Chapter Text
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The penthouse living room was buzzing with an absurd, high-stakes energy that felt more like a covert operations briefing than a Saturday morning family outing. Today was supposed to be an absolute triumph-the Academic Decathlon finals. Peter had casually mentioned the date a couple of times over the past few weeks, pretending he didn't care, but Tony knew better. The kid had worked his tail off, and Tony was determined to make sure he felt like the center of the universe.
And Tony wasn't just attending; he was deploying the entire heavy-hitter roster.
The Avengers were scattered across the luxury sofas, outfitted in the most painfully obvious, ridiculous civilian disguises money could buy. Clint Barton was rocking a neon Hawaiian shirt paired with oversized, mirrored 1970s sunglasses. Natasha Romanoff wore a blonde bob wig that looked like a suspicious helmet, and Bruce Banner was trying very hard to blend in with a tweed cap and a fake mustache that kept drooping on one side. Even little Morgan was dressed up in her favorite fairy wings, giggling uncontrollably as the team clowned around to lighten the mood. Pepper was standing by the kitchen island, checking her watch with a fond, knowing smile, fully on board with the parental ambush.
The plan was simple: show up in the front row, cheer obnoxiously loud for Peter, and casually shatter Flash Thompson’s fragile reality by proving once and for all that Peter’s Stark Industries internship was 100% real. Two birds, one stone, and a legendary afternoon.
Then, Tony’s phone rang.
He pulled it from his pocket, expecting a quick check-in from May Parker. He swiped to answer, a wide grin already forming. "Hey, May! Are you almost done with your shift? I hope so, because what's about to happen in about an hour is going to be cinematic gold-"
"Tony."
May's voice didn't sound like herself. It was tight, hollow, and thick with the unmistakable tremor of someone who had been violently crying.
The playfulness evaporated from Tony's face in a fraction of a second. The sudden, dead silence in the room was instant. Across the living room, every single Avenger stopped moving. Natasha’s wig tilt froze; Clint’s grin vanished. Even Morgan quieted down, sensing the sudden, terrifying shift in atmospheric pressure. Everyone stared straight at Tony.
"May, what's up? What's happening?" He asked, his voice dropping an octave as a cold knot instantly formed in his stomach.
"There was an accident," May choked out, her breath hitching. "Something was wrong with the school bus. Peter... his spider-sense went off. He got everyone off the bus. He saved the everyone, Tony. But as he was getting off... it exploded."
The world seemed to lurch violently off its axis. Tony’s heart didn't just drop; it felt like it had shattered into lead pellets, his chest going entirely hollow while his pulse roared deafeningly in his ears.
"Is he-is he okay? Where is he?" He demanded, his voice cracking, a cold sweat breaking out across his skin.
"He's in critical condition," May wept openly now, her voice breaking over the phone line. "I tried to tell the paramedics that he’s special-that his biology is enhanced, that they needed to bring him straight to your medical wing. But the local rig had to take him to the nearest trauma center first. It's already too late, Tony. They're prepping him for emergency surgery right now."
"Anesthesia?" Tony’s blood ran absolute ice. "But anesthetics don't work on him! His accelerated metabolic rate burns right through standard blockers! If he wakes up on the table-"
"I know, I know, I tried to stop them!"
"Don't move. I'm coming," Tony ordered, his executive, billionaire-genius commands firing like rapid-fire artillery. He tapped his comms. "FRIDAY! Get Dr. Helen Cho on an emergency priority channel. Tell her Peter is in critical condition at Manhattan General. I need her mobile surgical unit airborne now."
"Already routing Dr. Cho, Boss," FRIDAY's voice chimed back, smooth and urgent. "Suit telemetry is syncing."
Tony didn't waste another second. He didn't even look back as the Mark L housing unit locked around him with a sharp, pneumatic hiss, encasing him in titanium and gold.
"Avengers," Tony barked, his voice echoing from inside the sealed helmet as the repulsors flared to blinding life. "Cho is mobilizing. You're my ground support. Move!"
With a thunderous crack that rattled the penthouse windows, he blasted straight through the open balcony, breaking the sound barrier as he tore across the New York skyline toward the hospital.
The flight took mere minutes, but to Tony, it felt like an eternity. He touched down on the tarmac outside Manhattan General's emergency entrance, the repulsors kicking up a cloud of debris before he retracted the faceplate and strode rapidly through automatic glass doors.
He marched straight up to the central front desk, his expression a mask of cold, terrifying fury. The administrative nurse looked up, her eyes widening in immediate, paralyzed intimidation as the billionaire inventor slammed his hand gently on the counter.
"Mr. Stark-I-what are you doing here?" she stammered.
"I'm here for Peter Parker. We need to transfer him immediately," Tony said, his voice clipped and dangerous.
"I'm afraid you can't do that, sir," the nurse swallowed hard, trying to maintain composure. "You need authorization from a legal guardian. Only family can-"
"The legal guardian is standing right here, accepting. I can legally adopt him right now if that's not enough for you”
"Sir, he's already being prepped for emergency trauma surgery on the upper floors," the nurse pleaded, looking frantically down at her computer terminal. "We can't move him now-"
"That's fine. I anticipated that," Tony cut her off sharply. "FRIDAY, confirm ETA on Dr. Cho's medical transport."
"Medical team touching down on the roof helipad in ten seconds, Boss," she replied in his ear.
At that exact moment, the main hospital doors slid open with a whoosh. Dr. Helen Cho strode in, flanked by the entire Avengers roster-Clint in his ridiculous Hawaiian shirt, Natasha in her blonde wig, Bruce, and Pepper holding little Morgan’s hand. Right in front them rushed May Parker, tears streaming down her face and at the back followed closely l Mr. Harrington and the entire, shell-shocked Academic Decathlon team.
“What floor is he on?” Tony asked
"Floor 56, Operating Room 8!" the nurse blurted out, completely overwhelmed by the sudden influx of superheroes and corporate royalty.
"Fantastic. Come on, team."
Dr. Cho and the Avengers broke into a brisk, purposeful march toward the bank of elevators. The terrified front desk nurse scrambled around her counter, trying to keep pace. "Wait! You can't just-you don't have clearance for-"
Because the elevator was too small to fit the massive entourage, the nurse and the entire Academic Decathlon team frantically opted for the stairwell, desperate to see how this madness would resolve.
Meanwhile, Tony, Dr. Cho, and the core team rocketed up to the 56th floor.
They burst through the double doors of Operating Room 8 without knocking. The surgeons and surgical nurses inside gasped, spinning around from the operating table where a pale, motionless Peter lay hooked up to a dozen monitors.
"Excuse me! What are you doing? This is a sterile surgical environment!" the lead trauma surgeon barked, stepping forward defensively. "You cannot just barge in here-"
"Yes, I actually can," Tony said, his voice dropping into that chilling, authoritative tone of a CEO who was about to buy and demolish the building. "In fact, I am now officially renting this entire floor. You don't have the specialized pharmacology required to manage a genetically enhanced hyper-metabolism. My team is taking over."
"Mrs. Stark-Mr. Stark!" the doctor protested fiercely. "I repeat, you cannot-"
"Try me," He stepped forward until he loomed over the doctor. "If you don't clear this room right now, I am going to buy this entire hospital, turn it into a municipal parking lot, and make you spend your weekends directing traffic. Do not test my bank account today, doctor. Go play outside. Listen to the birds. I don't care. Get out."
Before the flabbergasted surgeon could respond, Dr. Cho and her advanced medical assistants were already swarming the table, overriding the hospital's monitors with Stark-grade tech, replacing the failing anesthetics with safe, bio-compatible compounds, and prepping the laceration repairs.
"Tony, May, out. You know the drill," Dr. Cho instructed calmly, gently gesturing them toward the doors.
Tony backed out of the operating theater, his eyes lingering on Peter's still form for one agonizing second before the heavy doors swung shut.
Outside in the corridor, the crowd was staggering. The Academic Decathlon team had just burst out of the stairwell, panting and wide-eyed, staring directly at the Avengers standing in a hospital hallway. Flash Thompson looked like he was about to faint.
Tony leaned heavily against the wall, running a trembling hand over his face. The overwhelming adrenaline crash was hitting him hard, and the lingering phantom temptation of a drink whispered at the back of his mind. But he instantly dismissed it. He knew Peter-and definitely Pepper-would never forgive him if he fell off the wagon now.
He took a deep, steadying breath, looked up at the stunned group of high schoolers, and offered a weak, lopsided smile.
"Alright, kids," Tony called out, his voice a little rough around the edges. "Who wants autographs? Also... we're definitely going to need to get you all a new school bus. One that doesn't spontaneously combust. And someone remind me to reschedule the Decathlon finals. Right now... we wait."
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"I'm sure you guys are going to do great," Steve said warmly, effortlessly signing his autograph across the fabric of a bewildered student's backpack. "Peter's been telling us all about how hard you guys have been working to win this competition."
Abe blinked, staring at the legendary super soldier as if his brain had short-circuited. "Wait... you actually know Peter Parker?"
Natasha let out a dry, amused chuckle, handing back a signed notebook to a star-struck Betty Brant. "Do we know Peter Parker? Oh, we know Peter Parker. We know him as the kid who belts Beyoncé at the top of his lungs when he thinks nobody is listening in the tower."
"Oh, absolutely," Clint chimed in, tossing a pen in the air. "Don't forget Britney Spears, Tasha. Massive Britney fan. His choreography is top-tier."
Meanwhile, a few feet away, Tony was holding a quiet, highly strategic conversation with Ned and MJ. Since Ned and MJ spent half their free time hanging out at the penthouse playing games and studying with Peter, they didn't need autographs-they could just grab one from the kitchen counter whenever they wanted. Right now, Ned was busy bombarding Bruce Banner with rapid-fire quantum physics questions, leaving Tony to talk with MJ.
MJ was casually flipping through a thick, bound sketchbook with a deadpan expression.
He leaned in, his eyes narrowing slightly. "What is that?"
"Just a catalogue of Peter's best in-crisis faces," she replied smoothly, not even looking up as she turned a page.
Tony’s eyebrows shot straight up into his hairline. "You have a whole book dedicated to that?"
"He's in a lot of crises, Stark. Someone has to document the historical record.”
"Can I see?" He asked, leaning closer.
MJ tilted the book toward him, and the billionaire was met with page after page of shockingly high-detail, incredibly artistic sketches of Peter Parker. The level of artistic talent was insane-capturing every dramatic eye-roll, every panicked expression, and every subtle blush with razor-sharp accuracy.
Tony’s eyebrows drifted even higher. Peter was notoriously easy to read, and despite the kid's best efforts to act subtle, it was painfully obvious that he had a massive crush on MJ. And looking at the sheer volume of detailed, fond, and deeply observant drawings in her hands, it was crystal clear that the crush was definitely not one-sided.
Tony slowly turned his head, catching Ned’s eye across the hallway.
The teen caught his gaze, took one look at the sketchbook, and offered a tight, knowing, wide-eyed nod that clearly communicated: I know. I've been suffering in silence for months.
Tony turned back to MJ, a slow, highly amused billionaire grin spreading across his face.
She looked up, narrowing her eyes slightly at his expression. "What's with that face?"
"Oh, nothing," he said innocently, resting his chin on his hand. "I was just wondering how many millions I would need to offer to buy publishing rights, and if I could pre-order the first five hundred copies."
MJ slowly closed the sketchbook with a soft snap, looking entirely unbothered. "Sorry, Stark. It's not for sale."
"Right, of course." Tony said, suppressing a grin.
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