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bellatlas · 5 years ago

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Iron Dad Bingo: Press Event

“What? You nervous or something?” Tony asked with a hint of amusement at the corner of his lips.

He’d meant it just to tease him, just as a joke, but it wasn’t a joke to Peter. “Umm.” Peter bounced his leg. “A little bit.”

“Wait-” Tony put a hand up. “You mean to tell me that you fought Vulture. And jumped on a flying alien donut of hell. And fought Thanos no problem. But a couple reporters are getting you worked up?”

Peter shot him a look while he wiped the sweat from his palms on his jeans. “That’s different!” Why’d he spring this on him like this? “One is physical danger. And the other is -” he didn’t know how to finish the sentence. Social danger?

“So. What I’m hearing is that if I wanted you to not do something because it’s too unsafe… this whole time, all I had to do was threaten to make you talk to reporters.” He squinted at him out of the corner of his eye. “Interesting. Hmm… you know, I guess I never really thought of it like that. Growing up, there were always cameras and reporters and paparazzi just… there. I guess I never even had to think twice about it.”

Peter’s eyes got wide. “Is… is that going to happen to me?”

Tony chuckled. “Not on my watch. And not if you keep that mask on.”

Peter nodded, but he was still bouncing his knee, still rubbing his hands on his pant legs, still swallowing a bit harder than he really needed. This was supposed to be exciting. It was exciting for Tony, anyway. Why wasn’t he excited?

Tony frowned. “I can call it off… if it’s that’s big an issue.”

“No! No. I’m fine. Great. Everything’s great. I’m just, well, I talk like this and stumble over my words, and- yeah.” He wasn’t Tony Stark. The media loved Tony Stark, his quick tongue, and confidence and decisiveness. Peter wasn’t just not that- he was practically the opposite of that.

“Here. Let’s go over some practice questions, okay?”

“Okay,” Peter breathed, and, for the rest of the ride, Tony and Happy quizzed him.

“How did Tony find you?” Happy asked.

“Well, you see, I was just-” Peter barely got the first half of his sentence out, in a voice that was definitely deeper and with inflections that were far from his own.

“Kid,” Tony wheezed. “If that’s how you’re going to talk, I’m turning this car around right now.”

READ ALL CHAPTERS HERE

Peter was too preoccupied talking with MJ to notice that Happy was waiting for him on the curb outside of his high school when the bell rang for the day, for the thousandth time pestering MJ with questions about Decathlon.

“Can you ask me a few practice questions?”

“Can we schedule extra meets?”

“ What’s it like being team captain?”

“You’re doing a great job, by the way.”

“Are you sure it’s okay that I missed that meet yesterday? I can make it up.”

“Not everyone has to come if we do an extra meet, you know… ”

They were just outside the front doors when MJ finally turned around to snap at him angrily. Something in her face fell before she could spit out whatever words she had been thinking, though, and she just squeezed her eyes shut instead. Peter visibly recoiled. He needed to learn when to just stop talking, didn’t he?

“You know… that there are things to talk about that don’t involve decathlon, right? Because this-” she gestured to Peter running his mouth, “was not on the list of responsibilities I signed up for as captain.”

“I mean, yeah, but-” But… the topic of Decathlon was safe. It was the only thing that the two of them had in common, at least that he knew of. Well, that and being snapped. But, one of those topics was strictly off limits. He… he didn’t know what to talk about if not Decathlon. That was uncharted territory that he was more than a little nervous to dip his toe into. He could pretend to just be overzealous about the team when it was just Decathlon that he was talking about. It gave him an easy out if MJ wasn’t being as receptive to him as he would have hoped.

“I know it’s not just Decathlon you’re this interested in,” she said, as if reading his mind. “If it was, you wouldn’t have almost dropped out last year.”

“No. No, I am, I’m just trying to… make it up… to the team. For almost leaving last year. Or… last five years ago, I guess.”

“The team doesn’t care, Peter. No- I didn’t mean it like that!” She added at Peter’s rather hurt expression. “I mean that half of the team didn’t even know you when you almost quit. And the other half that was snapped and just got back know that you’re with us for the long run. So. Like… you don’t need to go proving anything.”

“Oh.” Peter stumbled over his words. “Yeah. I- I guess you’re right.”

MJ sighed and rolled her eyes. “Do you want to hang out sometime, Peter? Get coffee or go to a movie or something over the weekend? Outside of decathlon?”

Peter could feel the blood rise up in his cheeks as he lost the ability to speak for a second. MJ’s lips twitched in what he could have sworn was almost a smile for a second.

“Y-y-yeah. That- yes! Sounds great.”

“Cool. I’ll text you. And no Decathlon talk this time, okay? That’s my condition. You exhausted that topic, like, yesterday.”

“No Decathlon talk. Got it.”

MJ looked down to hide her smirk and snorted a sort of laugh that was absolutely adorable, if you asked Peter’s opinion. “Alright. Well, I’ll see you over the weekend, then I guess.” She looked past Peter to the car parked out on the curb. “You’d better get going before your driver over there pops a blood vessel.”

“Driver?” Peter spun on his heel and noticed Happy for the first time, tapping his wrist where a watch would normally be and mouthing through the window ‘Let’s go!” in the kind aggravated manner that only Happy could achieve.

“Oh my God, Happy’s going to kill me!”

MJ laughed again. “If you want him to kill you faster, you can just talk about Decathlon nonstop for a week. Just a suggestion. It'll probably work.

Peter rolled his eyes at her as he stepped towards the car, but inside he felt like his heart might actually explode from how fast it was beating. Did… did that just happen? Like, for real?

When he opened the door to the back of the car, it was none other than Tony Stark waiting for him. Peter clambered in and pulled the door shut before anyone could see.

"What? Do I embarrass you?" he mocked.

"No, no. I just… didn't want to make a big deal out of it."

"Please," Tony scoffed. "It would have helped you recover from whatever that was, back there." He nodded towards where MJ was still staring at the car curiously from the front steps of the school, definitely not the only one anymore. He couldn't blame them. It was a nice car. "You really do need a lesson on girls."

"Do not."

"Then what was all that?"

"That," Peter said pointedly, "was me getting a date."

Tony raised an eyebrow.

“Hey! Don’t look so shocked.”

“Look, don’t take it personally. That just didn’t seem like an asking out sort of conversation.”

Peter stared straight ahead. "Really? Maybe it wasn't. Maybe I totally misunderstood. Maybe that's not what she wanted and- "

"Shhh-" Tony made a zip it motion that sent Peter back in time to his suit getting taken away. He barely suppressed a wince. "Tell me what the conversation was."

Peter took a deep breath. "Okay, so I've kinda been bugging her about decathlon all week because it's kinda the only place we really talk, and she got kinda annoyed, called bull on me really caring about decathlon so much, and asked if I wanted to go to the movies or coffee outside of decathlon."

"Sounds like a date to me," Happy said from the front seat, and Tony nodded in agreement.

"Congrats, kid." Happy said, flashing him a rare genuine smile from the front seat. My, he was getting all the flatteries today, wasn't he?

"Hey!" Tony piped up. "Bring her as your date tonight! Dazzle her from the get go."

"Tonight? What's tonight? Why are you guys even here? I mean, that I don't like it when-” he was cut off by Happy.

“Tony!” Happy yelled from the front seat. “That was supposed to be a secret!”

“Secret?” Peter chimed in. “What secret?”

“And besides,” Happy continued, both of them ignoring Peter’s puzzled stare, “he can’t just bring a girl to this on a first date.”

“Guys-”

“Why not?” Tony asked.

“That’s way too much way too fast! Plus, his secret identity? How’s he going to get away with that if he brings her?”

“What?” Peter whispered.

Tony rolled his eyes. “She’s gonna find out eventually if she’s going to be dating Peter. Better to get it out of the way in the beginning, right? And there’s no way she wouldn’t be impressed by this! Do you know how many women at these events that I’ve-”

“Mr. Stark, oh my God, stop.”

“No!” Happy shook his head vigorously. “This girl likes Peter for Peter. Starting things off by throwing a ton of money and fame into the mix isn’t going to work.”

“GUYS!” Peter finally yelled over their bantering. “What are we talking about? Maybe, I don’t know, I can decide this?”

Tony turned to Peter, expression going serious. “We’re going upstate.”

“Yeah, I figured out that much.”

“Remember that press event that you turned down after Vulture?”

Peter nodded. “The test?”

“Yeah, sure. The test. We’re doing that now. Officially announcing you as the newest Avenger. May is already there. It was going to be a surprise, but I am graciously-” He turned to look at Happy, enunciating the words sharply, “letting you take this MJ girl if you want.”

“Oh, uh-” He caught the rapid shaking of Happy’s head in the mirror. “I- I uh. I think I’d rather just meet her at the movies.” Happy was right. This would be way too much way too soon. MJ wouldn’t be impressed. In fact, she’d probably be a bit pissed.

“Suit yourself,” Tony shrugged, and Happy finally pulled away from the school.

“Speaking of suits… this press thing. What… exactly…”

“Just be confident and answer their questions. Simple. And there’s a party afterward.”

Just be confident. Simple. If only it were that easy. He shifted uncomfortably.

“What? You nervous or something?” Tony asked with a hint of amusement at the corner of his lips.

He’d meant it just to tease him, just as a joke, but it wasn’t a joke to Peter. “Umm.” Peter bounced his leg. “A little bit.”

Peter’s eyes got wide. “Is… is that going to happen to me?”

Tony chuckled. “Not on my watch. And not if you keep that mask on.”

Tony frowned. “I can call it off… if it’s that’s big an issue.”

“Here. Let’s go over some practice questions, okay?”

“Okay,” Peter breathed, and, for the rest of the ride, Tony and Happy quizzed him.

“How did Tony find you?” Happy asked.

“Well, you see, I was just-” Peter barely got the first half of his sentence out, in a voice that was definitely deeper and with inflections that were far from his own.

“Kid,” Tony wheezed. “If that’s how you’re going to talk, I’m turning this car around right now.”

Peter made a sour face at him.

“Just be yourself,” he offered.

“Mr. Stark, nobody wants that,” he said, quoting Ned from all those years ago. He meant it more as a self-deprecating joke. Well, mostly. But, the joke was lost on Tony.

“What?” Tony’s face goes serious. “Who told you that?”

Peter shook his head. “Nevermind. Next question.”

They worked out the details. Peter was to call Tony Tony, and not Mr. Stark to the press. Also, he was not to have any mention of his age. If an age-related question was asked, Tony would defer.

They were at the compound in no time flat. The boring hours spent staring out the windows that had ceased being fun the third time that Peter had to make this drive, flying by. Nervousness tended to do that, he supposed.

“I can’t believe this is really happening,” Peter mumbled. Still nervous, but… a good kind of nervous. “I- I didn’t think I was still an Avenger.”

Tony raised an eyebrow. “I made you one back on the ship, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, but-” Peter shrugged. “That was an extenuating circumstance. I didn’t think that I’d still be an Avenger when I got back. That it still stood.”

An odd look went across Tony’s face. “Truth be told, I didn’t think that there would be a ‘when you got back.’ But… yeah. It was always going to stand.”

Peter solemnly nodded.

“That first time you offered to make me an Avenger… that was a test, right?”

Tony flashed him a broad smile. “Of course.”

“Mr. Stark- Did I seriously throw away my first shot at being an Avenger?"

"Would you have made a different decision?" Tony asked.

Peter thought about it for a second. "Well, no… "

"Good then. It doesn't matter."

There were so many news vans in front of the compound that Peter didn't even recognize half of the stations.

"Suit up," Tony said, tossing him the mask that was sticking out of his backpack. "Unless you're ready for an 'I am iron man' kind of media frenzy.'

Peter shook his head. Not yet. Maybe one-day he'd reveal his secret identity, but not yet. For the time being, he was quite content with his secret identity being just that: a secret. High school was enough of a hellhole as it was without people knowing he was Spiderman to worry about.

The suit moulded around him like liquid, crawling around his ankles and hands and making its way to his chest and snaking up his legs. He'd never get tired of that. It was just as cool every time that he put it on.

And then, with little more some gushing from Aunt May and hurriedly snapping his web shooters on, Tony took him by the shoulders and steered him through that very same set of double doors (or, well, a replica of that set of double doors. The whole compound was a replica, technically) that he walked away from all those years ago.

The noise stunned him, and there were so many flashes that even with his vision being funneled through the suit goggles, it was too much.

"Do you want me to turn the brightness down, Peter?" Karen chimed, voice low and soft in the way it always was when there was just too much going on. Always so attentive.

"Mhmm," he mumbled, careful not to move his lips in fear that the press would think he was just talking to himself. That’s all he needed.

"Alright!" Tony stood and motioned for everyone to sit down until the cameras stopped flashing and reporters stopped yelling their questions over one another. “I guess we’ll get started, then. The quicker we do this, the quicker we can all get downstairs to the alcohol.”

The press all chuckled and nodded in agreement. Just about six years ago to the day, I was lucky enough to stumble across this sonofagun on Youtube of all places: a budding young superhero who had taken to the streets afterschool to try to try to better his neighborhood. And, not only that, but he built the extra powers he needed to succeed, engineering things the likes of which I could only hope to have constructed at his age.”

He turned to look at Peter as he continued to talk. “He is the most moral and skilled hero I’ve found in a long time. Scratch that- ever. And, it’s him alone that made me decide to risk everything to bring half you back. Because, if Earth… it was never going to be worth it without a hero like him to protect it. Ladies and gents… please welcome the latest and greatest Avenger to the team: Spiderman.”

Cameras flashed. Reporters cheered. May cried. But, all Peter could manage to do was gape a bit at Tony. He… he had no idea that Tony felt that way about him. All this time, Peter still felt like the annoying kid playing dressup with a grown up’s shoes. Tony thought he was the greatest? Peter was the one who convinced him to snap? To give up his arm? His sight in his right eye? Damn near give up his life with his new wife and daughter. That was… just… so much. Too much to process, especially in front of a room full of reporters.

Tony’s eyes crinkled at the corners the way that they did nowadays when he smiled sadly at him. Peter knew exactly what he was trying to say: sorry to throw all this on you. I didn’t know how else to say it.

Instead, all he said was “Your turn,” and gestured at him to begin speaking.

Peter only continued to gape. How was he supposed to talk after… after that? He was flattered. Beyond flattered. Somehow, though, the hero that Tony described just… didn’t seem like him. He felt almost as though Tony was putting him up on a pedestal. Like he couldn’t live up to Tony’s idea of him after memorializing Peter for five years.

“Peter?”

Peter blinked.

“You’re actually going to have to talk now.”

“Oh. Yeah. Right. I guess that’s kinda the point of this whole thing, isn’t it?”

All the reporters laughed candidly, and Tony smiled. “Yeah. It is.”

Tony started with the reporters and organizations that he knew- the easy ones that wouldn’t give Peter too much trouble:

What powers were innate? Sticking to surfaces and super strength and agility.

Which did Tony make? Well, the suit, obviously. It was Tony Stark. It was kinda his schtick.

Which did he make? His amazing web shooters. He demonstrated by webbing up the reporters mic and bringing it to his face.

“Does this answer your question?” he asked into it. He hopped down to hand the reporter her microphone back, the webbing sticking around the microphone in a wad and staying put. “Oh- er- sorry. That’ll dissolve in a bit, I promise.”

Another chuckle from the crowd as the reporter merely smiled and posed with the webbed-up mic for a photo from her photographer.

“What occurred in your initial battle against Thanos, and afterwards during the decimation?” The next reporter asked. Peter barely had time to open his mouth before Tony reacted, pointing an accusing finger at the reporter.

“Don’t answer that,” Tony said to Peter. “They were all instructed not to ask questions about Titan. You don’t have to talk about that.”

“I- I really don’t mind,” Peter responded.

“No. Really. You’re not required to talk about things that you don’t want to talk about.”

“I do want to talk about it… I fought an alien supervillain on another planet. That’s, like, every kid’s dream,” Peter laughed nervously.

The reporters laughed along with him.

Tony looked at him for a second, a bit strangely, with his lips pressed into a line. He opened his mouth to say something, but his eyes darted to the room full of reporters and back to Peter. Was there something Peter was supposed to decipher here? He stared at Tony, questioningly, expression blank thanks to the mask over his face. “Well then. By all means. Go ahead… I guess.” He gestured for Peter to continue, a bit slower and calmer than before. And he did, without thinking too much more about it.

He talked about saving strange. “You know that whole thing from Star Wars where you get sucked out into space? Turns out that works pretty well!” Tony filled in the parts he missed enthusiastically (albeit there weren’t many. After all, the memories are much fresher for Peter). He talked about meeting the Guardians, when Thanos turned up. Their fight, their defeat, Strange’s prophecy. Everything.

“It was only a few minutes later that everything… happened,” Peter said, after finishing the story on how they’d lost the battle. “I guess I was sort of expecting it to happen a little later, since Earth was solar systems away, but when you have the rest of the infinity stones, well… in hindsight I guess I should have known that that space and time didn’t really matter anymore.” Tony sat silently through his explanation. “Then, all the sudden… Mantis went first. The others took time, but not her. She was there, and then… she wasn’t. In an instant, just… gone. She just crumpled and vanished and blew away. The next one… geez. I actually can’t remember his name. He was big. Really big. With him, it started at his arm, and was really slow. He knew what was happening. I think that’s when it hit everyone. That this was really happening. I honestly don’t remember much of what happened next. I just knew I was one of them. I could feel it and-”

“Nope.” Tony said. Just the one word before he stood and walked out of the room, doors slamming shut behind him.

Peter froze. What was he supposed to do? He looked around for a cue: May, a reporter, anyone. It was Happy who came to his rescue, hopping up to the podium with him and urging him to quickly finish up the story. He tried, but his voice, mic or no mic, was lost of the cacophony that Tony leaving had caused, and Peter was ushered off stage to the back, away from all of the noise, where Tony was sitting on a windowsill with his hands wrapped around either side of his head and his chin propped up on his knees.

“Mr. Stark, I’m so-”

“Aht, aht.” He made his ‘zip it’ motion that Peter had become far too familiar with. Tony composed himself immediately, even daring to smile. “You did great, kid. Played that room full of reporters like an upright bass. They loved you and how, oh what are the kids calling it these days? How hashtag relatable you were, even as a superhero?”

“Mr. Stark, nobody says hashtag.”

“Well then, they should.” He combed a hand through his hair. It was a nervous tick that felt off coming from someone like Tony.

“I’m sorry.” Peter said, plowing through when Tony tried to silence him again. “I thought you were just trying to protect me from talking about it, and I didn’t mind. I… I didn’t even think that you might not. How did I miss that? I’m sorry. I’m so so so so sorry.”

“Don’t worry, kid. It’s nothing.”

“That wasn’t nothing.”

“Really,” Tony insisted. “That was-”

“A panic attack,” Peter finished. Tony opened his mouth to object, but Peter shrugged. “I get them, too.”

Tony’s demeanor changed in an instant. “You do?”

“It’s nothing.” Peter smirked as Tony tried to flip the script and tell him that yes, it was a big deal, before seeing the hipocaracy.

“Well,” Tony scoffed. “You won this round, but only because we have a schedule to stick to tonight. This is not over. We’re talking about this later, capiche?”

Peter only rolled his eyes.

“Peter, I’m serious. This is serious.”

“Fine, yeah, we’ll talk later.”

“Good… good. You did good out there.”

Peter breathed a sigh of relief. “Really? I didn’t seem nervous? I felt nervous. I’m just glad I’m not as nervous anymore. I don’t know how much more of that I could have taken.”

As if on cue, Peter’s phone buzzed in his pocket and he fished it out on instict. MJ. It was a text from MJ.

“Check that. I’m definitely still nervous.”

As usual, thank you so much for reading, and please review on fanfiction.net (the link at the top) if you so have the time. Love you all!

If you have any suggestions for ANY of these prompts, but especially the ones in italics (these haven't been planned yet) please let me know! I need ideas. Which one do you want to see next?

#tony stark #peter parker #iron dad bingo #irondad #spiderson

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bellatlas · 5 years ago

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Iron Dad Bingo: Homesick

“In the time that he and May were gone, their apartment had been taken by new owners. Their things sold. He remembered that day too well. Coming home bloodied from battle, Aunt May hysterical, wanting nothing more than to take a shower, eat some ramen, climb into bed, cry for a bit, and pass out cold before having to get up the next day and put together all the pieces that had fallen apart.Only, they'd had no home. Just a box of old belongings that the new owners hadn't sold or tossed, and the car that they'd been gracious enough to give back. Which, was now totaled, courtesy of Peter himself.

They weren't awful people, the new owners. Under any other set of circumstances, Peter might have even liked them. But, he didn't. They were living in his apartment. Had turned his room into a personal Zumba fitness room (the blasphemy!). And, well, it's not like they could evict them. They'd bought the apartment in an auction. It, and everything in it, legally, was theirs now.

And so, bloody, sweaty, and exhausted in every meaning of the word, Peter and May had been homeless, and he was sure they were far from the only ones.

They found a parking lot that wasn't too sketchy, parked the car, leaned the seats back, locked the doors (not that it really mattered. It was mid-summer and they'd had to roll the windows down or risk getting baked half to death) and tried to sleep with the sounds of sirens and everything descending into chaos around them.

They were only a few hours into their attempt at sleeping when Happy called, despite everything he was probably handling with Tony and his, er, condition after using the stones, and promptly told the two to get their asses up to the old Avengers tower that instant. They were both too exhausted and thankful to argue, and Peter finally got his shower in. And a good cry. He'd looked down at the pink-tinted water rushing between his feet to the drain on the other end of the room (because yes- in Stark tower, the shower was an entire room), and cringed at how salty the water was when it ran into his mouth from his hair. He knew he should feel something. Anything. But, he just felt tired.”

Full text and all chapters HERE, or just this chapter below.

It was bizarre. The bodega had always been in its telltale little corner of Queens. That was the bodega's corner. That was Mr. Delmar's corner. It always had been, and Peter thought it always would be. Hell, if the bodega survived the Chitauri weapon bank heist gone wrong, he was sure it would survive anything. Anything except Thanos, it would seem.

To see grand re-opening signs flying outside of a new bodega two blocks away in a building that looked far too new, all while a dollar general took up residence in Mr. Delmar's corner of Queens, was wrong. Very wrong.

But, he decided when he stepped inside of the new bodega and was greeted with that same telltale deli smell that he'd had dreams about, that transported him back a million years ago (or, like, five) it didn't really matter. He was back. His people were back. And, slowly (so slowly, dear God there was still so much to clean up) his neighborhood was coming back. And there was no part of his neighborhood quite like Delmar's Deli. Well… his old neighborhood….

He winced at the thought. In the time that he and May were gone, their apartment had been taken by new owners. Their things sold. He remembered that day too well. Coming home bloodied from battle, Aunt May hysterical, wanting nothing more than to take a shower, eat some ramen, climb into bed, cry for a bit, and pass out cold before having to get up the next day and put together all the pieces that had fallen apart.

Only, they'd had no home. Just a box of old belongings that the new owners hadn't sold or tossed, and the car that they'd been gracious enough to give back. Which, was now totaled, courtesy of Peter himself.

And so, bloody, sweaty, and exhausted in every meaning of the word, Peter and May had been homeless, and he was sure they were far from the only ones.

They'd gotten a new apartment soon after (real estate was booming, didn't you hear?) but it wasn't the same. It would never be the same.

"Peter!" Mr. Delmar's greeting startled him out of his musing. He stepped out from behind the counter with open arms, mustard already staining his apron even though the new bodega had only been open for a few hours. "Glad to see you again. How are you?"

"Good, good." He rubbed the back of his neck. "How about you?"

"Oh, I'm doing great." That took Peter off guard a bit. Everyone had been asking everyone how they'd been doing the past few months. People either were honest, or they lied in an 'I'm good,' that really just meant 'I don't want to get into it.' Nobody said great in quite the same jovial tone as Mr. Delmar. Nobody was great. He flashed Peter a rare smile. "My daughter is too old for you, now."

Peter rolled his eyes. "I'll take the usual," he said, sliding a five over the counter, and spun around to look at the new place. It wasn't the old bodega, but it still had the same vibe, the same general aesthetic.

"Here ya go." Mr. Delmar pushed the sub across the counter towards Peter, who promptly unwrapped it and took as big a bite as he could muster. Oh Yeah. That was the stuff.

"So what are you up to today, Pete?"

"Nothing much. Just running by the old apartment to pick up some old things that the new owners found."

"Mph." Mr. Delmar's face crinkled and he frowned down at the sandwich he was making. "That's not right, what they're doing. That was your apartment. And that was my bodega." He gestured down the street towards the new Dollar General and shook his head. "This is ridiculous."

Peter shrugged. The legality of the whole situation was beyond him, and he honestly wasn't very keen on getting into it. Everyone who lost property in the years since the snap was told they'd be compensated, but nobody knew when that would be, or even where that money was supposed to come from. It was starting to look like it would just never happen.

"Sorry, kid," Mr. Delmar sighed. "Hope you get some good stuff back today."

"Thanks. Yeah. Me, too. I'll uh- I'll let you know."

"Yeah, yeah." He waved goodbye and stepped out onto the chilly sidewalk, Italian club in hand, and he swore, one of Mr. Delmar's subs made everything just a little bit better.

He checked his watch. There were still a few minutes before Tony was set to meet him, and slipped into a Goodwill a block down, shaking the December snow out of his hair in the entry way. He and May used to shop here for clothes all the time. But, since coming back from the snap, he was a near-constant visitor, always checking to see if any of the new donations used to be his. He'd actually had okay luck, too. He'd found an old picture frame of May's, some old fridge magnets that used to be theirs, and an old ceramic pen holder he'd made for Ben as a fathers day present years ago when May had taken him pottery painting as a kid. They were little, but, at the same time, they weren't little at all. May had cried every time he brought something home.

He scanned through the clothes, the furniture, the little nick-nacks, but didn't see anything familiar this time around. At least, not until he saw Tony walking up to him out of the corner of his eye, his telltale gait with the shoulders squared back and one arm that didn't quite swing like the other alerting him to who it was before he could even turn his head. Dang. He must have lost track of time.

He was dressed more casually than Peter had ever seen in the past, baseball cap and sunglasses on, and the mechanical arm hidden underneath a winter coat and gloves. Still, he looked distinctly like Tony Stark, and Peter was astounded that nobody else saw it.

Tony wrinkled his nose and looked around. "Ew. I can smell the bedbugs from here."

Peter shook his head. "It's not that bad."

"If you knew what some of these people did in or on these clothes before donating them-"

"Sounds like projection to me," Peter smirked. "Besides. They do a lot for the neighborhood. I like it."

Tony merely shrugged.

"Give me, like, one more minute. Sorry. I still need to check electronics."

"Well, I'll give you that," he said, following Peter to electronics. "Goodwill is a step up from dumpster diving."

Peter chuckled under his breath. "Actually, that's exactly what I'm looking for."

"What? Don't tell me you're dumpster diving at Goodwill. That's the trash's trash. That's like eating shit, digesting it, and then shitting out the shit again."

"Shhh," Peter hissed. "They can hear you, you know. Besides. I'm just trying to see if any of our old stuff wound up here. I really liked those old computers I found in that dumpster. What did you call it? A retro-tech vibe or something?"

"Oh. Yeah, something like that. I… I really doubt you're going to find those old computers here. The chances of that have to be one in a-"

"Aha!" Peter gestured smugly to a set of retro tech identical to the setup that he'd had in his room that first time Tony had come to whisk him away to Germany.

"Well, I'll be damned."

"These had better still work." Peter took the cord to the CPU and plugged it into the wall, waiting for the telltale green light to start blinking. It didn't. Peter frowned at it. "What did they do to them?" An uncharacteristic rage sparked up in his eyes, and Tony stepped back.

"They made it all those years. They made it through being thrown in a dumpster in a storm, and then some asshole comes along and-"

"Hey." Tony put a hand Peter's shoulder. "Let's get them anyway. We can fix them up. It'll be fun."

Peter glowered, didn't even bat an eye at the idea of fixing up some tech with Tony freaking Stark. Tony put his hands in his pockets, not quite sure what to do. Never quite sure what to do when it came to Peter.

"Fine." Peter deflated. "Fine. You're right. I can just fix them up or something." he said, ignoring Tony's offer and carrying the items up to the front.

"Here." Tony began pulling out his wallet to pay for Peter, but Peter stopped him.

"It's fine, Tony. It's, like, sixty bucks, tops. I've got it."

"O-okay." Something about his tone kept Tony from insisting this time, and he slid the wallet back into his pocket, waiting at the entrance for Peter before slipping back out into the December cold with the old electronics in tow.

"Thanks. For helping me pick up those boxes from the old apartment," Peter said when the silence between them grew thick and awkward. "You- You really didn't have to go out of your way, though. I could have just made a few trips on my own. Or just waited until Ned got out of class and had him and MJ help me."

"Ned? Your, oh, what did he call himself. Your guy in the chair or something?"

"Yeah. Yeah, that's him."

"What do you mean 'out of class?' School doesn't start back up for another month."

It was true. The public school system had been flooded when all of the snapped kids came back at once over the summer, each with only half of their schooling from the year they'd been dusted, and with so many homeless and moving around, nobody knew which school to put which kids in. It had been a mess. And so, New York public schools, along with most of the schools in the world, had deferred for a semester to let things settle out.

"Public School," Peter corrected. "Ned's in college now."

"Oh. That's… different," Tony said.

"Yep." Peter popped the 'p' and stared straight ahead. "He has a study group for finals coming up or something today."

"Ah." Tony cleared his throat, not making eye contact, and Peter couldn't blame him. What do you even say to something like that? "Whose MJ?"

Peter flushed down to his neck before he even opened his mouth, and Tony practically lunged at the opportunity to tease him. "Ohhh, someone has a crush,"

"It-No. I-It's not like that," Peter sputtered, and Tony gave him a sideways like that just said 'sure it's not.' But, it wasn't. It really wasn't. Okay, maybe Peter wanted it to be like that a little. Okay, maybe more than a little, but it wasn't. So, why was he this embarrassed?

"Remind me to give you a lesson sometime before you go back to school. You're going to be amazing with the ladies. This MJ character will love it."

"Nononono!" Peter would love a lot of lessons from Tony, but a lesson in getting a date was not of them. Not from Tony. Not in a million years.

"Or guys." Tony put his hands up. "Guess MJ is kinda a gender-neutral name isn't it?"

"What?" Peter shook his head. "It's really not like that. We- she- we're not going to the same school next month."

"Oh." Tony's face fell. "She uh… she's in college, too now?"

"No." Peter shifted uncomfortably. "She got snapped, too. We're just not in the same school zone anymore."

"She moved?"

"I moved." Peter corrected. "New zone. New school."

"Shit!" Tony said. "Geez, I didn't even think about the school zoning when I-"

Peter stopped dead in his tracks. "When you what?" Both Peter and May thought that it was awfully suspicious that rent on their apartment was so low for so nice an apartment in that part of Queens. Surely, Tony didn't have anything to do with that. "When you what?" Peter repeated.

"Nothing. I did nothing. Say, what's in these boxes that you need to get at your old place, anyway?" He popped a pretzel in his mouth from seemingly nowhere.

Peter fixed Tony with a stare that would be able to cut through him if it weren't for the fact that it was coming from Peter, but went along with his change of subject anyway.

"No idea. All I know is that the new owners suddenly found an old box of our things, and since, we're, y'know, alive now, they decided to call May and let her know instead of selling more of our stuff… how'd you even find out that I needed help moving boxes, anyway?"

"Don't worry about it. You're getting me out of a board meeting. That's a good thing," he added at Peter's horrified expression. "Your aunt and I talk, believe it or not. She wanted someone with you. Someone adult."

"You mean my aunt and Happy talk, and you talk to Happy."

"You got me." Tony held his hands up in mock defense, then added "is it just me, or is the whole Happy and your aunt thing… sorta… "

"It's weird." Peter nodded. "Not just you. It's definitely very weird."

Before they knew it, they had reached the front door of Peter's old apartment building. Nothing was quite as weird that. Peter hadn't been back since, well, since that night. He swallowed hard. It was like something out of a dream. Whether it was a good dream or a bad one, he couldn't decide.

Walking up those stairs to build that lego death star with Ned, back when they were both fifteen… it felt like yesterday. It felt like a thousand years ago.

"Kid? You okay?" Tony asked.

"Yeah, why?" Peter lied.

Tony shrugged. "You just looked… distant, I guess."

Peter took a shaky breath before knocking on the door. He felt hot, all the sudden. Felt sweat pricking up on his forehead even though the hallways never were heated very well in the winter. He had to work harder to keep his breathing under control. Oh, please not now, he thought. But, he couldn't help it. The last time he'd been here was on that night. That night that he'd lost his home, and almost lost his hero.

"Peter?"

Before Peter could reply, the door swung open, and they were there. The couple that took his apartment. They'd tried bargaining, tried paying them much more than the apartment was actually worth, but they hadn't budged. Real estate had been hell lately, hadn't you heard?

"Come in, come in," the woman ushered, and both Tony and Peter stepped inside. It was so similar to the last time he'd been inside, the morning of that field trip. And so so different. A different couch. A different kitchen table. A Zumba room where his bedroom had been. But, it was still the same apartment. Had the same smell. The same hominess. The same scorch mark on the wall behind the stove from May's cooking, or, well, attempt at cooking.

"We, uh, we were going through the closet to get the tree out," she gestures to the corner where there's a poorly constructed fake Christmas tree- the same spot May had always put theirs up, as well, "and we found these."

She crouched down and pulled two plastic bins out of the closet. "I have no idea how we missed them all these years, but their yours now. If you still want them, that is."

Peter's forehead creased, and he put his Goodwill bag full of broken old computer parts down on the kitchen table, sitting down on his knees in front of the first bin. He knew what it was before he even opened it. "Christmas ornaments."

He reached in, hand shaking slightly, and pulled one out. Woodchuck, from Peanuts, tangled in Christmas lights. He remembered that one. He was really little, probably five or six, and had become transfixed on it in a gift shop in Manhattan after watching the Christmas special the night before. May and Ben had bought it when he wasn't looking and surprised him with it Christmas morning. Under their tree in that very same corner.

He reached in for another. Why was his hand shaking this much? They were just ornaments. It was a baby blue little picture frame, with "BABY'S FIRST CHRISTMAS!" scrawled in comic sans across the top. In the frame, his mom and dad were on either side of him, just an infant, leaning in and kissing his almost-bald head while he made a weird face at the camera. He still remembered them. Not as clearly as he used to, but he still did.

"That's you?" Tony asked, looking over his shoulder.

"No shit," Peter jested. "And to think you call yourself a genius." The humor evaporated between them without so much as a chuckle. His voice cracked and was shaky, portraying none of the confidence he'd had in his head.

Tony cleared his throat. "Why don't we get going. Y'know. Don't want to keep your aunt waiting."

He didn't trust his voice not to break again, so he simply nodded, packed his computer parts on top of the first of the two bins, and picked it up. Tony followed suit with the second, and the woman walked them to the door, gave some sort of pleasant social required farewell that was completely lost on Peter because how dare she bid him goodday out of his apartment, and closed the door on him. Peter stared at it for longer than he should have. He used to have a key to that door. He should be able to open that door. He'd probably never see it open again, and never see the inside of their apartment where he'd first walked across his bedroom ceiling again.

"Pete?" Tony nodded in the direction of the elevator, casting him a glace every few seconds as they waited for the elevator to arrive.

Peter stared straight ahead, gripping the bin tightly to stop the stupid shaking of his hands. Kept clenching and unclenching his jaw. Kept breathing. In one two three. Out one two three. In one two three. Out one two three.

"Um-" Tony looked down at Peter's hands. He was gripping the bin so hard that the red plastic was beginning to turn white and warp, the plastic ready to give way and break all of the delicate ornaments inside.

"Oh. Right." Peter loosened his grip, clenching his jaw all the while. Keep it together, keep it together, keep it together.

Finally, the elevator dinged and the doors open, and the two stepped wordlessly inside. Peter leaned back against the wall, bin in hand, and closed his eyes. Why was he so tired all the sudden?

"You're not gonna get any closure," Tony said out of the blue.

Peter's eyes snapped open. "What?"

"Oh, man." Tony squeezed his eyes shut and Peter was pretty sure that if he weren't holding a bin full of glass ornaments, he would be rubbing his temples in the way that he tended to be doing a lot lately. "I'm really bad at this, aren't I?"

"Um." Peter didn't know what to say. "I guess?"

Tony sighed. "I mean… I mean don't hold out for closure. You always hope that someday the people who hurt you-" he juts his chin up in the direction of Peter's old apartment, the people who had taken up residence there, "that they're going to wake up one day and realize everything that they did. And feel bad about it. But… it doesn't ever happen. And if you're waiting for that forever, then… then it's never going to get better. You're just going to be stuck waiting forever."

Peter stared at him, eyes wide, for an uncomfortable length of time. "Yeah. T-that makes sense."

Tony shrugged. "Easier said than done."

Another uncomfortable silence.

"That also makes sense."

The ride home was uneventful, enjoyable even. They took the subway back to Peter's current apartment, and it was painfully obvious from the way Tony stumbled any time they hit a bump that Tony was not used to public transportation.

"Shut up!" he hissed every time that Peter began to snicker, which of course only made the situation that much more amusing.

May, of course, cried as soon as she saw the bins full of ornaments.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she said, fanning her face with her hand in a vain attempt to dry the wet trails down her cheeks. "Thank you so much, Tony. I- I was at work all day, and I didn't want him going back there alone, and-"

"Hey, like I told the kid. You got me out of a board meeting. It's me who should be thanking you."

"Are you staying for dinner?" she asked. "I could invite Happy, and-"

"No, no. Sorry. I uh- I've got some business to attend to." He meets Peter's eyes. "Keep me updated on those computers, alright?"

"Will do, Mr. Stark."

And with that, Tony was off, making the drive, or maybe the flight- Peter wasn't quite sure, back upstate.

"I thought you didn't like him," Peter asked with a raised eyebrow when May looked a bit let down at his refusal to stay.

"I mean, he did save literally half the universe. And my Peter." May gave him an affectionate hug, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

"And you," Peter added. "And, I'm sure it has nothing to do with Happy, right?"

May playfully swatted at his head, which Peter ducked expertly. "Nothing at all."

As they found a new corner of the room to set the tree up in for the first time, Peter thought that maybe, just maybe, this could be a place that he'd miss someday, too. Especially when, the next morning, there was an envelope under his tree with the telltale T.S. scrawled on it. He looked around the apartment. May was still asleep.

He quietly opened it and couldn't believe his eyes. It was a class schedule. A class schedule from Midtown High. No way. No way. He could have fainted. Or thrown up. Or done a few cartwheels. Any of those would do. Instead, he just fumbled with his phone to text Tony.

Thanks, Santa, He texted.

The reply came right away: NEVER call me that again.

#tony stark #peter parker #irondad #spiderson #iron dad bingo

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bellatlas · 5 years ago

Text

Iron Dad Bingo: Sick Fic

He could barely catch his breath between episodes and only managed a pitiful moan into the toilet bowl before his stomach turned on him again.

"Pete?"

Finally, Peter caught his breath, panting loudly into the toilet. "Can-" he shuddered, all the strength that he had miraculously gained to go throw up leaving his body. "Can you close the door? You-" He took a deep breath. "You don't need to see this."

Tony frowned and came over to lean in the doorway. "It's a bit too late for that."

"Mph."

"You done now?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm done." Peter straightened, or tried to, but as soon as he moved, his stomach lurched again. "Nope!" And he planted his face back in the ring of the toilet bowl, throwing up straight bile until it was just dry heaving that wouldn't stop, Jesus, there was nothing left, why couldn't his body get the memo? How had this much even manage to fit in his stomach to begin with?! Finally, a minute later (but a minute was a lot in vomit time) his stomach stilled, and he sat back on his heels and flushed. "Now I'm done."

He laid his cheek against the toilet seat, relishing the coolness.

"Oh, no no no, Peter, get your face off of that. You're going to catch chlamydia or something."

Peter squinted at him, slowly raising his head. "This is your bathroom, Tony. What exactly have you been doing in here?"

"Hey." Tony pointed a stern finger at him. "When I told you to call me Tony, this is not the context I thought you'd be using it in." He put his hand to his chest in mock surprise. "I feel attacked."

Full story HERE, or read below. Car Crash HERE

Peter woke up the next morning to what he could only describe as a nauseating amount of noise.

His phone layed next to him on the guest bed, blaring at top volume and vibrating so hard that it was about to shake itself off the bed. Let it, he thought. He'd rather his phone shatter into a million pieces than move so much as a single muscle in that moment. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been quite this exhausted.

Then, suddenly, there was Tony shaking his shoulder, and oh my God, where the hell had he come from?!

Peter bolted into a sitting position so fast that the room spun and he hit his head square against Tony's, who had been hovering over him, with a sickeningly loud thunk. Ow. As if he needed to hit his head again after the day prior.

"OW!" Tony shouted, rubbing his forehead where a red mark was already beginning to form- square in the middle. Oh, Peter hoped that didn't bruise. He didn't know if he'd be able to survive the embarrassment from doing that to Tony just from startling awake. "That's important. Precious cargo up here," he said, tapping the side of his head. "Relax. Your alarm has been going off for, like, I don't know. A while. Friday, how long has his alarm been going off now?"

"Mr. Parkers alarm has been going off for twelve minutes and forty-eight seconds," the AI chimed, her high voice seeming to pierce right through Peter's eardrums and into his scull. No, no, no, no, no.

"Yeah. What she said. So c'mon Let's go. We've got two cars to drive back to Queens. We don't have all day, here."

The words went in one ear and right out the other, not even registering. It was like Peter was hearing them underwater. He tried to move, but his muscles burned and he immediately flushed down to his chest. The room felt as if it had just went up ten, no- twenty something degrees, though he knew it was all him.

"Pete?" Tony snapped a few times in front of his face, trying to get his attention, but Peter couldn't will himself to focus on much anything other than just how godawful he felt. "You okay?"

No.

He clapped a hand over his mouth and with a surge of energy that he didn't know he still had in him, threw the covers off from on top of him and dashed to the connected bathroom.

He barely had time to slam his knees down in front of the toilet and get the lid up, and dear Lord those were two too many steps, before his stomach finally heaved of its own accord.

The door was still wide open and the bathroom light off, because screw the time it took to close the door or flick the light on. Tony watched from his spot next to the bed in shock and cringed.

Peter heaved again and again, coughing into the toilet when his stomach clenching wasn't enough to bring up whatever his body was rejecting. How it wasn't enough, he didn't know. With every heave, his abs clenched so hard that they hurt, and he found himself cursing his superpowers not for the first time that weekend.

His mouth burned. He forgot just how awful the taste of vomit was. And just how awful throwing up felt. Throw up sick was, by far, the worst kind of sick there was.

He could barely catch his breath between episodes and only managed a pitiful moan into the toilet bowl before his stomach turned on him again.

"Pete?"

Tony frowned and came over to lean in the doorway. "It's a bit too late for that."

"Mph."

"You done now?"

He laid his cheek against the toilet seat, relishing the coolness.

"Oh, no no no, Peter, get your face off of that. You're going to catch chlamydia or something."

Peter squinted at him, slowly raising his head. "This is your bathroom, Tony. What exactly have you been doing in here?"

"Hey." Tony pointed a stern finger at him. "When I told you to call me Tony, this is not the context I thought you'd be using it in." He put his hand to his chest in mock surprise. "I feel attacked."

Peter rolled his eyes and stood, legs shaky. "Alright. Alright, I feel a bit better now. I think I can do the drive back."

Tony made a face at him, the same one as the night before when he'd begun falling asleep on the side of the road. Ugh. That hadn't just been a bad dream, had it? He really wanted that all to just be a dream.

"What?" Peter asked, when Tony continuted to just stand there and squint at him.

"You really do a lesson in common sense."

"No, no." He stumbled to the sink. "I don't really get sick. haven't gotten sick since, since what happened to me. I don't think that I even can."

He held on to the edge of the sink firmly with his good hand. Despite his advanced healing, he had been through the wringer the night before and his sprained ankle was still more than a little tender. "I must have just eaten something bad."

"Or," Tony said, waving a finger in the air. "You're just sick. Getting doused in sewer water in a ditch in the cold will do that to you, you know. Super-spider immune system or not. First time for everything"

Peter's thoughts flashed back to the night before, to the mouthful of disgusting icy ditch runoff just a moment before it started boiling, and shuddered.

"And I bet having to patch up the entire left half of your body didn't do your immune system any favors, either."

"Mph," Peter grunted. He wasn't quite sold.

"Give it twenty minutes," Tony said. "Then we'll see."

Peter looked at himself in the mirror. He really did look like the incarnation of death itself: head of curls so tangled it was almost matted. Dark, bruise-like bags under his eyes that were only made worse by his sickly paleness. Arm in a sling. Gripping the edge of the sink for dear life.

"No wonder you think I'm sick."

"I think you're sick because you are sick."

"Debatable."

Tony rolled his eyes. "Just get back in bed for a bit, okay?" He grabbed Peter's shoulder and helped him limp back to his bed, though you'd never know his ankle was even hurt by his mad dash to the toilet earlier, and Peter leaned into it truly and fully, maybe even more so than the evening prior when his injuries were still fresh.

He collapsed face first into the bed, and only stayed there for another ten minutes before he was scrambling for the bathroom again.

Tony watched on from the sidelines with an arched eyebrow that could only say 'I told you so.'

"Mr. Stark?"

"Yeah?"

"I think I might be sick."

"No way!" Tony made the 'mind blown' gesture with both hands on each side of his head. "Who would have guessed."

"Mph." Peter felt too sick to even retort, and Tony's eyes crinkled at the sides when he frowned. It was the little things like that- the pepper hair and the lines where there used to be none, that served as a constant reminder of how much time had passed while Peter had been gone.

"C'mon, kid." he grabbed Peter from under the arms and heaved him up onto his feet. "Bed. Now. I'll call May and let her know what's going on. You're staying here today."

Peter crawled into bed with the last ounce of energy he had, only pulling the thin top sheet over him, since he couldn't decide whether he was burning hot or freezing. Or both. It was definitely both.

"Uhhh-" Tony glanced over Peter's trembling form. "Thermometer. Temperature taking is something you do with sick kids, right? I don't really know what to do here."

"'M not a kid," Peter mumbled. "And do you mean to tell me that Morgan has never gotten sick?"

Tony stared ahead, at nothing in particular, eyes going wide. It looked almost as if he was having some sort of war flashback. Though, come to think of it, that wouldn't be out of the question.

He shuddered and broke out of his daze. "That was different. You can actually make it to the toilet. She- That was-" he shuddered again. "As long as this isn't a repeat of that, we'll be just fine."

Peter chuckled and then winces at how the motion shook his stomach. Tony Stark as a dad. Who would have guessed?

Tony hopped out of the room and came back in a moment later, chucking a thermometer at Peter, which hit him square in the eye.

"Um. Ow." He'd been saying that a lot today.

"Oh. Yeah. I guess quick reflexes aren't really your thing right now, huh? Well, consider it payback for hitting my head, then."

Peter took it and stuck it under his tongue. It tasted like pennies and antiseptic that hadn't quite had time to dry and his stomach flipped. Again.

"Pete?"

Peter squeezed his eyes shut. It was only thirty seconds. Thirty seconds until it was done taking his temperature. He could wait until then, and swallowed hard. As soon as it beeped, he threw it to the bed and went back to the bathroom to resume his dry heaving for the third time that hour. Oh. Oh. So this was going to be one of those stomach bugs. Not a "sipping on Gatorade and a little queasy and maybe you go throw up once or twice while watching mid-day cartoons" kind, but a "throw up everything in your stomach and then just bile and then dry heave and then might as well just throw up your whole stomach and pray for death while you're at it" kind of sick. In other words, he was going to be in complete and utter hell for at least the next day.

Tony let out a low whistle. "102.8"

Peter groaned from the bathroom. "Can you just bring the pillow and the blankets in here. It's gonna be one of those." He squinted at Tony from the floor. "Unless you got some weird STD on the floor, too. In which case nevermind."

Tony responded simply by hurling the pillow at his head and a wad of sheets at his head.

When Tony returned an hour later, he hoped Peter would be asleep. Or at least still with it and just throwing his guts up. He did not expect Peter to be laying on the floor, cheek against the tile, eyes half open and unfocused, breathing shaky and shallow breaths that were coming way too fast for someone lying there and doing absolutely nothing.

"Peter?"

Peter didn't respond, didn't even grunt or blink or anything. His heart leapt into his chest. He knew the kid was going to be okay, logically. but he image of him fading into dust was still vivid in his mind, and he just got the kid back. And emotions had a habit of not following logic very well.

"Peter!" Tony slid down next to him on the bathroom floor. "Peter. Give me something. Say something."

Peter huffed and managed a shaky thumbs up. Tony laughed humorlessly. Leave it to Peter to look like he was dying on the floor of his guest bathroom and still shoot him a thumbs up to say that he was totally fine.

"Fri?" Tony called up to the ceiling. "Give me a reading."

"Mr. Parker is currently suffering from dehydration, electrolyte imbalance, and elevated core body temperature."

He cursed under his breath. "Tell me next time, Friday!"

"Would you like me to add it to protocol to alert you if Mr. Parker is unwell or injured on the compound premises?"

"Yes!" Hadn't he programmed her to do so already? Hadn't he programmed her to do so herself?

"Noooo," Peter whined from the floor. Oh. Oh, now he was willing to talk. When he was instructing Friday to take care of him.

"I'm sorry," the AI said. "I am receiving conflicting confirmations. Shall I add alerting you if Peter Parker is ill or injured on the premise to the protocol?"

"No." Peter said again from his spot on the floor, loud and clear this time, before Tony even had the chance to open his mouth.

"You know what?" Tony put his hands up in defeat. "I don't have time for this. I'll be back." He slipped out to grab someone from the med bay, but not before flipping Peter the bird, only half joking, and returning with a handful of nurses not five minutes later. They crowded around Peter and Tony peeped over their shoulders, having to stand on his toes like a damn toddler, trying to get a better view of what they were doing to him.

"What's wrong? Is he going to be okay? He was talking just a minute ago."

A nurse held up a finger to shush him and Tony, and Tony almost snapped back at her. She was his employee, working on his protegee, not the other way around, but he bit his tongue. Just doing her job. She was just doing her job, he told himself. Really, he was glad he had them here. So, so glad. He'd freak without them.

"He needs a fever reducer and an IV for fluids."

"He can't have a fever reducer," Tony said.

The nurse looked back at him.

"His metabolism. It's crazy high. He'll just break it down before it can do anything. I think… At least… that's what his aunt told me…"

"Then…" The nurse shook her head. "Then we'll just have to give him a higher dose."

"Is that safe?" He wasn't a doctor or anything, but… that… certainly didn't sound safe.

"It's certainly safer than letting him sit at 105.5."

"105.5?" Tony asked incredulously. It… only an hour ago had been at 102. Which, of course wasn't good, but wasn't 105.5. Things changed so fast with this kid, in so many different facets of his life. He could never keep up. Damn, he was getting old.

Peter was still coherent enough that the whimpered and scooted away at the sight of the IV needle, which, in his defense was a huge ass needle that would make even the most 'unphased by needles' people squirm, but still out of it enough that he didn't mind trying to get away from it or whimpering in front of Tony. Which, he knew would never happen under normal circumstances.

And, just as quickly as the nurses had come in, working their gloved hands all up and down Peter with all the fancy tools and gadgets that Tony had supplied them, they were off again. Back off to the med-bay to do, well, whatever it was Tony paid them to do whenever they weren't performing life or death operations on dying superheroes.

"Wait- wait, you're not going to do anything else?" Tony couldn't do this on his own. He wasn't a doctor. Peter was still on the floor, looking kind of gray in weird way that he was sure wasn't good, and hadn't moved since his feeble attempt to get away from the needle.

"There's nothing else to do," the nurse said point blank. "But please, come get us immediately if there are any more changes."

He decided that he didn't like that nurse's attitude.

"Ugh." Tony slid down the side of the bathroom wall and watched Peter, now leashed to an IV pole in his guest bathroom, pant on the floor, tangled in a mess of sweaty sheets with his curls plastered to his face.

It tugged at his heartstrings a bit, he wasn't going to lie. And he felt awful, an insurmountable weight of guilt pressing down on his chest for allowing Peter to get to that state to begin with. He should have stayed with him. He was, after all, still a kid, as much as Peter would fight him on that. He could have gottenthe IV sooner if Tony had, y'know, been there to see his illness continue to amp up.

But, he just hadn't felt like they were, well, there yet. They both were and weren't, in a strange sort of way. Their relationship a maze of pushing and pulling in which Tony was never sure what direction he needed to go or even what his endgame was.

To Peter, it had just been a few months ago that Tony was his distant, hard to contact, yet surprisingly generous almost-boss whom he turned down. Who he looked up to, sure, but they didn't really have a real relationship with. Not really.

But, for Tony it had been five years. Five years of waking up screaming into his pillow when he re-lived Peter disappearing in his arms back on Titan, waking Pepper and his newborn daughter up with him, night after night. Five years of having to look at that godforsaken picture of the two of them in his kitchen where Peter had drastically over-estimated how tall Tony was and put his bunny ears a whole hand length too high as he held the Stark Industries certificate upside-down. Every morning while flipping pancakes for his family. But, well, it's not like he was going to get rid of it either.

Five years of growing happy with his new family, but, as Pepper had put it, never being able to rest. How utterly happy he'd been when Peter, after five goddamn years had swung through that portal. The relief had been tangible. Even more crushing than the guilt.

But, it hadn't been five years for Peter. Nothing had changed for Peter. Not like that anyway.

He felt so much closer to Peter than his old role as the distant super-hero he'd fanboyed over before the flying alien donut of hell had come down upon them, but… he wasn't. They hadn't actually interacted in that time. Hadn't actually built the relationship that Tony felt deep down that they had. And, even though he knew that Peter wanted that relationship as much as he did, he couldn't shake the feeling deep in his gut that they just weren't there yet. That they actually needed to build that relationship in person, together, rather than try to make it out of just the exuberance of Peter's fanboying and Tony's own five years of mourning.

And so, he didn't feel it was his place to sit with Peter when he was sick. That… that wasn't a thing that he would have done five years ago, that he would have done the last time Peter remembered him. And so, it just felt wrong to do that with him now. And so, he did what he knew how to do instead: threw sarcastic quips and cars at him.

"Tony?" Peter mumbled. "You okay?"

Tony blinked "What? Am I okay? I'm fine."

Peter shrugged. "You were staring into space."

"Yeah, and you were staring at nothing because you were practically on the brink of death. Come get me next time. Or tell Fri to. Or something for Pete's sake."

Peter snickered at that. "Pete's sake. Heh," and Tony rolled his eyes.

"'M fine," he said. Already, he was able to straighten up and his face had a little more color to it, the scary grayish tinge it was taking on now gone.

Tony sighed. "You're really not. Looks like that immune system of yours was doing a bit too much for your own good."

Peter merely shrugged again and didn't answer. "You don't have to stay here, you know. You can go do… I don't know. Iron Man stuff."

Tony barked a laugh. "Iron Man stuff. Kid, why are you so determined to do everything on your own since you got back? Drive here on your own. Do missions on your own. Almost die on my bathroom floor on your own."

"I did not almost die."

"Sure looked like it," Tony mumbled under his breath.

Peter blew a huff of air out of his nose, refusing to make eye contact. "Nothing. 'S nothing, Mr. Stark. Really."

"Which is code for definitely something."

Peter only grunted in response and leaned his head against the cool porcelain of the bathtub.

"C'mon, kid. Spill. It's just me."

Peter looked at him funny. Right. 'Just me' was still 'Just fucking Iron Man to him. Not 'just Tony.' They were getting there. Slowly, though.

But, before Tony could pry any further, Peter clapped a hand over his mouth again and shook his head, breathing deeply as he tried in vain to fight off the newest wave of nausea. The message was clear. This wasn't the time for talking. He'd get down to it eventually, but it wouldn't be today.

"Oh, and Peter?" Tony flashed him a smile. "I wouldn't put my face on that bathtub either."

Peter shot him the sharpest glare he could manage before crawling back to the toilet. Tony stepped out to give him some privacy, laughing all the while.

Please give me ideas for the rest of the prompts, guys, I have no clue what I’m doing.

#peter parker #tony stark #irondad #spiderson #iron dad bingo

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bellatlas · 5 years ago

Text

Iron Dad Bingo: Car Crash

He reached up to pull the mask on and winced, trying his best to do it one-handed. Using his left arm was not happening. He only got the mask halfway down his face before Karen beeped to life. Good enough.

"Good evening, Peter."

"Even'n," he mumbled.

"You appear to have several lacerations and trauma to the neck, as well as fractures and sprains along the left side. Shall I contact Mr. Stark for you?"

"Absolutely not."

"I'm sorry, Peter, but it's protocol to contact Mr. Stark whenever an injury has been detected."

"Karen, noooooooo," he whined softly, but it was too late, and he already heard the dial tone in his ears. Ugh. Why'd she even ask? He dragged his good hand across his face and briefly considered ripping the mask off and throwing it to the ditch below, groundbreaking technology be damned.

But, the line only rang twice before Tony's face filled the screen in front of his eyes.

"Kid? I thought I told you. Drive straight here. No crime-fighting detours. What part of that was confusing?"

Peter groaned. "The drive straight part, evidently"

"What?"

"Nothing. It's nothing, Mr. Stark. I'll… I'll just be a bit late. That's all I was calling to tell you."

He squinted at him with that telltale 'bullshit' twist to his mouth that Peter hadn't seen since the ferry incident. Oh, God, the ferry incident. He shook the ferry incident out of his head and groaned when the motion made his head pound. When had he hit his head?

"You didn't call. How late are we talking?"

"Um." He tried doing the math in his head. He couldn't swing. He couldn't walk. This wasn't going to happen, was it?

He rested his head back on the edge of the curb, relishing in the coolness. He wasn't getting out of this without telling anyone. This sucked. This really, really sucked.

"Peter?"

"Uh… depends. How long would you say it would take to swing one handed to the compound? Or hop on one foot? Or clear a wreck?"

"You- What-?"

"There was a deer." Peter said plainly.

"And you hit it?"

"It and�� a lot of other things."

Full text and all chapters HERE because I love the platform on ff. net, or read below.

Peter's nerves felt like a live wire. Crazy and buzzing with energy, dangerously active, even as it felt like his heart was in his stomach and both flopping around haphazardly.

"You sure you've got everything?"

Peter looked around. Phone in the center console. He pat the many pockets of his cargo shorts until he could feel the lump that was his wallet. "Yeah. Yeah, I've got everything.

May gave him a knowing smile as she leaned through the passenger window to give his shoulder a squeeze. "Okay, but can I offer you a tip?"

Peter smirked at her. His sweet, beautiful, amazing aunt who worried way too much. She was going to go gray before Peter so much as got his diploma. "I've got this. I promise."

"I know you do, but just hear me out. If the car starts giving you trouble-"

"Call you. I know."

"No. I was going to say that when the car gives you trouble with turning on, you might want to try using these?" She reached into her purse and pulls out Peter's keychain, car key reflecting the evening sunlight into his eyes, mocking him.

Peter flushed down to his neck as he reached his hand out to take the keys from her. "O-oh yeah. Remembering these uh… might be kinda useful, huh?"

May just laughed. "Alright, my little genius. Have fun and be safe. Call me as soon as you get to the compound."

"I know, May. I will."

"I'm serious! Don't forget, or I'll call Tony and give him an earful."

Peter shuddered. He might actually die of embarrassment from that. "I know you will."

May heaved a sigh and pulled her body out of the passenger side window, clasping her hands in front of her until the knuckles turned white.

"May, are you crying?"

"No!" she yells, but she choked on her words and sniffed, and Peter doesn't need enhanced sight to see the telltale sheen of tears in her eyes. "It's just… the allergies are kind of bad, and-"

"May!"

"-And my baby is growing up!"

"May, it- it's okay. I'm not going that far, I'm just… I don't have to go."

"No, no. Happy tears. All happy tears. I'm proud of you. It's just going by so fast." She brushed the tears away quickly before they could fall and ruin her makeup, and waved him off. "You need to get going. You're going to be late."

"Right. Right." Peter turned the key and the car, well… it didn't roar to life. It more so wheezed and sputtered to life, begrudgingly accepting that it was going to go on yet another journey. It was an old car by then. Really old. Older than Peter, actually, if he had to guess. New cars were expensive. And besides, he didn't think May would give the car up even if she did have the money for a new auto loan. This had been Ben's car, and she was sentimental to a fault. He rolled the window up, thankful that it at least wasn't so old that he had to crank it back up, and there was a rather awkward minute where May was still on the sidewalk next to their apartment building, waving, never stopping, still waving, oh my God, while Peter made the car buck forward and backward again and again in a sad attempt to shimmy out of the parallel spot that May had somehow managed to squeeze into when she'd pulled the car around (seriously, how did she even get into the spot to begin with?) until finally breaking free into traffic. He glanced up into the rearview mirror as he drove away, May shrinking into just a dot behind him whenever her form wasn't blocked by other cars. She hadn't moved from her spot on the sidewalk, and though Peter couldn't tell from the angle he was at, he was sure she was still waving slightly. He'd put money on it.

He shook his head and focused on the road in front of him. All honking horns and red lights and stop, then go, no stop! Until he finally broke through the boundaries of the city and all the skyscrapers and tall buildings faded into the background, replaced by suburbia and trees and greenery. It would be a long drive to the compound. A business party. A superhero only business party.

His nerves jumped again and he looked over to gush to May, only, oh yeah, she was still back in Queens. It was just Peter this time, and the thought felt weird. There was no safety net without her. No 'Peter it's not a four-way stop!' and slamming on the breaks a moment before darting out into traffic.

He rolled the window down and leaned his arm out, feeling the wind wrap around his fingers and tug at them like a kite. Like it did when he would careen between buildings back in Queens. It's freeing, the whole 'driving all on his own thing," though he's not quite sure why. He'd undoubtedly been a lot freer than most other teens his age, what with Happy picking him up at every other location, the stellar- well, maybe not stellar- but extensive New York subway system letting him go pretty much wherever he so pleased… and the whole soaring between buildings thing.

No, he wasn't freer, but there was just something about it. A certain quality he couldn't quite put his finger to. It was like having the training wheels taken off. As one hour, then two hours slipped by and he sped through winding roads, he felt older. More competent. More adult. More trusted. All the things he yearned for most. And, it was kind of crazy that an old beat up 2000 Honda Civic could make him feel like that, but hell. Why fight it? He'd soak in all the joy he could before Tony would inevitably come out complaining about the old car he'd been driving and insist on Happy picking him up next time. Which, wouldn't be happening.

The sun began setting, hanging low in the sky, a piercing orange over the treetops. Peter squinted through his sunglasses and flipped down the visor, but it wasn't enough. Even behind the sunglasses, the bright rays set off alarms in his head. It felt like his head was a pinball machine, pain ricocheting between his ears. He cursed under his breath. For all the good that his heightened senses did for him, they made up for it ten times over in days spent hunched over the bathroom toilet or in bed with the blankets pulled securely around his face because the sights and the smells and the sounds were all just too much.

He couldn't slink down into the seat and tuck his head between his knees then like he so desperately wanted to, though. He was driving. And so, he squinted into the sun, nuclear sirens in his head be damned, and kept driving. It wasn't ideal, though, and maybe that was why when goosebumps pricked up on the back of his arms and he knew something was wrong, he was a bit sluggish in pinpointing exactly what until, literally, it was glaring at him right in the face: a deer in the road.

It stood and stared at him, his headlights beaming back off of its eyes and turning them to a fluorescent blue. MOVE, Peter wanted to scream, but it just flapped her ears at him and continued chewing on a bit of leaf in its mouth.

Peter slammed on the brakes and was thrown against the seatbelt with such force that he worried that it might snap. Either the seatbelt was going to snap, or his collarbone. One of the two. Of that, he was sure.

The brakes locked up, ABS light on the dash be damned, and the car skid, regardless of how quickly Peter pumped the brakes and tried to channel the information from his days falling asleep in the back of the driver's ed classroom at school.

It was too little too late, though, and he quickly realized that there was no way he was going to stop in time to avoid the deer, and also no way he was going to allow that to happen.

He gripped the steering wheel and shoved, using perhaps a bit too much super strength than the job required. The car veered off into the oncoming lane with a thud, Oh God, that was probably the deer, and kept going.

Peter felt his heart leap into his throat because this could not be happening. He overcorrected and pulled the steering wheel in the opposite direction, but it was too big a force on too small a car, and it slid right off the edge of the road.

Peter saw it all happen in slow motion, realized with horror that it wasn't just flat ground on the other side of the road, but a ditch. A big ditch, with water coursing through it from the last rainfall that has to be at least four feet deep. The car rolled into it, and even for Peter's enhanced senses, he wasn't quite sure what was happening.

The sound was, well, deafening wouldn't do it justice. It sounded like his eardrums should have split open. Everything outside the window was a blur, rolling around in a mess of brown and green and black and crunching metal.

Shit, shit, shit, shit. This was going to hurt. Really, really bad. But, there was nothing Peter could do anymore. Nothing he could do to get himself out of the car, to correct its course, to do anything but squeeze the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white and the leather stitching on the wheel gave way from the force, close his eyes, brace himself, and wait.

But, oh boy, he didn't brace himself enough. He couldn't brace himself enough. His neck was thrown to the side and Something in his arm twisted. He heard a brief shattering noise and then the bite of hundreds of little glass shards around him, and was then met with a disgusting mouthful of water, all of it pouring into the car faster than he could manage to catch his breath. Then, oh God, oh God, oh God, the water became hot. Too hot. Way too hot.

The car was still on and running as the water in the ditch rushed from under the hood and burning engine, or maybe the heater core had burst, through the broken windshield, and onto Peter. It didn't matter how it happened. What mattered was that Peter was being burned alive and he couldn't stop a guttural yelp from bursting forward, the sound alien even to his own ears. He jumped, fumbling for the button to release his seatbelt through the almost boiling water, hands turning into claws as he fought to ignore every instinct telling him to get his hand out of the burning water that instant. Finally, he found it, and the seatbelt snapped away from him, Peter jumping out of the hot water and sticking to the top of the car, which was actually the right side of the car now, scanning the damage below him for the one thing he needed to take with him out of this accident: his suit. It was floating in the backseat, and as he reached out to grab it, his left shoulder screamed in pain. When did that happen? In the back of his mind, he remembered a snap and a crunch and please tell him that wasn't his shoulder. He had a sickening feeling that it was.

With the little strength he had left, he shoved his back against the passenger window, the same one May had leaned through to tell him to be careful, to tell him that she was proud of him, which was now the top of the car, shattered the glass, and crawled through, using just his right arm and right leg, because something had happened to his left leg, too, because that was just his luck, to crawl out of the ditch.

He cast a glance over his shoulder at the car. Totaled. It was completely and utterly totaled. How was he going to tell May? For a wild second, he tried to think of any way possible not to tell her. He could swing the rest of the way to the compound, get a new car, with all the same stains on the upholstery, somehow make the money appear out of nowhere.

He groaned, fumbling through his pocket for his phone, which, miraculously, had stayed put. This couldn't be happening. Unmiraculously, it didn't quite survive the water damage. He groaned again, louder this time, and splayed all of his limbs out on the side of the road truly and fully. Karen it was, then.

"Good evening, Peter."

"Even'n," he mumbles.

"You appear to have several lacerations and trauma to the neck, as well as fractures and sprains along the left side. Shall I contact Mr. Stark for you?"

"Absolutely not."

"I'm sorry, Peter, but it's protocol to contact Mr. Stark whenever an injury has been detected."

But, the line only rang twice before Tony's face filled the screen in front of his eyes.

"Kid? I thought I told you. Drive straight here. No crime-fighting detours. What part of that was confusing?"

Peter groaned. "The drive straight part, evidently"

"What?"

"Nothing. It's nothing, Mr. Stark. I'll… I'll just be a bit late. That's all I was calling to tell you."

"You didn't call. How late are we talking?"

"Um." He tried doing the math in his head. He couldn't swing. He couldn't walk. This wasn't going to happen, was it?

He rested his head back on the edge of the curb, relishing in the coolness. He wasn't getting out of this without telling anyone. This sucked. This really, really sucked.

"Peter?"

"Uh… depends. How long would you say it would take to swing one handed to the compound? Or hop on one foot? Or clear a wreck?"

"You- What-?"

"There was a deer." Peter said plainly.

"And you hit it?"

"It and… a lot of other things."

"Well-" Tony sputtered. "Are you okay? Actually, don't answer that. I'm looking at Karen's data now."

"No. No, I'm fine. Totally, 100% fine."

"Tell me, kid, if whiplash, a sprained ankle, first and second-degree burns, and a broken collarbone is fine, what does your not fine look like?"

"Uh-"

"Yeah. That's what I thought. "

As the adrenaline wore off, the pain, even more than before, set in. "Shit this hurts."

Tony frowned on screen. "What hurts, exactly?"

"Everything," Peter moaned.

"Alright. That's it. I don't care if Karen says there are no life-threatening injuries. We're calling you an ambulance."

"No no no! Karen is right. I'm fine. Just hurts is all. 'M just being dramatic." Even as he said that, a new wave of pain coursed through his left side and it's all Peter can do to swallow hard and not yelp.

Tony's eyes softened. "I know, kid. I know. Just make sure you're in a safe place and hang in there… you sure you're fine? Because if you're not and I didn't call an ambulance-"

"I'm fine, Mr. Stark. Really. I promise."

"So… if you're really okay, then that means I can make fun of you for it now, right?"

"No. No, it does not mean that." He squinted at Tony. "Karen, you're such a tattle-tale," he tacked on under his breath, fully not intending for it to reach Tony's ears, but of course it did anyway.

"Did you just say tattle-tale? Really? You know, Karen wouldn't have to tell on you if you, y' know, did the smart thing and told me you needed help on your own."

Peter squeezed his eyes shut. "Ugh. Can you please just quit with the smart remarks and come help me?"

The other end of the line went silent and Peter's heart dropped. Too much. He'd mouthed off too much, and opened his mouth to apologize, but Tony beeped back in before he could.

"I can do exactly one of those things."

'Mph," Peter huffed, and listened to the sound of the Iron Man suit firing up and roaring over the line, and Tony hitting him with a whole arsenal of one-liners the whole flight.

"Would you look at that? He takes down airplanes and cars! He's multitalented!"

"Don't worry, I'm sure you still look absolutely smashing."

"Hey, hey, hey, I heard you got an eight out of ten on your driving test. Guess the other two must have jumped out of the way."

Peter pulled the edge of the mask up - and ow, he forgot about his shoulder again- so that there was room to shove his middle finger into view of the camera.

Tony merely snorted and kept on. Peter closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the curb, the rest of his body on the narrow strip of grass between the road and the ditch. Man, he was tired. More tired than he'd been in a long time.

"Kid?"

Peter just let out a nonsensical "mph" in response, which evidently didn't make it to Tony's ears this time over the sound of the suit in flight.

"Kid!"

Peter cracked his eyes open to the panicked edge in Tony's voice.

"Oh thank God."

Peter arched an eyebrow up.

"Hey, I know Karen said that your injuries weren't on the life-threatening side of things, but what do you expect me to think after you've just been in a wreck, close your eyes, and stop answering?"

"Relax. 'M just tired."

Tony blinked. "No. No, you do not take a nap at the side of the road. Jesus. Do you need a lesson in common sense or something?"

"Probably."

Tony rolled his eyes. "But… you're definitely okay? I mean, I know you're not okay okay, but like- not dying or something."

Peter chuckled. "Yes, Mr. Stark. How many times do you want me to say it until you believe me?"

Until he could see him in person, probably. "Fine. You're right, you're right… More jokes then?"

"Oh, no, no, no, Mr. Stark. I didn't say that!"

He snickered to himself. "Well. Lucky for you, I'm almost there, so I'll spare the rest for the drive back. Happy is on his way."

"No, no, no, not Happy!" But Tony doesn't answer. If Peter had to spend the rest of the drive to the compound in the back of Happy's car, again, watching him shoot disapproving glares through the rear view window, he might actually just choose to jump out the window and hop the rest of the way.

He tilted his head back and saw the familiar form of Iron Man descending from the sky and land next to him with a powerful thud that made the earth- and his head and fractured bone- shake. Ow.

Tony took the helmet off and let out a low whistle. "You look like shit."

Peter stared up at him with half-lidded eyes. "Gee. Thanks."

His forehead creased with worry as he evaluated the scene. "No. I mean that this is worse than Karen made it sound. A lot worse."

"I told you. 'M perfectly fine." He barely got the words out before trying to sit up and pain tearing through the left side of his body with a guttural sort of yelp.

"Hey! Easy!" Tony planted a firm ironclad hand on his shoulder and helped him into a sitting position. "This is not fine. Christ, I almost feel bad for teasing you the whole way here."

"Don't worry. I forgive you."

"I said almost."

With a hand more gentle than Peter would have expected possible for Tony, he peeled back Peter's eyes and shone a light in them.

Peter closed his eyes tight and turned his head to the side. "What are you doing?"

"Your pupils are different sizes."

"That's not good."

Tony pinched his lips together. "No. It's not. Follow my finger with your eyes."

"Mr. Stark. I'm fine. Really."

"Please just do it."

"Okay, okay." Peter relented and followed Tony's pointer finger as he moved it slowly from side to side. What was this supposed to do, exactly?

"Cool. What about that light a second ago? How'd that make you feel? Was it too bright?"

"Uh…" Peter thought. "I guess?"

Tony frowned, the creases on forehead starting to look as though they'd be etched there permanently. "That's also not good."

"Is it not?"

"Nope. Photosensitivity is another concussion symptom."

"Oh. Pshhh." Peter waved him off. "I always think lights are too bright. Think that's why I hit the deer in the first place. Too much sun. To much super sight."

Tony paused to look at him for a moment at that. "We're going to need to do something about that, then."

"Yeah," he sighed. "I really thought I had it."

"You didn't."

"What insightful observation." He was starting to take on too much of Tony's sarcasm. It was starting to scare him, really.

Peter laid back down on the ground and covered his eyes with his hands. "I can't believe this is happening."

"Hey. Don't worry about the crash right now. Just take it easy. We'll get you patched up in a bit, and I'll call someone out here to get the car." He spared a look into the ditch. "Or, y' know. What's left of it."

Peter followed his gaze. "Is there any chance it can be fixed."

"Ha! Nope. This is a 'throw the whole car away' kind of deal.

Peter merely groaned.

"Hey." Tony patted him on the shoulder. "Seriously. Don't worry about the car. You're not the first teen to total the family car and you sure as hell won't be the last. As long as you're okay, the car can be replaced."

"No, it can't."

Tony looked back at the car again. Even being totaled aside, it wasn't a great looking car. Hadn't been for some time. He raised an eyebrow at Peter.

"It was Ben's car."

"Ben?"

"Ben. My uncle. May's husband."

The playful glint in Tony's eyes- the one that always tried to lighten up the situation with inappropriate and poorly timed jokes, was snuffed out in an instant.

"... Oh."

"Yeah."

"Ummm…" Tony and Peter looked over the scene once more. Maybe there was something they missed, some way to fix this. There had to be, right? But, there wasn't. The car was done. It had driven its last mile.

"She's going to be so mad." Peter covered his face with his hands.

"Yeah… yeah, she probably will be."

"Ugh."

Tony kneeled by him and pulled his hands from his face with a strangled "Sorry, oh my God, I'm so sorry!" at Peter's Yelp when the movement jostled his shoulder. "But, May wants you safe. The car is just a reminder of family. You're her actual family."

Peter sighed. "I guess."

"No. Not I guess. You're what matters. End of story."

Peter just let out a huff.

"Well one way or another, we need to get you back to the compound before your shoulder sets weird or something."

"They can set that fast?"

"They can if you're a mutant spider freak."

When Happy pulled up with the car, he was ready to lay into Peter in a far more serious fashion than Tony already had with his jeering on the way over. He could see it on his face.

But, Tony shot him a pointed look. Not the time, and the message sunk in pretty quickly. This wasn't a time for joking around. Tony probably shouldn't have even been joking around, really.

Thank you, Peter silently thought towards Tony, hoping that he'd be able to feel even an ounce of his appreciation. He liked Happy. He really did. And, he knew that Happy begrudgingly liked him back. But having Happy drive him again, and after only his first time out was… completely humiliating.

"Hand me the first aid kit?" Tony asked.

Happy nodded and dig through the glove box as Tony swung into the backseat with Peter.

"You can do x-rays and stuff with that?" Peter questioned.

"What?" Tony looked at him like he had two heads. "No. It's a first aid kit. It has band-aids and stuff."

Peter didn't think it was that far fetched. Tony had successfully made far crazier things before.

"Hold still for me." Tony pulled out a pair of tweezers, and more gently than Peter thought possible, tilted Peter's chin up. "There's some glass in this cut… this is going to hurt."

It did hurt, but not as much as Peter was expecting. Tony was uncharacteristically gentle, smoothing the skin on his forehead and carefully picking out the glass, even with his mechanical arm that he hadn't quite gotten the hang of yet, and with an intensely focused look plastered on his face that was usually reserved solely for late nights in the lab, and even then- only with his good eye - all wordlessly until they finally arrived back at the compound. "Well, that's all I can do. Gotta let the docs fix up the rest. Wait! Actually, that isn't all I can do. Here." Tony reached into the first aid kit and slapped a band-aid on Peter's forehead before grabbing him by his right arm and helping him out of the car.

Peter looked at his reflection in the tinted windows. "Are… are these Spiderman themed band-aids? You have Spiderman bandaids. Wh- what?"

"Limited edition. So don't go using the rest of them up." Tony flashed him a smile and swung Peter's good arm around his shoulders, pulling him close as he stumbled into the compound and up to the med bay.

Two hours, two x-rays, a sling, and an ice pack later, Peter hobbled out to the then dwindling party.

"There he is!" Tony again threw Peter's good arm over his shoulders and showed him off to everyone, but Peter just wanted to crawl into a hole and call it a night. This was not how he wanted to meet the other Avengers. Not by a long shot. After the initial introductions, though, Tony thankfully steered him towards the door outside.

"Mr. Stark? Where are we going?"

"I have a present for you."

"A present?"

"Two- no. Three, actually."

"Mr. Stark, you really-"

"Nope. Shhh. No talking. Take these. Present number one." He reached into the pocket of his suit and pulled out a pair of… "Sunglasses?"

Peter put them on tentatively. "Whoa."

"Same tech that's in your suit goggles. Only, glasses. Because, well… I guess you can't go parading the Spiderman mask around all day anytime you need to dim things out and focus, can you? I… really should have thought about that before. I- yeah. Sorry."

"Wow. These… these are amazing. Thank you. So much."

"Save your thanks, kid." He pat Peter on the back and led him the rest of the way outside where-

"Mr. Stark. You didn't…"

"I did."

Peter looked on at the two new cars - cars! - with awe.

"Figured you and May needed separate cars, anyway. So. Y'know. Two birds, one stone. All that jazz."

Peter didn't recognize the make or model of either, nor did he recognize the gaping sound that somehow he managed to produce, but he was pretty sure that each one was worth more than his entire apartment building and everything in it. Shiny and low and lean, one a subdued dark red, and the other a jet black.

"Oh, that's not all. We uh… we couldn't save everything, or even most things, but we got as many things as we could out of your uncle's old car and installed them where they actually fit. Really just the steering wheel cover and a few decorations that looked like they might have gone on the dash. I know it's not the same, but… I figured it's something."

"I, I, I-" Peter was at a total loss for words. "How can I repay you? I don't even know what to say. What do you even say to something like this?"

"Thank you is a good starting point, usually."

"Yes. Yes. Thank you, Mr. Stark. So much. I- just- what? How did you even get these this fast?"

Tony laughed under his breath and pointed to himself. "Genius billionaire. Oh. One more thing. He pulled his phone out of his pocket, quickly searching something up. "You see this?" he asked, turning the screen towards Peter.

It's a picture of a deer crossing sign.

"I know what it means, Mr. Stark."

"Humor me."

Peter barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He couldn't though. Not after a gesture like this, oh my God. "Deer are in the area and you should slow down and look out for them," he mumbles.

"Congrats. You've passed my driving test." More seriously, he added, "You got lucky you're only this hurt. I don't want to get a call like that again, okay? You're going to make me go gray, and I have too many photo ops to be doing that yet. So just… please be careful. Always wear those glasses during the day. That's how you can repay me."

"I will, Mr. Stark. I promise."

"Good." His mouth twisted to the side. "And- it's Tony."

"Tony." Peter tested the name out. Weird. Wrong, even. Tony was still far too much his superior for him to refer to him by his first name. That was going to take some getting used to.

He looked out at the two new cars and tried to picture them in the parking deck back home surrounded by all the beat-up cars from the last century with different color paint on every part. Oh, they were so going to get robbed.

#tony stark #peter parker #irondad #spiderson #iron dad bingo

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