Chapter Text
“I can’t believe Spiderman bailed on us,” Pepper says after the press conference is over. She made up some bullshit about the newest Starkphone, and in Tony’s opinion she did a damn good job of improvising. Still, the journalists were restless, uneasy, asked too many questions—questions Stark Industries couldn’t yet answer publicly. “What can you tell me about him?”
Happy’s taking Peter back to Queens, so Pepper and Tony are in the back of a Secret Service vehicle. The partition is up, but Tony doesn’t know the driver—doesn’t trust him not to listen in. He’s not going to reveal Peter’s name or any identifying characteristics. He’ll keep it simple.
“He’s young,” Tony says. “Like, too young to shave, young.”
Her frown deepens. “That’s too young, Tony.”
“Happy’s looking after him.”
“If he’s too young to shave, he’s too young to fight crime,” she says. “FBI agents have to be twenty-three before they can join. Police officers have to be twenty-one. Tell me he’s at least that old.”
“Wish I could, but alas.”
“Tony.”
“Happy’s looking after him.”
“Do his parents know?”
“Think Little Orphan Annie with a ridiculously hot legal guardian. Miss Hannagan if she modeled.”
He’s not making Pepper any happier by talking up another woman—he knows that—but Tony’s running on two hours of sleep, three shots of expresso, and a plethora of bitterness. He’s not mad at the kid, not exactly, but he’s not overjoyed with him either. Turning down a kickass job working with Earth’s mightiest heroes isn’t exactly a power play—especially since Peter is justifying it by saying that he wants to look after the little guy—and it’s the sort of thing that only Steve would do. Everyone Tony cares about seems to inevitably leave him for some nobler cause, and Peter’s decision does nothing to stem his ever-growing abandonment issues.
“I’m assuming Miss Hannagan knows about his extracurricular activities,” Pepper says.
“Sure she does,” Tony agrees, and the lie comes easily. No reason to make Pepper worry if there’s a reason to avoid it—God knows he kept her in the dark about being Iron Man until it was imperative he reveal it. “A-okay with the whole situation. Thinks it’s terrific her nephew is fighting crime in a spandex leotard. Great for the family reputation.”
“Well…at least there’s that.” Pepper pauses. “I’m assuming you asked her permission before inviting him onto the team?”
That was a slight oversight on Tony’s part, but what’s with the inquisition? Pepper’s starting to annoy him—not because she’s in the wrong in any way, God forbid she ever cross lines—but because she’s asking all the right questions, and he doesn’t have any good answers. He can’t keep lying to her. He’s digging himself into a hole here, one he’s not going to get himself out of.
“Look, he’s not our problem anymore.” Tony can hear the first traces of annoyance creeping into his voice, and he fights to keep his tone level. “He rejected my offer. Happy will keep an eye on him, but he’s not my responsibility. I gave him a suit that’ll keep him safe when he patrols. I gave him advice when he screwed the pooch and took a swim in the lake. I praised him when he saved my plane and handed a thief’s ass to him. My job is done.”
Pepper clicks her tongue. “You’re giving up on a kid because your feelings are hurt?”
“I’m not giving up on him.”
“Sounds like you are.”
“He’s not my responsibility,” Tony says again, and he really means it.
###
You have one voicemail from: Unknown Number.
“Hey, Mr. Stark! Happy gave me your number. I guess maybe I was bugging him or something, because I’ve upped my check-ins to once a day. May insisted. She…uh…found out. Big sigh, right? She’s cool with it, but there are rules I have to follow—and I think she made Happy cry when she called to chew his ass off. Sorry about that. She wants to talk to you too, so if you ever have a minute, that would be great. I texted you her number.
“Today’s patrol was good. Two raccoons were chasing a kid on a bike, so I webbed them up and fed them some nuts. One of them bit me, but I haven’t started frothing at the mouth yet. We’re out of antibiotic gel so I put some toothpaste on it—it burned like hell, but the pain gives me purpose. Also, a woman keyed herself out of her apartment, so I went through the window and let her in. She was really nice and gave me some biscuits, but they had prunes so I think she was trying to poison me. Nothing else really happened—oh, there was one sort of weird thing. I took an automatic rifle off a man who was holding up a bank, and I didn’t want to wait around for the police to arrest me for vigilantism. Now I’ve got a gun, I guess. I mean, I’m all for the second amendment, but I’m guessing this one isn’t legal. Anyhoozles, think the Black Widow would be down to show me how to use it? That would be awesome.
“That’s all for today. Hope you’re well. I saw on the news you and Pepper are back together—congratulations! Love makes life less suckville, and I would know—MJ looked at me twice during math class today, and she didn’t even glare. Yeah. That. Take care.
Oh—it’s Peter, by the way.”
###
You have one new voicemail from: Underoos.
“Hey, Mr. Stark! I’m loathe to nag, but you really need to call May. It’s been over a week since I left my first message, and she’s getting antsy. I’m assuming you’re listening to these, because Happy said you were taking point on my case, and I’m not allowed to call him anymore unless it’s an emergency. You haven’t responded to any of my texts either—but I’m assuming you’re getting those too. Maybe my Samsung is glitchy—I’m betting it’s not your Starkphone, haha. Uh…if you could send me an emoji or something to let me know I’m not yodeling into a void, that would be great.
“Nothing much happened today. In case you haven’t listened to my last seven messages, disregard them. I don’t need you to disable Stay Legal protocol—Karen still won’t let me into police radio signals, but I’ve figured out a workaround. We’re prepping for the science fair at school, so I’m spending most of my time building a robot capable of intercepting, decrypting, and listening to police radio frequencies. It’ll be hard to strap it onto my suit, so I’m thinking of getting a fanny pack. I think I can pull off the vibe. Haven’t had much time to patrol because I’ve been working so hard on it, but I did go out for about thirty minutes today. There was a cat stuck in a tree and the firemen couldn’t get close to it, so I got it down. It was a tabby—a real beaut! Much nicer than the raccoons.
“By the way, the automatic rifle I got from that bank robber is starting to glow—should I be concerned? I’ve stripped away some of the parts for my radio—I needed the metal—but, like, is it going to explode? Can guns do that? Maybe my spider bite turns everything I touch radioactive. If that’s the case, you should probably get tested, because I’ve given you not-hugs before. Anyhoozles.
“It’s Peter, by the way.”
###
You have one new voicemail from: Spandex Boy.
“Hey, Mr. Stark! Sorry if I sound weird—I haven’t been sleeping much, and I’ve had, like, three Bangs today. Man, those things are great! May buys the jumbo packs from Costco, and they make my heart go fast! Even with my speedy metabolism, I get a real kick out of chugging them. I keep the case by my bed so I can have my wake-up juice before I have to get out of bed. Much less expensive than taking shot after shot of five-hour energy—those things add up! Don’t worry about me going into cardiac arrest, though—I make sure to take a breathing break for fifteen seconds between drinks two and three. They keep me alert until, like, noon. Then I have to drink more. Man, isn’t life great?
“The science fair is tomorrow. My police interceptor is finished, but the parts of metal I melted down from the gun are glowing too. I’m a little worried about it, but it’s all G, right? I mean, it’s been like thirteen days since the glowing started. If it was going to go boom boom, it would’ve done it by now, so I think we’re good. Everything is fine. Totally fine. Probably fine. Don’t worry about Peter—which, clearly you haven’t been. I mean, you still haven’t called May, and she’s still pissed at you. I’m not sure why, because it was my choice to go to Germany, but…okay, I’m rambling. Sorry. Caffeine makes my brain go fast and my mouth go faster. Am I talking faster than The Flash? Maybe. Who’s to say?
“Anyhoozles, feel free to call me—or May—any time. I know you’re probably super busy, but I’m always down for a mission. You know where to find me, and how to reach me. Looking out for the little guy, just like I promised. Uh…yeah. I’m here. Nothing’s happened. Everything’s fine.
“It’s Peter, by the way.”
###
“I’m going to a science fair tomorrow,” Tony tells Pepper.
She’s sitting on the couch drinking herbal tea and reading a book—Business and Legacy by Toby Bruno. Her feet are propped up beneath her, and she’s wearing her pajamas—a red silky tank top and matching shorts. Her hair is pulled back into a ponytail, and it takes her a moment to realize he’s talking to her—maybe she didn’t hear him enter the room. She looks up at him, her expression of concentration morphing to one of surprise.
“Beg pardon?” she says.
“I’m going to a science fair tomorrow,” Tony repeats. “One in Queens. Spiderman built a police hacker that’s supposed to pick up all frequencies, even encrypted ones. I have to make sure the judges give him a medal instead of calling the cops to arrest him.”
“Sounds illegal,” Pepper says slowly.
“He’s a smart kid,” Tony says. She knows everything he knows about Peter, now—and May found out the secret within a week, so he’ll never get caught in the lie he told her in the car. He should really call the woman—he’s picked up the phone to do so one-hundred times—but he’s never had the courage to push the button. Interacting with May—or with the kid—would mean admitting to himself and Happy that it’s a good idea for Tony to be taking point on this. It isn’t. He doesn’t do kids, not even mostly grown ones. Even the interns at Stark Industries bug the crap out of him, and they’re all in their twenties.
So why’s he going to Peter’s science fair? Because the kid talks about it every time he leaves a message, like he’s hoping Tony will swing by? Because he wants to see what the kid is working on? Because the idea of melting down an illegal firearm for scrap metal is so stupid and ridiculous and awesome he wants to see the machine in action? Tony doesn’t know. He does know it’ll make the kid’s day if he shows up, and, all right, there’s something primal in him that wants to come through. His dad never showed up at any of Tony’s school events, the bastard. He’s not Peter’s parent, but he doesn’t know if May will be able to take time off the hospital to stop by the school, and no kid should have to go to a science fair alone.
A quick phone call could let him know if it’s even necessary, but for some reason, he doesn’t want to make that call.
“I know he’s smart,” Pepper says. It’s been a long pause, and it sounds like she’s choosing her words carefully. “You’ll need security. Attending a public event like that is no joke. Do you have any idea what people will say if you show up at a high school science fair?”
“I’m not asking your permission, and I don’t need security,” Tony says. “I’ll take Happy. It’ll be fine.”
“They’ll think he’s your son.”
Tony’s thought about that and decided it’s not his problem. “Let them think what they want to think.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“You’re the one who told me to take more responsibility.”
“I meant, call him back. You listen to those silly voicemails every night.”
“If I called him back, I’d have to take away the gun he’s melting down for scrap metal,” Tony says. “My moral principles forbid taking away people’s toys. Did I tell you he put toothpaste on a raccoon bite? Mentoring is one thing. Monitoring that? Outside my capabilities.”
“Don’t do this, Tony,” Pepper says. “Don’t go to that science fair.”
###
Tony goes to the science fair.
Happy pulls up in front of Midtown High twenty minutes before the event ends, and they walk to the gymnasium amidst a crowd of people. The pedestrians stop and stare as they pass as if they’re circus freaks, gawking and murmuring behind their hands. A few are taking pictures. Tony pushes his dark sunglasses further up his nose and allows Happy to grip his arm, guiding him through the crowd.
Like Pepper, Happy doesn’t think it’s a good idea to be here. Also like Pepper, Happy has no chance of stopping him. Tony made up his mind days ago, maybe weeks. Maybe the first time he heard Peter mention it in a voicemail. Tony likes science. Tony likes fairs. Tony’s started to forgive Peter for rejecting his offer to join the team, partly because Steve’s betrayal ran so much deeper and he’s been negotiating with Wakanda for the past week trying to broker an outcome everyone’s at peace with. He needs a break, a distraction, and this fits the bill.
The gymnasium is large and spacious, capable of accommodating various sports and school events. Rectangular in shape, it has a high, arched roof. It’s constructed with a mix of brick, glass, and steel for durability and aesthetic appeal. A prominent entrance with large glass doors—propped open so people can easily enter and exit—welcomes them into the building. They pass beneath the awning and walk into the building.
The inside of the gymnasium is a vibrant and bustling exhibition space. Long rows of tables and booths have been neatly arranged in a grid pattern, each assigned to students presenting their projects. Each booth has a sign with the project title and the name of participants, often decorated with colorful banners or posters. Wide aisles between the booths allow easy movement for visitors and participants. A small stage has been set up at one end for announcements, awards, and presentations, equipped with a podium and sound system.
Tony takes in the variety of booths. There’s a display on plant growth under different light conditions, and a tank of fish that boasts a self-sustaining aquaponics system. One of the students has designed homemade biodegradable plastics, and another has built a magnetic levitation train. One poster even boasts of a virtual reality tour of the solar system, complete with a large set of glasses and headphones people are trying on. Damn, Tony thinks—Peter isn’t the only smart kid at this school.
“Mr. Stark?”
The occupants of every booth have taken notice of Happy and Tony since they entered the gymnasium—staring, falling silent or whispering, pointing—but Peter is the first one to approach. He’s wearing a neon-yellow suit—complete with bow tie—and pink crocs. His expression is baffled, and his huge brown eyes dart between Tony and Happy like a deer in headlights.
“Jesus fuck, kid,” Tony says. “What are you wearing?”
“May said I look handsome.”
“May lied to your face.”
“The crocs are from my locker—I spilled water on my other shoes,” he says. “The threads are from a thrift store.”
“I’m not surprised someone gave that away.”
“Tony,” Happy muttered. “People are staring at us. Maybe we should go somewhere more quiet.”
“Pretty sure they’re staring at the walking banana,” Tony says, but he takes the point. He’s well aware that it’s fallen eerily silent around them, considering they’re in a crowded gymnasium. He came this far, though—he’s not going anywhere.
“Hey, this walking banana is the pinnacle of good taste,” Peter says. “My suit is better than your suit.”
“My suit is Armani. Your suit looks like it came with a red nose that honks.”
“You’re just jealous.”
“Kid, if I wanted to look like a clown—” Tony breaks off, decides it isn’t worth it, claps his hands together. “Enough about your fashion sense—or lack thereof. Want to show us your project, kid?”
Peter’s mouth opens, then closes. “You want to see my project?”
“I’m not here to see your outfit.”
“It’s an added perk, I bet.”
Tony pinches the bridge of his nose beneath his sunglasses. “Again—not why I’m here, kid.”
Peter composes himself and leads them to a booth with a poster displaying the sign Vigilante Helpinator. The device is about the size of a coffee mug, and it’s definitely glowing—the metal has a greenish hue. Sleek and streamlined, blue and red LED lights blink rapidly. There are retractable antennas, legs, a high resolution camera, small speakers, and a small, built in screen that looks like it was taken off a car’s GPS.
“This is the Vigilante Helpinator,” Peter tells them, as if they can’t read. “Capable of intercepting, decrypting, and listening to police radio frequencies. It automatically scans for active frequencies and identifies relevant communications. It can temporarily jam signals to disrupt communication if needed. It records and stores intercepted communications for later analysis, and it can play back records or stream them real-time. The most advanced features is the AI data analysis, which uses algorithms to analyze intercepted communications for keywords, patterns, and potential threats—Ned helped me with that. Ooh, they’re announcing a winner! Shh.”
As if Tony was the one who was speaking—one-hundred miles per hour at that. Clearly the kid had some Bangs today.
The judges are standing behind the podium. There are three of them, two men and one woman. The men are both old, graying and a bit hunched, and the woman looks to be in her late thirties. She’s the one who approaches the mic, taps it twice, and waits for silence to fall across the gymnasium.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I’m pleased to announce the winner of our 2018 Midtown School of Science and Technology science fair!” she says, opening an envelope. “The winner is…Nathan Johnson with the magnetic levitation train!”
Polite applause. Peter doesn’t look too bummed. “He’s a senior,” Peter whispers. “And the train is awesome. Maybe I’m a runner-up.”
“First runner-up.” She opens another envelope. “Michelle Jones with her 3-D printed prosthetics. Second runner-up—Hailey Lee with her project on the impact of social media on teen mental health. Third runner-up—Peter Parker with the Vigilante Helpinator. Fourth runner-up—Herbert Gerold’s virtual reality tour of the solar system.”
Tony brings his hands together and whoops after Peter’s name is called, almost drowning out the fourth runner-up announcement. The staring around them increases tenfold. Peter’s ears are slightly pink, and he pumps his fist.
“Third runner-up,” he says, grinning. “I’ll take it. I knew I was never going to beat MJ’s prosthetics.”
“Nice going, kid.” Tony claps him on the shoulder. “You did good. I’m proud of you.”
Peter beams at him, and then he and the other runner-ups go to the stage to collect their metals. That’s when it happens. The Vigilante Helpinator explodes with a bang that nearly deafens Tony. Happy throws himself on top of him, crushing him to the ground. It’s like being tackled by a bear.
“Stay down, sir!” Happy screams, amid the chaos and scrambling of everyone around them. “Don’t move, Tony, I mean it!”
“I think it’s over,” Tony says, barely able to breathe under Happy’s weight.
Peter runs back to them and stares at the disassembled pieces scattered across the table and floor, his expression heartbroken. “You’re shitting me,” he says. “I pour my heart, soul, and kidneys into you, and you choose today to explode? Why is the world so cruel? Why does God hate humanity with a violent and desperate rage? Why are we doomed to this fateful existence of existential dread and woeful misery? Why, damn it?”
“Jesus, kid.” Tony pushes Happy off him and gets to his feet. “Take a Bupropion.”
“At least I got a prize before it blew up.” Peter looks down at his medal mournfully. “Fat lot of good the Helpinator will do me on patrol now, though.”
“Subtle, Parker.” A dark skinned girl passes, shooting him a glance as she does so. “And, of course, there’s Mr. Capitalism himself. Way to be discrete about your extracurricular activities.”
Tony wonders what the hell that means, but before he has time to ask, the girl has disappeared into the throng. He turns back to Peter, lays a hand on his shoulder.
“Why don’t you come by the lab next Friday?” he says. “We can fix it…with metal not from a glowing gun, mind you.”
“The gun!” Peter’s eyes widen. “Crap! What if that exploded, too?”
“Then your bedroom’s gonna look a little different when you get home from school today.” Tony checks out the damage—the metal blew apart like shrapnel, but the wires should be salvageable, and anyway, what Peter’s trying to make isn’t terribly complex. He could do it in his sleep. “How about it, kid? Want to come by the lab?”
Peter seems to take that in for the first time. “You mean it?”
“Well, you do have an internship. About time we made things official.”
A grin splits Peter’s face. “That’s a better prize than the medal, Mr. Stark!”
That warms Tony’s heart, a bit, not that he’d ever say it out loud.
There are still some things he needs to take care of. He has to call May and get her to sign onto this—like hell if he’s going behind Aunt Hottie’s back again. He’ll have to confiscate the gun, whether or not it exploded. He’ll have to have someone pick the kid up from school—Happy can probably do it. He’ll have to make sure nothing too dangerous is lying around the lab. And he’ll definitely have to pick up some Bangs so the kid doesn’t fall asleep on him.
But he can do this mentoring thing for a kid smart enough to build a working radio, he thinks.
At the very least, he can try.