Chapter Text
“Peter.”
“Not now, KAREN. I’m concentrating.”
If AIs could sigh, Peter is certain that one of his father’s creations would have blown a metaphorical lung out by how often they hear some variation of that particular Stark excuse.
With a swift flick, Peter indicates left and after checking traffic, he switches lanes.
Peter has had his driver’s license for a week now.
He also kinda did, kinda didn’t sneak out of the penthouse to take his new car for a spin. Pepper knew about it. And Peter can’t do anything without FRIDAY (read: Dad) knowing about it, so really it’s not as big of an getaway as he likes to imagine. It is, however, Peter’s first time out and about without adult supervision. He takes a deep breath.
“Adulthood never smelled so sweet,” he mutters under his breath.
The car gives a little cough-shake-judder.
Peter glances down at the steering wheel.
“Uh, KAREN?”
His AI is unusually silent.
The car, however, is not. There’s a little light that he finally notices down at the bottom right of the speedometer dashboard lit up an innocuous orange. How could he have not—?
“Oh no,” he whispers.
With some finagling, Peter manages to veer into the slow lane once more and then onto the shoulder of the expressway. Right before the car shuts off completely, KAREN engages the emergency flashers.
The car shuts down.
And Peter stares at the dashboard.
After several cars whooshing by and softly shaking his car with their high speeds, Peter shakes himself out of his dumbfounded stupor and digs out his cell from his jeans pocket.
“A little help, KAREN,” he mutters, torn between anger and embarrassment.
“Calling Dad,” the feminine voice intones.
“Ah, man,” barely has enough time to formulate before the other line picks up.
“Hi, Speedy Gonzalez.”
“Dad.”
“I’m so glad you called.”
“Dad.”
“It’s just like you slipped out the door without a single word.”
“Dad!”
"Pep save you need space; so who am I to not give you space? I'm a hip dad, you know."
"Dad, c'mon."
“But Pep told me to let you off your leash, just a little. And mind you, that woman never steers me wrong.”
“Da-ad.”
“Golly gee, Petey pie—“
“DAD!”
To Peter’s unending horror, he hears his Uncle Rhodey wheezing in the background. His day couldn’t get any worse.
“Alright, kid; what’s up? You know better than to Bluetooth me while driving. This better be an emergency.”
Peter starts mouthing Bluetooth me before shaking his head, and because of that mistake he misses part of his father’s next soliloquy.
“—he at, FRI?”
“No, Dad, wait!” he cries, hands flying in front of his face as if to ward off his father on the other side of the city. “My car broke down!” the words fly out all at once.
Silence.
Nothing but silence for one, two, three—
“I’m sorry. Your brand new car broke down? Where then hell are you? Are you hurt? Talk to me, kiddo.”
“Dad, I’m fine. Y’know, other than I’m just sitting on the side of the expressway in my car not able to move!”
“Deep breaths, Pete,” his uncle Rhodey pipes up, rustling noises coming through the phone as the other man moves around the penthouse and FRIDAY picks up every whir of his braces.
“I just wanted to go zoom zoom fast,” laments Peter.
“Too bad it’s baby-proofed then, il mio piccolo piantagrane, eh?”
“Alright, Tones, ease off on the poor kid; he gets it honest. Nothing a little Rhodes elbow grease can’t do to solve Stark situations.” his uncle takes over smoothly. “Lay it on me, Pete: what did the dashboard look like before the car shut off? Anything catch your eye? Something KAREN may have brought to your attention.”
“Well...,”
“Yes?”
“I thought Dad gave me an electric car!”
Dead silence.
(As dead silent as it can be at the Stark penthouse. New York City is never dead silent. Peter worries his lower lip he may have given his dad a heart attack because his end of the call is so eery.)
“Iranoutofgas!” he rushes out.
“He ran out of gas.”
“Huh. How ‘bout that. Sour Patch, I tried my best, I really, really did.”
“He’s a lot better than you were at his age, I’ll give you both that.”
Peter’s head knocks against the steering wheel, groaning loudly. “Will someone come get me... please?”
“Oh, sure, kiddo.” his dad’s voice is all peaches and cream once more. “But since I’m elbow deep in patching up Sour Patch’s braces, you get to pick who comes pick you up: Happy or Pepper.”
“Nooooo!”
“And you get to have the same conversation with whomever you pick.”
“Dad!”
“Pete!”
He jabs the red button to disconnect the call, then immediately scrolls through until he finds his saving grace’s number and waits for it to connect.
“Hello?”
“Hello, the most wonderful-est lady in my life. I have a grand favor to ask.”
“Oh, God,” his soon-to-be stepmother bemoans, “what did you do this time?”
“Well, I may have—“
“Send me your coordinates. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“Yay! Thanks a bunch, Pepper!”
“My idiots,” he hears before the call disconnects.
And now he waits.