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The moment Peter woke up and saw the date, he knew it was going to be a bad day. September 18th. The anniversary of Uncle Ben’s death.
He lay on his back, staring emptily at the ceiling as the weight of the day settled over him. For a few long minutes, he stayed still, willing himself to move and start the day even though every part of him wanted to avoid it altogether.
Eventually, with a reluctant sigh, Peter swung his legs over the side of the bed, his bare feet meeting the cold floor. From the kitchen, he could hear the faint sound of May moving about making breakfast. Slowly, he got up, grabbed some clothes and trudged out of his room.
He padded into the kitchen and glanced out the window noticing the soft drizzle of rain. May stood at the stove, her back to him, focusing on cooking breakfast. Without a word, Peter slipped into his usual seat at the table, staring down at the table intensely. Normally, he’d greet her with a joke or a cheerful good morning but today he found it was too tiring to even attempt to talk.
May turned around a plate of pancakes now in her hand, blinking slightly in surprise as she noticed Peter had quietly snuck in.
“Morning, honey,” she said softly, walking over to set the plate in front of him. As she leaned down, her fingers brushed through his messy hair and she pressed a kiss to his temple.
“Morning” Peter mumbled, picking up his fork and stabbing half-heartedly at the pancakes.
May circled the table, giving him a small smile. He could tell she was trying to keep her mood light, but the faint shadows under her eyes told him a different story.
“I have to head out early for my shift today,” she said, her tone gentle, “but we’ll go out for Italian tonight after your Stark Internship, okay?”
Peter nodded, managing a tight smile, “Yeah, sounds good.”
Every year, they went to Ben’s favourite restaurant. The same one they used to visit for his birthday, back when he was still around. It was their way of keeping the tradition alive without him.
Standing up, May squeezed Peter’s shoulder before grabbing her bag, “Have a nice day at school, sweetheart,” she said, heading for the door.
The moment he heard the door swing shut behind her, Peter let out a deep breath, abandoning the pancakes. Usually, they were his favourite, probably why May made them, but today, the thought of eating them made his stomach churn.
He got up and scraped the leftovers in the rubbish before letting the empty plate clatter in the sink. He glanced at the clock, noticing it was time for him to leave.
Peter grabbed his bag from the corner by the door and slung it over one shoulder. For a moment, he just stood there, frozen, staring at the door. More than anything he just wanted to drop his bag and crawl back into bed and let the world move on without him for the day.
But he couldn’t.
He took in a deep breath, steeling himself. He could do this. All he had to do was slowly drag himself through school, do some lab work with Tony and then he could go to the restaurant with May and everything will be fine.
He opened the door, forcing a smile onto his face like a mask and headed down the stairs—the elevator obviously had to be broken again. Outside, the rain was coming down in sheets and Peter groaned when he realised he’d forgotten his coat. Pulling his hoodie up, he tried to shield his hair from the worst of it and hurried towards the bus stop.
Turning the corner, he spotted his bus idling at the stop a few metres ahead. He broke into a jog, water splashing up his sneakers. Just as he reached the doors, they shut in his face and the bus pulled away without so much as a glance back.
Great. Now he was going to be late. He shoved his hands deep into his hoodie pockets and stood there, rain dripping down his face, waiting for the next bus.
After what felt like an eternity, another bus finally pulled up. Peter trudged on, his clothes soaked through and sticking uncomfortably to his skin. The bus driver must have pitied him as when Peter reached to pull out some quarters the guy just waved him on.
“Thanks,” Peter muttered, his voice barely audible as he shuffled to an empty seat near the back, slumping into the seat. He rested his head against the cold glass of the window, rain streaking the window, blurring his view. He put his earbuds in and just let the soft hum of music wash over him.
By the time he reached Midtown, Peter had already missed most of his first period. He trudged off and made his way into the school’s front office, his clothes still damp and his mood even worse. But as always he plastered on a smile and shouldered onwards.
“You’re late,” the lady at the desk said curtly, barely looking up from her computer.
“Sorry…my bus was late,” Peter mumbled, pulling a bashful smile.
“Whatever, just sign it,” she clipped back, nodding toward the sign-in sheet, still tapping away at the keyboard.
Peter scribbled his name and shuffled out of the office, heading straight for his locker.
When he opened it, he was met with the usual chaos—a messy pile of books threatening to tumble out. He shot out a hand to steady them, quickly pulling out the ones he needed. Just as he was about to slam the door shut, someone barged into his shoulder, shoving him sideways. His hand slipped and the books spilt onto the floor in a messy heap.
A sharp laugh echoed beside him, “What’s the matter, Penis Parker? Take the sewers to school today? You look like a drowned rat,” Flash sneered, his voice mocking.
Peter glanced up briefly to see Flash grinning smugly, his friends chuckling behind him. He didn’t respond, just ducked his head and crouched down to gather his scattered books as Flash’s footsteps started to retreat.
“Hey,” a different voice called, softer this time. Peter looked up to see Ned standing over him, concern etched on his face.
“Hey Ned,” Peter said, forcing another smile as he stacked the fallen books in his arms.
Ned crouched beside him, helping to pick them up, “You weren’t in History this morning,” he said, handing Peter a notebook.
“Bus was late,” Peter replied quickly, standing up and shoving the books into his overflowing locker with Ned’s help
“You doing okay today dude?” Ned asked lightly, though Peter could hear the genuine concern in his tone. Ned knew what day it was.
“Yeah I’m fine why wouldn’t I be,” Peter said a little too quickly to be convincing, avoiding Ned’s eyes.
Ned didn’t push. Instead, he gave Peter a small, sympathetic smile and started rambling about a new LEGO Star Wars set. Peter was quieter than usual but he made an effort to nod or interject here and there as they walked to their next class.
He’d like to say the rest of the day went fine. Or even tolerable. But apparently, the universe had it out for him.
Flash was more of a jerk than usual, seizing every opportunity to poke fun at him. He forgot his lunch money, leaving him with nothing to eat. And to top it all off, his math teacher gave him a detention for forgetting his homework.
The hours dragged on endlessly, each one heavier than the last. Peter forced himself to keep up his usual cheerful facade but the effort was exhausting. By the final bell, all he wanted to do was crawl back into bed and disappear for the day.
But he couldn’t. Not yet.
The Stark Intership was waiting and Peter knew Happy was probably already parked outside. At least being at Stark Tower in the lab with Tony usually lifted his spirits.
They’ve been doing this whole internship thing for a few months now, ever since homecoming, Tony had wanted to take Peter under his wing a bit and help him with Spider-Man stuff. So twice a week, Peter would head to Stark Tower after school and the two would spend hours tinkering in the lab.
Peter and Ned wandered out of the school talking aimlessly as Peter headed towards where Happy usually parked.
“Catch you later,” Peter said, forcing a quick smile as they reached the curb. Ned waved and headed in the opposite direction.
Peter walked towards the sleek black Mercedes idling at the curb and without hesitation, opened the door and slid into the back seat.
“Hey, Happy,” Peter said enthusiastically, even though he was feeling anything but that.
Happy responded with his usual grunt of acknowledgement.
Normally, Peter would spend the ride rambling about his day, bouncing between random topics until Happy eventually got fed up and raised the divider. But today, Peter couldn’t think of anything to say. Instead, he sank back into the seat and pulled out his phone, scrolling aimlessly.
The car was unusually quiet, save for the hum of the engine. Peter caught a few concerned glances from the rearview mirror but pretended not to notice.
“How was school?” Happy asked after a while, his tone casual—but it was obvious he was fishing for something.
Peter glanced up from his phone, caught slightly off guard. Happy never attempted to actually start the conversation. “It was fine,” he replied with forced cheerfulness, pasting on a smile for good measure.
Happy nodded but didn’t look convinced. The silence returned, heavier than before and the rest of the drive passed without another word.
When they pulled up outside Stark Tower, Peter quickly climbed out of the car, his backpack slung over one shoulder. Happy followed, his hands shoved into his packers as they approached the entrance together.
“You okay, kid?” Happy asked, his voice low but laced with concern, “You’re quieter than usual.”
“Yeah, I’m fine. Just a bit tired,” Peter chirped, forcing a grin
Happy raised an eyebrow, his expression sceptical but he let it go with a short nod. “Alright. You know your way from here.”
Peter gave him a thumbs-up before heading towards the elevator. Behind him, Happy lingered for a moment, watching him with a faint frown before wandering off in the direction of his office.
Peter practically collapsed in relief as he reached the elevator. Today felt particularly difficult to pretend he was fine. He did it more often than he liked to admit, both as Spider-Man and as Peter Parker. But today, the weight of it all made the act feel unbearable. But it’s what he does—shouldering through things with a smile and refusing to let anyone see him as weak.
He fidgeted impatiently as the elevator climbed to the lab floor, the familiar hum of the elevator doing little to calm his nerves. When it finally dinged, he took a deep breath and plastered on his brightest smile.
“Hey, Mr Stark!” Peter greeted, his voice upbeat as he stepped into the lab.
Tony jumped slightly, spinning his chair around to face Peter, “Hey kiddo. How are you doing?”
“Great, Mr Stark,” Peter replied forcing his grin not to waver.
Ever so briefly, he noticed Tony give him a once over, his expression unreadable. For a split second, Peter felt exposed, like Tony could see right through him. But the moment passed and Tony leaned back in his chair.
“What are we working on today?” Peter asked, eager to shift the attention away from himself.
“I was thinking we could do some tinkering on one of my suits today,” Tony said, gesturing toward the sleek red and gold armour splayed across the floor nearby, “Mark-43. Thought I’d teach you some wiring while we’re at it. You know, real ‘internship’ stuff.”
Peter dropped his bag onto his usual workstation, which was cluttered with half finished tech products before moving to the Iron Man suit.
“Why are we working on an old one?” he asked, tilting his head curiously.
“Issue with the electrical system,” Tony explained, crouching down by the suit, “Figured we’d troubleshoot together. Good practice for you.”
“Yeah, sounds cool,” Peter said tightly, trying to muster more enthusiasm.
Tony gave him a lingering look, his eyes narrowing slightly before dragging over a stool and patting it.
Peter moved closer, sitting down on the stool next to the toolbox. “You see these wires. They connect to the arc reactor and are known as the central wires,” Tony began to explain.
Peter nodded along, trying to focus but his mind began to drift. Tony’s words blurred into background noise, his voice steady but distant.
“Pass me the screwdriver, kid?” Tony asked, breaking through Peter’s haze. Almost instinctively he reached towards the toolbox picking out the screwdriver and handing it over.
Tony froze for a moment, staring at the tool in his hand, “I asked for the flathead one, Pete,”
“Oh, sorry,” Peter said quickly, switching the screwdrivers with an apologetic smile.
Tony took the correct tool, his brow furrowed slightly as he returned to the suit.
A few moments passed in silence before Tony spoke again, his tone casual, “How was school?”
“Uh…yeah. It was good,” Peter replied, his tone a bit too flat than intended.
“Yeah? And your buddy— Fred? Ned?” Tony asked, his eyes flicking up briefly, but he kept working.
“He’s good too,” Peter clipped back.
The silence stretched on and Peter found himself getting lost in his thoughts again. A jumble of worries, guilt and exhaustion swirling in his mind.
“Underoos?” Tony’s voice jolted him back to reality
“Um..sorry what?” Peter stuttered out.
“The wrench,” Tony repeated patiently, his gaze carefully lingering on Peter.
“Oh, right,” Peter said, fumbling to grab the wrench and handing it over.
For a second, Tony just stared at him his brows furrowed in concern before he turned around to put the wrench beside him on the floor, his attention shifting fully to Peter.
“Did I get the wrong one or—” Peter began, his voice anxious.
“No, no. It’s the right one,” Tony said reassuringly, “You doing okay, Peter?”
Peter tensed slightly, thrown off by the absence of a nickname. Tony never called him by his actual name unless he was serious.
“Um…yeah, yeah. I’m fine,” Peter rushed out a bit too quickly, “Just a bit tired. Patrol y’know.”
Tony raised an eyebrow, his gaze unwavering, “You weren’t on patrol last night,” he pointed out, “Noticed you skipped it. Kind of unusual for a Monday.”
Peter froze, caught off guard by Tony’s observation. He hadn’t even realised Tony paid attention to his patrol schedule.
“Still just a bit tired,” Peter mumbled, brushing off the comment.
Tony didn’t press further, though his expression remained sceptical. With a nod, he turned back to the suit, letting the moment pass—for now.
On his workbench, he noticed his phone vibrate, the screen lighting up. With a quick glance down at Tony to make sure he wasn’t needed, he rolled his stool over to the bench, picking up his phone.
Once he glanced down at the phone, his heart dropped.
It was a text from May:
Hey, honey, I got a holdup at work and won’t be able to make it home for dinner on time tonight. We can go tomorrow, yeah?
Peter stared down at his phone blankly, his grip tightening slightly as he felt his throat constrict. He felt his eyes burn, making a spark of panic shoot through him.
He can’t cry. Not now. Not here. And definitely not in front of Mr Stark.
He took a shaky breath, forcing himself to hold it together. He placed the phone back on the bench, his hand trembling.
“Everything alright, Roos?” Tony asked, his voice unusually soft.
Peter spun on the tool to find Tony watching him closely from across the room, his expression openly concerned.
“I’m…um… everything’s cool,” Peter stammered out, stumbling off the stool to stand, “Actually…I’m just gonna run to the bathroom real quick.”
Peter made a move toward the elevator but Tony stood and crossed the room swiftly, blocking his path.
“How about we head upstairs to the penthouse instead?” Tony suggested, resting a hand on Peter’s shoulder.
Peter blinked at him, thrown off by the offer. Tony never invited him to the penthouse. The lab was their usual space.
“It’s fine. We still have to work on the suit and—”
“Come on, kid,” Tony interrupted, his voice calm but insistent, “You’re not exactly focused right now. Let’s take a break.”
Before Peter could protest more, Tony was guiding him to the elevator with a firm hand on his back.
Peter let himself be ushered along, his brain too muddled to argue. He stepped into the elevator, leaning against the wall.
Tony jabbed the button for the penthouse, then leaned back against the opposite wall, crossing his arms as he watched Peter closely.
Peter avoided his gaze, his eyes glued to the floor.
“You know you can talk to me kid,” Tony said his tone surprisingly gentle, the awkwardness in his voice obvious, “I know I wasn’t the best with all the stuff with the vulture thing but I want us to be more…open.”
His words trailed off and Peter could tell he wasn’t used to having this kind of conversation.
“I’m fine,” Peter replied curtly. He was fine. He was always fine. If he could just get out of this elevator and away from Tony’s worried eyes, he’d be able to pull himself together.
Tony sighed, clearly unconvinced and opened his mouth to press further—but then the elevator jolted suddenly and came to a halt.
“Shit,” Tony muttered under his breath, running a hand through his hair, “I keep telling them they need to fix this damn elevator.”
Great. Now Peter was stuck in an elevator with Tony.
Peter moved forward jabbing a few of the buttons, a bit harder than necessary.
“Not like I’m an engineer or anything kid, but I don’t think that’s going to work,” Tony said dryly, leaning back against the wall.
Peter let his arms fall limply at his side, his fists clenching as he stared blankly at the buttons. His throat tightened again and before he could stop himself, his eyes started to sting.
He can’t cry. Not now.
He clenched his jaw and tried to force the tears back down, but a single one slipped free, tracing a slow path down his cheek before falling to the floor.
He froze, staring at the ground.
He’s got to keep it together. He can’t let Mr Stark see. He’s not a kid. He’s fine. He’s always fine.
“Kiddo…?” Tony asked, his voice laced with concern.
Peter didn’t move. He kept his head bowed, his fists trembling slightly as he willed himself to hold it together.
“Peter?” Tony said, stepping closer, and moving his hand to rest lightly on Peter’s shoulder.
Peter squeezed his eyes shut, refusing to look up but more tears betrayed him, slipping quietly down his face. Tony’s hand shifted, moving to gently tilt Peter’s chin upwards.
“Hey, hey…” Tony said softly, “It’s just an elevator alright? It’ll be running again in no time. We’re fine.”
Peter cracked one eye open, confused. Did he think Peter was scared of being stuck in the elevator?
Tony’s expression was a mix of worry and panic like he wasn’t entirely sure how to handle what was happening. Peter’s never cried in front of him before.
“It’s not…the elevator,” Peter finally croaked out his voice breaking. He sniffled, trying to pull himself together but failing as words began tumbling out in a rushed tearful ramble.
“It’s the anniversary of Uncle Ben’s death,” he said, his voice cracking again, “And me and May were supposed to go for Italian together at his favourite restaurant. And we go every year as a tradition. But now May’s stuck at work and we’re going to miss it and I was really looking forward to it all day. And I’ve had a really shitty day. I missed my bus, I got a detention, I forgot my lunch money and Flash is just being an asshole. And I just really miss my Uncle Mr Stark. I just—”
Peter’s voice broke entirely into a sob, his breaths coming fast and shallow as tears streamed down his face.
“Hey, hey, you need to breathe, Roo, alright?” Tony said softly, Peter looked at him panickedly his breaths struggling to come out and Tony reached for Peter’s hand placing it against his chest.
“In and out. Match me. There we go,” Tony said, his voice calm but steady.
Peter drew in a hitched breath but followed Tony’s exaggerated breathing, his own breaths gradually slowing and evening out.
“I’m sorry, I’m—” Peter began, his voice barely above a whisper but Tony cut him off.
“None of that,” Tony murmured, reaching out to pull Peter into a hug. Peter stiffened in surprise, before giving in, letting his head rest against Tony’s chest. Tony’s hand threaded gently through Peter’s hair, grounding him, “You should’ve said something, Pete.”
“I didn’t want to ruin anything…or act like a kid. It’s stupid. I should be over it by now—” Peter began mumbling into his chest.
Tony pulled back slightly, cupping Peter’s face with both hands. His expression was serious but soft, his thumbs brushing away the stray tears on Peter’s cheeks.
“It’s not stupid. And nobody is expecting you to ‘get over it’. Even years from now, you’re still allowed to miss him, to mourn what you’ve lost. That’s how it works, kid.”
Peter looked up at him, his eyes wide and glistening, his lips trembling as he gave a small, shaky nod. He was about to say something else when the elevator jerked and began to move again.
“Finally!” Tony exclaimed, stepping back with a dramatic flourish, raising his hands in mock triumph.
The motion startled a snort out of Peter and Tony glanced back at him with a soft smile, clearly relieved he managed to get a get a small something out of Peter.
The elevator resumed its upward climb and within moments, they arrived at the penthouse. As the doors slid open, Peter stepped out, his eyes widening in awe.
The room was massive. The living area alone was probably two, maybe three times the size of his entire apartment. The sleek furniture and the enormous windows showcasing the city skyline made it feel like he was stepping into another world.
Tony’s hands clapping on his shoulders pulled him out of his thoughts, “I think we need some hot chocolate and Star Wars, don’t you kid?”
“Oh you don’t need—”
Tony cut him off by clamping a hand over Peter’s mouth, “None of that. My house my rules,” he said, guiding Peter to the oversized couch and gently pushing him down, “Now you stay put and I’ll be back in five minutes. Tops.”
With that, Tony moved out of the living room towards what Peter assumed was the kitchen.
Left alone, Peter glanced around again, still taking it all in. He felt out of place—he was sitting on the couch that the Avengers probably lounged on. And the fanboy in him was kind of freaking out right now.
He fished his phone out of his pocket, opening up his messages with May. He hadn’t gotten around to replying to her earlier. His fingers hovered uncertainly over the keyboard, unsure of what to say without sounding childish.
Before he could decide, Tony’s voice broke his train of thought.
“Hot chocolate delivery!” Tony announced, striding back into the living room with two mugs in hand. He placed one in front of Peter before flopping down on the couch beside him, holding the other.
“Now I want to put out there that I’m not a chef,” Tony began.
“I don’t think you have to be a chef to make hot chocolate Mr Stark,” Peter shot back, raising his eyebrow.
“I’m just trying to say if it tastes like crap. It’s technically not my fault—but it is my fault,” Tony replied with a smirk.
“That doesn’t make any sense,” Peter huffed out, moving the mug to his lips. He took a cautious sip only to wince at the heat. He quickly set it back on the table.
Glancing up, he noticed Tony was already watching him intently, his expression tinged with concern.
“What’s wrong?” Peter asked anxiously.
Tony sighed, setting his own mug down on the side table, before leaning forward, his hand resting gently on Peter’s knee.
“You can tell me anything Peter,” he said softly.
“I know,” Peter replied instinctively, almost too quickly.
“Yeah? You said that earlier too,” Tony pointed out, his tone calm.
"I do tell you stuff. I told you that time I hurt my leg on patrol or the time I struggled with those robbers,” Peter said slightly defensively.
“And I want you to tell me that stuff,” Tony said, “But when do you tell me the problems you're having as Peter? Not just Spiderman?”
Peter opened his mouth almost to interject but Tony was quicker.
“I mean it. I also want to know when Peter Parker is struggling. If you’re having a bad day. If that Flash kid is bothering you. Hell, if you need lunch money. I want to know it all. Because I care about you, kid. A lot. Spider-Man or Peter Parker. Especially Peter Parker. And I don’t want you thinking otherwise.”
Peter froze, the words hitting him like a tidal wave. Until now he didn’t even know how badly he needed to hear them. He tried to speak, to respond but instead, he lunged forward, wrapping his arms tightly around Tony’s waist.
Tony tensed for a second, thrown off by the sudden hug but then he relaxed his arms encircling Peter. One hand came up to rest gently against the back of Peter’s head, his thumb brushing through his hair in a comforting motion.
“Thank you, Mr Stark,” Peter mumbled, his voice mumbled against Tony’s chest, after a moment, he added, almost shyly, “...I care about you too.”
Tony smiled, a soft, almost paternal expression crossing his face. He pulled back just enough to ruffle Peter’s hair, earning a small laugh from the teenager.
“Alright, enough of the emotional stuff,” Tony said with a grin, “How about some Star Wars?”
“Oh shouldn’t Happy be getting me back to—”
“Eh eh,” Tony cut him off with a wave of his hand.
“You’re spending the night here. Already texted May when I was in the kitchen,” Tony insisted with a grin, looking almost too pleased with himself, “You can stay in your room.”
“But—Wait. What?” Peter said perplexed, “Did you just say my room?”
“Uh… yeah,” Tony said, rubbing the back of his neck, suddenly looking uncharacteristically bashful, “After you turned down the room at the compound and I bought back the tower, I thought I’d make one up here for you. Y’know, just in case you ever wanted to crash. No big deal.”
Peter’s jaw dropped slightly, “You…made me a room?”
Tony shrugged, trying and failing to look casual, “Yeah, well, seemed like a good idea. And it’s obviously useful now isn’t it?” He grinned but his tone betrayed a hint of nervousness.
“Thank you,” Peter said sincerely.
“Yeah, yeah. My pleasure,” Tony said with a wave of the hand, though a faint smile tugged at his lips, “Anyways you’re staying here tonight. No buts.”
He moved to grab the remote from across the sofa switching on the television. When Peter suddenly remembered something.
“I have school tomorrow.”
“Who needs school? You’re smart anyway,” Tony said with another dismissive wave, “We’ll say it’s a mental health day or something.”
Peter was tempted to protest but knew Tony would get his way anyway, so he settled back onto the couch as Tony tony started the movie.
Then without warning, Tony reached his arm behind Peter letting it fall on his shoulders before pulling Peter a bit closer. At first, Peter was a bit thrown off throwing a glance at Tony who seemed unphased, before he finally let himself settle down again, leaning into Tony’s side.
And if later, Pepper came home late from work and found her husband and his new little mentee, who he denied to have a soft spot for, snuggled up on the couch both fast asleep. Then nobody needed to know she may have taken a small photo or two for evidence.