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“Can I borrow a car tonight?”
Tony looks over to see Peter toss a sock over his shoulder as he enters the living room. “Well hello to you, too,” he smirks, and turns back to Morgan. “Can you believe how rude Peter is, Mo? Not even saying hello before demanding one of Daddy’s cars.”
Morgan doesn’t look bothered, and continues to gum on her plastic key set.
“Of course I’m gonna say hi to Mo-Mo,” Peter skips over, ducking his head under Tony’s hand and reaching out to tickle Morgan’s bare feet. She drops the keys and squeals, chubby little fingers reaching out.
“Yeah, I see where your heart lies.”
“Sorry, Tony,” Peter laughs, swiveling on his bare feet. He holds out his arms for a hug. “Hi.”
“Hey, kiddo,” Tony pulls him into a tight hug, squeezing his shoulders to make sure the kid hasn’t dropped any weight while in school. He remembers what MIT’s dining hall was like, although from the digging Tony spent months on before Peter left he’d seen they’d added many more options for food on campus. “I wasn’t expecting you until a little later.”
“Eh, Happy called last night to say he was coming early. Said Pepper needed to do more shopping,” Peter ducks away from Tony’s hand again as he reaches out to ruffle his hair, immediately turning back to Morgan, who’s struggling against the chair buckle to reach him. Tony had honestly been worried she wouldn’t remember Peter, despite the weekly FaceTimes. It appears that she’s just like anyone else who’s ever met Peter--unable to forget him. The full, heavy warmth that’d been missing since Peter left in August settles back in his chest. There’s nothing like seeing his two kids together.
“That’s a lie. She left with your aunt two hours ago.”
“You mean Happy lied to me?” Peter feigns shock, gasping. “Does he lie to you, too, Mo-Mo?”
“He wouldn’t dare,” Tony smacks the back of Peter’s head, watching as Morgan giggles at his exaggerated grimace. “But he’s spending Thanksgiving with his niece. She’s been in Europe for three years, he wants to do a genuine American Thanksgiving.”
“We’re not having a genuine American Thanksgiving?” Peter looks back to him, holding out his hands for Morgan to grab.
“Don’t worry, I hoarded some canned cranberry sauce that Pep doesn’t know about.”
“Thank God. Homemade stuff tastes like garbage. I don’t need bourbon and orange zest-whatever. Isn’t that right, Mo-Mo? But don’t tell your mommy…”
“I think your secret is safe, bud,” Tony reaches out and uses Peter’s shoulder as support to push himself to his feet, knees cracking loudly. “What do you need a car for?”
“To drive and see MJ,” Peter pauses, poking at Morgan’s cheeks. “And maybe swing around Queens a bit.”
“So it’s been three months since you’ve been home and you’re immediately going to run off somewhere else?”
“You’re the ones who wanted to have Thanksgiving way out in the ass-middle of nowhere.”
“Oh, we’re thirty minutes outside the city. And don’t fucking swear in front of my kid, Parker,” Tony smacks the back of Peter’s head again, then squeezes his neck. “Plus, it was Pepper’s idea. Don’t blame me.”
“Hey, you hoarded the good cranberry stuff...I could never. But can I have one?”
Tony sighs. It’s not that he doesn’t trust Peter with the car, he could care less about a hunk of metal parts. It’s that he’ll never be quite comfortable trusting cars with Peter, or other people on the road. But, it’s not like he can swing back to the city. And Tony’s not really keen on driving him; nothing has shown him his age more than having an infant, and the idea of being out in the city past midnight now makes him want to die. “Fine. But you have to be back here by one.”
“One?” Peter screeches, which Morgan apparently finds hilarious.
“You want one of my cars? You come back when I tell you.”
“Ugh, fine,” Peter grouches, his face scrunching.
“And you wear the good suit if you go swinging.”
“Ugh, FINE!”
“And I’m turning all the safety programs back on.”
“Tony!”
“That’s the price of freedom, if you insist on leaving us all here your first night back.”
Peter narrows his eyes in that way that will never not look like a golden retriever puppy throwing a tantrum. “Fine.”
“You can take the ‘17. You’re not getting a new car.”
“I just want a car, Tony. If the Toyota was here I’d take that.”
“That’s in storage until you can get a campus spot.” Tony had swung his weight and wallet to get Peter a single, but he wasn’t going to for a parking spot. That was something he’d wanted the kid to suffer through just like everyone else.
Peter looks back up at him and smiles, genuinely. “Thank you, Tony.”
“Well, enjoy tonight, because you’re spending the rest of the week out in the ass-middle of nowhere with us. Your aunt took the whole week off.”
“Good thing I finished all my schoolwork,” Peter snorts, reaching out to unclip Morgan’s seat buckle. “‘Cause I didn’t think Mo would want to help me with organic chemistry!”
“Never know, kid. She’s gotta start sometime,” Tony ruffles Peter’s hair once more as he pulls Morgan out of her bouncy seat. “You good with her for a bit? Didn’t get a chance to shower before Pepper and May bolted this morning.”
“Duh, Mr. Stark,” Peter kneels and starts bouncing her on her feet. “We can walk on the ceiling!”
“NO. You know the rules. Not until she can walk on her own--”
“And build a corner-web-nest for our naps--”
“Peter.”
“--and give Dad a heart attack!”
Morgan shrieks and shoves her entire fist in her mouth, apparently thrilled with Peter’s babysitting activities.
“One of these days…” Tony mumbles, squeezing his shoulder. “Be back in fifteen. Then you can have the joy of feeding her.”
“Mmmmm!” Peter lifts Morgan above his head as Tony turns towards the stairs. “Smushy peas!”
“And all this shit you dropped is going in the trash,” he bends to snatch Peter’s sock off the floor. There’s a trail leading to the door: the other sock, a hoodie, and an MIT baseball cap, with a backpack and a large overstuffed duffle by the french doors.
“Don’t fucking swear, Tony!”
Tony smiles and grabs the rest of the clothes off the floor, to dump in the kid’s room. He’ll leave the duffle and backpack for May to scold him about. Morgan’s peals of laughter follow him up the stairs.
******
When Tony comes back to the living room, clean and fully ready to watch Peter attempt to feed a six-month-old, Morgan is still screaming with laughter. She’s back in her bouncing chair, safely strapped in as she shrieks, grabbing up towards the ceiling. Tony sighs. Of course Peter is up there.
“What, Mo-Mo? You want me to come down?” Peter releases his palms and drops, holding on by his bare feet. Morgan twists and squirms, reaching her chubby hands out as she babbles nonsense. “No way! You want to come up here?”
“Yeah, I think all the blood has rushed to your head,” Tony bunches his hands on his hips; he knows Peter only said that because he knew he’d come back down.
“Wha?” Peter feigns shock, clasping his hands over his heart. “I didn’t say that--Mo-Mo, why didn’t you tell me your dad was back?!” Morgan just continues babbling, still stretching her arms out. Peter reaches back, obviously no where close to her little fingers. “Ugh. Guess I’ll have to come down!”
He drops effortlessly, landing on his hands with ease front of Morgan’s bouncy chair. No matter how many times Tony watches him do it, it still makes his heart jump into his throat, and there are still days he shamefully wishes that week Peter’s powers went on vacation had been a little more permanent.
Of course, all Morgan sees is her big brother dancing and hopping on his hands in front of her, so she continues to laugh, little hands still grabbing for him.
“You got something on your foot, kiddo,” Tony squints. There’s a smudge of something on the bottom of Peter’s right foot.
“Huh?” Peter bounces from his right hand to his left, and cranes his neck to look up at him.
“Your foot. What on earth could you have stepped in on the way from the door?” Tony grabs Peter’s ankle and tilts his foot towards himself. Oh, that can’t be what he thinks it is.
“Um--”
Tony yanks his readers out of his cardigan pocket and shoves them on his face. When he gets a clear image he almost swallows his tongue. A black spider, nearly identical--perhaps a bit more artistic--to the spider emblem on Peter’s suits. On all his suits. On the merch that had started to pop up in vendor’s carts in the city. That Barnes had scored into his arm, alongside all the symbols of his other new teammates. A black spider, inked into the sole of Peter’s foot.
“Um, Mr. Stark--”
“Don’t you Mr. Stark me,” Tony says, probably too harshly, because Morgan’s incessant laughter abruptly stops. “What the fuck is that?”
“Well, I’m eighteen,” Peter pulls his ankle out of Tony’s grasp and flips upright, tucking his right foot behind his left. “And--”
“Yes, I am well aware that you are eighteen. But what the fuck is on the bottom of your foot.”
“A tattoo?” Peter shrugs sheepishly.
“A tattoo of your very secret alter-ego’s very famous symbol?”
“Um, maybe?” Peter shrugs again.
“Maybe?” Tony pulls his glasses off and squints at him. There’s no way the kid was this stupid, or this cocky. “What the hell were you thinking, Pete? And how did you even get it to stay?”
Peter mumbles something, kicking his feet. He looks down to Morgan, who’s started chewing on her fist, as if he expects her to save him.
“Excuse me? Didn’t quite catch that, Peter.”
“I said, Loki.”
“Loki did this?” Tony thinks he may have a stroke. Of course Loki helped Peter do something this stupid. “That smarmy little piece of shit let you do something this stupid?”
“Oh my god, Tony, it’s just a tattoo,” Peter snaps, squaring his shoulders. “And I asked him because I knew regular ink wouldn’t stay. Just about everybody has a tattoo, nowadays--”
“Oh, so everybody tattoos their very secret identity on the bottom of their foot? Where any of his enemies, or my enemies or Rhodey’s enemies or I don’t know, corrupt police officers or a random hook-up, could see it and figure out who you are?”
“Tony--”
“You could have just spray-painted it in Times Square, you know,” Tony scoffs and tries to will his blood pressure down. “Then you wouldn’t owe that little bitch a favor.”
“Actually, he already owed me a favor,” Peter starts. “He--”
“Not the point, Peter!” Tony throws his hands up, trying his best to keep his voice down. He mindlessly bends and unhooks Morgan’s buckle, hauling her out of the bouncy chair and turning towards the kitchen. “We’re going to Strange. Tonight. Get that thing burned off.”
“I’m going to see MJ, tonight,” Peter whines behind him. “And I don’t want it burned off! I like it! And it hurt like a motherfucker to get!”
“Not anymore you’re not, and I don’t care,” Tony plops Morgan in her highchair, fumbling with the unfamiliar buckles as heat burns in his chest. The chair is different from the one in the city and his fingers won’t cooperate. Peter’s identity being revealed is Worst Case Scenario. Well, maybe not Worst Case Scenario, but definitely high on the list. “I cannot believe you inked your identity into your--”
“Here, Tony,” Peter steps in front of him and bends down, pulling the chair buckles out of his now-shaking hands and quickly snapping it together. Morgan immediately squeals and buries her tiny hands in his hair, pulling. Peter winces.
“Yeah, keeping pulling, Mo,” Tony spits, stomping over to the fridge to grab a tiny jar of pureed peas. “He deserves it, for his stupidity.” Tony slams the fridge closed, inhaling sharply, his knuckles white as he squeezes the door handle.
“Mo...” Peter reaches up and gently untangles her tiny hands from his hair so he can stand upright. “Tony, nothing is going to happen! Nobody is going to look at the bottom of my feet.”
“Actually, smart guy, that’s one of the places they go,” Tony stomps over to the silverware drawer and yanks it open. “You know, for the torture?”
“Who’s going to torture Peter Parker?” Peter throws his hands up in disbelief.
“Oh, I don’t know, one of my many enemies? The internship story won’t cover you having a goddamn spider tattooed on your foot,” the drawer rattles as Tony slams it shut. “Shit, how many people at school have seen your bare feet?”
“Um, like, nobody?” Peter drops into a chair next to Morgan. “I don’t walk around barefoot in the dorms. Gross.”
“Can’t keep your socks on forever, kid. I know what college students get up to. I know what I used to get up to.”
“Well, MJ already knows, so I’m not really planning on that being an issue,” Peter snaps, holding out his finger for Morgan to grab. “Tony--”
“I don’t want to hear it,” Tony stops him, slamming the jar of peas down on the table in front of him. He tosses the tiny spoon down, probably too hard. “Lunchtime. I’m going to call Strange. Then I’m calling your aunt. We’re fixing this tonight.”
“Tony--”
“I said I don’t want to hear it,” Tony takes another deep breath, then quickly turns on his heel. This kid is going to kill him.
*******
Tony finds Peter sulking out on the porch, newly socked feet pulled up onto the swing. He’d calmed down a bit after cleaning up after lunch--somehow both Morgan and Peter ended up with peas in their hair--and by the time Morgan was down for a nap he thinks he was out of the danger zone for an actual stroke. Strange agreed to be over after dinner, nearly choking on whatever he’d been drinking when Tony told him. Then he’d immediately called Pepper; they won’t be home for a few hours yet, although May had a mind to come right back after Tony told her.
“Your aunt agrees with me,” Tony sets the baby monitor down on the rustic, wooden side-table, and holds out a mug of hot chocolate. Peter glances up at him, then back out over the lake as he crosses his arms. “Fine, I’ll drink the apology-truce hot chocolate.” Tony drops onto the other end of the porch swing and pointedly drinks from the mug. “Strange is coming after dinner.”
“Well I’m not going to let him do anything,” Peter bunches his shoulders up to his ears, face scrunching. He looks ridiculous.
“I think you will when your aunt gets through with you,” Tony takes another loud sip from the mug and Peter’s nose twitches. “I could practically hear the steam coming out of her ears.”
“I don’t see what the big deal is!” Peter whines, arms flopping to his sides. “It’s just a tattoo!”
“Peter, you know it’s not just because you got a tattoo,” Tony sighs. “It’s because you got a tattoo that screams your secret identity.”
“It’s on the bottom of my foot.”
“Foot, forehead, all the same to me. It could be in your asscrack and it’d be too risky.”
“Come on, Tony, that’s ridiculous,” Peter sneers, crossing his arms again. “You know, I’m not a child!”
“I know you’re not, Pete, but you made a very childish decision,” Tony sets the mug beside the monitor and rests his elbows on his knees. “Come on, bud, what were you thinking? You’re smarter than this.”
“I wanted it.”
“Why?”
“Because I could.”
“Really because you could, or because you wanted to see if you could?”
“Maybe.”
Tony sighs again and rubs his forehead. “Pete, nobody cares that you got a tattoo, shit, I have one. It’s what--”
“I didn’t know you had a tattoo.”
“Yes, I do, and it was a stupid decision, but my stupid decision is nowhere as stupid as this one,” Tony sits out and throws out his hands. “You could have picked anything else, Pete. Shit, a Mets tattoo on your neck would have been fine. Why’d you pick a spider? Not just a spider...the spider?”
“I don’t know,” Peter mumbles, propping his chin on his hand. “Because he’s me. Even though, you know, I’m not really right now. Even though--”
“Even though he’s on a bit of a hiatus?” Tony prompts, reaching out to squeeze Peter’s foot. “Pete, you’re Spider-man, even if Spider-man is at college. You don’t need a tattoo for that.”
“I know, but like, I don’t want it to feel like it’s on the back burner. Having it there is like saying it’s not.”
“Peter, it is on the back burner,” Tony squeezes again. “And that’s fine. Spider-man deserves some things for himself. Including school. Then when you get out and get a figurehead position at SI you can focus everything on Spider-man. Not everything has to be for everyone else. Especially not right now.”
“I know.”
“And you don’t need to ink your identity into your foot to still be Spider-man. Shit, I can send you old Baby Monitor footage if you need a reminder. You have some ridiculous shit in there. Sometimes Happy and I watch it together if we need a laugh.”
“Gee, thanks, Tony,” Peter rolls his eyes and crosses his arms again. “And I want it.”
“Well, you can’t have it...at least not that obvious. So either Strange changes it or figures out a way to get rid of it.”
“Loki said it wouldn’t go away,” Peter looks over sheepishly. “Like, ever.”
Tony sighs again and pinches his nose. “Just see what Strange says. If he can’t get rid of it--which is still the first option--then we can see if he can add to it. Give you a huge, intricate garden scene on your foot.”
“You could ask Loki.”
“Oh, no, he steps foot here anytime soon he’s gonna have my gauntlet up his ass.”
“You know, it hurt like a bitch.”
“Good,” Tony deadpans and looks over at him. “Better hope Strange has some kind of numbing spell, otherwise you’re in for it again.”
“Hrmph.”
“You made the stupid decision, bud,” Tony reaches for the mug of hot chocolate. “You’re not getting any sympathy from me. And I’m pulling out the big guns: we fix this tonight, or everything goes on lock-down until you do.”
“Oh, come on,Tony.”
“Nope. It all gets bricked, you can have a regular alarm clock instead of Karen, and I get to do it knowing you won’t be Spider-manning at college, but that it’ll still drive you crazy.”
“What? What if there’s an Avengers emergency?”
“Then it’s a good thing you’re not officially an Avenger,” Tony shrugs, taking a sip of the luke-warm hot chocolate.
“That’s not fair!”
“Life isn’t, kiddo. You made me swear up and down I’d keep your identity secret. Well, now I’m protecting you from yourself.”
“Not fair,” Peter mumbles again, but he deflates a little. “Fine. He can change it.”
“Alright then--” Tony knew the suit trick would work, and he doesn’t feel bad doing it; he doesn’t really Spider-man at school, and Tony doesn’t have to worry about him going out in pajamas.
“But just enough it’s not obvious!” Peter quickly spits, shifting on the bench.
“And I decide what’s obvious.”
Peter narrows his eyes a bit. “Fine.” He slumps back into the corner. “Can I go after he does it?”
“Nope,” Tony sits back into the chair. “That doesn’t change. I don’t want you out there with a sore foot.”
“But MJ--”
“Can FaceTime you tonight and then wait until Saturday,” Tony takes another drink then holds the mug out to Peter again. He’d made it much sweeter than he usually likes and doesn’t want to finish it himself.
“Saturday?” Peter leans forward and takes the mug from Tony.
“You stop whining and agree to lunch duty for the rest of the week, and I’ll fly us into the city. We can tag team Queens,” Tony looks at him and smiles. “Relive th good ole’ days.”
“Really?” Peter sits up, eyes brightening. He clutches the mug to his chest. “Iron Man and Spider-man, back together?”
“Hold up your end of the deal,” Tony reaches out and pokes him in the cheek. “Fix that thing, and lunch duty.”
“Ugh, fine,” Peter grouches, but he smiles. He takes a sip of the hot chocolate and frowns. “Gross, this is cold.”
“Not my problem, Spider-baby,” Tony squeezes his foot again, then pushes off the swing and grabs the baby monitor.
“Not a baby.”
“Oh, getting this tattoo pushed you firmly back into Baby Status. You’re out of the Red Zone. No longer in field goal territory. Not--”
“Yeah, okay Tony, I get it,” Peter rolls his eyes, then swallows the rest of the cold hot chocolate and stands up to follow him inside. “So, um, what’s your tattoo? I’ve never seen one.”
“It’s not exactly something I show off,” Tony reaches out for the empty mug as they get to the kitchen, setting it in the sink. “Like I said, stupid decision.”
“But you said mine was stupider,” Peter leans against the island. “So you should show me what I beat in the stupid-contest.”
“No,” Tony pulls open the fridge to pull out some leftover pizza. Neither of them has eaten yet, and he thinks Pepper and May will be bringing something back, so he doesn’t want to bother putting anything together.
“Oh, come on! I’ll let you pick what Strange changes mine into…”
“Nice try. I’m already doing that, if he can’t get it off.”
“Come on, Tony. Please?” Peter whines, a perfect facsimile of his fifteen-year-old-self.
“For fuck’s sake,” Tony rolls his eyes. “You breathe a word of this to anyone, everything gets bricked, forever and ever,” he threatens, but he supposes the kid deserves a laugh, especially if Strange is going to be mangling his foot later. And, honestly, it was less of a fight than Tony had been expecting.
“Swear to God,” Peter holds up two fingers and crosses his heart with his other hand.
“Yeah, okay,” Tony sighs and turns around, rolling up his shirt and pulling his sweats down a bit. Behind him, Peter guffaws, so loud he’s worried Morgan may wake up. The monitor stays silent, but Peter is laughing hysterically.
“OH MY GOD.”
“See? Told you. Stupid,” Tony drops his shirt and turns back around.
“And Pep-Pepper is o-okay with that?” Peter clutches his stomach and wipes a tear from his eye.
“She was there when I got it,” Tony sets the plate of cold pizza on the island. “Granted we were both very, very drunk, and very, very much in the honey-moon phase, and very, very much in Vegas--”
“I can’t believe you have a tramp stamp!” Peter doubles over the marble island. “And it says Tony and Pepper four--” he holds up four fingers-- “ever.”
“We couldn’t believe it either, when we woke up,” Tony chuckles. It is funny. “She made me keep it. I don’t know how it stayed so clear, lord knows neither of us really followed the tattoo-rules.”
“Oh my god!”
“Hey, watch it, you’re gonna knock the pizza over,” Tony grabs for the plate than Peter almost pushed off the counter in his hysterics.
“Don’t you need to be sober to get a tattoo?”
“Nobody is sober in Vegas, kid.”
“Wow,” Peter takes a shaky breath and wipes his eyes again. “Wow. That is stupid.”
“Hey, that is a testament to my love for my wife--”
“Yeah, okay,” Peter snorts.
“--and,” Tony presses his finger into Peter’s forehead and pushes. “It’s exponentially less stupid than yours. Everybody already knows I’m an idiot. They don’t know Peter Parker is Spider-man.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Peter swats his finger away, still chuckling. “You have a fucking tramp stamp.”
“And like I said,” Tony grabs a piece of pizza off the plate and takes a bite. “You breathe a word--”
“Promise I won’t, Tony,” Peter cackles again. “Swear.”
“Mmmmhmmm,” Tony takes his pizza and skirts around the island. “Eat up, you’re gonna need all the strength you can get for when your aunt gets home.”
“We’re fixing it!”
“Don’t think that’s gonna matter, bud, I think you’re in for a very special, very loud lecture,” Tony waves his pizza and winks. “I’m gonna check on Her Majesty. You start girding your loins. It’s gonna be a long, painful night.”
“At least I don’t have a tramp stamp!”
“And at least I don’t have an Aunt May,” Tony yells and smirks as he heads up the stairs, Peter’s dramatic wail in his ears.