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Tony had never been sure how he felt about Iron Man merchandise.
On one hand, he really had no reason to get after people for using his image for their own personal gain – unless they were doing something particularly bad. If that happened, Pepper probably would have stepped in to make sure things got resolved, like she typically did.
On the other hand, it was more than a little amusing to see Peter wandering blearily through the halls of the Tower late at night, wearing an oversized white t-shirt and gray pajama bottoms with little Iron Man helmets on them.
“Nice PJ’s,” Tony observed, unable to help the way the corners of his mouth twitched upwards slightly at the sight.
Peter pushed a textbook into his backpack and stood up, as sleepy as Tony had ever seen him.
“Huh?”
“Your pants,” Tony clarified.
In response, Peter glanced down in confusion as though he’d forgotten what he was wearing. And knowing Peter, he probably had.
Tony had a front row seat to witness the way Peter’s expression went from “I’ve been up for thirty-six hours and my dad is making me go to bed” to “I’m wearing Iron Man pajamas in front of Tony Stark”, and he wouldn’t have traded it for the world.
Maybe embarrassing his kid – even if said kid had done half the work himself – was just another parental duty that Tony had somehow managed to grow into.
“I…I can explain,” Peter stuttered, his face glowing like he’d turned on a flashlight inside his cheeks.
“There’s nothing to explain,” Tony grinned as he set his tablet down on the coffee table. “Oh, man. If Iron Man himself were here to see those…”
“That’s the worst part,” Peter grumbled, though there was no hard edge to his voice. “He is.”
Tony patted the couch next to him.
“So, when’d you get those?”
Peter crossed the room and sank into the cushion next to him, and Tony promptly slung an arm over his shoulders and pulled him to his side.
“May got ‘em for me,” Peter started, letting his head rest against Tony’s shoulder. “I think it was right after we met for the first time.”
He paused for a moment, as though preparing to admit to something embarrassing.
“I, uh, wouldn’t shut up about how cool it was that you’d come by, so I guess she got tired of it. There’s a shirt, too. It’s somewhere in my closet.”
Tony hummed pensively.
“I knew you were a fan of Iron Man, but I didn’t know you were that much of a fan,” he chuckled, sliding his fingers into Peter’s hair, still soft and damp from the shower. “I tend to have that effect on people, no matter how hard I try.”
Peter responded with a noise that Tony could only call embarrassment in audio form.
“What do they call my fanclub nowadays?”
“The Iron Fam,” Peter answered without hesitation. Then he froze up right there and then against Tony’s side, as though he’d just admitted to some sort of crime. “I mean, I think that’s what they’re called. I don’t actually, um, follow them myself,” he stammered, his gaze fixed on the floor.
Peter stuttered even more than he usually did when he was lying, like his body was actively trying to keep him from saying things that weren’t true. Tony wouldn’t have been surprised if that were actually the case. Peter didn’t have a bad bone in his body, and Tony didn’t need an x-ray to prove it.
Lying about being part of Iron Man’s internet fanclub definitely beat lying about potentially life-threatening injuries, or about being okay at the end of a long week’s worth of school and patrol that would usually send Peter to bed for at least twelve hours.
So Tony didn’t press it. It was Thursday, after all. He’d plan something fun for Peter the next day. If the kid was up for it, of course.
“So, what do Spider-Man’s fans call themselves?”
“Huh?”
Peter glanced up at Tony, his cheeks still tinged with pink.
“What do you mean?”
“If my fans are the Iron Fam, then what are yours?”
Peter let out a nervous laugh and rubbed at the bridge of his nose.
“I…don’t actually know,” he admitted sheepishly. “I haven’t really searched for myself in general. Maybe I’m afraid of what I’ll find.”
Peter’s words prompted Tony’s heart to start squeezing in on itself like someone had put it in the clamp of a vise and begun to squeeze it shut.
It was beyond Tony how anyone could dislike Spider-Man, but he knew that someone out there would have found a way. They’d found a way when it came to him (which wasn’t a surprise), as well as the rest of the Avengers team. Not even Steve, the perfect poster boy that he was, had escaped the public’s judgment.
But this was different. Tony could handle reading the crap that newspapers spouted about him and his antics – he’d had years of practice doing so, after all. The other Avengers had also been around long enough that they had their own ways of handling that kind of thing.
But Peter? The kid was barely sixteen, for crying out loud. He hadn’t even started shaving yet.
Tony had been twenty-one when he’d been cast into the limelight as the Starks’ heir, and even that had felt too soon. There was no way that Peter was going to go through even a semblance of the fiasco that he had.
There was a lot that Peter had yet to learn about being someone who just wanted to do good in the world – and a good chunk of it was things that Tony didn’t want him to have to learn on his own. For that matter, Tony wasn’t sure that he could.
It was just as much for Peter’s sake as it was for his own when Tony turned and buried a long, meaningful kiss in Peter’s curly hair, a silent promise that he would do his best to guide him through a tenuous world, as ill-qualified as he was.
He could almost hear Happy in his ear, telling him not to get in his own head because Peter had already done so – and there was only so much room in there.
“That’s probably for the best,” Tony finally declared, settling back against the couch. “It’s not like you need a fanclub, anyway. Not when you’ve got your number one fan right here.”
“Did I hear you right?”
Peter twisted in his seat to glance up at Tony with the roundest, brightest puppy-dog eyes he had ever seen.
God, this kid was going to be the death of him.
“‘Course, kiddo,” Tony replied, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world (it was). “I’m your biggest fan. Right up there with May and Ned. And your scary girlfriend. I’m assuming she knows.”
“You’re gonna make me blush,” Peter chuckled, and from the little lilt in his voice, Tony could tell he was going to. “I must be the luckiest superhero ever.”
“Not to burst your bubble, but I think that title belongs to me, Pete,” Tony grinned, playfully mussing his damp hair and making sure it would end up in its signature rat’s nest by the time he woke up in the morning. “Not everyone gets to meet a spider-bitten teenager who curls up on their couch every other night like a puppy.”
Peter returned his smile, bright as the sun, and Tony felt a familiar warmth blossoming in his chest like some sort of flower moments before Peter curled up and tucked himself into Tony’s side, as though he had become yet another part of the jigsaw puzzle that was Tony Stark.
“Maybe we’re both equally lucky,” Peter mused, once he’d made himself comfortable and Tony had re-situated his right hand in a way that he could continue to stroke Peter’s hair until he inevitably fell asleep and trapped Tony on the couch.
Maybe he was right. Tony certainly felt like a lucky man with Peter Parker in his life. He could only hope that Peter felt remotely the same about him.
“We’ll call it a draw.”
Peter snickered.
“Yeah. We’ll call it a draw,” he echoed sleepily before shifting one last time against Tony and closing his eyes.
There they remained, even as Peter’s breathing slowed and FRIDAY dimmed the lights without Tony asking her to. Occasionally, he shifted against Tony, as though trying to figure out a more comfortable place to put his head, but Tony knew he would be asleep before long. He always was.
“G’night, Spidey,” Tony whispered, his fingers still wound deep in Peter’s hair.
Peter’s only response was a quiet snore – one that could’ve come from a creature half his size.
Tony just smiled and leaned back against the couch cushions before finally letting his eyes drift closed, too.
“Boss is waiting for you in the living room,” FRIDAY announced, nearly sending Peter’s heart into his throat.
It had been over a year since Peter’s first visit to the Tower, and yet he still found himself caught off guard by the sound of the A.I’s voice, which always seemed to trickle in from the most unlikely of places.
There was a brief pause, as though FRIDAY was waiting for Peter’s heart rate to return to normal – which he wouldn’t have been surprised if she had been doing. Lately, she’d been doing a lot of things that Tony also did, despite the fact that she could only read Peter’s vital signs and not the expression on his face.
“He’s also requesting that you wear your Iron Man pajamas,” she finished.
Peter could feel his cheeks burning at just the mention of them – even though he was already wearing the pants like he’d been the previous night.
“Could you ask him why?”
“Certainly, Peter.”
FRIDAY was silent for a few moments, as though she’d gone down the hall to the living room to ask Tony about his plans for the evening.
“He wanted me to tell you that he has a surprise planned,” she finally said.
“Don’t forget the shirt,” Tony called from somewhere down the hall.
Oh, the things Peter did for Tony Stark.
Without even giving himself a chance to even think about protesting the request, Peter made his way over to the closet and began rummaging around in one of his drawers, shoving his hand far into the back where he knew he’d embarrassedly stuffed the shirt.
After a few minutes of digging, he paused in the closet doorway, shirt in hand, Iron Man’s helmet staring back up at him with slitted yellow eyes. Briefly, he wondered if he was actually going to put it on.
There were approximately two people on the planet who could have convinced him to wear it, and one of them was Tony. Peter sighed and pulled off the t-shirt he’d already put on to change into it.
He caught sight of himself in the mirror on the way to the door – and it struck him that he hadn’t looked closer to six years old than sixteen in a while. His hair, still wet from the shower, hung in damp curls over his forehead, and he somehow looked smaller than he already did.
He chalked the rest of it up to the superhero pajamas. He figured those would make anyone look younger – like people typically were when they still held superheroes near and dear to their hearts. Peter had never quite grown out of that phase, and living with Iron Man part-time had convinced him that he was never going to.
Walking into the living room and seeing Tony lounging on the couch in Spider-Man pajamas was the final nail in the coffin, though. There was no way Peter was outgrowing the whole superhero worship thing after that.
Tony had turned the lights down, so it was by the light of the TV that Peter could make out the emblem that Tony had designed for him so long ago on the chest of his shirt, as well as dozens of little Spider-Man masks that adorned the legs of Tony’s fleece pants like so many polka dots.
On the couch next to Tony was the blanket from his own room – which he’d clearly brought out more for Peter’s sake than his own – and in front of him on the coffee table was a tall stack of pizza boxes. The scent was irresistible, and even though Peter had already eaten dinner that night, his stomach rumbled loudly enough that Tony raised an eyebrow, a small smile on his face.
But though Peter could feel his mouth watering, he couldn’t help the way his eyes returned to Tony’s pajamas – as though they’d gained a life of their own.
It was news to him that Spider-Man had merchandise – even if Tony had them made himself.
“Hey, kiddo.”
Tony raised a hand in greeting, the TV remote in his other hand.
Peter opened his mouth for a moment, but then closed it and settled for joining Tony on the couch, his cheeks burning.
“Not gonna say anything about my new PJ’s?”
Tony tugged his pant leg out so that it was next to Peter’s, leaving Iron Man’s helmets and Spider-Man’s masks staring at each other for a few moments.
“They look…comfortable,” Peter finally said, stumbling over the words.
“That’s all you’ve got to say?”
Tony sounded almost disappointed, but the way his mock frown curved upwards at the corners betrayed him.
Peter shook his head guiltily.
“No, I mean…it’s not every day that Iron Man puts on Spider-Man pajamas and invites you in for movie night,” he stammered, gesturing at the now-designated pizza table.
“I’m not Iron Man all the time, Pete. For now, I’m just your biggest fan,” Tony chuckled, and Peter let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Maybe a bit more than your biggest fan.”
Peter still found it hard to remember that Tony could be his caring self and Iron Man at the same time. Sure, Tony Stark made him sandwiches, fixed his suits, and woke him up in the morning for school, but he was also the same man who had perfected the Arc Reactor and protected the world from extraterrestrial threats on his days off.
It was hard to remember that he was still the same Tony who had taken him under his wing at the end of the day, but Tony would remind Peter of it however many times it took for him to remember. That was just who he was.
Peter leaned over and put an arm around Tony, who returned the gesture with his own arm, warm and reassuring, around Peter’s shoulders.
“Thanks, Tony.”
“Hey, if making your week is as simple as throwing on some Spider-Man PJ’s and putting on a movie, I’m down.”
It really was that simple. Peter had never needed much to be happy, but anything that Tony did improved his day by leaps and bounds. Pizza and a movie or two on Tony’s couch would go a long way.
“So, which movie d’you want to start with?”
Peter reached across Tony and snagged a paper plate before answering him.
“You pick,” he replied as he went for a glistening slice of pepperoni and tore the front half off like a starving animal.
“Me?” Tony raised an eyebrow. “Thought you weren’t a big fan of the movies I like.”
Peter swallowed a mouthful that would’ve choked up anyone not named Peter Parker and turned back to Tony, the taste of melted mozzarella still on his tongue.
“I’ve picked the last uh–” he paused to count on greasy fingers, “–nine movies. Think your turn’s probably overdue.”
Tony smiled at him then, a smile that told Peter that he gladly would’ve watched Anakin and Obi-Wan square off on Mustafar for the fifth time that month if Peter wanted to.
“Your call,” Tony finally said, but he quickly located the Star Wars movies and selected The Empire Strikes Back.
Peter frowned.
“You’re just picking this because I said I wanted to watch it again.”
“That was the point,” Tony grinned. “You told me to pick a movie, so I did.”
“Yeah, I did. But I wanted you to pick a movie you want to watch.”
“And what if I want to watch this?”
Peter sighed.
Tony was impossible when it came to giving Peter what he wanted – even if he didn’t necessarily want it right there and then.
“You’re impossible,” Peter conceded before snagging another piece of pepperoni pizza and settling into Tony’s side.
“Not the first time someone’s told me that, kiddo.”
Tony ruffled Peter’s hair playfully for a few moments – during which Peter temporarily and embarrassingly forgot about his own pizza and tilted his head at that angle he always did that got Tony’s fingers to brush his scalp.
A few moments became a few minutes, which probably would’ve become at least fifteen if Tony hadn’t gotten hungry himself.
“All right, Pete,” he finally said, slipping his fingers from Peter’s hair even as Peter involuntarily made an embarrassing noise of protest. “Dad’s gotta eat, too.”
Then he froze in his seat, much like Peter had done the previous night.
Peter would have found the role reversal funny if it weren’t for the hot air balloon that had suddenly started to inflate in his chest, right where his heart was. A balloon full of warm, fuzzy, dizzying emotions that swirled upwards in his chest until it felt like it was going to burst.
“We can pretend I didn’t just do that.”
“Or we could not,” Peter volunteered hopefully, hoping that the balloon in his chest wouldn’t explode before he got the words out.
Tony slowly turned to meet Peter’s gaze, a bemused expression on his face.
“You’re sure? We don’t have to open that can of worms if you don’t want to.”
It was true – Peter and Tony’s relationship had evolved beyond that of a mentor and student over the course of the past year and a half, but for whatever reason, neither of them had been willing to call it what it was. At least, on Peter’s end, he’d been afraid that acknowledging that Tony had all but become a father figure to him would be yet another burden on Tony’s back.
A voice from the shadows in Peter’s head had convinced him for the longest time that Tony had better things to do than entertain the feelings of his sixteen-year-old charge.
And yet, here Tony was, telling Peter that he didn’t need to talk through his emotions if he didn’t want to. It was so obvious that Tony cared about Peter and how he felt, no matter what Peter managed to convince himself of.
It was for this reason that Peter did want to open the can of worms – not only for his own sake, but for Tony’s.
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m sure, because you’ve been more than a mentor to me for a while now,” Peter continued, and all of a sudden the words were flowing out of him like the dam that he’d used to stop up his emotions had shattered into tiny pieces. “I mean, mentors don’t buy you a couple hundred dollars’ worth of food every other day, watch over you like actual guardian angels, or let you hug them whenever you feel like it. I mean, do they?”
Tony just shook his head, but the smile on his face had only grown wider.
Peter took a breath and plunged onwards, into the unknown.
“To tell you the truth, I think I was scared to let myself think that you could be more than my billionaire superhero mentor at first. You’ve already got a lot on your plate without me here to make things more complicated.”
Tony immediately looked like he wanted to object, and Peter had a suspicion that he already knew what he was about to say. But then, Tony bit his tongue, letting him continue.
“But then I thought about it. You’ve dropped more than just a few meetings to help me out with school and Spider-Man, so I’d be lying to myself if I didn’t think you cared.”
Peter paused, a sheepish smile playing at the corners of his mouth at the memory of Tony getting on the first flight back to the United States at the news that Peter had gotten hurt stopping a malfunctioning subway train. And he’d done it all just to be there for him when he woke up, battered and groggy, in the Medbay and not in a public hospital.
“You give me too much time out of your day, if I’m being honest.”
“Not at all,” Tony interjected. “Pep’s better than me at the whole meeting thing, anyway."
He paused and looked down for a moment.
"I just wish that I could give you more, Pete. You deserve more of my time than the investors do.”
“You’ve given me plenty of your time and money, Tony. I think you’ve spent more on me since I got here than I have in my life.”
It was true. The suit Tony had designed for him had cost a fortune because of just how much he’d packed into it to protect Peter – and fixing it each time Peter got himself into a close call couldn’t have been cheap, either. But between the hours that Tony had spent actually designing features and putting the suit together, a lot of love had gone into that suit.
And even aside from the suit, Tony had given Peter so much and expected nothing in return. There was only one word that Peter could think of that could fit that kind of generosity and unconditional love. It wasn’t particularly extravagant or anything, but it felt right.
Somewhere along the line, Tony had become a synonym for Dad. And Peter wanted, no, needed to tell him that.
“Anyway, I guess what I’m trying to say with all of this is, uh, I want you to, y’know–”
“–Call myself your dad,” Tony finished, his eyes shining like stars in the dim glow of the TV.
“Yeah. I mean, if that isn’t too much work and you’re okay with it–”
Tony interrupted Peter by suddenly seizing him in his arms, prompting Peter to let out a humiliating squeak of surprise before quickly settling into his embrace, like he always did.
“It’s never too much work, Pete,” Tony said quietly, patting Peter’s back slowly, reassuringly. “I do the things I do because I love you. It’s as simple as that.”
Tony’s words pricked at Peter’s eyes, and he had to blink a few times until the watery blurriness subsided and he was able to make things out clearly again.
Peter returned the hug after his vision had cleared, resting the fingers of his free hand on the back of Tony’s shirt.
“I love you, Dad,” Peter whispered, his throat thick in a way that had nothing to do with the pizza.
“Love you too, kiddo.”