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"Sleighbells riiiiing are you listeniiing, in the laaaane snow is glist - Hey!"
Tony removes his hand from the volume dial of the car stereo and gives Peter a pointed look over his sunglasses. Peter’s aghast expression quickly shifts into a scowl.
"You’re no fun."
"And you’re very close to doing time for murder if you keep assualting my ears like that."
"It wasn’t that bad - "
"You’re right. It was worse."
"Well, at least I’m not responsible for nearly blinding everyone in New York with Christmas lights."
"You’re as guilty as I am, Underoos, and you know it."
Peter sinks back into his seat with a grumble. After a minute of silence, his hand slowly creeps towards the stereo.
Tony flicks it.
"Oh, come on, Mister Stark - "
"I tell you what, I’ll let you turn it back on if you call me Tony."
"What?" Peter blinks, nose wrinkling in confusion. "How - that doesn’t even make sense, why would - "
"You want the music back on? Those are my terms."
From the corner of his eye, Tony sees Peter’s mouth open and close a few times before he finally collapses back in his seat again. Tony manages about a minute of maintaining a serious face, then chuckles as he reaches over to ruffle Peter’s hair through the beanie he’s wearing, knocking it askew. "You’re adorable when you’re grumpy."
Peter groans loudly.
"And it is kinda weird that you don’t call me by my actual first name, you know. We’ve been through a lot together, kiddo. I like to think I’ve earned it."
"This coming from the guy who never calls me by my name?"
Tony shakes his head. "Jeez, exaggerate much?"
"Ugh, why do I hang out with you. You’re such an annoying old man."
"Hey," Tony chuckles. "Watch your language."
Peter’s response is to turn the volume dial back up and burst into song.
By the time they pull up to the curb, just a short distance away from Delmar’s Deli and Grill , Tony is singing right along with him.
"You’re gonna love this, Mister Stark," Peter jabbers over the chorus of honking horns as they climb out of the car. "It’s the best thing you’ll ever eat."
Tony, paying no mind to the amount of traffic he's managed to block, hums curiously. "That’s a bold statement, Parker. I’ve eaten some pretty fantastic things in my time."
"Yeah but that’s all fancy rich people stuff like caviar and oysters, this is honest, straight from the soul, good food."
Tony playfully shoves him. "You’ve eaten oysters too."
"Yeah, with you. And they tasted gross by the way."
"So you’ve told me. A lot."
Tony listens to Peter’s excited ramblings with a familiar, fond warmth resting in his chest. It guards him from the icy chill of the late afternoon and he can’t help but sling a companionable arm around the kid’s shoulders for a few seconds as they pass the giant selection of fruit and vegetable crates outside the storefront window. A little bell dings as they head inside and the smell of cured meat, roasted pepper and toasted bread hits Tony like a wave. It’s instantly mouthwatering and makes him think of the quaint little delicatessen he used to visit with Ana and Jarvis in downtown Amalfi, the three of them sampling different cheeses and slices of ham while his parents schmoozed and networked at fancy galas and dinners. The scent seems out of place here amongst a backdrop of cluttered shelves full of various bottles and boxes, Santa Baby playing from a crackly speaker somewhere above their heads. The cooking spray sitting directly next to the cheap hairspray has Tony raising an eyebrow, but he says nothing as he follows Peter along one of the aisles.
"S’up, Mister Delmar," Peter says to the man sitting behind the main counter.
"Hey, Mister Parker," Delmar greets cheerfully, muting the wrestling show playing on the small television up on the wall and getting to his feet. "Brought a friend today, huh? This your aunt’s new boyfriend?"
Peter splutters his disgust at such an idea while Tony snorts, removing his sunglasses and holding out a hand. "Tony Stark."
"I know," Delmar grins, shaking his hand firmly. "Hard not to recognise the guy who saved the world."
"Kid here tells me you do the best sandwiches in Queens."
"That we do!" Delmar sweeps his hand over to where a large selection of meats, cheeses and shredded vegetables sit behind a sloped glass screen. A string of fairy lights, the only obvious Christmas decoration in the whole place, rests on top of it, along with a fluffy and sleepy looking cat that peers over at them with narrow amber eyes.
"Hi, Murph!" Peter moves past Tony to stroke the cat’s back, earning a loud purr. "Whoa, think you need to lay off the treats, you know. You look kinda tubby.''
"Hey," Delmar barks, "that’s no way to speak to a new mother!"
Peter regards him with a bemused frown. "New moth - Murph’s a girl? "
Delmar bobs his head at something behind the counter. Peter scrambles back to Tony’s side and they both lean forward to see a large wicker basket tucked beneath some shelves, in which six large kittens are sleeping soundly.
"Oh my god," Peter whispers loudly, grabbing Tony’s arm. "They’re so cute. Way to go, Murph!"
Murph purrs loudly again, clearly very proud.
"I can’t believe all this time I thought Murph was a boy."
"Don’t sweat it," Delmar shrugs. "I thought the same thing."
Tony raises an eyebrow. "You didn’t know your own cat was a girl?"
"Hey," Delmar spreads his arms, "a cat’s a cat, you know? Girl or boy, it’s still gonna lay there all day and refuse to catch mice...not that we have mice," he adds, a somewhat threatening glare momentarily crossing his face. "Anyway, what are you here for today? Parker, number five, squished real flat?"
Peter pauses in his cooing to shake his head. "Not today." He points upwards and Tony notices a little yellow sign stuck to the menu board on the wall that reads SPECIAL THIS MONTH: CHRISTMAS CRACKER SUB ONLY $5. "Two of the specials please."
"Ha!" Delmar claps his hands together. "Should have known. You had one almost every other day the last time the promotion was on."
There’s no ignoring his choice of wording. It’s a sharp jolt of a reminder that this time last year, Tony was only just starting to come out of his gauntlet-induced coma and that for the five years before that, Delmar had been lost just like Peter, a fact that Tony knew because Happy had pointed out the old boarded up bodega one afternoon as they drove through the quiet streets of Queens to visit May.
Tony sees Peter’s shoulders tense briefly, an unconscious move of defense against whatever memories have surged up inside his head. Delmar seems to notice too, sadness twisting his features, and he quickly turns to get started on their sandwiches, rattling a few containers then heading out back, yelling to someone called Ed about turkey slices.
Clearing his throat, Tony nudges Peter with his shoulder. "Christmas cracker?"
Peter’s answering smile is watery but genuine. "Yeah."
"Do I even want to know why it’s called that?"
Smile growing stronger, Peter says, "Because it’s like an explosion of joy in your mouth," with all the cheesy enthusiasm of a commercial.
Tony snorts. "Jeez, kid, that’s terrible. Did you just come up with that?"
"No! Mister Delmar used that to help sell them the first year he made them."
"I don’t believe you. That line has got Peter Parker written all over it."
"What does that even mean?"
A quiet chorus of soft meowing steals Peter’s attention before Tony can reply, and he can only watch with a fond eye roll as the kid vaults himself halfway over the counter to get another look at the kittens.
"You’re both having footlongs, right?" Delmar asks as he strolls back into view, followed closely by another man who Tony assumes to be Ed, carrying what looks like an entire bird’s worth of sliced turkey on a large plate. "All the trimmings?"
"The whole thing," Peter affirms. "S’up, Ed."
"Hey, man," Ed grins, eyes flickering over to Tony. "Treating a friend to lunch, huh?"
"Something like that."
As Ed gets busy making the sandwiches, elbowing a hovering Delmar out of the way, Peter reaches into his pocket for his wallet.
"No way, kid."
"Mister Stark - "
"Nope."
Peter rolls his eyes. "I can afford ten dollars, you know."
"Never said you couldn’t. Just humor me, Pete."
"But - "
Tony pats him on the shoulder. "You can get the next one."
It’s got nothing to do with thinking that Peter is low on money, even though he usually is, and in another time, on another day, Tony would have accepted the gesture without much argument. It’s to do with the lingering wound in Tony’s gut, the one that hasn’t quite healed over yet when it comes to things like this: to making up for lost time and, in this case, treating the kid to all the things he didn’t get a chance to before, including seasonal sandwiches that will likely do terrible things to his cholesterol levels.
For a brief second, Tony wonders if he’s gone a step too far, let his emotions manhandle the moment into something unpleasant, but the soft look of understanding blooming on Peter’s face reassures him otherwise.
With a sigh, Peter shoves his wallet back into his pocket. "Fine, but that ten dollars is going on another Christmas present for you."
"I want one of those ugly Spider-Man dolls from that street vendor who sells the giant pretzels."
"You already have five of those."
"And none of them look the same. I need one with a squinty right eye to go with the one that has a squinty left eye."
Peter shakes his head. "Nah, I’m gonna get you one of the melty faced Iron Man figures."
"I’ve already got one of those."
"Not the one holding hands with purple Captain America."
Tony’s outraged retort cuts off as two wrapped sandwiches are placed on the counter in front of them. He hands over a hundred dollar bill, refusing the change which puts a big smile on Delmar’s face, then blinks in confusion as Peter starts promptly unwrapping his sandwich.
"You don’t wanna wait ‘til we get home?"
"This sandwich waits for no man, Mister Stark."
Exchanging a look with Delmar and Ed, who merely shrug their agreement, Tony frees one end of his sandwich from the paper, the scent of turkey and stuffing and cranberry and some kind of rosemary infused gravy hitting him like a Christmassy slap to the face. He takes a bite and immediately groans as a glorious taste dances across his tongue.
"Told you it was good," Peter says triumphantly, already going back in for another huge bite.
They shuffle over to make room for a lady buying eggs and fabric softener, who gives Tony a disapproving scowl as he moans obscenely around another delicious mouthful. He hadn’t exactly doubted Peter, but past experiences of watching the kid dunk McNuggets into strawberry milkshakes and eating three day old pineapple pizza hadn’t done much to make him totally confident either, so he’s more than pleasantly surprised to find that Peter hadn’t been overselling just how good this sandwich is.
"Best sandwiches in Queens," Delmar grins proudly, clapping Ed on the back and puffing his chest out.
"Can’t argue with that," Tony agrees.
As they continue to eat, Delmar serving a few more customers and Ed disappearing out the back to cut more turkey as they do, Murph slinks along on her belly until she’s perched just by Peter’s head, sniffing curiously.
"Not for you," Peter laughs, moving his sandwich away. "You get fed enough treats as it is."
Murph’s eyes narrow in displeasure and Tony chuckles. "Perks of being a cat."
"Oh man, if I was a cat, I’d be so huge and lazy."
"You got that right, kid."
"That’s why all these little guys have to go to their own homes soon, or else they’d eat me out of pocket along with their mother," Delmar says, closing the cash register and bending down to scoop up one of the kittens, a fuzzy black one with a speck of white above one eye, and holding it up against his chest. "Don’t think I’ll have much trouble selling them."
Wiping a blob of cranberry sauce away from the corner of his mouth, Peter’s face is the very picture of excitement as he turns to Tony and says, "Mister Stark, a kitten would be a great Christmas present for Morgan!"
Tony inhales sharply at the idea, a sarcastic quip already brewing in his mind, and the hunk of sandwich in his mouth shoots straight into the back of his throat. He coughs harshly, knocking a fist against his sternum, and feels the food slip further down, blocking his airway.
Oh, shit.
"Hey, is he okay?" Delmar asks, quickly setting the kitten back in the basket.
"I think so...Mister Stark?"
Tony wheezes, grip slackening on his sandwich until it hits the floor in a small burst of bread and meat. He slams his fist against his chest again, then grabs at his throat frantically while turning his watering eyes towards Peter’s face.
"Oh shit," Peter yelps, "are you choking?"
Tony’s next attempt at coughing is absolutely silent and a fierce panic rushes through his body like cold water.
"You gotta do the Heimlich!" Delmar shouts, miming the action with his hands. "Squeeze it outta him!"
As Peter instantly drops his own sandwich and moves to wrap his arms around Tony’s waist, it occurs to Tony what a spectacularly terrible idea this is.
"Hang on, Mister Stark, I got this, May taught me how."
Choking is one thing, Tony knows he can potentially survive this with a bit of luck and basic first aid, but being squeezed repeatedly by someone with the power to crush his organs like they’re nothing but eggshells is not something he’s likely to bounce back from.
"Pete," he tries to say, but still no noise comes from his mouth and oh, God, he’s going to die. He’s going to die right here because the kid tried to save him from a stupid Christmas sandwich.
"You need to hold still," Peter grunts as Tony pushes at his arms, trying to escape his hold.
Everything’s starting to turn fuzzy now, boxes of cookies and bags of chips morphing into blurry messes of colour, Murph and Delmar now nothing but a pair of distorted blobs. The yellow special sign stands out like a taunting beacon, there to mock him as he chokes to death.
"Ready?" Peter asks, grip tightening even more and a fist settling against Tony’s abdomen. "One, two - "
Tony desperately and somewhat sluggishly throws all of his weight forward, enough to dislodge Peter’s arms a little.
"Whoa, Mister Stark! What - "
With another silent wheeze that sends a vicious rattle of pain through his chest, Tony jerks himself free from Peter’s hold and stumbles into the counter.
Murph, extremely unhappy with Tony’s sudden close proximity, rears back with a furious yowl and launches herself at him, colliding with his neck in a blur of fluff and claws. Head spinning and heart thundering, Tony doesn’t realise he’s falling until his back hits the floor.
The impact is hard and the hunk of sandwich flies out of his mouth, hitting Peter directly in the face as he starts to kneel down. Tony sucks in a wonderful gulp of air, then erupts into a harsh bout of raspy coughing. Murph, sprawled on his chest with her claws digging into his shirt, hisses her displeasure and darts off out of sight.
"Holy shit," Peter gasps, now on the floor beside Tony, rubbing away the glob of congealed turkey and bread sticking to his cheek. "That was intense."
"Oh dios mio," Delmar groans, leaning over the counter with his head in his hands.
Tony coughs again, weakly this time, and closes his eyes with a loud sigh. He takes a few, long, slow breaths and waits for his heart to settle into an easier rhythm. One of his hands fumbles around, knocking into the ruined sandwiches lying beside him before he finds Peter’s knee and gives it a couple of firm, grateful pats. "Thanks, kid."
"I didn’t do anything. Why didn’t you let me help?"
Tony cracks open an eye. "Weak little arms," he rasps. "No good."
Peter frowns in offense, upper lip curling up in the start of an undoubtedly grouchy retort about how wrong Tony is, for they both know he could snap Tony’s spine like a toothpick if he had a mind to. Then his eyebrows shoot up into his hair in realisation. "Ohh," he whispers, glancing in Delmar’s direction. "I get it."
Tony pats his knee once more. "Still, A plus for good intentions."
"Well, technically," Peter murmurs with a smirk, "I did save you, ‘cause I’ve saved Murph before."
Tony snorts and closes his eyes again. "Whatever you say, kid."
" Ah!" Delmar suddenly exclaims. "There she is - the hero of the hour!"
Tony lifts his head to see Delmar scooping Murph into his arms with a wide grin. Murph, so very far from the frenzied creature that had leapt at Tony’s face, purrs with the strength of a car engine and butts her head underneath Delmar’s chin as he fusses over her.
"You’re gonna have to get one of those kittens now, Mister Stark."
"No."
"They might have Murph’s hero gene! They might save your life one day, or the next time you eat a sandwich - "
"No."
Tony sticks to his word. He doesn’t get one of the kittens. Cute as they are, between a cantankerous alpaca that likes to eat the garden and a clumsy bot that has a fascination with kitchen appliances, he’s got enough to worry about, especially with a mischievous Morgan thrown into the mix.
What he does instead is order another round of sandwiches, because he can’t deny that they are truly the best in Queens as far as he’s concerned, and agrees to take a picture.
Tony opens a message from Peter two days later to see the picture blown up wide in a page of the Queens Gazette. It’s a terrible picture of him, his smile strained and his glasses lopsided as he stands with an arm around Peter, leaning as far away as he can from a snarling Murph sitting on a beaming Delmar’s shoulder.
The caption reads LOCAL CAT HAILED HERO AFTER SAVING IRON MAN’S LIFE and leads into a small interview with Delmar, full of gushing comments about Murph and how the Christmas special sandwiches are endorsed by Tony Stark himself.
Another picture comes through from Peter a few minutes later. This time it’s a selfie of him and Murph, their faces close together, Peter’s expression alight with a cheesy grin and Murph’s eyes almost shut in a look of sleepy contentment.
Underoos - Your bestie says hi!
Tony Man - And Santa says you’re on the little shit list this year
Underoos - Stop being a grinch!
Tony Man - No presents for you
Tony watches the flow of Peter's disgruntled commentary flick across his screen with a smirk, then sets the photo as Peter's new contact image.