#18--May 1, 2019
Interrogating his son won’t help
“Mr. Stark, I’m fine!” Peter says, reaching towards his backpack that Tony is currently holding. Tony pulls it out of his reach and Peter winces as his side stings in pain. Tony raises an eyebrow at the wince.
“I’m not letting you carry the bag, Pete,” Tony says, walking into the elevator, Peter stepping in beside him. “You just got out of the medbay because you decided to go and get yourself shot. You’re so lucky that I didn’t call May about this.“ Peter visibly deflates at that, hissing as his ribs throb in pain.
"It only skimmed me,” he utters, crossing his arms over his chest. “And besides! It’s not I haven’t been shot before!” Tony sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose.
“Yes, because how could I not remember when Karen–not you–called me because you decided not to inform me that you were digging a bullet out of your leg with your eyebrow tweezers," Tony says sarcastically as the elevator stops.
"They weren’t mine!” Peter stresses as he follows Tony out of the elevator and into the common room of the Avengers Facility. “They were Aunt May’s!”
“That doesn’t make it better, kid,” Tony mutters, tossing Peter’s bookbag onto the couch. “Go ahead and get started on your homework,” Tony looks up at the ceiling, “Friday, can you put Star Wars Episode IV on?”
“Of course, sir,” Friday says, the TV flicking on not even a second later. Tony bustles around the room, brewing a new pot of coffee and tossing a few bags of popcorn in the microwave. He grabs +some blankets out of the cupboard by the TV–a new addition after learning that Peter gets cold easily since he can’t thermoregulate anymore–and grabs the popcorn from the two microwaves and a cup of coffee.
Tony joins Peter on the couch where he’s in the middle of some complicated looking chemistry homework. “Need any help, kid?” Tony asks, watching as Peter fills out his worksheet. Not to his surprise, Peter shakes his head.
“I’m good, Dad,” Peter says, not even realizing that he’s said dad as he tends to do every once and a while. “I’ve got it covered." Tony just hums and covers the two of them in blankets before focusing on the movie.
It’s not even halfway into the movie until Peter’s finished with his homework. There wasn’t too much assigned this weekend and he got most of it done on the four-hour drive up here, despite the fact that he got shot a little before Happy came to pick him up. Peter had managed to hide his bleeding side from the man easily and it had actually scabbed over by the time that he arrived at the Facility, but apparently, he can’t hide anything from Tony, who met him at the Facility door.
Peter tosses his things to the side and scoots a little closer to Tony, not close enough to touch him, but close enough to feel his body heat. Tony just sighs as he feels the spiderling sidle up beside him and wraps his arm around the kid, pulling Peter into his side.
"Thanks, Mr. Stark,” Peter sighs, his head resting on the man’s shoulder. Tony just brings a hand up and cards his fingers through Peter’s curls and hums contentedly. The kid’s started to leave his curls alone after Tony mentioned that it calms him when they’re watching a movie together and end up cuddling.
It’s not long until Peter’s yawning and fighting off sleep. The movie’s got about half an hour left but the methodical way that Tony runs his hand through Peter’s curls and the arc reactor’s soft buzzing begins to lull him to sleep.
“Go to sleep, kiddo,” Tony mutters catching sight of the time. It’s been a long day for the both of them–it’s nearly nine at night–and that wound has to be zapping Peter’s energy.
Peter nods off with Tony’s reassurance and Tony just sits there, enjoying the moment with his kid. That is until Friday interrupts him with less than favorable news.
“Sir, it appears that the ‘rogue’ Avengers are on their way up,” she says, causing Tony to curse under his breath. He stills as Peter shuffles a little. There isn’t enough time to even wake the kid, let alone get him a floor up where his and Tony’s bedrooms are, not that far away from the rest of the groups’. And honestly, Tony doesn’t want to wake Peter up.
He’s noticed that the kid has been going out at random hours for patrol that is pass curfew–which they will be talking about–but he’s also noticed how the kid’s been a little more quiet and tired lately. That only leads to one conclusion and that means that he’s been having nightmares, and Tony doesn’t want to ruin the little bit of uninterrupted sleep his kid seems to be getting.
Tony grimaces and decides to just let the group up and not disrupt Peter. He knew that they’d be returning, the Accords had been revised for a few months and they’ve been pardoned for just as long. He just hates that they’ve decided to come now when his kid is hurt.
The dreaded ding of the elevator announces the arrival of the group and what they’re met with is Tony’s glare. They haven’t seen Peter yet, but as they shuffle in sheepishly, they notice the bookbag, the movie, and the kid tucked into Tony’s side. Clint opens his mouth to make a remark but Tony beats him to it.
“If any of you wake the kid, I will kill you.” Clint promptly closes his mouth and Tony continues in a whisper. "Your rooms are where you remember them and they’re untouched, but they might be a little bit dusty. Now, get lost.“ Steve looks like he wants to say something but the muttering of the mystery kid cuts him off.
"Dad?” The word’s a soft mutter, but with how quiet it is in the room–the TV had been muted–everyone heard it. Everyone’s faces color in disbelief and shock and Tony sends them a stern glare before softening his gaze as he looks down at the kid cuddled into his chest.
“Yeah, Pete?” Tony asks, his voice low enough that only Peter can catch it. His kid moves around a little before sitting up, rubbing at his eyes with a yawn. Peter reaches for something, possibly a blanket that fell on the ground, before pulling back with a sharp hiss.
“Ow,” Peter groans, not yet noticing the group of stock-still superheroes. “I think I tore my stitches.” He rubs at his eyes a little more before looking around the room, almost immediately locking eyes with the rogue Avengers. "Uh, Mr. Stark?”
Tony sighs. “They just got up here, bud, don’t worry. Blows aren’t going to be thrown around tonight,” Tony says, leaning up and looking at Peter’s side. “Now, let me see if you actually tore your stitches.”
The rogue Avengers watch in shock and disbelief as the mystery kid lifts up his shirt and peels back a slightly bloodied bandage while Tony pulls a first-aid kit seemingly out of nowhere. Even more shock is bestowed upon the group as they all realize the wound for what it is, a gunshot wound. Peter and Tony don’t pay them any mind as Tony changes the bloodied gauze and tapes the wound up. They may have gotten the wound checked out not even two hours ago, but Peter already managed to get quite a bit of blood on the gauze pad he had since apparently, the stitches pulled a bit when he was laying against Tony.
“Go on up to bed, kiddo,” Tony says, packing up the first-aid kit and putting it away. “You can meet everyone tomorrow.“ Peter seems to want to say something but one stern look from Tony leaves him reaching for his bag. "You can leave the bag down here, Pete,” Tony says, worried about Peter’s wound. “I’ll bring it up in a bit.”
“Okay,” Peter says softly, rubbing his eyes as he makes his way past the group of still shocked superheroes. “Night, Dad.”
“Night, kiddo,” Tony says, sending a look to the group as they go to say something to Peter. Tony waits until the elevator’s closed before sighing and beginning to clean up the mess that he and Peter made. “Are you guys going to head up to your rooms or what?”
“You can’t just expect us to leave without asking you about the kid!” Clint sputters, gesturing wildly towards the elevator doors. “I thought I was the only one with a secret family!”
Tony glares at Clint, clenching his jaw as he throws the blankets into the cupboard, not even bothering to fold them. He tosses the popcorn away and grabs his cup of coffee. “Tony, who is that kid?” Steve says cautiously, a frown marring his face.
“He’s none of your business, Rogers,” Tony grounds out, making his way to the elevator. “Now if you need me, I’ll be in my lab.” Another question makes him halt.
“He yours?” Natasha asks softly. Tony grinds his teeth.
“Yeah,” he says finally. “He’s mine.” At that, he walks into the elevator, ignoring their questions as he makes his way to his lab for some well-deserved tinkering.
Peter rubs at his eyes as he sits up, blinking against the minimal light shining through the blinds. He tenderly stretches to see if his side has healed and is delighted when there’s only a little ache. Lifting up his shirt, which Peter recognizes to be an old Black Sabbath shirt that belongs to Mr. Stark, Peter looks down at his bandage.
There’s no blood on it, and when Peter slowly peels away the gauze pad, he’s faced with a nearly fully healed gunshot wound. He estimates that the stitches can come out today and he’ll have to ask Mr. Stark if he can remove them for him. Peter would remove them himself but he got a very long talk the last time he did so by both his nurse Aunt and Mr. Stark.
Letting the shirt fall back down, Peter jumps off his bed and heads into his bathroom. After doing his business, and brushing his teeth because Mr. Stark commented on it the last time he didn’t, Peter heads down to the kitchen-slash-common room.
Friday takes him down without saying anything. Peter’s stayed over enough that she knows the drill and only a few seconds later the elevator doors open, revealing the pardoned Avengers. Peter freezes as half of them look over at him and Peter’s eyes shoot over to where Mr. Stark sits at the counter with a cup of coffee, and by how tired the man looks, Peter estimates that it’s only been his first or second cup.
Mr. Stark’s encouraging smile is all it takes for the teen to shuffle out of the elevator and into the organized chaos that is the Avengers’ morning routine. Peter practically runs over to Tony, who lifts an eyebrow at his fast pace. Or maybe it’s the Hello Kitty pajama pants that the man bought him as a gag present that makes the man lift his eyebrow.
Peter’s cheeks flush as he grabs himself a mug of coffee, using his Iron Man mug. Peter studiously ignores the rest of the Avengers as he goes through his own morning routine. Usually, he’d have cereal for breakfast, but during the weekends him and Mr. Stark have made a habit of cooking their own food.
As Peter begins to gather the ingredients and materials needed to make hash browns, Tony grabs the ingredients needed to make omelets. Where it used to make him three hours to make one of them, Peter’s helped him turn that time into three minutes. When Peter goes to shred the first potato, Tony stops him.
“No, gimme that,” Tony says, putting down his bowl of beaten eggs, “you lost your shredding privileges after you cut yourself last time." Tony makes a grabbing motion and Peter pouts.
"But, Mr. Stark–!” Peter starts, only to be cut off by Tony.
“Uh, uh, nope. No whining. Gimme the shredder, you can make the omelets for a change,” Tony says, lifting an eyebrow when Peter continues holding onto it. The Avengers look on as the two go into a staring match, and just like it started, it ends. Peter hands over the cheese grater with a huff and a put and grabs the bowl of half-beaten egg and the fork. With surprising expertise, Peter finishes whisking the egg up and makes his way over to one of the two skillets on the stove.
“I can still cook it, right?” Peter asks Tony with puppy dog eyes. Tony just rolls his eyes, making Peter grin. The teen pours the egg into the skillet, jumping back as it crackles loudly. Adding things to skillets have never been his favorite part of cooking.
Tony ends up next to him in a few minutes with a plate stacked with shredded potatoes, adding another skillet to the stove. The two cook side by side, Tony continuously checking the hash browns to make sure they don’t burn, and Peter adding cheese, pepper, and some other things to his omelet. He’ll end up making about five or six more, four for him, two for Mr. Stark. Mr. Stark will make a few large hash browns for Peter, and two small ones for him in turn.
Only a few minutes go by before the two begin plating their own portions, bickering along the way. The group of Avengers share a few looks, their already prepared breakfast in their laps. “We’re going to interrogate him, right?” Clint asks Natasha, flinching as the woman in question flicks him in the forehead. “Ow,” he whines, rubbing his head. “What was that for?”
Natasha, ever the peacekeeper, replies, “We just got back and you want to get Tony mad at us? Leave the kid alone, Clint.”
“He’s not wrong,” Sam comments with a shrug. “We’re all curious about the kid and there’s no joke that you are, too." Steve sends him a stern look which he ignores.
"It doesn’t matter,” Steve cuts in, eating a slice of pancake. “We’ve got to get back into Tony’s good graces if we want to continue staying here. Interrogating his son won’t help." Unbeknownst to them, Peter can hear every single thing that they can hear, and by the end he’s grinning.
"What’s the grin for, Pete?” Tony questions as he turns the burners off, moving the skillets onto the other ones to cool off.
“Hawkeye and Falcon want to interrogate us,” Peter says, his grin growing larger, “and Captain America thinks I’m your son." That last comment gets an immediate reaction from the man as he begins hacking on a piece of his omelet. Peter immediately slaps his back as Tony flounders around for a drink. The man chokes back about half of his mug of coffee before looking at the kid with teary eyes, ignoring the concerned and confused looks of the people in the living room.
"What?” he croaks out at Peter’s grin. It’s not long until a grin of his own is spreading across his face, making Peter narrow his eyes at him in suspicion. “Hey, kid, how would you like to be my son?" It’s Peter’s turn to choke on his food but he does so a little more gracefully as the man slaps his back a few times.
"What? What’re you talkin’ about?” Peter asks after gulping down his own mug of coffee.
“I’m saying that we don’t tell them that you’re my intern,” Tony whispers with a grin so that the super soldier in the next room doesn’t hear him. “They already believe you’re my son, and you gotta admit, you’re dressed in my clothes and some Hello Kitty pants that I bought you.”
“So you want us to lie to them?” Peter asks with a raised eyes brow. Tony nods his head and a grin spreads across Peter’s face. “Okay, Dad." Tony just grins at him before messing up his hair, gaining a yelp from the kid.