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“Boss, I am detecting movement in the kitchen,”
Tony groaned as his watch buzzed around his wrist and tried to blink away the sleep so he could fully comprehend what his AI was telling him; he had installed the motion sensors for late nights in the lab in case Morgan woke up (and the time Gerald had gotten into the kitchen while the rest of the house was fast asleep), so he prepared himself to go take his energetic five year old back to bed.
He sat up slowly, not wanting to wake his wife at three thirty seven, and pulled himself out of bed while rubbing his eyes; he pulled his robe on and started to descend down the stairs, not even bothering with the prosthetic arm.
But as he descended down the stairs, he could’ve sworn he heard music that he knew Morgan wouldn’t have queued up via FRIDAY.
“Just take those dusty records off the shelf, I’ll sit and listen to ‘em by myself.”
‘Morgan’s more of an Elsa fan. Definitely not a Bob Seger fan,’ Tony realized as the music got louder with his approach, ‘which means there’s a seventeen year old superhero in my kitchen at three in the morning.’
Sure enough, Peter was singing and dancing to the song with his suit pulled down to his waist, the singing only stopping for him to take bites of the peanut butter sandwich in his hand.
“,that kinda music just soothes the soul. I reminisce about the days of old,”
As much as Tony wanted to wait until Peter noticed him standing in the hallway, he could see the purple bruising across the teenager’s chest and the broken nose he was currently sporting, so he knew that it had to end.
“Hey, Risky Business,” he called out and watched as Peter nearly choked on his bite of food, “care to explain what the hell you're doing?”
“Mr. Stark!” his voice was still thick with peanut butter, “I can explain!”
“I think you better, Tom Cruise.” He would have crossed his arms if the prosthetic wasn’t upstairs.
“Well, I got back from patrol and my nose was hurting because the guy I was fighting punched me, so I was gonna head to bed, but I was hungry so I made myself a sandwich.”
“That doesn’t explain the reenactment of Risky Business and why you’re not in Queens.”
“Well, May’s out of town, so I figured that if I needed help, you’d be better equipped than an empty apartment and I took the top part of my suit off cause my chest was hurting,” Tony let out a sigh at that and seriously hoped that Peter wasn’t bleeding internally, “and I was lonely, cause usually i talk to you or May when I get back from patrol, so I asked FRIDAY to turn on my eighties playlist and then I got caught up.”
“I’m just glad you’re not high as balls in my kitchen,” Tony pinched the bridge of his nose before looking up at the hidden AI, “FRI, please turn off the music and do a scan on Peter.”
Sure enough, the music faded into nothing with a groan from Peter around the last of his sandwich and FRIDAY’s voice gave the results.
“Peter currently has a broken nose, two broken ribs and minor internal bleeding in his chest.”
“Call Bruce, let him know we’re on our way,” Tony yawned before turning to Peter, “go put some clothes on, Underoos.”
“But she said minor internal! I can sleep it off!”
Tony shook a finger at the teenager, “rule number one of being under my roof, you don’t sleep off internal bleeding.”
Peter scowled and screwed the lid shut on the peanut butter and tossed the knife in the sink before asking, “wait, what’s rule number two?”
“Don’t reenact R rated movies at three in the morning.”