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Poor Peter Parker put himself in a pickle.
The day had gone along just as any other. Peter found a twenty dollar bill on the street. Ned had won a game of Kahoot in biology. MJ laughed at a joke Peter made. Looking back, he supposed that she could have just been laughing at him. But, oh well. It counted.
Point was, that it was a perfectly average day in high school.
Chemistry was a bit of a snoozer. After all, they were just measuring random liquids.
Balanced on his toes, Peter poured water into a very tall glass tube.
Mr. Harrington burst into the room, “Class, class, attention please!” He was out of breath, his cheeks flushed.
It took a moment for the class to quiet.
Flash jumped down from the stool he had been standing on. MJ looked up from her sketchbook. Ned’s head jerked away from a blonde girl that he had been staring at. Peter looked away from the tube, as he continued to pour.
A decision that would prove to be a mistake.
One of Peter’s problems was that he got too confident in his reflexes. Time had proven that when surprised or nervous, Peter became a little clumsy.
The man clapped his hands, “class trip just got the all-clear. We’re going to Stark Industries!”
Peter dropped the tube. His hand shot out to catch it, but he fumbled. The tubes went crashing into one another.
Glass shot out in a million directions.
“Sorry,” Peter cried out, blushing from his ears down to his arms.
Mr. Harrington threw some nicety at him, but Peter was a million miles away.
He mutely reached down to the glass pieces on the floor.
“Mr. Parker!” His chemistry teacher cried out, “don’t pick up the glass with your hands!”
Someone shoved a brush into his hands, to scoop the glass into.
“Really, Mr. Parker, do you remember nothing from the lab safety quiz?”
Peter mumbled an apology.
The entire class would be going to Stark Tower. The place where he was supposed to have an internship. The place that he told everyone that he had been working at for months.
The bell rang and everyone began to leave, but not Peter. He sat there on the floor, sweeping up the broken pieces.
A red sneaker took up his peripheral, as someone stopped next to him.
Peter peaked up to see Flash’s smirking face.
“Can’t wait,” was all the other boy said, before turning smoothly on his heel. “Oh wait,” Flash cried out, he turned to face Peter, “do you think Tony Stark will come to greet us?” The look on his face was deceptively innocent. “After all, you are his personal intern.”
Peter clenched his fists on the ground.
It was only a matter of time. Flash was already convinced that Peter was a liar, but soon everyone would know the full truth. That Peter had no internship and that Tony Stark did not care about him at all.
Peter blinked his eyes a few times.
His hands stung. They were wet, coated in a thick red layer. Oh . The glass had sliced into his palms.
Peter tugged the biggest chunk out. It was no big deal, he reasoned. A mere paper cut that would be healed by the time his next class began.
“It won’t be so bad,” Ned tried to placate him.
Ned had gone ahead and went back home with Peter. As soon as they got in, Ned popped on Empire Strikes Back. He really was his best friend.
Peter took a break from rubbing his shoulder to violently shake his head, “it’s worse than bad. It is an absolute nightmare.”
Ned placed a bowl of popcorn into Peter’s lap.
“Did you-” Peter looked to Ned with big eyes.
“Put M&Ms in it? Yeah,” Ned finished, offering a smile.
Peter shoved a handful into his mouth. He sighed at the taste. The entire school may find out that he was a giant liar, but at least he had this bowl of popcorn.
Ned hummed contemplatively, “you know, you could always just tell everyone that you lost the internship. I mean, that's what you told Liz, right?”
Peter nodded, slowly.
“And it wouldn’t really be a lie. You used to work with Mr. Stark and now you don’t.”
And now you don’t.
The phrase rang out in Peter’s head. Peter hadn’t heard from Mr. Stark or Happy since the Press Conference Test.
Peter had done the right thing, when he said no to joining the Avengers. He told Mr. Stark that he was okay staying in the little leagues, which was true. It was just that Peter had also hoped that by saying what Mr. Stark wanted to hear that it would...endear him somehow. He thought that maybe the man would stop by. Nothing big, just a “hey Pete” every now and then.
But months passed and nothing came.
Peter got to keep the suit, but lost the genius, who built it for him.
He winced, not that he ever had Mr. Stark. After all, the man only appeared when Peter had messed up or if Peter was being tested to see if he would mess up. Not exactly the mentor-mentee relationship he had originally romanticized.
“I don’t know, Ned,” Peter lied back on the couch, “no one is going to believe that I lost the internship conveniently right before the field trip.”
It was true. Everyone would think that Peter made the internship up to seem cool. Frankly, if that had been his goal, the internship would not have been the lie he would’ve gone with.
He could only imagine the look on MJ’s face. What would his new self-assured friend think of being associated with a social-climbing fraud?
“Well why does it matter what they think? I know the truth. And now May knows the truth.”
“I know I shouldn’t care,” Peter started, sitting up. He stared down at his hands. “It’s just that… Working with..him, it was the first big thing that I’ve gotten to do. I-I felt bigger than just me and I was proud of that. I was proud.” His hand shot up to angrily swat away an embarrassed tear.
With a choppy breath, he continued, “and yeah, everyone else didn’t really know , but they still thought that someone like Tony Stark thought I was… something.” But did Mr. Stark ever think that Peter was something? He wasn’t so sure. “And now, now, Mr. Stark’s left and that feeling is gone,” his voice trailed off. “And now everyone is going to think that I was lying from the start.”
His friend gave him a small smile. Peter couldn’t match it.
“Peter, Mr. Stark left you the suit. You’re still Spiderman. And even if you weren’t, you’d still be special.”
Ned knocks their shoulders together. “You remember back in middle school, when we got detention?”
That made Peter crack a teary grin. “We didn’t even know that they gave detention in middle school.”
Ned shook his head, laughing, “Mrs. Abernathy said we could make our experiment anything, so long as it didn’t blow up.”
“Yeah and it didn’t blow up. Smoke bombs don’t blow up,”
“Exactly, they emit! And she gave us detention anyways.”
Peter chuckled at the memory, “yeah, May wasn’t even mad. She took us out for ice cream after.”
“See, Peter,” Ned waved his arms, “that, that, was something .”
Peter didn’t feel too comforted, but it was nice of Ned to make the effort.
Late that night, after Ned had gone home, Peter stared at his text messages app. He typed in H-A-P-P-Y, opening up a new message.
Peter whispered to himself, while typing, “hey happy, long time no text, just thought i’d--no, no that’s dumb.” He deleted the message.
He sighed quietly, as to not wake May up.
Typing again, “mr. happy, thought i should let u know that my school is having a field trip to the tower. ---peter parker (in case, you dont have my number anymore)”
Better.
Peter stared at the message. His thumb hovered over the SEND button.
He gnawed on his lower lip. Would Happy even want to know? Why was Peter texting him? He understood now that Happy had an important job and didn’t have time to text people. Especially people like Peter, who he no longer worked with.
Peter closed the text app.
He shouldn’t be bothering Happy or Mr. Stark with this anyways. Peter was the one who told everyone at school that he had an internship. This was his mess to clean up.
Though, he doubted that there was any way to clean this up. He was just going to have to take it. A little embarrassment never killed anyone. If anything, it was a rite of passage in high school.
This would be easy. Easier than fighting the Vulture and definitely easier than that O-Chem class he took last year.
“Come on, Spiderman,” Peter muttered, closing his eyes. He tossed around his twin-sized bed, trying to get comfortable. It was like every position caused his ribs and shoulders to ache. Must be the nerves, he reasoned. Again he said, “come on, Spiderman.” Over and over, he repeated the phrase like a prayer, until sleep finally took him.
Peter had been to Stark Tower before, well, not inside of it, but he had stood outside of it before. It seemed taller now.
Mr. Harrington had run inside to check the group in, leaving twenty unsupervised teenagers bumbling around in the middle of New York City.
Peter and Ned stood near the back of the group. Peter’s foot tapped in an incessant rhythm, either out of stress or to keep awake.
Ned was going through his satchel and making sure he had everything that he needed.
“I need to take lots of notes,” he waved around a pen and pad. “This is a once in a lifetime opportunity. Do you know how rare SI tours are? Super rare, like the last time one happened was literally years ago. I read a whole thread on reddit.”
Peter hummed in response. He felt his biological clock ticking. He was mere minutes away from his doom.
Ned looked up at his friend, “it’s going to be okay, Peter. Why don’t you tell me about your emotions. My mom used to have me do that, when she took me to the doctor’s. What would you say your reaction to this situation is?”
Peter gave him an incredulous stare, “Panic, Ned. I would say panic is my reaction.”
Though, there was one good thing about having to wake up at the crack of dawn, to get on a musty school bus.
It was 7:30am and Flash Thompson was not a morning person.
From being classmates with the boy, since age five, Peter knew that Flash needed two cups of coffee before being capable of saying more than the word “sup”.
Granted, a metal thermos glinted from Flash’s hands, so it wouldn’t be too long before the caffeine hit him.
A whistle sounded out, as Mr. Harrington returned, practically bouncing in his steps.
Flash groaned at the noise and tipped his sunglasses on.
Their teacher was beaming, as he exchanged words with a woman in a polo, who Peter assumed was their guide.
“He looks cheery,” MJ’s voice came out right behind Peter. Both him and Ned jumped.
“MJ!” Peter exclaimed, “I thought you said you weren’t coming.”
MJ shrugged her shoulders, “my love for Pepper Potts overcame my hatred of war profiteering,” she froze. “Don’t tell anyone that I said that, though,” looking mildly panicked. Or at least as panicked, as MJ got.
Their tour guide introduced herself, as Lee, before she passed around visitor lanyards.
Peter's itched his neck.
“Parker,” MJ whispered, eyeing the giant VISITOR letters, “I thought you interned here,”
Here we go, Peter thought to himself.
Peter hummed as he tried to think of what to say, “yeah, about the internship-”
“What?” She asked, with a playful roll of her eyes, “did you lose it or something?” She held an unassuming look on her face.
Ouch.
Might as well rip off the bandaid. “Now that you mentioned it-”
Lee the tour guide cut him off with a shrill, “Alex!”
Alex, a young twenty-something with deep eye bags, gave the group a big wave, before hustling into the building. A bright blue lanyard swung around his neck. INTERN, it read in a bold font.
Peter gripped onto Ned’s wrist, “please put me out of my misery and just choke me with this visitor lanyard,” he whispered under his breath.
Ned gave what Peter was sure was intended to be a comforting smile, but it was more of grimace. He plied Peter’s hand off of his arm.
“Alex is one of SI’s interns. Currently he’s a senior at Columbia.”
“Excuse me, miss,” Flash’s voice sounded out, his syllables precise and saccharine, “why does Mr. Alex have a blue lanyard?”
Well, apparently the coffee had kicked in.
Lee smiled, “excellent question, Mr…?”
“Flash, Flash Thompson,”
“Excellent question, Mr. Thompson. Our head of security and asset management-”
Happy, Peter’s thoughts answered, as he pictured the suited man.
“-revolutionized our badge system. Every level of employee has differently colored lanyards. You’ll notice that mine is red.”
Flash hummed thoughtfully, “so interns have blue lanyards?”
Peter’s shoes suddenly seemed very interesting.
The hairs on his arms stood up. He didn’t think it was out of danger, though. This was just out of the knowledge that his whole class was staring at him.
LIAR, their attention screamed.
Lee directed the group to move into the lobby, distracting Peter and the class.
He turned to look around, it was... amazing.
Mr. Stark was a notorious showboat, so Peter shouldn’t have expected anything less, but wow.
The ceiling was miles high. There was a fountain, a coffee shop, and a lounge area. Rather than have TVs, three-dimensional holographic displays showed the news, stock reports, and interestingly enough, a car race.
The lobby held a sense of urgency. Professionals all moving about in indiscernible patterns, lanyards waving around their necks. Some talked on phones, others moved in packs. One woman sped towards the elevator, she simultaneously spoke on her bluetooth and typed on a laptop.
Mr. Harrington’s class was led through to a security checkpoint.
“Stop,” a voice boomed.
A large man stood up from a desk, taser bumping against his leg. He cracked his neck.
Peter gulped.
The sixteen year olds all froze and watched with wide eyes to see who would be the one getting in trouble.
A finger pointed in Peter’s direction.
Peter knew he should not have been surprised. If it was going to happen to anyone, it would be him.
“You. Come here. Now.”
Peter swallowed and slowly walked to the desk.
He knew he hadn’t done anything wrong, but that didn’t stop the adrenaline that coursed through his veins. He took a few deep breaths, ignoring the way his ribs cried out.
“Is something the matter?” Mr. Harrington tried to intervene, but the security agent held up a hand.
The man bent over and stared at Peter’s face, scrutinizing.
Why was he looking at him like that?
Unless… Peter felt a flickering of hope.
Maybe Peter had been wrong this whole time and Mr. Stark did know about the field trip. And the security agent had been told to keep an eye out for him, so that he could get a real INTERN lanyard.
Peter felt silly that he had spent the past few days agonizing over this. Of course, Mr. Stark would take care of this for him.
Peter turned his head to shoot Ned a reassuring grin, because the boy looked like a deer in headlights.
Peter’s slew of positivity died, when the security agent burst out laughing.
Peter searched around, confused. Then he started to nervously laugh too.
The man paused his chortling, to take a breath, “you should have seen the look on your face!” He slapped a hand down on Peter’s shoulder. “I'm just messin’ with you, kid.”
The color drained from Peter’s face.
The man turned back to Mr. Harrington, “sorry Teach, but I’ve always got to have a go at one of the field trip kids.”
Mr. Harrington looked flushed, but gave a laugh back.
With that, the guard waved them on, “off you go kiddos.”
Peter rejoined his class.
Lee gave him an apologetic smile, explaining that it had been a tradition for as long as she had been with the company.
Peter couldn’t help but wallow in embarrassment at how quick he had been to assume that Mr. Stark had known.
Lee led them around the massive tower, pointing out fun facts and taking general questions. She asked a few trivia questions about SI and Flash answered them all correctly.
Peter didn’t participate. He didn’t feel up to it.
They stopped in front of a glass display cabinet. In it, sat a roughed up, dilapidated robot. It had the vague features of a puppy.
“Can anyone tell me what this is?” Lee asked.
Heads turned to Flash, but he shrugged.
Lee shook her head with a grin, as though that was expected. “Kids meet the first robot ever created by Tony Stark.”
She paused for effect, “Mr. Stark was only 9 years old when this robo-dog was built. It was fully functioning and could move about and speak, using a very primitive form of AI tech.”
Peter’s jaw loosened. That technology had been groundbreaking during the time, Mr. Stark would have made it. And he had only been a child.
“Let this be a lesson for you all, that you are never too young to achieve greatness. SI is an amazing place to grow your mind beyond what you thought it was ever capable of. Who knows, maybe we are standing in the midst of the next Tony Stark.”
Peter felt the urge to snort. He knew without a doubt that there would never be another Tony Stark.
It was impossible.
Mr. Stark was unique in his brilliance. The man thought ten steps ahead of everyone else, mentally running laps. And it wasn’t just that he was smart. Mr. Stark was smart and mesmerizing and well-spoken and driven. And yes, Peter understood that he hadn’t always been an innocent man. But how many people could say that they had been consistent in their goodness? Point was, that Mr. Stark had had the courage to stop weapons manufacturing. He completely rebuilt the multi-billion dollar business, which was now doing a lot of good for the world.
Because that was what Mr. Stark was: good.
MJ stared at the robot in fascination. “Did it get in a fight with a pitbull?”
Maybe her next drawing series would be about machines in crisis.
It was a very question. The robo-pup’s neck was bent at a weird angle. The stand that held the dog, could not hide the legs that stuck out at odd angles. There was no way that the thing could still work.
“Well it’s old,” Peter was quick to defend.
“Maybe it got stepped on,” Ned added.
Peter pulled a face at the thought of someone stepping on Mr. Stark’s childhood toy.
As the tour group moved to their next destination, Peter paused in front of the glass case.
The dog had a worn down string tied around its neck. A piece of cardboard was hooked through it, like a makeshift collar. In bright red, was a clumsy match up of crudely drawn letters.
He pressed closer, his finger traced over the glass. “Sparky,” he read. It made him smile.
A voice cleared behind him.
Peter jumped, whipping around.
A custodial worker stood there. “Please no fingerprints on the glass,” she gave him a kind smile.
He squeaked out a sorry, then hurried back to the group, nearly missing the elevator.
They next stopped in a conference room, of some sort. It was full of glass windows, overlooking the Manhattan skyline.
Lee clapped her hands, excited. “Now for something a little different. Midtown is a Science and Technology school after all, so I’d like to test you all a little bit.”
“Test?” Ned looked green.
“Well it’s a good thing you took notes, Neddy,” MJ patted his shoulder.
It must have been rougher than it looked, because Ned flinched.
Lee then went on a spiel, as pens and papers were passed around. They were given a problem scenario and told to discover the fix. Something was said about the Müller-Schmidt Conjecture. Peter was really only half-listening, because Flash had taken it upon himself to sit down next to him.
The entirety of Lee’s speech was drowned out, by Flash listing out potential punishments for lying.
“Do you think they might send you to jail? I mean you lied to the school and that seems like it could be a felony. Especially since you used your lie to skip.”
“Maybe Stark Industries will sue you for slander. After all, if it got out that Peter Pinnochio Parker got an internship here, it would really damage their prestige.”
“You would definitely get expelled. It would probably get you blacklisted from colleges too. You better kiss MIT, goodbye.”
Peter could do nothing without causing a scene. It was just impossible to tune Flash out. Between Flash’s babbling, Lee’s talking, the pencils scratching on paper, Peter felt a migraine coming on.
He tried to focus on scribbling out some math equations that were hopefully somewhat understandable. At this point, he just needed something on paper.
“May I use the bathroom?” Peter blurted, leaping out of his chair.
Lee pointed down a hall and tried to give him directions, but Peter was already gone.
He shoved open the door, before turning on the faucet. He splashed some water on his face, and tried to calm down.
His hands gripped either side of the sink.
Flash was just being an idiot, this was nothing new. Peter was just feeling overwhelmed and that was fine.
He glanced at his reflection in the mirror.
“Come on, Spiderman,” he whispered.
With that, he ran a hand through his hair and left to go back to the group.
The bathroom wasn’t too far from the room that they had been in. There were just a lot of twists and turns involved. He moved through a maze of identical glass conference rooms. Most were empty, but a few held meetings of people in suits.
Peter grinned. One room held a paper airplane contest. A bunch of adults in sweatpants and tee-shirts were just laughing around.
As he turned at one of the last corners, Peter almost ran into a man. “So sorry, sir,” he apologized.
“No problem,” the man replied, “you with a tour or something?”
Peter nodded his head and was about to reply, when the man shifted.
He had been obstructing the view of a meeting room.
More specifically, his shoulder had been blocking Peter from seeing Tony Stark, who was in the middle of a meeting.
Oh, God . Peter had never even considered the idea that the man would be at the Tower.
The Parker Luck struck again, because it was in that moment that Mr. Stark caught sight of him.
Mr. Stark raised an eyebrow. His expression resembled puzzlement, which was noteworthy of a man, who had always seemed omniscient.
A horrible thought entered Peter’s head. Mr. Stark didn’t know about the field trip. Mr. Stark didn’t know and would probably think that Peter was just stalking him or something. That Peter was that same annoying fifteen year old, who had sent Happy dozens of text messages a day. That Peter who couldn’t take the hint.
It was with that thought that Peter walked very quickly away. He wasn’t running away. It was just that he didn’t want Mr. Harrington to worry that he had lost a student.
Peter practically threw himself back into the rolling chair. He winced at the ache that followed, from his ribs.
Ned shot him a look, “you look sick. Did you throw up? It’s okay if you did, I brought some dramamine, if you need it.”
Peter was feeling a tad nauseous, but turned him down. The medicine would just burn straight through his system anyways.
Ned and MJ invited him into the game of hangman.
Peter managed a few laughs, but then he got too comfortable. He thought he may have escaped, but all hope was gone when the quiet mumblings of the room drew silent.
Peter’s back was to the door, but he knew without question, who had just entered the room.
“Howdy-ho, younglings,” Mr. Stark fiddled with a watch, as he moved to the front of the room.
Flash choked on his thermos coffee.
Mr. Stark gave a wink to Lee and Mr. Harrington. The former looked nervous, the latter looked starstruck.
The man surveyed the room, slowly, “this is quite a nice group of…” his voice trailed off, “junior employees?”
He hmphed. “No, no, that’s wrong. This is a promising group of high-schoolers from a--and now let me guess...” Mr. Stark locked eyes with Peter, who had hunched his back over as much as he could. “-science and technology school.”
Maybe Peter should have taken the dramamine. Hell, maybe he should have taken the whole bottle.
Mr. Harrington gave a joyous sounding laugh. “Yes, that’s right! It really is an honor Mr. Stark. Let me tell you, I have been following your work ever since-” the man continued to babble in breathless awe.
Ned squeezed Peter’s knee. “Breathe,” he instructed, in that calm voice of his.
Peter gave a grateful smile to him, before staring at his reflection on the glass table.
He was unfortunately forced to look up when Mr. Stark hit him with a “hey there, Pete. Didn’t see you there,”
Peter looked up and gave a weak smile, “hey, Mr. Stark,”
The man had a playful expression on his face, but another emotion lurked in his eyes.
“Funny,” Mr. Stark placed his hands in his pockets, “I somehow missed that my own intern had a field trip scheduled, to my Tower.”
Despite still feeling on edge, Peter felt a wave of relief rush through him. Mr. Stark had backed up his story. There would be no questioning him.
Unable to think of a clever reply, Peter simply shrugged his shoulders.
“No worries,” Mr. Stark waved a hand, “we’ll chat later.”
And just as soon as the nausea had left Peter, did it return.
We’ll chat later.
What Peter had been hoping for for months was now a subject of dread.
Lee awkwardly cleared her throat, “I had been unaware, Mr. Stark, that Mr. Parker was your erm intern.” She looked panicked for some reason.
Mr. Stark huffed and made a considering face, “well intern is perhaps an inaccurate word, Pete’s more of a henchman or underling.” He laughed, “mainly he’s just a pain in my-” he shot a chastened look to the high schoolers “-well, you know what I mean.”
Peter deflated even more. In a few short moments Mr. Stark had both been his savior and belittler.
A timer rang out from Lee’s phone.
Saved by the bell.
“Let me just steal Mr. Parker for a hot second,” Mr. Stark walked out from the room with a flourishing wave.
Or not.
Peter stumbled, getting up from the chair.
The rest of the group began to gather their things, as they prepared to head down to the bus.
He hurried to catch up with Mr. Stark, who was already at the elevator.
As they waited for the elevator to arrive, Peter felt infinitely smaller than the Titan he stood next to.
The doors opened to a PA balancing a tray of coffees. He was clearly still headed down, but took one look at Peter and Mr. Stark, before bolting to the stairwell.
Peter could only imagine what expression Mr. Stark’s face held that caused such a reaction.
The pair entered the elevator, and Mr. Stark pushed the button for the floor below them.
Mr. Stark had yet to utter a word.
“Um,” Peter intelligibly started, “thank you Mr. Stark for your help with the um intern thing.” He looked up to the man with wide eyes.
Mr. Stark froze, looking confused, before he waved a hand, “well of course, kid, couldn’t have anyone finding out who Spiderman is,”
Peter didn’t know what he had hoped to hear, but that was not it. “Right, right,” he nodded his head anyways, “course,”
The doors opened with a ding and Mr. Stark began leading him down a hall.
“This morning I ate some delicious pancakes. Pepper had flown in the night before, from some business at HQ, and so we decided to celebrate. It was a good morning, they were playing my favorite cartoon from back when I was a kid. A good morning.”
Peter nodded along, lost.
Mr. Stark continued, “had a few meetings-that looking back, didn’t really require my presence- but I was there anyways. Had just ordered a cheeseburger, when I got a ping on my phone. FRIDAY had alerted me that you, Mr. Peter Parker, had arrived at the Tower.”
“Oh,” Peter said. “Oops?”
“Oops,” Mr. Stark agreed. “Now FRIDAY is still working through the occasional kinks, so I assumed it was some mistake, considering as far as I knew, and as far as Happy knew,” he leveled a stare to Peter, “you were at school. And it’s not as though you would skip school. So then, responsible as I am, I placed a quick call to your school to see if you were reported absent, and no shocker there, you weren’t. So there it was, case closed. FRIDAY had a glitch. I was going to check it out after I was done with meetings. But then, but then,” Tony came to a halt.
They had stopped in front of Sparky’s case.
“-there you were, just outside my meeting. Did you know I thought I might be hallucinating again?”
Peter tried to make eye contact with the man, but Tony was staring straight on at Sparky.
“So I guess my question comes to why you didn’t think Happy or I deserved to know about your little field trip?”
And just like that, Peter understood. Mr. Stark was angry that he had shown up unannounced. He had interrupted his day with the FRIDAY situation and had needed Mr. Stark to bail him out.
Peter suddenly felt very dumb. Why hadn’t he just stayed home? Faked being sick or something. Then he would have avoided this whole mess.
Peter’s tongue suddenly felt very heavy, “I-I’m sorry, Mr. Stark, sir,”
That caused Mr. Stark to turn to him. “ I’m sorry, Mr. Stark? ” He repeated. “That’s it?”
Peter felt like he had stepped in a bear trap. Any movement and it would release.
Peter didn’t know what to say. That he was sorry? That he knew he had made another mess? How many messes would Mr. Stark have to clean up for him, before that was it?
Mr. Stark continued to press, “you’re awfully quiet, motormouth, what’s up?”
It was as though his tongue had turned to lead.
“Pete?” A hand was placed on his shoulder.
Peter didn’t make eye contact. He wanted to go home.
Mr. Stark sighed, dropping the hand.
Peter winced.
“They tell you guys about this thing?” Mr. Stark jerked his head towards the cabinet.
Peter finally found the will to speak. “It was your first bot you made. You were little.”
Mr. Stark huffed out a laugh, as though something was funny and unfunny all at once.
“Sparky, here, was the first time I knew I had disappointed my father,”
Peter’s head jerked up. He found it hard to picture. A young Tony disappointing his dad with a fully-functioning bot.
“You see, he had been away on business. Before he left, he had told me that I couldn’t get a pet. That I needed to do something productive with my time. And then well, you know me, I thought I’d do both. So I took a bunch of scrap metal from dear old dad’s workshop and built Sparky one weekend. Gave him a collar and everything.”
Mr. Stark crossed his arms, his jaw was clenched at the memory. “Dad came home and I had been so excited to show him. I had been so proud at what I had done. Thought maybe he might look at me like I was something . But dad wasn’t impressed. He said, ‘you wasted materials to build yourself a robot that does nothing. It serves no purpose. I told you to build something productive and instead, you ignored me and built yourself a friend.’ The problem was though, that the dog began to bark. My father threw it against the wall to get it to shut up.”
There were no words that Peter could think to say.
“Didn’t even know Sparky didn't end up in the trash until dad died, and I had to go sort through his boxes. Man, was my old man a hoarder.”
The glass of the moment seemed to shatter, when Mr. Stark chuckled, “sorry kiddo, didn’t mean to unload all that on you. Can’t seem to not think of my dad, whenever you're with me.”
Great, Peter reminded Mr. Stark of his monster of a father. That’s just great.
“Whelp, better get you back to the bus. Can’t have you late home to Auntie May,”
Mr. Stark loaded Peter in the elevator, before telling him that he still had business to attend. So Peter rode down to the main floor alone, feeling confused and sad.
Ned fell asleep as soon as the bus switched into drive.
Peter couldn’t find it in himself to mind.
When he was with Mr. Stark, Peter hadn’t been able to think of a single thing to say, but now that he was on the bus, his mind was racing, his fingers tapping against his leg.
This whole field trip fiasco had clearly upset Mr. Stark. There had to be some way to fix it.
“Come on, Spiderman,” he whispered, miserably. Think, think, think.
Then he froze.
Couldn’t have anyone finding out who Spiderman is.
That was what Mr. Stark had said after Peter thanked him.
Mr. Stark was a well-spoken man. He said what he meant. And what he said was “Spiderman”, not “Peter”.
Peter felt very foolish. For a while now, he had thought of Spiderman as a part of himself. Peter was as much of Spiderman, as Spiderman was of Peter. But that...That wasn’t true.
Back when Mr. Stark had first showed up at his apartment. He had gone there looking for Spiderman. It was Spiderman he needed with him in Germany, not Peter.
Peter was an insolent child. He was incapable of following Mr. Stark’s instructions, he pestered Happy, not to mention that he was responsible for the destruction of the Washington Monument, a ferry boat, a building, and a multi-million dollar plane.
And yet, Peter had wondered why Mr. Stark didn’t reach out to him after he met him at the Compound.
Peter couldn’t stop the choked self-deprecating laugh.
Spiderman was an asset, Peter Parker was just a liability.
Peter began to blink back tears.
Suddenly things that had happened in the past, everything that went down around the time of the Homecoming dance, all made so much more sense.
Spiderman had been needed as a one-time only “Avenger”. The only reason that Peter had been allowed to keep the suit was out of guilt. Mr. Stark had told him that if Peter got hurt, he would feel as though that it would be on him.
He got the suit because he was a burden, not because Mr. Stark felt any actual affection towards him.
It was that last thought, that stuck with him for the rest of the drive back.
Tony lay on his side. He was toying with a piece of Pepper’s hair, as she looked over SI reports.
“Hey Pep,” he said.
Pepper hummed in acknowledgement.
“I think I should start spending more time with the kid.”
Pepper put her StarkPad down, as she tried to smother a grin. “Really?” She murmured.
Tony nodded his head. “It would be good. Build up some rapport, you know,” he paused looking a touch solemn, “I think...I think he might need me.”
“You think he might need you ?”
Tony missed the inflection of her words. He nodded his head again.
Later, after Tony drifted to sleep, Pepper ran her fingers through his hair. She whispered softly, “I think you might need each other.”
Saturday morning, Peter sat on one of their barstools, trying to see how fast he could spin himself around.
May was brewing coffee, while occasionally laughing along with her favorite morning talk show.
“Got any plans for the day?” She asked him.
Peter paused his spinning. “Hmmm,” he pondered, scratching his ear, “the other AcaDec kids are going out for pizza tonight for team bonding,”
Aunt May tried and failed to stop a giggle. “MJ, come up with that?”
Peter grinned, “nah, Abe did. MJ actually tried to put a stop to it, but Mr. Harrington overruled her,”
“That MJ girl is quite the character,” she mused, leaning over the counter, hands holding a steaming mug.
There was a knock on the door.
Both Peter and Aunt May turned to stare at the other.
“Were we expecting anyone?” Peter asked.
Aunt May ran a hand through her hair, “no, it is probably just Mr. Moriarty from next door.”
Peter groaned, letting his forehead hit the countertop.
The last time Mr. Moriarty stopped by, he had tried to get Peter to agree to a date with one of his daughters. This wouldn’t really be a big deal, except that his youngest daughter was ten years older than Aunt May.
“Can you please answer it?” Peter peeked up at May, trying to channel puppy eyes.
“Pete, no, no way, I’m not even wearing a bra!”
The door knocked again.
Peter groaned again, letting his whole body slide out from the stool onto the floor.
“Just a moment,” Aunt May called out.
He trudged his way to the door, before opening it to reveal… Not Mr. Moriarty.
Mr. Stark stood in front of him, decked out in a three piece suit, shades balanced on his styled hair.
“Hey, Petey, bad time?” He asked.
Peter ran a hand through his own hair, self-consciously. “Mr. Stark!” His voice shot out a lot more high-pitched than he would have preferred. “What? What are you doing here?”
“Well, I was in the mood for some donuts, and then I remembered this charming little shop in Queens. Then, I remembered that you lived in Queens. And I wasn’t sure if you had yet to try this charming little shop, and seeing as I was in the neighborhood, I thought I would stop by.”
Peter’s puzzlement must have shown on his face.
Mr. Stark huffed. “And take you to get donuts. I wanted to see if you wanted to get donuts,” he floundered, before adding, “-with me.”
“You wanted to know if I wanted to get donuts with you?”
“Yes, that is literally what I just said. Don’t you go to the smart kid school?” Mr. Stark’s cheeks looked pink.
Peter didn’t understand why Mr. Stark was really there. But, Peter was also not about to say no to the man. Especially when donuts were involved.
He looked up at the man with wide eyes, “um, um, yeah sure. Lemme just put some real clothes on, real quick.” He shut the front door, before he could think.
“Oh,” he cried out, ripping open the door. What was he thinking, leaving Mr. Stark just standing out on the doorstep. “Do you wanna come in?” He gestured inside, in what he hoped to be a welcoming manner.
“Thanks,” Mr. Stark said, eyebrows raised. He plopped himself down Peter’s couch. His face looked relaxed, but he shifted around in his seat.
Peter shut the door again, before he dashed off to his room.
Peter shifted around in the passenger seat of Mr. Stark’s car.
He had half expected to see Happy’s car parked on the curb, but this one was from Mr. Stark’s collection.
The man in question was tapping his fingers against the steering wheel, mouthing along to a song.
Peter was not sure he could call Mr. Stark a good or bad driver. On one hand, he drove like a maniac, but on the other, Peter was certain that the car wouldn’t crash.
He was also a bit confused. They had been driving for a while and were not in Queens anymore.
He considered asking Mr. Stark, but decided against it. That had been one of his problems, hadn’t it? Questioning Mr. Stark?
So Peter sat pleasantly looking out the window, as the car sped through the streets of the city.
The song switched to something familiar.
Peter’s head jerked towards Mr. Stark. “I love this song,” he confessed.
Mr. Stark pursed his lips, thoughtfully, “AC/DC?”
Peter nodded, “I like listening to a lot of their stuff, while I study. I know that classical, calming music is supposed to be better, but the rock...It makes me feel more awake.”
Mr. Stark didn’t respond, but when Peter spared the man a quick glance, he could have sworn he saw a grin.
They did eventually make it to a donut shop.
A giant donut sat over an awning that read RANDY’S DONUTS.
“Queens?” Peter questioned, with a bit of a smirk, as he opened his car door. It was one of the cars that had doors that lifted up, so he felt a little cool.
Mr. Stark waved his sunglasses about, “so I was a little off. I’m an engineer, not a cartographer.”
They claimed a booth by a window and ordered a dozen donuts to start.
“Coffees pretty subpar,” Mr. Stark said, “but the donuts are the best you’ll ever taste.”
Peter couldn’t help but agree as he felt the need to lick his fingers to savor the taste.
Mr. Stark continued, “best thing about it is, they’ve got these little babies all around the country. The first chain donut shop, I can get behind.”
A worker nervously approached them, “excuse me, sir. Could I take a photo of you please?” She gestured back behind the counter, “for the wall?”
“Anything for Randy’s,” Mr. Stark said, a peace sign already in the air. He looked to Peter, who sat across from him, “come on, Pete, look alive, gotta smile for the camera.”
Peter hadn’t thought that he would be in the photo. He gave a big smile though.
When they reach their second dozen, Peter has finally gathered up the courage to ask the question that's been running through his mind.
“Mr. Stark, I thought you sold the Tower?”
Donut halfway into his mouth, Mr. Stark froze, then placed it back down.
He answered, a moment later, staring hard at the corner of the table, “oh you know, I decided I couldn’t bear to part with it. Besides, it serves as a nice vacation spot from the monotonous suburbia of Upstate.”
Mr. Stark’s tone was too nonchalant for his tense shoulders.
When he looked up, and caught Peter’s gaze, he seemed to know that Peter didn’t buy it.
Mr. Stark sighed, as if he was being forced into confiding, but wasn’t pleased. “I didn’t design the compound for just me. And with Pepper needing to travel so often, I just...couldn’t stay there any longer.”
Peter had to admit that the rogue Avengers hadn’t spent much time occupying his thoughts.
Their absence, and betrayal, had slipped his mind. But he couldn’t imagine that it has ever slipped Mr. Stark’s. He hadn’t thought about the man living alone, in a giant house that he designed and built, for a group of people who had betrayed and abandoned him.
After Germany, Mr. Stark and Peter never actually debriefed everything that went down.
But Peter knew enough.
He had seen Mr. Stark’s bruises on the flight home. Had seen the way the man flinched, because every time he took a breath, he felt like his ribs were cracking again.
“Mr. Stark,” Peter murmured, “you know that Captain America was wrong, right?”
The man chuckled, “thanks kid, but you don’t even know an eighth of the story. Cap had his reasons.”
Peter felt indignant on Mr. Stark’s behalf. “I know enough.”
Mr. Stark sighed again, in a patronizing way. As though, Peter was too young and dumb to possibly understand.
Maybe Peter was missing a lot of the puzzle pieces, but what he did know was that the Captain didn’t want to sign the Accords. He knew that the Captain was ready to split up the Avengers over signing. And he knew that at the end of the day, the Captain had teamed up with a hitman, and together they had nearly killed Mr. Stark.
There was not any excuse in the world that could justify that.
Mr. Stark had taken the Captain and the rest of the Avengers in. Let them live with him, upgraded their suits, paid for anything they needed, and yet, now Mr. Stark was the one, who ended up alone.
Peter shook his head and held Mr. Stark’s stare. His tone left no room for argument, “he was supposed to have been your friend.”
Mr. Stark blinked several times, before pushing down the sunglasses from his forehead.
But he wasn’t quick enough. Peter had seen how glassy his eyes were.
“Any who,” Peter let the man steer into a new conversation topic, “I almost forgot about this .” He flung a folded piece of paper towards Peter, who snatched it midair.
He unfolded it and stared down at it confused.
It was the math problem he had done during the field trip.
“I don’t understand,” he admitted.
Mr. Stark clicked his tongue, “no, actually you do understand . Let me tell what you missed, while you were on your little Peter Potty break.”
Peter blushed.
“The entire point of that little exercise was to show that some problems are too complicated to be solved. The entire problem was devised to be so far beyond a high schooler’s capabilities. It was a lesson in failure.”
Peter was still lost, “and?”
“And,” Mr. Stark waved a hand, “you solved it.”
“Oh.” Peter felt a rush of pride.
While he couldn’t actually see it, he just knew that Mr. Stark had rolled his eyes.
“See kid, I knew you were pretty smart, what with the web fluids and the good grades and all, but I didn’t know that you were this smart.” His finger landed on the paper.
Peter knew his cheeks must be bright red, “well, I mean, I guess-”
“Shush,” Mr. Stark interrupted, “let me spare you, by stopping you right there.”
“Oh!” Mr. Stark shoved his shades back up to his hair. His eyes flashed in excitement, but he tried to offset it with a casual tone, “you should come visit me in my workshop. I’ve got all the best toys, we could work on tweaking your suit, mess around with some other tech,” he continued to babble on.
Peter was in a state of shock. “Go...go to your workshop?” He needed clarification.
“Yeah, you could stop by after school twice a week. That should be pretty manageable. And if you need to, you do some school or whatever.”
Peter couldn’t speak, but he could vehemently shake his head up and down.
Peter couldn’t stop the skip in his step. It was a workshop day and he was three blocks away from the Tower.
Last time he had come over, Mr. Stark had let him work on laser repulsion tech. Peter met his bots, they ordered pizza. And when it was time for Peter to go, Mr. Stark had pat him on the shoulder.
Today, Peter was going to ask if they could do a bit of work on his suit. Nothing too serious, just tweaking really.
Peter passed a small bistro.
A radio on a table cried out, “Tony Stark, going reclusive in his old age?”
Peter tripped over the air, head jerking.
Whatever. Mr. Stark was a public figure, of course there was going to be some bad press.
Maybe he should text Mr. Stark to let him know that he was on his way. Peter started to type up a message, then stopped. Would...would that be weird?
No, no, he would just wait and text him when he was in the lobby.
A car horn blared. Peter dropped his phone.
Peter looked up to see a truck, slamming their brakes, squeaking towards him.
Shit.
He had time to move. But the phone that Mr. Stark bought for him, laid in the middle of the road.
He could make it, Peter reasoned.
He swooped his arm, fingers grappling the phone.
And it would have worked.
Except, his backpack strap got hooked in the drain gate.
He didn’t even have time to rip away, before the truck hit him shoulder on.
Pain.
Yelling, people were yelling.
Peter groaned, gripping his shoulder. He tried to take a deep breath.
Someone said to call 911.
His eyes shot open. Peter realized that he was going to have to get up. He couldn't wait for an ambulance, because by the time they got to him, his shoulder would be halfway healed. Then there would be questions. Questions he couldn’t answer.
Someone crouched down next to him. They tried to get his attention, but Peter couldn’t focus on anything except escape.
“I’m fine.” His voice came out sounding like a croak.
Peter found the strength to throw himself off the ground and took off towards the alleyway.
A whimper came out. Yep, his shoulder was definitely broken. Maybe a rib too.
Peter made a few quick turns, until he was sure that he had not been followed.
He fell to his knees.
He unlocked the phone. He swiped over to his favorite’s page.
He was too far for Ned or May to be any help. They would just worry.
His thumb hovered between Happy and Tony.
But then stopped. Peter would be fine in half an hour. He would be a little late to the workshop, but it would be fine.
He dropped the phone.
With a sigh, he collapsed to the ground.
Now just to wait for his healing to kick in.
The scrape on his elbow was clearing up, so it was only a matter of time.
Peter waited and waited.
But the pain never subsided.
He wondered how long he had been lying there. He felt around for his phone, thinking that maybe he should call for help.
The battery had died.
There were stars in the sky. Or what he thought were stars. His vision had begun to go hazy.
Oops, Peter thought, miserably.
“FRIDAY,” Tony said, toying with a wrench, “track Underoos for me, would yah?” He was under one of his cars, making adjustments that really did not need to be made.
“Sorry, Sir. It appears that Mr. Parker does not have his suit on.”
Tony hummed, unfazed. “His phone then,”
The AI paused.
“Sorry, Sir. I am unable to track Mr. Parker’s cellphone at this moment.”
Tony slid out from under the car, eyebrow raised. “That is… interesting.” He wiped his hands on a rag. “Damn teenagers never learn how to charge their phones.”
Tony walked to the elevator, smacking the LOBBY button.
Knowing Pete’s luck, he probably just got caught by security. The thought made him chuckle.
Peter wasn’t in the lobby.
He looked around for a few minutes, ignoring the stares of his employees. Hell, he even asked the coffee guy if he had seen a hyperactive child, mulling about.
There was an uncomfortable feeling in his gut that had started to settle in. Panic, he named.
A woman passed him, totally enraptured in her phone. “I can’t talk now, I’m already late for this meeting. There was a crazy accident two blocks away,”
Tony could not get out of the door quick enough.
He tried to reason with himself. Peter had crazy reflexes. He wasn’t even sure it was possible for him to get hit by a car. Not to mention that worst case, the boy could have simply stopped it with one arm.
There was absolutely nothing to be afraid about.
Not to mention that Peter was your run of the mill do-gooder. He probably decided to help out and that was why he was late.
Tony's worst dreams had come to life, when he got to the scene.
A truck driver was sitting on a curb, explaining to an officer that the kid had just disappeared. Got hit and then he was gone.
Tony stumbled. His head jerked around. Where would Peter go?
He raced into the closest alleyway, “PETER!” Tony cried out.
“PETE, WHERE ARE YOU?”
He kept weaving in and out of the backways.
Where the fuck was his kid?
Tapping his phone, he set one of his suits to fly out to him.
A whine caught his attention.
Tony found Peter crumpled next to a dumpster.
“No,” he choked the syllable out.
The boy was pale. His shoulder stuck out at an odd angle. “Pete, Pete,” Tony desperately tapped the boy on his cheek. “Come on, this isn’t supposed to happen to you.”
His healing should have kicked in by now.
The suit barely touched down, before Tony was cradling Peter in his arms. He spat out instructions to FRIDAY to alert the on-call doctors at the compound. His suit was now equipped with blasters, so they could make it there in a fraction of the time. “Come on, Peter. We’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
Peter woke to dimmed lights and a monitor’s measured beeps. He stifled out a groan.
A glance down revealed that his entire upper body was covered in wrappings.
“Peter,” a soothing voice said.
A doctor, given by the tag pinned to their coat.
“My name is Dr. Verns. I am the one who treated your injuries.”
“Where-” Peter looked around the unfamiliar room. It wasn’t a hospital. “Where am I?”
A new voice joined the conversation, from the shadowy back of the room. “You're at the compound, kiddo.”
Mr. Stark.
Peter sighed in relief.
Mr. Stark stood up from his chair and walked closer to the bed, hands shoved in his pockets.
He looked...Angry.
Dr. Verns glanced between the two, before she cleared her throat. “Peter, when Mr. Stark brought you in, I discovered old injuries that hadn’t healed properly. The bones had healed over wrong, they had needed to be reset.”
Peter snuck a peak at Mr. Stark.
“I had to re-crack ten ribs, your shoulder, and both wrists.”
“Oh,” Peter sounded out.
Mr. Stark scoffed and turned to stare out the window.
Peter stared at his back. “I’m sorry,” he wanted to say.
“That said, you should be all set to leave in about a week,” Dr. Verns continued. “Just hit the call button, should you need me.”
With that, the good doctor left, leaving Peter and Mr. Stark all alone.
The room was silent.
Peter swallowed deeply, “I’m-”
“Sorry?” Mr. Stark interrupted. “Sorry for? What is it this time, Peter? Sorry for not calling, or wait, sorry for not calling when you first broke your ribs and arms?”
“Both,” was the weak answer he summoned.
Mr. Stark spun on his heel to Peter. “Let’s satisfy my morbid curiosity, shall we? When precisely did the proverbial bus first hit you?”
Peter shifted around, “well, you see Mr. Stark. It was a while back,”
“A while back,” the man repeated. His jaw locked, “so this, not telling Tony thing, this is a pattern?”
Now there was a wince.
“And why, pray tell, did FRIDAY not tell me about this little situation? Or wait, did you hack into her again?”
He had hoped to avoid telling Mr. Stark about the whole Vulture-crashing-a-building-on-him thing. Problem was that Peter knew from the look on Mr. Stark’s face that there was no getting out of this one.
“It was erm the night of the plane crash.”
Mr. Stark’s face fell.
Trying to push through, Peter continued, “Mr. Toomes-”
“Your date’s dad turned supervillain thief and weapons peddler,”
“-he kinda got mad at me. So he used his wings to compromise all of these pillars in this old warehouse. Looking back, it was actually pretty cool how he did it. But anyway’s the pillars had held up the ceiling so then BOOM,” Peter tried to imitate a crash sound, “and I got a little hurt.”
Mr. Stark stared at the ground.
“And I didn’t call you, because well, I couldn’t call anyone really, because…” Peter looked up at Mr. Stark from under his lashes.
“Because I took the suit.” The man looked gutted, which was not something Peter wanted at all.
Trying to soften the blow, he added on, “but I really thought I was fine. I mean yeah, I had some shoulder issues and I was a little sore. But other than that and some bruising, I was all good.” He gave a reassuring smile.
“Until you know,” Mr. Stark waved a hand, “you got hit by a 18 wheeler and couldn’t heal yourself, so you were lying in an alleyway, all alone next to a pile of used needles.”
Peter felt a little sick at the look on the man’s face.
Mr. Stark sighed, and pulled up a chair next to Peter’s bedside.
Peter watched with wide eyes.
Mr. Stark leaned in, balancing his elbows on his knees, “okay, Pete, I need you to actually listen to me for once.”
Eager to make amends, he shook his head, before groaning at the pain.
Mr. Stark gestured towards himself, “ I need to know that you will call me the next time you get hurt. I don’t care if it's a paper-cut, you call me in the middle of night and wake me up. What if, I hadn’t found you. You could still be lying there on the ground,” He paused, before looking at him a little helplessly, “I just don’t know how we got to this point. What happened to the kid who left daily voicemails on Happy’s phone?”
Peter’s face closed up. He looked away, “I just… Didn’t want to be a burden anymore.”
A hand grasped his.
Peter looked up in alarm.
“You, Peter Parker, are never a burden. Not to me. Comprende?” Mr. Stark’s eyes held a glint that Peter had never seen before.
Peter Parker.
Peter couldn’t help himself, “Peter Parker?” He asked.
“What?”
He flushed, “nothing. It's just, I-I understand that you needed Spiderman, back in Germany. And well, I was just the other guy.”
Mr. Stark looked shocked.
He shook his head and cleared his throat, “did you know I never made the cut for the Avengers?”
Peter hadn’t.
Mr. Stark’s lip quirked up. “Yeah they said I was a liability, but they still wanted the suit. Iron Man, yes. Tony Stark, no. ” He gave a horrible impression of Nick Fury.
“And at first, I was frankly, horribly offended. But then my narcissism kicked in and a bunch of other horrible things happened. Happy was in a coma, Pepper got kidnapped,” he listed them off on his fingers. “And I realized that I am Iron Man. Iron Man is me. My mistakes are as much mine, as they are Iron Man’s. Ugh, I’m rambling again,” he rolled his eyes. “Point is, Underoos, Iron Man does not exist without me.”
He looked at Peter now, “and Spiderman does not exist without you, and your heart.”
Mr. Stark reflected, “okay that sounded nauseatingly sentimental. Anyways, you remember when I first stopped by your apartment?”
Peter nodded.
“You said to me, When you can do the things that I can, but you don't, and then the bad things happen, they happen because of you . And that. That right there, that wasn’t Spiderman, that was you. That little spider didn’t make you have your compassion and your horrifically stubborn ideals.” Mr. Stark cast a wary look to Peter, “you picking up what I’m putting down?”
Peter thought he was beginning to.
Mr. Stark clapped his hands, “anyways lets segue to the next order of business.” He reached down under his chair and pulled out a box, wrapped in brown paper. He bit his lip, then tossed Peter the box.
Peter looked at the box, then back at Mr. Stark. “What is it?”
“Hmm kinda need to open it up to find out.”
Peter looked at the man dubiously.
Slowly, he removed the paper, revealing not a box, but a slab of wood.
Peter stared at it. Maybe it was supposed to be a form of rich person art that he didn’t understand. “Um,” he sounded out, “thank you so much Mr. Stark. It’s very cool.”
Mr. Stark rolled his, “flip it over, hotshot,”
Peter blushed and turned it over.
In appreciation of your successful work with the Stark Industries Internship Program. Peter Parker has shown excellent work in the Science and Technology Program.
“Happy wrapped it.” Mr. Stark seemed to clarify. “You were supposed to get it yesterday, but then you walked in front of a bus-”
“Truck!” Peter defended.
“Anyways,” Mr. Stark waved a hand. “Thought we might as well make it official. Besides, you're a smart cookie. Not as smart as I was when I was your age, obviously, but y’know-” He cut himself off and dug around in his pocket, “before I forget,” he tossed a blue lanyard at him.
Peter snatched it midair.
INTERN, it read out.
He cradled it in his lap.
Mr. Stark sighed at Peter’s puppy eyes and held out his arms.
At Peter’s confusion, Mr. Stark said, “get over here, Pete.”
Peter slowly scooted across the hospital and leaned into Mr. Stark. At first awkwardly, but then Mr. Stark’s arms tightened around him and it was nice. Peter’s head burrowed into the man’s chest.
Mr. Stark brought a hand up through Peter’s hair and whispered under his breath, “we’re there now.”