Chapter 1
Peter wasn’t stupid.
It was a proven fact. Every report card, every parent-teacher conference, every assignment since he was 5. He had an above average intelligence. It was fucking proven, no matter what Michelle said.
She always seemed to insult him and Ned but no matter what she said, it was clear she cared. At least in her own sort of way. A sort of twisted, dark humour kinda way. Very Michelle. But the way Michelle phrased it was ‘dense’ which um, rude. He’d repeatedly pointed out the evidence supporting his ‘smart’ claim but she seemed to be appropriately stubborn that she was right. He was clearly smart. Mr Stark seemed to think so. And honestly? That was enough for Peter’s fragile emotional state.
And there was his problem. He’d offhandedly released a real life worry to a real life judgy person and suddenly the cutting but secretly soft Michelle he knew (and loved - platonically! Nothing but friendly love here) had become an omniscient higher being. Well, as far as a 15 year old, slightly emo girl can be.
Secretly - although apparently not anymore - Peter was worried about May and Mr Stark. He wanted them to get along but thought that all hope was lost since homecoming. The worst part about it was Peter honestly thought they could get along; there was just something about Mr Stark that struck him as being oddly similar to Aunt May. And it would be so good if they could be at least civil acquaintances, what with his spidermanning around New York and possible Avengers position. But Peter was pretty sure that that chance had flown out of the window long ago, and very fast.
May had seen the fucking suit. Asked questions. Radiated confusion and anger at something or someone that Peter desperately hoped wasn’t him. And apparently had not fallen for his lies (damn, Liz has been right...) So now she knew about Spiderman and, therefore, Leipzig. Just like that, Peter’s biggest secret had been out their to one of the only real people he cared about and tried to keep safe. She was -understandably- not very happy. And very much afraid.
Peter had panicked and called Mr Stark who, to be fair to the man, had turned up pretty quickly outside the apartment, dressed in an immaculate Armani suit, obviously having been in an important meeting (Peter has legitimately forgotten the man had a real actual job). Smiling awkwardly, Peter had stood towards the back corner of the room, his stomach churning in various different ways - none of them good.
Looking back, Peter realised that it hadn’t been awful. Sure, May had yelled and Mr Stark had apologised more times than Peter had in his life but they came to a mutual decision and no one had died so: progress? Which was fine - great even - but he wanted them to do more than tolerate each other. Was that so hard to ask for? He didn’t want to talk too much about Mr Stark to May incase she started ranting badly about him or something equally as awful (read anything remotely offensive) which would be life-threateningly painful to listen to (for Peter anyway).
His point was: he ranted. Apparently a lot. Apparently too much. And Michelle (because she is suddenly wise?) told him to a) shut up and b) that he was dense. A normal day really except for the fact that she carried on. With more than just half-hearted monosyllables. Peter thought he had travelled into another dimension.
“Your people skills are very lacking Parker,” Michelle looked at him dryly over her humongous novel which even Peter thought he’d struggle to lift. “You mentioned that they talk, right? How often? Face to face? Do you even know? How do you know that they aren’t secretly BFFs? Whispering about you behind your back? Ha. Probably.” She flicked a final glance at Peter before dismissing him with a small huff and burying deeper into her book.
“May’s best friends with Tony Stark?! Holy shit! Peter!! What the hell! You don’t tell me anything!” Ned turned such an incredulous face towards him that, in any other circumstance, Peter would have laughed at the sheer comical effect it had on is persona. But he was slightly dumbstruck. What if they were? But they wouldn’t be. She hated him. She complained often enough about how dangerous it was of him to ‘whisk Peter away’ during the whole event dubbed the ‘civil war’. He wouldn’t push because, despite what the rest of the world seems to think, Tony Stark is a generally nice guy and knows when to stop. But what if they did joke about him? No, why would they do that; May was his Aunt, Mr Stark was his mentor - it was just his aforementioned fragile emotional state. Right? God, he had to know for sure. Michelle was so smart.
~~~~~~~~~~
Peter unlocked the door to the apartment on the second try (a huge achievement when it came to their crappy front door) to the smell of herbs and spices and - voices? Male and female? Huh. He shoved his ratty bag that he couldn’t afford to lose in the general vicinity of his room - but in all honesty, could have been the bathroom - and crept around the corner, wary. For what, he didn’t really know. Just generally.
The kitchen smelt even better. He could see pots on the stove, stream rising and swirling mystically, various cutting boards laying in states of disarray along the cluttered counters; cups of what he presumed used to be coffee scattering whatever clear surface they could find and two adult figures sitting at the island chuckling at something clearly only they understood. Mr Stark and May. Oh fuck, thought Peter. Michelle was right. Damn, she’s great.
The two looked up at the interruption and - for some unbeknownst to God reason - both brightened at the sight of him. May, he sorta understood: she lived with him, raised him. But Mr Stark? Sure, they had got closer due to their training and lab time together (and yes, that part of the internship lie was real) but being happy to see Peter? That blew his mind.
“Peter, honey hi! I didn’t know you were gonna be back yet. Is everything ok?” May pushed back from the table, gliding over to where Peter stood transfixed by the door jamb. Belatedly, he realised she was going in for a hug, giving him a brief second of panic that Tony Fucking Stark was gonna see, holy shit, before she wrapped her arms around his shoulders. And Peter, being the suave superhero he is, stood stock still staring first at Mr Stark’s -amused??- face beside redirecting it somewhere over May’s shoulder.
Why was he afraid of him seeing that? What the hell Parker? God, he had issues.
May let go and Peter childishly missed her reassuring warmth almost instantly. She pottered over to the stove, her long hair swaying.
“How was school Pete? Ned ok?” She looked briefly over at him, arched eyebrow raised.
“Ned? His name’s Ned?” Mr Stark eyebrows climbed his forehead, an action that Peter watched curiously before realising that he’d asked a question which probably meant he’d like an answer. Unless not? Probably.
“Umm yeah, yeah, Ned. Leeds. Best friend. Yeah.” Smooth Parker.
“God, I’m so awful at names. Pepper was right. She can’t know kid, alright? She can’t win.” Mr Stark genuinely looked intense so Peter, because he is cool and worthy of being in Tony Stark’s presence (shut up Michelle) nodded dumbly. See, cool guy.
Peter’s mind briefly rebooted, causing his eyes to widen slightly. May and Mr Stark. Together. With - pasta? What? May can’t cook. Unfortunately, this was a well known and well proven fact so, who cooked? A plate was placed at three spaces at the table, Mr Stark eagerly stating that he would get drinks; he strode towards the cupboard and - wait, how did he know where to get them? Why was he here? What.
“Mr Stark. Not that I don’t love seeing you, but you know, in a normal way, I’m not crazy, but why are you here? Don’t you have like a nice house and things to do and people to see and why are you here?!”
Mr Stark looked slightly amused which wasn’t great for Peter. He brought over glasses and a bottle of nice soda, sitting down before opening his mouth. And closing it again. Then retrying. Apparently, Mr Stark was as suave as Peter was (who would’ve knew?)
“Sometimes, me and May like to meet up and talk shit about you.” That’s what he decided on. What the fuck. The words sank in and Peter realised with a heavy heart that Michelle was right. They laughed about him. Joy.
He looked to May who just glanced at him innocently. Fuck. But does that mean...
“You guys don’t hate each other?!” And yup, Peter sounded stupidly hopeful. Like a little kid.
The two adults spared a side glance at each other before snorting gracefully (meaning very, very ugly). Peter stared incredulously at the two as they laughed easily together, arms around each other like old friends, smiles bright, eyes crinkled. What would the world think if they could see this: Tony Stark - genius, billionaire, superhero, philanthropist - with his arm around a common nurse in a crappy apartment on the rough side of Queens, laughing freely and open. They wouldn't understand. But they would never get to see it; Mr Stark kept the different sides and identities of himself separate, locked away, something that Peter had realised early on during this new crazy life - so why did May get to see it? Unless Michelle was right again, in which case Peter owed her a lot of candy for making him look stupid, again.
“Petey, why would we hate each other? Yeah I was mad but he told me about how unprotected you were before and i realised that he saved you really. I can’t convince you to quit it so I might as well learn to deal with it. Besides, he makes a mean cannelloni.” She nudged his shoulder playfully, digging into her… something or other. Anyways, it smelt delicious.
“You get along. And cook pasta together? Holy crap. I-wha-what?” Eloquent stuttering there Peter, congrats.
“I only know a few things,” Mr Stark admitted, looking sheepish. “My mom taught me some. And I found out that your Aunt was taught but never learnt so - we came together and make actual edible food. Pepper almost fainted the first time,” He grimaced. “Why is it always so surprising when I do the simplest things? They have no faith in me.”
“I found an Italian buddy sweetie! Isn't it great? We can finally have nice food,” May chuckled self-deprecatingly but Peter was heavily focused on trying to figure out if this was real. He zoned back in to see May and Mr Stark chatting animatedly again, seemingly over the bombshell they had dropped and the implications that came with it. He really knew nothing about people huh?
“Per l’amor di dio Peter, eat your food! I slaved away for hours you ungrateful moccioso,”