Just as Tony was about to give Peter a hard jab to keep him awake, three medical technicians rushed in with emergency bags.
“Hi I’m Sarah, how can I help?” the closest woman asked breathlessly, pulling out basic equipment.
Tony waved her over. “Sixteen-year-old male. Appears drunk, scratch that, most certainly drunk, and exhibiting symptoms characteristic of potential alcohol poisoning: vomiting, nausea, involuntary muscle contractions, etc. He has an enhanced metabolism, meaning he would’ve had to consume a lot of alcohol in a short period of time and any medicinal doses need to be adjusted.”
The leading technician, a woman with slicked-back blonde hair, looked impressed. Tony shrugged.
“I watch a lot of Grey’s Anatomy.”
At that, her lips pulled up into a smile.
“Peter, can you hear me?” one of the techs queried, flashing a small flashlight into his eyes.
The boy grumbled. “Go away.”
“Peter,” Tony lectured, “be nice.”
“T’red.”
“Well don’t get so drunk next time.”
All he got was a rumble of disagreement in response.
“He seems fairly coherent, we’ll just run a few tests,” Sarah assessed. Tony nodded.
“Take as long as you need.”
As it turned out, they didn’t need that long. After a few tests, including a breathalyzer revealing an absolutely terrifying blood alcohol content of .21, the staff began wrapping up.
“We started him an IV drip, which may not have been necessary, but with his enhancements we didn’t want to risk anything. Get him to bed, and make sure he has plenty of painkillers, food, and fluids in the morning,” Sarah instructed as she packed her bags.
“Thank you for your help, Sarah.”
The woman smiled a “you’re welcome” at him as she led the team out, and Tony resigned to make sure she would always have a place at Stark Industries.
“Alright, buddy. What do you say we get you to bed?” Tony murmured, pulling Peter to his feet. When the boy began to drift off before his feet even completely touched the ground, Tony sighed and scooped him up. Peter easily grasped on to the man, wrapping himself around Tony with his spider-like webbed grip.
His mentor couldn’t help but laugh, grateful that Peter’s altered genetics made him roughly as light as a schnauzer. Grabbing the portable IV in one hand and supporting Peter in the other, he slowly made his way to Peter’s room, careful not to bump or startle his passenger, who had already fallen into a deep sleep.
Arriving at the foot of his bed an impressive six minutes and thirty-seven seconds later, Tony attempted to coax Peter into releasing his sticky fingers. Pulling and prodding was no help, so Tony tried massaging the teen’s joints, whispering encouragement for him to release his clingy digits, but all to no avail. Sighing, Peter’s mentor rolled the IV near his bed and cautiously sat down, shifting so he laid side by side with the boy, quite literally attached to him.
Tony had every intention of staying awake all night to watch over Peter, but after a mere half hour of stroking the boy’s hair and listening to him whisper in his deep slumber, Tony drifted into the lull of sleep.
* * *
Nearly twelve hours later, Peter Parker blinked back into consciousness. He let out a moan as sleep wore off and nausea settled in. Everything hurt. Places where Peter didn’t even know it was possible to hurt, hurt. And what was in his arm? Was that an IV? Peter reached to yank it out, but stopped short as a flood of memories washed over him. Clint. Party. Drunk. Tony. Avengers. Medics.
The teen groaned. He was going to be in so much trouble.
Choosing to ignore the facts for as long as possible, the teenager stretched instinctively. He rolled over, nearly screaming when he noticed the figure sleeping next to him.
“Mister Stark?” Peter mumbled, instantly regretting speaking when his voice pounded into his skull like a hammer. He winced, deciding to take a vow of silence for the time being.
Upon closer inspection of his mentor, Peter couldn’t help but think how peaceful he looked. Tony’s arm was propped under his head, the other casually curled over his stomach. All the lines in his face were relaxed, and with each breath the piece of hair hanging over his forehead gently blew upwards. Peter couldn’t help but smile. At that moment he resigned to stay as still as possible so not to disturb him.
Of course, that was before a sudden jolt to his stomach sent him running to the bathroom, IV flying behind.
Peter barely made it to the toilet before vomiting up a foul, acrid substance that burned his throat and mouth. He moaned, laying a cheek on the cold toilet seat. He wanted to die. Stupid, stupid alcohol.
“Peter?” a voice asked softly, interrupting his thoughts. Peter responded with something between a grunt and a groan.
“Hey, buddy,” Tony Stark murmured, entering the bathroom cautiously.
It took great effort for Peter to look up at the man. Tony Stark met his gaze with concerned eyes.
“Well, at least you managed to drag the IV with you. How are you feel-” Tony was was cut off as the boy began vomiting again. He kneeled down next to Peter, pushing the hair back from the teen’s forehead and running a gentle hand in circles over his back. “Not so great then?”
Peter moaned.
“Can we stop talking?” he pleaded, bringing a hand up to cover his ringing ears.
Tony nodded, using his fingertips to outline the word “S-U-R-E”on Peter’s arm. The boy smiled weakly.
“T-A-L-K L-8-R. H-O-W U F-E-E-L?” Tony traced the words slowly, making sure Peter had plenty of time to interpret the long sentence.
He wrote back two words.
“S-P-I-D-E-Y S-E-N-S-E-S.”
Tony looked at the teenager with equal worry and pity. He’d been wasted enough in his life to know how sensitive his body was to light and sound the next morning, but in an enhanced teenager with ultra-sensitive senses? He had to be in living hell.
There was a pause as Peter peeled himself from the toilet, falling back into Tony’s arms. He sought comfort from the man, burying his head in Tony’s leg in an attempt to mute all the sounds of daily life.
“FRIDAY, dim the lights to 15%, and mute all noise,” Tony whispered to the AI, covering Peter’s ears to leave him undisturbed. Immediately, the light softened, and a hiss of gratitude escaped from Peter’s lips.
Tony waited as the teenager shifted again, blinking more comfortably with the lessened burden on his senses. When it appeared he was comfortable, Tony tried to engage in nonverbal communication once more.
“R-E-M-E-M-B-E-R?” he traced, looking at Peter with a cocked head. Peter buried his head into his arm.
“U-N-F-O-R-T-U-N-A-T-E-L-Y,” he wrote back on Tony’s arm. The man stifled a chuckle.
A pause, then a flicker of doubt on Peter’s face.
“T-R-O-U-B-L-E?” he outlined. Tony looked at him dubiously.
“T-A-L-K L-8-R. B-A-C-K 2 B-E-D?”
Peter nodded, shakily attempting to stand. Tony rolled his eyes, scooping Peter up, much to the boy’s surprise.
Instinctively, he wrapped his arms around the man’s shoulders. His chin came to rest on Tony’s shoulder, and Peter could feel the billionaire relax against him. As embarrassed as he was by the childish position, he couldn’t help but think he could get used to it.
Tony carried Peter carefully, hand clasped on the back of his neck protectively. Each step he took was carefully crafted to prevent the teen from moving or shifting too much.
When he finally got Peter back to his bedroom at the compound, Tony gently laid him down, maternally tucking the blanket over him.
“R-E-S-T,” the man wrote out, motioning that he was going to go grab Peter a glass of water. The boy nodded heavily, head already drooping back into his pillow as Tony took his leave.
By the time Tony returned, no more than five minutes after leaving, Peter’s eyes were lidded, gentle snores radiating from his nose. His mentor chuckled, setting a glass of water, painkillers, and a piece of toast on the bedside table. Then, he laid back into the corner chair, and began to read as he waited for Peter Parker to wake.
* * *
Peter was asleep another three hours before waking up once more.
“Mr. Stark?” Peter mumbled sleepily, reaching out at the empty bed.
“Over here, kid.”
Peter flopped over, squinting at the chair in the corner where Tony appeared to be reading.
“Feeling better?” the man asked, giving Peter a once over.
“My head doesn’t hurt as much, but my throat’s really dry.”
Tony nodded, laying his book down to head over to Peter. He handed the boy a glass of water, which he graciously took.
“You’ve got to eat something, too. The toast is cold by now, but-”
Before Tony was even finished speaking, Peter made a grab for the bread, woofing it down.
“Right… well I’ll grab you some more food. But we’ve got some things to do first.”
Peter stared at the ground pointedly. “Like take my IV out?”
Tony smirked.
“That wasn’t exactly what I was thinking, but we can do that, too.”
“Good,” Peter said, reaching around his arm and yanking the needle out. Tony’s eyes went wide and he let out a small gasp.
“PETER! I meant I’d call a medic!” Tony rushed to grab the boy’s arm, examining the tiny pinprick as it bled. “Now I’ve definitely got to call one!”
“No you don’t, Mr. Stark. The bleeding will stop in a second. It always does.”
Tony narrowed his eyes.
“What do you mean ‘always’?”
“Errr…” Peter stuttered, doing a very poor job of hiding his guilt.
“Ok, how many things have you done that I’d disapprove of?”
A pause.
“You know what, I don’t even want to know. But you better get comfortable, Spiderman, because we’re about to have a reallll long talk about safety, common sense, and communication.”
Peter shifted uncomfortably, avoiding direct eye contact with Tony. The man sighed, looking at him with an unreadable expression before sitting on the edge of the bed.
“Do you remember what I told you about drinking and doing drugs?” Tony stared at the kid, watching as he refused to lift his gaze from the ground.
“Hey, I need you to look at me,” Tony said gently, tipping Peter’s chin upwards. As he stared into the teen’s wide eyes, he saw only guilt, regret, and apology. But more than that, he saw a child.
“You said never to do drugs or alcohol. Not underage, preferably not ever. I know you’re mad. Just… just please don’t hate me. Don’t leave.” Peter pulled away from the billionaire, bringing his knees to his chest.
And that was when Tony realized he was wrong. Horribly, horribly wrong. Peter was not him. Peter was not an addict. Peter was a kid. He had spent so much time protecting him, so much time trying to keep him from the path he went down, that he had forgotten that Peter was a teenager. And teenagers were going to make mistakes. It was all part of growing up: the experimenting, the errors, the stupidity. At the end of the day, though, Peter still needed a parent, someone who could guide him and love him despite it all. And he was doing no good by making Peter feel isolated. The boy knew he’d made a mistake, he knew Tony was upset, but he didn’t know that his mentor would forgive him. Instead, his thoughts turned to abandonment. Tony’s heart broke for the boy.
“Peter, I’m not mad,” Tony sighed.
The teen’s head snapped up, eyes flashing with some semblance of hope.
“You’re not?” he breathed, looking at Tony in awe.
“No. I mean, I’m not totally mad that you got drunk. You’re a teenager, Peter, and teens experiment. It was unfair of me to expect you not to be a little curious about illicit substances. Hell, I’m one to talk.”
Peter was looking at Tony like he’d gone crazy. Maybe he had. This kid challenged him like nothing ever had.
“So...you’re not mad at me?” the boy repeated, still unbelieving.
“No,” Tony confirmed before pausing, holding a single finger in the air, “BUT I am upset that you tried to hide it from me.”
Peter hung his head.
“I want to be the first person you call when you’re drunk, Underoos. I want you to trust me enough to tell me, to get in touch with me if you need anything, no matter how furious you think I’ll be. Because the truth is, buddy, I will never be mad at you for asking for help. I’m always here for you, even when you’re doing something incredibly stupid. I’d rather us be stupid together, than smart and alone. So if I didn’t do a good enough job of showing you that you can trust me, that you can rely on me, that’s my fault. This one’s on me.”
Peter’s face flushed as the warmth of Tony’s words washed over him. He pulled himself over, slouching into his mentor’s arms. He held him tight.
“It’s not your fault. I… I just didn’t want to disappoint you,” Peter mumbled, voice thick with concealed tears.
Tony reached out a hand, lifting the boy’s chin and looking directly into his eyes.
“You could never disappoint me.”
There was silence as Peter clutched Tony’s arm. And then, quite softly, a whisper:
“I did with The Vulture. When I failed on the ferry.
Tony immediately shifted, turning to make sure he and Peter were eye-to-eye.
“No you didn’t,” he said sharply, “you did not disappoint me. I should never have taken the suit and just left you. That was my mistake, Peter, mine. That day you put yourself in danger, a lot of danger. And people could’ve been hurt. You were just entering the world of superheroes, and I was worried about you being eaten alive. I wasn’t upset that you failed, I was upset that you didn’t ask for help. I was upset that you put yourself in danger without telling anyone. But mostly, I was upset that you didn’t tell me. I want you to be able to trust me, Peter. I need you to know that I’m always here for you. No matter what you say, no matter what you do, I’ll always love you.”
Peter’s head was buried in Tony’s lap by the end of his speech, and the man swore he heard little gasps and sniffles coming from him. He began to rhythmically run his hands through the teen’s hair in the silence. They sat together like that, just the two of them, for what felt like ages before Peter broke the quiet.
“I love you, too, Mr. Stark,” he said softly, voice thick with emotion.
Tony smiled, “I know, kid. Don’t worry. You’re stuck with me.”
Peter grinned back, and for the first time in a while, Tony was absolutely positive that everything would be ok.
* * *
“Hey, Mr. Stark?”
“Yeah, kid?”
“Whatever happened to the pufferfish?”