|Driving a Car
Peter stands by Tony's private race track, fidgeting with his hands. His eyes keep darting between the sleek, classic car Tony has picked for him to drive and the billionaire himself, who is grinning like a proud dad ready to teach his kid something important. Which,… he kind of is?
"You sure about this, Mr. Stark? I mean, I’ve never even driven before. I mean- I have, but that was a Spider-Man thing and it happened once! I doubt Flash will ever take another of his fancy drives to school after that little… incident. Anyway, point is, Aunt May said I wasn’t ready yet and—"
"Kid, stop rambling. It's not a big deal," Tony interrupts, already tossing him the keys. Peter catches them with ease, his reflexes on autopilot. He grumbles. Thanks super reflexes, for encouraging Tony’s whims. He could have just let them fall and they could have exploded or something but nooooo…
"Look, May was just being protective. Which I totally get. But you're gonna be seventeen in a couple months, kiddo, and you’re more than ready for this. It’s just a car, not a spaceship. Now hop in."
“I think the giant donut spaceship wasn’t half as bad as this is gonna be- ouch! Hey! ” He yelps, ducking too late from Tony’s half-hearted slap to the back of the head. Again: thank you super reflexes, for literally nothing. You too spider-sense.
“Don’t even joke about that.” Tony admonishes, opening the front passenger 's door, “now andiamo, andiamo ragazzo .”
Peter grumbles under his breath, again, climbing into the driver’s seat, still nervous. His hands grip the steering wheel tightly, and the leather beneath his palms squeaks in complaint of his super strength. The angle from which he can now see the road feels weird, foreign, as does the seat and the amount of controls and buttons and stuff on that side of the car.
Tony casually leans over to his side, arms crossed and, of course, smirking. "Here’s the deal. This car? Classic. Beautiful. And, obviously, powerful. But it’s not rocket science, which means you’ve got this."
“I think I’ve made it pretty clear I’d much rather learn how to fly a rocket ship, Mr. Stark-”
But Tony keeps insisting he learn how to drive a car. Sure, Peter loves cars: mechanics-wise. Physics-wise. The first contact he’d had with a car had been Flash’s car at Homecoming, when he’d left Liz to go chase after her giant-winged criminal dad, The Vulture. The experience hadn’t been the most pleasant. That whole night hadn’t been the most pleasant, really.
Peter presses his foot on the brake, as Tony instructs, and shifts into gear. The car rumbles to life, and Peter's eyes widen in surprise.
"Alright," Tony says, "now, you slowly ease off the brake and give it some gas.” He explains, like it’s the easiest, most natural thing in the world. “Don't be afraid of it. Show it who's boss."
Peter does as he’s told, and the car begins to roll forward. His heart races, but so far, so good. Tony gives him a thumbs up.
"See? You’re killing it-”
“-please don’t say it like that-”
“Now, let’s see you pick up a little speed. Don’t worry, we’re on a closed track, nothing to hit but my ego if you scratch the paint."
As they round the first bend, Peter gets more confident. He presses on the gas, feeling the car respond with a roar. The wind whips through the open window, the tires roll smoothly on the tar. They’re sliding, gliding, and he’s the one making it so. Like in a video game, but real. It’s… fun. So much fun that, for a brief moment, Peter actually forgets his nerves.
"Wow," Peter whispers. He can’t help the small smile that tugs at his lips. "This is... kind of awesome."
Tony grins. "Told you."
Peter beams, turning to look at the genius. He never really thought he’d ever learn. With his dad gone, then Uncle Ben and now… now May, Peter had long ago resigned to being a New York kid through and through, reliant on public transportation and his own two legs.
Except now, living with the Starks, he needs Happy for a whole damn lot of things, like driving him from the lake house to the city to meet up with Ned and MJ; or even Tony, just to get to his last year of classes on time. He was so independent before that now, it makes him feel powerless. A weight. But he couldn’t complain, he was lucky to have a good home in a good family. Not for Spider-Man, but for Peter Parker, Queens had died with May. Many of his dreams had.
But Tony and Pepper taking him in? Even with a daughter of their own to raise, and with less of an arm to Tony’s medical records? They’d rescued him from loneliness and grief, grief he is still fighting, sure, but they made him feel like someone again, not just some orphan who couldn’t keep any sets of parents, not just the nobody the universe loved to taunt and torture.
He’d helped the genius build himself an iron arm suited to the hero who had snapped Thanos away and now he got to have these moments with a man who Peter could no longer only call a mentor. No. Tony had become his lifeline. A lifecoat, keeping him afloat in the face of May’s murder and Peter’s sad but honestly not that surprisingly new status as a double orphan.
Suddenly, he feels the car jerk unexpectedly. He panics, his foot slamming down on the brake. Tony tries to stop him, but Peter’s foot is like lead and the car skids and comes to a screeching halt. Their necks snap forward, before they’re smashing their heads back against the headrest. Tony winces.
"What was that?!" Peter gasps.
Tony glances at him, then at the dashboard. "You're fine, kiddo. The gear didn’t completely go through. Then you… you just gave it a little too much brake. Like… a little, little… Let’s take a breather. Pull the handbrake."
Peter slumps back in his seat, heart pounding. "I don’t think I’m cut out for this."
"Cut out for it? ‘Roos, you’re doing fine. Better than most first-timers, honestly. You just need to trust yourself."
Peter looks over at Tony, seeing the calm, unwavering confidence on his face. He really doesn’t want to disappoint him. What if Tony thought him to be a bad driver? He’d already screwed up so much by letting Quentin Beck… and then by having those stupid villains come in on their universe and then-
He nods and adjusts his grip on the steering wheel, taking a deep breath. His arms and legs feel a bit too much like Jell-O, but Peter is nothing if not stubborn. If he can swing from skyscraper to skyscraper, if he can fight a big, purple, murderous, ethically-challenged raisin in a barren planet up in space, he can get these four wheels with a couch and two chairs to move.
"Okay. Let’s try again."
“That’s the spirit. Just mind my neck, half of it has seen better days.”
This time, Peter is smoother, more in control. He guides the car around the track with growing ease, and by the third lap, he is smiling again, enjoying the ride.
Tony slaps him on the shoulder when they finally pull back into the garage.
"Not bad, kid. You’ve got some natural talent. I’ll be expecting to see you behind the wheel of one of my cars soon enough. I could even place you in Happy’s place, at least you don’t judge my every life decision. And you don’t remind me of my cholesterol every time I want to go out for cheeseburgers-"
“You go out for cheeseburgers at least three times a week. You have a heart condition…”
“Jeez, okay. Forget that last part, I guess. You’re all a bunch of party-poppers, y’know?”
Peter rolls his eyes, but grins, wiping the sweat from his brow. He pats the steering wheel.
"Seriously, though. Thanks, Mr. Stark. This was... fun. And terrifying."
Tony snorts, “terrifying is when I let you pick the music for the next lab session."
Peter scowls, but it’s hard to keep the smile at bay.
Tony raises his hands up, in surrender. “Okay, okay. I’ll stop.”
He pauses.
“Now seriously, though. You think that was bad? Wait until you have to drive with Pepper in the passenger seat.”
🕷🕸️☣︎📸🧬🌃 🔧🤖🫀🦾🕶💵
|How to Tie a Tie
“Come on!”
Peter fumbles with the silky fabric of his tie, trying for the fifth time to get it right.
He stands in front of the bathroom mirror, groaning in frustration. Tonight is some fancy Stark Industries event, very important given Tony and Pepper’s long time vacation away from the company ever since the blip. Sometimes, it's easy enough to forget they still own the thing, and that it came with responsibilities not even Tony’s impressively elusive self (when it came to board meetings or putting up with boring men in suits trying to climb their way up) could go around. Of course, the billionaire had insisted Peter come too, because he wouldn't be miserable alone. He also insisted he come looking sharp.
Even Morgan's attending, though Peter suspects she will just fall asleep within an hour, at most, given the lateness of the event. But that won’t be a problem. Happy will most likely just carry her home to bed, or let her crash in the car- a privilege Peter is sadly too old to benefit from. Still, that isn’t the big problem.
The big problem is, Peter has no idea how to tie a tie.
He’s one more attempt away from just yanking the twisted thing off from around his neck, and the suit along with it, when Tony, dressed in a perfect suit, walks by his bathroom, pauses, and then, as if smelling the growing shame and the boiling annoyance, knocks and steps inside without waiting for an answer, a single eyebrow raised.
"Uh, need a hand there, buddy?"
He looks at his guardian with cheeks puffed and face red, either from exertion, or that previously mentioned burning shame, or both. Likely both. Peter's hair, once neatly combed back, has started coming loose from the gel, and now he looks much like a pathetic clown who got electrocuted, in his very humble opinion.
Tony snorts, strolling forward until he’s standing behind Peter in front of the mirror, amused, “forget I asked. Come’ ere.” And as he makes grabby grabby motions with his hands, Peter can only sigh and go along. Anything to put him out of that misery.
“I thought you knew how to tie a tie. Didn’t you go to that homecoming wearing one?”
Peter sheepishly glances at Tony’s reflection in the mirror, watching the man unknot the twists and turns Peter’s desperation had so expertly tied.
“May didn’t really know how to,” he admits, “we kinda saw how on Youtube.” He hesitates, but feels the need to further elaborate, “it was a one time thing. Never had to wear one again, anyway.” Not even to her funeral. He had dressed that one pun T-shirt that always made her laugh and hid it beneath a more formal suit jacket.
Tony looks up at him, a diverted yet soft light twinkling in his eyes. He motions for Peter to turn around, and then finally takes the freed tie onto his hands. "Well, you know what they say, buddy. There’s always a second time for everything-”
Peter snickers. “I don’t think that’s how it goes, Mr. Stark.”
But the billionaire just keeps going, “first off, you relax. The tie’s not going to bite. You’re going to be dealing with worse things out there, trust me."
“That makes me feel so much better…”
Then, Tony loops the tie around Peter’s neck with ease, speaking as he works. "Watch this… Okay, so you start with the wide end longer than the narrow one. Then cross it over like this. See? Under, over, through the loop, and bam—there’s your knot."
He tugs the tie gently into place, smoothing it down. "See? Easy peasy."
Peter looks down at the perfectly tied knot, impressed. "Wow. I never knew it could be this simple. The Indian man on Youtube definitely took longer."
Tony shrugs. "Eh, it's just one of those things. You’ll get the hang of it soon."
“Thanks…” Peter fiddles with the tie, still feeling slightly out of his element. Then, he stops.
“Wait, what does that mean?”
Tony claps him on the shoulder. "No problem, kid. Now, let’s go knock ’em dead.”
Peter shakes his head, tripping after Tony on his way out the bathroom.
“Hey! You can’t just say stuff like that and then dip! Exactly how many times will I have to attend these things-?!”
🕷🕸️☣︎📸🧬🌃 🔧🤖🫀🦾🕶💵
|Cooking (With a Twist)
“What the fuuuuuuuu-”
Peter enters the kitchen, eyes wide as he takes in the pristine countertops, state-of-the-art appliances, and the general sleekness of the place. All things he’s seen before, of course. The fridge is one of his unwilling best friends, after all he has to keep up with his own super enhanced metabolism. A very hard challenge. Peter often wonders if the fridge cowers whenever it sees him. Maybe he’s a bully and doesn’t even know it. Like, ‘oh no, here comes this kid again. When will he stop ravaging me for sustenance like a savage who never ate once before in his life?!’
But that’s not the point, this time.
This time, the point is Tony is standing by the stove, dressed in an apron that reads, 'Genius, Billionaire, Playboy, Dad, Chef'.
Unfortunately, Peter’s not exactly convinced the last word to be accurate…
"So, what are we making…?" Peter asks, cautiously excited.
Tony gives a nonchalant shrug. "Pasta. Simple, quick, and every Italian mother’s pride. My mom was half Italian, you know?"
Peter raises an eyebrow. Yes, he knows. Tony doesn’t speak much of his parents, but that’s one thing he seems to delight in sharing again and again and again.
"Yeah, but… can you, y’know… actually cook?"
Tony waves off the question with a dramatic flourish. "Pete, Pete, Pete. Trust me. You’re in good hands. I’ve seen professionals do this a thousand times." He tosses Peter an apron, grinning. "Now, come on. Let’s make some magic. It’s time you learn how to survive off real food-"
Peter opens his mouth.
“And no,” Tony points an accusing digit right at his face, “I don’t mean the pre-made meals you love to throw in the microwave. Or the snacks you keep pestering the fridge for.”
Peter closes his mouth.
“If Pepper and I are not home at some point, I want you to eat well, you know? Classy. Maybe even feed Morgan as well.”
Peter’s hesitantly tying his apron, which reads ‘Friendly Neighborhood Chef in Training’ around his waist. (He didn’t even know he had an apron of his own. Who even wears aprons nowadays? May didn’t. Is that why she always burnt the food? Do aprons carry the magical art of cooking well? He has many questions.) The fact that they have personalized aprons tells him Tony’s really excited for all of this, so much so that he even planned it in advance. The thought brings a deep warmth to his core, and he tries to swallow the huge grin tearing at his face. Maybe that’s why it takes him a few seconds to process Tony’s words. Then, upon hearing that last part, he immediately snaps his head towardsthe man.
“Woah, woah, woah! That’s a herculean task and you know it! If it’s not cheeseburgers, Mo will barely touch it. It’s not fair that you’re putting this kind of pressure on me, Mr. Sta- Tony. I’m just a kid. A poor, innocent kid.”
Tony ruffles his hair. Vile. Revengeful.
“Oh, so now you’re a kid.” He says. “Funny to hear that. I will save it for later.”
Peter grumbles, but knows it’s not worth it to fight him. His words will come back to bite him in the ass soon, probably during Spider-Manning. Surely during Spider-Manning.
He sighs, hugging himself and trying not to pout as he awaits for instructions from the incredible, a quarter Italian chef in front of him. Tony grabs a box of pasta and dumps it into a pot of water without measuring. Peter’s spider-sense almost tingles for a moment, but he ignores it. He's well accostumed to dangers in the kitchen.
"So, first step," Tony begins, "boil the water, which we already have, and then we wait for the pasta to do its thing. Easy peasy."
Peter frowns, tilting his head. He doesn’t want to crush Tony’s high spirits, but…
"Uh, shouldn't we salt the water?"
Tony hesitates for a second. Peter can see the genius gears turning inside that billion dollar head.
Then he nods vigorously. "Right. Salt. Of course." He grabs the salt and pours a generous amount into the pot. "See? Got this all under control."
Peter watches, now way more suspicious than excited at learning another valuable life skill with his guardian. "And the sauce…?"
Tony's grin falters slightly, but he quickly dashes to the nearest cupboard, fishes what Peter highly suspects to be the first thing in sight and opens a jar of store-bought, (luckily) marinara sauce, and pours it into a saucepan.
"Homemade sauce takes too long. We're going for efficiency here. Note that down."
Peter tries not to laugh. Oh, he’s learning alright .
"Right… efficiency."
As Tony stirs the sauce, it starts bubbling aggressively. Peter’s eyes widen. "Uh, M-Tony? I think it’s burning."
“Nonsense, kid. It’s clearly just very happy to see me.” He waves him off. But then, as he keeps stirring, Tony’s eyes begin to widen, comically, in panic, as the boiling foam of pasta water begins spilling down the sides just like an angry volcano. He quickly turns the heat down, muttering something about "overzealous burners" under his breath. Just then, the liquid boils entirely over, out of control, sending a flood of starchy water cascading onto the stove. It sizzles loudly. Tony yelps.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Peter rushes forth to turn off the burner. Tony jumps back, hands raised.
"See? All part of the process…" Tony drawls, though the doubt in his voice is as clear as the sky on a summer day. His hands are still in the air.
Peter can’t hold back his laughter anymore. He doubles over, even as Tony graces him with one of his unamused side-eyes, and wipes at his eye, trying to clear the tears away from his vision. He wants to be able to see the man’s face properly. It’s too good not to.
"Tony, are you really sure you know how to cook?"
Tony crosses his arms, looking somewhat defensive. "Of course, I know! It’s just—this stove. The kitchen. The ingredients. They’re all… sabotaging me."
At that moment, no one other than Pepper walks in, raising an eyebrow as she takes notice of the mess. Dressed in a casual blouse and jeans, the killer corporate judging look is clearly still on because Tony shifts nervously under her stare.
"Tony… what are you doing?"
Tony points at Peter. "Teaching the kid how to cook?"
Pepper gives him a long look, then turns to Peter. "Have you learned anything?"
Peter grins, a shit-eating grin that tells her everything she needs to know. Still, he answers, because this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and because he loves to see Tony squirm. He can’t always be the one being mocked, right? It’s only fair. Peter takes his values very seriously.
"I’ve learned that Tony might need a few lessons himself. Or, like, a lot of them."
Pepper rolls her eyes, a small smile tugging at her lips. "Thought so… How about I show you both how to make pasta properly, uh? You know, edible pasta. Taste-buds-safe pasta."
Tony sighs dramatically, throwing the towel he’d been carrying around over his shoulder like those professional chefs in movies onto the counter, defeated. "Fine! You cook one meal wrong, and suddenly you're banned from the kitchen!"
And so, Pepper laughs softly and then she takes over, guiding both Peter and Tony through the process, from scratch. Peter listens attentively, learning more in ten minutes with Pepper than he had in the entire time with Tony.
"Guess I’m not as much of a chef as I thought," Tony admits as they sit down to eat.
Peter smirks. "It’s okay, Tony. You’re still good at a lot of other things. Like inventing… and, uh, not cooking."
Pepper gives Tony a knowing look, and he grumbles good-naturedly.
"Yeah, yeah, kid. Don’t rub it in too much."
🕷🕸️☣︎📸🧬🌃 🔧🤖🫀🦾🕶💵
|Shaving
Peter stands in front of the bathroom mirror, again, the place of at least half his meltdowns.
He’s staring down at the cheap disposable razor he’d picked up at the store with cash, so it couldn’t be traced back to him. His face isn’t exactly covered in a thick beard, more like the opposite, but there are some stray hairs on his chin and upper lip that have been bugging him for days. He’s always been a late bloomer, even if the spider bite helped. Now, at sixteen, his body’s finally managed to squeeze out some poor excuses for facial hair and Peter is not okay with it, because he has a date with MJ at the movies later that day, but even if they’ll be spending over half the time in the dark staring at a screen, Peter wants to look remotely put together.
He squints at the few scraggly facial hairs on his chin.
Yep, remotely put together. Not like a scruffy disheveled rat… or a stressed-out possum that lost a fight with that same scruffy disheveled rat.
Anyway, MJ deserves better than that. So, in his noble quest to look put together, he stares at the razor and prepares to wage war on his barely-there stubble.
How hard can it be? How easy can it be to screw up?
"You’re doing it wrong, buddy."
Peter jumps, nearly cutting himself. "Tony! I—uh—I thought you were busy with work…"
Tony smirks, leaning against the doorway. Maybe cash hadn’t been enough. Maybe Tony had magic tracing-back-secretly-store-bought-razors-to-Peter-Parker powers.
"Work can wait. You’re about to butcher your face, kid. Don't hold that razor like it’s a weapon, or a toothbrush, c'mon..."
Peter blinks, unsure. "Uh, okay… wait, what even does that mean?"
Tony steps forward, taking the razor out of Peter’s hand. "Look, shaving is an art form. The blade has to glide, not scrape." He grabs some shaving cream and unapologetically spreads it all over Peter’s face, definitely messier than needed. Peter yelps, then can only grumble, eyes closed and lips sealed tight to avoid eating any of the foam.
“And you absolutely don’t do it without the shaving cream, unless you want to look like you lost a fight with a rabid racoon to your little girlfriend tonight.”
Peter feels ridiculous, he does, but he does not want to look like he lost a fight with a rabid racoon to MJ that night, so he merely huffs, shoulders sagging, and lets Tony work.
"Now, here's the trick," Tony says, expertly moving the razor over Peter’s chin. He motions at the mirror, for Peter to watch and learn, much like he had with the tie weeks before.
"You go with the grain, not against it. Otherwise, you’ll look like you fought with a lawnmower."
“You have a lot of metaphors for shaving,” he points out while Tony cleans the razor under running tap water.
“You think I let anyone touch this amazing goatee, Pete? This is a national treasure. World heritage. I’ve spent a lot of time perfecting it. Of course I have lots of metaphors.”
Peter watches in the mirror, amazed at how easily Tony moves the razor over his skin without any nicks or cuts.
"There. Smooth as Stark tech," Tony says proudly, handing the razor back to Peter. He grabs the towel and, with an amused smirk, wipes Peter’s face as messily as he had when applying the foam. Peter sputters, but he’s way too impressed to complain. He touches his face, impressed, as Tony hands him the soothing balm.
"Wooow, thanks, Tony! I didn’t know you were so good at this." He looks up at the man, feeling giddy, and just a little bit incendiary, “maybe this is where your talent for cooking went!”
And if that started a shaving foam war, well, it was a war well lost.
🕷🕸️☣︎📸🧬🌃 🔧🤖🫀🦾🕶💵
|Handling Finances
Sitting in the living room of the lake house, surrounded by stacks of papers—bills, receipts, and a slightly intimidating financial planning book he’d picked up on his way home from school, Peter is, to be original, moments away from pulling his own hair out.
It’s not that it’s hard. It’s just that it’s boring as all hell.
Okay, and sometimes it’s a bit confusing. But Peter’s also a genius, and he’s good at math, so he’s supposed to have this in the bag.
As it turns out, though, finances were made to be so overwhelming that even geniuses are prone to messing up and/or giving up, thus becoming indebted to the state and fines, and thus prone to being robbed by those measly politicians who love to profit off people and blame it on their own incompetence. If Peter’s having a bad time learning finances and taxes and all that, what about people with lesser education? People with disabilities? How are they ever supposed to be independent?
The red tape never fails to astound him, and anger him, but it’s not something Spider-Man can fight.
"Kid, what are you doing drowning in paperwork?" Tony asks, strolling in with a cup of coffee. He raises an eyebrow at the chaos laid out in front of Peter. “It’s still summer, right? Or did I forget to take Morgan to school? Pep will kill me if-”
“It’s still summer, Tony.”
“Ah, good.”
Then.
“Well, care to explain the cramming?”
Peter sighs. "Uh, trying to figure out how to handle my finances?" He admits sheepishly. "I’ve been meaning to get better at this stuff, especially since Aunt May's… you know. One day I’m gonna need to handle this stuff myself, you’re not going to be my guardian for much longer, just little over a year…"
Tony’s usual carefree expression softens for a moment. He looks like he wants to say something,- that’s clearly his half-offended, debate face that follows, but he seems to swallow it up and nods, pulling up a chair. "You should’ve come to me, Pete. I’m the king of finance. Literally have people on payroll to handle my money."
“That sounds an awful lot like you don’t even deal with this kind of stuff,” he snorts, raising an eyebrow at the man. Still, Tony is successful money-wise, that’s true. And he’s a genius. He must know enough for Peter to survive.
Peter grins nervously. "Besides, I don’t exactly have Stark-level resources. I thought I should just figure this out on my own."
Tony snorts. "Figuring it out on your own is overrated. Let me show you how it’s done."
Peter shuffles over to make room for Tony, just like he used to with Uncle Ben and then Aunt May whenever they tried to help with the homework he could solve as easily as breathing, who pulls out his tablet. With a few swipes, he pulls up several apps, graphs, and pie charts that make Peter’s head spin. Definitely not lower grade homework. Tony smirks at the overwhelmed look on Peter’s face.
"Don’t worry, we’ll keep it simple," Tony says. "First rule: Budgeting. You gotta know where your money is going and where it should go. So, you take your income, right? That means anything you’re earning from side gigs, scholarships, all of that."
Peter nods.
"Next, you divide it up. Savings, essentials, and fun money." Tony taps on the screen, and a pie chart appears with sections. "See? You want to make sure you’re saving at least 20%. Essentials are your rent, food, utilities. Fun money is what you spend on… well, fun stuff."
"Like web fluid?" Peter asks, trying to lighten the mood.
Tony smiles, rolling his eyes good-heartedly. "I think web fluid counts under 'essentials.' Just don’t blow your entire budget on nerdy Spidey projects."
Peter laughs, already feeling more at ease. "This is actually making sense. I didn’t realize how much went into it."
"Most people don’t," Tony says with a shrug. "But once you get the hang of it, it’s not so bad. You just have to stay organized. And speaking of which…"
Tony pulls up another app. "Track your spending. Every dollar you spend, you log it. That way, you always know how much you’ve got left for the month."
“Damn.” Peter blinks. "So you actually do all this?"
Tony winks. "I have people for this. But when I was your age, yeah, I had to learn how to handle my own finances. Old man said so. And trust me, I made some dumb mistakes before I figured it out, but for once he was right, it was a good thing to learn."
Peter leans back, actually impressed this time. "Thanks, Tony. I thought this was gonna be way harder."
Tony gives him a friendly nudge. "Hey, kid, I’ve got you. You’re gonna be a financial genius in no time. Just keep saving up for web fluid and pizza, and you’ll be fine. Now, the devil itself- taxes."
🕷🕸️☣︎📸🧬🌃 🔧🤖🫀🦾🕶💵
|Standing Up for Himself
The tension in his shoulders is clear from the moment he steps through the door of the workshop.
Tony, hunched over a hologram of some new project, glances up when he hears the familiar sound of Peter’s sneakers squeaking and dragging against the floor. When he lets his feet drag, the kid is definitely moping about something. Funnily enough, Morgan’s the same with her tantrums.
"Something bothering you, kiddo?" Tony asks, not missing the clear frustration on Peter’s face.
“It’s nothing.”
“Oh, well, in that case,” Tony waves the hologram away, lacing his fingers with each other and placing his elbows over the table, leaning forward, looking interested, “why’s nothing bothering you, Underoos? What did nothing do this time?”
Peter stops, dropping his school bag on the floor unceremoniously as he deadpans at the man.
“Funny.”
“I am. But that’s not the point.”
Peter sighs, running a hand through his hair. "Fine. It’s just… school.”
“School? But you like school?”
“Yeah, well, it’s just… bad, sometimes. I miss summer.”
“It’s that ass Flash again, then." Tony raises an eyebrow, turning his full attention to Peter. "Come on, kiddo. You know you can’t lie to save your life. I thought that punk wasn’t a problem anymore. What is he? Seven?"
“More like seventeen, but yeah, mentally,” he rolls his shoulders and cracks his neck, huffing as he falls dejectedly onto a chair next to Tony. Peter crosses his arms over the table and hides his face in them. “He’s not really that bad anymore, not since the blip anyway, but…he’s been pushing my buttons a bit more again lately. He still takes every chance to mock me. I usually ignore it, but… I don’t know. Sometimes it gets to me. Especially when he mentions May. It’s not like he knows she got killed because of me, but the comments he makes seem almost too good at stinging."
Tony pushes his tools aside, crossing his arms. "You know, you don’t always have to be the nice guy, right?"
Peter blinks, “what do you mean?"
"I mean,” Tony begins, face hard. He’s had enough with this Flash kid messing with his Peter, but he had promised not to do anything about it, and Peter took promises very seriously, especially pinky promises. So, Tony was doing his very best to remain sitting on that chair, instead of flying out the window to teach the punk a lesson himself. “That standing up for yourself doesn’t always mean just taking the high road and walking away, and that being a hero doesn’t mean you have to take every single blow for other people. Sometimes, you’ve just got to put some jackasses in their place." Tony leans back against the table, his expression firm, and shrugs. “Honestly? You’d be doing that kid a favor by teaching him a lesson. Help him become a better person, if that’s possible.
“Besides, you’ve got every right to stand up to people like Flash without feeling guilty about it."
Peter hesitates, slowly peeking out from behind his arms. "But… I really don’t want to be a jerk."
Tony lightly taps him across the back of the head. "You won’t be. Come on, Peter, you’re smart enough to know that there’s a difference between standing up for yourself and being a bully. You think I got to where I am by letting people walk all over me?"
Peter cracks a small smile. "You? Definitely not."
Tony places a hand on Peter’s shoulder. "Underoos, you’ve got brains and brawn. People like Flash? They push because they think they can. Don’t let them. You’re allowed to say enough is enough."
Peter nods slowly, absorbing Tony’s words. "Thanks, Tony. I’ll… I’ll try. I guess I’ve just been too focused on keeping him busy on me so he won’t turn to some other innocent kid. I've just tried on not making things worse."
Tony gives him a reassuring smile, "trust me, standing up for yourself is never the wrong move. And if you want, I can lend you a pair of iron repulsors too, give him a new haircut-"
“Tony.”
“Alright, alright! Jeez...”
🕷🕸️☣︎📸🧬🌃 🔧🤖🫀🦾🕶💵
|Dancing
Peter standing awkwardly somewhere has honestly become an integral part of his signature image.
So yeah, he’s standing awkwardly in the middle of the giant, wide, sleek, delux, super open common room at Stark Tower, shifting from foot to foot as soft music plays in the background. The Avengers, or what's left of them, namely Clint Barton, Sam, Bucky, Natasha and Bruce (or Bruce-Hulk, Hulk-Bruce, Professor Hulk?), are having one of their rare "R&R reunion evenings". Thor is off-world, apparently, and Peter still can't wrap his head over the fact that, in returning the stones back to their worlds and the past, and bringing Black Widow back, Captain America had chosen to stay behind and live out his life before the ice. Now, he's old and weathered, and in a coffin decaying, but hopefully he’d been happy with his choice. Either way, Peter had been through a lot of weird things in his young and unusual life, but that was one thing it would take him way longer than just a year or so to get over. Honestly? He thinks the rest of the team's in the same boat and they’d obviously been closer to the super soldier.
Anyway, back to his ever so delightful problems. Tony, ever the socialite, had insisted on making the hang out a bit fancier than the usual pizza-and-movie nights, because of course he had. They’d already had dinner, and now the rest of the team was mingling, talking quietly, or simply enjoying the atmosphere. Tony, however, had also noticed Peter’s discomfort.
"Kid," Tony calls out, strolling over to where Peter stands like a deer caught in headlights. "You look like you’d rather be fighting an alien invasion than standing here."
Peter flushes. "I’m just… not really great with these kinds of things. You know, fancy parties, dancing…"
Tony grins, a mischievous glint in his eye. "You telling me you’ve never danced before? Not even at school dances or anything?"
Peter shuffles awkwardly and frowns. "Well, considering the one big dance I had a date to, I had to leave upon arrival to hunt down her evil criminal flying father, no. I’ve never danced before."
“Well, nobody here's dancing either? What’s with the sudden interest?” The genius asks from behind his fancy iced-tea glass with two ice cubes.
Peter chokes, “none! No interest!”
Tony raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed.
Peter stares wide-eyed at his no-bullshit-please face, “what?”
“Really?”
“Ugh!” He throws his hands in the air, which is a shame, since they’d been so comfortably hidden in his pants pockets. Great. Now he had to worry about what to do with them too. “Fine! It’s just… you know there’s gonna be a ball this year, since it’s our last year. And, well, I have MJ as a date, obviously, but…”
“But you don’t know how to dance,” Tony so brilliantly deduces.
“Yeah…” Peter finishes lamely. “Guess I’ll rely on that one Indian youtube guy again. But it’s okay! MJ says she doesn’t know how to dance either, so.”
Tony snorts, struggling to swallow his drink, “oh, ‘Roos. So naive. Women know how to do everything. Even when they say or think they don’t.”
“Really? MJ’s… well, she’s different, y’know? Which I really love! I mean, like! But could also, like, love…”
At that, Tony smiles a bit differently. He’s looking at Peter with those deep eyes he only ever uses when something’s really touched his heart and grabbed it and squeezed it tight.
“Michelle’s an odd cookie for sure, but you can stop choking on air, kid. Everyone with eyes can tell you’re completely gone for her. No shame in that. Nothing like a scary woman to make you want to be a better man.” He smiles, and Peter smiles too. Tony and Pepper have the type of relationship he openly looks up too. Maybe one day, he and MJ could be a bit like them, cool idiot old adults forever in love despite life's shitty challenges.
“Or kid.” Tony finishes. “You know, because you’re still a kid. A young innocentkid.”
Peter’s lovey-dovey vision dies. He deadpans.
“Original,” he dryly mutters. "Took you long enough to use my words against me."
Tony ignores him, clearly satisfied.
“But as for not dancing, yeah, that won’t do. You’re an Avenger now, and we have standards. You’ve got to learn how to dance at least a little bit. Can’t have you stumbling around at the next charity gala either."
Peter’s eyes widen. "Wait, what? Gala? No, I don’t think I—"
But Tony is already pulling him towards the middle of the room and what did he even do to his iced tea???
“Tony!” Peter cries, “not in front of them!” He gestures at the Avengers with his free hand.
"Relax, it’s just us. No one’s judging. Half of those guys will be hitting the snooze button before you know it. And you know Nat loves you, she’d never judge your obvious talent for stepping on my feet. Besides, it’s not like we’re doing the tango or anything. Just basic stuff."
Peter glances around nervously, noticing the rest of the Avengers are indeed too wrapped up in their own conversations to notice, or looking slightly comatose from the great meal they’d just had. Jeez, were they that old? Or was it the lack of sleep from saving the world? Peter can relate to the latter.
"I don’t know if I can—"
"Sure you can," Tony interrupts. "It’s all about confidence. Here, follow my lead."
Peter stares at him, begging. Tony is too smart, however. He avoids looking at his attempt at puppy eyes.
“Now, first thing’s first—stand up straight. You look like you’re trying to hide in a corner."
"I am..." But Peter hesitantly straightens his posture, feeling incredibly self-conscious.
"Good. Now, keep your feet about shoulder-width apart, relax your shoulders, and don’t overthink it," Tony instructs, his tone patient but firm. "Dancing is about rhythm, so just feel the beat. Let the music guide you."
Peter tries to relax, he really does, but his body feels stiff and unnatural. "I don’t think I’m cut out for this."
Tony smirks. "Nonsense. If you can swing from skyscrapers and fight bad guys, you can handle a slow dance.”
“Those are always your arguments…”
“Come on. One foot forward, the other back, and… there you go. See? Not so hard."
Peter awkwardly mirrors Tony’s movements, his face scrunched in concentration. "I feel like I’m stepping on invisible toes."
Tony laughs, but there’s a wince to it. "Definitely not invisible. Very real.”
Peter looks up, horrified.
“Oh, shush. You’re light as a feather. Spider freaky light. Anyway, you’re doing fine, kid. The trick is to keep it simple. Don’t try to get fancy unless you’ve got the basics down. And remember, it’s all about confidence. If you look like you know what you’re doing, people will believe it."
Peter stumbles a bit, his foot catching on the edge of the rug by the bar. "Yeah, easier said than done…"
"Don’t worry," Tony reassures him. "You’ll get the hang of it. Everyone starts out a little awkward. Even me."
Peter glances up, surprised. "You?"
Tony shrugs. "Sure. I wasn’t always this smooth, you know. But I had to learn. A Stark’s got to know how to dance, after all. Now, come on, let’s try that again. This time, relax. You’re leading me instead. Pretend I’m Michelle."
“I’d really rather not.”
But he still takes a deep breath and tries to relax his movements. Tony is right. He’s got to do this for MJ. Besides, he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t thrilled that Tony's taking time out of hanging out with the other Avengers, or even time at all, in general, to teach him something like this.
It tickles, inside, being loved.
This is stuff fathers do for their sons.
After a few more attempts, he finds himself getting the rhythm, his body moving more naturally with the music.
"See?" Tony says, a contagious grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Not so bad, right?"
Peter gives a small, proud smile. "Yeah… not so bad."
As they continue, Natasha walks by and smirks. Peter had almost forgotten the others were actually there, watching as much as they wanted to. God, Sam and Bucky would never let him live this down, wouldn’t they?
"Teaching him how to dance, Tony? Guess you do have some redeeming qualities."
"Hey, I’m a man of many talents," Tony shoots back with a wink, not missing a single step. "But don’t tell anyone. I’ve got a reputation to maintain."
Peter chuckles, feeling a little more at ease. Natasha winks at him, gently pushing his curls back from his face when they spin nearer her.
By the time the song ends, he isn’t stumbling nearly as much, and he feels a sense of accomplishment. He even managed to lead Tony rather decently at times.
"Thanks Tony," Peter says, grateful. His face is flushed from the effort. His eyes are glinting, alive. "I didn’t think I’d ever learn how to dance."
Tony gives him a light pat on the back, before pulling him under his arm, against his side, and leading them to the mini fridge to get a couple water bottles.
"You’re a fast learner. Just wait until the next gala—you’ll be the one showing off."
Peter narrows his eyes, a new sense of confidence blooming, “don’t get ahead of yourself, you might end up tripping and I'll have to ditch the gala to rescue your dancing butt.”
Tony smirks, cracking open Peter's water bottle and handing it to him. “Kid, I’ve got moves that could put Fred Astaire to shame.”
Peter squints, smirking back. “I have no idea who that is, but I bet even he didn’t need to take breaks after one dance.”
Tony scoffs, pretending to be offended. "Touché…"
🕷🕸️☣︎📸🧬🌃 🔧🤖🫀🦾🕶💵
|Realizing
Tony’s standing on the back porch of his Lake House, looking out at the sunset but barely registering the view.
His mind is elsewhere, filled with doubt and frustration. The cool evening breeze does little to calm him. Despite everything—building an empire, becoming Iron Man, saving the world, becoming a mentor to Spider-Man, saving the world again—Tony can’t help but feel like he’s failing at something far more personal.
Peter has been staying with him for months now, nearly a year. Since the loss of May, Tony has stepped in as Peter’s legal guardian. It was something the Tony of a few years before would never dream could come to happen, both May Parker meeting an untimely death and Tony becoming responsible for that overly excited, moon-eyed kid with a courage the size of the earth and a moral compass that does not come second.
The transition hadn’t been easy. Peter's strong, resilient even, but Tony could always see the cracks. The kid still aches for May, the only real family he had left for years. And every time Tony catchesPeter with that far-off look in his eyes, his stomach twists with guilt. It's not that her death had been his fault, still down and healing from snapping stupid Thanos and his army away. It's not that he blamed Peter either, not one bit, for all the mistakes that led to it. It's just that, well, he's Tony Stark—genius, billionaire, superhero. Yet when it comes to being a guardian, he can't help but feel like he's in way over his head.
The sliding doors behind him open softly, and Pepper steps out, a warm mug of tea in her hands. She takes one good look at Tony, then sighs, seemimgly already knowing what is on his mind.
“Still brooding out here?” She asks gently, giving up on her evening tea and offering him the muginstead.
Tony gives her a tired smile, accepting the tea, though he doesn’t take a sip. “I’m not brooding! Just… thinking.”
“You sounded a lot like Peter now. Plus, aren't those different words for the same things?” Pepper leans against the railing beside him, watching his face. “You’ve been thinking a lot lately, then. You want to talk about it?”
He hesitates, then let out a breath.
“It’s Peter.”
Pepper’s gaze softens. She too has taken the role of guardian very seriously, managing both their daughter’s needs and wants with Peter's necessites and silent calls for help. “What about him?”
Tony frowns, staring down at the mug in his hands. The liquid ripples as he jiggles it, reflecting the twilight. “I’m not sure I’m doing a good job.” He admits, rubbing his wrinkling forehead. The side of his jaw aches, as does his neck, even the non-horribly-scarred side.
“He still misses May. I can see it. He’s got that look—like he’s waiting for someone to tell him it’s okay, that she's coming back soon.” Tony pauses, hand gesturing forward, at the sky, at the horizon, at the world, before letting it flall uselessly and defeatedly down from the railing.
“But I’m not… I’m not her . I’m just trying to fill this void, and honestly, I don’t know if I’m the right person for it.”
Pepper raises an eyebrow, folding her arms. “Are you really going to sit here and tell me you think you’re not good enough for him?”
“Firstly, I'm not sitting,” he points out, but one look from her and he cuts on the jokes. Tony rubs his face with his free hand, again. His eyes are redish around the corners, the skin staring to look inflamed.
“It’s not that I’m not trying. But I don’t know what he needs. I’m not his father, Pep. I will never be his father, or his uncle, or his aunt. Jeez, this kid has a whole collection of obituaries sitting at the bottom of one of his drawers, and you still think I can make up for all those people?”
She places a hand over his forearm.
“The truth is, I don’t know how to help him, okay? What if I mess this up? What if he needs more than I can give him? What if I’ve been doing things wrong or, or- or haven't done things I should have done for him these months? What if he never fully gets back up on his feet because of me?”
Pepper’s lips twitch in amusement, which Tony finds rather offensive, thank you. Here he is, bearing his heart open to his wife, to his 'in sickness and in health', and she's finding it funny. She's laughing, though her eyes do remain sympathetic.
“Tony… you don’t even realize how full of crap you sound right now, do you?”
Tony blinks, caught off guard. “Uh… excuse me?”
Pepper turns to face him fully, her voice firm but full of affection. “You have no idea how good you are at this. You may not even realize it, but you’ve been teaching Peter things—things dads teach their kids. It’s in the way you look after him, the way you push him to be better, but also the way you make sure he knows you’re always there for him.”
Tony opens his mouth to protest, but Pepper holds up a hand, stopping him.
“God, you two are so alike at times I don't know if I should be worried,” she muses, “always making sure that big round guilt-complex feels included in your lives.” Pepper gently palms his cheek, hand sliding down to the uneven, sensitive skin scarred beyond repair staring at his jaw.
“Do you remember the time he stayed up late working on that school project? You walked in and found him passed out at his desk. What did you do?”
Tony frowns, remembering. “I… I moved him to his bed, made sure he was comfortable. Gave him some space so he wouldn’t feel embarrassed… which he did, anyway. Idiot would rather wake up with a stiff neck and back than let himself be carried to bed like 'a kid'”.
Pepper smiles at his unnecessary elaboration.
“Exactly. You didn’t lecture him about overworking himself, not right away anyway. You just did what any father would do—made sure he was okay. Or that time he got into a fight with Flash at school. What did you tell him?”
Tony shifts uncomfortably. “I told him to keep his cool. I know what it’s like to deal with people like Flash. I didn’t want Peter to feel like he had to prove anything to that jerk. And then I told him I could pay the jerk a little visit, which I still would very much enjoy, believe me-”
Pepper nods, her point even clearer. “You gave him advice because you care, Tony. You’ve been doing this all along, teaching him how to navigate life, how to handle himself; teaching him how to do things his own father should have been the one to teach him and that Ben and May never got to. You’ve already been a father to him without even realizing it!”
Tony’s silent, processing her words. He hasn’t thought about it like that—hasn’t seen the small, everyday moments for what they are. But maybe Pepper is right. (Pepper is always right.) Maybe he isn't doing half as bad as he thought.
“I know you think you’re not enough, that you can’t replace May. And you’re right—you can’t. But that’s not what Peter needs,” she shakes her head, fingers coming to card through his hair. “He doesn’t need you to replace her. He just needs you to be there for him. You. As yourself. And trust me, he’s noticed. He knows you’re more than just his guardian. You’ve been so much more to him, love. You’ve been his dad, just like you are to Morgan.”
Tony’s chest tightens at the word, a mix of emotions swirling inside him. He has never thought of himself that way, has always kept a certain distance between being Peter’s mentor and then legal guardian and something more personal,- the 'd' word. But Pepper’s words hit home. He has been stepping into that role, without even realizing it. Hell, he's been swimming in the role. Diving, even.
At some point, it become impossible to see Morgan and Peter as different figures in his life, even if they are and will inevitable always be.
“Pep, I…” Tony starts, but his voice falters. “You’re right. Of course you’re right, I just… I don’t want to fail him.”
Pepper rolls her eyes. “You won’t. You already haven’t. You’ve done more for Peter than you give yourself credit for. And he knows it. He’s not just looking up to you as his mentor anymore. You’re family to him. You’ve given him something to hold onto after losing May. I think you alone have pretty much kept him afloat most of the time.”
“You too,” Tony reminds her, taking her soft hands in his rough ones. “He's just as lucky to have you as he is to have me.”
A pause.
“And that scary Michelle and Ted too, I guess. Peter definitely knows how to pick them.”
They both share a laugh, the evening breeze cooler now. Pepper shivers slightly, and Tony, a smile growing on his face in tandem with his own realization thoughts, subconsciously wraps an arm around her, pulling her close, keeping her warm.
Family.
It wasn’t something he had ever thought he’d have again, not after his messy relationship with his own father, and certainly not after all the sacrifices he’d made as Iron Man. Not after Afghanistan, or Titan. But Peter… Peter had wormed his way into Tony’s heart in a way he hadn’t expected. The kid wasn’t just a responsibility or a sidekick, or a kid way in over his head Tony wanted to keep alive because that's what you should do: keep kids alive.
He was his kid, had become his kid, whether Tony had wanted to admit it or not.
And he did want to admit it. Every single day for the rest of his life.
He could only hope the kid wanted to admit the opposite as well.
And the truth be told, the signs are there, aren'tthey...? Peter needs him. Tony needs Peter, but Peter needs him too. And that should terrify him, and it does, but not because it's something bad, because it’s something so so good.
After a long moment of silence, Tony finally speaks, his voice quiet but steady. “Thanks, Pep. I needed to hear that.”
Pepper smiles, leaning in to press a kiss to his cheek. “Anytime. Just remember—you’re doing better than you think.”
That night, Tony finds himself standing outside Peter’s room, hesitating before knocking softly on the door. When Peter calls out, “Come in!” Tony steps inside, finding the teenager sprawled on his bed with textbooks and gadgets scattered around him.
“Hey,” Peter greets him with a tired smile, rubbing his eyes. “Need help with something?”
Tony shakes his head, leaning against the doorframe. “No, just checking in. You doing okay?”
Peter blinks, surprised by the question. “Yeah, I’m fine. Why?”
Tony takes a breath, trying to find the right words. “I’ve been thinking… about everything. I know things have been tough since May… and I know I’m not her. But if there’s anything you need, if you ever want to talk or… whatever, I’m here.”
Peter sits up, looking at Tony with wide eyes, “oh… okay? Yeah, yeah. I know. Just… why are you thinking about this now? Did something happen? Are you-? Oh my god, are you dying?!”
"What? No!"
"Is Pepper dying then?!"
“Nobody’s dying, kid!” Tony snorts, “just... making sure you know you can come to us…”
Peter is still staring at him like he's grown a second head, or like a bomb might fall in through the ceiling at any given moment, but Tony isn't quite ready to go all mushy feeling at a time like 23pm. Besides, Peter doesn't look burdened, for once, and he's not about to be the one to ruin that. So, if he's not in need of talking, Tony will just mercifully change the subject.
“So, what you got there?” He asks, strolling over to the bed and sitting on one of its sides, back against the headboard, one leg stretched out quite casually, socked foot coming to mess with Peter's school books and notes.
“Tony!” The kid complains.
Tony huffs, crossings his arms. But Peter's not angry, he's trying to get Tony's foot up from pressing down on his things like it's the most difficult task in the world, like he couldn't get a bus off the ground while drinking a smoothie.
Tony smiles.
“So, have I told you this story about when-”
And Tony realizes Pepper is right. He has been more than just a guardian to Peter. He’s been a father. And for the first time in a long time, Tony feels like maybe, just maybe, he isn’t screwing it up, at all.
🕷🕸️☣︎📸🧬🌃 🔧🤖🫀🦾🕶💵
|Staying (forever)
Tony Stark has always been a man of action. But when it comes to Peter Parker, things aren't nearly as simple as building a new suit or developing cutting-edge tech, or- hell, figuring out time travel.
Asking Peter to let him adopt him?
Yeah. That requires something Tony’s far less comfortable with— feelings. The deep mushy kind.
For months since that talk with Pepper, Tony has been acting weird. He knows he has. He is painfully aware of how awkward and evasive he has become ever since the idea that’s been plaguing his every waking and sleeping thought first popped up. It's a good idea, or he wouldn't be the genius of the century, but it's also very very damaging to his own health. His heart, (yes, he has one), feels stuck in his throat, and he's had to sit down and let FRIDAY take his bpm’s and arterial pressure more than once whenever the idea of presenting the papers to the kid gets too real. Tony does not understand what the fluttering feeling in his stomach means whenever he thinks of sliding the papers his lawyers have already readied for him in front of Peter; or even when he simply looks at the file. It's beyond maddening. He is Tony Stark, after all.
He's pretty sure, too, that Peter’s been noticing everything about his odd random symptoms and puny little excuses for suddenly leaving the room whenever Tony finds himself imagining every single possible way it could go.
All in all, Tony Stark is scared shitless.
Because what if Peter takes it the wrong way, or thinks him weird for wanting to adopt him when he's already legally responsible for him?
All in all, Tony Stark is a coward.
...
(The change was subtle at first, but soon it became hard to ignore. Tony would start conversations only to trail off, make half-baked excuses to leave a room, or hover awkwardly during Peter's training sessions. He would glance at Peter and then hurriedly look away, rubbing the back of his neck. Peter was very sure something was wrong, even wondering if he had done something, but everyone else seemed fine with this off behaviour. Even Pepper.
And the truth was just that.
Absolutely everyone knew what Tony was up to, thanks to Pepper. She was very tired of watching Tony fumble with his emotions and refuse to take the final step, so she’d stealthily filled in the Avengers and Happy in on the situation. hey'd taken to mocking him whenever they could and the kid was out of earshot. But not even the mocking was speeding things up. Tony had the adoption papers ready for weeks, but courage? Well, that was in short supply.)
...
It’s a Wednesday morning when Peter notices Tony being extra extra extra strange.
They’re in the new lab at the lake house, more of a super high-tech workshop, supposedly working on a new enhancement for Peter’s suit. But Tony has been fidgety the entire time, avoiding eye contact and mumbling whenever Peter asks a question.
“Uh, Tony, are you sure you’re okay?” Peter asks, cautiously. He can't help but feel like the man’s about to confess to some earth-shattering revelation. Like that, after all this time and space travels and tech developments, the earth really is flat, the aliens build the pyramids, or even that chicken nuggets aren't actually made of chicken.
Tony, who’s been holding a wrench for no reason (and definitely not using it), freezes. “Me? Okay? Yeah, why wouldn’t I be? Totally fine, kid. Fine like…a well-oiled machine. Like a suit made out of vibranium. You know, just fine .”
Peter narrows his eyes. “Right. Because nothing says ‘fine’ like holding a wrench backwards and pacing for the past ten minutes.”
Tony drops the wrench immediately, right onto the ground, like it burned him. “Pacing? No, no, I was—checking the—uh, portible reactor’s …output.”
“The reactor’s across the room…”
Tony blinks.
“…Right.”
"...at the tower."
"Ah, jeez-"
...
Another day, during a rather homey lunch with the Avengers, things get weirder.
Peter is sitting next to Tony, and every time he tries to grab something from the table, Tony preemptively hands it to him before he even asks. Salt? There. Ketchup? Already in hand. Extra napkins? Don’t worry, Tony has a stash.
Peter's starting to think his guardian got secretly bit by a sort of radioactive butler and now has a sixth-sense much like his danger one.
The side looks he's been giving Tony throughout lunch have not gone unnoticed by a very amused Pepper and four very laughter-prone Avengers. Clint has to bite his lip every time Peter is forced, by morality of course, to lean forward and completely twist his brow up at the genius, trying to figure out of he's okay or has secretly been replaced by an alien who likes to hand or be handed things. Sam and Bucky look like they’re mere seconds from blowing up at all times. Rhodey has taken to hiding his mouth behind a very shaky hand.
Natasha smirks from across the table, much more collected but no less delighted, eyeing Tony’s awkward behavior. “You’re really spoiling him, uh, Stark?”
Tony glares at her. “Just being helpful. Ever heard of it, Romanoff?”
“I have,” she replies, taking a sip of her coffee. “Just never seen you practice it.”
Peter glances between them, utterly confused. “What’s going on?”
Pepper, who has been quietly observing, and trying to resist the urge to pick up her phone and start recording (Peter's seen her hands itch for the divice more than once), gives Tony a knowing look and then speaks up. “Oh, nothing, sweety. Tony’s just got…a lot on his mind.”
Peter frowns. “Really? Because he’s been acting super weird around me like all week.”
Clint, still biting into a sandwich, nearly chokes on laughter. “Oh, kid, you have no idea.”
Tony shoots Clint a death glare.
“Barton, eat your damn sandwich and mind your damn business.”
...
Days pass and Tony’s awkward behavior escalates to new heights.
It's come to the point where Peter constantly catches Tony almost starting a conversation with him several times, only for him to abruptly change the subject. Or flee. Or both at the same time, which takes a level of talent he shouldn't really be that surprised by Tony Stark possessing it.
On another nothe, Tony's also stopped coming to his room at night to tell him stories before bed, like he does with Morgan. Peter knows he's aged out of that already, like, years ago, but the bits and pieces of childhood he's missed, (not that his parents or Ben or May never read him stories or tucked him in, because of course they did every night), have him craving for that little moment with Tony at night. Peter will turn off the light and settle in, only to hear Tony coming to check on him before going to sleep himself. The man will better adjust his covers, run a hand through his hair and then hesitantly leave the room, and Peter will lie awake, pretending to be asleep, and will wonder whether that means Tony still likes him or if he's slowly just getting sick and tired of Peter and his baggage and is too nice to say it.
But Peter, for all his wide-eyedness and smallness as Peter Parker, is not a coward.
Finally, one afternoon at Stark tower, Peter has had enough.
He storms into Tony’s office, determined to get some answers. His face is red, redder than he'd like which would have been zero, and his hands are stuffed in his pockets, hiding how they tremble and how he's digging the half-moon of his nails into his palms.
“Okay, what is going on?” He asks, crossing the threshold. “You've been acting super weird. Is it something I did? Or—”
Tony, sitting behind his desk, looks up at him, panic flashing across his face. “What?!”
“You heard me. You’ve been acting distant and weird and… and, and I don’t know what I did- but everyone seems to know and honestly that kinda sucks, because if anyone should know that someone should be me, and-”
Peter shuffles, his confidence sinking down with Tony's blatant shock. So is it that bad?Did he screw up so big Tony couldn't believe Peter came actively seeking the argument? But no, that can't be, Tony was always pretty direct when scolding him.
Maybe he really is tired of Peter, and has regretted taking him in… What else can Peter believe?
Tony, as always, seems to read his mind like it's his native tongue.
“What?! Oh, jeez, kid- No! No, Pete, you didn’t do anything. I’m just—”
“Then what is it?” Peter interrupts. He fixes his eyes on the man, and he wants them to be high, strong, demanding but really, he thinks they're only pleading.
“You’ve been avoiding me, handing me random stuff like I’m a kid who can’t reach the table, and you’ve been acting nervous all the time. I don't know what to do with all these different signals! If this is about the time I almost blew up the lab, I swear that wasn’t my fault—”
Tony suddenly stands up, walking around the desk and facing Peter head-on. “It’s not about that,” he says, his voice softer now. “It’s…Peter, I…” Tony sighs, running a hand through his hair. Then over his face. He crosses his arms, but it looks like he's hugging himself instead. “Ah, jeez…”
Looking up at the ceiling as if waiting sudden divine intervention or inspiration, Tony Stark uncrosses his arma and flaps his hands vaguely around in Peter's direction. Peter's never seen him this nervous, it's enough to make him nervous too. Or, well, more nervous.
“I’m not good at this stuff, okay?” He finally lets out. “Talking about feelings, being…mushy…”
“Well, you’re not that bat at it either,” Peter says.
Tony dares a smile, a touched smile like the feelings he keeps insisting are not his ‘vibe’, if he knows what that means. Peter hasn't been able to fully teach him on how and when to use that ‘young slang’ yet.
“Yeah, but this is different. There’s… something I’ve been wanting to ask you. And before you freak out, just—hear me out.”
Peter blinks, now completely lost. “Okay…”
Tony walks over to his desk like a man walking to his noose, and pulls out a folder. The same folder that has been gathering dust for weeks. The longer Peter stares at it, the more confused he gets, and the more he wonders if he should be moreworriedinstead.
“Here,” he says, thrusting it into Peter’s hands. “Just… just read it, you’re good at that. Reading.”
Peter takes and opens the folder, eyes hesitating on Tony's face before slowly but surely sliding down to stare at the paperwork.
He reads the title three times, then a fourth, before it finally registers. His eyes widen painfully, on the verge of popping out.
“Wait…is this—are these adoption papers?!”
Tony shuffles awkwardly. “Yeah. Look,-”
“There's my name in this… and yours over here- Who’s Virginia? Is that Pepper’s? Tony, what-”
“Yeah, she’ll want her own mushy moment with you if you say yes. Anyway… As I was saying,” he continues, measuredly, “I know this is kind of sudden, and you’re probably thinking, ‘what the hell is Tony Stark doing asking me this,’ but…you’re already family to me. I just want to make it official.”
Then, he pauses.
“Only if you want to, of course! No pressure! None at all! Ziltch! Nada!”
Peter stares at the papers, speechless. His heart is pounding like it doesn't even pound when throwing himself off Central Park Tower. His mouth hangs open, literally, and for the first time in probably his life, Peter Parker- Spider-Man,- is at a loss for words.
Tony, misreading his silence, starts to backtrack. That man is sweating.
“I mean, if this is too much, we can just forget this...”
Peter's control on his strenght goes haywire. He keeps staring down at the papers while probably crumbling them too hard underneath his super fingertips, then up at Tony, then down at the papers again. His mouth is still open.
“Okay, kid. Just rip the bandaid already, let me down, call me names I won't even scold you- just, can you say something? You’re really quiet and honestly that's a bit more than unsettling and-”
Peter lunges forward, throwing his arms around Tony in a hug so sudden that it nearly knocks him off balance.
“I’d love that,” Peter says, his voice muffled against Tony’s shoulder. “I’d love it!” His voice wavers and his grip is honestly a bit bruising, but for the first time in a long time, Peter can't bring himself to care. Tony loves him. He cares for him.
He wants him.
Tony stands frozen for a moment before wrapping his arms around Peter, relief flooding through him. He deflates, sagging tiredly but warm against his kid- his son.
The jittery feelings are back in his stomach, and this time they’ve managed to tickle his heart too.
“Well, I guess that’s a yes, then,” he laughs.
“Yes, yes, yes, yes yes yes yesyesyesyesyesyesyesyesyes-”
“Hey, take a breath, ‘Roos,” Tony admonishes, squeezing him tight.
“Is this why you’ve been acting all nervous and weird?!” Peter asks, exclaims, loud enough for the world to hear. His voice is sticky and watery and Tony hadn't realized there was wetness on the shoulder of his blouse.
“I didn't mean to push you away, kiddo. Really. It's just… I didn't want you to think I was trying to replace your family. May, Ben… Besides, it's… A lot, being the son of a Stark-”
Peter looks up at that, face hard and eyes wet, but determined, “respectfully, shut up.”
“Excuse me?” Tony snorts, looking down, “show your dad some respect, you deranged youth.”
Peter's eyes glow as much as Tony’s at the use of thatword, but he's stubborn, because of course he is. It's one of the many things Tony loves about his kid- his son. His son. His son.
So, of course, Peter has to finish what he began.
“You’ve been… you’ve been great. You’ve done more for me than anyone else could’ve. I know I don’t say it much, but… I’m really lucky to have you, Tony. I…”
Tony feels a lump in his throat at the words. For all his doubts and fears, hearing Peter say that just made everything else fade away.
“You can never replace them, but I don't have a limit to the number of people I can love, to the families I can have. That's how machines work,” he smiles, “I'm not one. And you…” His cheeks catch fire from one second to another, a talent Tony always found pretty funny, like blaring red signs that Peter's either lying or speaking from the heart. He does not doubs it's the latter right now.
“You’re not just my mentor,” Peter adds, his voice soft. “You haven't been for a while… For months, you’ve kind of already been like a dad to me.”
Tony’s breath catches, but before he can respond, Peter quickly continues, blushing a little more. “I mean, if that’s weird or anything—”
“It’s not weird,” Tony interrupts, his voice gentle. “Not weird at all, kid. You’re literally holding adopting papers right now, it would be weird if it were weird.”
Peter laughs, heartly, and then dives right back against Tony chest. Tony watches as he closes his eyes and smiles and that's all he ever wanted as an outcome, isn't it? It seems the universe is finally done making them both suffer. Hopefully.
“Thank you… I love that I'm going to be part of your family.”
They’re both still standing in the middle of his private office, hugging it out like a pair of mushy feely fools. Tony looks down, then up, eyes searching everywhere in the room for a little help not to cry. He ends up placing a hand on the kid’s head and carding his fingers through his curls.
Tony places a kiss on Peter's cheek.
“You already were, bambino.”