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Ryland isn't really having the greatest of days. A lack of proper sleep, proper caffeine, and proper lunch, all courtesy of his absolutely horrible memory, has culminated in a bone-deep weariness that drags at his every move. Fortunately for his sanity, the school day had already ended; he only stayed behind to finish grading tests for his biology class.
He hums softly under his breath as he gathers the papers. Ryland is pleasantly surprised that his students have done much better on this test, as it seems their most recent unit was something that was much easier for them. Although when he picks up a particular student's paper, he's not surprised at the results. Perfect score, same as always—rather typical for Peter Parker, as Ryland has come to find out.
The kid is exceptionally smart and a joy to have in his class. Perhaps a little awkward, but who's he to judge? Ryland's guilty of that more often than not. Fortunately, he's able to push past that social anxiety when he's teaching in the classroom, especially in a high school classroom. Sweet Jesus, high schoolers are vicious, and he certainly doesn't miss being one.
Oops. He's getting distracted. Ryland's current priorities include leaving Midtown, biking home without getting run over, and collapsing into bed. Though he needs to eat something, at least. I can probably stop by Delmar's on the way back.
Ryland slings his bag over his shoulder, puts on his helmet, and makes his way out of his classroom. He spares a glance at his watch—it's not too late, after all. Just an hour past the end of the school day. He's deep in his thoughts, thinking about what kind of sandwich he'll buy from Delmar's, when he hears a loud crash from down the hall.
Huh?
He stops right in his tracks, blinking in surprise. If he had to wager a guess, it most likely came from one of the lab classrooms. Which is… odd. Ryland's sure the labs weren't booked after school today, because you can't do so on Mondays and Tuesdays. He knows because he tried to do so at the beginning of his teaching career at Midtown, and was sorely disappointed. And even though he knows better—because this seems like the start of some horror movie, an unexplained loud sound in an otherwise empty building—Ryland changes course and heads for the labs.
He opens the door to the nearest lab classroom and steps inside, calling out a tentative, "Hello?"
Ryland's not really sure what he was expecting when he opened the door. Certainly, he doesn't expect Peter Parker, hunched over a lab table as he mixes something unidentifiable in a beaker. He's dressed in a very recognizable red-and-blue suit, his mask discarded on the floor.
Look… he isn't the kind of guy to swear. At least, not anymore. He learned to dial it down when he started teaching, because on his second day, he dropped a highly unprofessional F-bomb when he knocked one of his favorite mugs off his desk, and it completely shattered. Not to mention at the dreaded UNESCO conference in Denmark, after calling the leading scholar in his field a "staggering waste of carbon," he'd said some… creative things, afterwards.
So, it's not entirely a surprise that his first instinct is to stutter out, "What the fuck?"
"Mr. Grace?"
Peter looks absolutely mortified, especially when Ryland steps back and slams the door shut. With his hand on the doorknob, he stands there in complete shock.
Almost instinctively, he wants to deny it. Oh, that can't be Peter, a part of him scoffs. Peter, who used to be the most active participant in my class, who now always seems to either be sleeping or tinkering with something on the side, especially on lab days, and who disappears for worryingly long amounts of time during the school day under the guise of "going to the bathroom;" Peter, who was never really the athletic type because of asthma, but whom I've heard from Flash and the others that he's suddenly the best in gym class and it's like he never gets tired.
Holy shit, I think he's Spider-Man.
Completely astounding observation, really, another part of him deadpans. Do you want a gold star?
Ryland's gone against researchers insulting every part of his paper without breaking a sweat, and yet he's stunned speechless by a fifteen-year-old who is most definitely Spider-Man. It's like ten years have been shaved off his lifespan, and more are threatening to go.
Slowly, he opens the door. Peter's face is pale, and he's tense like he's about to turn tail and bolt. In the beaker, Ryland can identify something vaguely web-like in appearance, with the way it's sticking to what Peter was using to stir it.
He's not a religious man, but he sends a quick prayer to whoever might be listening up above (or below) before he enters this landmine of a conversation. "So…"
"I'd say it's not what it looks like, but you kind of already saw it, so, um." Peter shrugs helplessly, but the casual motion isn't enough to hide the clear panic visible on his face. "Is there a chance you'll pretend like you didn't see anything?"
"Kid, I promise you that if I could, I'd have been halfway across the building by now." Feeling a little more confident but still completely out of his depth, Ryland steps further into the classroom. "Peter—"
"Please don't tell anyone!" Peter exclaims. "Mr. Grace, please. I can't stop being Spider-Man, not now. I swear I'll do anything!"
"Well, if you keep yelling, you're going to get a security guard's attention, and then you're really screwed. And, I… don't know who I'd tell, honestly." Thinking over it now, he's quite limited in his options. Phoning the police like, hey, Spider-Man is actually my fifteen-year-old student would get him laughed at and hung up on, and if he told Peter's Aunt May, she'd immediately ask if he got hit on the head recently. And he rather likes her, actually. She's a nice woman who just wants the best for Peter, who isn't afraid to advocate for his needs. Honestly, he wishes he had someone like her to rely on when he was struggling in high school—
Whoa, okay, priorities. Peter Parker is Spider-Man. Spider-Man is, therefore, fifteen. Focus, Ryland.
"I won't say anything," he continues hesitantly. "But does anyone know? Someone who is preferably over the age of eighteen and relatively responsible?"
Ducking his head, Peter murmurs, "Aunt May does. She's known about it for a while."
Ryland stares, completely baffled. May—the woman who had unleashed a genuinely scary amount of threats when picking Peter up after an accidental lab fire, yet was nearly crying with worry for him—has been letting him run around as Spider-Man. Alarm bells are definitely ringing in his head, now.
"Your Aunt May knows. Alright. Is that it? Anyone else?"
Peter hesitates. "Uh…"
"Peter," Ryland sighs, rubbing his temples. "Who else?"
"Mr. Stark knows."
Jesus. Do I have to unpack that?
Unfortunately, he's the adult here, and he's contractually obligated to ask at this point. Mandated reporter and all. "Mr. Stark," he echoes. "As in, Tony Stark, billionaire, Iron Man. We're talking about that very same guy?"
A beat.
"Wait a second. Peter, was the Stark internship just a cover for being Spider-Man?"
Peter winces. "Yeah."
In a masterful act of self-control, Ryland refrains from swearing once more. "Are you saying he encouraged it?"
"No! Okay, well, just a little. But not really? I swear, Mr. Stark didn't do anything wrong!" Peter stammers. "He—"
"I've heard enough," he says firmly, cutting him off. Internally, though, Ryland wants to scream; maybe bash his head against a wall for good measure. Of course, what happened during college would come back to bite him; of course, it would. Because why would good things ever happen to him?
Now, Ryland may or may not want to put the fear of God into Tony Stark for condoning teenage vigilantism. He won't ever let things slide when it comes to his students, especially concerning their physical safety. And with that, he finds himself facing the prospect of seeing the man for the first time in twenty years, after what was undeniably the best hookup of his entire life.
Fully prepared to throw his career and dignity out of the window, Ryland says, "I think Mr. Stark and I need to have a talk if he's encouraging, well… this."
"Mr. Grace!" Peter tries weakly.
"No arguments," Ryland asserts. "Does he have a number I can call?"
"I don't know, I don't have his personal number. He gave me Happy's, though."
"…Who's Happy?"
"His head of security. I text him updates about my patrols, but he usually ignores me."
Ryland squints at Peter, incredulous. "Let me get this straight. He just lets you swing around New York and doesn't even give you a reliable number to call in case something happens? You understand this makes me want to talk to him even more, right?"
At least Peter has the decency to look a bit sheepish. "I can try texting Happy?"
He sighs, dragging a hand over his face. "Okay, sure, text him. It's nothing against you, Peter, but I'm going to go now. Make sure to, uh… clean up your little experiment, there. Before you leave."
"I'll be done in a second, Mr. Grace," Peter promises.
With a nod, he turns around and walks away. When he finally gets outside and brings his bike out of the bike rack, Ryland lets himself process the interaction. The entire way to Delmar's, he thinks back on everything that Spider-Man has done.
There was Midtown's academic decathlon trip, for one; Spider-Man saved the team from plummeting down the Washington Monument elevator shaft. Then there was a splitting Staten Island ferry, where witnesses reported he held it together for a time with his webs before Iron Man came and welded it back together.
It sounds like a joke. Peter Parker, his fifteen-year-old student, has faced real mortal danger, more than most adults ever do. Hell, he's gone against the Avengers! Ryland vividly recalls watching the news of the showdown in Germany and idly wondering what brought Spider-Man out there. That means Peter had been in Germany, fighting against half of the Avengers, when he was fourteen. He's almost tempted to swerve his bike into oncoming traffic.
When he reaches Delmar's, he's glad for the distraction of a mundane social interaction. He pets Murph, the cat who hangs out on the counter, pays for his sandwich, and goes to find a bench to sit on.
Peter has, presumably, texted that Happy guy. Meaning that sometime in the near future, Ryland's going to be in contact with Tony Stark. The thought makes his bite of the sandwich turn bitter in his mouth. I'm screwed.
"Ah, ah, the bell hasn't rung yet! One last question! What are the different types of cell division?" Ryland holds up the last bean bag of the lightning round, grinning.
"Mitosis and meiosis!" Flash calls out.
"Ooh, so close! You're missing one!"
"Mitosis, meiosis, and binary fission," Michelle says, raising a hand.
"There it is!" Ryland throws the bean bag over to her and claps his hands together. "As always, good job today, class. Remember, your lab packet is due on Thursday! That's in T-minus… two days!"
Flash sneers at Michelle as he walks out, but she just rolls her eyes at him. As a whole, his class is relatively great, but Flash can be… a pain in the ass. It's a relief that Ryland's students can handle themselves just fine, with minimal need for intervention on his part. Ah, fifteen-year-olds, they grow so fast. Cue metaphorical wiping of tears.
Ryland takes his time reorganizing things in his classroom, pushing in chairs, and fixing things that are in slight disarray. If he leaves immediately, he'll have to deal with the swarm (e.g., the entire student force trying to flee the building at the end of the day), so he always takes his time preparing things for the following class before heading out.
In this routine, about thirty minutes in, he hears footsteps. Granted, it could be several things—a fellow teacher, a student with a quick question, or even a parent looking to grill him about their student's grades. But what Ryland finds instead, upon looking up, is Peter. He's standing by the door, looking remarkably remorseful.
"Peter? What are you still doing here?" He asks, mystified.
"You said you wanted to meet with me?"
That's not Peter's voice. Hell, that's definitely not May's. Into his classroom steps Tony Stark, and Ryland feels his heart drop right to his ass.
"Um," he says eloquently.
He is in the same room as Tony Stark for the first time in, like, twenty years. He most definitely doesn't remember Ryland, and even though he wants to crawl into a hole and die, he has priorities here. This is an invaluable opportunity. Focus.
"Mr. Stark, it's a pleasure," he manages. "I'm glad you could make time for this meeting. I'm sure you're very... busy."
"It's no big deal. Happy told me right away, and Pepper made it work. An expedited request and all. So, Mr. Grace," he takes off his sunglasses, slipping them into his pocket. "Go ahead."
With every word that comes out of Tony Stark's mouth, Ryland feels a familiar, long-buried kind of irritation burning in his gut. Almost like at the UNESCO conference, but worse. No, this irritation is from his time at MIT, when he clashed with a very arrogant heir of a booming industry.
A very arrogant heir who ultimately ended up in his bed.
"Mr. Stark, would you care to tell me how you think it is reasonable to not only encourage Peter's vigilantism, but also finance it?" The Spider-Man suit is very noticeably high-tech, and with Peter's Stark internship, well, it's not difficult to put the pieces together. "Might I remind you, he is fifteen years old. He's a student in my biology class! Before yesterday, I let things slide under the impression he was having a rough time. Absences, missed assignments—I can go on and on. Though, I suppose fighting crime and other Avengers is a rough time, isn't it?"
Peter's eyes go wide. "Mr. Grace…"
Tony Stark's eyes flash under the fluorescent classroom lights, an undecipherable look crossing over his face. If Ryland were more rational, he'd recognize that he's already crossed a line and should stop while he's ahead. Unfortunately, Ryland Grace has never been a very rational man, and especially not when it comes to advocating for what's right.
"Give it to me straight. How, exactly, is it reasonable—no, responsible—to give a high schooler this sort of job? Because, as his teacher, it is my job to look out for my students and act in their best interest. So tell me, Stark," he hisses, voice rising, "why has this been happening for so long?"
Dead silence. A look of such profound embarrassment crosses over Peter's face; it makes his face go red.
"Two things. Underoos, your teacher is a damn good person to care for you this much. And, Mr. Grace—or technically Dr. Grace, no?" Tony smirks at him. "Dr. Grace, rest assured, I was as happy about his superhero business as you are. That is to say, not very much, especially when I discovered what he'd been getting himself into. My logic is simple. You give a kid more leeway, then you know what they're actually getting up to, and you've got some peace of mind. But if you tell them no, well, they're gonna find other ways to rebel. I suspect you're well aware of this?"
Flashes, rumpled sheets, limbs in a tangle, hot breath on his neck, the thrill of rebelling—
"I want to clarify; he's not going in alone, you know? Don't you think a multi-million dollar suit has a tracker, at the very least? Alongside other very convenient features that regularly update me on his status, all monitored by one of my AI agents, I'd say he's got a pretty sweet deal."
"Oh," Ryland murmurs.
"Peter's a bright kid. He wants to help people, and I've equipped him to do just that. Although what was it you mentioned? Absences, late work?" Tony side-eyes Peter, who seems to shrink into himself. "Didn't you promise your Aunt May you wouldn't let your Spider-Man-ing affect school?"
"I did, but…"
Ryland doesn't hear what else he says because the realization hits him full force. Of course, Peter had support. If his Aunt May knew and was letting it happen, there had to be another piece in the puzzle guaranteeing his safety. He seems to genuinely value Peter's autonomy, what with the leeway comment. Turns out Ryland doesn't need to put the fear of God into Tony Stark, after all.
To Peter, he asks, "Are you sure you want to keep doing this? You're still a teenager. Obviously, it's taking a toll on your performance in your classes, so—"
"I'll do better, I promise. And, Mr. Grace, this is what I want to do: I want to be Spider-Man, and I want to help people."
The way he says it—with such earnestness, such confidence—finally makes Ryland crack a smile. "Well," he relents, "I think that's settled."
"Glad we could come to an agreement, Dr. Grace," Tony says, and he approaches Ryland's desk, rummaging around a bit until he finds a pen and some paper before writing down a string of numbers. "I also heard from Underoos that you wanted a number to call. Here it is, in case he stirs up any trouble." With a wink, he hands the paper over and adds, "It was good to see you again, Ryland."
He remembers me. Ryland can't help the flush that creeps up on his face, and he nods jerkily. "Er, have a good day, Mr. Stark."
"Tony's fine, too," Tony throws over his shoulder as he walks out of the classroom, wrapping a casual arm around Peter's shoulders.
Ryland stands still for a few moments, blinking, before he laughs abruptly. "Wow," he breathes, shaking his head in disbelief. What a week. The blush doesn't leave his face the entire bike ride home.