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Little Peter’s hands are shaking as he clutches the phone in his hand. He’s been sitting on his bed, trying to hype himself up to make the phone call for the last half hour. He knows what he needs to do. He knows what he needs to say. He just needs to tap the part of the phone screen that says Tony Stark, and wait for the call to connect.
His finger hovers over the screen, as his little heart thuds in his chest. His bedroom is too quiet. His heartbeat is too loud. He can’t breathe.
He hops off the bed, phone still clutched to his chest, and races over to the window. He turns the latches on the sides, pulling the window open. The breeze enters at the same time as the unique smell of Queens, New York. He’s lived in the two-story townhouse for all of his life (eight awesome years) and the city always smells the same. It’s a mix of car exhaust, garlic (from the pizza place close enough from his house to walk to) and maple, from the giant maple tree on the side of his house. The tree is in the perfect spot for holding on for balance whenever he climbs out of his second story window and sits on the roof.
That’s exactly what he decides to do now.
He crawls out of the window and tries not to skin his knees on the rough roof tiles. The cool autumn breeze makes him sway almost as much as the Reggaeton music blasting from a car parked across the street. Peter bounces to the beat as he lets the party music pump him up.
I can do this. I can do this. I can do this.
He repeats the words, believing in himself a little more each time.
He puts the phone down next to him and takes a deep breath. He hugs himself into a tight ball and rests his head on his knees, hearing his dad’s voice in his head.
“You’ve got this Petey. Never be afraid to try. Remember what I always say. If you reach for the moon and fall short, you’ll still be surrounded by a galaxy of glorious stars. There’s unexpected beauty in failure, but only mediocrity when you never try at all.”
Peter wipes his eyes with his sleeve and cries for a bit. His mom and dad haven’t returned home in two weeks and every call he makes goes directly to voicemail. He knows the trip they went on was dangerous – his mother gave him an extra tight, extra-long hug before she hopped in the black car that always comes to drive his parents to the airport.
His parents hate leaving him home alone, but Peter is mature for his age, and his block is filled with friendly neighbors that would come over instantly if he called, so occasionally Peter babysits the family home when his parents have to leave for Top-secret work. The thing that makes this trip different than the others is that on all the other trips they always call. Peter looks forward to the phone calls, and the video chats. Sometimes the video calls are at mealtimes when the time zones sync up, and the family eats together even while they’re continents apart.
But Mom and Dad haven’t called in two weeks. They haven’t answered the phone in two weeks. Peter’s been crying himself to sleep for two weeks.
He’s been taught in school to call the police whenever there’s an emergency, but Peter’s parents are super-secret scientists that do super-secret work for the CIA. No one is allowed to know what Peter’s mom and dad really do.
During career day at school, Peter’s dad told Petey’s third-grade class he worked at an office. Richard Parker came to career day with a box filled with Post-it notes shaped like unicorns, cars, hearts, and all kinds of other cool shapes. He also brought cool shaped paperclips and food shaped erasers. The awesome office supplies were a hit, and the class thought Peter’s dad had the coolest job in the world. Even Peter’s teacher was pleased because she got a new tape dispenser, a stapler, and a fist full of highlighters for her desk.
The year before, his mom told the class she was a cupcake baker and brought all the kids gourmet cupcakes that she baked herself. The day before presenting the homemade cupcakes to the class, Peter and his mom (who barely knows how to make cupcakes from a box without burning them) took a last-minute train to Manhattan and ran around the city searching for the most homemade looking cupcakes they could find.
Peter sniffs and wipes his eyes as he remembers his mom’s laugh as she complained that Petey’s little legs were slowing them down, and hoisted him on her back, piggyback style. Peter’s little hands held on tight around his mom’s neck as he giggled.
If Peter closes his eyes and imagines hard enough, he can remember the smell of Mom’s strawberry shampoo as his face was buried in her thick, brown curly hair, holding onto her for dear life, and loving every minute of it. Peter inherited his curly hair from his mom.
Peter entertains himself with his memories until the car with the music blasting drives away, and the vibe of the city starts to feel more sketchy and dangerous than magical.
Peter crawls back through the window, and latches it shut. He crawls back into bed and looks at his phone. He takes a deep inhale of bravery and presses the screen.
He switches the phone to speaker so he can cross his fingers. Crossing his fingers will bring him more luck, and he’s going to need all the luck in the world for Tony Stark to answer a call from a mystery number.
“This better be good,” a grumbly voice says on the other end, and Peter squeals. Tony Stark actually answered the phone!
“Mr. Stark!” Peter practically screams because OMG he’s talking to Tony Stark. Petey’s voice is louder than his heart drumming in his chest.
There’s a moment of silence before Tony Stark asks, “Am I talking to a kid? Who is this and how did you get my number?”
“Is this a secure line?” Peter asks, hugging his pillow to his chest, hoping to calm down the butterflies in his chest. The butterflies are fluttering at full speed. They must be dancing to the reggaeton music from before.
“This is my private number, kiddo. It doesn’t get more secure than that. Now, circling back to question numero uno, who are you and how did you get this number?”
“My name is Horatio Masterson,” Peter says, just like he rehearsed. “I’m not a kid. I’m a twenty-five-year-old man. I have a dog named Angela and a wife named Biscuit. No, wait, I mean a wife named Angela and a dog named Biscuit.”
Peter giggles at his mistake, but then remembers that adults don’t giggle and clears his throat. “I’m an intern that works with Mary and Richard Parker. I haven’t been able to contact them using the number I have. Mary Parker told me if I ever lost contact with her, I should call this number, because this is the phone number of the most brilliant man in the world.”
Tony snorts, and then follows it with a sigh.
“How old did you say you were again?”
“Twenty-five,” Peter says, without hesitation. If Mr. Stark wants to trip him up, he’s going to have to try harder. Peter has an amazing memory. He has pi memorized all the way to the ninety third decimal place.
3.1415926535897-
“…Hello? Kid? You still there?”
“I’m still here,” Peter says. “And I’m still not a kid, Mr. Stark.”
“Call me Tony, you know, like an adult would. And just so you know, FRIDAY has been tracing this call. It’s interesting that my talking robotic personal computer system AI interface, with state-of-the-art specs, all of which I designed myself, isn’t able to pinpoint an intern. Where did you get your degree?”
“MIT,” Peter says quickly, “A PhD in Mathematics.”
“A PhD at twenty-five. That’s quite impressive. Tell me Horatio, what’s your favorite food?”
“Captain Crunch,” Peter fires back, then winces and stammers, “and uh, vodka.”
“Vodka?”
“Yup. I love to eat Captain Crunch with a cold bottle of vodka, like the whole bottle, and then I have a beer and then other alcohols, because I’m-
“Twenty-five,” Tony interrupts with a hum, and Peter can hear the smirk in the man’s voice. “So you’ve been saying. What year were you born?”
“Uh, twenty five years ago?” Peter is counting back on his fingers, but he knows he’s taking too long, so he hugs his pillow tighter.
“Well, Horatio, this prank call, or whatever this is, has been fun, but I have things to do.”
“Wait!” Peter shrieks, “Please don’t hang up. I need your help. I lied before. My name is Peter. I’m not twenty-five, I’m eight, and I’m not an intern. Richard and Mary Parker are my mom and dad and they’re missing, and I’m really scared.”
He starts to cry, burying his face in his hands. Tony probably already hung up already, and he’s never going to answer again, and Peter messed everything up. Peter is sobbing so loudly he can barely hear when Tony starts talking again.
“Your mom and dad were right, Pete. I’m the most brilliant man in the world. Are you home alone?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Alright. I need you to give me your address and I’ll come right over so we can go over a plan to reach your Mommy and Daddy. I’m going to bring my friend, Rhodey, with me. When we ring the doorbell, I want you to make sure it’s me and Rhodey at the door. If anyone else comes to your house before us, call me immediately. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Tony.”
“It’s Mr. Stark, kid.”
“You said to call you Tony.”
“That was when you were twenty-five!”
Peter giggles, “Okay, Tony. I live at 20 Ingram Street, Forest Hills Queens, New York.”
“I need to finish up this thing with the Avengers that I’m in the middle of, and then I’ll stop by with Rhodey. We should be there in about two hours. Can you hang tight, kiddo?”
“Yup.”
_____
Peter tried to hang tight, he really did, but he was also really, really hungry, so even though Tony said not to open the door to anyone but him and his friend Rhodey, Peter ordered Chinese food from his phone app. Technically that wasn’t breaking the rules, because Peter knows the Chinese deliveryman, Mr. Chen really really well. It’s not stranger danger if the person isn’t a stranger, right?
Mr. Chen comes over often enough that he’s practically Peter’s friend. Mr. Chen always tells Peter how much he reminds him of his own son when the boy was Peter’s age, and how he misses his son so much now that he’s grown, and a Freshman at NYU.
Peter perks up when the doorbell rings and scoots off the couch.
He races over to the front door and looks at the door camera to make sure Mr. Chen is really Mr. Chen. After confirming that the man is either his delivery friend, or a really realistic clone, Peter works his way through a series of deadbolts, to unlock the door. He can smell the delicious food through the door. He ordered a lot of food. Enough for him, Tony, and Tony’s friend.
“Just a sec,” he calls through the door, standing on his tiptoes to reach the top lock. He pulls the chain releasing the lock and Mr. Chen is smiling on the other side of the screen door.
Peter greets the man with a wave and bounces on his toes as he proclaims, “Ni hao!”
Mr. Chen’s face lights up and he chuckles, “Well, hello to you too, little Petey.”
“I’m eight. I’m not little,” Peter says, unlocking the screen door.
“I disagree. You are still xiao nanhai. Xiao nanhai means little boy. That is your Chinese word for the day.”
Peter repeats the words slowly and Mr. Chen pats him on the head. “Perfect! At this rate you’re going to be fluent the next time I bring you and your family food. I brought you extra fortune cookies.”
Peter bounces on his toes faster. His corkboard is filled with strips of paper with various fortunes, but the strips of paper are all flipped to the back. On the back of each fortune is a Mandarin Chinese vocabulary word. Peter has a collection of fifty-eight different words on his wall and he’s memorized them all. He has a few doubles, so he’s hoping that the handful of fortune cookies that Mr. Chen tossed into the takeout bag doesn’t have too many duplicates that he already has.
Mr. Chen walks inside and puts the food on the side table by the door. Peter happily hands the man a five-dollar bill. The restaurant app that he used already included the price of the meal and a tip, but Peter always tips Mr. Chen extra because he’s his friend.
“You’re so sweet little Petey. Enjoy your meal and keep practicing hard,” Mr. Chen says as he accepts the bonus tip.
“I will, sir. Thank you. Xie xie!”
Peter’s delivery friend hops back onto his bike and drives off.
Peter sets the kitchen table for three people. His stomach is growling, but thankfully right when he finishes setting out the bags of plastic forks, knives, spoons, and wooden chopsticks at everyone’s place setting, the doorbell rings.
He races back over to the door and recognizes Tony Stark in the camera. Tony’s friend looks friendly too, so Peter unlocks the series of deadbolt chains again and pulls the door open.
Rhodey whistles, “You weren’t lying Tone. This is a whole ass kid.”
“Hi, Tony and Tony’s friend,” Peter waves. “Come in. I got us Chinese food.”
_____
Tony looks down at the tiny human with brown curly hair and big brown eyes. This isn’t at all what he pictured the little menace on the phone to look like. Physically, the kid looks like a shrunken down version of Richard Parker.
Before Tony set out on his trip to Queens, he had FRIDAY look up Richard and Mary Parker’s files. They aren’t quite CIA agents like they told their son. The Parkers work for SHIELD, and because of that, Tony found pictures of Peter’s parents (no pictures of the kid), and a whole lot of redacted, firewall protected files. FRIDAY gave him the bad news that it’s going to take her another forty-eight hours at the least to get through all the firewalls. The only thing that could give Tony quicker answers is talking to Nick Fury, which isn’t really an option. Commander Fury has been ignoring Tony since The Incident. All Tony will say about The Incident is that maybe losing an eyebrow isn’t something that Nick Fury should be furiously mad about. The hair on his head won’t grow back, but his eyebrow will grow back in no time.
The little potato in the doorway jolts Tony out of his thoughts by grabbing Tony’s hand and leading him down the hallway.
Rhodey whispers, “Are you sure you weren’t hangin’ around Queens eight years ago?”
“I knew I should have brought Cap with me instead of you. Captain America is good with kids.”
“What?” Rhodey sputters. “I’m great with kids. Watch this.” He turns to Peter. “Hey Peter. Did you know that I’m a superhero called War Machine?”
“No. I didn’t know that,” Peter says squeezing Tony’s hand in either fear or excitement. The grin that spreads on his face leads Tony to think it’s excitement.
“I have a secret too Mr. War Machine, but you can’t tell anyone.”
“Sure, What’cha got?”
“I’m Spiderman,” he says, and then points at the table. “I set a place for everyone. Dad uses chopsticks, but I think it takes too slow, so I use a fork. I gave you a set of both.”
Peter hops into a chair, as if the kid hadn’t just said, ‘Hey y’all, I’m Spiderman’, and bows his head. “Thank you for this meal. Amen.”
He shovels a huge clump of rice into his mouth and Tony holds up his hands.
“Whoa, kid. I’m sorry, but did you just say you’re Spiderman? Because from where I’m standing you do not look like a man, and you do not look like a spider.”
Peter points at an empty chair. “Eat, before it gets cold. You too Mr. War Machine.”
Tony sits down, not taking his eyes off Peter. Spiderman is a bit of a Queens urban legend. A few people reported seeing a kid in a red and blue spandex onesie fighting crime, while swinging from spider webbing. The only proof are a few blurry pictures, which are Bigfoot quality evidence. Most of the internet thinks the whole Spiderman thing is a publicity stunt, and when a clear picture is finally taken, “Spiderman” will be holding a sign that says, “Eat at Bob’s Steakhouse. The sticky wings are my favorite.”
Tony picks up a sealed fortune cookie and hurls it at Peter. The kid’s head jerks up, and the fortune cookie is headed straight at him. Before Tony can see if Peter has enhanced reflexes, Rhodey reaches out a hand and intercepts the flying fortune.
“What the hell, Tony?!”
Peter uses a piece of broccoli to point at Tony.
“That wasn’t nice,” Peter pouts, “If you wanted to see my spider powers, you should have asked nicely.”
“Can I see your spider powers, kid?”
“I don’t know,” Peter says pouting out his lip even further. “You threw food at me.” He scoots his chair closer to Rhodey. “Mr. War Machine doesn’t throw his food at me.”
Tony shrugs, “It was for science. I’m a scientist.”
Peter thankfully has the attention span of a typical kid, and he’s easily distracted.
“I wanna be a scientist too,” he proclaims, bouncing in his seat. “Math is my favorite subject, but I like science too. Science is my second favorite. I don’t like English class. My teacher, Mrs. Keller, makes us read in front of the class, and sometimes I read too fast, and I trip over the words, and the kids laugh at me.”
Tony spears a shrimp on his fork.
“Kids are jerks,” he sighs. “Do you use your spider skills on them when you get angry?”
“Nope,” Peter says, shaking his head so hard that his curls bounce. “I’m a friendly neighborhood Spiderman. Can we talk about something else, please? Mom and Dad said I’m not allowed to talk about it and whenever I do something that Mom and Dad say I shouldn’t do, my tummy starts to hurt. It’s starting to hurt right now.”
“Okay,” Tonys says. “No more Spiderman talk. What’s your favorite animal?”
Peter’s face lights up and he starts chattering away about the mantis shrimp. Tony is half listening and half planning how he’s going to find out more about Spiderkid. The kid’s parents knew about his abilities and are hiding it from SHIELD, as they should, but that means the parents must have files hidden away somewhere in the house. The best way to snoop around and find the files is to crash at Peter’s house for the night.
“… could break bone when the mantis shrimp punches you. Did you know that seeing shrimp colors might not be true? Humans can see three colors and our brains do the math to make everything make sense. Mantis shrimp have twelve color receptors and that’s why the scientists thought they could see, like a bunch more colors, but –”
“Hey Petey,” Tony interrupts. “Do you mind if me and Rhodey stay here overnight? In the morning, we can talk more about finding out where your Mom and Dad are.”
Peter puts one of his discarded carrots on Rhodey’s plate and nods.
“You can stay, but the guest room has one bed, so if you both want your own bed, someone has to stay in Mom and Dad’s room.”
Tony just got lucky enough to have full access to the master bedroom to snoop around to his heart’s content. This is going to be a piece of cake.
______
Everyone in the house is asleep, except for Tony, who’s been searching every nook and cranny in the Parkers’ master bedroom for the last two hours, but he can’t find even a single hidden scrap of paper. He’s at the point where he’s dragging his hand along the wall, seeing if he can feel the breeze of a hidden door that leads to a hidden room, but all the walls are solid. He groans in frustration and slides down to the floor.
He bangs his fist on the carpeted floor. Maybe there’s a trap door in the floor. Pulling the rug up without permanently damaging it is going to be challenging, but Tony Stark is always up for a challenge. He’s going to need a crowbar.
He walks down the hall, in search of tools, but a soft whimper and the sound of gagging catches his attention. The whimper is coming from the other side of the hallway bathroom.
Tony knocks gently on the door. He’s pretty sure Peter is in there and he doesn’t want to startle him. “Pete,” he asks, “Are you alright?”
“No,” Peter squeaks. “I-I don’t feel good. Can you come in?”
Tony slowly opens the door, because he’s had enough drunken nights to know that fast movements and nausea don’t play well together. When Tony spots Peter, the little guy is sitting on three pillows to give him the height to sit next to the toilet, and not miss if he can’t stand.
Tony sits down next to Peter and puts a hand on the kid’s forehead. He doesn’t feel hot, which is a good sign.
“So, Horatio, when did this start?” he asks, while rubbing Peter’s back.
“I’ve been throwing up forever,” Peter whines, his breath hitching and his eyes squeezing shut.
“Nope. Try again, kiddo. Forever isn’t a quantifiable number.”
Peter opens his eyes, his chest still stuttering, but his eyebrows scrunch together in concentration now that Tony has given him something to think about. Something to focus on besides the fear that little kids have when they can’t stop throwing up.
“Um, what time did I go to bed?” Peter asks.
“Well, if you went straight to bed and didn’t play games on your phone after I turned the light out, then around ten o’clock. It’s twelve thirty right now. You wanna do that math for me?”
“Two and a half hours,” Peter says wincing and rubs his stomach. “The fried rice was really good, and I couldn’t stop eating it. I think I ate too much and gave myself a tummy ache.”
“Too much of a good thing?” Tony asks with an eyebrow raise.
“Way too much of a super awesome thing,” Peter says, wistfully. “The orange chicken was good too. It was hard to decide between the orange chicken and beef and broccoli, so I got both and I ate both of them. Dad says that after I got bit by the spider, I get hungrier and I have to eat more.”
His body suddenly tenses, and his eyes go wide. He lurches forward, leaning over the toilet and starts retching into the bowl. Tony has a feeling that comfort is universal, so he uses the techniques that he remembers Rhodey used on him every time he found Tony face down in the toilet - except for the part where Rhodey calls him an idiot for drinking too much and threatens to ‘Never bail your Iron ass out ever again.’ (Rhodey always bailed him out the next time)
Peter’s shaking when the round of vomiting ends, and curls into Tony, clinging onto the man’s shirt with his fists. He sniffles, “I like calling you Tony because it reminds me of the tiger that makes the cereal.”
“I don’t think he makes the cereal, bud. I think he just tells people to buy it.”
“Then who makes it?” Peter asks, yawning.
“Maybe those Keebler Elves that live in that giant tree and make those horribly addictive cookies.”
“I never had a Keebler cookie.”
“I’ll buy you some, but maybe let’s hold off on eating cookies until you stop tossing your cookies, Petey. I know you feel yucky right now, but I think this might be our small non-vomiting window to move you into bed. I’ll put trusty Mr. Trashcan next to the bed and he’ll be right there if you’re feeling pukey again.”
“Okay,” Peter says rubbing his nose.
Rhodey was always the one to slide a wastepaper basket or a bucket Tony’s way to throw up in, but he never called the thing Mr. Trashcan. That being said, Tony found giant googly eyes at a craft store a week ago and stuck them on the small trashcan he has in his home office. He has yet to puke in the trashcan with eyes.
Tony picks up Peter and the kid rests his head on Tony’s shoulder. They make it halfway to the master bedroom before Peter pushes himself away from Tony’s shoulder. The poor kid throws up and tries to catch it with his hands so that he doesn’t throw up on Tony’s shirt.
Peter starts to cry again and mumble, not making much sense.
Tony puts a hand on the back of Peter’s head and gently guides his head to lay back down on Tony’s shoulder. Peter sniffles all the way to the bedroom.
Tony hands Peter a hand wipe and the two work together to clean off the damage. After cleanup, Tony brings Peter a pair of clean PJs (because fresh clean pajamas always make everything feel better), and while the kid is changing clothes, Tony heads into the bedroom’s attached bathroom to clean himself off as well.
His shirt took the direct hit of aoe vomit damage, so he takes it off. His undershirt is soaked as well, so he takes that off too. He wipes his chest down with wipes. He really wants to take a shower, but he doesn’t want to leave sick Peter unattended for too long.
He reemerges into the bedroom and borrows one of Richard Parker’s t-shirts. He chooses a black shirt that says Empire State University on it. It’s a good fit. Richard must be around the same size as Tony.
Peter’s eyes look far away as the boy curls up in bed. Tony ruffles Peter’s hair, which produces a content sigh from the sleeping boy. Tony drags himself to the other side of the room and collapses into the comfy chair.
A soft snicker comes from the doorway.
“Should I start calling you Irondad?”
Tony flips Rhodey off, as the man walks into the room and sits on the carpet leaning his head against the chair. “Two on, two off, Stark. You watch him for the first two hours, and I’ll take the second shift. Copy?”
_______
After a rough night, Peter feels bad that his new friends stayed up almost all-night taking care of him.
Peter yawns, stretches, and walks over to the comfy chair on the other side of the room. Tony is fast asleep, slumped over in the chair, and Mr. War Machine is sitting on the floor, using the side of the chair as a pillow. The only sound in the room is snoring, but it’s so loud that Peter can’t tell if it’s Tony or Mr. War Machine.
He smiles at his new friends and gently picks Mr. War Machine off the floor – being extra careful not to jostle him awake – and carries him into the guest room. The further down the hall Peter walks, the farther the snoring sounds get, so that means Tony’s the loud snorer. It’s okay though. Peter snores too.
Peter gently places Mr. War Machine on the bed and tucks him in. He gives the man a kiss on the top of his head (just like Mom does!) and whispers, “Sweet dreams.”
Peter goes back to the master bedroom and lifts Tony out of the chair. Tony isn’t as cooperative as Mr. War Machine was, and he starts to stir when lifted, but Peter shakes him a bit and whispers, “Shhh, Tony the Tiger. Go back to sleep.”
Tony does as told, and Peter gently plops the man on the bed and does as best as he can to tuck him in. The king size bed is much larger than the twin bed in the guest room, so Peter can’t tuck in the covers as efficiently.
When Peter’s satisfied with his sheet tucking job, he leans over and kisses Tony on the top of the head and orders, “Now stay asleep until I finish making breakfast for you and Mr. War Machine.”
Peter makes a quick trip to his bedroom, to grab his Spiderman mask, before he heads into the kitchen. He has a super cool plan to make eggs for his new friends and then tell them all about his Spiderman powers. If he wears the mask, then it’s not Peter talking about his powers, it’s Spiderman, and Mom and Dad never said anything about Spiderman not being able to tell his secrets.
It’s a super-duper awesome plan. It’s so awesome that Peter is thinking too hard about it and isn’t paying attention when an egg slips out of the side of the carton. Peter’s enhanced reflexes kick in and he uses his super sticky hand to grab the falling egg, but two eggs fall out of the other side and even his speedy reflexes can’t save the two little eggies from cracking on the floor. He pouts his lip out, but he’s on a mission, so he’ll clean that up later.
He places the carton of eggs on the stovetop and drags the step stool up to the stove. Dad is the one that cooks, and sometimes he lets Peter help, so Peter has his own step stool so he can see over the stove. He also has his own tiny apron that says, ‘Spaghetti Chemist’. Peter is really good at making spaghetti. When Dad lets him stir the noodles, Petey makes sure none of the noodles stick to the bottom of the pot.
Peter wipes away a tear because he misses Dad. He really hopes Tony can find Mom and Dad.
Peter is scrambling the eggs in the pan when his body suddenly feels tingly. He turns around and Tony is walking through the doorway.
“Hi, Tony,” Peter says, waving the spatula. “Did you have sweet dreams?”
Tony stretches his arms over his head and yawns as he walks over to Peter.
“Yeah, but I was supposed to be awake watching you, Little Spaghetti Chemist. Mind if I take over egg duty, Munchkin?”
Peter giggles as Tony lifts him off the step stool and deposits him on the counter. Tony takes over the frying pan, just like Dad used to do.
Peter kicks his legs, knocking his heels against the counter.
“I can’t be a Spaghetti chemist and a munchkin.”
“Sure can.” Tony says, turning up the temperature dial on the stove. “You’re a sentient munchkin that broke free from the donut shop. You knew that you needed money to support yourself, so you got a job as a spaghetti chef. You want toast, buddy?”
Peter nods, handing Tony a slice of bread, while chewing on another slice and hums.
“I like having the spaghetti chef job. At first I tried to get a job at the bank, but they said no. The spaghetti job makes a lot of money, but it’s not my dream job. I want to be an Avenger and then I can go back to the donut shop and tell all the other donuts and munchkins that if you dream big, you can be anything you want to be.”
Tony laughs, “That’s quite the adventure for a little munchkin.”
“I like adventures. Especially ones with fire breathing dragons. I don’t fight dragons when I’m – oh, I almost forgot!”
He hops off the counter and grabs the Spiderman mask. When the mask is securely over his face he clears his throat.
“Hi. I’m Spiderman now, so I can answer your questions about my powers. I can tell you now, or do you wanna wait until Mr. War Machine is awake.”
“You can call the Sleepyhead in the other room Rhodey, and we don’t have to wait for him. We can eat these eggs and toast before they get cold and then make Rhodey his own when he wakes up. I know him better than anyone. He’ll be asleep for hours if we don’t wake him up.”
Tony dishes up the food as Peter carefully picks up the cracked eggs and walks them to the trashcan. Peter drags his stepstool to the sink to wash his hands and joins Tony at the table.
Tony starts off.
“You have spider powers. How’d you get them? Where you born that way?”
“Nope,” Peter says, poking at a section of his scrambled eggs. “I went on a class trip last year to a science building and I got bit by a radioactive spider. I got really sick, but when I got better, I had sticky hands and feet, and can walk on the ceiling. I’m really strong too. I carried you and Mr. War- um, I mean Rhodey back to your rooms. I heal really really fast too after I get hurt, and I can sense danger with my Peter tingle. It’s a tingly feeling I get all over my whole entire body when something dangerous is gonna happen, or if someone is trying to sneak up on me. Um, I can hang off spiderwebs that I shoot out of my web launchers, like lasers, and I think that’s all.”
Peter finally has a chance to take a breath and shovel eggs in his mouth, so he does.
Tony scrunches his eyebrows together and gives Peter the look that adults get when they want to ask more questions, but Tony’s eyebrows pull apart and he sighs.
“Thank you for trusting me with your secret.”
“Well duh. Who doesn’t trust Ironman? Plus, you helped me make eggs, which means we’re friends, and you helped me out last night when I was sick, which means we’re best friends. Best friends can trust each other, right?”
“Can’t argue with that logic,” Tony says, crunching on a piece of toast.
Peter beams. “And now that we’re best friends, we can go on an adventure and find Mom and Dad?”
“That also seems logical,” Tony says, reaching for his coffee. “If your Peter tingle thing can sense danger for other people than yourself, I might be able to map out a way to track your folks that way. I’d say we could go to Avengers Tower and start working, but don’t you have school in like an hour?”
“Nope. A man came to my school and said he wanted to make a movie inside, so I go on the computer and do homework on there until next month. Dad told me the school’s gonna get a lot of money and maybe we can get two pet hamsters for our school pet, because Ham needs a friend. I voted to name the hamster Einstein, but Ham won. Do you have any pets, Tony?”
“I’ve got a hulk. He bites if you make him angry. More importantly, if you don’t have school, we can head to Avengers Tower and get started.”
“Yay,” Peter cheers. He can’t wait to get started on the adventure.
He knows all about adventures. On the weekends Dad’s friends come over the house and they play games with really cool dice that are in all different sizes and colors. When Dad and his friends go on their adventures, they have small figurines that they use to play with and they move the figurines through cool castles and dungeons and subway stations and abandoned science labs, just like when Peter plays with his toys. Peter isn’t allowed to join in when Dad and his friends have their adventure game nights, but Peter sometimes helps Dad build some of the tiny rooms.
Peter can’t eat his breakfast fast enough. He’s going to make sure to bring Dad’s dice and the other cool things he has in his adventure backpack. He’s positive the supplies will be helpful. He’s heard Dad say that they’re necessary when fighting Dragons in Dungeons, or something like that.
Peter, Tony, and Rhodey will save the day, and Peter will be hugging Mom and Dad in no time.
(Plus, if he gets lucky, he might get to meet Captain America!)
Best quest ever!