Chapter Text
Tony knew he should have gone to the Europe trip with Peter’s class.
He had been there many times before, knew all the good places to go. Hell, he would fund the trip if the kid would let him. Peter had been excited just to go, and wanted things to go perfectly- and the man found out why when he wheedled the truth out of the kid. He was crushing on a classmate. Hard. Like, he had saved up to buy her a necklace. He was going to give it to her in Paris- city of love- and confess and everything. Tony had barely been able to restrain himself from being a typical embarrassing dad with a proud “that’s my boy!” and probably make too big of a deal out of the situation. He had been a hundred percent on board and totally willing to help set him up for the perfect location.
And then an emergency with SI sent Pepper away. Then Morgan got sick. Of course, right before the trip. There was no way Peter would ask him to leave his sick daughter with some sitter- even if it was a minor fever with her just generally feeling icky. A part of him felt bad he wasn’t there to help take care of her with him. But he made his rounds with the goodbye hugs and promised to call every day before hopping on the plane.
Three days passed. Morgan started feeling better, Tony’s paranoid dad brain settling now that he was fairly sure she wasn’t going to die on him. Like promised, Peter called every day, rambling about the sights and the people, the food and cultures. He sounded like he was having fun. He wouldn’t happen to know anything about the strange element-thingies that have been attacking the cities he’s been visiting, would he? No, no, no- he doesn’t even have a suit. He’s on vacation, Tony- and he had plans with MJ, right? He couldn’t risk ruining that.
Somehow, he wasn’t convinced.
And then he got a call. From Happy. Who had taken a jet and flown to Europe. Because Peter was in trouble and had called him. Not Tony.
So of course he was in a suit and flying to Europe as soon as Rhodey had showed up to babysit Morgan.
It was worse than he had thought. Apparently some guy named Mysterio was a new hero in town who had been in contact with Peter through Fury (because of fucking course he was involved) who turned out to be a backstabbing asshole who tricked his kid with holographic illusions. The kid had lost his suit. He had been brutally beaten, hit by a goddamned train, ended up in jail in the Netherlands, where he was released and called Happy by borrowing a phone. Happy had arrived and offered to call Tony, and promptly had to talk the kid down from a panic attack.
Mysterio- Quentin Beck (and why does that name sound familiar)- had used his holograms to disguise himself as Tony before beating the shit out of the kid. As Tony.
Happy swore that was the first time he had to legitimately talk his boss down from committing murder. Or rather, two counts of murder- first Beck, then Fury.
His worry was only minutely lessened when Happy told him the kid still had a suit- the jet had a small lab in the back, and he used that to design his own. He had promptly gone back and looked over the specs, feeling a slight swell of pride. The kid hadn’t just rolled over and given up- he suited up and went back out there. He was tenacious, loyal, and morally driven. If even half of the world was more like him, everything would be a lot better.
No one other than Happy knew Tony was here. He needed the element of surprise on his side if he wanted to help Peter. Showing himself to the kid- when he was so scarred from the beating- would only cause more damage at this point. No- he needed to stay in the background for the time being, and get the holograms out of the equation.
Which got a lot easier when reports of weaponized drones started flooding in, looking a suspiciously familiar shade of red. He managed to snatch one, while Happy was rescuing Peter’s friends, and was about to take it back to the jet, only to have the aircraft blow up on him. Well shit. He’d just have to improvise then...
The nanites from Peter’s suit were reprogrammed. Karen had been corrupted. Oh, he was pissed now. He had purposefully created Karen for Peter’s well-being- the kid adored her- and that had been twisted and warped into a weapon against said teen. Unfortunately, Beck had made the mistake of using his own technology. Huge mistake. Hello, backdoor into his server and data storage. Files and programs outlining his plans? Those were Tony’s now. Video revealing Peter was Spider-Man? Whoops- accidentally deleted that one. Oh look- specifics on how his holograms worked? He could see through them now, and Peter was facing Beck on Tower Bridge.
Ironically, he had probably saved Beck’s life when he burst in and pushed him into the wall, hearing and feeling multiple bullets ricochet off his armor. One hand pinned the villain by his neck and the other snatched the control unit from his hands, a quick burst of energy shorting it out. The man’s cry of denial as the drones all dropped to a deactivated state was abruptly cut off as the hand around his throat tightened to the point that no air was allowed to pass through. A gurgled gasp came from the man, eyes wide as he realized exactly who was now strangling him to death.
Peter yanked his mask off, the sound of all the drones dropping coupled with the sudden lack of warning from his senses telling him something had changed. Eyes wide, he saw what was going on, although not sure if he completely believed it. Still, he couldn’t just let this happen.
“Tony- stop!”
The helmet jerked a little to one side at the sound of the voice, clearly hearing him. It took a second for the grip to ease, a raspy gasp for breath following. He didn’t let him go, however. The heave of armor betrayed the obviously paced breaths, the brightly glowing eyes staring unblinking into the others. It was unmistakably Tony’s voice that came from the suit, tight with barely restrained, seething rage.
“Don’t you ever lay your hands on my kid again.”
Quentin’s lips pressed together firmly, left hand rising to the arm holding him in place. Peter’s senses flared. Instinctively, he fired a web at the man- or more specifically, the narrow space between the two men.
The sound of a single gunshot rang through the air.
Tony’s first instinct was to turn to Peter, who was still standing, arm raised from firing the web. His hair was a mess of sweaty curls that fell across his forehead, bleeding from his nose and his right cheek. His new suit was burned almost threadbare in places. His eyes were wide, staring at something about waist high on Tony. There were no obvious holes in the kid- thank God- and no pools of blood underneath him. The shot hadn’t hit him. He followed his gaze to see Beck’s hand stuck to his own waist, pistol in hand. The webbing had just caught enough to firmly stick it in a position so that the gun fired harmlessly into the floor.
Which was good, because if the man had managed to shoot Peter, he would have snapped his neck like a twig. He returned his attention to the web slinger. “Kid, do me a favor and make sure he stays stuck to the wall for a bit.”
There was a harsh swallow, followed by hesitant and silent obedience, making sure his torso and legs were firmly stuck. He moved only a little closer, making sure both sides were effectively trapped. One arm was still free, but that didn’t necessarily mean much. He wouldn’t be going anywhere for a while. Not for lack of trying, if his attempted thrashing and futile pulling on the webs were any indication.
It was then Tony turned towards the kid, only to see his breath quietly hitch as he took a step back, arm raising in a defensive move with his palm towards him as though to ward him away. He was scared of him. The wrench in his chest hurt more than he thought it would.
He raised his hands in an appeasing manner. “It’s okay,” he soothed quietly, reaching up and pressing the badge on his chest to retract his suit in its entirety. His next step was in dark slacks and maroon tee, obviously having seen some time in the shop if the stains were any indication. “Pete, it’s me; it’s Tony.”
Another sharp step back, arm raising higher. “P-prove it,” came the shaking, equally quiet demand. “Tell me-” another swallow, “- tell me something that only you would know.”
And now he was paranoid that what he was seeing wasn’t real. Damn Beck for traumatizing the kid so much. But the only thing he could think of- at this very moment- was one that he hadn’t wanted to think about ever since he collected the kid into his arms on the battlefield. Sure, there were lots of moments that were just them- the late nights in the shop, curled up on the couch for movies when they had both needed a break. But seeing the kid looking so scared, hearing his voice shake...
The old wound in his abdomen started to ache. “On Titan. After Thanos...” A pause for a breath. “You fell into my arms. The last thing you said-” A swallow of his own, feeling his eyes grow warm and his throat tight. He hoped Beck didn’t see. His voice was already barely above a whisper, knowing the kid could hear it. “The last thing you told me, before you crumbled to dust in my arms, was ‘I’m sorry’.”
He recognized the distant stare and the fluid that had built up in his mentor’s eyes. It had been almost six years since then, and it still haunted him. God knew how many nightmares he had had from the event- how many both of them had ended up having because of it- but Tony had suffered for far longer than he had.
Slowly, his arm lowered. A shuffled step forward, followed by a slow limped one. Then another. And another. Slowly, Tony’s hands lowered, arms open. Peter’s pace increased, still limping, shades of relief beginning to replace the fear and suspicion. As much as Tony wanted to rush forward, he knew it wouldn’t help- the kid had to approach on his own. By the time he was close enough he was reaching out, leg feeling ready to give away as he clung to his mentor. Tony’s returning hug was borderline crushing, hand running through the messy curls.
As the teen pressed his face to the man’s shirt, he suddenly realized a pivotal detail he had overlooked between this Tony and Beck’s holographic disguise. His Tony always smelled of metal and motor oil, with a hint of what was probably expensive cologne or aftershave of some kind. Of days in the lab with occasional accidental explosions; of meals of pizza over calculus homework and web formula. The illusion had smelled like... nothing.
“Tony...”
“It’s okay.” He focused on the feeling of the kid breathing in his arms. “You’re okay.” He recognized the slightly hushed sound in his voice- the reassurance was more for himself than Peter.
“Don’t forget what he did!” came Beck’s yell from behind them. “Don’t forget how he hurt you!”
From a fistful of Tony’s shirt, a lone middle finger rose.
The man had to hold back a chuckle. He felt that. He kept his voice quiet. “Mr. Parker, what would your aunt think?”
Neither of them moved, Peter feeling a slight smile breaking through the blur in his eyes as he nestled closer. “He’s lucky she’s not here.”
A sniffle of laugher that shook his chest. The wrath of May Parker was indeed not a joking matter- until it was directed at someone other than you.
Peter’s limp was mostly gone by the time he reunited with the class, being sure to have cleaned up the blood on his face from his now-healed laceration and appear as though he had merely gotten lost and not faced a homicidal egomaniac in battle. A nearly frantic Mr. Harrington had been so relieved at his return he briefly pulled him into a half-hug before letting him join his friends at the airport to leave. Weird, but whatever, Peter had figured as he hurried inside, finding Ned, MJ, and Betty loitering near the entrance. Ned was the first to greet him, their handshake finished with a quiet “Glad you’re okay, man,” before MJ nudged him with her shoulder as they all started walking towards their flight home with the newly minted lovebirds holding hands. His phone buzzed for a text message once they were a few steps away, pulling it out to see a text from Tony.
“It’s Tony- I'd better answer this.”
“Catch you at boarding?”
He waved them on before moving to semi-conceal himself behind a pillar, opening the message proper to read it.
Hey kid. Have a safe flight home.
Another promptly followed.
Oh, and before I forget:
If he had so much to say, why didn’t he just call-
A video popped up next, the teen’s smile quickly fading as he recognized himself and MJ on the bridge. It was apparently taken from a distance, zoomed in enough to see everything that had happened. Including the awkward limp-skip-hop he did in joy as he and MJ parted ways. Oh God- Tony had seen. Tony had seen everything.
As the video replayed and the feeling of mortification settled over him, a notification of another text appeared at the top of his screen.
THAT’S MY BOY
His groan of humiliated despair was cut short when the palm of his empty hand met his face.