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“Who did this?” Tony demanded, hands settled on his hips like—God, like the overprotective parent the other Avengers constantly said he was. It wasn’t Tony’s fault. Caring for a traumatized, isolated, enhanced teenager was stressful. His hair was starting to grey. He could feel old age coming, because his knees ached when he sat too long in one position, because he had to turn AC/DC up a few extra notches in the lab to maintain the screeching volume he preferred.
Peter made Tony old, which was horrifically rude of him.
The kid was, probably, worth it, though.
A handful of Avengers sat or sprawled around Tony’s living room, which—again, who had even invited them into his humble abode? Sure, they typically only lived a few floors down, but this was supposed to be his and Pepper’s and Peter’s sanctuary.
Peter had definitely let them up, then.
Nat, typing on her phone, sat cross-legged on an armchair. Steve, Bucky, and Bruce looked a little ridiculous, frankly, crammed together on the sofa. Clint sprawled on the floor near Nat. Peter was nowhere to be found, for the moment.
Steve watched the television a little too intently. It wasn’t like there was some old-timey movie on he could claim to be captivated by.
“Captain,” Tony lifted an eyebrow. Bucky glanced toward him, then toward Steve, then toward the television, as if he could get away with staring at it, too.
“What?” Steve finally broke—because Tony knew, of course, the good captain couldn’t withstand so much scrutiny and would always, inevitably, break. “No, it wasn’t on the list of new experiences Peter and I have been working through to better understand the modern world. I thought it would be good for him to learn more about the holiday. It’s really changed a lot since—”
“I’m not interested in a history lesson,” Tony held up his hand. “Or information on the commercialization of holidays in the modern world. I just need to know how you explained it to him, exactly, because it seems like a few things got lost in translation—”
Something dropped down from the ceiling, brushing against Tony’s shoulders on the way down.
He didn’t scream.
He didn’t.
FRIDAY knew to delete any evidence, no matter what other, more persuasive residents of the Tower might beg of her.
From the corner of his eye, Tony saw a dark figure draw upright, sharp teeth flashing, a sharper hiss spitting from the back of its throat.
“Got you!” Peter cackled around his fangs. “Steve! I got him!”
This was the fourth time that Peter had jumpscared Tony that day.
Steve, looking the picture of pickled innocence, studiously tried to avoid eye contact with Peter. Which proved hard to do, as he flounced over toward him, lifting the dark edges of his ragged—cape?
“Who should we get next?” Peter asked Steve, baring his fangs.
“Who got him the cape?” Tony asked, rubbing a finger over the space between his eyebrows in an attempt to stave off his growing headache.
The change in stance was minuscule, but it was there. Bucky joined Steve in looking suspiciously guilty.
“I’m a vampire!” Peter declared happily. “Bruce said it would be the easiest costume to do! I can use my real teeth and my real eyes. He called it an economical bargain.”
“Oh, my God,” Tony sighed.
“Don’t worry,” Peter said, brows drawn down tight with his own anxiety. “I’m not going to actually bite anyone, Tony, I promise. It’s all pretend. Clint promised.”
Tony lost the battle with his headache when he saw Nat, traitorous Nat, attempting to smother a smile.
“I love Halloween,” Peter declared.
- - -
Someone knocked on Tony’s bedroom door. Someone named Peter Parker, because FRIDAY spilled the beans before the sudden wakeup call could have the fabulous opportunity to send Tony spiraling into a panic attack.
The knocking became more insistent.
“FRIDAY,” Tony grumbled. “Probability of the kid leaving if I don’t answer the door?”
“Zero, boss,” FRIDAY answered.
Which was about what he’d expected, even if it wasn’t what he’d wanted to hear. Sue him for wanting to sleep in until the early afternoon for once like he’d done almost daily back in the good old days when he’d had nothing and no one to look after but himself.
Well. Tony would be first in line to admit that he hadn’t even managed to look after himself, back then.
“Alright, alright. Pete! Gimme a minute,” Tony demanded when the knocking started up again.
He regretted it, rolling out of bed. His hips hurt. His back hurt. His chest felt like it needed a few good knocks to get his reactor properly started. His head throbbed with the need for coffee, aching in time with the quieter, slower tapping still coming from his door.
The kid was persistent. Probably got that from Tony.
He eased over to the door, scrubbing a hand through his hair before opening it.
“Okay, what’s the—”
“Trick or treat!”
Peter stood there, eyes black as soot and gleaming like the watery depths of an abandoned well, wide with excitement. The outfit he wore was entirely black, too, with—were those . . . extra arms?
“Tony,” Peter said impatiently, shaking the empty pillowcase he held. It was dark red and wrinkled and obviously taken directly from one of the pillows on his bed. “Trick or treat.”
Yes, those were two more sets of arms sewn into the sides of the black shirt he wore, hanging limply by his sides.
“Who made you into a spider?” Tony asked tiredly, poking a finger into Peter’s forehead to nudge him a little farther away so he could look out into the hallway. Empty, but that didn’t guarantee no one was watching through the cameras. FRIDAY was an absolute traitor when it came to anything involving the kid.
“Tony,” Peter said again, exasperation leaking into his voice. When he lowered his arms, the additional ones by his sides twitched. “That isn’t how this works at all.”
“Uh, yeah. You’re right. This isn’t how any of this works, Pete. First of all, today isn’t even Halloween. Second, you’re supposed to go around to all the little houses in whatever neighborhood you’re going to terrorize, not to my room, to get your candy. Third, whoever put you up to this should have at least dressed up with you,” Tony said.
Peter, lips pressed into a thin line, glowered at Tony.
“What?” Tony broke, only because it was early in the morning, pre-coffee. Not because he was some kind of sucker for that face Peter was pulling. “I don’t know what to tell you, kid. I don’t hoard any candy in here.”
Peter’s eyebrows lifted and—shoot. With all those enhancements, sometimes Tony forgot about one or two. Peter could probably smell the lie on him, much less the snacks hidden away in the nightstand.
“Fine,” Peter said, which raised Tony’s suspicions. The kid never gave up so easily. “If there’s no treat, then you choose trick.”
“Wait—no—”
“You chose,” Peter said solemnly.
Tony had a very bad feeling that something had gone very wrong in this conversation. “I—okay, what’s the trick, then?”
“You’ll see,” Peter said, balling up the pillowcase between his hands and turning away.
“When?” Tony glanced down the hallway again. “Uh, when will I see?”
Peter shrugged, continuing to walk away.
“Wait!” Tony hurried after him, only because Peter was headed toward the kitchen, which was where Tony needed to be. He needed coffee as much as he needed to run a new diagnostic through FRIDAY to protect him from whatever the fuck was going on in his Tower. His Tower! “Peter!”
- - -
“Mister Stark?”
Tony had been nursing a headache ever since the holiday nonsense had started. No, it wasn’t very exciting or fun, introducing Peter to something he’d never celebrated before, at least not that he remembered. No, it wasn’t amazing, and heartbreaking, to get Peter to do things he should’ve been able to enjoy throughout his childhood.
It was cutting into Tony’s me-time. He didn’t immediately look up when the kid called for him.
“Mister Stark, I don’t feel so good,” Peter announced.
The kid was . . . Well, Tony had never seen him look like that before. With the enhanced healing and strength and all, Tony had been half-convinced the kid was invincible. Never had a cold, not even after being introduced to so many new things after being kept in isolation for so long.
Oh, God. Tony needed—why hadn’t he performed any up-to-date medical exams? What if something had gone wrong with the kid recently? What if Hydra had been doing something to him that meant Tony wasn’t giving him the adequate medical care to keep him alive, at the very least—
It was like the blood all over again, not giving Peter what he needed without even realizing they were being neglectful.
“Steve said with our metabolisms, he could eat more of the Reese’s Pieces than me,” Peter said, stumbling a little closer. “He was—he was wrong, Mister Stark.”
Tony was going to kill that goddamn star-spangled man.
“Okay—okay, how about we—no, no, stop walking in here, we don’t want to be over the carpet. Let’s just take a quick swing by the bathroom, just in case—no, not literally swinging, Peter, get the—okay, it’s fine. You’re okay. No, I’m not mad. I’ll call up the cleaning crew. Let’s get you into the elevator if you’re still feeling sick. Down to the Avengers floor. Steve needs to redecorate, anyway.”
- - -
“Ned Leeds is coming over,” Peter announced. “We are going to dress up in costumes and eat candy and watch media Ned considers both seasonally appropriate and okay for me to watch at my current social level.”
Tony glanced up from the tablet he’d been typing on. No, he most certainly wasn’t goading Pepper into attending a meeting in his place and just sending him the notes for review so that he could stay in the Tower a little longer. Not at all.
“What, does no one ask my permission anymore before allowing civilians onto a secured level?” Tony asked.
Peter made that same face he did whenever he was analyzing Tony, the creases in his forehead smoothing over once he seemed to realize Tony wasn’t actually annoyed about this.
The kid was making him soft.
“FRIDAY said it was okay,” Peter said. “Actually, it was her idea. And she said you shouldn’t join us, or hover, because it’s very important for me to develop age-appropriate friendships.”
“FRIDAY said all that, did she?”
“Uh-huh. Sorry. I’ll give you some of the candy and promise not to eat so much, again, this time.”
“You promise?”
“Yes. Ned Leeds has a typical human metabolism, anyway, so it wouldn’t be fair at all for me to challenge him to any type of eating contest,” Peter said. “I’ll show you what our costumes look like, though?”
“Oh, goody,” Tony said, as if he didn’t already have screencaps of the vampire and spider costumes saved on his StarkPad. “The suspense is killing me.”
Peter narrowed his eyes. “I’m not going to let anything kill you, again, Tony,” Peter promised.
Maybe it was Peter’s responses that aged Tony so prematurely. There were new aches in his bones that’d never appeared when he’d been out, you know, punching people and taking names and ignoring all the things he should have been going to therapy for.
“Thanks, Pete,” Tony said. “Can’t wait for the costume parade.”
A little over an hour later, Tony heard muffled voices near the door leading into the lab. He could only hear that much because of FRIDAY’s eavesdropper protocol, which immediately lowered the volume of his music whenever somewhere was near the lab door.
No, it wasn’t something he’d installed because Peter had been nervous to interrupt him when he’d first started roaming the Tower unsupervised. It was just practical. Tony needed to be prepared for anything, including two teenagers ready to nerd out for the night.
“Mister Stark said he couldn’t wait,” Peter whispered.
Okay, maybe Tony had had FRIDAY turn up the conversation in the hallway. Just in case Peter was out there and it was an emergency and needed Tony’s help and felt too nervous to ask.
That was practical.
“I dunno, Peter, maybe he doesn’t want to be bothered—”
“But I bother Tony all the time.”
“That doesn’t really reassure me at all, dude. You’re like—I mean, you live here with him, and he’s like your—”
“He wanted to see the costumes.”
Had Tony said that?
He didn’t think he’d said that.
He definitely didn’t glance toward the cameras hidden in the corners of the lab, making sure one would be able to get a good angle of whatever outfit Peter had put together.
“But maybe he—”
Okay. This was getting painful.
“Are you two actually going to come in here, or what?”
Peter immediately opened the lab door, grin so wide Tony was personally shocked there were no fangs to be seen. Fred, standing beside him, looked downright horrified to make eye contact with Mister Stark.
“I’m Anakin,” Peter declared proudly, before gesturing toward Ted with his plastic lightsaber. “He’s Obi-Wan, obviously.”
“Obviously,” Tony agreed solemnly. It looked like they’d put together the costumes themselves, and while they didn’t look terrible, Tony caught himself wondering whether Ed’s mother would be calling and asking for him to pay for some replacement bedsheets.
What kind of exciting life did Tony lead now, where he had parent to parent phone calls to look forward to instead of world, nay, universe-saving missions?
Wait.
“So, Tony,” Peter waved the lightsaber again. “You know how you were explaining to me about the people on the screen and how not everything in there that happens is real life—”
“Right,” Tony said slowly, vaguely worried about where this was all going.
“And telling me about the stunt people—”
“Peter.”
“I only want to be set on fire a little! For the pictures! And then—it’ll be fine, Tony, I heal really fast anyway, so, like, if we make some mistakes it’ll be okay—”
Pledge looked like he wanted to sink into the floor, which was appropriate, because Tony really didn’t want to have to look at him anymore while wondering what kind of ideas he was putting in the kid’s head.
“I shouldn’t have to tell you not to set yourself on fire.”
“For pretend. Pretend on fire. With real fire.”
Okay, any pretense of Tony staying in the lab and getting some work done was completely out of the picture.
“I’d be more likely to trust you two alone with a pair of real lightsabers,” Tony said, flicking the red plastic and frowning at the dull noise it made.
Peter blinked, dark eyes glistening, and Tony recognized his mistake.
“Oh, no. No. Come on. We’re going back upstairs,” Tony said, wrapping an arm around Peter to drag him away from the lab, leaving Bread to catch up or be left behind, whichever he may choose. “Distraction. You need a distraction.”
It was only later, with bowls of candy and popcorn littered across Tony’s absurdly expensive coffee table, Casper the F’ing Friendly Ghost playing in the background, Tony admitted to himself that maybe he’d been hustled. Cans of soda and an empty pizza box littered the counter. Too many flavors of ice cream now filled his freezer, and cheap seasonal decorations coated the ceiling, and Lead had somehow wheedled his way into a sleepover.
But Peter was passed out across one of the sofas, empty thermos that’d once held Tony’s warm blood tucked into the crook of his arm. There were no lines of tension in his face, no worries trapped in the lines Tony could usually see even when the kid felt safe enough to sleep somewhere other than his room.
Tony sighed, shut off the lights, and retired to his own bedroom. Maybe it wasn’t so bad, being the one outsmarted for once.
- - -
Somehow, someway, Tony had been convinced to do . . . this.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d worn a costume. Properly worn one, anyway. There’d been plenty of themed parties for him over the years, including elaborate Halloween parties, the lavish and overdecorated kind. Tony would usually get away with one of those costumes-that-weren’t-really-costumes. He’d been particularly fond of those headband things that made it look like there was an arrow shooting directly through his head. Pepper had given one to him. She’d said it suited him.
He knew the reason this was happening was because of the teenager-shaped agent of chaos currently living in his Tower and turning his life upside down. Especially when he did things like give Tony those big, bottomless, pleading eyes and remind Tony he couldn’t remember ever having celebrated Halloween before and how, on the actual official day, he didn’t want to have to celebrate alone.
Maybe it was because the other Avengers were off doing who-knew-what. Maybe because Pepper was busy attending the company Halloween party in his steed (she actually liked those things, which was only the millionth reason why he needed to keep her around, and she’d gone dressed as a pumpkin, of all things).
So. Here Tony was. In costume.
At first, he’d considered doing some kind of mad scientist getup, before realizing that Peter would not have a good reaction to the whole lab coat thing. Dressing up as Tony Stark would be cheating, according to Peter. So, really, there was only one option left for him. He’d always known that he’d wear it better, anyway.
Tony eyed himself in the mirror, straightening the collar of the cheap polyester costume he’d had FRIDAY acquire for him. The thing was ridiculous, and perfect, the colors all slightly off-brand, the material ready to tear if he moved too quickly in any direction. There was even a little half-mask thing to put over the top of his head. Sure, his hair would suffer for it, but it only added to the look.
The finishing touch, however, was the shield. Tony would never, ever admit to how freaking heavy that thing was. He grunted beneath its weight, delighting in the thought of Captain Ameri-Butt returning early to see how good Tony looked like this. Although Steve never looked quite this smug, the suck-up.
“Boss, Peter is ready for you,” FRIDAY announced.
“Roger that,” Tony said, making a mental note to repeat the phrase around the kid. Because it was hilarious.
Tony, hauling the shield with him, found Peter in the living room.
“Tony! You actually dressed up!” Peter sprung over the back of the couch with the same athleticism and grace typically reserved for Olympic-level athletes.
Tony paused, letting the shield settle down by his side.
Peter was dressed like . . . him.
Not the star-spangled version. The Avengers version, the Iron Man version, the . . . equally cheap, shitty quality version, but there were little fake reactor lights on Peter’s hands.
There was something in Tony’s eye. He needed to call the cleaning crew again, have them dust in there.
“FRIDAY helped me get it,” Peter beamed, lifting his arms and pretending to shoot right at Tony’s chest. “Oh! I forgot, hang on.”
He reached over the back of the sofa to retrieve a plastic mask, fitting it over his head.
Maybe Tony was coming down with something. He’d been overworked a lot, lately. That was why there was an odd itch at the back of his throat.
“Do you—do you like it?” Peter asked. “I like your costume. Does Steve know you took the shield?”
“Are you a snitch, Pete?” Tony asked, clearing his throat.
“No, no, I’m—I’m the metal man,” Peter clarified, pulling his mask down a moment to carefully eye Tony. “I’m you.”
This kid was going to be the death of him.
“Yeah, I can see that,” Tony said. “It looks great, kid. Honestly. My favorite one of the bunch.”
Tony could see, through the gaps in the mask, the wide width of Peter’s smile.
“Alright, come on,” Tony said, wrapping an arm around Peter’s shoulders and steering him toward the kitchen. “Let’s see how much of that ice cream is left.”
“Surprise! There isn’t any,” Peter announced.
“You—Pete, there were twenty gallons—"
“Oh, I gave most of it away to the other Avengers. I tricked you,” Peter grinned. “You should have given me a treat.”
“Oh,” Tony realized. “That’s your trick. You really got me, Pete.”
Peter continued smiling at him, though there was something sinister about the edges of that grin.
“That was your trick, right, Peter?”
Shrugging away from Tony, Peter hurried ahead of him into the kitchen.
“FRIDAY?”
“I’m sworn to secrecy, boss,” FRIDAY reported.
For the first Halloween in a long, long time, Tony had to admit he was scared. But if he had to deal with any little monster, he’d choose Peter, a hundred times over.