All Is Calm, All Is Bright

Peter’s been counting down the minutes until last period ends. It’s not a Tuesday or Thursday, so no lab day today, but he’s still going to see Mr. Stark, which makes sitting through AP Chemisty almost unbearable.

Last night, while lying in bed, Peter realized something that sent a wave of panic through him: he still needed to go Christmas shopping for May. Every year, he usually makes her something—a drawing, a little DIY project, something personal. But this year’s different. Over the past couple of years, he’s been saving up money, and for the first time, he feels like he has enough to buy her a real gift without completely wrecking his savings.

The only problem? He has no idea how to shop for someone else.

Sure, he thinks he knows what May might like—she’s pretty easygoing, after all—but the idea of wandering aimlessly through stores hoping to stumble across the perfect gift feels overwhelming. And while a smooshed-down number five sandwich from Delmar’s bodega might technically count as a gift, it’s not the kind of thing he wants to put under the tree this year.

He thought about swinging into the city as Spider-Man, ducking into an alley to change back into his regular clothes, and buying something that way. But the more he thought about it, the more he realized he needed help—an adult’s help.

And that’s how he ended up texting Mr. Stark late last night, his heart pounding as he typed out the message.

The text was simple: Hey, Mr. Stark, do you think you could help me pick out a Christmas gift for May? I’m really stuck, and I don’t want to mess it up.

Hitting send had been nerve-wracking enough, but when Tony’s response came almost immediately—a casual Sure, kid. Tomorrow after school?—Peter nearly dropped his phone.

So here he is, counting down the seconds until freedom, not just because he’s excited to shop for May, but because… well, maybe he’s hoping to get a better idea of what Mr. Stark might like for Christmas too. Not that he’d ever admit that out loud.

Mr. Harrington has all but given up on teaching for the day. With only ten minutes left in class, the man’s perched at his desk, scrolling through something on his laptop while students chatter quietly or pretend to finish their worksheets. As long as you’re done and don’t cause a scene, he doesn’t care what you do.

That’s how most of the teachers are this time of year—just trying to survive until Christmas break. And honestly? It’s the best. The hallways smell faintly of cookies from someone’s holiday bake sale, class periods are filled with silly holiday movies, and the assignments are a joke. Peter’s pretty sure his AP Chemistry homework yesterday was just a glorified coloring page.

Not that Peter minds. School isn’t hard for him in general, but these last few weeks of low-effort chaos are something to look forward to every year.

Across the aisle, Ned turns around in his seat, his eyes lighting up. “Do you wanna come over and build my new Lego set after school today?” he whispers, leaning in conspiratorially.

Peter shakes his head. “I can’t,” he whispers back. “I’m going Christmas shopping with Mr. Stark.”

“Oh right,” Ned says, grinning knowingly.

Peter tries not to smile too much in return, but it’s hard not to when Ned looks so excited for him. He doesn’t even care that the mention of Mr. Stark might spark questions later. Right now, he’s more focused on the other thing that’s nagging at the back of his mind.

What’s he supposed to get for Ned?

Peter’s first idea was the newest Millennium Falcon Lego set, which would blow Ned’s mind—but it’s way out of his budget. Still, maybe… maybe if he asked nicely enough, Mr. Stark might take him to the Lego store anyway. Even if Peter can’t afford the Falcon, there might be something cool enough that fits within his savings.

He just needs to figure out how to bring it up without sounding totally desperate.

Before Ned can ask any follow-up questions, a voice cuts through the low hum of the classroom.

“Oh, right, your Stark Industries internship,” Flash Thompson says, leaning back in his seat two rows ahead of Peter. His tone drips with sarcasm, loud enough to draw the attention of a few nearby students. “Big man Parker, rubbing elbows with Tony Stark himself.”

Peter sighs, already regretting that Flash overheard. He meets Ned’s wide-eyed stare, silently pleading for him not to escalate.

“I mean, seriously,” Flash continues, turning around to look at Peter, his grin smug and sharp. “How dumb do you think we are? Everyone knows you’re just making this whole internship thing up for attention.”

Peter feels the familiar sting of frustration prick at his chest. He’s not a liar—he hates lying. He tries to let Flah’s insinuation roll off his back most of the time. He knows the truth, and so does Mr. Stark and anyone else important to him. But that doesn’t make it sting any less when people don’t believe him.

Still, Peter forces himself to keep his tone even as he responds. “I don’t really care if you believe me, Flash.”

Flash chuckles, leaning forward on his desk like he’s enjoying this way too much. “Sure you don’t, Parker. That’s why you bring it up all the time, right? Gotta keep the fantasy alive.”

“I didn’t bring it up,” Peter says, trying to sound bored instead of annoyed. “I was talking to Ned. You just eavesdropped.”

A few students snicker, and Flash’s grin falters for half a second before he recovers. “Whatever, dude. Just saying, maybe come up with something a little more believable next time. Like… I don’t know, interning at Delmar’s bodega or something. That’s more your speed.”

Peter clenches his jaw but doesn’t respond. He’s already learned that engaging too much with Flash only makes things worse.

“Okay, that’s enough,” Ned pipes up, glaring at Flash. “Why do you care so much, anyway? Just leave him alone.”

Flash snorts but turns back around in his seat, muttering something under his breath that Peter doesn’t make an effort to hear.

Peter exhales quietly, leaning back in his chair. It’s not like Flash’s words really bother him—they don’t. At least, not in the way Flash probably wants them to.

The thing that gets to Peter isn’t the disbelief or the teasing—it’s the label. Liar.

Because Peter isn’t a liar. He’s never been a liar. And it sucks to be branded as one when he’s telling the truth about something so huge. But at the end of the day, he knows the truth. So does Mr. Stark. And if Flash Thompson doesn’t believe him?

Well, that’s Flash’s problem.

Finally, the bell rings, and Peter’s out of his seat before the sound even fades. Slinging his backpack over his shoulder, he turns to Ned with a grin. “Call you later?”

“Definitely!” Ned replies, matching Peter’s smile.

With that, Peter practically sprints out of the classroom and down the hallway, weaving through the sea of students as he makes his way outside.

Once he steps onto the sidewalk, Peter scans the car pick-up line for Happy’s familiar car. But instead of the usual black SUV, something else catches his eye: a sleek, cobalt-blue sports car parked a little farther back. The windows are so tinted he can’t see inside, but Peter doesn’t need to.

He knows exactly who it belongs to.

For one, his spider sense is picking up the faint sound of Tony’s favorite song thumping through the car’s speakers—just barely audible over the noise of the city. But even without that, Peter can tell.

It’s not like Midtown Tech is full of flashy cars. Sure, there are a handful of students with notable family connections or parents who drive nice cars, but nothing this gaudy. And in the two years Peter’s been going here, he’s never seen anything remotely close to a car like this pulling into the pick-up line.

Other people notice it too, though no one seems particularly fazed. While it might not be typical for Midtown Tech, this is New York, after all. A showy car isn’t exactly a unicorn, just a cool horse.

Peter adjusts his backpack and starts toward the car, his pulse picking up slightly. Tony doesn’t usually pick him up himself—he leaves that to Happy. But today must be special.

And honestly? The idea of riding in that car feels kind of… cool.

-

Sitting in car line traffic at 3 PM on a Monday? Definitely not on Tony Stark’s bingo card for life experiences—and yet, here he was. Voluntarily.

He could’ve sent Happy to do this. The man already ferries Peter to and from the tower twice a week, grumbling the whole time but still showing up like clockwork. This wouldn’t have been any different. And Tony knows Peter’s grown on Happy—there’s no way he’d admit it, but the kid has that effect. If Happy really hated it, Tony could’ve found someone else for the job. Probably.

But the idea of hiring some random person to drive Peter around? Yeah, no. That didn’t sit right. Not unless Tony had the chance to vet them thoroughly—and by thoroughly, he means tear their life apart at the seams—before handing over that kind of responsibility.

It’s a ridiculous thought, he knows. Happy’s perfectly capable. But there’s something about Peter that makes Tony a little… territorial. Protective. Not in a weird way, it’s just standard mentor things. It’s just enough to want to handle some things himself.

Like this.

He leans back in the driver’s seat, drumming his fingers on the wheel as the line inches forward. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he catches it: a mop of curly brown hair weaving through the crowd with a spring in its step. Even though he can’t see the kid’s face yet, Tony knows it’s Peter.

And sure enough, within seconds, the passenger door swings open, and Peter climbs in, grinning like he’s just won the lottery.

“Uber for Peter Parker?” Tony jokes, glancing at him sideways.

Peter laughs, pulling the door shut. “Only if it comes with snacks and free Wi-Fi.”

Tony smirks, putting the car into gear. “Snacks, no. Wi-Fi, always.”

As they pull out of the line and onto the street, Tony glances over at Peter again. There’s something about the kid’s energy—it’s infectious. Like standing too close to the sun but not minding the heat. He doesn’t even realize he’s smiling until Peter looks over, still chatting about something Tony only half-hears, and grins back.

It’s stupid, really, how easy this all feels.

“Buckle up, kid,” Tony says, nodding toward Peter’s seatbelt. “This is a sports car, not your aunt’s station wagon. We’ve got rules.”

“Already on it, Mr. Stark,” Peter says, clicking the belt into place with a mock salute.

Tony snorts, turning his attention back to the road. If someone had told him a year ago he’d be here—driving a teenager around and looking forward to something as mundane as Christmas shopping—he’d have laughed them out of the room.

And yet, here he was.

“So, I was thinking we could head to the mall?” Tony says, though he’s already taking the exit that’ll lead them there. Peter hadn’t exactly given him much to work with. Honestly, the whole text from last night had been a surprise—Tony hadn’t even realized Peter knew he could ask for this kind of thing.

Still, the mall felt like the safest bet. It had everything under one roof, and if Peter didn’t find something there, Tony wasn’t sure where else to take him. He normally had FRIDAY do all of his shopping.

“Sounds great, Mr. Stark,” Peter says, nodding enthusiastically.

Tony glances at him, wondering what exactly Peter has in mind for May. He doesn’t ask right away, he’s content to just drive and listen to Peter talk while he navigates traffic. But as they get closer to the mall, the question nags at him. What would Peter even buy for his aunt? And more importantly, how was Tony supposed to help?

Gift-giving wasn’t exactly Tony’s strong suit. His usual go-to was something extravagant—expensive jewelry for Pepper, high-tech gadgets for people at Stark Industries. But none of that really screamed “thoughtful present for a loving aunt.” If anything, Tony’s sure Peter would’ve been better off asking literally anyone else for help.

But Peter had asked him.

And if this whole mentor thing meant anything, Tony figured showing up for stuff like this was part of the deal.

“So, what are you thinking, kid?” Tony asks, glancing over briefly.

The question sets Peter off like a rocket.

“Oh, well, I was thinking maybe I could get her something for the kitchen, because she really loves cooking, but then I thought that might feel too boring, you know? And then I thought maybe something for her to wear, like a scarf or gloves because it’s winter, but she already has a lot of scarves, so I don’t know if that’s a good idea. Oh! Or maybe something sentimental, like a picture frame, but then I thought that might be too predictable…”

Peter keeps going, rattling off idea after idea, barely pausing for breath. By the time they pull into the mall parking lot, Tony’s counted at least a hundred potential gifts—half of which Peter’s already decided are terrible.

Tony pulls into a spot and shuts off the engine, glancing over at Peter as the kid takes a deep breath, finally running out of steam.

“Okay,” Tony says, his tone dry but not unkind. “So basically, you’ve got no clue.”

Peter lets out a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, pretty much.”

Tony smirks, unbuckling his seatbelt. “Don’t worry, Parker. We’ll figure it out. Worst-case scenario, we buy her a sandwich from that place you like.”

Peter groans, rolling his eyes. “No way, Mr. Stark. May deserves way better than a Delmar’s sandwich.”

“Good answer,” Tony says, stepping out of the car. “Now let’s go solve your little holiday crisis.”

Before leaving the comfort of the parking lot, Tony grabs a baseball cap from the backseat and slips it on, followed by a pair of sunglasses.

Peter glances at him, raising an eyebrow. “Uh… what’s with the disguise?”

“If we wanna get anything productive done, I can’t look like Tony Stark right now,” Tony says, adjusting the cap.

Peter tilts his head, clearly mulling it over, then nods like that makes perfect sense. Tony’s relieved—no further explanation required.

Still, as they walk toward the mall, he can’t help but think that Pepper would’ve been better suited for this kind of thing, or even Happy. And when Happy eventually finds out Tony came to the mall without him, he’ll get the lecture of a lifetime: It’s not safe, you’re a public figure, blah, blah, blah. But Tony’s Iron Man. He doesn’t need a bodyguard.

And even if something did happen—and it won’t—Tony has backup. Not just any backup, but Spider-Man himself. The kid was practically a one-man security team, quicker and sharper than Happy on his best day. Not that Tony would ever say that to Happy’s face.

But no way would Tony let Peter take a hit for him. The thought alone is enough to make his stomach twist. No matter how strong or capable Peter is, it’s Tony’s job to protect him. 

They step into the mall, the buzz of holiday chaos instantly filling the air. Lights, music, and the faint scent of cinnamon all mix together in the way only malls during Christmas can.

“Okay,” Tony says, steering Peter toward the nearest department store. “First stop. If I’ve learned anything about shopping for women—and let’s be real, I haven’t—it’s that you can’t go wrong with perfume or shoes.”

“Shoes?” Peter repeats, his voice laced with skepticism.

“Yes, shoes,” Tony confirms, already leading the way inside. “And while we’re at it, let’s steer clear of the kitchen section. Your aunt doesn’t need any more encouragement to spend time there.”

Peter snorts, clearly in agreement. “Yeah, good call. I love May, but her cooking? Not exactly five-star.”

Tony smirks. “Understatement of the year. What even was that… thing she tried to serve me the first time we met?”

Peter groans, running a hand through his hair. “The date loaf. I told her no one even eats date loaf anymore, but she was so proud of it…” He trails off, shaking his head.

“I’m not sure proud is the right word,” Tony says dryly. “That thing could’ve been used as construction material.”

Peter laughs, his grin widening as they weave through the store. “She’s great at a lot of things, but cooking? Not one of them.”

“Exactly. So let’s stick to something she can’t burn or accidentally weaponize,” Tony quips, scanning the aisles. “Perfume’s a solid start. Shoes, maybe. Let’s see what we find.”

Peter nods, still chuckling as he follows Tony deeper into the store.

After twenty minutes of aimless browsing through aisles, Tony’s not convinced they’ve made any real progress. Sure, they’ve found a few things—a nice scarf, a set of candles—but nothing that feels like the gift.

And that’s fine. He doesn’t mind. There’s probably a laundry list of things on his schedule that Pepper will nag him about later, tasks he’s officially ignoring in favor of playing personal shopper. But this? This is more important. And honestly, he really doesn’t feel like working anyway.

They step back out into the busy mall hallway, a sea of holiday shoppers rushing past. Tony keeps his head low, grateful that his disguise—half-hearted as it is—seems to be doing the trick. Either that, or everyone’s too wrapped up in their own frantic gift-buying to care. Either way, he’s glad their time isn’t being interrupted.

Their next stop is a clothing store. Tony trails behind Peter, watching as the kid scans rack after rack, turning down options that don’t quite scream May Parker. When they step back into the bustling corridor, they’ve still got nothing.

As they wander, they pass one of those little pretzel stands plopped right in the middle of the mall. Peter doesn’t say anything, but Tony catches the way his gaze lingers on the stand just a second too long.

“I’m starving. You want a pretzel?” Tony asks, already steering them toward the counter.

Peter’s face lights up, and he nods enthusiastically before practically bolting to the stand. Tony watches as the kid scans the menu with wide-eyed excitement, like a pretzel is the greatest thing in the world.

He orders cinnamon-sugar pretzel bites, naturally. Tony tries not to think about how much sugar that adds to a kid who already has enough energy to power a city. But hey, whatever.

Tony settles on the classic—a simple, standard-loop soft pretzel. He’s not even sure he’s ever had a pretzel from the mall. Come to think of it, he can’t even remember the last time he was willingly in a mall—or unwillingly, for that matter. That’s the perk of being Tony Stark: having someone else do the shopping and delivering everything to your door within hours.

They find a bench nearby, and for a moment, they sit side by side, munching on their pretzels. Tony keeps an eye on the crowd, scanning for anyone who might be paying them a little too much attention. So far, so good.

But Peter, predictably, can’t sit still for long. Halfway through his cinnamon-sugar bites, he wanders over to a jewelry store display case a few steps away.

Tony leans back on the bench, watching curiously as Peter stops in front of the window, his expression softening. It’s Tiffany & Co., which feels like a strange place for Peter to linger.

He’s not just glancing at the display; he’s studying it.

Tony raises an eyebrow, biting into the last corner of his pretzel. What exactly has the kid so fascinated?

-

Peter knows he’s standing in front of Tiffany’s, staring into the display case like he doesn’t know better. The necklace resting there is beautiful—simple and elegant, with a delicate chain and a small charm that sparkles under the lights.

He doesn’t need to look at the price tag to know it’s out of his league. But, of course, he does anyway. And, yeah, it’s as bad as he thought. Four digits. Four impossible digits that might as well be a million bucks.

It’s perfect, though. Too perfect. If Peter were rich—like, Stark rich—this would be the gift.

The necklace reminds him of the one Uncle Ben gave May on her 30th birthday. He’d saved up for months to buy it, and May wore it all the time. She loved it. Peter still remembers how she cried when it got lost during their last move. He knows it wasn’t from Tiffany’s—Ben wasn’t made of money, and even if he were, May wasn’t the kind of person who cared about brands.

But still. This one looks just like it, and Peter knows without a doubt that May would love it.

He’s so caught up in the thought that he doesn’t notice Mr. Stark standing beside him until he hears the faint click of Tony’s shoes stopping just a step away. Peter looks up and, sure enough, it’s him.

“That’s pretty,” Tony says, his eyes on the necklace in the display case.

Peter nods. “Yeah,” he says softly. Then, after a beat: “But way too expensive.”

His voice is even, but the sad smile on his face gives him away. He tries to shake it off—he doesn’t want Mr. Stark to think he’s asking for help. Peter would never, ever ask anyone for money. Even knowing Mr. Stark could easily afford it doesn’t change that.

For a moment, there’s silence between them.

“You really like it?” Tony asks.

Peter immediately shakes his head, waving his hands as if to stop whatever Mr. Stark might be thinking. “No, no, it’s not that, I just—”

Tony raises a hand, cutting him off. “Relax, kid. I’m not trying to buy it for you.” He pauses, smirking. “Well, not exactly.”

Peter frowns, confused. “What?”

Tony sighs, tilting his head toward the necklace again. “I was gonna wait to give this to you as a Christmas present… but I think it might be more useful now.”

“No, Mr. Stark, I don’t want your money!” Peter blurts out quickly, horrified at the thought.

Tony raises an eyebrow. “Relax, Parker. It’s not my money.”

Peter blinks, his frown deepening. “What does that even mean?”

Tony smirks again, a glint of amusement in his eyes. “You’ll see. Just… trust me, all right?”

Peter doesn’t say anything, still unsure what Mr. Stark is even talking about. But Tony seems confident, like he already has a plan, and Peter knows better than to argue when the man gets that look on his face.

Tony leads them into the store, and this time, he slips off his hat and sunglasses. Peter figures it’s for good reason—this place is a different level of fancy. Even the security guards by the door are dressed like they belong on a movie set. If there was ever a place where Tony Stark could comfortably be Tony Stark in the mall, it’s here.

The sales staff freezes the moment they recognize him, their jaws practically hitting the floor. Tony flashes them a grin. “I know, I know. Tony Stark, in the flesh. But let’s keep this under wraps, yeah?”

Luckily, the store is empty except for them. Tony doesn’t waste time, pulling out three crisp hundred-dollar bills and handing them to each security guard. “You think you could keep the doors shut for the next 20 minutes?”

Peter’s jaw practically unhinges. He wants to say something about how insane it is to drop that kind of money so casually, but Tony doesn’t seem fazed in the slightest.

The sales clerks recover quickly, practically tripping over themselves to cater to them. It’s… a little overwhelming, honestly. Being in such an expensive store already has Peter on edge, and now everyone is falling all over themselves to help them. But it helps, too, in a way.

“Why don’t you pull that necklace from the display case over there for us, please?” Tony instructs one of the clerks with a confidence that makes it seem like he owns the place.

Peter marvels at it. How Tony can just… take charge, no hesitation. Even in a store he doesn’t own, surrounded by people he doesn’t know, everyone listens to him. He’s Tony Stark, after all. Of course they listen. But still, it’s something Peter admires.

A clerk returns quickly, holding the necklace in a small velvet blue box. They place it gently on the counter, opening it to reveal the sparkling chain and charm inside. Tony gestures toward it, then turns his attention fully to Peter, his expression serious in a way that makes Peter feel like they’re the only two people in the room.

“What do you think, kid? Is this the one? Is that it?”

Peter stares at the necklace, the sparkle of the charm catching the light. He wants to say yes—it’s perfect, after all. But he also wants to say no, because he knows he doesn’t have the money for it. Still, Mr. Stark told him to trust him, and Peter decides to listen.

“It is,” Peter answers softly, still looking at the necklace.

Tony studies him for a moment, then nods. “Okay.”

He turns to the sales clerks. “Give us a minute, would you?”

The clerks hesitate, confused, but eventually step back, leaving them alone. Tony pulls out his phone, simultaneously taking his wallet from his pocket. He taps on his screen, then holds it out for Peter to see.

The screen shows an account with a long string of numbers. Peter blinks, confused.

“Mr. Stark… what is this?”

Tony looks at him, his expression calm. “It’s your bank account.”

“I… I have a bank account?” Peter asks, his voice somewhere between astonished and disbelieving. The only “bank account” he’s ever had is his dinosaur-shaped piggy bank, which currently holds most of his life savings.

“You do,” Tony confirms, smirking.

“But… but I only have money in my piggy bank,” Peter says lamely.

Tony shakes his head. “Remember how I told you I was going to deal with all those people selling Spider-Man merchandise?”

Peter nods slowly, the pieces starting to click into place.

“Well, I went ahead and trademarked Spider-Man under your name,” Tony explains. “And I made sure we got royalties from all the companies using your likeness. This”—he gestures to the number on the screen—“is the amount of money you’ve earned from that so far.”

Peter’s eyes go wide. The number is huge, well into the thousands.

“All that just from people selling my face?” Peter asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

“That, and the fact that ever since your internship started, I’ve been putting your paychecks directly into this account too,” Tony adds. “It was supposed to be your Christmas gift, but I figured maybe you’d want to use some of your own money now.”

Peter stares at him, stunned, his chest tight with emotion. He looks down at the necklace, then back at Tony, his throat feeling thick.

“Mr. Stark…” he starts, his voice trembling. He doesn’t even know what to say.

“Hey, don’t cry, Parker,” Tony says, though his voice is softer than usual. “It’s just money. And it’s yours.”

But Peter can’t help it. He feels like he’s going to cry anyway—not because of the money, but because of what it means.

“Now,” Tony says, leveling Peter with a look that’s hard to read. It’s not stern, exactly, but it’s serious in a way that makes Peter feel like he’s on the verge of something big.

Peter swallows hard, trying to keep it together. He does not want to be the lame kid crying in a fancy jewelry store.

“Your physical debit card is back at the lab somewhere, still in the envelope,” Tony continues, his tone casual, like this is just another Tuesday. “But I’ve got direct access to your account since I set it up. So, here’s the deal: you use my card now, and I’ll transfer the exact amount from your account back into mine. You can even watch me do it.”

Peter blinks up at him, completely thrown by how… thoughtful all of this is. It’s so Tony—a practical solution wrapped up in technology and efficiency—but it’s also more than that. It’s intentional.

It makes it really, really hard for Peter to keep the tears at bay. His throat feels tight, and he’s sure his face is giving him away because Tony’s expression softens slightly as he adds, “You wanna do this, bud?”

Peter nods, his voice stuck somewhere behind the lump in his throat. “Yeah,” he manages.

Tony smiles and gestures for the sales clerk to return. “We’ll take it,” he says, as easy as if they were buying a pack of gum instead of a four-digit necklace.

Peter shifts awkwardly, not quite sure how to act in this situation. The sales clerks are all polite and professional, but he can feel their curiosity buzzing under the surface. He’s just a teenager standing here with Tony Stark, and he knows they’re wondering who he is.

But Tony doesn’t seem worried about it, so Peter decides he won’t be either.

When the clerk hands over the card machine, Tony holds it out for Peter to do the honors. Peter hesitates for only a second before taking the card and sliding it into the reader. It’s such a simple thing, but he feels… grown-up, in a way he never really has before. Sure, May’s let him use her card to grab groceries before, but this is different. This is his money.

In less than five minutes, they’re walking out of the store, the signature pale blue bag swinging gently in Peter’s hand.

Tony leads them toward a quieter corner of the mall, where a few soft chairs are scattered around a sitting area overlooking the parking lot. There are a handful of people nearby, but everyone’s in their own little world, scrolling through their phones or chatting quietly.

Peter doesn’t know why Tony brought him over here, but when he glances up, Tony’s looking down at him with that same unreadable expression.

“You alright?” Tony asks, his voice low and genuine.

Peter hesitates, then nods. “Yeah. That was just… it was really thoughtful, Mr. Stark. I really appreciate it.”

Tony nods, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Good. That’s what it’s all about, kid.”

Peter’s grip on the bag tightens slightly, and for a moment, he just lets himself sit with the feeling—this strange mix of gratitude and awe that someone like Tony Stark would do something like this for him.

Then an idea pops into his head, “Can we go to the LEGO store now?”