Work Text:
Hey Peter, are you free to come over to the Tower tonight? Pep’s making Mac N Cheese and I’d love to see you in the lab as it’s been a couple of weeks. -TS
Peter stared down at his phone, reading the text from Tony several times over. His stomach grumbled at the thought of mac and cheese, but he resisted the urge to reply with “Sure! :)” as he stood and crafted a response he could actually send.
Sorry. Got lots on this week, maybe soon.
Peter ached to go to the Tower—tinkering with Tony in the workshop sounded like a dream, but he couldn’t. His grades had slipped—instead of averaging all As and an above 4.0 GPA, in his last chemistry test he’d gotten a B. It wasn’t catastrophic, and it had been a hard test. Sure, he’d gotten the best in the class still, but it wasn’t an A. He had to do better.
May was struggling with the rent as well, working extra shifts, which made Peter feel bad for not helping out, so he’d arranged to walk one of the neighbours’ dogs for the week. A two hour walk every day wasn’t a giant commitment, but it meant it cut down his time to do his homework after school, which meant he had to squeeze it all in the hour between the dog walk and dinner. Then post-dinner, it was patrol time—which he’d upped from several times a week to doing every night because crime in NYC was at an all time high and he was supposed to be the one stopping it.
Peter swallowed, sent the text before he could feel too bad about turning Mr Stark’s offer down, and knocked on his neighbours’ door. The door opened after half a minute, and his elderly neighbour greeted him, clinging onto his dog’s collar to stop him from jumping up at Peter.
“Hi, Mr Capaldi,” Peter grinned, reaching down to greet the dog he was walking. “Aww, hi as well, little guy.”
School, walk, homework, dinner, patrol. Repeat.
It became his routine, but it was getting exhausting. A whole day at school after staying out until the early hours of the morning to fight crime was getting too much for Peter. His eyes often drooped in lessons—which led to several teachers telling him off for sleeping in class.
When he trudged home from Midtown, he had to focus on staying awake. If he could afford to spend money, he’d buy energy drinks that would keep his energy level high, but he had to walk past Delmars and go straight to Mr Capaldi instead. The money was for May, so they could keep the apartment. She didn’t know about his dog-walking endeavour—thought he was still at Robotics club, which he’d quit because of the cost—and he kept slipping the cash he earned into her wallet, little bits at a time so she wouldn’t notice it.
Still—he was fine, he could handle it. A bit of sleep deprivation couldn’t hurt that much, could it?
Until, of course, his bags were so noticeable that even Flash was asking whether he was alright, which Peter rolled his eyes at. Flash had turned around in his chair to stare at him, concern dancing across his face.
“I’m fine,” He defended himself, hating the attention and staring down at his paper.
“I don’t think you should patrol tonight,” Ned said at lunch, as Peter picked at a salad. His appetite had decreased significantly, but he knew he should eat whilst at school so then they could save on food at home and—
“What?” Peter’s head snapped up, registering what Ned had said.
“You should…skip, tonight. Get some sleep, for once.”
Peter blinked. Wasn’t he aware of the elevated crime stats? Especially in Queens at the moment—he couldn’t afford to have a night off, it would be selfish to do that. People needed him, New York needed him.
What did Ned know about it, anyway? He was just the guy in the chair—Peter knew his own limits, and he was capable of pushing them this far without collapsing. He was fine. Why was everyone trying to babysit him the whole time? He was Spiderman. He could do this.
“I’ll be fine,” Peter waved it off, forcing himself to eat some lettuce.
“Right,” Ned commented, without any conviction. “Well, you better wear concealer tomorrow or Mr Harrington is going to pull you into the principal’s office.”
Peter touched his face, rubbing one finger under his eye. It couldn’t be that bad. Surely Ned was just exaggerating.
He ignored his best friend’s advice, and ate his dinner as fast as he could before telling May he wanted an early night and sneaking out of the window, suit half on. Then he was back to business, and his heart thumping steadily in his chest as he scanned the streets of Queens.
It wasn’t long before he found a bunch of guys standing around a woman, seemingly trying to get her to give them her wallet. Peter frowned and swung down next to them.
“Hey guys, that’s not cool,” He called out. “Leave her be, if you’ve gone a bone to pick with someone it should be me.”
“Alright, Spiderman,” One of the guys—the one with the big muscles—raised his eyebrows and turned to Peter. The other two followed his lead, which gave the woman a way out. She ran without even considering it, leaving Peter alone in a three-versus-one fight.
Which was fine. He won 3v1 fights all the time, it was no problem. He readied himself to web them up, adjusting his web-shooters slightly, and landed on the floor a good distance away from them.
Then Peter stumbled. Just slightly, but it put him off his footing and he blinked behind the mask.
Woah. That hadn’t happened before.
He shook himself, but the three individuals each brandishing knives had somehow become six in the time he blinked, so he closed his eyes and opened them again to get them to focus. Then he saw that there were, in fact, only three of them, and he’d just been seeing things. The first guy jumped forward, holding his knife out, and Peter dodged it.
It went on like this—them trying to stab him, him dodging it with flips and evasive manouvres—for several minutes. They didn’t seem to be getting tired, probably because they were taking it in turns, but Peter was lethargic in his movements in comparison to his normal fighting technique.
And then he made one wrong move, flipping into the corner of the alleyway and being cornered by the guys. Peter shot a web up, hoping to catch it on something and for it to propel him into the air, and was horrified to see that both of his web shooters were empty. Shit, after last night’s patrol he’d totally forgotten to fill up his cartridges, and now he was paying the price for it. Peter had been half-asleep when he stumbled through his window, so he’d just collapsed into bed and forgotten about it until now.
The muggers grinned, approaching him and Peter breathed quickly, backing up into the wall, trying to think of a game plan—but his brain was moving so slowly and he couldn’t think fast enough.
He was cornered. He had nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, just facing off against these three guys with knives. If he moved, he died. If he didn’t move, he died as well. The suit was strong, but still fabric. If they stabbed him in the right place…
One guy spun his knife threateningly, a grin on his face, and walked closer toward him—
But then there was the familiar sound of repulsors, and Iron Man landed with a loud clang, holding out both repulsors, all of his offensive weapons drawn and aimed at the muggers.
Peter had never been so glad to see the armour in his entire life.
“Scatter, or I’ll blast you.” Tony said darkly, waving one of his gauntlets at the three guys, faceplate on. All of their faces paled and they ran away without even trying to fight him, dropping the knives on the floor. No-one wanted to go one-on-one with Iron Man.
“Mr Stark,” Peter stuttered, pulling off his mask now the guys were out of sight and they were alone. “You didn’t—I had it—”
I had it covered. Except for the fact, of course, that he hadn’t. He hadn’t had it covered.
“Just say thanks, kid,” Tony said, and flipped the faceplate up, revealing his face. It was stern, but still checking him over for injuries. Aside from a few bruises, Peter was fine. There was a flash of something—maybe concern—across Tony’s face, and then it was gone.
“Thanks,” Peter whispered back.
Mr Stark was silent, not moving. He seemed annoyed.
“Is everything…” Peter wanted to ask if he was alright, but didn’t want to seem…condescending? Rude? He swallowed, and finished with, “Okay?”
“You turned down my offer to hang out,” Tony said flatly. “And now you’re almost getting killed by guys with knives, and looking halfway to death already…have you slept at all in the last week?”
Tony himself looked like he hadn’t slept in the last week, so Peter had to bite back a comment saying Have you?
“Yeah, I have,” he replied instead, a lame response, but hey, his brain was still sluggish.
“Parker—what…” Tony gazed at the alleyway, and around him. “What happened? I got a notification from Karen saying you were in danger, your vitals had skyrocketed…they only had knives, right?”
“I just,” Peter sighed, “I was just not thinking correctly.”
“First rule of being a superhero,” Tony held out a gauntleted finger. “Don’t patrol if you’re not feeling up to it.”
And there it was again—someone telling him that he wasn’t okay. Ned, Flash, Tony—it was really starting to grate on his nerves.
“I’m up to it! I can do it, you don’t have to worry,” Peter shook his head. “My attention is just spread between school and then homework to bring my grades back up—”
“They went down?” Tony asked, but Peter was still speaking, mostly a stream of words he wasn’t supposed
“—and I’ve got to do the dog walking to help pay for the rent which means less time for homework and have you seen the crime stats the NYPD have been having problems recently which means more muggers like those bad guys on the streets and I need to get them off the streets because I’m Spiderman and it’s like my jo—”
“Woah, kid, slow down there,” Tony blinked “Jesus, that sounds like you’re going through…an awful lot. How often have you been patrolling—you look exhausted?”
Peter lied. “A couple times this week.”
Tony frowned, sensing the lie. “Karen?”
“Every day this week,” She corrected, and Tony shot him a death glare.
“Peter, we talked about this.”
Peter raised an eyebrow in confusion. “Did we?”
Tony frowned. “I could have sworn we had the conversation about being responsible and spending your time wisely and not getting too wrapped up in the superhero thing cause that’s what will end up killing you.”
“Oh, that chat,” Peter swallowed.
“Yeah, that chat.”
Peter ran a hand over his eyes. “I’m fine. It’s all fine.”
Tony made a noise of discontentment—a huffing sound. “Well, you got so wrapped up in it that it nearly killed you, so, no Peter, I don’t think it is fine.”
“I gotta—I gotta help people, Mr Stark.” Peter stuttered. “It’s my duty, that’s why I’m doing this.”
“I know,” Tony nodded. “God, I know. But you’ve got to take care of yourself as well, otherwise you’ll be no help to anyone. So no more daily patrols. Spend your time balancing between school and patrolling. And did you say you were doing dogwalking?”
Peter winced. He hadn’t meant to admit that. It was supposed to be his secret. But Tony was staring at him, so he nodded. “Yeah, to help out with the rent. The landlord is…being a pain.”
“Well, I can help with that one,” Tony shrugged.
Peter’s eyes widened. Tony’s help tended to be a little bit more generous than what most people would offer, and that wouldn’t go down well. “No, uh, don’t. Don’t fire the landlord, or buy the building or anything, May would see that as an affront to her working.”
“Not what I was talking about, kid.” Tony shook his head, waving out a hand. “I more meant: you come over at least once a week, do some tinkering in the lab with me, maybe even take a look at some of the Avengers kit and SI stuff if you’re interested in that. I pay you for your time—like an intern, an actual one, and then all is well, you get to live the best of both worlds. Work, school, play.”
That sounded…well, holy shit. That sounded amazing. Being an intern for Tony Stark. Getting to work in his lab—working on Avengers kit. Holy shit.
Then Tony tacked on, “But only if your grades are stellar, of course.”
“Right,” Peter sighed, his hopes shot down. “I got a B on my chem test.”
“Is that it?” Tony raised his eyebrows, and Peter felt himself deflate even more. Tony was disappointed in him, it was right there plain on his face. Maybe he’d retract his internship offer now he knew about the B.
But Tony was shaking his head at Peter’s dejected face. “No—kid, I meant. I thought you were averaging Cs, or failing something, that’s what people mean when they say their grades have dropped. Did you just get a B on the one test?”
Peter nodded, ashamed. “Yeah.”
Tony paused to think. “What did Ned get?”
“Uh…a C, I think.” Peter told him. “Most people failed it.”
Mr Harrington was a little bitch when it came to tests.
Then Tony waved it off, shrugging like he had before. “So it was a hard test, your GPA is still perfect, don’t worry about it, you’ll breeze into MIT like it’s nothing, and that would be without the recommendation letter I have stored for you in one of the lab cabinets. Your grades are still great, Pete.”
But Peter’s brain was centred around the second to last sentence. Recommendation letter I have stored for you. “You wrote me…”
“Yup.”
Peter’s eyes widened. “For college?”
“Yup.”
“Wow,” he mumbled, because, wow. Tony had written him a college recommendation letter. Tony Stark, an Avenger and billionaire who had his own company, an esteemed alumnus from MIT had written him a college recommendation letter.
Well, shit.
Peter blinked, unsure of what to say further.
“Anyways, you’re obviously not carrying on patrol tonight.” Tony made a weird hand gesture. “Wanna come back to the Tower so we can take a look at those bruises and you can sleep on some fluffy pillows tonight? I’ll get Hap to drive you to Midtown in the morning, let May know you’re with me and everything. Do it all by the book, or whatever.”
“Yeah,” Peter surprised himself by accepting. “Yeah, that would be nice.”
“And then we can talk about all of this. Remember talking?” Tony teased. “We used to do a lot of that, when you still came to the Tower.”
“I’m sorry,” Peter bit his lip. He did feel bad about avoiding Tony. He’d just been so busy.
“Nah, kid, I’m just playing,” Tony shook his head. “I could tell you had a lot on, so I didn’t want to pry until Karen alerted me this evening. You’re a teenager, it’s normal, you don’t want to be hanging around with some middle aged man who spends half his life in a workshop.”
As if he didn’t want to be hanging out with Tony Stark. Was the man insane? “Mr Stark, that’s not true at all, of course I wanted to be in the lab, I just had to…well. School, dogwalking, and stuff.”
“That’s alright, kid.” Tony quirked a smile at him. “I’m not mad.”
Peter nodded silently, blinking and staring at Tony, unsure of their next steps.
“C’mon then,” Tony said, pulling him tighter and rustling his hair gently. Peter pulled on his mask so no-one would see him and the faceplate of the Iron Man suit went back down.
Tony chucked him a spare web cartridge—of course he had some, he was Tony Stark for christ’s sake—and they swung (or flew, in Tony’s case) back to the Tower. Peter was never too exhausted to swing, because it actually made him feel more relaxed and at ease. Then he settled onto the sofa and let Tony fuss over him for the rest of the evening.
It was nice to be taken care of, and it was nice to be back at the Tower again. He swallowed, glancing around the penthouse, finally relaxed for the first time in a week. Tony would look at the bruises, and then they’d talk, and everything would be okay again. They’d figure it out, and he’d never be stuck with nowhere to run ever again.