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Peter didn’t look up from the table when Tony walked in. His head was buried in a book and the other hand was scribbling notes onto a sheet of loose paper.
Tony slid a finger along the table, coming to stand next to him.
“Hello.”
Peter didn’t look up. His pen never stopped scratching on the paper. “Hi.”
Tony took a few small steps until he was stood right behind him, watching him write.
He gave a small chuckle. “Can you even read that? No offence but your handwriting is an atrocity.”
“I don’t have time to be neat,” he mumbled, still scribbling away. “This essay is due in two days and I haven’t even finished reading the book.”
“What is it you’re reading?” Tony made to pick up the book but Peter snatched it out of his reach before he could.
“Hey.”
Tony put his hands up in surrender. “Sorry.”
Peter finally looked up at him. His jaw was set. He looked unimpressed, definitely irritated and Tony had the feeling he was treading on thin ice. He could tell he hadn’t slept well the night before. Maybe a bad day at school too. Something was wrong.
“I’m really busy,” Peter said. “This is, like, essay number seven this week. Do you need something?”
Tony took a risk and settled sideways into the chair next to him, still facing him.
“No, no. Nothing. Just wanted to check on my boy, that’s all.”
“Well, he is fine.”
He didn’t look it but Tony played along anyway. “Good. And.. if I’m honest, I’m a little bored. You mind if I hang here for a bit?”
Peter waved a hand, turning back to his work. “It’s your table.”
Tony searched his brain for something that could be wrong. Sleep, that was number one. But it was a busy time at school so that made sense, he knew the poor kid had a mountain of homework. That would also explain his coldness; being tired made Peter a little grumpy, they all knew that by now.
“Right. I’ll just.. sit here.” Tony shifted his chair closer to the table and slid his phone out of his pocket. Maybe he could respond to some emails or messages or something. “And I’ll be quiet,” he added. “I promise.”
Peter merely hummed in acknowledgment.
He was quiet.. for a while. Everything was quiet besides the scratching of Peter’s pen on the paper and the occasional rustle of the page in his book being turned. Tony was restless but he tried not to show it. He stopped himself from fidgeting and sat as still as he could beside him. He couldn’t focus on anything, all of the emails were boring and all of his unanswered messages equally as uninteresting. All he really wanted to do was talk to Peter and find out what was wrong and how concerned he should be. He knew he had a tendency to overdo it when it came to his concern but that was neither here nor there.
Tony huffed and put his phone face down on the table. He had had enough of looking through his emails. He leant forward on his elbows and tilted his head, watching Peter. His tongue was poking out from the side of his mouth and his eyebrows were pinched in concentration.
“Why are you smiling at me like that?” Peter asked without looking up.
“‘Cos your concentration face is adorable.”
“I am not adorable.”
Tony laughed. “You so are.”
Peter made an exasperated noise. “I thought you said you were being quiet.”
“I’m bored.”
“And I’m busy.”
“You don’t want to come to the lab for a bit? Take a break?”
“No. And I really need to concentrate. I’m serious.”
“Okay..” He clicked his tongue. “Serious.. Got it. Serious. I can do serious. I’m great at serious. I’m a professiona -“
“Mr Stark.”
Ouch. They’d finally got him to stop calling him that. Had he really pissed him off that much?
“Sorry. I did promise, didn’t I?”
Peter lifted an eyebrow, looking terribly unimpressed. “You did.”
“Commencing the ‘quiet protocol’ now.” Tony drew his hand across his mouth, miming closing it like a zip. Peter didn’t laugh and turned back to his work.
The room was silent again, Tony just as fidgety as before. Maybe he should just leave, take himself to the lab and be alone. But thing was, he didn’t want to be alone. He felt like a little puppy, desperate for attention and all he was getting here was the grumpiest of receptions possible. But most of all, Tony just wanted to know that Peter was okay but he had a feeling that any conversations concerning feelings wouldn’t go over well. At least he could try handle the simpler parts of taking care of him.
Tony stood without another word and made his way into the kitchen. Food and water - the most basic of human needs. Essential to keeping a stressed teenager happy and healthy. Right?
He thought he did a pretty good job of it actually. A few minutes later, he was walking back to the table with a glass of water with ice and a plate which was arranged quite impressively with an assortment of fruits, vegetables and Peter’s favourite sweet snacks.
He set them both down in front of him and with his now-free hand he brushed a hand over the curls on the back of Peter’s head which was bent low over his work. He’d made good progress on his book, Tony noticed. His pen stilled for a second and he looked up to eye the plate of food before looking up at Tony who slid back into the chair beside him.
“Thank you,” he said earnestly.
In the interest of being quiet, Tony didn’t respond, only gave him the fondest of smiles he reserved only for him.
He went back to his emails. Peter went back to his work. He didn’t touch the food. He scribbled and scribbled and scribbled until the page was full and then he turned it over and scribbled some more until that was full too. He neared the end of the book and then on the final page, he slammed it shut and thrust it away from himself like he couldn't stand to look at the thing anymore.
Tony watched silently as Peter put his elbows on the table and thread his hands into his hair, squeezing just tight enough that Tony almost said something but he held his tongue. He was supposed to be being quiet.
He almost jumped when Peter suddenly shot up from his chair, hastily grabbed all of his things and stomped down the hall and into his room. Tony heard the door slam from where he was sat, stunned.
He sat for a few minutes wondering if it was something he’d done that had tipped him over the edge. Absentmindedly, he grabbed a carrot stick from the untouched plate of food and nibbled on it while he thought over the puzzling matter. Teenagers.
He decided to leave him alone for the next few hours. He was sure he’d come to him if he needed anything or if he thought Tony might be able to help him. Maybe Tony wasn’t the best at writing essays about books but he’d give it his best go if it meant he could take some of his stress away even if he was only there to offer suggestions.
Later that evening, Peter still hadn’t made a reappearance and Tony stopped ignoring the parts of himself that were telling him to worry about his Spider-Kid.
“Pete?” He knocked gently on his door.
“Mmhm,” he heard from inside. Tony cracked the door open.
He was now typing on his laptop frantically, his notes spread out across the desk in front of him. Never did Tony think if he was ever the one to be raising a kid he’d have to tell them to stop doing homework.
“Kiddo, why don’t you take a break? You’ve been at this for hours.”
“Because I need to get this out of the way so I can get on with everything else. I still haven’t started my maths or biology or history or -“
“I get it, you’ve got a lot on. But you still need to look after you. You aren’t going to be doing your best work if you’re this stressed out.”
Peter’s head snapped up and Tony worried that he’d said the wrong thing.
“Just come and have something to eat. Take five. It’ll do a world of good, trust me.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Peter.” He was always hungry. Growing teenager mixed with a super spider metabolism? He was lying through his teeth.
“I’m not. I’m fine. I’ll come get something when I’m done.”
“How much have you written?”
He glanced back at the laptop. “Three hundred words.”
“How many do you need?”
Peter mumbled a number Tony didn’t catch but the reddening of his cheeks told Tony it was quite a lot more than three hundred.
“Well, I’m sure you can smash them out after you’ve had something to eat.”
“I told you already, I’m not hungry.”
Okay, attitude. Tony raised his hands in a show of peace. “Okay, okay. I’m just trying to help here. I’m just looking out for you.”
“Well, quit it! I don’t have time for this.”
Tony raised a disapproving eyebrow. “I don’t think there’s any need for that tone.”
Peter shot him an incredulous look which then turned swiftly into a scowl. “I don’t think there’s any need for this conversation.”
Tony tried another tactic. He softened his gaze and his tone. “Come on, Pete. You know you can talk to me if there is something bothering yo-”
“Oh, my god! Would you just leave me alone? You’re bothering me!” Peter’s fist were clenched tight, Tony saw them balled on the desk. “You're not my dad!”
Tony was an expert at hiding his emotions. So when his heart took a blow like that, he was perfectly adept at containing the agony so it didn’t show on his face. He just took it.
He nodded slowly, pursing his lips. “Okay, kiddo,” he said softly. “I’ll leave you alone. You can come find me if you need anything.” He left quickly, shutting the door behind him.
It hurt. A lot. Peter wasn’t his biologically but that hadn’t ever mattered to him. Tony loved him like he was his flesh and blood and he’d always thought the feeling was mutual. Maybe he had been wrong all along.
Tony did what he did best when something unpleasant happened - he hid in his lab and tried to forget for a while by tinkering until the callouses on his hands were either bright red or leaking blood. He stayed down there for hours and didn’t sleep for a minute that night. He was too upset to do anything else. The thought of having to face going back upstairs was so uncomfortable that he willed himself to believe for a few hours that he could spend the rest of his life down there.
Peter didn’t want to talk, that was blatantly obvious and Tony wasn’t too fond of the idea of having to leave the comfort of his lab and so he remained there until the sun rose and then remained for a few hours after that.
Peter had already left for school by the time Tony found the courage to venture back upstairs. FRIDAY informed him that he hadn’t been the only one that had spent the entire night awake.
He sat with his coffee for a while, wondering what the next possible step he should take was. Did he acknowledge what had happened or just let it go? Could he let it go? Should he wait for Peter bring it up? Would he? Man, there was a lot to think about. Teenagers.
He sat ruminating and trying to come up with a plan of action until he received a notification on his phone. It was an emergency alert. Iron Man was needed.
Call him selfish but he was almost grateful for whatever force was causing issues in New York that day as it gave him something to do and provided the perfect distraction.
Unfortunately for him, only a little while after they’d begun fighting, a little red and blue flash in the corner of his eye said he wouldn’t be forgetting about the kid anytime soon.
“I thought you were supposed to be in school, kid.” Tony couldn’t help it, it just slipped out.
He was met with no response.
“Spider-Man! You’re on civilian evacuation,” Cap said over the comms.
“Roger that, Captain,” Peter mumbled dejectedly.
Tony flew past Clint who paused for a moment, having also picked up on the teens melancholy and he shot Tony a look before pulling out an arrow and firing it at one of the goons on the ground. Tony touched down next to him, the faceplate retracting, and muted the comms.
“We fought,” he told the archer without preamble. He was a dad, he could give him advice. “Any tips?”
Clint laughed, reaching up to mute his comm too. “Tips on dealing with moody teenagers? Nah, you’re on your own, I haven’t got a clue. But please, if you manage to figure it out, let me know.”
Tony grumbled under his breath and shot off again, dodging a blast from one of the high tech weapons they were trying to neutralise. Tony found the target, aimed and stunned him before he could try it again.
He flew down beside him, ready to grab the weapon and take it back to the jet. Another flash of red caught his eye and he looked up to see Peter swinging with a woman in his arms, carrying her to safety.
Tony took care of the weapon and then flew back to the centre of the chaos. He couldn’t help watching Peter whenever he was within range, it was engrained In him to make sure he was safe at all times. It also meant that he wasn’t able to commit much attention to his surroundings and so he was a little sloppier than usual. He wasn't the only one who noticed but thankfully Clint stuck up for him when Cap questioned it.
“Karen says all the civilians are clear of the immediate area.”
“Great job,” Steve replied. “You can wait for us at the jet if you want.”
“I can help.”
“We’re almost done here anyway. Seriously, take five. You’ve done your part and you’ve done a good job.” Tony was thankful Steve took the lead of benching him before Tony had to. He had the feeling that would have caused quite the scene given the current state of affairs.
Peter appeared on the edge of a rooftop, crouching with his hands between his legs in one of his signature poses. Tony cracked a smile at the sight. No matter what had happened he would never stop loving his kid and his spidery ways.
Guns fired and Tony had to tear his eyes away, forcing himself to focus on the task at hand. He couldn’t for long because Peter jumped and swung down, throwing himself directly into the battlefield.
Tony grumbled internally but chose to hold his tongue. He was being oddly quiet but anything else he was sure would just end in arguments and no one wanted that.
Tony watched him snatch a gun from the hands of one of the enemy with a web and webbed it up out of he way. The man himself was next and before he could move, he was struggling against the restraints that had him firmly secured to the lamp post behind him.
Two goons saw Spider-Man take down their friend and yelled - with more fury than Tony thought Peter deserved to have directed at him - and aimed up at the web-slinger. Clearly these guys had some hard feelings after the ferry incident.
Tony saw it happening and felt himself moving before he’d actively chosen to do so. There were two blasts of light, one that Peter dodged easily and the other that wasn’t so simple and would have hit him square in the chest if Tony hadn’t thrown himself in front of him.
He didn’t feel the impact. He didn’t feel anything. Just saw the light fading. He never felt himself hit the concrete. The only thing he remembered was hearing a scream that hadn’t come from him.
***
“.. Up! Wake up! Please! Oh, god, please! Wake up!”
Inside his metal tomb, which was as unresponsive as he was, Tony felt the jostling movements as someone above him tried to frantically shake him awake.
“God! Tony, please! Say something!”
They were becoming louder and more desperate. Tony wanted to reassure them, like a primal urge to keep them safe and happy was stirring inside of him, but he couldn’t move his mouth. His eyes were still closed - he had to get them to open first of all.
“Oh, my god. Oh, my god. No. Wake up. Please!”
I’m trying, he wanted to say. I’m okay. I’m awake. He couldn’t speak.
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! God, I’m so so sorry! Please, Tony, please,” Peter begged.
It was all he needed to try and wake himself up, hearing the hysteria creeping into Peter’s words. Tony blinked his eyes open. The inside of his suit was dark apart from the small blinking light at the edge of his vision which was his back up power. He’d be able to get out of the suit, thank goodness for that. If he could just figure out how to move..
“Karen? K-Karen, is he.. is he dead? Please, just tell me if he’s dead, just say it. Just say it now. Just tell me.”
Oh, god.
The faceplate flicked open and Tony found himself looking up at a very distressed Peter. His mask was off and they were in a secluded alley not where he remembered being last time he was conscious. Peter must have dragged the suit out of the chaos. The poor kid was white as a sheet and his eyes were frantic. They found his.
“Not dead,” Tony managed to say in a rasping wheeze.
“Tony!”
Peter flung himself down over the top of him, hugging the suit and holding on as if his life depended on it. The impact jostled him and he became aware of a burning sensation in his chest. He held in his gasp for Peter’s sake.
“Oh, my god, Tony! I thought you were dead! You fell! You - you..”
“Shh, hey, shh. Give.. give me a second to figure out if I am actually alive. I’d hate to.. to give you false hope.” Talking hurt.
Peter leaned back, sitting on his heels but keeping one hand on the chest plate of Tony’s suit. His other hand went to his comm. “Karen?” A pause. Peter’s wide eyes looked him over. “She says.. she says you might be concussed. And.. and - god - your ribs. Broken.”
“Mmhm. Feel that,” Tony groaned.
“You’re.. you’re bleeding too.”
“Huh. Where?”
“You’re head.”
“Well, she did say concussion. Doesn’t miss a trick, does she?”
Peter’s lip was wobbling. Tony had the absurd urge to laugh. There was nothing funny about this but everything was suddenly hysterical. He worked with all of his strength to keep it in.
“Why are you smiling?” Peter sniffed.
“Because you are adorable.”
“Stop it. I am not.” He sniffed again.
“You never believe me when I say that but I promise you, I’m right.”
Peter shook his head, keeping his lips pressed firmly together which only proved Tony’s point further.
“Come on, kiddo, help me out of this thing so I can give you a hug.”
They had to work together to get him out of the suit. The more Tony moved, the more he realised how much everything hurt. He winced with every inch they sat him upright. Peter kept him steady with a hand on his back, his super strength bearing most of Tony’s weight.
When he was upright, Peter didn’t go in a for a hug. Tony felt a trickle of blood down the side of his face. For a split second, he wondered if Peter was still just as upset as he had been the previous night - if he was still bothering him. But one look at his face told Tony that wasn’t true.
“You jumped in front of me,” he whispered. There were tears in his eyes.
“My suit’s better.”
“You’re hurt.”
“You could have died.”
Peter squeezed his eyes closed. “You can’t.. you can’t do that. I thought..” His inhaled sharply. “I thought you were dead and I thought the last thing I said to you was.. was..” Peter gave an awful sob.
“Oh, kiddo. Come here.”
He wrapped his arms around Peter who dissolved immediately into a blubbering mess.
“I didn’t mean it, I swear! It wasn’t true! I didn’t mean it!”
Tony suddenly felt like an idiot for ever believing those words. How had he ever been stupid enough to think for a second that Peter could have possibly meant them? If he loved Tony only half as much as he loved Peter, then that would still be an enormous amount. He didn’t know how these things - matters of the heart - worked, not really, but he knew one thing and that was that his kid was his, blood or not.
“I know, kiddo. I know.”
“I’m so so sorry!”
His hand was in his hair, Peter’s face pressed against his shoulder and spreading snot and tears and all things gross all over him. Tony didn’t mind one bit - he himself was leaking blood all over the place too.
“You don't have anything to be sorry for.”
It didn’t calm him down. In fact, Peter made a miserable sound somewhere between a sob and a moan and shook harder.
“I’m sorry! Please, dad. I’m so so sorry!”
Tony froze. He’d never said that before. Never. Not once. Tony never thought he would given how long it took for him to be comfortable even saying ‘Tony’. He’d practically had to beg him.
Ribs twinging, heart bursting, Tony turned his head so he could plant a kiss on the top of Peter’s head.
“There is no need for apologies. I know you didn’t mean it.” Tony sighed contentedly. “My son. My boy. I love you.”
Peter nodded frantically, still sniffling. “I love you too.”
“I know you’ve been stressed out lately. How about when we get home and I get myself patched up we have a talk about whatever’s really bothering you? Come up with a solution. Sound good?”
“Yeah..”
“Good.” He squeezed him, repressing his wince as he did so. “Good.”
Footsteps came crashing along the street towards them as Steve came running into the alley. “Tony! I got here as soon as I could, we just got everything cleaned up. Are you okay!?”
He looked at his son and smiled. “Perfect, Cap. Everything’s perfect.” Peter smiled back. Everything was truly wonderful.
Peter looked up Steve. “He’s lying,” he said, “his ribs are far from perfect.”
Tony groaned. “Thanks for the reminder, kid. I had just about forgotten.”
“We’ll get you patched up in the jet,” Steve said, relaxing when he saw his friend was relatively okay.
“Get me some ice for my ribs, Capsicle, would you? I know how much you love ice.”
Peter’s laugh was his favourite sound in the whole world.
The end.