Chapter Text
The first time Peter Parker ever flew in a plane, he was far too excited- and loud, in Happy’s opinion- to notice the faint buzz of his spidey senses underlying every thought.
The second time he ever flew in a plane, the low drone of the engines lulled his exhausted body to sleep, dreaming of soldiers and sorcerers and giant men. He couldn’t see the roiling ocean as they passed over it, and only Happy noticed how the boy’s shoulders would tense as the turbulent ocean winds caused the cabin to shudder.
The third time probably couldn’t be considered a flight, though he was *technically* on a plane. Either way, it wasn’t very pleasant, and he would rather not think of it right now. Especially since Mr. Stark was here, and he probably didn’t even know exactly what happened that night in the first place.
Peter had another experience with planes, but that was a very long time ago and he wasn’t even there for it. Luckily. But that was just another thing not to think about. Certainly not as he stood rigidly on the tarmac besides his mentor, bracing himself against the wind as they watched the slate grey jet taxi in from the runway.
“You know, this might be the first time you were ever early for a flight, Tony.” Happy said as he slammed the trunk of the SUV.
Peter snorted at the comment, and was rewarded with a flick to the head from his mentor.
“Don’t laugh at that, you little shit,” The genius said indignantly, “First of all, it’s my plane, it should wait for me. Second, crosswinds were too strong on landing, so Tim had to do another pass.”
Happy rolled his eyes, but made no further remarks.
“If the wind is that bad, should we even be flying?” Peter asked, pushing his hair out of his eyes for what seemed to be the hundredth time. As soon as he moved his hand away an errant gust pushed his curls right back. He huffed and didn’t try again.
“I wouldn’t worry about it, kid. I’ve flown in worse.” Tony shrugged.
The teen nodded, but he couldn’t help glancing behind them to the darkness building in the already grey sky. A familiar shiver ran down his back, and Peter burrowed deeper into his hoodie, not that it helped. Stupid spider-genes.
By the time the jet pulled to a stop and the flight crew lowered the air stairs, Peter had managed to choke down the unease he had been feeling since that morning. He should be excited, after all. Not very many interns got to accompany The Tony Stark on a business trip! An actual one, at that.
“Do you need any help with the luggage, Happy?” He asked the man currently sticking little red tags on each suitcase.
“Nah, you go on ahead, Peter. I’m not sure if that would count as child labor. Can’t be too careful these days.” He replied, grunting as he rose to his feet. Peter looked dubiously between him and the rather large pile of bags.
“Whatever you say, Happy.”
“Get outta here, kid, Tony’s waiting on you.” Happy said, shooing the teen off with a roll of his eyes.
Sure enough, the genius was waiting for him at the top of the stairs.
“What do you think, Underoos?” He asked as Peter bounded up the steps.
“It’s super cool!” Peter replied, “It’s smaller than the one from Leipzig, but personal jets usually are, right? Did you make it?”
Tony smirked at the barrage of questions, and patted the shimmery side of the jet.
“Nope, I didn’t make it, but I did have a hand in the design and some of the tech. And yeah, I wanted it smaller, to be a bit less… recognizable, at least for more sensitive stuff.”
“Makes sense, makes sense,” Peter nodded, wrinkling his nose as another gust of wind blew against them, “Can we go in now?”
“Oh, so now you’re excited?” the man snorted, ruffling Peter’s hair before placing his palm on the plane. The metal glowed gently under his touch, and the door hatch slid open with a click.
“Hey! I was excited! I probably just overreacted a bit.” Peter whined.
“Well come on, then! Tony said, “go ahead and sit down, I’ve gotta talk to Tim for a sec, then I’ll join you.” He promptly disappeared into a door on the left that Peter assumed was the cockpit. It was a solid guess, as long as Tim was the pilot, as he had also assumed.
He stepped nervously over the threshold, sighing as the much warmer air washed over him. Much better. A burst of laughter, the kind adults do when someone says something that is only funny to anyone over the age of thirty-five, came from his left, muted even to his enhanced senses. The soundproofing was pretty good, but not as impervious as in the Tower, but Peter resisted the urge to listen in. That was rude, and Peter Parker was anything but rude. Instead, he made his way into the fuselage.
“Whoa.” He breathed as he walked into the space, which was better described as a room than a plane’s cabin. The front was open and fairly spacious, with soft tawny carpeting, a luxurious wooden kitchenette complete with mini bar, a small table, and a large TV. The back end was more reminiscent of a normal plane, with two rows of double seats lining the sides. Each was upholstered in fine cream leather, and Peter couldn’t wait to find out what the panel of buttons on the armrests were for.
He pulled off his hoodie and tossed it on to one of the seats. Sitting down could wait, it’d been a few hours since his last meal, and something told him those cabinets weren’t empty. Peter slipped behind the bar and opened the first one. Bingo.
“I see you’ve made yourself at home.” Tony chuckled. Peter yelped in surprise and dropped the three Pringles cans he’d been holding, one of which popped open, spilling salted chips across the floor.
“Oh, shoot, sorry! I guess I should’ve asked.” He said guiltily.
“No, it’s all good, kid, I was just joking. Didn’t mean to scare you,” Tony shrugged, then looked at the brand new mess on the floor. “Good thing there’s still two cans.”
“Three if you value the five second rule.” Peter replied, and started shoving the chips back into the tube.
“I...kid, no.” His mentor groaned, and grabbed a small broom and dustpan from under the sink.
“Really, Mr. Stark, I got it.”
“Ach, stop it,” Tony chided, whacking the teen’s hands with the bristles as he continued fumbling for the chips, “If you’re gonna pick them up, use this. And please don’t eat them. At least not in front of me, anyway.”
Peter rolled his eyes but obliged, sweeping up the remaining crumbs and dumping them into a trash bag his mentor provided.
“Alright, now that that’s sorted, I gotta know. Do you like it?” Tony asked, grabbing something for himself from the kitchenette.
“Yeah! It’s a lot fancier than I thought it would be,” Peter said enthusiastically, flopping down into the seat where he had left his sweatshirt, “Though I guess I should have expected that. Wow, these are so comfy!”
The man grinned and followed him, stopping to set his own bag of chips on the row in front of Peter.
“Well, you’re gonna love this.” He said, and tapped one of the armrest buttons. Immediately, the seat slid forward, and turned a neat 180 to face Peter.
“Sick!” The teen exclaimed, kicking his feet up on the now-backwards chair.
“Yeah, no,” Tony said, and kicked Peter’s legs back onto the ground, to much protest, ”I’m sitting here, so no footrest for the spiderling, got it?”
“Well, I could just-” Peter said, mischievously lifting his sneaker up to the leather.
“You could, if you want me to go sit back there.” His mentor retorted, gesturing to the very back of the plane. Peter shook his head vehemently.
“No! I’d rather you stay up here. If, uh, that’s fine with you.” He said. Tony squinted at him.
“Are you really alright?” he asked, “I know I ragged on you a bit earlier, but if you’re worried you can let me know.”
“I’m fine, honest! I just… I don't want to get so bored. That’s all.” Peter reassured.
“Okay, kid. I wasn’t going to leave, anyway. I’m just as susceptible to boredom as you.” Tony winked, sat down on the seat no longer occupied by Peter’s sneakers, and pressed another button, prompting a small holo-screen to appear over the armrest.
“So, is there anything they can’t do?” Peter challenged.
It took about seven minutes for Tony to cover the heating, cooling, reclining, screen tech, cupholder, and swiveling functions, and an additional five for Peter to start getting restless.
“Mr. Stark? When are we leaving?”
The man glanced out the window towards the back of the plane.
“Probably soon, since they’ve stopped loading luggage. Once Happy’s on, we’ll get moving,” He mused, “ So I should probably turn around.”
“Why? I thought you were gonna talk to me.” Peter huffed.
“Just for take-off and landing, kid. Tim’s rules.” Tony replied.
“O-oh. That makes sense.” Peter mumbled, face flushing as Tony hit the button and swiveled away. Ugh, stupid question.
“Yeah, sorry, usually Tim would let me do whatever I want, but well, Tim’s here.” The genius shrugged.
“Uh, what?” the teen puzzled, "Is Tim-uh,Tim’s the pilot, right?”
“Well yes, Tim’s the pilot.” Tony answered, “And Tim is the Co-Pilot.”
“So there’s...one Tim?”
“Nope.”
“Two Tims?”
“Yeah, Maybe.” Peter shook his head.
“Both the pilot and copilot are named Tim? Is there a reason?” He asked. Tony just shrugged again.
“Nope. Just a coincidence.”
“Bullshit,” Happy interjected as he stepped into the cabin, “And you know damn well it is.” Peter poked his head up from behind his mentor’s chair as the man groaned.
“Do tell!” He chirped.
“Don’t tell.” Tony grumbled.
“Please.” Peter added.
“Well, since you asked so nicely,” Happy smirked, “A few years ago, Ms. Potts told boss he’s got to shape up and start learning the names of some of the people he has to interact with. So, as any sane, rational person would, he started only hiring airline personnel named Tim.”
“I’m going to replace you with someone named Tim” Tony mumbled as Peter snorted.
“Aw, no, Mr. Stark!” Peter gasped.
“Good.” Happy deadpanned, and made his way to the back of the plane.
Peter turned around in his seat as he went.
“Wait, you’re sitting back there?” He asked. Happy glanced back at him before sitting down a few rows back.
“I just took an Ambien, kid, I will not be capable of any conversation in the next,” He looked down at his watch, "Fifteen minutes. Good night.”
“There’s no way that’s good fo-” Peter began, but a smooth voice from the overhead interrupted him.
“Alright, this is your pilot Tim speaking, me and your copilot, Tim, will be flying you today from the lovely Upstate New York to sunny Los Angeles. It is currently 46 degrees out, with a wind-chill that brings it down to 38. There’s some thunderstorms out west, but we should be avoiding them for the most part. Now, this is a longer flight, a whopping 7 hours, so feel free to enjoy the onboard amenities, or just sleep through it.” A loud snore rose up from the back of the plane, and Peter stifled a giggle, “That said, please remain seated for takeoff, and whenever the seatbelt light comes on. Please refer to your screens for the safety briefing.”
Peter slouched in his seat as a little man in an ascot appeared on the holo-screen and began explaining all the details of exits and life vests and parachutes. He hadn’t expected a private jet to have these cheesy videos, but maybe it was a requirement? Not the video, that was obvious, but the cheesiness aspect of it. As if the stupid graphics and bad one liners could distract him from the fact that there was, in fact, a possibility that the plane could crash.
He suddenly felt like he had just walked into a test that he hadn’t studied for. Well, it kinda was. If the unthinkable did happen, he had to know all this stuff. Wait, did he? Surely Mr. Stark knew all this, right? And if worse came to worst, then he could-Unless he couldn’t, because he was- No. Peter shook his head, and the thought away with it. Nothing bad was going to happen. To Mr. Stark, him, Happy, or the plane. His built-in super alarm system had been completely fine all day, It wasn’t Homecoming night, and he wasn’t going to end up like his paren- Nope again. Peter straightened in his seat, and concentrated on watching the ascot man cheerily explain the do’s and don’ts of oxygen mask application. Nothing to worry about.