Archive of Our Own

"Whaddya got, Karen?"

Peter Parker was perched on the rooftop of a bodega, clad in his spandex suit and ready for his daily dose of crime-fighting. He'd had a hard enough day at school, and although he'd never admit it to anybody, he was secretly hoping to get rid of some of his built-up frustrations via punching some bad guys in the gut.

Besides, he and his best friend, Ned Leeds, were supposed to spend the entire next day at this awesome Star Wars convention that they had saved up months of allowance to buy tickets for.

(Well, they had, but then Mr. Stark had bought them the tickets and told them to spend their allowance on 'Lego sets or something like that'. Peter's relationship with his official unofficial father-figure was ever blooming, regardless of the fact that neither of them had quite admitted it).

If Spider-Man was going to be taking a day off, he needed to put in at least a couple days of overtime to make up for it.

"I'm suspecting the beginnings of a mugging, a hundred feet to your left."

He nodded, shooting a web in the direction and swinging himself out. "On it. Do you think they're armed—"

"Hey, it's Spider-Man!"

Peter tilted his head under the mask, frowning as he jumped to the ground, landing in front of a raggedy-haired man and a frazzled-looking woman.

"I can't tell, are you happy to see me? I was going for scared, really."

"I'm happy, yeah," the guy continued, raising a knife so it glinted in Peter's eye. Definitely armed, then. "Happy I get the chance to squish the friendly neighbourhood spider."

He frowned, glancing down at the extremely normal-looking knife. "You think I'm no match for your… bread knife?"

The man seemed to have a wild look in his eyes, and he was grinning much too wide for Peter's liking. He might be high— which was never something that worked out in Peter's favour, really.

He turned it to face the woman, instead, who's widened eyes definitely shone in fear, not cocaine, and yeah— Peter probably could have gone about this in a better way. "You think she is?"

"Uhh." Peter hesitated for less than half a second before raising his arm and releasing a web.

Somehow (probably the power of cocaine or whatever else was making this guy's eyes look brighter than his own suit), the guy managed to dodge entirely, Peter's web continuing to shoot to the end of the alley uselessly as he positioned the knife directly above the girl's skin, under her shirt. "Be careful, Spider. Might get caught in my web."

"Woah," Peter muttered, mind working on overdrive. "That's so creative. You should, like, copyright that."

The fire in the man's eyes seemed to get brighter, somehow, and Peter lifted his hands quickly to his shoulders. "Okay, okay, listen, what do you want? Just let her go, and I'll do whatever you say."

Peter nearly regretted it when the man licked his lips, eyes still fierce, but when he glanced over at the woman who was trying as hard as she could not to let those tears spill over, he knew that he didn't have any other option.

"I want your suit."

"Huh?"

"Someone would pay real money for that shit," the man licked his lips again, and Peter had to concur, this might be the most creative mugger he'd ever met. "Take it off, Spidey. Mask too. I want it all."

Peter nodded slowly, moving his arms as carefully as he could as to not startle the crazy high knife man. "Okay, man, whatever you say. No need to push, okay? Yeah? Pushing would be crazy right now."

"I understand, Peter, " Karen's voice filled his ears quietly, "I've adjusted your web shooters to the push function."

"Way to ruin the fun, Karen," Peter muttered, still moving his arms slowly.

"What was that?" the man demanded, scowling as if Peter had just murdered his family and burned down his house. "Did you just call me a fuckin Karen?"

"Uh, no," Peter almost laughed, as sirens could be heard somewhere in the distant background. Before anyone could move again, Peter took the man's distracted moment as the gift it was and thrusted his hand forward as quickly as spiderly possible, using a thick amalgamation of web fluid to push the woman back as hard as he could. He used his other hand to web the man's hands together and attaching them to the knife, yanking him toward himself and retracting his web until they stood toe-to-toe.

"I guess Spider-Man does beat bread knife. Who knew?"

Peter grinned under his mask, before raising his right hand to punch this clown straight in the nose.

Before he got the chance, though, the man swung his webbed up hands and slashed at Peter's side.

"Woah!" Unlike the blunt end of a bread knife, Peter's eyes nearly rolled back into his head from the white hot pain of the way–too–sharp metal cutting straight through his suit, and too many layers of his skin for his liking. Blood rushed through his body and he immediately felt the area begin to soak in it, though the adrenaline kicked in just as quickly to mask the pain. "Did— did not see that coming, man, I gotta tell ya."

With one hand putting pressure on his wound, Peter used the other to grab at the guy's wrist and break it quickly, tossing the knife to the side as the man howled in pain, before punching him straight in the nose and knocking him clean out.

"Okay," he whispered to himself. "Next time, I'll do that much sooner. Karen, have you—"

Peter heard a wail of pain and shot his head up, eyes widening as he ran toward the woman, his own wound forgotten as he saw her clutching her arm painfully. He really hadn't risked holding back in his thrust when he pushed her over, but with the way her elbow was bent and swelling, and the horrible bloody screams spilling from her lips, he may have overcompensated a little too hard.

"Oh my— Oh my God, I'm so sorry, wait— Karen, have—"

"I've called an ambulance, Peter, and I'm calling Mr. Stark now. You need medical attention, too."

"Wait, no, just wait for the ambulance to come—"

Peter suddenly realized those sirens he had been hearing earlier were getting much closer, then, and he asked Karen about the coincidence. "When did you call the ambulance?"

"When you asked me to push her."

"Ah," the teen nodded, eyes clenching shut in pain as he nodded, sitting on his knees next to the woman. "Yeah, that was probably smart." He glanced at the woman, who looked like she had seen a ghost commit a murder in cold blood. "Wait, don't call Mr. Stark yet. Just wait for the ambulance to come."

"Peter, I recommend you receive immediate medical attention, it is likely that—"

"It's literally two minutes away, just wait." He turned to the woman again, who had tears all over her face as she looked at Peter's side with terror in her eyes, though it seemed like the wave of pain that she had been near-seizing over had passed for now.

"You're— you're bleeding, you—"

"Oh, this?" Peter shook his head, lucky that she couldn't see his teary eyes or painful grimace with the mask. "This is nothing. It was in the job description, you know? Too late to complain. I'll have to go on strike next year, to protest for more benefits. You know," he grimaced again, biting back a groan, "I don't even get dental with this gig. Isn't that crazy? Even though I've gotten at least three teeth knocked out."

The woman had begun to smile lightly at his antics until his last joke, and Peter realized that his joke may not have been as obvious as he thought. He heard the ambulance approaching them, then, and he shook his head, leaning in a bit closer.

"Listen, that last part, with my teeth? That was a joke. I swear, I have all my teeth. And I'm sorry for pushing you, before. I didn't— I didn't think fast enough, and you got hurt, and that's on me. I'm sorry—"

His apology was cut off by the woman letting out another gut-wrenching scream, and he winced as he could do nothing but watch her cry and scream, hot tears running down his own face as he just prayed and prayed for the ambulance to find them.

When his prayers were finally answered, Peter whispered a quick farewell to the woman, before shooting a web with his non-temporary-bandage arm and swinging himself onto a nearby rooftop.

He collapsed against the ledge, the adrenaline wearing off while the sorrow, guilt, and gut-wrenching pain hit him all at once, and he began to sob into his mask, not removing it for fear of the swarm of police and EMTs that he knew were way too close for his comfort.

"eter, Peter, can you hear me, buddy? I need you to focus on my voice, Peter—"

Peter gasped as it felt as if he was finally coming up for air after drowning, eyes flying open but not seeing anybody. "Wha— Mr. Stark?"
"There you are," Mr. Stark's voice came again, and Peter jerked his head to the side to look for him, crying out in pain at his side being moved. "No, no, buddy, don't move. Listen, I'm on my way and I've got the best medical team in New York State ready for you at the tower, okay? I'll be there in just a few minutes. Hang on for me, Petey, and stay awake, you hear me? Talk to me, Peter."

"Mr. Stark," Peter sobbed into the air, his mask pulled to his nose, though he didn't remember pushing it up. "Mr. Stark, she got hurt, she got so hurt and it was my fault, it was my fault cause I pushed her, oh my God Mr. Stark I—"

"Honey," the man's slightly-panicked voice rang through his ears again, the sound of repulsors loud in his ears as the boy continued trying to stifle his sobs. "Whatever happened, it's okay, and it absolutely wasn't your fault, okay? Mistakes happen, accidents happen, and we'll figure it all out. I just need you to breathe, okay? You need to stay calm so you don't make yourself sick. Take deep breaths, buddy, can you do that for me?"

Peter could barely comprehend the man's words as he cried, but he tried to take deeper breaths, though he kept cutting himself off with harsh coughs. Mr. Stark continued praising him, though, and though the pain was still blinding, he could feel the slight difference when his chest began to relax.

The sound of repulsors suddenly got much louder, and Peter opened his eyes to see the Iron Man suit landing a few feet away from him, as the man landed and allowed his mask to retract as he rushed to kneel next to Peter.

"M-Mr. Stark," he cried out, reaching his arm out though it was still shaking violently from the sudden absence of adrenaline still messing with him. "I-I wanna go home, please, please, wanna go home, need to— to, please."

"Pete," the man's voice no longer rang through his ears but came from outside his mask, as he worked efficiently to temporarily stabilize the wound. "I'm so sorry, buddy, but you need to be at the tower right now, okay? I'll try to get you home as soon as I can, but—"

Peter whined, hissing in pain as Mr. Stark taped gauze over his side. "Y-yeah, home. Wanna go home. Want— my bed. In the tower. At home."

There was a temporary silence as the only thing to fill the air was Mr. Stark's hands working on autopilot, before he scooped Peter into his arms and nodded, faceplate flipping closed after he tugged Peter's mask down, too.

"Okay, buddy," Mr. Stark's voice rang through his mask, again. "Let's get you home to— home to the tower, yeah?"

"Yeah," Peter hummed contentedly. The pain lulled for a few peaceful moments, during which Peter did not realize his accidental slip-up, instead shutting his eyes and sticking his head to the chestplate of his mentor's suit.

*

It wasn't until Peter had been patched up and was souped up on painkillers that he was able to think clearly enough to remember the woman, and he cried out from his bed.

"What?" Mr. Stark shot up from where he had been sitting next to Peter's bed in the medbay, rushing to the crying boy's side. "What hurts, Pete? Are the painkillers not helping?"

Peter shook his head desperately, hot tears running down his face as he sobbed with his eyes clenched shut. "N-no, I hurt— I hurt her, I—"

"Oh, Pete," Mr. Stark shook his head, running a hand through the boy's hair. "I checked up on her already. She's healing up already, buddy, and according to F.R.I.D.A.Y, she tells everyone she sees that Spider-Man saved her. She doesn't resent you at all, buddy. Karen explained everything. You really did the best you could, okay?"

He couldn't do anything but cry, the image of the woman's elbow burned into his eyes, and the sound of her wails ringing in his ears as he tried to take deep breaths, failing each time as his attempts choked off into gasps.

Suddenly, the man surged forward to bring his mouth close to Peter's ear, his other hand pushing on his chest to ground him. "Peter," he tried again, speaking a bit more firmly to try and wake the boy from his trance. "Peter, tesoro, calmati," he continued, rubbing at the base of his neck, "I'm right here. Breathe with me, okay? In… and out… focus on my voice. You're safe, she's safe. It's going to be okay."

The honeyed words and exaggerated breaths helped Peter calm himself, breathing deeply through his nose and mouth until he could feel the panic leave his body, eyes drooping at it's sudden absence. "I'm— Mr. Stark, I—"

"Shhh, tesoro, just breathe."

He wanted to argue, wanted to insist the man sit down and to wipe at his face and pretend none of this ever happened, but between the hand in his hair, the words in his ears, and the painkillers in his blood, Peter fell asleep.

*

"He was just really shaken up, to be honest."

"But he was fine?"

"Physically, he'll be fine by Monday. But he'll need to take it easy for at least until—"

A sharp twinge hit is side and Peter groaned, blinking and immediately squinting at the bright lights of the medbay.

"FRI, lower the lights."

The room dimmed, and Peter opened his eyes to see Mr. Stark on one side of his bed, and Aunt May on the other.

"Aunt May— where—"

"Shh, tesoro," Aunt May shushed him, and Peter wasn't sure why that name was feeling a bit warmer to him than usual. "Just relax, okay? Tony says you'll be all better soon, but that you need to take it easy until then."

Peter nodded, wiping a fist at his eyes. "Goin' back to Queens, now?"

The two adults glanced at each other, before she shook her head. "I'm going back, yeah, because I have work tomorrow. But Tony and I agreed that you should stay here, since you still need to get your stitches out, and you'll be on painkillers that I do not want in your hand unless you're being stared at by a doctor. Or F.R.I.D.A.Y. "

Still half asleep and hazy from all the drugs, Peter frowned, eyebrows furrowed. "Wha?"

Mr. Stark spoke up, then, an amused smile playing at his lips. "You're staying here, Rip Van Winkle."

Aunt May bent over to kiss his forehead, hugging him tightly and speaking in his ear. "Rest up, okay? No Spider-Manning while you have stitches, or for at least 48 hours after. Promise?"

"Promise," Peter whispered, smiling small as Aunt May pulled back to give him one last once-over before bidding Mr. Stark goodbye and leaving the room.

Peter immediately tried to push himself into a sitting position, though Mr. Stark rushed to stop him.

"Hey, stop, stop, you'll hurt yourself. Here, let me."

As Mr. Stark picked up the remote and pushed the bed to sit Peter up, memories of his previous panic attacks came filtering back into his mind, causing the boy to blush and avoid eye contact with the man. "Um… thanks, Mr. Stark."

The man hummed his response, putting the remote down and clapping his hands. "Okay! We can bring you up to your room now, if you're up to walking, and then I can get you something to eat. Sound good?"

Peter nodded, his blush not ceasing at the man's words as he turned quickly to swing his legs off the bed, trying (and failing) to hide a wince at the sudden movement.

"Woah!" Mr. Stark rushed forward to stop him, grabbing his arm. "Relax, buddy, we'll take this slow. There's no rush. Besides, I doubt you're in any rush to stand up right now."

The boy opened his mouth to protest, because he had no problem standing up, thank you very much, before he suddenly remembered the stitches in his side and he looked down to see himself dressed in a very thin, very open-backed hospital gown.

"Um… where are my clothes?"

"You were wearing the suit, and it's ripped right now."

Right.

"Could… um…" Peter racked his brain, trying to think of a solution that didn't involve Mr. Stark running up to grab him an outfit, or the entire tower seeing his bare ass.

Thankfully, Mr. Stark had already thought of a solution, turning to a chair and picking up a pair of sweatpants. "Here, put these on."

Peter smiled gratefully, holding his hands out for the pants at the same moment that Mr. Stark had begun to bend down, holding them out for Peter to stick his legs into.

The two froze, slowly making eye contact.

"Uh, you don't have to do that," Peter blushed, reaching his hands out further. "I can put them on."

Mr. Stark shook his head, pushing Peter's shoulder back until he was sitting straight again. "Stop, I don't want you to bend over with your stitches. It's okay, just put these on."

Face burning with not-quite-shame, Peter slipped his legs into the pants and allowed the man to shimmy them up his legs, grateful when he at least allowed him to stand up to finish pulling them over his hips himself.

His back was still bare, and he tried reaching behind himself to find the strings to the gown, to no avail.

"Here, I got it," Mr. Stark put a hand on his shoulder and turned him to face the bed, grabbing the strings and pulling them tighter before tying them behind his back.

Peter's cheeks were permanently red as he turned back around, heat radiating off his cheeks as he slipped his feet into some soft shoes that Mr. Stark had gotten for him at some point. If sobbing all over Mr. Stark wasn't embarrassing enough, now the man seemed to think of him as some child who couldn't even put his own pants on.

"Don't worry about all this stuff, okay, buddy?" Mr. Stark smiled at him, as if he didn't just read the boy's mind. He began walking forward, one hand on Peter's back to guide him forward. "I just want you to rest up, and the easier you take it, the faster you'll be back to friendly neighbourhood Spider-Manning. Besides, all you ever do is give me anxiety. Let me enjoy this. Okay?"

Something warm grew in Peter's chest, and he nodded despite himself. "Okay, Mr. Stark."

*

By the time the two had made it to Peter's bedroom, the boy was heavily leaning on the man out of exhaustion.

"Sorry, Mr. Stark," Peter apologized repeatedly, sighing in relief when the man pushed open the door to his bedroom. "I don't know why I'm so tired."

The man shook his head, helping Peter to walk over to his bed and guiding him to sit down. "Don't worry, Pete. Your healing factor is working overtime to fix you up as soon as possible, and I'm willing to bet that you're way below your calorie requirement for the day, all things considered. You're probably starving."

Peter was about to protest, but right on cue, his stomach growled, causing him to blush furiously— again.

Mr. Stark only laughed and stood up, ruffling the boy's hair. "There'll be something for you down in the kitchen, I just wanted to get you here first. Just relax, and call me if you need anything. Do you need help laying down?"

Reddened cheeks never calming down, Peter shook his head.

"Okay, then I'll be right back."

With that, Mr. Stark left the room, leaving Peter to his own embarrassment.

The first thing he did was slowly move to stand up again, walking slowly (only so that he didn't get snitched on by a certain A.I) toward his closet and pulling out the biggest, loosest t-shirt he could find so that it didn't rub against his bandages. He fumbled around with the string on his gown before managing to loosen it and pulling it off, checking his bandages out in the mirror before pulling his shirt on, sighing with relief to have real, trustworthy clothes on his back again.

He turned back to his bed, but noticed his backpack in the corner. Mr. Stark must have brought it back with them, and carried it up for him, too. Was Peter really that out of it?

The thought of the heavy bag didn't seem like a very F.R.I.D.A.Y's approval kind of idea, but his laptop was in there, so maybe he could just go and pull it out.

Peter walked over to his backpack, but quickly realized that bending over would cause him much more pain than he could probably bear at the moment— and he could practically feel his stitches pulling at the thought of it.

So instead, he reached straight down until his fingertips hit the top of his backpack, activating his spider-powers and lifting the entire bag with them, quietly wincing at the weight as he did so.

All he had to do then was walk over to his bed and sit down, but as the day had proven thus far, Parker Luck was not one to change course so easily.

"Okay, Pete," he suddenly heard Mr. Stark's voice as his door swung open, "Turns out Pepper's got pizza on the way, so I grabbed—"

Mr. Stark was standing there with a smoothie in one hand and a bag of chips in the other, while Peter still had his bag stuck to his fingers, a wince still plastered on his face.

"Peter, what—" Mr. Stark rushed over to toss the chips on the bed before grabbing the backpack from Peter's hand. "Oh my God, what do you have in here, rocks? Go sit down."

Peter tried grabbing for the bag, eyes downcast as he could feel his cheeks heating up in embarrassment and his eyes heating up in… something else.

"No, Mr. Stark, I can—"

"No you cannot," the man held the bag away from him, gesturing back toward the bed with his chin. "Go sit down, Peter."

Feeling chastised, Peter shuffled toward his bed and sat down on the edge. Mr. Stark came, too, putting his bag down so it leaned against the bed before grabbing his desk chair and bringing it over to sit down.

He held out the bright pink smoothie, complete with a twisty straw, and waited until Peter took it in hand before he reached over to grab the bag of chips.

"I can open those, Mr—"

"I got it," the man waved him off, pulling the package open and holding it out.

Peter eyed the man, trying to figure out what his deal was. Was this, like, funny to him? Was he going to hold this over his head for the rest of his life?

But the man's face was too honest, too kind, his smile too wide and his eyes too loving for this to be a joke.
Slowly, carefully, Peter reached out to grab the bag of chips, but Mr. Stark pulled it back, causing him to falter.

"Actually," the man frowned, which still didn't look like a prank though all this certainly felt like one, "Your hands will get dirty, and then you'll have to walk all the way over to the washroom. Here," the man used his other hand to pull out a potato chip, holding it out for Peter take— with his mouth.

"Um… You don't have to—"

"Do you need me to airplane you?"

Absolutely not, Peter thought, opening his mouth and gratefully take the chip into his mouth.

The two sat in silence as Peter sipped at his smoothie and continued eating chips out of Mr. Stark's hand, literally. When he finished eating, Mr. Stark took the glass from his hand, and his hand was left wet from the cold glass. The man stood up and told him to wait, walking toward his washroom and coming out with a paper towel, allowing the boy to dry his hand before he took it from him again and discarded it.

"Let's get you in bed," Mr. Stark said, then, pushing Peter slightly toward his bed and helping the boy to slowly lift his legs onto the bed, before shooting the boy a look and picking up his backpack.

"What did you need so badly from here anyway?" He asked, putting it down on the desk chair.

"Um, my laptop?"

"What did you need to do on your laptop?"

Peter shrugged. "I was gonna do some homework."

"Absolutely not. That's not resting. Wait here." Mr. Stark turned and left the room, discarding Peter's backpack back in the corner of his room, out of reach once again.

Peter sat there, twiddling his thumbs, until the man returned, a tablet in hand.

"Here," Mr. Stark handed it to him, along with it's charger. "Be a normal kid and play some video games, or watch something on Netflix. If you get bored of this, call me and we can play a board game or something. The pizza'll probably be here soon, and I'll bring some up for you. If you need to get out of bed for any other reason, you call me. Okay?"

Peter nodded slowly. "Uh, okay, thank you Mr. Stark."

The man nodded at him, picking up the glass and and empty chips bag before leaving the room.

Peter watched him, staring in the direction of the door long after the man had left the room. He wasn't sure what had gotten into Mr. Stark, but whatever it was, it kind of made him feel a little warm somewhere in his chest, and he turned to unlock the tablet— which, suspiciously, had his face ID already installed and welcomed him with a chirp. "Hello, Peter."

"Karen? Why are you on this thing?"

"Mr. Stark prepared this tablet for you weeks ago, but you have never expressed interest or need for one until now."

"...Huh." Peter didn't really know what to make of that, but with everything else that had happened that day, it really wasn't the weirdest thing Mr. Stark had done. "Do you think you can find, um, Episode IV for me?"

"Certainly."

The tablet's screen went black, a little loading icon twirling on the screen before the movie began.

As the music started with it's regular gusto, Peter tentatively spoke. "Uh, Karen, can I speak to you at the same time?"

The movie's volume slightly quieted, and Karen's voice came through "Yes, Peter, but it will interrupt your movie. Do you need something?"

"Uhh, no, I just, like, I was—"

"Is this in regards to the conversation we had eleven weeks and three days ago at approximately 4 p.m when you were sick with the flu and informed me that you did not enjoy watching movies on your own? Because I am glad to watch with you again and we can discuss it as you wish.?

Peter was blushing, but he shrugged. "I guess, but it doesn't really matter, since—"

"I am still on your phone, Peter."

"Oh, right," he grabbed his phone out of his pocket, turning on his specially-designed earbuds and putting one in his ear. "Uh, this is fine, right?"

"Of course. Would you like me to play the movie now?"

"Uhh, yeah, thanks."

The movie continued, then, and the rolling introduction began.

"I really love these," Peter muttered. "They're so nostalgic."

"I don't believe I have the ability to relate," Karen spoke into his ear. "But I acknowledge your feelings."

Peter snorted, and the two friends continued their occasional banter.

*

It was hardly fifteen minutes into the movie that there was another knock on the door, and Mr. Stark walked in after Peter's call, holding a pizza box in one hand, and a paper bag in the other.

"Enjoying your movie?" the man asked, walking over and plopping himself back down on his desk chair, arranging the food on the foot end of Peter's bed.

"How did you know I'm watching a movie?" Peter asked without bite, earbud still secure as he smiled at the smell of delicious, delicious pizza wafting through the air.

"I have eyes everywhere," Mr. Stark said ominously, causing Peter to raise an eyebrow. "Well, I do. But F.R.I.D.A.Y told me. When I asked her."

"Creepy."

"Yeah, she told me so already." The man then turned to the food, opening the box to reveal a whole pizza topped with mushrooms, olives and onions.

Peter smiled, looking up at the man. "That's my favourite!" And it was true, too, he always ordered mushrooms, olives and onions. Plus, Aunt May would always sprinkle some—

Mr. Stark shook his head, though. "No, it's not."

He furrowed his eyebrows, nodding his head slowly. "No, really, those are my favourite toppings! Plus, sometimes, I—"

The man grabbed at the paper bag he had brought, opening it up and taking out a seasoning shaker, with a bright green OREGANO label on the front.

Peter's eyes lit up, though the gears were turning in his head. "You— wait, how did you know?"

Mr. Stark smiled mischievously again, though he was shaking his head only a moment later. "I could make a joke about reading your mind, but you put it on every time we get pizza, kid. I'd be blind not to notice."

He blushed a little, smiling as he sat up a little further. Before Mr. Stark got any ideas like earlier, Peter quickly reached out to grab the box himself, pulling out a slice.

Thankfully, Mr. Stark only had an amused smile on his face, grabbing one of the paper plates he had balanced on the box and pushing it under the boy's chin. "At least use a plate, you heathen."

Peter laughed, allowing Mr. Stark to sprinkle some oregano on top before he took a bite. "Thanks, Mr. Stark," he spoke around a mouthful of pizza, grinning at the man's mock disgust.

Mr. Stark poured himself a slice, too, before grabbing the paper bag again. "Soda?"

"Yes, please. Do you have any—"

"Iced tea? Sure do," the man grinned, pulling a can of Nestea out and pumping his eyebrows. "Not bad, huh?"

The boy smiled back warmly, feeling that soft feeling again, though this time it was in his head. "Not bad, Mr. Stark. I guess you know me pretty well."

"Yeah," the man grinned, gesturing for Peter to play the movie. "I guess I do."

*

It wasn't until Peter had eaten five more oregano-covered slices and downed his soda that Mr. Stark pulled a water bottle out of the bag, along with a white container.

"Damn, you really got your money's worth on that bag, Mr. Stark," Peter joked, causing the man to shake his head.

"I mean, I was balancing it all on the box, before, but then Pepper put everything in a bag."

"Yeah, that makes more sense," Peter laughed, holding his hand out for the container.

Mr. Stark placed the water bottle in his hand instead, opening the pill bottle himself. "No, these are too strong. I'm just gonna put one in your hand, and watch you take it."

Peter frowned, twisting the bottle open and holding it. "I don't… I'm not gonna do anything with them."

"I know, but I'm gonna keep them. Here," Mr. Stark took out a single pill, placing it in Peter's now outstretched hand.

Peter stared at the tiny pill, looking back up at the man. "Okay, but I'm seriously not gonna do anything with them."

"I know. And I know you're super strong, and I know you know you're super strong. But these pills are hefty, and I would feel a lot better if I could hang on to them. Okay?"

The boy nodded slowly at Mr. Stark's serious expression. "Okay."

With that, he placed the pill on his tongue and took in a sip of water, swallowing it quickly before moving to close the bottle.

"Wait!"

He froze.

Mr. Stark gestured to the water bottle. "Drink some more."

Confused, Peter tilted his head. "Why?"

"Because that was a strong painkiller. You need to hydrate with it. Come on."

"You do? I thought that was like if you drink caffeine or something."

"No. It's for painkillers. Drink it."

Mr. Stark had that serious look on his face, and Peter took the cap off of the bottle again, tipping it back and taking a few long gulps of water, before putting the bottle back down and moving to close it.

"You just had a lot of pizza," Mr. Stark stopped him again. "At least have the water to match. That painkiller is the equivalent of like, a thousand ibuprofen. Just finish it."

"Mr. Stark, I really don't think—"

"Just drink the water, Pete, it won't hurt you."

And, well, Peter can't argue with that logic, so he lifts the bottle up again and downs it entirely.

Mr. Stark nods at him satisfactorily, standing up to clear all the trash away. Peter insists he can do it, moving to stand up, but Mr. Stark gives him another look and he freezes.

The man leaves the rest of the pizza with him, taking the armful of trash downstairs while Peter continues his movie.

Halfway through, a mere half-hour later, Mr. Stark pokes his head back in the door, another water bottle in hand.

"Hey, Pete." He walks up to him, and Peter eyes the bottle curiously. "Here, drink this."

Peter takes it hesitantly. "You know I like, just drank one of these, right?"

"You also have stitches, and thousands of milligrams of a very concentrated foreign compound in your very fast bloodstream. Drink it."

He opens the bottle slowly, bringing it up to his mouth. "Is it my bloodstream that's fast, or is it my—"

"Just drink the water, Peter."

Peter barely nods before downing the whole bottle, groaning at the way-too-full feeling. "Man, I thought we were trying to limit my bathroom uses."

"Do you want a bucket?"

He half-glared at the man, before slowly pushing himself to stand up.

Mr. Stark took the hint easily and moved to help him stand, brushing his bangs out of his face before he walked next to him to the washroom.

Peter was standing straight, though, and he stretched his arms and legs as he walked to prove this. "See? I'm perfectly fine now, Mr. Stark. Especially with that pill."

"Being fine with that pill is not being fine," Mr. Stark scolded him, pushing the washroom door open and ushering him inside. "An elephant could chop his trunk off and feel fine on that pill."

He couldn't help but snort as Mr. Stark closed the door, allowing him to do his business before he washed his hands (yes, on his own, like a big boy) and allowed Mr. Stark to usher his perfectly fine self back to bed.

When he got back, he noticed that the sheets had been straightened, and the blanket had been re-laid. For both their sakes, though, he didn't mention it.

Once Peter was resituated with his tablet in his lap, Mr. Stark placed another water bottle on his night stand. He put his hands up when the boy's eyebrows raised, before he could begin to protest.

"Just— just finish this by bedtime, okay? You still have a couple hours until you have to sleep. Drink it, and I won't wake you up every few hours to have some more."

At that, Peter grabbed the bottle and tipped it toward the man in cheers, causing the man to grin before he checked over Peter one last time and left the room.

"Man," Peter muttered to Karen, still listening through his earbud. "That guy needs a hobby."

Karen's voice responded softly, a hint of amusement in her tone, "Mr. Stark's current hobby appears to be taking care of you, Peter."

*

Two washroom trips and a stretch break later, and the super-soldier stitches had already begun to absorb. His side was still tender, of course, but he felt significantly less like… sliced bread.

The sun had dipped low in the sky less than an hour earlier, but his healing was taking so much strength that he could already feel his eyes slipping shut, causing Karen to pause his third movie of the day.

"You appear to be tired, Peter," she spoke quietly into his ear. "It would be advisable to head to bed."

"I am in bed, Karen," Peter mumbled, biting back a yawn.

"I believe that your poor attempt at humour is a sure sign of your exhaustion."

"You saying I'm usually funny?" he half smiled, lifting the tablet and placing it on his nightstand before slipping back into his blanket, limbs too exhausted to anything more.

"I'm saying that you are currently not."

"So mean," Peter hummed, letting himself fall somewhat limp. "I don't wanna put on my pajamas. I'm too tired."

There was a knock on his door, and Peter just hummed loudly, eyes already closed.

"Oh, sleepy already?"

It was Mr. Stark's voice, and Peter could hear him walking toward the bed as he hummed his confirmation.

"Sure you don't wanna change your clothes, bud?" the man spoke quieter, standing next to his bed now. "Might help you sleep better."

"Nu uh."

"Okay," the man chuckled, and Peter could feel his blanket being pulled at his legs. For a split second, he thought the man was yanking off the covers to get him to put on some pajamas, but the blanket was barely pulled from his body before it settled on top of him gently again.

Peter didn't have to open his eyes to realize that the gentle pushing around his sides and legs was the feeling of Mr. Stark was tucking him in, being extra gentle around his injury. It made the warm and fuzzy feeling come back, tingling in his limbs and making his stomach ache ever so slightly.

"I can help you change your clothes if you want, I really don't mind."

Peter nearly snorted, barely opening his eyes with an easy smile on his face. "Thanks, dad, but I think I'll be fine."

Instead of retorting back, like he expected, Mr. Stark's eyebrows rose slightly, before he smiled softly, brushing his fingers through his hair and rubbed a thumb on his cheekbone. "Of course, sweetheart. I'll come check on you later. If you need anything, just call me, okay?"

Half-frozen, Peter nodded slightly, allowing the man to pull the blanket up and over his shoulders before he whispered a gentle, "Goodnight, tesoro," and left the room.

But at this point, Peter was wide awake.

"Uh… Karen?"

"Yes?"

"That was weird, right?"

"I would not say that is an entirely inaccurate statement."

Peter hummed, and fell into silence, any chance of sleep having been pushed far, far out of his reach.

*

"Peter, I advise you once again to get Mr. Stark."

"No, Karen."

It had been hours, and Peter hadn't been able to get himself back to that state of near-sleep. Any time he felt anything similar to that pull, the feeling of Mr. Stark brushing against his cheek would float back into his mind, and he'd jerk awake.

He'd even slipped his other earbud in, and asked Karen to turn on his complete noise-suppressors. Usually, it helped him fall asleep in seconds. Today, though it did come as a comfort to him, it didn't stop his mind from working overtime to try and understand which one of them was misunderstanding the situation.

On Karen's instruction, he had gotten up, changed into pajamas, brushed his teeth, and washed his face. He had tried to ignore the instructions at first, because he had a feeling that it would just make it worse, but after staring at the ceiling for so long, he agreed to listen to the A.I.

(The reason was not because his blanket would be ruined, and that the comforting feeling of Mr. Stark tucking him in would be gone. That was absolutely not the reason, in any capacity).

(But it didn't help).

"My joke was obvious, right?"

"What joke?"

"My 'dad' joke."

"I don't think I can answer that accurately. My suggestion is to get Mr. Stark."

"No, Karen, I'm not bothering him about this. He was probably just joking back, and I was too tired to understand. Right?"

"I am not sure if that is true."

Peter groaned, pushing himself to sit up slowly, not for the first time that night. "I'm gonna grab some water."

"I would suggest—"

"I am not waking up Mr. Stark to get me water, Karen."

"...Very well, Peter," Karen conceded, and Peter sighed deeply in relief of the small victory.

As he walked toward the door, he opened his earbuds case, taking one out and putting it away, effectively canceling the noise-suppressing effect. His hand hadn't reached his doorknob, though, before he heard Mr. Stark's very-much-awake voice coming from the man's bedroom, and he froze.

"I just can't believe it, Pepper. I can't believe he— can you believe it? He called me dad. Can you believe it? I- I just can't—"

Peter's blood turned to ice, as did the air in his lungs. So, clearly, Mr. Stark hadn't liked his joke, and now he was complaining to Pepper, and—

He heard the gentle sound of a kiss, maybe, before hearing Pepper's voice.

"Of course, honey, I'm so happy for you. This is— I'm so happy for you both. I can't say I expected it so soon, since I know how the two of you are, but—"

"Do you think he was just— sick? And that's why he said it?"
Something heavy dropped into Peter's lungs at the note of panic in Mr. Stark's voice, and his breathing picked up slightly to match the man's. "Oh God, what if he didn't even realize he said it? Or maybe it was an accident? Or—"

"Tony, shh, Tony, listen to me. There is no way that that boy does not see you as his father figure. So whatever you're panicking about, you can calm down. He loves you, just like you love him. I've seen it a hundred times, on both his face, and yours."

Slowly, Peter began walking toward his bed, not putting in his earbud even though he knew that eavesdropping, especially on a conversation like this, was so, so wrong.

"I'm just gonna— I'm gonna go make sure he's okay. Okay? Just gonna go check."

At that, Peter rushed to his bed quickly, hearing Pepper's light chuckle and agreement as he laid back down, pulling the blanket around his waist.

"Do not snitch on me," he whispers to the two A.I that are listening, even though there is no chance that either of them have the permission to ignore and lie to their literal creator.

It was less than a minute later that Mr. Stark was outside his door, and Peter heard as the man spoke to his A.I.

"Hey FRI, can I go in?"

Peter held his breath, listening for her response.

"You can go in."

Thanks, F.R.I.D.A.Y, Peter thought, letting his eyes fall shut as he heard his door being pushed open.

He heard as the man's footsteps brought him next to Peter's bed once again, hearing as the man's heartbeat slows from the panicked pace in his room to the calm, almost soothing pace he could hear now.

It wasn't until the man spoke that Peter realized he should have hidden his wardrobe change.

"F.R.I.D.A.Y," the man whispered so quietly, that Peter wondered if he had on an earpiece of his own. "Did Peter have trouble sleeping?"

"It is not uncommon for Peter to have trouble sleeping," F.R.I.D.A.Y's perfectly vague response makes Peter suppress a smile. "Though Karen would like to note that Peter does not ask for appropriate help when these nights occur, which worsens his sleep debt by an estimated 60 percent."

Oh, come on, man.

The man sighed deeply, but not with the annoyance that Peter was expecting.

Instead, the man gently took the top of the blanket, pulling it up and under Peter's chin once again, and Peter tried not to allow the fuzzy feeling overtake him.

The man's careful hands continued to push around him like before, tucking the boy in once again before Peter could feel the man's face leaning in close to his, and Peter tried to keep his breaths as measured as possible.

A large hand came to brush through his curls, and Peter nearly opened his eyes when he felt the man's lips on his forehead, kissing him there gently.

"Buonanotte, e sogni d'oro, Peter," he whispered into his hair, and though Peter may not be fluent, he knew enough to have a very hard time stopping the blush from covering his cheeks. Thank God for the dark of night, or Peter would have way too much explaining to do.

After the man finished tucking Peter in and left the room once again, Peter had questions upon questions he wanted to ask Karen, ask F.R.I.D.A.Y, even ask Mr. Stark and Pepper and May and everyone.

But the room was just quiet enough, and his heart was just slow enough, and the blanket was just snug enough for Peter to leave his questions to the side and slip into a deep, safe, and warm sleep.

*

When Peter woke up the next morning, soft and safe and warm, he suddenly jerked into a seated position.

"Karen?"

"Yes, Peter?" her voice came from overhead, and Peter looked down in confusion, realizing the earbud had fallen out of his ear in his sleep.

Quickly, he moved to push it back in. "What was that, last night?"

"Can I assume you are talking about the situation between Mr. Stark and yourself?"

"What else, Karen?"

"If I may interrupt," F.R.I.D.A.Y's voice filtered in, then, making Peter glance at the ceiling. "Mr. Stark has been referring to you as his son for many weeks now, and his friends and family have indeed been referring to him as your 'dad'. Although this used to elicit an embarrassed reaction, the response is now usually akin to happiness, and joy.

"...What?" Peter asked, still staring up at the ceiling. "So he really does see himself as my… dad?"

"I believe that this does not come as a surprise to anybody, Peter." Karen spoke again. "If I may be so bold, I do not think this is a surprise to you, either."

Peter opened his mouth to protest, but he thought about it. Thought about all the head pats and the reassurances, the praises and the hugs, the fretting and the warm, warm feeling that had been growing in his chest for months, now.

And how… Mr. Stark seemed to feel this way, too, apparently.

Before he got another word out, his un-plugged ear picked up the sound of Mr. Stark walking toward his room, and he quickly took his earbud out of his ear, putting it back in its case.

He heard the man standing outside the door for a few moments, wondering why he wasn't entering.

"Ah… Can I come in, Pete?"
How did he know he was awake?

"Yeah, M- uh, come in."

The man opened the door, then, and Peter saw that he was holding a tray with both hands, and had opened the door with his elbow, by the way he was crouching a little awkwardly.

"Good morning, bud. I had F.R.I.D.A.Y tell me when you started waking up. Hope that isn't too creepy for you, again."

The man's voice was playful, but the way his eyebrows were slightly pinched, Peter could tell that this was a genuine worry of his.

"It wasn't creepy yesterday," Peter blurted out. "Or now. Neither were creepy."

Mr. Stark's face relaxed, and Peter did, too.

"Do you want breakfast?"

He nodded, pushing himself to sit up. "Y-yeah, I'll just go brush my teeth quickly."

The man moved to put the tray down on Peter's desk, before turning and helping the boy stand.

"I'm fine," Peter looked down awkwardly as the man ushered him toward the bathroom. "It's just, uhh, a little tender. The stitches are nearly dissolved, though. I'll be good as new in a few days."

"I know," Mr. Stark shrugged, opening the washroom door for Peter. "But it hasn't been a few days. It's now, the time that you said it's sore. Do you want another painkiller?"

Peter stretched a little bit, wincing ever so slightly. "Maybe not now, it doesn't hurt unless I move it. But if it gets worse, then, yeah."

The man nodded, before pulling the door closed and leaving Peter on his own.

He turned to the sink, splashing his face with water and looking at himself in the mirror.

What would Uncle Ben think?

He'd be mad, so mad, so disappointed that Peter was replacing him, oh God, Peter was replacing him, is dearest uncle, he—

No. What would he really think?

…He'd be happy, and Peter knew it. Uncle Ben would be happy, so happy for Peter, so glad he had a father figure that cared about him so much.

And he'd be so mad, so disappointed, if Peter threw it all away.

Peter brushed his teeth and washed his face again before venturing back out into his room, seeing Mr. Stark on his desk chair again. The man jumped up at the sound of the washroom door opening, but Peter rushed over quickly, sitting on his bed when Mr. Stark sat back down, too, the two of them facing each other as Peter's feet bounced on the floor.

"I, uh, I told your friend Ned that you got hurt," Mr. Stark said, and Peter felt a sudden pang in his chest. Between getting hurt and this whole 'dad' mess with Mr. Stark, he had completely forgotten about the convention!

"Don't worry," the man was quick to reassure him, "He's not upset at all. He was just worried about you, and I promised him that you would be better by next weekend."

Peter's shoulders slumped a little in relief, but the disappointment in himself was still heavy. The two had been waiting weeks for this day, and Peter had to go and get himself stabbed the day before.

"But anyway," the man continued, his phone in hand. "I needed your email address. What was it again? ironmanfan3000 or something?"

"No!" Peter laughed, shaking his head. "It's just peterbparker70."

"Oh yeah, cause you were born in 1970, right?"

"No," he groaned, half-smiling as he covered his face. "01 was already taken! And I didn't think that anyone in the world would realize other than Aunt May!"

"That what, Peter?" the man grinned, enjoying this just as much as he always did every time he asked for the boy's email address. "That the 70 in your email is for Iron Man? Little old Tony Stark?"

Peter shook his head, pinching his nose. "I need to change my email before this happens again."

"Absolutely not," the man wagged a finger at him. "You are never allowed to change it as long as you live, forever. My house, my rules."

"But what about—"

"No," the man shook his head, turning back to his phone to click something and causing Peter's to vibrate in his pocket. "Now, I sent you something."

Peter took his phone out, unlocking it quickly and clicking on the email before his eyes nearly fell out of his head.

"You— wait, are these," he scrolled down a little further, reading the email in it's entirety so that he didn't embarrass himself with another misunderstanding. "Are these— Galaxy's Edge tickets? Like, Disney World?"

The man was smiling widely, and Peter barely saw it before he was dropping his phone on his bed and rushing forward to wrap his arms around him.

"Of course, Petey," the man said gently, as Peter felt arms wrap around him, too. "We can pick the dates with your friend. But I thought it could be a boys' trip. To make up for your convention."

Peter nodded, feeling tears prick at his eyes. He thought about last night, what Pepper had said, and this morning, with Karen and F.R.I.D.A.Y. He thought about Mr. Stark's reactions, his hugs, his reassurances, and there was just no way that he could properly thank the man without… saying what really needed to be said. What both of them wanted to hear.

"Thanks, Dad," Peter spoke quietly, head still burrowed in the man's shoulder.

He felt the man's grip loosen slightly, and it nearly sent him over the edge in panic before it tightened again, so much harder, the man's hand cupping the back of his head and holding him so secure that Peter wasn't sure if he ever wanted to leave. Even for Disney World.

"Of course, tesoro," the man responded just as quietly. "Anything for my kid."

Peter smiled into the hug, and closed his eyes, more than content to bask in the warm embrace of his dad for as long as the universe would allow him to.