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As sure as the fact that Tony Stark was Iron Man, Peter Parker sat on roofs and listened to sad music when he was down. It was his thing, and for the most part, Tony let him exist.
But Tony worried, and, like all good parents who tracked their kids, (not that he’d ever admit that’s what he was), it was slightly alarming when your kid had been sitting on a roof for two hours listening to the playlist that he had specifically said, on several occasions, he would like playing as he died because it was the perfect sadness to die to, whatever the circumstances. You know. A playlist all normal people have, according to said kid.
Man, Tony would never understand that generation. But no matter if it made sense, or if it was 'normal' for today's teenagers to have playlists they want to die to, it was still worrisome. Especially when said kid hit the 2 hour mark of sitting on the roof listening to said playlist.
So, when he got FRIDAY's pre-set-up alert, he very calmly (not calmly at all) donned the Iron Man suit, opened the window, and flung himself from it. Like any normal, calm, sane person would do.
He flew to the location Peter's GPS had been pinging at, and found the kid laying on his back, hand holding his custom StarkPhone above his face as he scrolled through Spotify, earbuds connecting to his ears and playing music loud enough that Tony, who could hear it from several feet away, was surprised the kid still retained hearing capabilities, if that's how he listened to music all the time.
"Hey, kid. How are you doing this fine evening?" Tony stepped out of the suit and onto the roof, surprised at how cool it was for a July evening.
Peter sat up abruptly, almost dropping his phone off the roof only to have it saved by his wired earbuds, and twisted to face Tony as he strolled over to sit next to him on the edge of the roof.
"Mr. Stark! What, uh, what are, um, what are you doing here?"
"I'm checking on your mental and emotional well being, of course. Isn't that what you're supposed to do for PTSD-and-depression-ridden teenagers? Especially those seated on the edge of roofs listening to sad music for two hours?" Tony sat down next to Peter, and threw his legs off the side of the roof.
Peter checked the time. "I hadn't realized it had been two hours."
"Yeah, yeah, I'm sure you didn't. So, kid, what's ailing you enough to make you loose track of time while sitting and listening to your suicidal playlist?"
Tony could practically hear Peter roll his eyes. "It's not a suicidal playlist, Mr. Stark."
"Sure, kid. It's your 'perfect level of sad to die to, if I have any control' playlist, and it's not an 'I'm feeling suicidal' playlist."
Something resembling a smile drifted across Peter's face. "It's not a suicide playlist."
"Alright, kid. Do you have any reason for sitting here listening to your not-a-suicidal-playlist suicidal playlist? Or, as the kids say, are you 'going through it?'"
"Please never say that again." Peter dramatically fell backwards into the laying position he'd been in when Tony had arrived, slinging his arm over his eyes.
"That's negotiable. So, which one is it?"
"Both, I guess."
"Well, kid, I don't sleep, and I know you're following in my insomniac footsteps, so we've got all night. What's the ailment?"
Peter dragged his arm across his eyes. "I miss MJ."
"Ah. Girlfriend off at a college summer course is guaranteed to cause, as the kids say, 'sad boi hours,' am I right?"
Peter threw his arm back across his eyes. "Never say that again, either, and she's just a friend."
"Sure, kid, a friend who you're sitting on a roof listening to your heartbreak songs thinking about."
"She is just a friend, Mr. Stark."
"Okay, kid. So, what else ails your teenage mind?"
"Sometimes, I get mad at songwriters for writing songs about New York."
"What? Why?"
"For a variety of reasons, I guess. Mostly, it's like, I understand that it's a big city and it works really well as a place to romanticize and fantasize about, but like, I live here. I know how great it is. I don't need to listen to thousands of songs about a city I live in, especially ones talking about how much the songwriter wants to be here, since I'm already here!"
"Huh, I've never thought about that."
"Because you don't listen to good music, and your genre of music doesn't do that."
"Hey, that was uncalled for, Underoos."
"Your face is uncalled for."
"Uh huh. Great comeback, kid." Tony ruffled a hand through Peter's curls.
"It was a great comeback, you're just too boring to admit it."
Tony rolled his eyes. "Whatever you say kid. But what songs in particular are causing this specific train of thought?"
"Already Home by A Great Big World and NewYorkSoul by Jon Bellion."
"Wow, specific and immediate response. Impressive."
"Not impressive, I'm just salty about it.
"
"Salty, ay? I'll have to add that to my ever growing list of slang I can use in meetings to seem 'down with the youth of today.'"
"Never use it around me, Mr. Stark."
"Ah, are you... salty? About my slang abilities rivaling your own?"
Peter moved his arm so that one of his eyes was visible, and shot him a death glare that certainly didn't match the whine that accompanied it."Mr. Stark!"
"That's my name, don't wear it out! Actually, do, because maybe then you'll call me Tony like I've been telling you to."
Peter rolled his eyes. "Okay, Dr. Stark."
"No, nope, backtrack. That's worse. Stop this nonsense."
Peter giggled.
"But in all seriousness, why are you so salty about it?"
"Because they're both amazing songs, but if I listen to them I just think 'man, sure wish I was in a city i'm already in!' on repeat through the entire thing, and I want to listen to them, but I can't."
"That's rough, kid."
"I know."