Karma is a Universal Constant
Tony was having what you might call a bad day.
He was trying to find someone else to blame it on, but the truth was, he was an asshole and the universe liked to remind him of it from time to time.
More often than it should really.
He got it.
Move on already.
But no. Karma had to keep its balance. Hence the fact that he was currently scurrying through Queens, shoes full of sludge. Sewer sludge, to be exact, because the universe was an asshole, too.
It might not have been so bad had the sludge stopped at his shoes. But no, it saturated his legs, splattered his jacket and sleeves, and, dear god he was gonna throw up, was speckled on his collar.
And he was using the word 'sludge' only because he didn't want to think of what it actually was. But he was a smart man, he knew what it was.
After all, there was only so many things to come across while trudging through the sewers.
So the gooey brown stuff? Not really sludge.
He'd lost his phone, broken his glasses, bruised his elbow and his ego, and if his luck held out, probably caught something incurable.
He needed a shower and a shot of penicillin.
And a phone.
But let's look on the bright side. He hadn't been shot.
Which was a good thing, because some Hydra asshole had definitely tried. Tony should have warned him about karma, clued him in to the fact that everything you did came back to haunt you eventually.
Tony came to a cross walk, frowned at the red-handed light signaling he should wait, and growled an angry "fuck it" before darting across the street. At this point, he almost welcomed getting hit by a car.
It wasn't like the day could get any worse, right?
Dear Universe, he didn't mean that.
He ducked his head, pretended people weren't recognizing him, and literally sighed when he came upon the building he'd been looking for.
He gave the man at the mailboxes a disarming smile, skipped the elevator and jogged up seven flights of stairs.
He knocked on the door and rubbed tiredly at his forehead before realizing that some of the 'sludge' had made it to his fingers.
He closed his eyes and groaned. Fantastic.
When the door opened, Peter was there, all wide-eyed and happy with just a hint of confusion, like the kid couldn't really believe that the Tony Stark was there.
"Mr. Stark!" That wide-eyed wonder didn't last long though. Peter's face scrunched up, his hand slapping over his nose as he took a step back, physically putting distance between him and Tony. "Oh god. You smell like—"
"Shit. Yeah."
"Why?"
"Because I'm covered in shit." Tony looked down at the sludge that was clumped into the woven threads of his high-end suit, before looking back up. He tried to make his expression blank, but he was pretty sure it came out impatient. "Can I come in?"
Peter's eyes widened again, looking very much the image of a chastised little boy who'd got caught forgetting his manners. But then he frowned and looked down at Tony's shoes. "Hold on," he said, and then he shut the fucking door.
Right in Tony's face.
Unbelievable.
Tony sighed and tried to remember to be patient. When the door across the hall opened, Tony turned to find an older woman in a housecoat staring at him with eyes wider than the kid's.
"Good morning," Tony offered.
The lady's bottom jaw just sort of flapped open and then firmly slammed shut.
Tony just smiled politely and slowly turned back to the Parker door. He rapped his knuckles beneath the peephole and called out, "Any day now, Parker."
Peter opened the door, smiled apologetically, and handed Tony two wrinkled, plastic COSTCO bags.
Tony just stared at them.
"They're for your feet," Peter explained. "May would kill me if I let you in like that."
Tony took the bags and stuck his feet inside, trying not to gag at the squelching sound it all made when he put his foot down. "She'd probably kill us both."
Peter stepped aside, letting Tony in. "Can I ask what happened?"
"Nope," Tony said, fighting the urge to rub his eyes. The apartment didn't look much different from the last time he'd seen it. There were school books and a calculator spread out on the coffee table next to the world's largest glass of chocolate milk, an episode of Brooklyn 99 was paused on the TV, and something that smelled like spaghettios was slowly nuking in the microwave. Home sweet home. "Can I use your phone?"
Peter's nose wrinkled. "Can it wait until after you've showered or is this a life and death kind of thing?"
Tony looked back down at himself and figured he shouldn't be offended. He was, after all, literally covered in shit. "Not life and death, but still urgent. Okay, new plan. I'm gonna shower. You call Happy for me, and tell him to come pick me up."
Peter handed Tony a large trash bag. "I'm assuming you're not gonna want to save the suit?" he asked.
Tony grabbed the bag and popped it open. "I'm gonna burn the suit, kid."
"I really can't ask what happened?"
"You really can't." Tony turned and began to hobble to the bathroom. "And if Happy doesn't answer, leave a voicemail telling him he's fired."
This wasn't the first time Tony had been in the Parker's bathroom, but it was the first time he'd used the shower. It was small and cluttered with a small horde of plastic bottles of varying types of shampoos and body wash and something from Bath and Body Works that said body scrub on the label and smelled like roses.
Tony used a little of all of it and made a mental note to get May a gift card in return.
By the time he climbed out, he almost felt like something human again. He wrapped a towel around his waist, grabbed another for his hair, and made his way out into the living room to find Peter pacing back and forth.
At the sound of Tony emerging, Peter stopped his pacing and looked up. He gave a quick glance at the scar from the arc reactor and then looked away, doing a rather impressive job of acting casual.
"Happy's on his way," he said.
Tony rubbed the towel down his face and then laid it across his shoulders. "He bringing clothes?"
"Uh…no?"
Tony looked up and frowned. "You didn't tell him to bring me clothes?"
"He didn't give me a chance!" Peter threw his hands in the air, eyes doing that too wide thing again. "As soon as I said you were here, he started freaking out, telling me not to let you leave and that he was on his way. Then he hung up on me. Again."
He dropped down onto the couch and actually had the nerve to pout. "You really won't tell me what all this is about?"
Tony sat down beside him, mindful of the towel around his waist. "No."
"Why not?"
"It's better if you stay out of it." And it was. The last thing Tony wanted was for Spider-Man to be on Hydra's radar. They had a thing with enhanced individuals and Tony would rather die than see Peter in their hands.
He leaned back until he was almost as slumped as Peter, his damp head wetting the back of the couch cushion as he looked at the popcorn ceiling and slowly revolving ceiling fan. He could practically hear Peter seething next to him. He thought back to a few years earlier, to a time where most of what he knew about the kid had come from a quick google search and some Facebook stalking.
If there was one thing Tony had learned since meeting Peter Parker, it was that Peter Parker did not do well with secrets.
Tony sighed, rubbed his thankfully clean hands over his face, and closed his eyes. "Hydra has agents in the city," he said.
"What?" Peter practically squeaked. "Are you serious?"
"And one of them tried to kill me earlier," Tony continued. "I lost him when I went into the sewers, but he's still out there."
"Holy shit," Peter whispered. Tony knew if he were to look, Peter would be all wide-eyed again, those trouble making wheels just a turning. "Does Nick Fury know? What about Steve? Holy shit, Bucky!"
"They know," Tony said, cutting in before Peter could spiral into panic mode. "And as soon as Happy picks me up, I'm going to meet with them and we're going to solve the problem."
"Where—"
"Nope." Tony did open his eyes now. He turned and leveled Peter with a stern, Howard Stark worthy glare. "I explained what happened, and that's all you get. You are going to stay here, you are going to finish your homework and eat your spaghettios and you are going to stay out of trouble."
"I could—"
"You can do exactly what I'm asking," Tony finished for him. He sighed and let his head fall back onto the couch. "I am literally begging you, Peter. I've got enough to worry about without worrying about Hydra getting their hands on you. Okay? Just—promise me you'll stay here until I call and tell you it's all clear?"
"Stay here as in…?"
"As in no Spider-Man until Hydra is out of the city."
Peter just stared. "You know," he began slowly, tone careful, "I'm not that naïve little kid you convinced to follow you to Germany two years ago."
"I'm aware."
"I can handle myself."
"Still aware."
"Then why—"
"Barnes was a fucking soldier." Tony sat up, made sure he had Peter's attention. "He had training and a gun and Captain America at his side, and he still wasn't a match for these assholes."
Peter continued to stare, albeit a little less angrily.
Tony considered it a minor win. "Just—I know you are perfectly capable kicking their asses, Peter. But if there's even the smallest possibility that they could…" Tony rubbed his hand over his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose. "They took Barnes and turned him into something unrecognizable. That can't happen to you."
Tony heard Peter sigh, felt the couch dip as he resumed his slumped position. "Okay."
Tony looked up, surprised. "Okay?"
"Okay," Peter repeated.
Tony narrowed his eyes. "Can you clarify that statement, please?"
Peter rolled his eyes. "I won't go out as Spider-Man until you give me the all clear."
"Promise?"
Peter held up his hand and extended his pinky.
It was Tony's turn to roll his eyes. But he hooked his pinky around Peter's. "This is legally binding, just so you know."
Peter smirked.
"I'm serious," Tony said. "Pinky promise breakers are right there with snitches and those assholes who are on their phones in movie theaters."
"You're always texting during movies."
"Yeah well, I'm an asshole."
Peter smirked again.
"But seriously, you'll sit this out?"
"I'll sit it out. Like you said, you've got other things to worry about than whether or not I'm getting into trouble."
"Exactly," Tony leaned forward, resting his elbows on his bare knees while he looked at the threadbare towel he was currently wearing. "My current worry is my non-existent wardrobe."
There was a few moments of silence and then, "I have something you can wear."
Tony lifted his head. "You do?"
Peter's forehead was furrowed, contemplative, but at Tony's question he turned his head, and smiled. It wasn't a real smile, not the one's Tony was used to seeing on the kid. This one was half-assed and lopsided, with only one corner of his lip rising. "Yeah, I got something. Be right back."
And then he left.
He returned a few minutes later, a tacky tourist shirt in one hand and a pair of bright pink, Hello Kitty pajamas in the other.
Tony just stared. Then laughed. The universe was still saying 'fuck you', still reminding him that all of his actions eventually came back around.
"Touché, kid."
Needless to say, it was all worth it just for the look on Nick Fury's face when Tony strolled into S.H.I.E.L.D headquarters dressed in his borrowed pajamas and May's sequined bedazzled flip-flops.