“Peter,” came Tony’s voice from down the aisle. There was a kind of fond exasperation in his voice, a tone that only seemed to slip out whenever Peter was involved. Peter, who was elbow-deep in a rack of greeting cards, paused to look up at the man. Tony’s arms were overloaded with balloons, a helium tank, and miscellaneous items that he’d deemed suitable for the party.
The situation they were in was quite a peculiar one. Sure, Peter had been the one to suggest that they go on a shopping trip. Still, he hadn’t exactly expected Mister Stark to agree, let alone to allow Peter to drag him through the sludgy, greyed-out dregs of a late January night to the closest Party City.
“You think we need anything else, kid? I mean, graduation’s not for another five months.”
Peter raised an eyebrow, peering at Mister Stark from the corner of his eye. The man sported a racing jacket that Peter had never seen before, paired with an expensive pair of what he called “driving gloves” on the way over. And, of course , his sunglasses. Peter couldn’t even see his eyes.
“I’m surprised you knew that,” he said mildly, still rummaging through the stacks of cards before him. If he could just find the right one -
Tony shifted, stepping closer and depositing the veritable mountain of decorations into the cart beside Peter. He slipped a roll of tape from the top of the pile and tossed it in Peter’s direction.
“Hey!” Even after he’d caught it without even having to look up, Peter objected.
“Hey yourself, Underoos. Cut me some slack here, kid, I’ve got the date highlighted in my Google calendar and everything-”
“I’m surprised you know what that is, Mr. ‘CEO of Stark Industries and sub-company StarkPhone’,” Peter interjected.
Tony scoffed, continuing. “Peter. I’m the keynote speaker at your graduation. Obviously, I’m coming.”
Surprised, Peter paused for a second, hands stilling over a card that read “ConGradulations Class of 2023”. This was news to him. Peter honestly had no idea that Tony really cared about public speaking events. Even if he did, Peter mused that a high school graduation wasn’t exactly the kind of scene a billionaire like Tony would pick for themselves. After a moment of consideration, Peter figured it out. Oh, this made so much sense. He was stupid to not have seen it before.
He went back to the cards, throwing a “You know, you can tell Pepper to stop scheduling stuff like this for you if you don’t like it,” over his shoulder.
“Kid,” Tony sounded hurt. Peter heard him crouch down, wincing internally at the sound of protest the older man’s knees made as he knelt.
“Pepper didn’t schedule this for me. God knows she has more important things to do than that.” Tony interrupted himself with a huffed laugh before continuing, “I penciled this in myself. Responded to that email from your weirdo Principal all by myself, thank you very much.”
Peter didn’t know what to say to that. Just kept searching the racks of cards like he didn’t have anything better to do. His gaze caught on a row marked “From father to son”. Peter felt unbidden tears well in his eyes and forced his gaze away. His spider sense prickled slightly, and Peter knew that Tony was staring at him, waiting.
Tony evidently was uncomfortable with the silence. And, for someone who spent the majority of his time around robots, he was creepily perceptive when it came to Peter’s emotional state. He sighed.
“Pete, can you tell me what this is really about? You usually hate parties. What’s with the sudden event-planning spree?”
No. Peter couldn’t. Didn’t want to think about graduation, and how everyone, everyone would be there with their families. With their parents.
And he-
Well. He’d be there. Throwing his cap, listening to the valedictorian speech, the whole shebang, minus the family in the audience who would cheer voraciously as he walked across the stage. No parents to run up and shower him with kisses after the march. No May and Ben with their beat-up camcorder would be there to photograph everything, pulling smile after smile from Peter.
Even Harley’s mom was coming, toting his little sister all the way from Tennessee to spend the week at the Compound with the rest of the team. Peter had overheard their plans when Harley had called them to celebrate his acceptance to MIT.
Peter had been alone earlier in the evening when he’d received his own acceptance letter. He’d walked to the lab, a bounce in his step, to find Tony and Harley passed out over a workbench, tools still in their hands. He’d smiled, plucking the wrenches and screwdrivers from their grasps and draping a blanket over their shoulders before taking his leave.
He’d found Pepper soon after, poring over some paperwork in the Penthouse kitchen, a cup of rapidly-cooling coffee in the hand that wasn’t holding her phone. He’d interrupted warily, holding his laptop out to show her the email, and was entirely surprised when she tossed away the things she was holding to envelop Peter in a hug, jumping up and down and smiling so widely.
“Peter,” she’d said, “I’m so proud of you, honey. Have you shown your-- um, Tony? Oh, he’s going to be so excited.”
Peter hastily explained the scene he’d found in the lab, laughing along with Pepper when she’d shaken her head exasperatedly as he told her about the blueprints for new Rescue armor he’d spotted on his way out.
He sat with her for hours, drinking perfectly prepared cups of coffee (“I was Tony’s assistant, after all, I know how to make a strong cup”) and tried not to hate himself for wishing that her laugh sounded more like May’s. That her hugs were more like Ben’s.
Peter wasn’t jealous in nature, but at that moment, he wished for his parents. He liked to think that they’d be proud of him, but he could never be sure. And Ben, god, he was the one that had pushed Peter to be his best, always. He’d be happy about this too if Peter hadn’t gone and got him and May killed.
So.
Graduation couldn’t be perfect. Peter couldn’t go back in time and save his family members. But he could plan an awesome party for Harley. To show him that he cared.
Peter couldn’t tell Tony what was wrong. He wouldn’t understand. Hell, he hadn’t even gone to his own high school graduation, because he’d already flown through college by the time that rolled around. His parents had been alive, too. He’d been an adult when they’d died. He didn’t need anyone to take care of him, he was a hero.
And who was Peter?
No one.
So Peter ignored Tony and his own increasing frustration to the best of his abilities. When he realized he’d searched all of the cards and not found a single one good enough, he slumped down and buried his face in his hands.
Embarrassingly, his throat felt tight, and Peter realized his eyes were burning with unshed tears. He sniffled loudly and tried not to burst into tears. It didn’t work, and within moments Peter was scooting back until his back hit the card stands, and a small storm of meaningless Congratulations surrounded him.
“Tony,” Peter whispered, feeling tiny, unworthy, and miserable. Tony because it was a plea for mercy, a cry for help, and because he couldn’t well enough say ‘dad’, now could he?
And suddenly Peter wasn’t alone anymore. Tony crossed the sea of banal congratulatory cards, sweeping aside the congratulatory messages and gathering Peter into a hug. They stayed there, united on the linoleum until Peter felt well enough to stop crying.
“I got into MIT,” was what Peter finally said. He felt surprised. That wasn’t what he’d meant to say, he’d been aiming for something more like an apology for getting tears on Tony’s jacket and for making him stay on the floor when it obviously hurt his knees.
“Oh shit, kid, that’s amazing! Peter, are you serious?”
Peter nodded, feeling the urge to cry again. He made a pathetic noise in the back of his throat and whispered, “Sorry,” as a response.
Tony looked confused. Gently, he pulled Peter’s hands away from his face and looked him in the eyes. Before he really knew Mister Stark, Peter assumed he wore the sunglasses to hide angry glares and harsh looks from the public. But Peter knew him now.
He knew that the glasses weren’t for the protection of others, but rather a mode of protection for Tony himself. Because now, his eyes were filled with tears he blinked desperately against and his gaze was warm, open, so unabashedly loving that it made Peter’s head spin.
How Tony could stand to look at him like that, Peter didn’t know. Especially after everyone else Peter had loved had died at Peter's own hands. This-- the love, the tenderness, it was wrong. Tony looked at Peter as if he were made of glass, something to be protected and displayed proudly. Peter looked at himself and saw the truth. The rough, cutting edges, the violence that followed him like lambs to a slaughter.
Nothing gold can stay, and Peter can’t let that happen to Tony.
“Peter, come on! You have nothing to be sorry for, okay? This is great, this is better than great! Both of my boys at my alma mater, isn’t that something?”
Peter furrowed his brows. Nothing to be sorry for?
I’m sorry for making you feel like you had to care about me.
“Mister Stark, I’m, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen, please, let’s just go.”
Peter made to pull away, but Tony’s hand grasped his. Peter stared at it but allowed himself to be pulled back down.
“Peter, I’m not sure what’s going on with you right now, but you know we can talk, right? You and I are getting better about this kind of thing.”
Peter knew he was right. But he was still scared, truly frightened that Tony would leave him, just like everyone else. That he’d have to stand on that stage and hear nothing but crushing silence after his name was called.
“Just worried about graduation, I suppose.”
Barely the truth and Tony saw right through it.
“Sure you’re not upset about the fact that your parents won’t see you graduate?”
Peter gaped at him, watching Tony raise an eyebrow.
“You’re right,” he amended, “I could have phrased it more gently. But we both know it’s true, right, Pete?”
Peter tried to scowl. Surely he couldn’t have been that obvious.
“H-how did you guess?”
Tony fixed him with a look that Peter couldn’t quite decipher.
“You’re not the only one who’s lost a parent. I can’t say that our experiences were the same, but I’ve felt what you’re feeling. When I realized that my mom wouldn’t be there to watch me and Pep get married or to see you and Morgan grow up, well, it crushed me.”
“I’m sorry, Mister Stark.”
Tony laughed, but it wasn’t malicious. It never was, not when Peter was involved. “Kid, the point wasn’t for me to get your pity. It was to show you that you’re not the only one going through this kind of thing. You can share this hurt sometimes, it doesn’t mean you’re weak. Understand?”
And the thing is, Peter did understand. It was like talking to Tony had pushed this crushing weight off his chest, and he could finally breathe. His first breath had tinges of Tony’s cologne.
Sure, he couldn’t remember the way his parents laughed, or which cologne Ben wore every morning, but he had Tony’s hearty laugh, Tony’s stupidly expensive cologne in the air.
Tony, who’d be there at graduation, right there with Pepper and Harley’s mom, and Ned’s grandma. Tony, took a day off just to speak at Peter’s graduation. Who humored Peter’s anxiety-fueled shopping trips, movie marathons, and quirks.
Tony, who was here right now.
Peter allowed them both a moment to bask. He was so grateful for Tony. Sure, he couldn’t exactly out-and-say it, but he was pretty sure that they both knew it.
Peter huffed out a breath, pushing off from the floor with his palms. He reached a hand out to help Tony up.
“Come on, old man. We’ve got more shopping to do. You’re pushing the cart, by the way. Dad-Bod’s not a good look on you.”
Tony scoffed something that sounded like “Everything’s a good look on me,” but waited as Peter loaded the cart and dutifully pushed it from aisle to aisle.
After they’d paid and loaded everything into the back of the car, there was a light dusting of snow beginning to fall.
Tony groaned, stretching his back before turning towards Peter again.
“Alright, Underoos, you pick what we do now, so long as it doesn’t involve any heavy lifting, my back can’t take much more of this.”
Peter had an idea.
Fifteen minutes later, the two of them were curled up inside a sandwich bodega in Peter’s old neighborhood. Peter was eating his usual, relishing the glory of his flattened sandwich, while Tony enjoyed a pastrami sandwich, the very same one that had been Ben Parker’s favorite.
The brightness of the smile on both of their faces could rival the sun.