Stitches & ice-cream
It was midnight when Peter slipped into his room through the bay window of Stark Tower and pulled off his mask.
Sweat clung to his chestnut curls, sticking them to his temples. He wiped his forehead and winced: a deep gash sliced across his arm, leaving a crimson line beneath the torn fabric of his suit. He removed it, put on a Star Wars T-shirt and pajama pants, and then inspected his wound.
He knew right away that he would need stitches.
Not that it worried him. He’d stitched himself up more times than he could count, often ‘borrowing’ the needles that May kept in her bedside drawer. Painful, sure—but manageable.
He knew there was a first aid kit somewhere in the Tower, complete with thread and disinfectant. But before he even thought about patching himself up, one thing took priority: food.
Tony had given him money to grab dinner with his friends (he himself had planned to take Pepper out for a romantic evening), but neither Ned nor MJ had been free. So, he’d decided to patrol instead, lost track of time, and completely forgotten to eat. His growling stomach reminded him of that now.
Tony and Pepper must’ve been back by now. Peter hoped they hadn't waited for him. Neither of them had tried to contact him, which was a good sign.
Still absentmindedly wiping at the blood on his arm, Peter made his way to the kitchen—and froze. A figure stood out alone in the darkness.
‘Mr. Stark?’ Peter whispered. ’Friday, could you turn the lights on, please?’
An orange glow spread across the kitchen, illuminating Tony in his tracksuit, sitting at the table with a glass of amber liquid in front of him. Peter wrinkled his nose, recognizing the smell of scotch. When Tony opened his mouth, his breath carried the same sharp scent.
‘Please? You don't need to be so polite with her, you know. She's just an AI.’
‘I still appreciate good manners, Boss,’ Friday replied. ‘And you know better than anyone that I'm more than just artificial intelligence.’
‘Blah, blah, blah. In the end, you're still a robot, Fri. With all due respect.’
‘Are you okay, Mr. Stark?’ Peter asked —almost timidly—, stepping closer.
Tony’s eyes were rimmed red, like he’d been crying. Yet his face was dry, his expression composed—except for the tight, cold smile he gave to him. A twinge of worry stabbed at Peter’s heart.
‘Mr. Stark… where’s Miss Potts?’
‘What happened to your arm?’ Tony replied, frowning, a shadow crossing his lopsided smile.
Peter glanced down and blushed. ‘Oh, uh, it’s a long story.’
‘I've got all night.’
‘Well… there was this bulldog, I thought he was going to attack this lady, but actually, he just wanted to say hi to her. I tried to intervene, and… let’s just say, it didn't go great? I didn't think his jaws would be that strong.’
‘Mm-hm. Don't move.’
Tony stood, unsteady on his feet. Peter watching him go, trying not to let his growing anxiety show.
Tony’s Starkphone sat on the table, screen lit with a new notification. Peter couldn’t help but notice the wallpaper had changed: gone was the elegant photo of Pepper, replaced by the black, impersonal logo of Stark Industries.
He looked away quickly as Tony returned with a small kit. The man dropped into the chair beside him and took Peter’s arm, with a firm but surprisingly delicate grip.
‘Did you have a good evening?’ Tony asked, not looking at him, as he poured disinfectant onto a cotton pad.
‘Oh, you know, the usual. Bulldog business aside. And... you?’
‘Careful, this’ll sting.’
Peter winced as the disinfectant burned his skin, but bit the inside of his cheek to not make a sound. To his relief, Tony pretended not to notice.
‘Did you use the money I gave you to for dinner with Ted?’
‘Ned’ Peter corrected. ‘No—he promised his mom he’s spend the evening with her.’
‘So you didn’t eat.’
It wasn't a question.
Peter flinched as the needle pierced his skin, and he thought he saw a flicker of guilt pass though Tony's eyes.
‘There's leftover pizza in the oven. Grab a slice when we’re done.’
‘Pizza? Didn't you went out to dinner with Miss Potts? Wasn’t it your big romantic night—ow!’
Peter jumped at the needle tugged sharply, trying not to moan. He’d forgotten how much stitches could hurt.
To his surprise, Mr. Stark paused, then gently brushed away a tear with his thumb.
‘Sorry, kid. I didn’t mean to make you cry.’
‘It's nothing, Mr. Stark,’ Peter said, voice shaking more than intended. ’I was just… surprised, that’s all.’
Silence fell as Mr. Stark delicately finished sewing up the wound, taking care this time not to hurt Peter.
‘Why don't you ever call me Tony?’ he asked suddenly.
Peter blinked, taken aback. ‘Huh? Oh... I don't know. To me, you're Mr. Stark.’
‘I'm also Tony.’
‘It's not the same.’
‘Why not? I know the circumstances aren't ideal, but from now on you're my... my…’
The word seemed to get stuck in his throat.
‘My pupil,’ he finally said. ‘In a way, you and I are family now.’
He looked up and gave Peter a smile, softer than before —but undeniably sadder.
‘Maybe we should start working on that. What do you think?’
‘Oh, yes, sure. I—I could try calling you Tony, Mr.—uh, Tony?’
The man nodded, lips twitching toward a smile.
‘Thanks. That’s it—we're done,‘ He released Peter’s arm. ‘Does it still hurt?’
‘No.’
‘Kid…’
‘A little,’ Peter admitted. ‘But it'll pass.’ He hesitated. ‘You mentioned a pizza?’
Tony let out a choked laugh. The next moment, a pizza box appeared under Peter’s nose. Pepperoni and peppers—one of his favorites.
Peter noticed that none of it had been eaten.
‘Would you like some, Mr—Tony?’
‘Mmh, why not.’
They eventually finished the pizza together, chatting vaguely about Peter's day at school and the Spanish presentation he had due next week.
‘Alright, it’s time for bed,’ Tony said finally. ’Don't forget to ask Friday to turn off the light behind you.’
‘Yes, sir, Mr—Tony. Good night!’
‘Goodnight, Pete.’
OOO
‘He was acting weird,’ Peter told Ned the next day during chemistry class. ’I think he'd had a drink, but mostly he just seemed… sad. I think something happened between him and Miss Potts.’
‘They argue?’ Ned asked.
‘I think so. I wonder what happened… I hope it wasn't because of me,’ Peter sight, tipping a few drops of blue liquid into their pipette. ‘Everything was fine before I moved in.’
‘Kids are never the reason adults argue. It's necessarily the sign of a pre-existing problem,’ MJ said solemnly from behind them.
Peter and Ned jumped.
‘Since when have you been listening to our conversation?!’ Peter asked, turning to her as she leaned against their lab table.
‘Since you two started talking like you were in the middle of a fish market?’
‘You're exaggerating,’ Peter protested. ‘We're not talking that loud!’
‘And no one’s listening to us anyway!’ Ned added.
Peter glanced around and noticed that their classmates seemed strangely absorbed in their chemistry experiment. All of them—except Flash.
Flash was absolutely staring at them.
‘Okay, maybe we could talk quieter,’ Peter admitted half-heartedly.
Turning back to MJ, who was now eyeing him intently:
‘What were you saying? About arguments being a sign of... pre-existing problem?’
‘I mean you're not to blame for whatever’s going on between Stark and Pepper Potts. Their twisted relationship is their business, not yours. And if they ever dared blame you? That’s be incredibly hypocritical!’
‘True,‘ Ned agreed. ‘Besides, they're always breaking up and getting back together, right? That’s their thing.’
‘But everything was fine before I moved in with Mr. Stark,” Peter objected.
‘Are you sure about that?’ MJ pressed.
‘Well... they looked happy.’
‘And looking happy always means being happy?’
Peter didn’t answer. He knew MJ had a point. He had patrolled enough of New York's darkest streets to know that even the happiest-looking families could hide the worst secrets.
And before Spider-Man, he had learnt that appearances could be cruel, deceitful mirrors.
WithSkip—
No.
He pushed the thought away, forcing himself to breath deeply.
‘Are you okay? You look pale,’ Ned asked, worried.
Peter nodded, but silently thanked MJ when she gently placed her hand over his, grounding him.
(Meanwhile, her lab partner seemed to have abandoned any hope of working with her: she had just caused their chemical experiment to foam dangerously, bright blue bubbles gurgling on the workbench.)
‘Stark is very lucky to have you,’ MJ said, eyes locked on his. ‘He can buy whatever he wants, with his fortune of dubious origin, but you—you’re worth more than any of that. Don’t forget it.’
Peter nodded, finding a strange comfort in her words. She offered him the beginning of a smile.
‘Just try to be there for Mr Stark,’ Ned suggested, patting Peter’s shoulder (and breaking the moment between MJ and him). ’I know when my mom is down, all she needs to feel better is to watch one of those K-dramas she loves. And prawn chips. Lots of prawn chips.’
MJ grimaced. ‘A K-drama? I'd go with Insidious instead. Or Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Now that's cinema.’
OOO
‘Hey Happy,‘ Peter said cheerfully as he slid into the car after school, surrounded by the joyful buzz of students at the end of the day.
‘Hey Peter,’ Happy replied, eyeing him suspiciously.
‘Think we could make a quick stop before heading back to the Tower?’
‘Mmm… depends. What's on your mind, kid?’
OOO
‘Friday, where's Mr… Tony?‘ Peter asked as he stepped into the living room, carrying a freezer bag.
‘He’s on the ninetieth floor, in the lab. Would you like me to tell him you're here?’
‘Oh, no, don't bother him. I'll wait.’ The teenager replied as he settled down on the sofa.
But Tony must’ve already heard that he had arrived because, moments later, the elevator doors opened and revealed his familiar silhouette. Peter noticed he looked in slightly better shape than the night before, though he hadn’t bothered to shave.
He gave Peter a curious look.
‘TV already? Don't you have homework to do? God, since when do I say things like that?!’
Peter smiled, unsure. ‘I was waiting for you. Mr.—uh, Tony.’
The man raised an eyebrow.
‘Really? Why’s that? And what are you hiding in that bag?’
‘I... um. You seemed really down last night. Like you and Miss Po—I mean, you and someone really important—had a fight. So I thought about what May and I used to do on bad days, when she was upset after a tough day at work or stressed about rent. We’d always had the same ritual: we’d sit down with a rom-com and a tub of ice cream, and talk about anything, until she forgot why she was sad. She loved chocolate ice cream. She said it could fix anything.’
He had to stop for a few seconds to fight back the tears threatening to sting his eyes.
‘I didn't know your favorite flavor of ice cream, but luckily Happy was there—he told me you liked vanilla with caramel and sea salt. I couldn't find that exact kind, but I got vanilla and caramel separately, and I figured if we mixed them… Anyway, according to May, ice cream and rom-coms are the best therapy in the world!’
He pulled the two tubs of ice cream from his bag, along with the spoons he had grabbed in the kitchen.
For a brief moment, Tony just stared. Like he was seeing a ghost. Peter froze, fearing he had done something wrong.
But then, Tony’s face softened. He crossed the room and slumped heavily onto the sofa beside him.
‘Alright, kid. Can’t hurt to try your therapy.’
‘Awesome! What movie should we watch?’
‘Whatever you want.’
They let Friday choose a rom-com, but Tony only lasted three minutes before switching to an action film. Peter chuckled and dug his spoon into his vanilla ice cream.
They were halfway through their ice cream when Tony spoke again, seemingly absorbed in the contents of his own spoon.
‘Pepper told me to say she’s sorry. And… so am I. Sorry, I mean.’
Peter blinked. ‘Sorry for what? You don’t have to apologize for anything. Letting me live here, everything you’ve done for me—that’s huge, I’ll never be able to thank you enough—‘
‘Ta-ta-ta, none of that here, Pete. You don't owe us anything. And that's not what I meant.’
He took a deep breath before continuing:
‘You were right. Pepper and I had argued. She ended up packing her bags and catching the first flight to Los Angeles. She wanted to say goodbye to you, but we thought you were with Ned, and she didn't want to disturb you. I also think she didn't want you to witness… us, being completely idiots.’
He sighed, regret etching in the corners of his eyes.
‘She's sorry she didn't stay, at least until you got back. And I... I’m sorry I didn’t stop her. We could have tried to work things out. Things always work out with Pepper, if we just give them a chance.’
Touched by Tony’s unexpected confession, Peter hesitantly placed a hand on his arm. The man didn’t push him away, but didn’t react—he was clearly lost in thought, barely aware of the teenager beside him.
‘I—I’m… I'm sorry for you, T-Tony. Can I ask you why you argued?’
‘Nothing serious. And it wasn’t your fault.’
‘I... I know. Kids aren’t the cause of their parents' fights. Fights are just a sign of... pre-existing problems?’
‘The person who told you that is undeniably smart. Was it me?’
‘No, MJ.’
Tony gave a faint smile.
‘Well, MJ's right. What's going on between Pepper and me is an adult thing, you don't have to deal with it. And don’t worry—she hasn't left forever. She'd never abandon you. She'll come back. If not for me, then for you.’
The conviction in Tony’s voice stirred a strange feeling in Peter's heart—a comforting warmth mixed with sadness. He nodded, tried to smile at Tony, and took another bite of ice cream. Tony did the same, leaving silence fell again.
OOO
On the screen, the film seemed to be playing in fast-forward. Peter found it increasingly difficult to follow the plot—he had barely slept the night before, and his limbs felt heavy as lead. He stifled a yawn and briefly closed his eyes, just to ease the weight clinging to his eyelids.
Just a few… seconds....
Voices roused him from the half-sleep he has fallen into, but he was so comfortably nestled that he refused to open his eyes. Beneath his cheek was a soft, warm surface that smelled of coffee and ice cream, with a hint of aftershave.
Two people were talking nearby; one voice was distant, but the other vibrated beneath his cheek. Deep and familiar.
‘... here, Rhodey? Wasn't expecting you.’
‘Pepper called. She said you two fought, and she was worried. Afraid you’d react... badly.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘You know what it means, Tony: by drowning the problem in old Scotch.’
‘Tell her not to worry, I'm handling things just fine. Very soberly. Lemonade and coffee only.’
‘So I see.’
There was a pause. Then:
‘Looks like someone’s changing you. For the better.’
‘No idea what you're talking about.’
‘Sure. It's not like there's a sleeping teenager on your shoulder or anything.’
‘Oh, that teenager? Didn’t even noticed he was there.’
‘Mm-hm.’
‘May I ask what you're doing?’
‘Oh, just taking a picture. This moment deserves to be immortalized. And I'm sure Pepper would love to see it!’
‘Go to hell, Rhodey.’
‘I love you too, Tones.’
‘And keep it down—you'll wake my teenager.’
‘Your teenager?’
‘Shhh!’
Peter struggled not to smile as he drifted off again, feeling Tony's arm settle around him, as if to shield him from some invisible enemy.