Work Text:
-
Working at a coffee shop wasn’t too bad. Some days were better than others, for example, the days that he didn’t have to work the closing shift.
Peter glared at the clock that was hanging on the wall, he still had about an hour before his shift ended. Peter stretched his arms above his head, ignoring the pain from his, mostly healed, wound.
Hearing the door chime, Peter turned to greet the customer. “Hello, welcome to - what are you wearing?”
The man looked slightly taken aback, “Wow, rude. Is this how you treat all of your customers?”
Peter smiled and leaned on the counter, “Nah, just you. So, Tony, what brings you here,” glancing at the time, “at three in the morning?”
“Coffee, obviously. I mean, this is a coffee shop, right? Or have I been lied to?” Tony babbled, as he walked up to the counter.
Rolling his eyes, a snarky comment was already on his lips, “Obviously you’re here for coffee, but why are you here so late? I mean, you’re Tony Stark, surely you own at least one coffee maker.”
Tony opened his mouth, then closed it. “Normally, you would be correct. But, Pepper confiscated the coffee.”
Raising a brow, “Why?”
“Why do you need to know?” Tony asked, attempting to dodge the question.
“Uh, because I wanna know if I should serve you or not.” Seeing Tony open his mouth to respond, Peter, smugly, pointed to the sign reading: ‘We have the right to refuse service.’
Tony narrowed his eyes at the sign, before turning back to Peter. “Come on, Peter, don’t be like that! I thought we were friends.”
Peter would neither confirm nor deny that statement. So, he went with a safe statement, “Uh-huh.”
Tony crossed his arms with a huff, “Fine. I need to lower my cholesterol.”
Peter waited for a moment, “That’s why she took away coffee?”
Tony nodded, “Yep.”
After letting the information sink in for a moment, “Um, okay. So, what would you like to order?” Peter pushed himself off the counter, and before he could stop himself, one hand went to the wound on his side.
After answering Peter's question, Tony pointed at Peter’s hand, “Why are you doing that? Are you hurt?”
Peter waved a hand dismissively and finished making Tony’s coffee. “It’s almost healed, don’t worry about it. Also, it’s rude to point.”
Either missing or ignoring the part where Peter told him not to worry. Tony asked, “What happened?”
Peter glanced at the door, he would have known if someone else had walked in, but it didn’t hurt to double check. Especially after realizing that, apparently, his senses didn’t work with certain individuals.
After his check, Peter answered. “Got shot at.” Hearing how bad that sounded, Peter added, “The bullet only grazed my side. I can hardly feel it.”
“You were shot?!” Tony exclaimed from behind him.
Clearly, he hadn’t heard that it only grazed him. Honestly, Tony needs to learn how to listen.
Despite Tony standing behind him, Peter still rolled his eyes. “Barely. I’ll be all better by tomorrow.”
Turning his gaze to Tony, he set the finished coffee on the counter between them and was almost unable to hide his wince. Peter was not expected his chest to tighten at the worry on his face. Instantly, Peter was offering soothing words and downplaying his injuries.“It’s fine, Tony. I promise, the bullet hardly touched me. It had stopped bleeding within the hour.”
Truthfully, he’d been bleeding for a little over an hour and had needed stitches. But, Tony didn’t need to know that. And so, he wasn’t going to know. Peter didn’t like to brag, but, the art of hiding injuries is kind of his specialty.
This was a song and dance that Peter knew all too well. It was as familiar as the back of his hand. Person, typically Aunt May, gets worried about him and Peter placates them.
That had to have been why his chest had gone tight. Tony had just reminded him of Aunt May for a moment, that’s all.
Peter couldn’t care less whether or not Tony was worried about him. He did not care at all. Whatsoever.
Oblivious to the chaos in Peter’s mind, Tony cleared his throat. "So, uh, what brings you here?" He asked as if Peter wasn’t behind the counter and wearing a uniform.
Suddenly, Peter wished he had denied the statement that the two were friends.
Tony held up a hand, “Wait. That sounds like a stupid question."
Peter narrowed his eyes, "Because it is a stupid question."
With a frown and a raised brow, "Are you always this much of an ass?"
Peter scoffed and placed a hand on his chest, "Wow, okay. Call the guy who worked so hard to make you a coffee, an ass.” Peter turned, just so he could glance sideways at Tony, “I knew I should have taken advantage of the 'right to refuse service' policy."
"Anyway, nice try at the deflection, answer the question."
Peter turned back to Tony with a yawn, "What question?" He didn’t remember being asked any questions.
Tony threw his hands up, "My question!"
Peter tilted his head up and pursed his lips, trying to recall if Tony had asked any other question other than-"The dumb one?"
"I don't ask dumb questions." Tony narrowed his eyes.
Internally Peter smiled, it was a little satisfying to see his words get under someone’s skin. Not enough to hurt them, but enough to make them mad. Pissing people off was, also, something Peter excelled at.
"I have heard otherwise." Peter was curious.
"By who?"
"I literally just heard you ask a dumb question." Peter kind of wanted to see how many remarks he could get in before Tony actually got upset.
"It wasn't a dumb question." Tony insisted.
Propping his head on the counter, "You asked me what I was doing here as if I didn't just take and prepare your order. So, obviously, I'm working here."
Tony rolled his eyes, "Yes, but why?"
Peter blinked, "Because I need money to pay rent? Because I need money to eat? Because I need money-"
"Okay, I get it! But, why here and why so late? Aren't you still in school? You're still in school unless you graduated early, but I feel like I would know that-"
"Yes, I'm still in school.” Peter paused for a moment, “I'm not gonna question why you think you would know if I graduated or not. And, I don’t really get to choose what shifts I work.”
Tony frowned and, for the first time, sipped his coffee. Well. That was not the most accurate description of what Peter had just witnessed. More like - Tony frowned, then proceeded to chug his, fresh and still hot, coffee.
“What kind of masochistic bullshit did I just watch?” The amount of time it took for Peter to process what the fuck he just witnessed and come up with a response was, fortunately, enough time for Tony to finish swallowing.
And despite the amount of time Peter gave Tony to swallow his coffee, he still managed to choke. “How do you know what masochism is? Aren’t you like- twelve?”
“I’m seventeen, jackass.” Peter drawled, “Besides if I was twelve, or close to twelve, I like to think that you wouldn’t have tried to blackmail me into helping you with your ex and his friends.”
Tony tensed and stepped (flinched?) back with a rough swallow, “He’s not my ex.”
Peter turned his gaze away from Tony and cleared his throat. A small mental note to avoid bringing up Mr. Steve Rogers and co. was made. Glancing up at the clock, Peter was only slightly relieved. “I, uh, should probably close and clean up. Until next time.”
Tony nodded absently, only making a small hum.
-
Once Tony was out of sight, Peter put his face in his hands and resisted the urge to scream. Douche move, Parker.
Peter was an immature asshole, but he was not heartless. Sure, he liked to piss people off, typically as Spider-Man, but he never wanted to hurt people.
Well, that wasn’t true. But, he never wanted to hurt people with his words.
Bruises heal, but words - words float around in your head and haunt you when it’s quiet.
And so, yeah, Peter felt guilty.
Unable to stop himself, he continued to replay the conversation in his mind. Replaying the way Tony had tensed, the way Tony had shut down.
As he exited the coffee shop, Peter decided that it didn’t matter. Stark was a grown man, he’ll be fine.
.
.
.
Peter glared at the clock on the wall, he likely wouldn’t be getting any sleep tonight. Which was fine, he supposed, it wasn’t like he needed a lot of sleep. Thank you, bitch ass spider that bit him for no reason.
Turning his gaze back to the lady in front of him, who was now huffing and tucking her wallet back into her purse. Oh, good, she finally stopped arguing about the price of her items as if it was the guy behind the register that had set the prices for each of them.
The exchange was brief, by the time the guy was saying the price, Peter was handing him the money needed. It was only a couple of items, thankfully.
Hopefully, Stark liked chocolate chip cookies. Peter hoped so because those were the kind of apology cookies that Stark was going to get.
If he accepted the cookies.
Shit. What if he was allergic to something in the cookies? What if he ate them and had an allergic reaction?
Peter unlocked the door to the apartment, he would just write down the ingredients. There, the problem was solved.
-
Unfortunately, it wasn’t until a week later that Peter ended up having the time to actually bake the cookies. Between going to school, doing the schoolwork, stopping bad guys, and working, he hadn’t had a lot of free time.
So, it had been a week of silence, from both parties. Which was typical and it would have been business as usual, except, even multiple days later - Peter was still plagued with guilt.
It was worse than that time he had accidentally stepped on a cat’s paw. Mainly because he was able to shower the cat with apology treats and chin scritches immediately after Peter’s trespass.
(Peter was going to go out on a limb and say Stark would not appreciate getting treats and getting head scritches.)
It hadn’t taken too long to prepare the cookie dough, thankfully, because while his broken leg was in its final stages of healing, it was still a little painful. The cookies themselves had turned out fairly good.
Aunt May was the first to have some, of course. And she had approved of them. He packed a couple of cookies for Ned and MJ, and the rest were saved for Stark. Worst case scenario, Peter would eat the cookies himself.
-
There were plenty of ways to go about offering Stark the cookies.
He could have sent him a message - do you want some chocolate chip cookies?
He could have thrown the cookies away and pretended that Stark didn’t exist and ignored the guilt until it eventually went away.
Honestly, option number two was sounding really appealing, right now. Peter glanced at the container of cookies that was sitting next to him, he was two minutes away from just jumping off the roof of the tower and swinging away.
.
Five minutes later, Peter was adjusting his mask and was leaping off the top of the building.
What would have been a smooth and graceful leap, quickly turned into a fumble; courtesy of Stark’s startled yelp.
“What the hell?!”
After flailing for a moment, Peter quickly righted himself and returned to the top of the roof, where Stark was waiting for him, being careful to avoid putting too much pressure on his left leg.
Instead of repeating Stark, Peter decided to move the conversation forward with a greeting. “Hi, how are you?”
Stark pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, “I get told you’re lingering on my roof, and when I come up here, I watch you jump to, what I thought, was your death.”
Peter couldn’t help but scoff as he leaned on his right leg, “I’ve jumped from higher, and jumping off of tall things and swinging away is kind of what I do.”
Stark waved his arms in a dramatic gesture, “I forgot! And by the time I remembered, I had already panicked.”
Peter shrugged, “Anyway, do you like cookies?”
Stark blanked for a moment, “Um, I guess?”
“Do you want some chocolate chip cookies?”
Stark furrowed his brows, “Why?”
“Because I’m offering you chocolate chip cookies.”
Still looking confused, “Thank you…but, why?”
Peter rolled his eyes, “You sound like a toddler.”
“What does that mean?” Stark, somehow, looked even more lost and confused.
“You keep asking why.” Peter explained before pointing to the container that was sitting on the ground in between them, “Anyway, do you want the cookies or not? They’re not my usual chocolate chip cookies. You said something about your cholesterol so I looked up some stuff and these should be okay to eat while doing a low-cholesterol diet. The ingredients are on the sticky note.”
Stark looked a little suspicious but picked up the container of cookies regardless. There was a part of him that felt stupidly happy that he had accepted the gift. Weird.
After Stark picked up the container, Peter carefully lowered himself to sit on the ledge with a sigh.
“I’m getting sick of salads,” Stark said with his mouth full of cookies.
And Peter felt the guilt lessen a little. There. His apology cookies were accepted. He heard Tony shuffle into a sitting position.
“So, what’s the deal with the leg?”
Peter winced, he hadn’t thought to be subtle with his leg, what with the jostle he got from being startled. “I got thrown off a building. Landed on my leg wrong.”
Tony froze as his words registered. “What?”
“It’s okay, though. I’m fine.”
“When did this happen?”
Peter pursed his lips and turned away from Tony. “Last night.” Hearing Tony take a breath, “And before you say anything, the other injuries I got have already healed.”
“...other injuries?” Tony repeated slowly as if begging Peter to elaborate.
Peter froze, “I’m getting the feeling that was the wrong thing to say.”
“No, you don’t get to backtrack now. What other injuries?”
“Oh, you know, the usual. Just some, uh, cuts and bruises. Some holes in the skin.” That was one way to say: I got my leg sliced open, and I got shot.
This is why Peter didn’t like feeling guilty. It weighed on his mind and distracted him. Making him make rookie mistakes.
Tony’s ranting brought Peter back to the present and out of his thoughts.
“-and instead of calling me for help, you went home and BAKED COOKIES?” Tony ended his rant, his face was a little flushed.
“Well, when you say it like that…” Noticing Tony getting somehow MORE upset, “I’m gonna stop talking.”
“Why didn’t you call?!” Tony questioned, “I told you to call me-”
Peter clenched his fist and scowled, “I didn’t need your help. I know that I’m young, but I am plenty capable, Tony.”
Tony huffed as if he wasn’t the one who started the argument. “I’m not saying that you’re not, I’m saying that you could have called me! You should have called me!”
“But, why? I handled it, I stopped the bad guys!” Peter pointed out.
“You got hurt!”
“Well, yeah. But, I’m fine.” Peter repeated, hopefully, this time Tony would hear him.
Tony scoffed, “Your leg is broken, kid, how is that fine?!”
“It hardly even hurts! And it wasn’t even that bad!” Peter frowned under his mask. Why was Tony making this such a big deal?
“Wasn’t even- getting thrown off a building isn’t that bad?” Tony asked, incredulously.
“I have the strangest feeling that this conversation is just going to go in circles.” Peter shifted closer to Tony, “Listen to me, please.” Peter was not above begging at this point. “I. Am. Fine.”
“How can you be fine if just last night you broke your leg?!”
Maybe Tony didn’t know about his enhanced healing?
Peter tilted his head, “I have enhanced healing, Tony. And, I’m a little more durable than most humans.”
Tony still looked frustrated and opened his mouth.
“Can we please just drop it? If I ever feel like I need your help, I’ll call.” Peter offered, hoping it would be enough to make Tony drop it.
Tony slumped slightly and took a bite of another cookie, after another glance at Peter’s leg, “Fine.”
Small victories, Peter supposed.
The two sat in silence for a few moments. Well, the two of them were silent. Unfortunately, New York was not a place for silence or peace.
As Peter stood he glanced back at Tony. “Make sure you read the back of the note.”
When Peter was out of sight, Tony picked up the note and flipped it over.
Sorry for being a dick.
.
‘Is that why you baked cookies? As an apology?’
Peter read the message with a small smile and typed a reply. ‘Part of the reason.’
‘Care to elaborate?’
Peter laughed as he typed his response.
‘no.’