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Tony Stark strode into the boardroom, already scowling. Pepper had insisted he attend. Absolutely insisted. And when he’d asked why, she’d simply crossed her arms and said, “Because you need to be there, Tony.”
That was it. No explanation, no context. Just be there.
He dropped into his seat, the chair giving an accusatory groan beneath him. He tried to focus, but it was impossible.The chair squeaked every time he shifted. The fluorescent lights above flickered like a dying star, and the projector emitted an irregular metallic click no projector was ever meant to produce.
The entire room felt as though it had been engineered to antagonize him.
He flexed his fingers, sticky from the doughnut he’d grabbed in a rush. It was then that he noticed a bright pink frosting smeared unapologetically across the cuff of his Tom Ford jacket. Perfect. Nothing screamed high-profile industrialist quite like a grown man wandering into a meeting covered in frosting. He dragged his hand through his goatee, hoping—praying—there weren’t crumbs lodged in there. The frosting on his sleeve was humiliating enough; he didn’t need sprinkles in his facial hair, too.
He exhaled slowly, willing himself not to combust. The universe declined to cooperate.
The tablet in front of him refused to connect to the boardroom Wi-Fi. He tried triple-tapping, swiping, and resetting the connectivity preferences. Nothing. Each failed attempt was punctuated by a little beep that sounded suspiciously like laughter. He was a hair’s breadth from pitching the thing across the room when someone set a cup of coffee at his elbow.
It was atrocious.
The triple-shot espresso tasted like brown water. His request for non-fat milk had magically transformed into what was unquestionably heavy cream. The vanilla syrup had been replaced with something that tasted like cinnamon, caramel, and despair. No whipped cream in sight. It was an insult in a paper cup.
He scowled and set the cup aside, hoping the annoyance alone would be enough to wake him up. Spoiler: It wasn’t.
The meeting dragged on. Tony contributed the occasional sarcastic remark just to prove he was conscious. That backfired spectacularly when someone asked for his input. Excellent. He hadn’t actually processed more than six consecutive words since the meeting started. Thankfully, he had decades' worth of refined improvisational skills to lean into. He cobbled together an answer, adjusting on the fly based on the micro-reactions happening around the table.
He must have done okay because, in the end, Pepper was the only one frowning.
Finally, after what felt like twelve hours compressed into one, the meeting adjourned, and he was finally free. He shot out of his seat and rushed towards the one place he actually wanted to be. His workshop.
There was no time to breathe.
The moment the lab door swooshed open, he was met with dozens of alerts flashing angrily across the console. A project he’d been meticulously working on for weeks was a total mess. Components had fused in all the wrong places, and the frame had warped under stress levels that should have been laughably inconsequential.
He stared at the disaster, shoulders tense.
Every piece of it had to be redone. Every. Single. Piece.
Friday chimed in, oblivious to his building distress: “Sir, I’ve recalibrated the CNC and the 3D printers in an attempt to salvage the structure. However, the probability of success is… low.”
Tony gritted his teeth, a deep growl building in his throat. “Low? Low? It’s zero, FRI. Zero percent. Just shut everything down!”
He stormed across the lab, pacing between the ruined prototype and the fabrication machinery, a low hiss of profanity threading through his teeth. The holotable glowed tauntingly from the corner, the schematic hovering in perfect form, mocking him with what the project should have been.
He paused beside a cluttered workbench and brought his fist down hard against the metal surface.“Coffee tastes like toilet water, the Wi-Fi hates me, and everything breaks… I give up. Why even bother?”
He leaned forward onto the workbench and gathered a deep breath. His gaze wandered, seeking something, anything that wasn’t another reminder of the morning’s downward trajectory.
His eyes landed on a Midtown High sweatshirt draped carelessly over the back of a chair.
Peter.
A reluctant smile tugged at his mouth, softening the edges of his irritation. Just the mental image of the kid’s wide grin made something in his chest unwind by a single degree.
Maybe the day didn’t have to be a disaster. He could invite the kid over. They could hole up in the lab and start piecing the failed project back together. Or not. They could just as easily retreat to the penthouse, order take-out from whatever place Peter was currently obsessed with, and sink into the couch while a movie played in the background.
The second option actually sounded pretty good. A relaxed afternoon filled with decent food, comfortable furniture, and the kid’s running commentary? Maybe that was exactly what he needed.
He reached instinctively into his pocket for his phone. Except it wasn’t there. Because of course it wasn’t.
“Where’s my phone, FRI? If I left it in that boardroom, I’m gonna file for bankruptcy and go live in the woods like a raccoon. I’m not going back up there. ”
“There will be no need for that, boss. Your phone is plugged in on your bedside table. You have six notifications from your most-used apps, but no missed calls or messages.”
“Great.” At least it wasn’t lost. He could handle going to his bedroom. Honestly, that was probably ideal. Peace and quiet. No chaos. Just dim lights, soft blankets. Plus, he could finally change out of this ridiculous, frosting-stained suit.
He spun on his heel so abruptly that his elbow hit a chair, tipping it backwards until it nearly toppled over. He didn’t bother catching it. He was already making a break for the elevator. He had a phone call to make.
Peter woke up earlier than he meant to. No alarm, no school, no reason. Just his body deciding sunrise was as good a reason to be up as any. He lay there for a minute, staring at the ceiling, letting the quiet sink in. It was the first day of fall break, a whole week off. No tests. No homework. No forced socialization with peers. He was free, for the most part, to do whatever he wanted.
He sat up, stretched, and shuffled into the kitchen, still yawning as he made himself an easy breakfast: Toast, a couple of eggs, and the last of the orange juice.
He leaned his head onto his knuckles, his elbow braced on the table as he ate. It was early, and he had no plans to speak of. He didn’t even know what he wanted to do. His options were wide open.
Obviously, patrolling crossed his mind. Spider-Man was always needed. There were people to help, places to be, a hundred tiny fires to put out. The borough always seemed to require something. But the thought of swinging across the city made his shoulders slump. He was tried. Not physically tired. Physically, he was fine. It was more like the kind of tired you collected over weeks and months, one late night at a time.
It was then that he realized exactly what he wanted. A quiet day, one that didn’t involve rushing anywhere or answering to anyone. He wanted a ‘me day’, something he hadn’t allowed himself have in a while.
He nodded his head decisively and scraped the last of his eggs onto and fork and shoved them into his mouth. Patrol could wait. The city could handle itself for a day.
After breakfast, he washed his dishes and put them away in the cabinet before May could comment on the mess he usually left in the sink. He finished just in time, wiping his hands on a towel as she wandered in and grabbed a mug from teh rack.
“Hey,” he said, straightening up and tucking his hands into his pajama pockets. “I’m thinking of taking the day for myself. Like, just myself. No patrol or anything.” He hesitated, rocking back on his heels. “What do you think?”
May raised an eyebrow, amused. “I think that sounds like a great idea.” She leaned forward, planting a kiss on the side of his head. “You work too hard, baby. What’s the plan?”
Peter rubbed his temple where his lips had made contact and shrugged his shoulders. “I dunno. Walk around the science museum, maybe. Grab a hot dog from the cart near the fountain. Wander around downtown, just… chill. By myself for a while.”
“That sounds nice.” May smiled, soft and approving. “You haven’t been to the science museum in ages. I heard there’s a new exhibit on electricity.”
“Yeah,” Peter nodded, trying to keep the grin that was building at bay. “That sounds awesome.”
He headed back to his room, pulled on comfortable jeans, a t-shirt, and a zip-up hoodie, perfect for the fall weather. He grabbed his earbuds, looped them around his neck, slipped his wallet into one pocket, and his phone into the other.
As he walked out the door, he toggled his phone to Do Not Disturb. Just for a few hours. Long enough to breathe and enjoy his time alone without the world tugging at him.
He called a quick “Bye, May!” toward the kitchen and rushed down to the street, where the cool morning air hit his face. He breathed it in, feeling his entire body relax.
It was only nine-thirty, and the museum didn’t open for another half hour. So he decided to walk instead of catching the bus. If he kept a leisurely pace, he’d arrive just after opening.
Or, he thought as he rounded the corner and spotted a familiar awning, he could stop by Delmar’s. Plenty of time to grab a drink, say hi, and give Murph, the bodega cat, the excessive amount of affection she absolutely deserved.
He smiled, a small skip in his step as he headed toward the entrance.
Tony stalked into the penthouse, already peeling off his jacket. The pink-stained suit hit the floor in a heap. He grumbled under his breath about dry cleaning, then headed straight for the bedroom.
His phone was exactly where FRIDAY said it would be. On the nightstand, still plugged in.
He snatched it up, dismissed a cascade of useless notifications, and scrolled until he found Peter’s contact. His thumb hovered for half a second before he tapped.
The line connected and rang once. He waited, already anticipating the familiar, bright, and eager, “Mr. Stark!” that would come through the receiver.
Except it didn’t. He was sent straight to voicemail. He pulled the phone away from his ear, pulling a face as he looked at the screen.
Who the hell sends Tony Stark to voicemail?
He clenched his jaw, resigned that perhaps the kid was busy. He waited a full thirty seconds and tried again. Still nothing. Finally, he fired off a text, nothing fancy. Just a quick, casual, ‘hey, kid. What’s up?
No reply. Not even a read receipt.
He glanced out the window. It was sunny, the only clouds in the sky scattered perfectly, like they were paid actors. Exactly the kind of morning a teenage superhero might use to swing around the city and forget to check his phone.
“Hey, FRIDAY? What’s the status on the Spider-Man suit?”
“Inactive, boss.”
“What?” Tony furrowed his brows, eye directed at the ceiling. “Are you sure?”
“The tracker indicates the suit has been stationary at the Parker residence for thirteen hours and twenty-three minutes.”
Which meant Peter wasn’t patrolling. And wasn’t answering his phone. Both unusual.
A prickle of worry crept up his spine.
He frowned, his thumb hovering over Peter’s contact for several seconds before he decided to call May instead.
“Tony?” she answered, her voice teetering on the edge of confusion.“Hey. Everything okay?”
“I dunno. You tell me,” he said, attempting to keep his tone casual but failing spectacularly. “The kid’s not answering his phone or texts. He’s not in the suit either. I assumed he was with you?”
“Not with me.” May chuckled softly. “But he’s fine, Tony. He left a little while ago, said he was taking a day for himself.”
Tony leaned against the wall, shoved his glasses into his hair, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Okay. Cool. Great. Love that for him.” His voice sounded embarrassingly tired. “Did he say where he was going?”
At first, there was no reply. Then May asked, “You okay?”
Tony huffed out a breath that dragged half the morning’s weight with it. “It’s been… a morning. I was kinda hoping to invite the kid over. Thought he might… I dunno, lighten things up a bit, make me feel less… irritable. He’s good at that.”
He paused, half expecting her to give him a hard time about Peter being the first person he thought of when he needed a pick-me-up. She didn’t. She didn’t say anything. He let the thinly veiled admission hang in the air a moment longer, then cautiously added, “He’s a good kid.”
“He really is,” May agreed, then sighed fondly. “Ya know, I didn’t actually question him too much when he said he was going out. He mentioned the science museum a few blocks over and a hot dog stand. That was about it. But I’m sure he’ll call and check in with me eventually. When he does, I promise I’ll tell him to give you a call. Okay?”
Tony exhaled again, less dramatically and more relieved. “Thanks, May. Really. I… yeah. I’d appreciate it.”
“No problem,” she said warmly. “Try to take it easy, alright?”
Tony half laughed, half scoffed. “No promises.”
The call ended there. Tony sat on the edge of the mattress, dropping his phone beside him. He leaned forward on his knees and stared at the floor.
How long was the kid planning to be out? How long could it possibly take to tour a museum he’s probably already seen a dozen times over?
The next thought came fast and reckless: What if he didn’t wait?
What if he scrapped the whole ‘invite the kid over later’ idea and just… went for a walk? Fresh air would be good for him. And if his route aligned vaguely, coincidentally, accidentally with the museum… Maybe he’d run into the kid. Maybe he wouldn’t. The city was huge. And it wasn’t like ‘The science museum and a hot dog stand’ was a precise GPS coordinate.
He knew it was over the top. Probably a little invasive. The kid wanted a day to himself. May had literally just told him as much.
Still, what harm could going for a walk do? If he didn't run into the kid, it would be fine. That was the most likely outcome anyway.
But. Coincidence was plausible. Ish. People crossed paths like that all the time, and it wasn’t like he could control fate. Right?
Right.
With a decisive nod, he pushed himself upright and stripped out of the shirt and slacks, tossing them onto the ‘deal with later’ pile forming near the hamper. He needed to dress down, but not too much. That would be just as conspicuous as going out in a tailored suit.
Eventually, he settled on dark jeans and a black band tee. Simple. Neutral. Forgettable.
He eyed a flannel hanging nearby, dismissed it, then paused and grabbed it anyway. It was cool outside, and practicality had to count for something.
He caught his reflection in the mirror. The flannel was fine. Normal. Boring.
His face? Less so.
He rummaged through the top of his closet until he found an old baseball cap and shoved it on, tugging the brim low. Then he fished around for some sunglasses. Not his usual ones. Those were entirely too recognizable. He finally found an older pair tucked in a drawer. The frame was made of plastic and the lenses were slightly smudged. It was like they were specifically designed for someone trying to blend into a crowd.
“Dim the lights, FRI,” he said as he shoved his wallet, some keys, and his phone into his pockets. “If Pepper asks, tell her I went out.”
“Of course, boss.”
One last glance in the mirror, he adjusted the hat and blew out a breath, suddenly aware of the ridiculousness of the situation. He wasn’t going to the museum. He was just… getting air, walking in a general direction that happened to align with where Peter might be.
Totally normal.
Totally reasonable.
Totally not obvious.
He stepped into the elevator before he could talk himself out of it.
“Just fresh air,” he mumbled under his breath as the doors slid shut.
After chatting with Mr. Delmar, giving Murph her mandatory chin scritches, and buying a bag of gummy worms he absolutely didn’t need, Peter slipped back onto the sidewalk and headed toward the museum. There was a spring in his step. He felt light and happy– excited for the day in a way he hadn’t been in a while.
He was halfway down the block, humming through a mouthful of gummy worms, when someone called his name.
“Hey, Pete!”
Peter turned to find Mr. Stark jogging toward him, wearing a flannel shirt, hat, and sunglasses. All together, it exuded the energy of a man who thought he was being subtle but definitely wasn’t. In his hands, he carried two bottles of water and a giant salted pretzel, making it look like he’d run directly through a snack vendor’s cart in his rush.
Peter blinked. What was Mr. Stark doing in Queens in the middle of the day… with a pretzel?
Peter watched him approach, steps quickening as he got closer
“Uh, hey,” Peter finally replied, his brows inching even closer together. What are you… What are you doing here?”
Mr. Stark came to a stop in front of him, grinning and slightly out of breath. “What am I doing? What do you mean, what am I doing? Isn’t it obvious? I’m here to supply carbs and hydration. You’re welcome.”
Peter stared at him, conflicting messages of surprise and not surprised circulating through his head. The cycle ended on an amused and mildly annoying thought. Of course Mr. Stark would crash his personal day. The question was, how did he know where to find him?
“Did you put a tracker in my watch or somthing?
“No,” Tony scoffed, looking deeply offended and highly amused all in one go. “I’m not that unethical. I called your aunt and she mentioned where you were headed. I decided to head that way, too.” He shrugged. “Honestly, finding you this fast was just pure dumb luck.”
“May told you where I was going? Betrayal. ” Peter frowned, but accepted the pretzel anyway.
“Is it, though?” Mr. Stark lifted his glasses, resting them on the bill of his hat as he smiled and gestured. “You got a pretzel out of it.”
Peter pulled off a piece of the curved corner at the top of the pretzel and popped it into his mouth. The salt and butter hit his tongue like a little happy explosion. He chewed slowly, nodding his head in acceptance. Mr. Stark was already there. And it wasn’t like he was actually mad about it. He liked Mr. Stark and being able to spend time with him was just as precious as being able to spend time alone. That didn’t mean he could take a little bit of advantage of the situation.
He hummed, swallowing the bite and wiping his mouth on his sleeve. “Am I going to get museum tickets out of it, too?”
Tony lifted a brow. “I crash your day and make you buy your own admission? What kind of monster do you think I am?”
“Okay,” Peter laughed. “But if you’re buying, it has to be the good tickets. The ones that include the special exhibition and the 3D fish movie.”
Tony paused mid-step. “3D fish movie. There's a fish movie?”
“Yeah!” Peter laughed. “They give you glasses so it looks like the whole ocean is swimming at your face!”
Tony huffed a laugh. “You want the whole ocean swimming at your face? You got it. Once deluxe, exclusive, super premium, museum experience coming right up."
Peter nodded once, satisfied… then another thought popped into his head. “Cool. Will I, by chance, also be getting a foot-long hot dog, chips, and maybe a couple of cookies?”
“Oh, one hundred percent, Bud. Whatever you want.” Tony barked a pleasant laugh, then shuffled his feet, his sneakers scuffing against the sidewalk.
“Also,” he said, looking everywhere except at Peter, “just so you know… I didn’t come out here because I wanted to completely hijack your day. I mean I–”
He made a vague gesture with the water bottles. “I had a morning, okay? A bad morning. Then I called May, and she said you were out here doing your thing, and I thought… I dunno, maybe he’s onto something and…” His words trailed off, he flourished a hand, and rolled his eyes in the most theatrical way possible. “Oh who am I kidding? I had a terrible morning and I wanted to see you. You’re like my very own, personal ray of sunshine. Thought seeing you would make the rest of the day better.”
Peter froze for half a heartbeat. “Oh,” he said quietly, a warm feeling spreading through his chest. “Yeah. I mean, that’s cool. I’m glad I could help.”
Tony nodded once, sharply, like any more sincerity might kill him on the spot. “Alright, alright. Enough mush.” He clapped his hands together, brushing off nonexistent dust.“So, for clarity's sake, as long as I provide adequate museum tickets and lunch, you’re cool with me tagging along?”
“Yeah!” Peter laughed.
"Yeah?" Mr. Stark repeated, sounding both happy and relieved. "You're sure?"
“Of course! But you don’t actually have to do all of those things to tag along. I like hanging out with you.”
Mr. Stark lifted a finger. “I thought I said enough with the mush?”
Peter grinned. “Fine,” he said, elongating the single words. Then he dramatically tilted his head back, arms spreading wide by his sides. “I guess since you’re already here, I can deal with my personal day becoming a...” His brain supplied father-son way too fast, and he choked it back before it slipped out and killed him. “A mentor-mentee day.”
Mr. Stark chuckled and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Sounds good to me, Kiddo! Lead the way!”