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When Tony gets a call at 4am from Peter, he assumes it’s an emergency.
This thought is reinforced when, upon picking up the call, Peter announces, “Hi, I have an emergency.”
Although Tony is a genius (with PhDs in things like mechanical engineering, physics, Peter Parker’s safety and well-being) and therefore smart enough to know when Peter is being young and dramatic, he can't be faulted for his panic because he is being phoned at four in the goddamn morning and therefore his first instinct is to suffer a major blood pressure drop and maybe a heart attack. “What’s wrong?” he says way too loudly judging by how his wife jolts awake with a breathless swear. “What happened?”
“Okay, so,” Peter carries on. “It looked pretty difficult to begin with. Not, like, throw the nuke back into the wormhole difficult -”
It’s Tony’s turn for a breathless swear. “ Jesus -”
“More like that physics midterm I had last week difficult. Feasible. I will admit, I had to google ganache, which is pretty embarrassing considering how I binged three seasons of Kids Baking Championship last summer when I was bedridden for that lacerated liver incident, but once I got it going I thought it would be pretty easy considering most of the decorations I picked up for the cake are, y’know, cookies and candy corn -”
Honestly, as he hears ganache ,Tony manages to stop his heart from ramming into his ribcage. When Peter mentions the cookies and the candy corn, he just gets down right peeved. “Are you telling me your emergency is of the food variety? And not the I’m Spider-Man and I’m in immediate danger variety?”
“Yes.”
“I’m hanging up.”
“No no no!” Peter blurts out before Tony even has time to move the phone from his ear. “Tony, you gotta help me! It’s my daughter’s first birthday, I can’t screw this up.”
He sighs, too loudly, because Pepper groans and weakly smacks at his arm before she tries to pull the blankets up over her ears. “Peter,” he groans, giving up his half of the blankets to his wife before he wills himself out of his bed and heads to his living room to finish the call. “I don’t admit this much, but I’m a little on the older side. Maybe redefine what’s an emergency so I don’t have a heart attack when you call me in the middle of the night.”
Luckily, Peter seems rightfully ashamed. If only for a moment. “I’m sorry. My point wasn’t to scare you. It was so coerce you.”
“Into....?”
“Throwing me a superhero assist. Look.”
As he takes a seat in front of the coffee table in the living room, he swipes his hand and a hologram of his and Peter’s texts show up, including the pictures he just messages him. The first is a bright orange cake, appropriately Halloween themed for his daughter April’s birthday on October 31st. It’s got little ghosts, tombstones, pumpkins and spiders, the sides dripping with the ganache. Something straight out of a bakery.
The second photo, Peter’s horrible Frankenstein creation, is none of those things.
“Lordy,” Tony says, “What the hell is that?”
“As of right now, it’s AJ’s birthday cake.”
“It looks like something from Nailed It.” Which, coincidentally, was the other show Peter binged during the great lacerated liver incident. “You do know you weren’t supposed to take baking notes from that show, right?”
He whines. “I know, I know! It’s bad! I screwed up! That’s why I called. I need your help.”
“Can’t.”
“Why not.”
“I’m very far away in a cabin in upstate New York,” he says as he looks out his panoramic window of his New York City apartment.
Peter scoffs. “You are not. I know you’re in your stupid NYC apartment so don’t even try that.”
“Prove it.”
“Because tomorrow - today, if we wanna get specific - is your granddaughter’s first birthday and you wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
That is very true. However. “You gotta stop indirectly calling me Grandpa. It’s giving me early onset old people disease.”
Peter laughs. “Which old people disease?”
“All of the old people diseases. The creaky bone one -”
“ - you’ve had that one for years -”
“The cataract one -”
“You have cataracts?”
“I will if you keep calling me Grandpa.”
“Hmm,” Peter hums, clearly not concerned for his potential cataracts or imaginary hip replacement. “Worth the risk. Grandpa will grow on you, you’ll see. I’m sending you the recipe so I need you to stop by the store to get more sugar and whatnot before we start cake numero dos. See you in 45?”
“I’m telling you, I’m not -”
“- upstate?” Peter interrupts. “Because I just texted Morgan and she said you’re hereeeee.”
Tony glares at his daughter’s room down the hall. Traitor. But he resigns to his fate and goes to put on respectable clothing to wear at a 24 hour supermarket in the middle of the night - namely, just sneakers and a sweatshirt. “I ought to charge you for the sugar. And my services.”
“Hah. Me pay you. That’s literally the funniest thing you’ve ever said, congrats.”
“I’m serious. My services are very valuable. I could charge you a thousand bucks per hour.”
“Go ahead.”
He slips on the sneakers, grabs his keys to his favorite Audi. “Need I remind you that you can’t use your Stark Industries company card to pay me. This isn’t a business expense.”
“...Then nevermind. I take back my go ahead. Do not go ahead, do not pass Go, do not collect two hundred-”
“I’m not even getting my thousand an hour, I certainly don’t expect a flat two hundred.”
“Compromise: I pay you in a piece of cake, how’s that sound?”
It’s four in the morning, he’s tired, he’s about to put way too much energy into baking an orange cake and yet, it sounds like a pretty good payment. “Sounds like a deal, kiddo.”
“Great. Thanks! Oooh, can you pick me up a sandwich?”
Tony sighs and hangs up, but he’s sure Peter read it loud and clear as a: I guess, you brat.
By the time he gets to Peter’s apartment in Queens it’s well past five, and he has several groceries on both arms, his prosthetic one taking most of the weight. Since Tony’s got all those PhDs and Peter Parker Smarts, he’s pretty sure that he asked for a sandwich because he likely doesn’t have many groceries in his fridge. Like, at all. So he stocks up on some veggies, fruits, cereals, and buys a pack of extra diapers for the baby to top it all off.
“Oh, thanks!” Peter says as Tony walks in, unable to talk. Peter’s sandwich is in a lone bag being held between his teeth. In what feels like one fell swoop, Peter manages to collect all of the groceries and set them on the counter before he starts putting them in - yes, Tony was right - his empty looking fridge.
Peter’s kitchen is only in moderate disarray. The mixer station is a mess, as is his sink piled high with dishes. Half of them have been hand washed and are on the drying rack, ready to be used for round two. The disaster of the cake is still out on the cake stand like some prize to be won - its lopsided, covered in icing that was definitely put on while the cake was too hot - most of it is melted at the bottom. Tony swipes a finger through the icing before he takes a piece of the cake pinched between his thumb and index finger, and plops it in his mouth.
Immediately, he spits it back out.
“This is worse than your aunt’s date loaf.”
“Yeah.”
“What did you -”
“I mixed up the sugar and salt.”
Tony blinks. “That’ll do it.”
Peter, for his defense, just shrugs. “Not my finest moment, I can admit. Won’t do it again, now that you’re here. You are king of catching all my silly little mistakes.”
Tony picks up the cake, stand and all, and marches over to the trash to toss it where it belongs. “You don’t really do silly mistakes.”
“Awww,” Peter coos, a hand over his heart. “How sweet. You believe in me.”
“Big, enormous break-a-ferry-in-half mistakes however, are a dime a dozen with you.”
He pouts. “That was - seven years ago! Twelve for you, actually! Are you gonna let that loom over my head for the rest of my life?”
“Yes,” Tony says coming back over to pat Peter’s cheek.
The pout gets stronger, but he doesn’t push Tony away. “Be nice to me. I have baby brain.”
“That’s not a thing.”
“It is too.”
“It’s not a thing for people who don’t get pregnant.” He pushes against the button of Peter’s nose as he takes notice of the dark circles under his eyes. The poor kid looks spent. “You’re just tired. Little monster keeping you up all night?”
Peter smiles a little. “Yeah, but it’s okay. She’s worth it.”
Tony think about how he was dragged out of his warm bed at 4 in the morning to bake a cake across town and he’s not even mad about it.
“Yeah, I bet she is,” he whispers, mirroring Peter’s smile. “Now, let’s get to work on this cake, shall we? It is my granddaughter’s first birthday cake, she deserves the best.”
“Exactly!” Peter snaps his fingers. Then, a blank sort of look takes over his face. “Wait, you - you’ve baked a cake before, right?”
“Well, no.” Tony admits as Peter finally goes in for the sandwich. “But I invented time travel. How hard can it be?”
As it turns out it’s very, very hard.
But not impossible.
By the time the sun has risen, the cake is mostly decorated and it looks pretty amazing, if Tony does say so himself. Pumpkin orange with green and purple sprinkles, candy eyes, and an edible graveyard on top. They made some modifications to the recipe that included going heavy on the food dye and icing and then skimping on the tombstone shaped cookies due to the fact the two of them kept eating them while the cake baked. Tony had the bright idea to not deal with the ganache by microwaving a shitload of marshmallows instead to pull apart and make spider webs on top of the cake.
It’s incredible.
Eat your heart out, Food Network.
While Tony considers making hot chocolate to go with all those leftover marshmallows, AJ starts crying. Peter’s quick to rush down the hall to get her and returns moments later, his sleepy looking girlfriend trailing behind them.
“Isn’t she cute?” Peter coos, pressing little kisses to AJ’s cheeks; already, it’s enough to stop her crying, and the apartment is filled with the sound of baby laughter. Baby whisperer. “Look at her outfit!”
While Peter is definitely referring to the baby onesie that is orange with a jack o lantern face on it, Tony can’t help but notice MJ’s ensemble: a pajama set made to look like the Iron Man suit.
“Oh it’s very cute,” Tony agrees. “Where’d you get it?”
Peter’s eyes are entirely on AJ. “Online,” he says just as MJ throws up the middle finger and says “Fuck off.”
Peter blinks, a little startled at the swear, until he looks over and sees Tony and MJ in a stare off. “Ohhhh, the pajamas. They’re mine,” Peter admits, which is no fun at all. Of course Peter owns Iron Man pajamas. He’d be offended if he didn’t. “But MJ claims they’re the softest thing I own. She’s been repeatedly wearing them and washing them all week.”
“I even took my last midterm in them,” she says, reaching past her boyfriend to sweep her finger in the bowl of icing. “I thought channeling Tony Stark might help me with chem.”
“Did it?”
MJ sighs. “I actually think it did. The power of positive thinking. I had thought it a myth.”
Peter’s grin broadens as he settles April on his hip; he looks at MJ like she’s the brightest, happiest thing in the world, and not the textbook definition of sullen, deadpan sarcasm. His daughter is babbling nonsense, though one of the words distinctly sounds like Mama, when her slobbery hand isn’t in her mouth. “See? I told you Tony’s a good luck charm,” he says in a high pitched voice saved for babies and puppies. “Always remember that, kiddo, got it?”
Before Tony can even think about telling Peter there’s nothing lucky to being a talented genius like himself, he’s passing the baby over like a game of hot potato. “Hold this, will you?” he says before he disappears down the hall towards his and MJ’s bedroom.
“He’s getting the camera,” she explains as she hops up on the counter, grabbing the bowl of icing. She ends up taking the palette knife they used and begins licking it clean.
“Camera?” He adjusts his hold on AJ, giving her optimal positioning to slap her slobbery hand against his cheek. “Now? What can’t wait until we’re all showered and -”
“Found it!” Peter cuts him off as he runs back into the kitchen, Polaroid camera in hand.
Talk about ancient history. “Did you dig that out of an old time capsule?”
“Considering this was in storage somewhere in the cabin attic I would say yes. Most definitely a time capsule, old man.”
Tony’s eyes slant in annoyance before he swipes the camera away from a snickering Peter. “What’s with this, huh?” he shakes it a little. “New camera on the latest StarkPhone not good enough for you?”
“It’s fun, would you relax?” He takes the camera back and passes it to MJ. “Come on. In front of the cake, let’s go.”
Tony feels like the kid in this scenario as he listens to Peter’s posing instructions. He ends up taking AJ and setting her on the counter beside the cake. “First one’s a big smile. Say Spidey!”
“Hawkeye!" Tony says, with fake cheer.
“Hey….” Peter pouts.
The camera clicks before spitting out a photo.
“That’ll be a good one,” MJ says, fanning it back and forth a few times before she sets in the counter. “Okay, scary faces. I mean. As best as you can manage.”
“I can be scary,” Tony defends.
“Me too,” Peter adds.
“Peter, there’s literally 450 videos on YouTube of Spider-Man petting puppies.” MJ says. “You are as scary as a butterfly. But try anyway.”
Click and spit.
“Bunny ears.”
"On Tony or the baby?”
“Surprise me.”
They give AJ double bunny ears.
Click and spit.
“Okay and now,” Peter picks up AJ and sticks her in her high chair before he takes some icing that MJ hasn’t managed to eat yet, and puts it on her nose to keep her occupied. “One of me and Iron Man.”
MJ points to herself. "Me or...?" But she adjusts the camera once more, waiting for the two of them to get situated.
As Peter leans heavily into his side, Tony’s reminded of the first photo they did like this together: the Stark Industries internship photo. After Peter was gone at the hands of Thanos for five years, he had it framed up in his home. And when Peter came back, he vowed to try and take a few more pictures- and he has. He’s got a small collection: summer time at the lake, his high school graduation, Peter holding his own kid for the first time.
And now April's first birthday cake. That he helped make.
He wraps an arm around the kid and tries to pull him even closer.
Click and spit.
AJ shrieks with laughter and when they all look over, she’s smeared the generous amount of icing Peter had put on her nose all over her face like war paint.
MJ fans herself with the fresh Polaroid. “...You think she’ll go head first into the cake?”
“If I’m not washing icing out of her hair, I’ve failed.”
The kitchen gets cleaned. Tony takes a nap on the couch and wakes up with icing on his nose. Peter says it was him but he knows it was MJ. They get ready. They throw a party. People bring way too many presents for a one year old. Half of them are from Tony and Pepper. They sing Happy Birthday. Peter cries a little. AJ gets icing in her hair.
And when it’s all said and done, when he’s finally all alone, bustling in the kitchen to clean it up once more, he sees it - an open scrapbook on the kitchen table with the Polaroids they took that morning. Peter’s already labeled them appropriately: AJ’s First Birthday. Spooky Good! It takes up the entire right page.
On the left...well, that really is a time capsule.
Peter’s 14th Birthday - Our best cake yet!
Ben and Peter have the same exact smile.
“German chocolate.”
Peter’s words are a soft whisper as he slinks up beside him, resting his head against his arm. “Ben always made a German chocolate cake for my birthday. Every year. It was my favorite food in the whole world.”
“That tasty, huh?”
“No,” Peter snickers. “Wasn’t much better than May’s date loaf. But man, did we always have fun making it.”
Tony eyes what’s left of the orange monstrosity cake and smiles.