a/n: god forbid I spend 3 months working on a novel length marvel fic and suddenly lose the ability to write a short story,;;; anyways um I wrote this to get back into the swing of things! haha. swing

1. date night with pep

"I'll have your pesce spada alla ghiotta," Pepper closed her menu. "Thank you so much."

"This place obviously has the best..." Tony glanced down at the menu for what could have been the eight millionth time. He finally shrugged and put it to the side. "I dunno. It's Sicilian, it's all great. I'll have the special."

The waitress nodded, jotting down the order. She smiled politely at them. "Wine?"

"No," Pepper spoke up. "Just the water is fine."

The waitress left to the kitchen, and Tony continued to respectfully stare at Pepper in her angelic beauty. Ringlets of strawberry blonde hair tucked into a careful bun, and then a blue dress to compliment her eyes. Peace, quiet, and a lovely fiancée who was far too patient with him.

"When you said you wanted to spend time together," Pepper said, a practiced murmur of discreteness and class. "We could have done it at home. We didn't need to take a jet to Italy."

"What, you don't like it?" Tony sat back in his chair. "I think it's great. I thought you loved Italy!"

"I have a company to run, Tony. We have a company to run." Pepper paused, and she sighed softly. "It seems like whenever we spontaneously travel the world, it feels like you're trying to run from something. Should I be worried?"

"I'm not trying to run," Tony said earnestly. "I just thought we both deserved a small vacation. You especially. You know, you always talk about me overworking myself, but you do the same thing sometimes, Pep. When was the last time you had a genuine break?"

Pepper looked at him and opened her mouth. She closed it. Furrowing her eyebrows; because Pep knew that she was good at arguing Tony's points and for once she didn't have a comeback.

He's learning. It's taken him a few years, but he's learning.

"It's just one night," Tony promised. "One night, where we've got no distractions. Just you and—"

Tony's phone buzzed with a text message. Pepper narrowed her eyes teasingly.

"I can ignore that," Tony said pointedly, raising his eyebrows. "It's probably nothing."

It buzzed again.

"Seriously, not a problem for me. I ignore text messages anyways. Just ask that one CEO."

It buzzed a THIRD time, and then started ringing, a rock cover of the Itsy Bitsy Spider song started playing from Tony's pocket. People in the restaurant turn to look at their table with confusion and annoyance.

Pepper folded her arms. The corner of her mouth quirked up with hidden amusement. "That's the kid, isn't it?"

Tony scratched the back of his head. Italy is six hours ahead of New York—Which means, while they were eating a late dinner in a very expensive restaurant, Peter just got out of school. He could be on patrol, or he could be doing god knows what, but Tony won't know unless he picks up.

"He could be in trouble," Pepper said knowingly. She knew him far too well. "You should answer it."

Tony huffed in defeat and pulled his phone out of his pocket. He answered it quickly and put the phone up to his ear.

"What's going on, Pete?"

"Hey, Mr. Stark!" Peter's cheery voice goes through his ears. The kid sounded safe and happy, which meant no reason to worry. "Two things. One, how has your day been going? My day was good mostly. Two, can you help me with something really quick?"

Tony chuckled and ran a hand over his eyes. "My day's been fine. What do you need help with, kiddo? I'm sort of on a date right now."

Pepper watched across from him with her hand resting on her cheek. She seemed pleased and incredibly entertained by the ordeal.

"Oh!" There was some rummaging on the other end, a pencil dropping, paper being moved. "Uh— Sorry! So sorry! I didn't know you were busy, um—"

"What do you need help with?" Tony repeated. "We're waiting for food, I can spare a minute if you need something."

"I'll always make time for you, Pete" goes unsaid, but Tony hoped it shines through anyways. From the crinkle in Pepper's eyes, she seemed to hear it from across the table.

"It's nothing important," Peter said dumbly. "I've got—I've got science homework."

"You need my help with science homework? Kid, you and your little worm brain are almost as smart as I am."

"No, no, that's—Wait, do you really think that? Wow. Uh. Thanks," Peter laughed breathlessly. "That means a lot coming from you, you're like, a pioneer... But anyways. I had a question about palladium."

Tony quirked an eyebrow. "Go on."

"Well—You were poisoned by it, right?"

"Yeah."

"...How?"

Tony blew a breath out from his cheeks. "Well, you're not wrong. That's definitely a question. What does this have to do with science homework?"

"It was a discussion on arc reactors, believe it or not. A little start-up project on clean energy for the semester finals. There was a little throwaway note in the lesson that talked about Tony Stark's experience with palladium poisoning, and I figured I could just... ask you, instead of doing the research?"

Tony blinked, and then a laugh startled out from his chest. "Using my personal contact to get out of doing your homework? You've impressed me, Mr. Parker. Your professionalism mirrors my own."

"Not like that! I just thought, why would I go to a secondary online source when I have the real deal's phone number!" Peter prattled on. "It would be way more reliable, and like—"

"Alright, alright! Calm down, McFly, I get it," Tony laughed quietly. "How 'bout I call you back and I'll tell you all about it?"

"Yes! That's great! If you want to. You should definitely get back to your date now. Sorry again."

"Bye, kid."

"Bye, Mr. Stark!"

Tony put his phone away and refocused himself. When he looked back up, Pepper was giving him a look of expectancy, a smile on her face.

"What?"

"Nothing," Pepper shrugged, sipping from her water. "Nothing at all."

2. a late night

"Boss," F.R.I.D.A.Y. spoke loudly, pulling him from his unconscious state in a chill of alarm.

Tony sat up quickly in his bed. He reached for a suit on instinct. He searched the room, found himself to be the only one in it. (The part of his brain that was awake reminded him Pepper was on that business trip, the one to Okinawa with that smaller partner company... very important blah blah blah... Stark Industries blah blah blah...)

"What is it?" Tony stumbled.

"Peter is calling."

"Answer it," Tony said immediately. He pulled the covers off and scrubbed a hand over his face. He looked over at the alarm clock on the bedside table. Nearly 4am—Christ.

The call picked up. There was a staticky silence on the other end. Tony frowned as he waited for the kid's familiar voice.

"Pete?" He asked, his voice coming out groggy. "Ground Control to Major Tom?"

...

There's a shaky exhale on the other end. A sniff.

Tony's chest tightened, something very patronly was ready to take over his body and fly across the city to check up on the kid. But that was a little much. Easy steps. He doesn't even know what happened.

"Peter," Tony lowered his voice. "It's alright. Take your time."

He sat on the edge of his bed and yawned. There was a reason Peter must have called him tonight, and Tony had enough foresight to hope it was just a nightmare. Nightmares mean that Peter got at least a little bit of sleep in between... but that doesn't make them any less hard. He knew that.

Peter sniffled again. "Um..."

More silence.

Tony listened patiently.

"The stuff you see. On the—On the job," He murmured quietly, his voice hoarse and gravelly. "Does it ever go away?"

The weakness and desperation strung through this kid's voice crushed the air from his lungs. He forced himself to breathe through it, ignoring how mechanical it sounded.

There were a few options he could take, here—and he had no idea how to pick the right one.

He could lie. He could say that he would start to forget, that the things in his nightmares won't ever come to fruition. Peter would know better. That kid may act young, but he's damn smart, and he's more wise than even Tony can be sometimes.

"I still think about the wormhole in 2012 every night," Tony said meticulously. "It's never left me."

Sometimes he sees it when he closes his eyes; a vast sum of nothingness and the deepest chill a human person can feel while their heart is still beating. Sometimes he thinks he never made it out.

"...But it gets better," Tony continued. It was back to being quiet on the other end, and all he could hear was white noise rushing through the speaker. "When you fill your life with people you care about, it gets better."

"Like your aunt. Ned, your best friend." Tony listed them with a smile. "That girl you like, the one you won't tell me anything about without turning red as your suit. Happy. He may act like he's sick of you, but he cares a lot, I know it. I get the voicemails."

"I know it sounds cheesy, but it really does help. Yeah. Fill your life with people you care about, and people who care about you, even when life is tough."

"Like you?" Peter joked weakly. "Getting calls at... at four in the morning, and probably waking you up, but you answer them anyway."

Tony huffed, a tired smile resting on his face. "Sure. You can add me to that list if you want."

"Okay."

Tony yawned again, and let the silence wash over his brain.

"You saved my life with that missile, by the way."

Tony blinked, the declaration stinging him suddenly. "What?"

"That missile," Peter explained quietly. "The one you carried into the wormhole? I mean, you saved a lot of people that day. When I was a kid, it felt like you were just saving me, which is sorta silly. But yeah. You did technically save me."

"...Well I guess it was all worth it then, huh, kid?"

(Tony would catch a thousand missiles if it meant that Peter fell asleep easier at night. If he could, he would take all of this burden off his shoulders and hold it in iron hands.)

Peter hummed in a slow affirmation. He was getting sleepier, which was absolutely great news for Tony. That means Peter should be able to get a couple hours more of sleep before the sun rises and he needs to go to school. He was relaxed.

"Thank you," Peter murmured. "For being on my list. And for talking with me."

"Of course, Pete. Try and get some sleep, alright? Call me if you need anything."

"Okay. Good... morning, Mr. Stark."

Tony snorted. "Morning to you too, kid."

Peter hung up on the phone—

—and Tony went right back to sleep.

3. take-out with rhodey

Tony picked up his burger and took a big bite of it, then nodded. "This is good. Gah, I hate to say I missed you, but where the hell have you been, honey bear?"

Rhodey huffed. "Been putting out fires. Ross is a dick, but I technically still work under military control."

Tony fake gagged. "He's stealing my best friend! Rhodey, you can't give in. I couldn't take it, I'd shrivel up like a grape."

"Yeah, trust me. I'd much rather be here with you and this burger that's gonna kill me than at any board meeting with him."

"Good burgers," Tony repeated, taking another big bite. His face grew stern suddenly, his forehead wrinkling and his hands pulling back from the table. "How's the bionic prosthetics working? You think of anything I could add?"

"They're fine, Tony. Everything is working as it should. There's no problems," Rhodey assured with amusement. He rolled up his sleeves to eat. "So, what have you been up to? How's Pep?"

"Ah. I'm good. Been training that kid with some of the web protocols I programmed on his suit."

"The intern kid," Rhodey nodded. "Yeah, you told me about him. The one who definitely isn't your biological son."

"That would be the one." Tony took a breath. "Pepper's doing great. We got engaged about a month ago."

Rhodey blinked, looking affronted. Uh oh. "I'm sorry, go back. Rewind a little but. You what? You didn't think to tell me?"

"It wasn't planned! Honestly! We were in a bind because there was another announcement we were supposed to make, and that fell through, but Hap had that ring in his pocket—"

"He was still carrying that thing around?"

"—You know, that's actually what Pepper said, and—"

"She said yes?" Rhodey asked incredulously.

"Why is that so hard to believe?"

Rhodey gave him a look. The kind that said everything nonverbally because saying it out loud would be too honest. Tony clicked his tongue and looked away.

"You've got more salt than these fries, Platypus. It's not a good look on you."

"So, you got engaged," Rhodey said, wiping his face with a napkin. "You know, despite the shock, I'm actually happy for you about that. It means I can spend less time micromanaging you. Anything else I'm missing?"

Tony smiled and shook his head. "Nope. You're all caught up."

Tony's phone began to ring. He paused and took it from his pocket. "I should answer this real quick. It's the teenager, he may have set something on fire."

"Sure."

Tony put the phone up to his ear and immediately was blasted with noise.

"Mr. Stark, did you put a time lock on the suit? I just got out of Decathlon, and I tried putting on the mask and hitting the button, but it wouldn't do that vacuum-y thing, and then Karen said that there was a time lock! I can see why there's one for when it's super late at night, but right after school? That's always been my routine, I don't get why it would—"

"Pete, slow down," Tony said. "I put a time lock because your aunt asked me to. Something about not getting your homework done till the early hours of the morning and constantly losing backpacks? Very irresponsible, by the way."

Across from him, Rhodey raised an eyebrow.

Peter scoffed. "But— Seriously? That's fine! I'm still getting good grades, and—Okay, I can see the backpack thing, but that's only happened like, six—... seven times, tops. That's it, though! I swear!"

"Take it up with May, kid. It's not my decision."

"It is your decision though! You control the suit!"

"First off," Tony shifted in his seat and narrowed his eyes, holding the phone tighter. "I control the suit, but May controls me. Secondly, I agree with her 100%. Stop making her buy backpacks. Grades don't mean shit to me, Peter. Wanna know what matters, kid? How much sleep have you gotten this week?"

"I— I don't know," Peter stuttered.

"You don't know? Should we check?" Tony asked. "I can bring up the statistics right now. You go to sleep right after patrol, right? You wake up at six to go to school, and if I just do a little bit of math here, which you know I will do accurately, then that means—"

"Okay! Okay. I get it." Peter huffed in frustration. He inhaled deeply. "So, I just need to go home and finish my homework? Then I get to go on patrol?"

"That would be correct, Mr. Parker."

"...Fine," Peter said resignedly. He sighed. "Bye, Mr. Stark."

"Bye, kid. Call me if you need help with homework."

"Haha. Very funny."

Peter hung up, and Tony resumed stuffing his face with a burger.

"Dude," Rhodey spoke up. "What the hell."

"Hm?"

"That's—Okay." Rhodey shook his head with disbelief. "That is literally your kid. That is your son, I'm an uncle now. Tony, that was so... What the hell. I've never seen you act like that, ever."

Tony had the dignity and self-respect to act oblivious. "What? What are you talking about?"

"You're a dad!" Rhodey called out. "You are a father figure now. This is crazy. It doesn't even have to be biological, I think you just accidentally pseudo adopted this kid and you don't even realize it. You're good at it too."

"That's ridiculous, Cookie Monster. I'd be a terrible father," Tony waved him off. "I'm just— I'm just trying to be a halfway decent, passable... mentor figure. Y'know? Less pressure that way. Makes things easier on both ends."

Rhodey shook his head. His voice softened into a tone of genuinity, sincereness. "No, Tones. You're good at this. I'm proud of you."

Tony listened, really listened, and nodded. "Thanks."

"I do have one question though."

"Yeah?"

Rhodey narrowed his eyes. "How did you end up with a scrawny little nerd who is exactly like you, but also the exact opposite? He's a walking contradictory—"

"Hey, don't tease him!" Tony defended lightly. "Only I get to do that."

"Why's that?"

"Because that's my kid."

4. a business meeting

Pepper tucked her folder under her arm. "Tony, please do not screw this up. This meeting is really important, all you need to do is sign a few papers."

"C'mon," Tony pulled his shades down his nose and grinned at her. "I can behave myself. Promise. It's just a few papers."

"I know that," Pepper said dryly. "So just try to be calm. Don't do one of your anti-authority-unless-it's-you things."

"Pep," Tony insisted softly. "I've got it. Don't worry."

Pepper nodded. She brushed some lint off of his shoulder and then straightened his tie for him.

"I love you," Tony smiled.

Pepper smirked, then patted him on the arm. "I know."

She walked into the conference room and sat down at the far end of the table. Tony followed and sat beside her, then sat back in the chair and crossed his arms.

The people filed in— the heads up display on his glasses brought up their name and occupation, their ID photo, all as they sat at the table. It seemed like just a group of big time corporate fellas for a company that Tony didn't remember.

In all honesty, he had no idea what this meeting was about. He just knew he had to sign papers, right? That's his only goal.

Tony sighed tiredly and let the meeting drone on.

"Our target demographic won't be hit if the website looks so outdated. I was talking to..."

And on.

"We're getting off track. These sales are really going to be best directed when we move our focus on..."

And on.

"What do you think, Mr. Stark?"

Tony jerked his head up. He glanced once at Pepper, who gave him a pointed look. Very important.

He opened his mouth to speak.

His phone rang instead—Peter's name came up in his view.

"Sorry," Tony cancelled the call, swallowing the guilt down. Pepper stared gentle daggers across from him. Just signing some papers. "Yeah. I agree with whatever Ms. Potts said. She's always right."

Pepper sighed quietly and looked down at the table.

"Right... Of course, Mr. Stark," someone said. The table continued on with their conversation.

Two minutes later, Peter Parker's name shows up again.

"Um..." Tony frowned, staring at the name. People look over at him with annoyance. Pepper's gaze has changed, though—like she could see the worry written on his face. She silently gave a nod.

"Excuse me." He stood up. "I have to take this."

He stepped out of the room and clicked a button on the side of his glasses. "Hey, Underoos."

"Are you busy?" Peter asked, his voice strained. No cheery greeting, just instant dread.

Tony glanced up at the glass conference room and turned around. "No, not at all. What's up?"

Peter took what sounded like an attempt at a deep breath. It cut off short, though, and then dissolved into Peter's stuttering. "Uh... I dunno. I was just calling because, um. Because. I think something is wrong."

Tony twitched. "What is it?"

"I— That's the thing, Mr. Stark. I don't know. This thing just happens sometimes, where it feels— Ugh. I feel all staticky, like something is about to go wrong. But nothing actually goes wrong when this happens, it just— It's like—"

Oh.

"Pete, it sounds like you're having an anxiety attack," Tony said, adjusting his glasses further on his face. He stuffed his hands in his pocket. "Where are you right now?"

"I'm— It's my lunch period, but it was really loud, so now I'm just sitting in the hallway. I told Ned I went to the bathroom, which obviously isn't true, because I'm talking to you and... It isn't getting better, actually. Um. Crap."

"What? What happened?"

Peter's breathing was getting faster, Tony could hear it through the phone's speaker. "Uh—I don't.... Maybe I shouldn't have called you. It's just—It's really bad right now. Um."

"Peter. Can you hear me?" Tony asked. He looked back at the glass room. Pepper was talking to the board, very professionally. She's the CEO. What did that make him?

"Yeah—Yeah, I can— Mhm." Peter inhaled shakily.

"Take a deep breath," Tony instructed. "Okay? Breathe in."

"What if something is wrong, Mr. Stark? What if— I don't know, what if this isn't just anxiety, but it's like... I don't know! What if the building collapses or something? What if—"

"Easy." Tony breathes through his nose and slowly blows out. "Just breathe in. Don't think about anything else."

Peter is quiet for a moment, and then Tony hears him breathe in.

The two of them follow this pattern for a few minutes. Long enough for people to start leaving the conference room one by one, and long enough for Tony to sit down with his back against a wall. (He's old. What else can he say?)

"My lunch break is about to end," Peter said finally. "In like, a minute."

"Are you feeling any better? If you're not up for going back to class, I'm sure May can pick you up if you give her a call," Tony pointed out "Hell, I could pick you up, if she's busy."

The last person walked out the conference room door, leaving Pepper alone in the window-covered room. They gave him a weird look as they passed through the hallway to see him sitting on the carpet. Tony ignored them and looked back at Pepper through the glass as she sorted through paperwork on the desk. He waited for Peter's response.

"I think I'll be okay now. Sorry, by the way," Peter huffed softly. "That was pretty embarrassing."

"Hey— Nothing to be embarrassed about. It just makes you cooler. I would know from experience, right? 'Cuz I'm the coolest guy around."

"You have anxiety attacks?" Peter murmured.

Tony scratched his chin and swallowed his pride. "Yeah."

He could halt his need to look unbothered all the time if it would make Pete feel less alone because of something completely natural. He shouldn't feel embarrassed when he's struggling! Why—How could Tony judge him?

All he knew was that there was a teenager that he helped to look after, who was needing something from him. Why he needed something from him in particular was beyond him, because whenever Tony had anxiety attacks he'd rather hide alone in his garage. But that wasn't the important part. Peter called him, so he's there for everything that comes with that. It's simple, really.

"I get anxiety attacks. Panic attacks. Heart attack, one time. Normal attacks," Tony listed. "Pretty much every attack you can think of. I collect them like Pokemon cards."

Peter laughed abruptly. It sounded tired, but genuine. That's all he can ask for. "Uh... Wow. Yeah, that's real impressive, Mr. Stark."

There was some shuffling on the other line, then the distant sound of a bell ringing. "I gotta go. Thank you, by the way."

"Text me if you change your mind and need me to pick you up," Tony said without thinking. Then he backtracked, feeling the words tangle around his tongue. "I mean. Call May. And then if that doesn't work, then you can call me. If you want."

"Got it," Peter said. His voice was growing harder to hear with the increase of other students bumbling through the hallway he was in. "Okay, seriously I gotta go. Bye, Mr. Stark!"

"Bye, Underoos."

Tony heard the beep of the phone, then stood up from his uncomfortable seat on the carpet. He groaned with the ache of his muscles as he stretched, then he walked back into the office room.

"Who was that? Ross?" Pepper asked with reasonable concern, standing up from the table. "You were on call for a long time."

Tony shook his head. "Peter. He was having an anxiety attack."

"Oh," Pepper frowned deeply. "Poor kid. Is he feeling better now?"

"Yeah." Tony sighed and looked over the papers on the desk. "Sorry I missed out on the meeting. Not too late to sign the papers, is it?"

"I told them I would email digital copies over to them after you signed them," Pepper explained. "And it's alright. You had more important things to worry about; I understand. It can't be easy trying to co-run a company while also being a great father."

Tony huffed. "Yeah, tell that to my dad."

"Tony." Pepper scolded lightly. She walked over to him and put her hands on his shoulders. "You aren't your father. You want to know how I know?"

"I'm sure you're gonna tell me," Tony teased.

"Your father wouldn't have stepped out of a meeting to answer your call," Pepper said, giving him a knowing look with her eyebrows raised. She took her hands off and handed him a pen from the table. "And you wouldn't have trusted him enough to call in the first place."

Tony couldn't argue with that. He took the pen and quickly signed the papers on the table. "We should really think about retiring."

Pepper scoffed, but from the twinkle in her eye, Tony knew she was amused.

5. at the suit tailor's

Tony stood still in the room. The tailor, Max, quietly murmured measurements to himself as he ran the measuring rope across Tony's sleeves and shoulders.

He jotted down the numbers he said in a small notebook.

"Your posture is excellent," Max spoke up. "Probably the best I've ever seen."

"I went to a fancy school as a kid," Tony said simply.

Suit fittings. It's been a while since he's had his measurements updated, and Tony wanted his and Pepper's wedding to look as nicely as he could make it. She deserved that much, for putting up with everything else.

Max is a tailor Pepper recommended, apparently he did suit fittings for celebrities and businessmen alike. His reputation was strong—but Tony really didn't care about the guy's resume. He wanted this over with as quickly as he could make it.

Nothing wrong with Max. He was just so, so, quiet. A trait he would be fine with, if Max were a close friend, which he wasn't. In Tony's experience, quiet strangers always had something to hide. Same thing with people who talked too much.

Tony tapped his fingers on his thighs.

"What colour?" Max asked.

"What?"

"The wedding," Max smiled. "What colours are you doing?"

"Oh," Tony blinked. "Haven't picked yet. Between you and me, I want to convince her for a dark blue. It's got a history."

Max nodded. "Dark blue is always a good choice. I think it looks particularly good paired with gold, but silver works quite well in the Winter."

"We haven't thought that far ahead," Tony shrugged.

"Shopping early for a suit, then?"

"Wanted to check it off my list," Tony smiled. "It'll make things easier in the future, right?"

"Wise," Max laughed quietly. He measured around Tony's wrists, then stepped away. "Okay. I have a few new styles in the back that you can look at, and from there we can go for colours and alterations."

"Sounds good to me."

Max nodded and stepped out of the room.

Tony's phone rang, and he pulled it from his pocket. His eyebrows raised with interest.

He answered the phone and put it to his ear. "Mr. Parker."

"Hey, Mr. Stark! Are you doing anything?"

"I could ask you the same thing. Aren't you supposed to be in school right now?" Tony grinned.

"It was an early release day."

"I see," Tony tilted his head. "What can I do for you, then?"

"I need to ask for some advice," Peter said carefully. He sounded almost nervous—Not the bad kind, but more the skittery, mouse running with the cheese kind. Excitement?

"Go on."

"I just—You're getting married, right?" Peter asked, as if Tony wasn't standing in the tailor's room of a high-end wedding store.

"Why, you planning to pop the question to someone?" Tony snorted. Then he stopped, suddenly hit with the definition of irony. "That was a joke, Pete. Please don't let that be the reason you're calling me, or I will keel over."

"No!" Peter squeaked. "I mean—No. That's not the reason. I did want to know, um... How you asked out Pepper on a date, though."

"Oh." Tony's mind blared. Everything in him yelled to deflect. "Why are you asking me for dating advice, kid? I—I could answer, but I feel like that's a question better suited for May?"

He was not the stunning image of a perfect relationship. He's still reading that book on love languages that Pepper gave him last February. (Not his fault! He keeps getting distracted by everything else in his lab.)

"I did ask May," Peter insisted. "She told me to be confident. But this girl is sorta like Pepper, and she just makes my confidence sort of—"

"—Evaporate?" Tony guessed. "So you're the absolute meaning of high school puppy love, basically."

At that moment, Max walked in, saw that Tony was on the phone, and paused at the doorway. Tony mouthed an apology and held up his hand. Max nodded and left the suits on the table, then exited the room again.

"Well—Yeah, basically!" Peter huffed. "She's just so much cooler than me. And I'm not very cool! Yeah, I can stop a bus or something, but yesterday she made fun of Flash by quoting Emily Dickinson. And she just had that memorized, like, on hand."

"Okay," Tony narrowed his eyes. "Well, May sort of has a point. She's always right, you should know that by now. You are cool, Pete. Even without the superhero powers."

"Thanks, Mr. Stark."

"Yeah. Obviously don't be a dick, though. If she's anything like Pep, overconfidence is not the way to go. Just be yourself."

Peter snorted. "Right, right."

"I have to go," Tony said, looking back at the suits on the desk. "Tell me how it goes, alright, kid? I'd tell you to break a leg, but you'd probably actually do it, so... Good luck."

Peter laughed some more. "Bye!"

Tony ended the call and then walked over to the door, letting Max back in. "Sorry about that."

"No worries," Max waved him off.

"Yeah. I was just talking to my kid," Tony said dumbly, without a second's thought. He blinked once it settled in. "My intern, I mean."

Max scratched the back of his head.

"...What were those suits you were talking about?"

+1. during an english quiz

'In what year is The Great Gatsby set?'

Peter furrowed his eyebrows. It was 1923, right? Wait—No. 1922? He blazed through the book when they got it, and then didn't pick it up since. His memory was feeling awfully fuzzy.

How does Gatsby represent the American dream?

Peter chewed on his bottom lip, which, ow. Geez. He had split it last night on a patrol that really did not go the way he wanted it to, as proven further by the bandages hidden under his sweater. Ow, ow, ow.

As for the question, Peter cringed and scribbled out a blabber of words on the social economy of the 1920s or whatever. That's what it asked for, right? Next question.

How are Daisy and Nick related?

Peter's eyes lit up and quickly wrote down the answer to that, a question that he did actually remember the response to. He then looked to the three other pages on the quiz and ran a hand over his face, exhaling through his nose softly.

He would rather be anywhere but here.

He would literally rather be swinging out the window, probably tearing his stitches (which Peter winced at the thought of), just to get out of this quiz. Michelle probably is going to ace this. She does this for fun, just on her own.

He glanced up to look at her, and found Michelle jotting down an entire paragraph to an answer on the third page. Figures. He smiled and looked back down before she could notice him staring.

Describe Gatsby's relationship with—

Peter's phone buzzed. Classmates around him looked up from their papers and around the room.

"Phones off," Mrs. Cooper said, not looking up from her desk.

Peter quickly took his phone out of his pocket, and then widened his eyes and looked back up. "Um. I have to take this. Internship."

In the corner of his eye, Michelle smirked.

His English teacher looked up disapprovingly. "Take it outside, Mr. Parker. Don't disappear after class again, either."

Peter nodded, stood up, and fought back a pained groan as his wound ached and tugged on his skin. He maneuvered around desks and exited the classroom. Then he answered the call.

"Mr. Stark! Is there a mission? I'm sort of in the middle of an English quiz, but I can—I'm sure I can get out of it, if—"

"Peter," Tony said, and Peter's guard was instantly up. He sounded like he was smiling. But not the actual happy smiling. More the 'I just caught your hand in the cookie jar, and you're about to be in trouble' sort of smiling. May does it too.

"It's so good to hear from you," he continued. "Especially considering the footage I just watched."

Peter paused, holding a hand gently over his healing stab wound. He swallowed. "...What footage?"

"Yeah. Don't play dumb with me, kid. Does it hurt? Why the hell didn't you say anything last night?"

Peter blew out a breath. "I dunno! It was fine! You know? It was... Yeah. I could handle it, it wasn't that bad!"

"You got stabbed," Tony gritted out. "Also, since we're on the topic of conversation—I want you to listen very carefully to this next part, Pete— You do not break into the suit's code. Particularly the safety protocols of said suit's code. Come on, we really have to do this again?"

"Mr. Stark—"

"Those protocols are there for a reason, Mr. Parker. What if it wasn't fine last night, hm? What if next time you get hit, and you get hit hard, and I won't be able to come save your spandex ass because you thought it would be a grand idea to get rid of the tracker again."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't make me call you again," Tony warned. "I'm on a lunch break. I'd rather be doing other things than lecturing you."

"I won't, sir," Peter said mopily.

"Good." Tony sighed. "Now, how are you doing? You need medical attention? Does May know? I'm guessing not, because you're at school."

"Yeah, she doesn't know." Peter fidgeted with the hem of his sweater. "I'm fine. It's painful for sure, but—I've dealt with worse."

Tony went silent.

Peter facepalmed, because that was absolutely the wrong thing to say.

"Geez, kid."

"Sorry."

"I'm going to hang up now. If you so much as tear a stitch, you're calling Aunt May and going home. Fake sick. I don't care," Tony huffed.

Peter sighed quietly. "I understand."

"Bye, Peter."

"Bye—"

Tony hung up the phone, and then Peter was just a kid alone in a hallway, nursing a stab wound and a chronically cracked phone. He made a face, something between a smile without the teeth and a grimace, then walked back into the classroom.

He moved back around tables, and as he moved past MJ's she whispered under her breath.

"Thwip thwip."

Peter widened his eyes and spun around, and Michelle wasn't even looking at him, her face neutral as she went over her own test. His side began to sting again from the movement.

"Please return to your seat, Peter," Mrs. Cooper said. "Finish your test."

Peter stumbled and then sat back in his seat. He looked back over his test and went to the next question.

What is Meyer Wolfsheim's claim to fame?

Peter quietly let his forehead hit the desk.

Ugh.