Chapter Text
Peter could not, for the life of him, quell the profound urge to smile or laugh. The corner of his lips twitched upwards on their own accord and no matter what he did, the compelling want to giggle and chortle grew until it became close to unbearable.
How he survived the entire school day without a single incident and completely straight-faced was beyond him.
He commended his ability to keep quiet and the patience he practiced while waiting for the moment he knew was to come. The opportunity was creeping closer and Peter simply could. not. wait.
Happy was already eyeing him suspiciously in the rear-view mirror, telling Peter he’d been uncharacteristically calm and still. Typically, the teenager was a bundle of energy with the ability to talk someone’s ear off.
Mr. Stark often claimed to be surprised the phrase did not apply literally to Peter.
Peter didn’t take his remark to heart. In fact, he would dare to say Mr. Stark had said it with a thread of fondness, and so, Peter treasured it.
Today, however. Today was the day.
Peter was going to put his mentor’s intelligence and sharp wit to the test. It was widely known that his mentor wielded a keen mind. One of the most brilliant in the world. The most brilliant if Peter said so himself. He did. No other could align themselves beside his mentor. There wasn’t anyone who could rival his genius. Everyone paled in comparison.
...Perhaps Peter was not quite cured of his fanaticism of Tony Stark yet…
Peter made a face at the thought.
“Just what are you doing?” Happy inquired behind the wheel, disgruntled and gruff. For once, he’d kept the window between them rolled down. This was an incredibly rare occurrence- not that Peter minded, but he was quite occupied in plotting his master plan. He could only hope Mr. Stark fell for it.
“Thinking,” Peter replied simply. Short and to the point. Clear and concise. Something Peter was not. He was known to ramble and to stitch random thoughts together mid-sentence, thereby confusing his listeners and leaving them to wonder what on earth he’d been talking about in the first place.
May was really the only person who knew and understood him perfectly. She often ended up translating or summarizing for others who had difficulty following.
As it was, it was his awesome Aunt who’d conjured up this scheme and passed it onto Peter to try. May was a mischievous woman. Nevermind the fact that she was a proud and strong Italian woman fierce and capable of tearing Mr. Stark a new one. She adored pranks, puns, and memes. She’d discovered a video while at work a couple days previous, cracked up, and showed it to Peter. He’d fallen in love with it instantly and knew that this one...this one was too good to pass up.
Apparently, Peter’s single sentenced responses gave Happy more reason to be concerned for the teen’s wellbeing.
“Are you sick..?” The man asked slowly, gaze darting at Peter’s reflection then back to the road. “Bad day at school? Bad day in general?”
Peter blinked, inclining his head in confusion. Since when was Peter thinking somehow in corelation to him having a bad day or him being sick?
“None of the above?” He answered, planting a question mark at the end to convey his bemusement.
Clearly, this only served to unnerve Happy more than he already was.
Peter shrugged to himself, resting his arm on the door and gazing out the window at the buildings they passed by. The car rumbled gently down the congested streets of New York, gliding so smoothly along the roads Peter could almost believe they were flying instead of driving.
A wicked smile curved his lips and the fifteen year old thrummed to life when his plotting finally came to an end. He would have to thank his aunt later. This was perfect. His foot tapped arrhythmically against the carpeted flooring of the car, his excitement burgeoning the closer they came to Stark Tower.
Soon…
Happy continued to watch him closely, undoubtedly monitoring his uncharacteristic behavior and filing away little notes and memorandums for future reference.
“Kid...I have never once seen you this calm and collected,” The grump of a man stated bluntly, “I’d be lying if I said it didn’t worry me. Did you do something? Patrol gone wrong? You didn’t blow up my phone last night with any messages or voicemails…” He trailed off meaningfully, trying to coax Peter into talking. Not once did Happy think he would find himself missing the cheerful, upbeat, Peter Parker capable of long-winded sentences and telling detailed stories in a single breath.
“Huh, what?” Peter’s brows knit together, “I didn’t patrol last night. Do I look that bad? I haven’t been feeling sick or anything…” He scratched the back of his head, wondering why Happy was so on edge.
Really, all Peter was doing was thinking. It was something he always did. A strenuous activity capable of tuckering him out on the easiest of days.
“No, you don’t look bad,” Happy sighed with a shake of his head, turning onto another street and weaving effortlessly through traffic, “You’re just...quiet.”
“I’m thinking.” Peter could not stress this fact enough. Was it so unusual for him to be this quiet and contemplative? Evidently.
“If you say so.”
Peter rolled his eyes.
When they arrived at the Tower, Peter bounded into the elevator and chirped a greeting to FRIDAY, asking her politely to take him to the Lab.
FRIDAY returned his greeting with something akin to fondness in her Irish voice and quickly brought him to his destination.
Once the doors parted, Peter stepped off and strode into the lab where he knew Mr. Stark would be found. His mentor barely left it as it was. He’d heard the stories told by Pepper, Rhodey, and Happy. How they would have to drag Mr. Stark out or force him to eat, sleep, and shower. Mr. Stark was practically nocturnal. Peter figured he must lose track of time often when he was working.
AC-DC blared to life from the speakers, thundering about the lab and sending vibrations through the floors and walls. Vibrations only Peter himself could feel. There were pros and cons to having spider senses. This was one of the not-so-great things about them. The enhanced vigilante cringed mildly from the volume at which Mr. Stark listened to his music. It never failed to hurt his poor, sensitive, ears.
FRIDAY, bless her, immediately lowered the volume once he entered the labspace, heading directly for his work table.
Mr. Stark, he discovered, was fixedly studying a blueprint spread about the surface of his table, dismantled web shooters scattered among other Spider-Man related equipment. He’d been scribbling away at something- no doubt correcting whatever formula he’d conjured- when his music suddenly decreased in volume, alerting him to Peter’s presence.
His head popped up, turning Peter’s way and his brow immediately creased. The look in his eyes was difficult for Peter to establish but he would dare to say Mr. Stark was...concerned?
That couldn’t be right.
Peter shook his head, frowning deeply.
This, in turn, made Mr. Stark’s own frown to steepen and he searched the teen’s face. For what, Peter was unsure.
“Everything alright, Pete?” His mentor inquired, rotating round and leaning against his work table with his arms crossed and a screwdriver in hand. He wore a faded Led Zeppelin T-Shirt and jeans, both bearing grease and motor oil stains, and his hair was disheveled in a way that told Peter he’d been working in the lab nonstop for hours. Or days. One never knew with Mr. Stark.
The question he’d asked momentarily confounded Peter. Why was everyone asking if he was okay? He was completely and perfectly fine. Fit as a fiddle. Right as rain, or whatever old folks called it.
But then…
A thought niggled to the forefront of his mind and Peter had to suppress the urge to smirk diabolically. This could work in his favor.
So, Peter continued on his path, only meandering enough to make his way towards his mentor instead. His silence made Mr. Stark a tiny bit apprehensive and worried. The man was difficult to get a read on, but Peter figured he’d gotten to know him well enough these last few months. He could recognize the minor shifts in demeanor and minute changes in expression. They were slight, hardly noticeable, but Peter had a keen eye. He was observant when he wanted to be.
Not to mention he had a pretty reliable sixth sense to lean on if he ever had need to.
“Pete-Pete?” Mr. Stark set his screwdriver down, giving Peter his undivided attention, “Happy said you were eerily quiet on the drive up here. Thinks you might’ve had a bad day or something, and I find I might believe him. Are you...okay?” There was a sliver of hesitance. A pause where Mr. Stark faltered and floundered momentarily before pressing on and finishing the question.
Emotions and his mentor definitely did not go hand-in-hand but he tried for Pete’s sake.
“Did you hear about the actress that got stabbed?” Peter asked suddenly, cutting the silence that enveloped the lab when Mr. Stark shut the music off. He didn’t look to his mentor, not even a glance or he knew he’d break character.
It was rare for Peter to sound so serious and solemn. A true, mature, adult.
Peter found he greatly disliked it.
Mr. Stark blinked rapidly, mentally rearing back at the abrupt and unexpected words his mentee had spoken.
“No,” He answered swiftly, wondering if, perhaps, this was what weighed so heavily on Peter’s mind. Peter had a gentle soul and big heart. Too big of a heart, the innovator would steadfastly claim. If someone was injured, even if Peter did not know them personally, he would feel their pain as if it were his own. Goodness knows his guilt complex was the only thing that might trump the vast expanse of his heart. “What happened?”
A pleased and devilish thrill lanced through Peter.
Mr. Stark had fallen for it.
“Reese…” Peter began, trailing off and impatiently waiting for his mentor to take the bait.
As expected, Mr. Stark did.
Surprise lit those dark, marginally wide, eyes, a flicker of recognition and something indiscernible flit across his otherwise nonchalant features before the mask slipped back into place.
“Witherspoon?”
“No,” Peter huffed, shaking his head and fixing Mr. Stark with a disapproving look, “With a knife.”
For a moment, there was nothing.
No reaction, no comprehension, no lightbulb going off.
Mr. Stark simply stared at him.
Then, it hit. Understanding dawned on Mr. Stark. Peter saw it in the way his eyes shuttered and the gears in his mind processed his words until they came to realize exactly what had taken place.
And when it did...
“Pete!”
~~~~
If Peter returned home that night with the ends of his hair singed… Well, May was left to wonder what project he and Mr. Stark had worked on that would result in him burning strands of his hair.
When her phone dinged, notifying her of a text message she’d received, May was all the more surprised to find it was from Tony Stark himself.
He needed a new haircut anyway.
Was that Stark’s way of telling her to fix her nephew’s wild curls?
Her phone dinged again.
I have a few suggestions…
Then a third and final time.
I’ll be more than happy to cover the cost.
He was late.
Peter Parker was never late.
Not for lab day at least.
He was prompt and punctual. He wasn’t the typical teenager who strolled in two, three, four minutes late with a lame excuse or no excuse at all. He was too pure and kind for that.
If, and only if, Peter was running late, he would always shoot a text or find some way to let him know ahead of time.
Tony was not at all worried.
Nope. Nada. Zilch.
He was absolutely not fretting.
“FRIDAY?”
His reliable AI dutifully answered, “Peter Parker has not stepped foot on the premises, Boss,”
Heaving another explosive sigh, Tony tapped the bottom of his pen against his desk, dark eyes darting towards his phone expectantly. It was Saturday. Lab day. Peter usually took the subway and arrived exactly five minutes early. He’d then wait and loiter about the lobby until precisely one minute prior to the start of the supposed internship before making his way down.
No matter how many times Tony told him to just come on in, Peter refused to step a foot inside the lab until the clock struck half past four or whatever other time they decided on.
Tony wouldn’t be concerned if it weren’t already half past five.
An hour had passed and he’d heard and received nothing from his buoyant and chipper mentee. A message to Hap told Tony Peter hadn’t sent the man anything either. All was silent on their ends and Tony wasn’t sure what to make on how this made him feel.
The little miscreant had wormed his way into Tony’s life so effortlessly it should terrify him. The teen had broken through his defenses, beat down his walls, and nestled himself into Tony’s heart in a way no one had before.
What took Tony aback was how natural it all was. It was not at all jarring or jolting. There was no pivotal or utterly mind-blowing moment in which he’d come to realize he cared for the teen. Wasn’t it obvious? He didn’t give multimillion suits to anyone. Or monitor them. Or keep an eye on their vitals.
He looked forward to working with the teen on their designated days. He and Peter always fell into a rhythm when they worked, the teen’s impeccable intelligence and quick wit matching Tony’s own IQ and sarcasm, making it enjoyable to work alongside the curious and ingenious Spider-Boy.
Tony never saw himself as someone who would take others like Peter under his wing, but when he’d watched those videos of a kid in a red and blue onesie bounding about helping old ladies cross the road, rescuing cats from trees, returning lost dogs to their owners, or stopping vehicles with his bare hands, he simply could not leave him be.
The kid needed guidance. He needed someone to watch and protect him. To lead and help him.
Tony knew there would be no stopping Peter from being Spider-Man, and so, he did all he could to ensure his safety. Multimillion suits were made and advanced, an AI included, training protocols installed, and features constantly added in.
Still, it would never be enough.
Tony monitored the kid closely.
He had FRIDAY check in periodically with Karen and list his vitals so Tony knew the kid was okay. Was he overbearing?
Maybe.
Did he care?
Not at all.
Five forty-five.
Tony pursed his lips tightly together. His stomach coiled and a flicker of anxiety wound about his chest, threatening to fasten around it. He forcefully shoved his worries aside, choosing instead to focus on the Iron Man suit he had lying in front of him.
He’d dismantled it for the seventy billionth time but it was the only thing capable of occupying his mind at the moment. A distraction that proved to be in vain.
“Boss,” FRIDAY’s voice floated on down to him, pulling him from his work, “Peter Parker has entered the building.”
A wave of relief unlike any other cascaded over Tony and he slumped forward against his desk while expelling a breath.
“Is he heading up now?”
FRIDAY took a minute to reply.
“He is hurrying this way, Boss.”
Not even two seconds later, Peter burst in, spewing apologies mingled with salutations and other things.
Tony had no idea how Peter managed it.
“An hour and forty-five minutes late, Underoos,” Tony interrupted him, collecting himself before rounding on the teen with a cocked eyebrow, “Care to tell me the reason behind your tardiness?” He’d smoothed his expression over before the teen could catch sight of his concern and relief. The façade he’d perfected over the years fell easily into place, weakening the more time he spent with the nerdy and brilliant teen.
He watched Peter race to his table, tossing his backpack somewhere nearby and hastily setting up his workspace. He blinked, affronted from having been ignored before idling to his mentee’s spot while Peter dug vigorously through the crate he had in his corner.
His offense bled away at the sight of the rambling teen still profusely apologizing for being late. Something close to fondness etched itself into Tony’s features, softening their hard lines considerably. He shook his head when Peter leaped back up, bounding towards him, bouncing on the balls of his feet.
Tony’s heart skipped a beat at the look in those eyes. Peter always looked at him as if he was the greatest person on the face of the earth. It was completely untrue. A bitter and false belief but that didn’t mean it didn’t touch Tony that Peter saw him in such a light.
Tony was not a good person. He was someone he hoped Peter would never aspire to become although it might be a little late for that...
I just wanted to be like you!
And I wanted you to be better!
The memory came unbidden and the guilt Tony still harbored from that day intensified. The look in his eyes then...When Tony confiscated the suit and turned his back on the teen.
He would never forget.
It haunted him to this day and would continue to do so until he breathed his last. He’d squandered the light in those eyes, crushed his aspirations, and abandoned him. He’d meant for it to be a lesson but, boy, did it backfire on him. Splendidly so.
Peter was simply too good for this world. After everything Tony had done, he’d still gone and chased after the Vulture, crashed his plane, and salvaged whatever alien tech he could. He’d gone as far as to rescue the Vulture himself after the man had tried to kill him. He’d turned down the opportunity to become an Avenger . This had earned Peter plenty of points with Tony. He couldn’t have been more proud… Once he’d recovered from being slighted, that was.
Tony blinked back to the present when his vision was suddenly accosted by a gift bag of sorts. Peter had shoved it in his face, beaming once he’d gotten his mentor’s attention before the teen set it on the table and slid it towards Tony.
“What is this?” The billionaire asked, poking the bag with a screwdriver. Peter rolled his eyes and pushed it closer to him.
“A little gift.” He said as if it should be obvious.
Tony stared down at the bag, taking in the simplicity of it. A brown paper bag, ribbons, and colorful tissue paper jutting out from within.
There were designs drawn on it that were so incredibly Peter that Tony immediately decided to store it safely away.
That was when he also realized…
“You didn’t hand it to me.”
It was phrased as a statement. One Tony wanted an answer to when his dark gaze snapped up to meet Peter’s own warm one.
Peter tilted his head, looking so much like a puppy Tony wondered if he was part dog and not part spider.
“You don’t like being handed things,” Peter said, scooting the bag closer to Tony with a ruler, “Come on, Mr. Stark! Take it, would you?” Impatience coated his words and Tony swallowed back the lump in his throat at Peter’s astute observation. The teen probably didn’t realize the impact this simple act had on the billionaire nor did he ask questions, something Tony deeply appreciated. Most people looked at him as if he were weird or odd- some remarking as such- but not Peter.
“What is it for?” Tony asked, prodding the bag once more. Peter looked ready to burst from apprehension, nervousness, and suspense.
“Mr. Staaaark!” He whined. A small smile lit Tony’s expression at how childlike the fifteen year old could be at times.
“Alright, alright,” Tony conceded, “I’m going, I’m going.” He grasped the edge of the bag with his fingers and tugged it to place it onto his own table. “Should I open it here?”
“No!” Peter vehemently objected, taking Tony aback. The teen looked rightfully appalled and penitent, “Sorry, sorry!” He apologized, “Just...wait until I leave to open it?” He bashfully lifted shy brown eyes up to meet Tony’s curious ones.
“I can do that,” Tony nodded, to Peter’s relief. He became serious immediately afterwards, sternly facing Peter and crossing his arms, “Now, you, young man,”
Peter wilted under his gaze, “Yes?” He peeped.
Dammit. This boy.
“Why were you late?”
Tony almost regretted asking when Peter’s eyes twinkled with mirth and an impish grin grew on his lips.
A familiar sight.
“Well,” The look vanished and Peter lifted a hand to rub the back of his neck.
A nervous tick of his Tony had caught onto early on.
“I was injured during a game of hide-and-seek,” The vigilante started to say, worrying his lower lip.
Tony went to his side at once, dropping his screwdriver to grasp Peter’s shoulder with a subtle look of concern,
“Injured?” He was about to demand a list but Peter continued with an easy shrug,
“Yeah, I ended up going to the ICU.”
It only took a couple of seconds to click in Tony’s mind.
And when it did, the billionaire dunked Peter’s head in the box full of glitter he had on his desk with an indignant cry of,
“ Pete!”
"Mr. Stark!”
Tony would later deny it but there was no refuting it. Not when FRIDAY could bear witness and testify with both video and audio proof.
The genius, billionaire, former playboy, philanthropist yelped and jumped a mile high when Peter’s chipper voice piped up behind him. The innovator’s grip on his tablet loosened and the Stark technology clattered to the ground, his poor heart almost lunging out of his chest from the jolt of pure, unadulterated, fear that lanced through him.
“Peter Benjamin Parker!” Tony admonished, whirling around to find the unrepentant teen collapsed on the ground, arms wound tightly around his stomach, laughing so freely the man hadn’t the heart to tell him off for startling him. “Are you trying to send me into cardiac arrest?!”
Gales of genuine laughter filled the entirety of the penthouse as Peter rolled about on the floor, swiping fake-tears from his eyes at the spectacle he’d had the pleasure to witness.
“Y-you jumped s-so high, Mr. St-Stark!”
Tony sniffed, tipping his chin up in a melodramatic display of indignance. He refused to feed the teen’s amusement anymore than he already had at his expense.
“S-should’ve se-en your f-face!” And Peter lost it again. He smacked his fist against the tiles, his breaths coming in gasps as he replayed Tony’s reaction nonstop in his mind, storing it safely away to be remembered at a later time.
Tony scowled, crossing his arms and peering down at the disheveled teen as fiercely as he could.
Peter was not in the least bit intimidated.
Desperate to salvage what little masculinity Tony might have left, he switched to a different tactic, asking instead,
“Is there a reason you broke into my penthouse at nine-thirty in the evening on a school night, Underoos, or do you have a death wish I’m unaware of? If so, I’d be more than happy to oblige.” His gauntlet formed around his wrist, the repulsor whirring to life and Peter scrambled to his feet, waving his hands frantically in the air,
“No, no, no!” He shook his head vigorously, mirth shining in those bright eyes and a wide smile stretching across his face, “I happened to be in the area and decided to drop by.”
Tony cocked an eyebrow, unconvinced, “Uh-huh.”
“Really!” Peter hopped forwards, “I found out something interesting and I had to tell you!”
Tony’s resolve crumpled at the energetic teen’s excitable demeanor and he released a sigh full of pent-up disbelief and fond exasperation.
“And what was so fascinating that you swung all the way here from Queens to tell me, Spidey-boy,”
Peter visibly brightened and asked,
“Did you know the speed of a computer mouse is measured in mickeys?”
Tony’s expression flat-lined and the man swiftly spun on his heel to walk speedily away, “Nope, nuh-uh, we are not doing this today.”
“But, Mr. Stark!” Peter scampered after him, quelling the urge to laugh when the man increased his pace, all but racing down the corridor in a vain effort to escape, “A group of flamingos is a flamboyance! The one hundred folds that chef hats have? Those represent 100 ways an egg can be cooked! I didn’t know eggs could be cooked 100 ways!”
“Peter, I am begging you-”
“Bananas are berries but strawberries aren’t! Peanuts aren’t nuts either!”
“Don’t do this to me, Kid-”
“The letter ‘q’ is the only letter in the alphabet that doesn’t appear in any U. S. state name.”
“What did I do to deserve this?”