Tony's very proud of Peter today.
Since the boy's first driving less is later this afternoon, he expected him to be bouncing off the walls with anxiety. Instead, there's just been little things like him fidgeting and continuously looking at the time. Of course, that's not good either, but it's better than Peter having a panic attack.
Hell, he's even doing the breathing techniques Tony taught him. Breathe in for four seconds, hold for seven, out for eight. Having to count and taking slow breaths is currently helping the kid who's sitting on the couch, stress ball in hand.
Talking to new people he's never met stresses Peter out. That mixed with driving a car that can literally kill people is probably what set him off today. But he's managing to keep himself pretty calm for the most part.
"How you feeling, bud?" Tony asks once Peter is done with his breathing, now watching the TV again. "Still nervous?"
Peter smiles sheepishly. "Well, yeah," he admits, leaning into Tony's side. "But I know that it's just my anxiety, and that this guy is nice. He's a good driver, that's why the place lets him teach teens how to drive."
Tony reaches out to squeeze his kids shoulder. "There you go. Just keep reminding yourself that, and you'll feel better."
"He'll be here in an hour, right?" Peter asks, leaning into the comforting touch as he looks down at his stress ball. It's pretty much ruined at this point, it's got holes and everything. Tony makes a mental note to buy him a new one.
"Sure will," Tony confirms, ruffling Peter's hair before pulling his hand away. "And you guys will go out for about half an hour before coming back here."
"Yeah," Peter says, placing the stress ball down on the coffee table. "Want to watch TV while we wait?"
Tony smiles. "'Course, kid."
After a few episodes of Brooklyn Nine Nine, and a hug, Peter is sent on his way to his driving lesson. The whole time he's gone, Tony is worried like crazy about him. Not because Peter's bad at driving, no matter how many time he tries to convince Tony he is. ("Did you see what I did to Flash's car?" "Kid, you were chasing a villain at max speed." "But, still."). He worries because he knows that Peter stresses about things like this. He has some social anxiety, and tends to build things up in his head. But Tony knows he'll do great.
When there's only a little while left to go, Tony decides to make hot chocolate for Peter. The boy bought all these gross sounding flavours, but Tony knows he loves them. He makes the Aero one since that one sounds the closest to regular chocolate, and then he tops it off with mini marshmallows.
Peter's walking through the door by the time he's done, and so Tony places on the counter in front of a stool. He gestures for Peter to take a seat, narrowing his eyes when he can't get a good read on his body language.
"Thank you, Tony," Peter says as he sits down, pulling the mug closer to him. He places his hands around it, trying to get some heat in them. Tony assumes he's probably still got the shivers from his anxiety. "What kind did you make?"
"How 'bout you try it and guess?" Tony smiles, leaning down on the counter to he's at eye level with Peter. "How'd it go? You run anyone over?"
"Surprisingly, no," Peter quips back, giving Tony a smile. "It actually went pretty good. He said he can tell I'm nervous, so he'll teach things slowly so it's not too out of my comfort zone."
"That's good," Tony agrees, waiting for the boy to finish his sip of hot chocolate before continuing. "You want me to set up another appointment for next week?"
"Yeah," Peter says, face heating up. "Thank you again for paying for--"
"None of that," Tony interrupts, rounding the corner as Peter stands up. "Now, how about we watch a movie?"
"That sounds fun." Peter looks down at his hot chocolate, then back up at his father figure. "Aero?"
"Bingo." Tony pulls Peter into his side. "Now, what movie are we gonna watch?"
Just over half an hour into Tangled and three hot chocolates later, Peter is curled against Tony's side. They're both laying down, watching as Rapunzel sings about having a dream to the pub thugs while Flynn Rider watches on in concern. Tony has his fingers tangled in Peter's locks, brushing them back in a familiar pattern. He'd ask F.R.I.D.A.Y. to take a picture, but he doesn't want Peter to know about his album of Peter photos yet. (Or the album name. Adorable Spider-Baby Photos.)
"Hey, kid?" Tony whispers as the scenes change, catching Peter's gaze. "I'm really proud of you."
Peter's eyebrows pull together, a confused smile flitting across his face. "How come?"
"You did a good job at handling your anxiety today," Tony says, pride clear on his face and in his tone. "I'm proud."
Peter shrugs. "It wasn't a big deal."
"But you did it by yourself," Tony continues, squeezing the boy a little tighter. "You remembered your techniques, and you kept yourself calm. So, I'm proud."
"Thanks," Peter mumbles in Tony's shirt, turning to look back at the screen when a blush spreads across his cheeks.
Tony kisses his temple. "Anytime."