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“Knock, knock—delivery for a ‘Spider-Kid ’? Hey, you wouldn’t happen to be related to that Spider-Teenager that’s been swinging around Queens, would ya?”
Even in his medically-induced delirium, Peter Parker finds his mentor’s attempt at humor just as painful as he normally would.
Throughout their relationship, the older man’s trademark quips have been steadily approaching the dad joke territory—but then again, Peter relents, Mr. Stark is a dad now.
Not only is Tony the father to an incredible six-year-old daughter of his spitting image—but as of nearly a year ago, he is also the second legal guardian to Peter.
While the teenager secretly started viewing the hero as a father figure long before the pair made it official, Peter still struggles at times to accept that the man is now actually his dad just as much as he is Morgan Stark’s.
Watching as the man strides across the room carrying a brown grease-spotted paper bag indubitably containing a vast assortment of menu items from the nearest fast food joint, an involuntary grin spreads across Peter’s face at the sheer Tony-ness of the entrance.
Helen Cho glances up from where she had been adjusting her patient’s IV and rolls her eyes halfheartedly. “What did I say about waiting twelve hours before solid foods, Stark?”
Tony feigns an expression of innocence which causes a muffled laugh to escape past the rolls of gauze occupying the inside of Peter’s mouth. He throws his hands up in exasperation.
“You know the kid’s got a faster metabolism than Rogers! What am I supposed to do, let him starve just because he’s missing a couple of teeth? You’re lucky he hasn’t already swallowed that gauze.”
Another stifled giggle emits from the freshly wisdom-toothless teen at the billionaire’s dramatics and Tony raises an eyebrow in amusement.
“Hey, not a bad audience. I should let you drug up my kid more often, Doc.”
Placing the half-crumpled paper bag on the side table for later, he raises his pointer finger to his lips in an exaggerated shushing motion before shooting Peter a wink.
Helen hums unconvincedly, not looking up from her StarkPad as she smirks, "I’ll remember you said that the next time it takes me thirty minutes to convince you to let me drug him in the first place.”
Unbothered by the gibe, Tony shrugs, taking a seat at the foot of Peter’s hospital bed.
“Hey, you can never be too careful when it comes to spider-babies,” he squeezes the boy’s knee, “Can you, Pete?”
The loopy teenager replies with another ridiculous grin, showing off his bulging cheeks and swollen gums as he shakes his head from side to side.
Tony’s heart is absolutely melting as he returns the smile, the overwhelming relief of being reunited with his kid causing his dark eyes to sparkle with affection.
If some might find his fretting over a common medical procedure a bit overdramatic, the man frankly could not care less.
After everything the pair has been through, Tony no longer takes Peter returning to him unscathed for granted—no matter how minor the cause for their separation is.
The father willingly gives into the sudden urge to take hold of Peter’s hand and presses a series of firm kisses atop his cool knuckles, careful not to disturb his IV.
“Speaking of drugs, how are those extra-extra-strength pain meds working out for you, bub? If the giggles are any indication, I’d say you aren’t missing those wisdom teeth one bit.”
The comment would have surely earned a flush of embarrassment from Peter under normal circumstances, though now the drugged-up teen can only scrunch his nose in feigned annoyance.
“Fine, Tony.”
Tony chuckles at Peter’s pinched expression, leaning forward to ruffle his son’s even more-unruly-than-usual post-surgery hair before tucking a stray curl behind his ear affectionately.
As usual, resisting softening at the fatherly action is a losing battle for Peter and he drops the moody teenager act at once. A comforting warmth fills him as he takes in Tony’s doting expression, soft wrinkles, and kind eyes. Dad.
The subtle changes in Tony’s appearance after the five-year blip had been jarring to Peter at first, a touchy reminder of just how much time he had lost. But now, Peter has a hard time remembering what the man looked like before.
When he pictures Tony in his mind, it’s the Tony in front of him right now, with gray-speckled hair and a gaze tenderized by years of parental bliss. It feels impossible that someone Peter met only a few years ago could be this familiar to him, this essential.
“Better enjoy it while it lasts, kid, because you’re never trying anything that makes you this loopy outside of a hospital setting. Ever.”
The older man narrows his eyes seriously, having made it explicitly clear time and time again since taking on his parental role to the teenager that recreational drug use of any kind was completely off the table.
“Not only is it plain stupid, but it’s gambling your life. We don’t know how half of the regulated meds out there would metabolize in your system, let alone some random concoction off the street without a drug facts label. You don’t get the luxury of messing around like these other kids…”
Yes, Peter remembers the first drug talk very clearly. Though as much as he lets on that Tony’s incessant preaching annoys him, he secretly can’t help but feel lucky to have a Dad who cares enough to lecture him in the first place—a Dad who worries because he loves him too much.
He’s reminded of the first time the hero had laid down the law with him after his Ferry incident as Spider-Man. Looking back, the heated conversation feels like it happened eons ago.
And if you died—? I feel like that’s on me.
Tony has undoubtedly come a long way since his days as Peter’s emotionally distant and sometimes dictatorial mentor. But even though the man made mistakes in the early days of their relationship, Peter recognizes that same love fueling Tony’s actions then—whether or not either of them realized it at the time.
Lost in thought, Peter doesn’t register the tears that have begun streaming down his cheeks until Tony’s expression morphs into one of concern. He’s lifting Peter’s chin and inspecting his gaze intently.
“Hey, bambino, why the tears? I was only teasing, buddy. Are you in any pain?” Tony turns to Dr. Cho, who looks up from her tablet to meet Peter’s gaze.
The teenager quickly shakes his head in reassurance, mumbling an unconvincing, “I’m okay,” from where his face is now cradled between his father’s ministering hands.
Tony’s thumbs work to clear the unsolicited tears from his son’s cheeks, though ironically, the loving gesture only serves to make Peter cry harder, a fresh bout of tears quickly succeeding the first.
“Could you give us a minute, Doc?” Tony asks, his gaze unmoving from Peter’s face. Helen nods, adding a hushed, “I’ll be close by,” before gently closing the door in her exit.
Heart breaking at the sight of the blubbering boy before him, red-faced and dripping with snot, Tony wonders what could have caused Peter’s demeanor to go south so fast. He doesn't think he's ever seen him this worked up outside of the occasional panic attack or night terror and it's incredibly unnerving.
Conflicted on whether or not he should give the boy a moment to collect himself, his curiosity and fix-it nature ultimately get the better of him.
He speaks to him gently, as if not to startle a frightened animal, “You wanna tell me what’s going on now, ‘Roos?”
Peter lets out a stuttered exhale, his vision blurry with salt water. “You’re my da-ad.”
Tony’s eyebrows knit together, his calloused hands moving soothingly from Peter’s hair to his face to his forearms. It reminds him of how he often comforts Morgan whenever she’s hurt or woken in the night by a bad dream.
And while he hates seeing Peter so upset, it oddly heartens him to comfort his elder son in a similar way—with a gentleness usually reserved for small children. It feels like a privilege Tony missed out on in raising Peter, having met the boy when he was already a teenager.
The realization causes a lump to form in the man’s throat. My kid. My little boy. Peter.
“Yeah, Bambi, I’m your dad. Dad’s right here. What’s got you so upset, Petey?”
Peter huffs in and out through his sobs, struggling to find emotional equilibrium.
Truthfully, he isn’t entirely sure where the tears are coming from himself. He only knows that Tony is being so kind and loving and paternal and something about that is making his heart swell with emotion.
He shakes his head, “I n-never—never thought I would have a dad. After Ben. But, you’re here. You’re m-my Tony, Dad. I mean—my dad. You’re Tony—”
Peter’s rambling is cut off when Tony suddenly envelops him in a massive bear hug. He briefly stiffens in surprise before completely melting into his father’s tight embrace.
His arms are solid and familiar and home all at the same time.
For a moment the room is silent, the pair content in enjoying the shared physical contact until Peter hears a sniffle above his head.
Tony’s voice is thick with emotion, “I’m your Tony, Pete.”
Peter smiles lazily into the man’s sternum, “Yeah?”
He feels a kiss pressed into the side of his head. “Yeah, kiddo. Always have been.”
Secure in Tony’s hold, Peter’s tears finally subside as fast as they came on, leaving a familiar buzzing sensation in their place.
It’s the beginning of the worst part of being on pain meds, his spidey senses going haywire as his mind becomes more coherent and his body more aware of the invading foreign substance.
As it turns out, enhanced metabolisms really only allow for a very brief actual high, which Peter decided long ago is not worth the comedown.
He inwardly groans as the dreaded sense of impending doom fills his confused body, able to remain somewhat grounded only due to the presence of Tony’s hand carding softly through his curls.
“Coming down, bub?” Tony murmurs, never ceasing to surprise Peter with his situational awareness when it comes to his state of being.
He nods into the man’s shoulder, breathing in his father’s expensive cologne with eyes squeezed tightly shut.
Hands move from Peter’s hair to travel soothingly up and down his back before removing contact completely. He’s just about to protest when Tony shifts to lift the covers and climb into the bed next to him.
Peter is back in his arms in an instant, feeling his father exhale as the pair leans back on the reclined mattress.
“Talking or quiet?” Tony whispers into Peter’s curls, familiar with the way in which noise can either ground the boy when he is in this state or send his malfunctioning senses into a further frenzy.
Peter clings to his father’s voice, urging his body to recognize the obvious indicator of his safety in its high-alerted state. “Talk, please.”
Tony chuckles lightly, “You don’t have to tell me twice, Pete. How about I tell your favorite story?”
As much as Peter loves to hear about the day Tony realized that he loved him as a son, he knows the story brings up uncomfortable memories for the man—particularly of the five Peter-less years he spent post-realization.
Peter shakes his head, mumbling, “Don’t have to. Makes you sad.”
Already, he feels the pull of exhaustion threatening to overtake him, the gentle thrumming of Tony’s heartbeat lulling his senses to a dull roar.
Another kiss is pressed to Peter's crown. “That’s alright, kiddo," Tony softly pinches his cheek, mindful of the boy’s healing gums, "It’s got a happy ending, remember?”
Content with his son safe and sound in his arms, Tony exaggerates clearing his throat before beginning.
As it would turn out, bedtime stories work wonders on both stubborn children and post-surgery teenagers.