Chapter Text
He can hear the mechanical blasters powering down before the slight breeze from the suit hits him. The Iron Man suit makes a loud mechanical clank as it hits the roof’s surface. (Peter tries his hardest to brace for what’s coming.)
“Previously on Peter Screws the Pooch: I tell you to stay away from this. Instead, you hacked a multimillion-dollar suit so you could sneak around behind my back doing the one thing I told you not to do.” The robotic voice rang through Peter’s head.
“Is everyone okay?”
“No thanks to you,” Tony says.
“No Thanks to me?” Peter flips around and storms up to the suit. He throws his hands, “Those weapons were out there, and I tried to tell you about it. But you didn’t listen. None of this would’ve happened if you had just listened to me.” Peter pauses, catching his breath. Glaring at the Iron Man suit in front of him, reminding him of the other night. Tony wasn’t even here. It was just another one of his AI’s sent to babysit him like some toddler. “If you even cared, you’d actually be here.”
The Iron Man suit opens, displaying an extremely pissed-off Tony Stark. Who steps out of the suit and adjusts his tie before marching towards Peter and towering over him. The action was reminiscent of how Howard acted down to a T. All that fire Peter had was immediately extinguished, taking a few steps back towards the ledge.
Tony takes a moment before he continues, eyeing the kid like a vulture. “I did listen, kid. Who do you think called the FBI, huh? Do you know that I was the only one who believed in you? Everyone else said I was crazy to recruit a 14-year-old kid.” Peter stumbles over his words as he tries to correct Mr. Stark on his age. (Hurt at the thought that Mr. Stark forgot his birthday.)
“No, this is where you zip it, all right? The adult is talking. What if somebody had died tonight? Different story, right? ’Cause that’s on you. And if you died, I feel like that’s on me. I don’t need that on my conscience.” The shift in Tony’s tone causes Peter to flinch violently. It was one thing to see him angry towards the ex-Avengers. This was entirely different; his words were coated in disappointment, and every single one was directed at Peter.
“Yes, sir,” Peter muttered, his voice betraying him and breaking in the middle of such a small response, tears threatening to spill. Peter had never been yelled at like this in his life. “I, I’m sorry.”
“Sorry doesn’t cut it, Peter.”
“I understand. I just wanted to be like you.” The world stills for a moment. The phrase hangs in the air between the two. Peter wasn’t really sure what was going to happen next, but it sure as hell wasn’t this.
“Yeah. Well, I wanted you to be better. I told you that, Peter. This isn’t working. I’m gonna need the suit back.” There was a flicker of guilt that crossed Tony Stark’s face, but it was gone before Peter could truly register it. Then the realization of what he just said truly started to sink in.
“What do you mean? For how long?”
“Forever.”
The tears were really threatening to spill now. Peter started to flare his arms, explaining what this suit meant to him. Begging, like some homeless man on the streets of New York. For Tony to let him keep it. Tony couldn’t understand; before Iron Man, he was Tony Stark. A genius, billionaire, and philanthropist. (Peter opted out of one that he’d really rather not think on) Tony Stark was someone before and after his suit. He wasn’t a nobody. How do you even begin to describe what that feels like to someone so privileged?” You don’t seem to understand. Please, Mr. Stark. This is all I have. I’m nothing without this suit.”
“If you’re nothing without this suit, then you shouldn’t have it.” Tony pinches his nose and throws up his hands. “God, I sound like my dad.”
⎊⎊⎊
Peter realized there was no point in arguing anymore. There was no negotiating; this was the end of Spider-Man. Tony had gone and bought a set of clothes from a nearby convenience store for Peter. The outfit was rather humiliating, sporting Peter in pink Hello Kitty pajama pants and an oversized white T-shirt with an “I survived New York” print on it. It felt very intentional. Mr. Stark was nice enough to give him a ride back to his apartment. The car ride was rather awkward; nobody said a word, not even Happy. Peter sat in the back watching the pedestrians out his window. From time to time, he would sneak a few glances at Mr. Stark only to be met with a mirrored image. The man was also looking out the window, expression unclear as his sunglasses blocked most of his face. (But under the glasses, Tony was worried he broke the kid.)
Something Peter did take into account was Mr. Stark’s heart rate. It was through the roof during their argument and didn’t calm down till well after they got in the car. But that wasn’t the odd part; it took Peter a minute too. It was the fact that it kept spiking the entire car ride back to his apartment. It made Peter wonder if Stark had been replaying the conversation just ike peter was. Analyzing every detail where he may have gone wrong. Though Peter knew he was in the wrong, he couldn’t really understand why Stark would be spiraling over the conversation. It’s not like he actually cared for Peter.
Peter, on the other hand, cared; he cared way more than he should about Mr. Stark. I mean, it wasn’t every day that you got to work with your idol. However, on top of that, Peter had never been in trouble before. Sure, May had yelled at him when he left dirty dishes in the sink or didn’t pick up his room. Other than that, Peter had never had someone who was disappointed in him. He didn’t understand how to deal with the shame and guilt.
Peter just wanted Mr. Stark to understand that he was trying his hardest. He wasn’t sure how to say that in this moment, though, without bursting into tears and causing a scene in front of Stark and Happy. (Who wants to cry in front of their idol anyway?)
He hadn’t even thought of how he was going to explain all this to Aunt May. Peter wasn’t wasting any time when his apartment was in view. Opening and exiting the car before Happy had even come to a full stop at the curb. Tony started talking, but Peter shut the door before any words truly formed. It wasn’t like he could make Mr. Stark any more upset with him. He hurried inside and entered the elevator. That’s when everything really started to set in.
The pain from the Ferry incident started to register; Peter was sure he dislocated his shoulder. And he was doing everything in his power to keep back the tears. Praying May wasn’t home so he could go straight to his room and sob his heart out. The elevator dinged, and he walked to his apartment and pulled out his keys, fumbling to open the door.
“I’ve been calling you all day, Peter. You didn’t answer your phone. You can’t do that. Then this ferry thing happens. I’ve called five police stations.” Her panicked voice fills the room as soon as he steps into the apartment. “Five. I called five of your friends.”
“May, Im okay. Honestly. Just relax, Im fine.”
“You. Cut the bullshit. I know you left detention. I know you left the hotel room in Washington. I know you sneak out of this house every night. That’s not fine, Peter. That’s not normal. You have to tell me what’s going on. Just lay it out.” She wrapped her hands around Peter’s face, planting a kiss on his forehead. In a beat, Peter’s eyes filled up with tears and the dam broke. He fell into her shoulder and let it all back. She sucked in a breath and returned the embrace, whispering small reassurances in his ear.
Peter’s body shook with sobs for a while before he could muster the courage and get his words out. “I lost the Stark internship.”
“What? Why?”
“I just thought that I could work really hard, and I thought that he could, he would, you know. But I screwed it all up, May. I messed up and messed up big time.” His voice broke; God, he sounded fourteen again going through puberty.
“Oh, Pete.”