Peter kept his eyes on the TV, which was currently playing ‘A Dog’s Purpose’. He looked over at Mister Stark, who was sitting at the other edge of the couch.
The kid had a bad day. He woke up late, missing the school bus. May reprimanded him, before sending him off to walk as ‘punishment’.
Ned was sick, today, too, so he didn’t have anyone to lean on. Well, MJ was there. But Flash had tripped him in the middle of lunch. Of course, he got out of the way in time, but then Flash’d poured a carton of chocolate milk on his head.
So, he’d ended up in the nurse’s office, missing half of the social studies test on the French Revolution. There was a substitute today, but Miss Vixten told him that there’d be no retakes, so he’d get it done today or else it was a zero.
So while Nurse Maggie washed chocolate milk out of his hair in the sink, he went over some of the questions that he was told were on the test.
Finally, when he was able to go back to class (in a too-tight t-shirt and a one size too-small pair of pants), he had fifteen minutes to take the test. He jotted down as many of the answers that he could, before the bell rang.
Peter practically begged the substitute to let him stay late to finish the test, but the man didn’t seem to care why he wasn’t there.
Then, when he got home, he found a note left by May. She told him to use his allowance, that it was his turn to get groceries, and that she’d pay him back. She had a night shift, of course, it was Friday.
So after he got groceries, he went on patrol. Absolutely nothing was happening, until everything was happening.
A low-life thug’s drug deal didn’t go the way it was supposed to, or, that’s what Peter got from all the yelling that the man was doing. Of course, he jumped down and saved the man who didn’t pay his fees’ life. But, in the process, Peter got stabbed.
In the time after Mister Stark gave Peter his suit back, he’d made the kid promise to come to him for any injuries, even if it was just a scraped knee.
Peter wasn’t thinking when he agreed to that, but he wasn’t one to go back on a promise. For that reason, Peter ended up stumbling into his room in the tower through the window, slurring his demands to Friday. (“Get Mis’er S’rk.” “You need medical attention.” “Really? I thin’ I picke’ up ‘n that.”)
It was now eleven, as Peter sat on the opposite end of the couch with Mister Stark, tearing up when the dog finally got home.
The man eventually looked over and noticed.
“Shit, kid, you alright? I thought this was a happy movie- That’s why you picked it! What’re you cryin’ for?” The man asked, worry in his tone that could only be described as paternal.
Peter sniffled, looking over at Mister Stark.
“It’s just- just, he got home and he’s so happy and he doesn’t even care what he’s been through!” Peter half-cried.
“You’re the same way. I still don’t see the problem, kiddo.” Mister Stark commented with furrowed brows.
“I know I’m the same way! But- But I’m not happy when I get home, I’m happy when I get here!” The kid wiped at his cheeks, brushing away the tears roughly.
The man awkwardly sat there, glancing between the movie and Peter, before realization dawned upon him.
“..Come here.” He said, arms open.
Peter practically lunged at him, tackling Mister Stark’s torso.
The man fell against the couch, back hitting the armrest.
Peter hid his face against Mister Stark’s stomach. The man set one hand in Peter’s hair, the other on the kid’s upper back.
“Deep breaths, bambino.” Mister Stark whispered, carding his fingers through Peter’s hair.
After a few minutes, Peter’s sobs subsided, but Peter never let go of the man.
“How about I put something else on, underoos?” Mister Stark asked with a smile that held a soft undertone.
Peter nodded with a shaky ‘Mhm’, turning his head to see the movie while still holding onto the man.
Mister Stark scrolled through the movie options, before landing on ‘La La Land’.
“Here, you like this one, right?” He asked, but he already knew the answer. Actually, not too long ago, Mister Stark had told Friday to figure out Peter’s favorite movies. He knew this was one.
“Mhm.” Peter confirmed with a nod. He preferred musicals, they were always able to keep his attention.
“Good, good.” Mister Stark murmured with a smile on his face. He hated that his kid had a bad day, but he was glad to be a stable something to lean on.
Soon enough, Peter’s breathing evened out, Mister Stark was sure the kid was asleep. Well, with the music and hand running through his hair, he’d be concerned if Peter wasn’t asleep. Maybe not concerned. Surprised, more likely.
Mister Stark continued to run his hand through Peter’s hair, nonetheless. He couldn’t risk his kid waking up if he suddenly stopped.
“I love you, kid.” The man mumbled softly. Honestly, he wasn’t thinking when he spoke. His mouth always seemed to move faster than his mind.
The kid in question froze. He just.. tensed up.
In turn, Mister Stark’s breath caught in his throat.
“You’re awake.” The man said stupidly. Honestly, he felt dumb. He probably made his kid so uncomfortable- did he even deserve to call Peter his kid?
“I am.” Peter whispered in reply. He didn’t say a thing about what Mister Stark said to him.
Maybe he wasn’t going to say anything? Or, maybe he didn’t even hear.
Mister Stark silently hoped it was the second. God, he was Tony Stark, and he’s scared of a teenager hearing his feelings.
The man hesitantly kept running his hands through Peter’s hair, hoping he could act like nothing happened.
After around fifteen minutes, Mister Stark was pretty convinced that the kid was asleep, but he didn’t want to assume. He didn’t want to make a mistake.
The kid laying on top of him stirred, pressing closer to the warmth that was Mister Stark. The man sighed in contentment, finally looking away from Peter. They were at the part where they go their separate ways- the end of the movie.
Mister Stark slid himself down the couch so his head was on the armrest, not his back. He tried his best not to jostle Peter. He failed.
“M’ster Stark?” The kid slurred, lifting his head to look at the man.
In return, Mister Stark gently pushed Peter’s head back down.
“Sh, sh, go to sleep, kiddo.” He spoke softly, scratching at the kid's scalp to (hopefully) get him to fall back asleep.
“Mis’er Stark.” The kid said again, spoke with a firmer tone.
“What?” He asked with a slight chuckle at Peter’s stubbornness. (“He’s just like you, Tony. Stubborn as a mule.” “Aw, come on, Pep, you gotta give him more credit. Maybe he’s.. Less gullible than most.” “Ha ha.”)
“I l’ve you, too.” The kid said before absolutely clocking out.
Maybe it wasn’t a bad thing, his loud mouth.
Well, at least he knew that he didn’t screw things up with his kid.