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The first time Mr. Stark did it, Peter didn’t think much of it.
It was late at night in the lab, and they’d been working for several hours since dinner.
“You know the ink comes out of the other end of the pen, right?” Mr. Stark asked.
Peter had been writing a formula for their current project, but when he looked down at the page, all he saw were faint indentation marks where he’d been pressing with the wrong side of the pen.
“Oh, right. It’s, uh, a new brainstorming technique I’m trying.”
Mr. Stark snorted. “Alright. Bedtime for spiderlings, methinks.”
Come to think of it, Peter was pretty tired. The clock on the wall indicated that it was almost 1 A.M., and he was grateful that May had agreed to him staying over at the Tower.
“G’night, Mr. Stark,” he mumbled, yawning and stretching.
“Night, kiddo,” Mr. Stark said, reaching over and giving Peter’s shoulder three quick squeezes.
He seemed startled by his own actions, glancing between Peter and his own hand as though he’d been shocked.
It was an odd moment, but it barely registered in Peter’s sleep-deprived mind.
Until it became a pattern.
***
“I’m sorry, Peter,” Dr. Cho said. “You’re burning through the painkillers too fast. But we need to close the wound before you lose more blood.”
Peter gritted his teeth as another wave of pain swept over him. He’d been stabbed on patrol, and the knife had gone in dangerously close to his femoral artery.
“Just keep going,” he gasped out. “I’ll be okay.”
He gripped the bedframe of the hospital cot as she did the next stitch, and he felt bad when he noticed that his fingers were forming dents in the metal.
Mr. Stark was sitting next to the bed, his expression tense. He reached over and settled his right hand on top of Peter’s. They both knew that if Peter gripped his hand, he’d shatter all the bones in it. But his warm, calloused palm rested on top of Peter’s as the stitches continued, and it helped.
On a particularly painful stitch, Mr. Stark gave his hand three deliberate squeezes.
***
Peter coughed, spitting out dust as he sat up. His suit had been damaged when the building collapsed, and all he could see was darkness. It reminded him of the Vulture, and he desperately hoped he wasn’t going to have to lift another building off of himself.
“Peter?” A familiar voice called from nearby.
“Mr. Stark?”
“Oh, thank god. You okay, kid?”
Peter did a quick inventory. He felt bruised and sore, but nothing stood out. He relayed this to Mr. Stark, whose voice had grown slightly closer.
“My suit is damaged too, but the comms still work. I called Rhodey, and he said he’s working on clearing a safe path to extract us. We gotta sit tight for a little bit, kiddo.”
“Okay,” Peter agreed, willing his voice not to shake. He’d been helping Mr. Stark stop a bank robbery, but the robbers had used some alien weapons to blow the building up on their way out. Fortunately, they’d evacuated all the civilians first, so it was just the two of them trapped inside.
“Come over by this slab,” Mr. Stark instructed. Then Mr. Stark’s fist punched through the rock, forming a small hole that he could just barely fit the Iron Man gauntlet through.
Peter grabbed onto the gauntlet like a lifeline, and he felt himself relax as Mr. Stark gave his hand three squeezes. He gave three squeezes back.
***
He met Pepper on his way up to the lab after school, which was unusual. It was 3:30 p.m., and she was usually in meetings until at least 5.
“Hi, Peter,” she said. “Mind if I catch a ride with you?”
“It’s your elevator, Ms. Potts,” Peter pointed out, smiling as he held the door for her.
Pepper smiled in response, but she quickly sobered. “Listen, I wanted to let you know that today is the anniversary of Tony’s parents dying. It’s…it’s a hard day for him, especially ever since his falling out with the other Avengers.”
“Oh,” Peter said. He knew all about hard days like that. “Should I skip lab day today?”
“No,” Pepper said firmly. “I just wanted to give you a head’s up. If Tony seems off, that’s why — it has nothing to do with you.”
Peter appreciated the warning. He was cautious when he entered the lab, noticing that it was silent — no rock music blaring, which was highly unusual.
“Hi, Mr. Stark,” he said softly, approaching his lab bench.
“Hey, kid,” Mr. Stark said, looking as though he hadn’t slept for days.
Peter tentatively set down his backpack. When it became clear that Mr. Stark didn’t want to converse further, he began working on webshooter upgrades.
The two of them were quiet for the next few hours, but Peter hoped it was a peaceful kind of silence and not a depressing one. Mr. Stark seemed a bit happier by the time Peter had to leave. It was May’s day off, and he’d promised to have dinner with her.
“Bye, Mr. Stark,” he said, shouldering his backpack and wishing there was more he could do.
“Bye, Pete. Thanks…thanks for being here today.”
Before he could think better of it, Peter darted forward and squeezed Mr. Stark’s shoulder three times before leaving.
***
In the hospital, after the battle with Thanos, Peter squeezed Tony’s hand — his one remaining hand — 81 times.
Three squeezes a day for 27 days while Tony was in a coma.
On the 28th day, Tony finally squeezed his hand back.
***
Morgan hit a rock while scootering down the driveway and went tumbling to the concrete before he could intervene.
Peter winced as he saw her eyes fill with tears and her lower lip tremble. He hurried over, kneeling in front of her.
“You okay, Mo?” He asked.
Morgan sniffled, trying to be brave. “Hurt my knee,” she pouted, showing him a small red mark forming on one knee.
Peter relaxed, relieved that there was no blood. “Do you think a juice pop would help?”
Morgan instantly brightened. “Yeah! But first you have to say ‘I love you’ to make it all better!”
Peter frowned quizzically. That sounded very specific — likely some kind of ritual she had with Pepper and Tony for times when she got hurt.
“Okay, uh, do I just say ‘I love you,’ or…”
“No, silly! Didn’t Daddy ever teach you?” She grabbed his hand, and to his surprise, she squeezed it three times.
“That…that means ‘I love you?’” Peter asked.
Morgan nodded. “Daddy made it up with his mommy when he was a little boy. They would give each other three squeezes as a secret way to say ‘I love you.’"
“Oh,” Peter said faintly, mentally replaying all the times that he and Tony had done that exact thing.
***
Tony was still recovering from wielding the gauntlet, and that evening, he stopped by Peter’s room on his way to bed.
It was crazy to think that he lived in a world where Tony Stark was going to bed at 8 p.m., but Peter supposed stranger things had happened recently.
“Hey, kiddo,” Tony said, taking a seat on the edge of Peter’s bed. “What’s on your agenda for the rest of the evening?”
“Video call with Ned and MJ in a few minutes.”
“Well, I’ll leave you crazy kids to it,” Tony said. He reached over and squeezed Peter’s hand three times, as had become their nightly ritual lately.
“I love you,” Peter said, squeezing Tony’s hand three times in response. It was the first time he’d ever said it out loud.
Tony’s eyes widened. “Morgan told you what that means, huh?”
“She sure did,” Peter replied.
Tony sighed. “I meant to bring it up one of these days, but…I seem to be falling behind on a lot of little things like that right now.”
Peter bit his lip. “Did you mean it…all those times you did it before the blip?”
Tony held his gaze. He was still holding Peter’s hand, and he rubbed soothing circles with his thumb. “I did. I was too much of a coward to say it back then, so I took the easy way out. But I always meant it, Pete.”
Peter nodded, relaxing back into his nest of pillows. “Good night, Tony.”
“Night, bud. I love you.”
“Love you too.”
Peter found himself smiling for a few minutes after Tony left the room.
He supposed he’d known, on some level, what the gesture meant all along. But it was nice to hear it out loud too.