Work Text:
Note to self, Tony thinks self-deprecatingly, install a gas mask in every single one of Peter’s suits.
It was just supposed to be a recon but now they’re stranded on a random warehouse rooftop somewhere in New York City on a Tuesday night. “Stranded” because Peter’s too loopy to climb down on his own and Tony appears to be in the same predicament. Although instead of climbing down, Tony would lower himself down with his propulsars. But he can barely stand up straight for more than two minutes without almost busting his head open on the ground. Tony had retracted the Iron Man suit a long time ago so he wouldn’t be operating heavy machinery with Peter in the vicinity.
They had just escaped the chaos that met them in the warehouse from the rooftop escape. The low-grade villain of the week happened to sport a contraption that released an immense cloud of concentrated laughing gas — immediately identified by FRIDAY — upon his own unconsciousness. Which, Tony thinks, is really setting the bar low. Why would someone build something like that unless they were anticipating defeat? Pathetic.
The moment they reached the roof, Peter had sat himself down next to the door and began laughing at everything and nothing at the same time.
He’s supposed to be in bed by now. He has school in the morning.
Peter shoots a clumsy web at Tony’s shin. It misses, falling short and landing in front of his shoe. Peter’s face splits into a grin and he begins laughing uncontrollably at that. He clutches his belly and slowly rolls onto his back, shoulders trembling with laughter.
“Kid…” Tony pronounces slowly, separating each letter with a short pause. He furrows his brows and takes a few steps forward, miraculously missing the webbing. “How are you f…eeling?”
Peter sighs. “Dude, I feel amazing. What about you?”
“The opposite.”
“Bummer.”
Something vibrates against his chest. He stifles a startled gasp and locates the source of the buzzing. It’s his phone in his chest pocket. Taking a look at the screen, his heart stutters. It’s May. He picks up and squashes his phone against the side of his face.
“Hello?” he says first.
“Tony,” May says warily. She can tell something’s up based only on his tone. “Where’s Peter?”
“With me.”
“Where are you? It’s ten. Peter has school tomorrow.”
“I know.”
May waits, thinking Tony’s going to answer her question. When he doesn’t, she huffs. “Where are you?”
“Working on that…”
“Working on…? On what? It’s a simple question, Tony.”
“Hey, Mr. Stark, I think the drug is wearing off!” Peter exclaims, carefully working himself up to a standing position. Once he’s fully standing he slowly shifts his weight between his feet. “Look! I can stand up right!”
“Cuz’u Spidey?” Tony asks, ignoring May.
Peter laughs, not in loopy ecstasy but in glee. “Yeah, I guess. My enhanced metabolism is kicking in!”
“—Drugs?” May suddenly shouts in his ear. “Tony Stark, you better start praying that I misheard that. Bring him home this instant.”
“Sure thing,” Tony says. “Cya in a bit.”
“No, stay on the—”
Tony hangs up. He blinks a few times and pockets his phone. Peter stares back at him.
“Was that May?” he asks.
“Uh-huh. We need to get you home. She knows about the drugs.”
Peter frowns. “Not drugs. Laughing gas. And I think the phrase you’re searching for is, ‘I, Peter Parker, need to get you, Tony Stark, home.’”
“Why?” Tony asks, accusatorially. “Are you calling me a liar?”
A tiny smirk pops up on Peter’s face. “No. I’m just saying your body can’t do what mine just did. You’ll be out of it for hours. I need to escort you home.”
“You need to escort me home?” Tony demands.
“Yes, that is what I said,” Peter confirms in a formal tone, choking on a giggle-fit. He’s never seen Tony high before. His heart races, just thinking of all the stupid things Tony’s going to say and/or do.
Tony closes his eyes and shakes his pointer finger at Peter. “I don’t think so, mister. If anything I need to escort you home. You’re in no shape to swing home. I’m going to fly you home.”
“Sober Tony wouldn’t do that.”
“What do you mean? I am sober Tony. Come on, kid.” He turns around and begins walking towards the inactive suit.
“Nope,” Peter chirps.
Tony halts and slowly turns back around. “What did you just say?”
“I said, ‘Nope,’” he repeats in the exact same key.
“Why?” Tony cries. His hands come up, as if he’s desperately trying to catch all of the answers to all of life’s questions in his hands.
Peter begins making a list of things that high Tony does: (1) he thinks he’s capable of doing things he would only be able to do sober and (2) he has some minor mood swings.
“Because you are not flying me anywhere while you’re high.” He crosses his arms for a more confident demeanor.
Tony clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth in thought. He looks back at his suit and taps his foot for a few moments. Then he looks back to Peter. “Fine. Pepper can come and get us.”
Peter shakes his head to say: She can’t.
Tony holds his pointer finger up and takes out his phone. “Observe.”
“Pepper’s on a business trip.”
Tony deflates.
Peter senses his frustration like an odor in the air. “You okay, Mr. Stark?”
“No, kid, I’m not. Stop calling me that, please. I’m trying to be the adult here and come up with a viable plan for the both of us but nothing’s working. I think I’m losing my mind. What if it was toxic?”
Then Tony does something Peter would never expect him to do. He tosses his phone in the air and lets it fall where it may. Peter, although not expecting it but certainly sensing it beforehand, quickly sends a thin line of web to the phone and yanks it back safely into his hands.
Tony growls in anger — he can’t even throw his phone onto the ground correctly — and drops to the ground, crisscross. Peter locks his jaw and stares at Tony’s hunched form in shock. Is the man… pouting…? Having a fit?
Peter takes a step forward and holds out his hands in an attempt to soothe Tony. “I can tell that you’re getting worked up so let’s just go over the facts. We can do that. You can’t fly the suit ‘cause you’re too loopy. Mrs. Potts can’t come and collect us because she’s out of the country. None of the Avengers can because… well… I get the feeling you’d rather not venture down that airport runway…”
Tony grunts dismissively. (3) He gets quiet. Peter had expected him to quickly move the conversation in another direction but all he seems to do now is wallow in the silence.
“So let’s just ask Happy to come and pick us up,” Peter suggests after a few moments of silence in a tone that makes it sound like the most obvious answer in the world without coming off as condescending.
Tony gasps quietly and looks up at Peter. “You know, that is one swell idea, Peter Parker. Let’s do that. Happy is my guy; the guy I know.”
Peter’s nervous demeanor quickly shifts. He smiles, glances up at the night sky, and places a hand over his chest. “Why thank you, sir.” Then he pulls out his phone from his suit’s concealed pocket. “I’ll get on that right away. Karen.”
“Yes, Peter.”
“Call Happy Hogan,” he requests, making sure to over-accentuate his vowels even though she’s been able to understand his pained, slurred speech in the past.
The pinging call pops up on his screen with Happy’s face front and center. The call goes through after the second or third ring. Peter hums, pleased.
“Parker,” Happy says as Peter pulls the phone to his ear. “It’s the middle of the night. What do you need?”
“Hello, Mr. Hogan.” Peter begins to pace antsily on the rooftop, going back and forth between the door and Tony’s now-relaxed figure. “I have a huge favor to ask of you…”
“Rip it off.”
Peter halts in his tracks. “What?”
“The bandaid.”
He glances down at his own body. “What bandaid?”
“A metaphorical bandaid.”
“Oh!” Peter leaps into the air, homeostasis still a little off-balanced from the sudden laughing-gas intake. “Right, of course! Here’s the deal. Here’s the metaphorical bandaid.”
“Whatchututalkinbout?” Tony asks. The gas must have fully kicked in now. He’s grinning ear-to-ear, hands bracing his weight behind him, knees close to his chest, staring up at Peter. (4) He gets really affectionate.
Peter blinks back at Tony for a second then shakes his head and returns his full attention to the conversation with Happy. “We need you to come and get us. I can give you the location but it’s a little outside of the city limits. I promise to be quiet the entire ride home but I just need this for tonight.”
“Who’s we?” Then another thing that Peter had said catches his attention. “Parker, why can’t you just swing home or ask the Boss to come and fly you home? If you’re injured you should have really called him first. Heck, 911 if it’s that bad.”
“Yeah, I know,” Peter snaps. “It’s just that Mr. Stark’s with me right now and he can’t fly me home. Not in his current state. We were checking out a warehouse full of barrels of chemicals — I guess they were waiting to get on a train or something. But there was someone else there. He had this thing that exploded when it sensed his brain waves go dark. If that makes sense. And it got both of us. Luckily, me being Spider-Man, I was able to fight through it really quickly, like really quickly. I think Mr. Stark’ll want to take a look at how my body actually did that but that’s for another night. Bottom line (another layer of bandaid underneath the first bandaid), he’s high right now. I guess that’s what you would call it. He can’t fly and I wanna make sure he gets home safe. He would for me. Sorry if that’s a lot. I’m just… Woah. Can you come and pick us up, please? I’d ask May—”
“Yes, Parker, yes,” Happy says to shut him up. “I’m up. I’m getting ready right now and I’m on my way. I have your location, don’t worry about that.”
Peter sighs out in relief. “Thank you so much, Happy. I owe you one.”
“No you don’t. Tony’d kill me after he sobers up and finds out I left you two stranded. I’m doing this purely for my own skin,” Happy replies, worn. “Don’t let him get into too much trouble.”
“Can’t be too hard,” Peter replies.
“See you two in a bit.” Happy hangs up.
Peter sheathes his phone and offers Tony’s phone to him. Tony studies the technology for a few minutes.
“For me?”
“Yeah, man, it’s yours. Would you like to call Ms. Potts?”
“Probably doing something important right now; shouldn’t bother her. Just wanna get you to bed. Capice?”
“Capice.”
Peter puts Tony’s phone in the same pocket as his own. Then he walks to the door that leads back down into the warehouse and props it open by breaking the topmost hinge so the bottom corner of the piece of wood scrapes against the ground, causing enough friction to stop it in its arc. As he’s maneuvering the door the way he wants it, he hears the familiar sound of an Iron Man suit taking off and jetting away behind him. Peter cries in outrage and spins around, letting the door go. Tony’s gone. He took the suit while I wasn’t looking and he flew away. He’s gonna get himself killed. He’s gonna hurt someone. He’s gonna end up on the news. It’s all Peter’s fault. ‘Can’t be too hard’ my ass. God fucking damn—
Tony blinks back at Peter, still sitting patiently. The suit is nowhere to be seen. It’s gone. It’s just Tony and Peter on the roof. Tony’s still here. Safe on the roof.
“Mr. Stark. Where did the suit go?” Peter asks slowly, after using the silence to collect his spiraling emotions.
“Sent it home,” Tony answers. “Don’t want the temptation.”
“Damn,” Peter mutters underneath his breath. For being gassed with some type of drug a few minutes ago, Tony’s actually (5) really responsible.
He helps Tony to his feet, keeps Tony's weight supported by his own body, and lets the man step through the door first. (6) He’s lost a ton of motor control. If Peter were to step out from underneath the man right now, he’d most definitely collapse in a heap of limbs. Poor guy. Luckily Peter is here with his super-strength.
When they get to the bottom of the metal stairs, the bad guy who Peter completely forgot about is still hanging like a dead body (keyword: like). Tony had sent him flying into the air and Peter had attached him to the ceiling. When they had arrived at the warehouse, they found him rummaging through the chemical barrels and found out that he was attempting to steal some supplies for his future products. Turns out it wasn’t a small recon. Turns out this asshole was planning to attack a college that he was recently rejected from. The police were called a few seconds after he and Tony were gassed and should be here within the next several minutes.
Peter lets out a soft groan and yanks his mask around the back of his head and over his face.
“Don’t worry, kiddo. It’s just us,” Tony chirrs.
“Hey!” the bad guys shouts from above them. On the larger side, his voice reverberates through the warehouse like thunder in a city-wide storm.
Tony looks up and squints. (7) His vision is either blurry or sensitive to light. “Hey?! Hey, you, you asshole! Yeah, I remember you. I’m tripping over my two own feet because of you!”
“Get me down! Now!” he demands.
Tony slows to a stop to which Peter begins to panic. Not now. Don’t pick a petty fight with the irrelevant baddie when the police are probably just down the street. Sober Tony wouldn’t want to be spotted by the public while Spider-Man has to help him use his own two feet. Sober Tony would loathe this kind of press. It might be true that any press is good press but sometimes you don’t want any press and that’s okay too.
Peter would just give him a hard shove but he doesn’t know if loopy Tony could keep his balance. Remember, (6) he lacks a lot of motor control while out of it.
“No! You don’t get to order us around. You’re going to hang up there like a good little criminal and wait patiently until the police arrive.”
Peter’s eyes fly open. It’s never a good idea to tell the criminal that the cops are actively en route. That’s when the panic starts. No matter how big or small or tough or new they are, they always panic.
Peter pulls at Tony’s arm and he starts moving again as the bad guy starts making some enraged, primal noises in their general direction and struggles in the cocoon. They make it outside after navigating around the barrels and stomaching the bad guy’s angry words, calling out each of their superhero faults.
As a singular police cruiser pulls up in front of the warehouse, Peter and Tony duck into the alleyway on the side of the building. Tony slides down the wall to sit down and stare blankly up at the, unfortunately starless, night sky. Thank you, air pollution, thank you so much. After Peter makes sure Tony won’t move from that spot, he peeks around the corner to watch the arrest take place. Speaking on technicalities, it’s only Peter out here as their last line of defense. If something goes down, and it usually does given Peter’s luck, Tony won’t be able to do anything to prevent or help it. Once the cruiser has engulfed both the bad guy and the officer, Peter drops his guard.
“Reminds me of my childhood,” Tony says without any prompting. Peter pushes himself away from the corner of the building and turns around to face him.
He studies Tony for a few seconds. “Looking at the stars?”
Tony silently shakes his head, a smile faintly brightening his face.
“Running from the cops?”
Tony nods.
Peter scowls. “Running from the cops reminds you of your childhood?” he asks in a clear tone to clarify that he heard Tony right.
Tony chuckles breathlessly. “I won’t turn you bad, kid. You’re too pure of heart.”
“I don’t think you need to be worrying about that. Only May thinks you’re a bad influence on me.” Peter lowers himself to the ground, sitting opposite Tony in the alleyway.
Tony breaks his gaze from the sky and gives Peter a surprised look. “May thinks I’m a bad influence?”
Shit. Peter purses his lips. “Would you believe me if I said no…?” he asks hopefully.
Tony blinks once. “Probably. I know I shouldn’t but, yeah, what the heck.”
“Good. Because she doesn’t. She loves you like a brother. Just forget I said that.”
Tony grins at Peter who can’t tell if Tony’s just “that out of it” or secretly playing along with the bit.
Happy pulls up about eight minutes after the police car had left. Peter scrambles to his feet and hoists Tony’s loopy figure up with him. Then they shuffle to the sedan and pile into the backseat. Peter notices Tony squint in pain at the harsh overhead lights. You and me both, man. Light sensitivity is no joke.
“Happy, can you turn off the lights, please?” Peter asks.
“Well, hello to you two too,” Happy says grogily.
The lights flick off. Peter cringes. “Sorry. It’s just…”
“Yeah, I know, I know. Spider-Man stuff. Enhanced vision or whatever.”
“Well, also Mr. Stark. Dilated pupils.”
“Was he seriously drugged?”
Peter hums in the affirmative. “I don’t know exactly by what but I’ll probably be able to figure it out in the lab. Some of the fumes are still stuck on my suit.”
“Am I safe being so close to you two?” Happy looks at Peter through the rearview mirror. Peter sees this from the gentle light that comes from the warehouse.
“Yeah,” Peter scoffs then he chews on his tongue in thought. “I mean I think.”
“You think? Parker, I’ll be transporting you two via car. If I start feeling weird, all three of us are stranded.”
Tony groans loudly from Peter’s right side and lets his head roll around on his shoulders. He ends his dramatic display of annoyance by crashing his head into the back of the passenger’s seat.
Peter senses spark. He jolts, his arm slipping between Tony’s forehead and the back of the seat by the skin of his teeth. Oh, he would have most certainty connected with the small metal pole that keeps the headrest in place if Peter hadn’t have done that.
“Happy, you’ll be fine,” he states in a monotone, not aware of Peter’s quick thinking. “It has to be a large enough cloud so it can reach your bloodstream through your lungs. Drive. Kid’s got school in the mornin’.”
“How do you know?” Happy asks.
“Waduyumean? I just do. ‘m Anthony Edward Stark.”
“Checks out,” Peter quips at Happy. He unwedges his hand.
“Can it,” Happy shoots back and starts the engine.
Tony chuckles and threads his arm that’s furthest away from Peter underneath his body and offers his fist for the kid to bump. Peter looks at Tony, grins, and reciprocates the fist bump. A quiet imitation of an explosion comes from Tony as the fist bump connects. Peter copies.
Happy gets them en route to Peter’s place and puts on some tunes from the radio.
Tony’s head pops up from the back of the seat when he hears the music. “Happy.” He reaches a hand across the car’s interior and taps the man on his shoulder. “Happy, Happy, Happy.”
Peter wonders if this is just Tony being (4) affectionate or a brand new behavior. Just in case it’s brand new, Peter mentally jots down that he also (8) has a lack of social awareness.
“Tony, stop,” Happy orders. “I’m trying to drive. What do you need?”
“Can you play Shake a Leg?” Tony retracts his arm and tucks it back underneath his stomach.
Happy growls. A few moments later, the drums start playing as short guitar strikes accompany it from time to time. Tony half-laughs half-sighs and leans back to put his head on the headrest. He begins singing along. Peter smiles to himself, wishing he knew the words to this song so he could mumble them under his breath with Tony.
“Kid, you know this song?” Tony asks when the lyrics take a break for a drum-guitar affair.
Peter then realizes he’s been tapping his foot along to the beat this whole time. He might not know the words but it doesn’t take a musical-genius to pick up on the rhythm. Peter smiles at Tony, stops tapping his foot, and shakes his head.
Tony pouts, puckering his lower lip, and looks up at Happy. “Happy.” He taps his shoulder. “Happy, Happy, Happy.”
“What?” Happy snaps.
Tony doesn’t react to Happy anger so not (4) affection, definitely (8) lack of social awareness.
“Can you play something else, please? Something the kid would know.”
Happy shakes his hand over the steering wheel while keeping his other one on it. “Tony, I don’t know what kind of songs the kid knows. I think that’s more of a question for you. Better yet, ask him.”
Tony leans back. The back of his head hits the headrest hard. Peter’s hand twitches. Luckily it’s a soft material or Tony would have been in a world of pain.
“Hey, kid…” Tony whispers.
Peter frowns. Now we’re whispering? He leans in. “Yeah, Mr. Stark,” he whispers back.
“Is there a… specific song… that you know the lyrics to… that you’d think I’d enjoy too?”
Peter inhales and exhales thoughtfully. Their music tastes don’t match up very well. Tony likes rock music while Peter is more into alternative music. They have a small shared playlist of different songs they both like to play during lab days. If he could just pluck a song from there…
“Wake Up by Arcade Fire is pretty cool.”
Tony furrows his brows and begins to hold out a humming note.
“I showed you it a few days ago. Friday after school. You said you liked it.”
“I have no recollection of that. Happy, please, play Arcade Fire by Wake Up.”
“It’s actually Wake Up by Arcade Fire,” Peter quickly corrects Tony for Happy. “The song is called Wake Up and the band is called Arcade Fire. Thank— Thank you, Happy.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Woulda figured it out anyway,” Happy mumbles to the backseat.
The song begins to play and Tony quickly picks up on the words. Peter manages to hype himself up to have enough confidence to sing along with Tony. Soon they’re both singing along. The song loops for the rest of the drive and ends on but now that I’m older when Happy stops the car and turns off the engine.
It takes a while to coax Tony out of the car, especially since he knows May is waiting for them inside the building. Also because he wants to listen to the song more but it’s mostly for the first thing. May scares him sometimes and he knows she’s going to be pissed when she realizes Tony’s hanging out with Peter while drugged. Even if it wasn’t his fault.
“Come on, big guy,” Happy grunts as he forcefully guides Tony up the stairs that lead to the apartment complex. “You’re staying the night at Peter’s. He was nice enough to offer and I don’t want to have to lug you all the way back to the tower.”
Tony sighs in anguish and loads his weight off onto Happy. “Come on, Hap. Mrs. Parker’s gonna be so pissed. I’m tryn’nota let her down. I waner t’ trus’ me. Y’know?”
“Yeah, I know. But running away from the consequences is worse than her seeing you like this. Plus, from what I heard, it wasn't your fault. These things happen. I’m sure she’ll understand.”
Tony groans but shows a little more cooperation with Happy.
Peter had run ahead. He scaled around the back of the building to use his unlocked window just in case someone was walking down the hallway at the same time he was. He didn't bring any civvies (i.e. his normal clothes) because he wasn’t expecting to need any. He wanted to warn May that they would be having company tonight while Happy got Tony inside safely. He also wanted to be the first one to address the elephant in the room. It wasn’t his fault.
“Peter,” May interjects frustratedly, standing up from the dining table, hands planted on the tabletop. “I hear you. It wasn’t his fault. I understand that. These things come with the job description.” She points at the front door. “His job description. Not your’s.”
Peter huffs and rolls his eyes. The moment he had climbed through his window, May started banging on his door, demanding that he open it this instant. Which is weird given how silently he crawled over the windowsill and onto the wall. Guess parents invent a little enhanced hearing of their own when one of their own is in danger or something. He had stuffed his suit into a jumbo plastic grocery bag that May dug out from one of the cluttered kitchen cabinets. Now he’s standing in the middle of the living room in loose-fitting sweatpants that drag on the floor and a generic white t-shirt with a faded coffee stain on the front that his mom wore when he was young.
“It’s my job description too! Just because I’m a teenager doesn’t mean the bad guys are going to treat me any differently.”
May grips the end of her syrup-brown hair. “We’re not having this conversation right now. Go get ready for bed, please.”
“I’m going to, I’m going to. I just wanna make sure when Mr. Stark comes in, you’re not gonna, like, throw him out or something.”
May closes her eyes and shakes her head. “No. I promise I’m not going to do that, baby. Just do your nightly routine and I’ll be nice to him when he walks in.”
“Thank you.” Then he turns around on his heel and steps into the bathroom.
Tony must have been putting up a pretty good fight because Peter got all the way down his nightly routine to teeth brushing when the two finally came through the door. He hears May stiffly greet Tony and Tony mumble some incoherent words back to her. Then the apologies.
“‘m really sorry, May. I didn’t see it coming. Luckily Peter’s got enhanced meta-bol-ism that his body chewed through the drug really quickly. He’s pretty amazing.”
“I know he’s pretty amazing. He’s my nephew,” May says quietly.
Peter cringes around his toothbrush at May’s passive-aggressive remark. It wasn’t his fault.
“‘m gonna take a look at the chemical comp of the drug. Make sure it’s just your textbook laughing gas.”
“I hear you’re crashing at my apartment tonight.”
“‘eah,” Tony croaks. He hiccups then giggles for a few short seconds. “I’m more than happy with the couch, missy-ma’am.”
May sighs. “I’ll get you a pillow and blanket, mister-man.” Peter hears her footsteps approach the bathroom door then slowly grow distant again as she makes her way to her bedroom where they keep the spare bedding. Maybe Peter can bank on the hope that May will take pity on Tony.
“Go easy on him,” Peter hears Happy whisper through the thin apartment walls a few seconds after May returns to the living room. “It wasn’t his fault. He was actually very mindful of Peter in the car; kept his hands to himself, minded his manners, even played a song that Peter would know too.”
Time passes as Peter continues with his nightly routine. He unlocks the bathroom door and enters the living room to find Tony passed out on the couch, bundled tightly in a thin blanket that May provided. He also notices that Happy is gone. Peter approaches the couch and watches Tony sleep soundly for a little bit before continuing into the kitchen and grabbing a before-bed apple from the fruit bowl in the corner of the countertop.
As he turns around he stops immediately, seeing Tony sitting backwards on the couch and watching Peter quietly from over the back of the couch. Peter’s mouth hangs open a few inches away from the apple. He pulls the fruit away from his waiting teeth and blinks slowly at the man staring back.
“What… was the point… of brushing your teeth?” Tony asks, genuine curiosity sparkling in his red eyes.
“What do you mean?” he asks, wide-eyed. Then he remembers the unbitten apple in his hand. “Oh, I don’t know. I’ll brush my teeth again in a little bit, maybe, probably not.”
Tony closes his eyes and rests his chin on the back cushions of the couch. Then he begins to nod slowly at Peter.
Peter pinches his lower lip between his teeth in worry and contemplation. Then he tosses his apple to his non-dominant hand and pulls out his phone from his pocket.
“Karen,” he whispers to the AI in his phone.
The phone screen lights up silently with her artificial signature.
He holds up his phone camera to Tony. “Is he doing okay?”
Her signature shifts from a futuristic blue to an analytical green as Karen begins to scan the life form presented to her. A cute animated cartoon of a nondescript black spider with a yellow happy face on its abdomen (akin to how a black widow has a red hourglass on its) crawls into frame at the bottom of his screen.
“Vitals acceptable. The only data worth mentioning would be the altered nitrous oxide detectable in his bloodstream. If you place your phone on the coffee table overnight, I can complete a full body scan to reach a more conclusive report.”
Peter lowers his phone and takes a good long look at Tony. That doesn’t sound like a bad idea. For all Peter knows, Tony could suddenly throw up in the middle of the night and choke himself or his body could start having a weird reaction to the laughing-but we’re-not-quite-sure-yet-gas while Peter just sleeps away. Now that he thinks about it, Karen’s idea sounds like a great idea. So he sets his phone on the coffee table and queues the scan.
“Can you also just monitor him?” Peter asks as he steps back. “I don’t know, maybe start making a really loud annoying noise if anything goes wrong. Can you do that?”
“I can follow through with any of your reasonable and slightly unreasonable requests, Peter.”
The scan begins, displayed by a blue figure of a human body on his screen.
On the couch, Tony jolts in which Peter does the same, honestly startled by the sudden movement. He spins on his legs and faces Peter. Then he rests his head on the top of the back couch cushions. “Whadadoen, kiddo?” he coos.
“Nothing,” Peter stammers. “Just… charging my phone.”
Tony looks at Peter’s phone on the table. He squits. Peter follows his gaze. They both simply stare at the phone, unplugged and in the middle of the non-autocharging table (like the ones that can be found at the tower). So absolutely not charging at the moment.
“Mkay,” Tony mumbles, truly believing that Peter is telling the truth and that his phone is charging.
Peter rocks on the heels of his feet for a few seconds thinking about what to do. Tony’s got his legs against his chest and his arms squashed between. Peter doesn’t want him sleeping in this awkward position during the entire night.
“Would you like to lay down, Mr. Stark?”
Tony grunts (Peter was right, not asleep) and clumsily shifts his weight to the side so he falls onto the couch, head crashing into the apartment’s guest pillow. Peter expertly catches his head and shoulders then gently lowers him down all the way. After, he thoughtfully tugs the blanket up then straightens it so it’s parallel to his body. Taking a step back, he smiles to himself then grabs his apple and retreats into his room. Then he spends the rest of his night eating his apple and writing down his list on a random page in his chemistry notebook.
- Thinks he’s capable of doing things he would only be able to do sober
- Mood swings
- Quiet
- Affectionate
- Responsible
- Lack of motor control
- Vision blurry/sensitive
- Lack of social awareness
Then Peter falls asleep. Karen will wake him up if anything happens. He’s a light sleeper. Tony’s safe and he’s going to have a restful night. Everything’s fine.
…
Everything is not fine. Tony keeps on waking up periodically throughout the night for durations ranging from a few seconds to a few minutes. During one of the wakeful moments, he floats into the kitchen and snags an apple to munch on then crashes back down onto the couch and begins to snore quietly. Other than that, his wakeful moments consist only of staring blankly at the poorly lit ceiling and listening to the authentic cuckoo clock from 1857 that hangs above the television. During some, briefly and to himself, he wondered if he was dying or at least in some type of wannabe Hell. Click cuckoo click. But the thought always passed overhead as he drifted off again.
A few hours after Karen completes her full-body scan (staying silent throughout the entire night), the morning greets the apartment with a wide grin.
May smiles back and steps into Peter’s room to wake him up. Peter groans in agony and hides underneath his pillow like an ostrich. Then she heads to the kitchen to make breakfast before she leaves for work, although instead of the kitchen, she finds herself standing in the living room, hands on her hips, staring at an empty couch. The pillow has been fluffed and set neatly in the middle of the couch. The blanket has been folded, seemingly creased, and placed atop the pillow. Tony has already left. A part of her was mentally preparing to make breakfast for an extra mouth but she supposes now she doesn’t have to go to the grocery store until Sunday morning instead of Friday evening during rush hour. It’s a load off but still… She wouldn’t have minded making an extra plate.
Peter wakes up completely with a start, suddenly remembering that Tony slept over. The events of yesterday evening are not far behind and they explode in his brain, completely decimating his slow rise. When he runs into the living room, stomping on the floor and most likely giving the college kid downstairs a headache, he is utterly disappointed to find a room void of Tony Stark. So instead of greeting the man who could be anywhere in New York City right now, he calls May and trudges on towards the kitchen to gobble down his food.
It only rings three times. He had expected it to go to voicemail, knowing she was probably already at work.
“Hey, baby. Everything okay?” Peter picks up a few people laughing in the background. Must not be too busy of a workday. That’s nice for May.
Peter forces a large clump of scrambled eggs down. “Yeah, all good. Did Mr. Stark already leave?”
“He was gone when I woke up. Did he text you anything?”
Peter grips his fork like a wooden stake and stabs a large unlucky grape like a vampire’s heart. “He doesn’t have my number, May.”
May hums a high note. “I would have thought for sure you two exchanged numbers seeing as you’re both superheroes. What if he needs you for some kind of disaster?”
“Ha. I think that made my day,” Peter replies with no emotion on his tongue. He swallows the grape whole, May not around to scold him. “He barely let me recon that warehouse from last night. He babies me.”
“Nice to know…”
“What do you mean? You don’t like that?”
“Gosh, no. I love that. At least I know he’ll be at least semi-responsible when you…” She lowers her tone. “…Try to throw yourself in front of a moving train.”
“Well, I hate that.”
“You’ll understand when you get older.”
“No, I won’t. And here’s a counterargument based on hard facts and gratuitous amounts of deep and vast research that took place under the watchful eyes of a billion trillion scientists all around the world…”
“You’re going to hang up, aren’t you?”
He hangs up.
Peter finishes his breakfast, gets dressed, grabs his bag and heads out the door, leaving at exactly 6:30 AM. During his morning subway ride, as the train passes under East Mt Eden Ave, he sends a quick text to May: sorry for hanging up, i larb you <3. The rest of his day unfolds smoothly and he ends it on his bed with a Guardians of the Galaxy livestream.