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When Aunt May passed away, Mr. Stark stepped up in a way Peter never thought possible. The billionaire genius, known for his eccentricities and impulsive decisions, showed a side of himself that was nothing short of extraordinary. He temporarily stepped back from his work, dedicating all his time to helping Peter navigate his grief. He was there in the mornings to encourage him to get out of bed, there at night when Peter couldn’t sleep, and everywhere in between, creating a strong and safe presence that Peter came to rely on.
However, once the first six weeks had passed, Mr. Stark began to ease back into his responsibilities at Stark Industries and with the Avengers. It was then that Peter realized just how very, very busy Mr. Stark’s life was. Meetings, missions, conferences, engineering– it all added up to a delicate balance between corporate obligations, Avengers requirements, and the small slivers of time left in between.
Not wanting to be one more thing for Mr. Stark to worry about, Peter made a conscious effort to be as independent as possible. He got himself up for school, made his own breakfast, managed his clothes, and kept his space tidy without any need for prompting.
Peter stuck to his schedule of school, academic decathlon, and patrolling, while Mr. Stark attended to his countless tasks. They often spent evenings together, if Peter wasn’t out as Spider-Man and Mr. Stark wasn’t buried in the lab or his office, they’d share dinner, followed by a movie. Other times, Peter joined Mr. Stark in the lab, working side-by-side in a way that reminded him of the unofficial internship he’d had when May was still alive.
Over time, Peter came to terms with the fact that life in the massive penthouse would feel a little lonelier than it had in the cozy apartment back in Queens. He didn’t complain or ask for more than what he was given. He understood Mr. Stark had obligations, much bigger and much more important than playing house with him. So, for the most part, he attempted to stay out of the way– even if it meant figuring out how to fill the quieter moments on his own.
Most days followed a predictable rhythm, and Peter was just beginning to settle into this new normal when something unexpectedly shifted.
Peter woke a little earlier than usual. He stretched his arms over his head and yawned before grabbing his school clothes and wandering into the bathroom to change. He splashed some water on his face and brushed his teeth, then headed toward the kitchen. To his surprise, Mr. Stark was already there, sharply dressed in a four-piece suit. His hair looked freshly combed, and his glasses rested on the bridge of his nose. One of his hands was wrapped around a steaming mug of coffee while he stared intently at a tablet.
Peter paused, blinking as he took in the sight. It was unusual to see Mr. Stark up so early. Typically, he stayed up late working on his latest project and didn’t rise until after Peter had left for school. Their mornings rarely overlapped. Finding him leaning on the counter was unexpected, but definitely not unwelcome.
For a moment, he stood at the edge of the entryway, unsure if should say anything. Then his stomach growled, encouraging him to shuffle the rest of the way into the kitchen, his brow still furrowed in confusion. “Mr. Stark? What are you doing up?”
Mr. Stark looked up, smiling. "Big merger stuff happening today, remember?” He brought his mug up to his lips, took a long swig, and set it back down again. “ I'm meeting with Pepper this morning to go over the details, then we’ll come together with the interested company to try and hash things out. We have a lunch planned for schmoozing, and afterward, one last meeting. Hopefully a really long one, where we finally make a deal and sign a bunch of papers."
“Oh.” Peter nodded, while trying to add up how many hours Mr Stark would be spending at the office. Not that it should matter. He would be at school until the afternoon and had the option to patrol if he wanted. Still, the idea that he might be spending the evening alone sat uncomfortably in his chest. He pulled his lip between his teeth and ricked back on his heels. “What– what time do you think you’ll be done?”
Mr. Stark’s expression softened. “If things flop, I’ll be home by four. If not, I could be out as late as seven. Either way, I’ll be here to eat dinner with you.” He stretched an arm over the counter and ruffled Peter’s hair. “Does that sound okay?”
“Yeah.” Peter smiled and nodded his head, but it didn’t combat the lingering feeling of emptiness. “Sounds good.”
They moved into their morning routines without much more conversation. Peter poured himself a bowl of cereal and sat at the table, phone in hand. His thumb swiped absently through social media posts, his gaze distant. When the cereal ran out, he got up for a refill, the clink of the spoon against the bowl breaking the quiet.
Meanwhile, Mr. Stark set his tablet aside and got up to refill his coffee. Once his mug was full to the brim, he crossed the room and sat across from Peter.
“How’s school going?”
Peter glanced up, blinking at the question. His brow furrowed as he searched Mr. Stark’s expression for a reason behind the sudden interest. “Uh… good?” His voice tilted into uncertainty as his mind raced. Had school called about something? He hoped not. He wondered if there was a way to change the ‘parent’ contact number to his own just to prevent Mr. Stark from having to worry about trivial school stuff. “My grades are fine, and I’m only missing two assignments, but I’m working on them. I swear.”
“Good to hear, bud.” Mr. Stark gave a genuine smile, his hand curling around the warmth of his mug. “What about your friend Ned? You two still hanging out?”
“Yeah, of course.” Peter shifted in his seat, his fingers tapping lightly against the table.
Mr. Stark glanced down at his watch, the silver and blue design catching the light. Without a word, he rose from his seat, adjusting the cuffs of his suit jacket. “I need to meet Pepper soon.”
Without thinking, Peter stood too, stepping closer. He hesitated for a second before leaning into a side hug. The need for connection tugged at him unexpectedly. He tried to make it brief, not wanting to wrinkle the suit.
Mr. Stark didn’t let it end there. He wrapped an arm firmly around Peter’s shoulders, pulling him in fully and holding him close. The embrace was warm and grounding, the kind that spoke louder than words.
“I’ll see you tonight, bud,” Mr. Stark murmured, his voice low and reassuring. “Call me if you need anything.”
Peter nodded into his chest, his eyes squeezing shut for a moment before they pulled apart.
The school day had been dragging on, but Peter was too tired to care. He couldn’t pinpoint exactly when it had started, but at some point during first period, a headache had crept up behind his eyes.
At first, he tried to power through. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, trying not to focus on the dull ache pressing against his skull. Then, the chills hit and he began to shiver despite the warmth of the classroom. He chewed at his lip, willing it all to go away, but it only intensified.
Right in the middle of chemistry class, queasiness had taken hold. His stomach lurched uncomfortably and a wave of nausea rose in his throat. He sat hunched at his desk, arms folded tightly over his midsection, trying to focus on the instruction. It was no use. The teacher's words hit his ears but none of them managed to stick. He swallowed hard and ran a hand over his clammy forehead.
Next to him, Ned leaned in, concern etched across his face. “Dude, you look terrible. Are you okay?”
Peter pressed his lips together and shook his head. A stomach virus had been making its way around the school. There was no doubt in his mind that it was his turn. Even so, he remained hunched over his desk, telling himself to hold it together. He just needed to make it through the day.
“You should call Mr. Stark,” Ned suggested, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Tell him you need to go home.”
The thought of going back to the tower was tempting– curling up in bed, away from the noise and the smells of cafeteria wafting down the hall. But he knew it wasn’t an option. “I can’t,” he mumbled, his tone heavy with reluctance. “Mr. Stark’s got a ton of really important meetings today. I don’t want to mess that up or distract him. I can deal with it until ”
Ned didn’t look convinced. "Peter, he’s your guardian. He’d want to know if you’re sick. Just tell him and let him figure it out from there."
"I just—" Peter started, but his words faltered. His stomach ached and his head continued to throb but the mere thought of calling Mr. Stark at work made him feel overwhelmingly guilty. "I really don’t want to interrupt his meetings, Ned."
“I guess– I mean I can’t make you do it.” Ned sighed, tapping his eraser against the top of the desk. “But I still think he’d want to know.”
No longer feeling up for explaining himself, Peter released a slow breath and nodded his head. “Sure, man. I’ll think about it.”
Half an hour later, Peter sat with his forehead pressed against the top of his desk, doing his best to breathe through his increasing discomfort. His body felt heavy and restless all at once. His hair was sweaty, and his stomach twisted as though it were being wrung out.
Suddenly, he couldn’t hold it back anymore.
The nausea hit full-force, and Peter nearly tripped over his chair in his haste to get out of the room. He only made it to the door, his body recoiling as he vomited into the trash can. He couldn’t stop, couldn’t control it– everything around him felt blurry and distant as he continued to heave.
Less than a minute later he was able to stand up straight again. The classroom was silent, and he could feel everyone’s eyes on him. He tried to keep his composure as he glanced around, mortification burning the back of his neck and cheeks.
Mr. Harrington was looking at him from his place in front of white board, mouth pressed into a tight thin line. “Peter, you need to get your things together and go to the nurse’s office. I’ll–” He looked at the trashcan, a hand making its way up to his mouth. “Call the janitor.”
Peter didn’t protest. He simply nodded his head, and slowly gathered his things and exited into the hallway.
By the time he reached the nurse’s office, he felt utterly drained. The nurse immediately handed him an emesis bag and pointed to a chair near the restroom. Peter took a seat, closing his eyes and running hand through his hair. He really didn’t want to bother Mr. Stark. At the same time, he understood he no longer had a say in the matter. The nurse had already pulled up his emergency contact information and was punching numbers into the phone.
The chair was hard against Peter’s back. He shifted, attempting to find a more comfortable position while trying to avoid listening to the quiet conversation taking place across the room. Mr. Stark had definitely answered and the nurse was gently explaining the situation.
He shifted again, looking up when he heard footsteps approaching. The nurse was there, hand outstretched, offering him the phone.
“Here, take it,” she said, “He wants to talk to you.”
Peter’s already swirling stomach developed a knot. Mr. Stark was probably annoyed with him. He accepted the receiver with the intention of immediately telling Mr. Stark he could get back to the tower on his own– all the school required was a quick email and he could check himself out for the day. No more than half a syllable left his mouth before Mr. Stark’s voice came through the line, a little softer than usual.
"Hey buddy. I hear you’re not feeling so good."
Peter’s mouth snapped closed as he processed Mr. Stark’s kind, pacient tone. It made his heart ache, and for a moment, he couldn’t find any words. His throat tightened, and tears he hadn’t realized he was holding back, pooled in his eyes.
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Stark. I didn’t– I didn’t want to interrupt your work or anything but–” He gathered a shaky breath, reaching up to sipe a hand across his eyes. “But I feel so awful and I–”
His voice cracked, and more tears formed in his eyes. Guilt piled onto his misery, weighing him down from the inside out. He didn’t want to come off as needy– another demand added to Mr. Stark’s already full plate. He did want to go home though. He wanted Mr. Stark to reassure him he was okay and that the discomfort would pass. He wanted, well, he wanted his dad– and wasn’t that an odd thought to have? He chalked it up to the fever. Mr. Stark wasn’t his father by any stretch of the imagination. He was his mentor, turned guardian after a worst case scenario became reality. He was his– Mr. Stark.
He tucked the phone between his shoulder and chin, pressing his hands over his face. “I’m sorry.”
“Hey,” Mr. Stark’s voice broke through the static of his thoughts. “It’s okay, kiddo. This isn’t your fault. It’s just one of those things that happens. I’m on my way, alright?”
Peter jolted, his heart skipping a beat. "But the meetings, Mr. Stark!" he protested. "You can’t just drop them to come get me. They’re important.”
There’s a short stretch of silence that feels like a million years to Peter. He licked his lips, fingers gripping the phone tighter as he waited for Mr. Stark to reconsider.
“The meetings are important, yes,” Mr. Stark finally stated, sending Peter’s heart plummeting into his stomach. “But so are you.”
Peter stared at the floor, his brows furrowed together. It wasn't that he held no self-worth. He knew he was a good person, with a good future ahead of himself. But to hear Mr. Stark say he was just as important as a multi-billion dollar business proposal felt– wrong.
“Meetings can be put on hold, buddy. Even if they can't, Pepper can handle things for a while. I’m coming to get you. Just hang tight, okay?”
“Okay,” Peter exhaled, an odd mixture of relief, elation, and– shame “I– guess I’ll see you soon.”
“You bet, Kiddo. Thirty minutes tops.”
The call ended and Peter leaned his aching head against the wall. Mr. Stark was coming to get him. He didn’t have to– probably shouldn’t– but he was. When he wasn’t feeling so gross and exhausted, he’d have to come up with a way to repay the kindness– something a little more than just trying to stay out of the way.
He sighed, his eyes dropping as his head lolled to the side. The chair wasn’t exactly built for sleeping, but his body didn’t seem to care. Within ten minutes all but asleep, his eyes fastened and his mouth slightly agape.
Peter blinked sluggishly, the haze of his feverish exhaustion blurring his vision. He rubbed his eyes and squinted at the figure crouched beside him. "Mr. Stark?”
“The one and only.” Mr. Stark offered a small smile, resting his hand on Peter’s shoulder. “You ready to go?”
Peter nodded and reached for his bag. However, Mr. Stark was faster, snatching it up before he could get a good grip. “I can carry my own bag, Mr. Stark,” he grumbled, wrapping his arms around his shivering body.
“Yep,” Mr. Stark agreed easily, slinging the strap over his shoulder. “But you’re sick and exhausted. Let me take care of it this time.”
Peter hesitated, then nodded, too drained to argue. His joints ached, stiff from sitting in the uncomfortable chair for too long, and the chills had turned into full-body tremors, rattling him to the bone.
Mr. Stark’s hand fell to the space between Peter's shoulder blades, guiding him gently out of the nurse’s office and out to the car. The passenger-side door was pulled open without a word and Peter climbed inside, sinking into the seat with a shaky breath.
Moments later the car hummed to life and they were heading out of the parking lot. At the first stoplight, Peter finally lifted his head and glanced over at Tony, taking him in properly for the first time. He’s still wearing the suit, though he’s ditched the jacket. The tie remained in place, and the vest neatly cinched, but his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. He looks like a literal million bucks– especially with the luxury watch on his wrist, glistening in the sunlight as he gripped the wheel.
Peter bit his lip as renewed guilt threatened to swallow him whole. He’d pulled Mr. Stark away from his work– his responsibilities– all for what? Because he couldn’t tough it out for a few more hours. He shifted uncomfortably, his gaze falling to his lap. “I’m Sorry,” he whispered, barely audible.
Mr. Stark glanced at him, brow furrowing. “For what?”
“I don’t know. Everything.” Peter ran his hands down his face, his fingers digging into his skin. “For being sick. For having to be picked up from school. For making you leave work. You shouldn't have to do those things!”
A quiet sigh left Mr. Stark, and for a moment, the only sound in the car was the steady hum of the engine. “What are you talking about, Pete? What makes you think I shouldn’t have to do those kinds of things?”
Shaking his head, Peter hesitated. “You didn’t sign up for this.”
“Actually, this is exactly what I signed up for.” Mr. Stark’s lips twitched, the way they always did when he was trying not to be exasperated. “Why do you think you’re with me, buddy?”
Before Peter could even attempt to replay, Mr. Stark cut him off. “Never mind, don’t answer that. Let me–” He pinched the bridge of his nose, letting out a deep breath. “Kid, I didn’t just blindly sign a bunch of papers because I could. No, I knew exactly what I was getting into. From the moment you called me from the hospital– from the moment the social worker gave me the green light to bring you home–I knew everything was going to change. My priorities shifted. Everything, and I mean everything , got moved back because I was determined that you would come first.”
Mr. Stark paused, peeking to the side as if to make sure Peter was really listening. “My father… wasn’t very good at prioritizing. There was always something more important than me or my mom. I didn’t even know if he liked me, let alone loved me, until I was well into adulthood.” He swallowed, his voice quieter now. “I wasn’t going to let you feel that same kind of rejection. You come first, Peter. You come before Iron Man, before Stark Industries—before anything. You, Peter Parker, are and always will be my number one priority.”
A lump formed in Peter’s throat, growing so tight that he choked on it, a sob breaking free. “But–”
“But nothing.” Tony’s voice was firm but kind. “You’re my kid, Peter. Even before May…” He trailed off, clearing his throat before continuing.“You were my kid. All those papers did was make it official. You’re my son. Making sure you eat, giving you advice, holding you when you’re sad, taking care of you when you’re sick– that’s the deal. Those are things I want to do, and will always do.”
A warm hand settled on Peter’s shoulder, steady and reassuring, while Mr Stark steered the car with the other. The tower wasn’t far, and within minutes, they were pulling into the underground garage. Mr. Stark got out first. Peter followed, neither of them bothering to retrieve the school bag from the backseat. Instead, Mr. Stark turned to him, and without hesitation, pulled him into a tight hug.
“I know you don’t feel good, buddy. I know you probably just want to go upstairs and crash,” Mr. Stark murmured. He pulled back just enough to hold Peter at arm’s length, studying him with that sharp, assessing gaze. “But I need you to understand how much I want to be here for you.”
Peter’s eyes welled up again, and his breath hitched as he buried his face in Tony’s chest. The expensive fabric beneath his cheek was already damp from tears, but for once, he didn’t care. He wasn’t embarrassed. He wasn’t ashamed.
A soft breath stirred Peter’s hair. “I know I’m not your Uncle Ben, and I’m certainly not your Aunt May,” Mr Stark whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “Even if I lived a hundred lifetimes, I could never be them. But, kid—”
“I love you.” The words slipped out before Peter could second-guess them. He pulled back just enough to meet Mr. Stark’s eyes. “You don’t have to be Uncle Ben or Aunt May. You’re my Mr. Stark and... I love you.” He pressed his ear back against Tony’s chest, holding on tightly.
Mr. Stark let out a long, shaky breath, resting his cheek against Peter’s hair. “I love you too, Pete. So much.”
For a while, they just stood there, wrapped in the quiet comfort of each other’s presence. The weight of the day seemed to lift, if only a little. Eventually, Peter’s exhaustion won out, and he pulled away, the virus combined with the whirlwind of emotions, having completely wiped him out. A shiver wracked his body, prompting him to cross his arms tightly over his chest.
“I really don’t feel good,” he admitted, voice small and tired.
“I know, bud.” Mr. Stark’s hand returned to the back of Peter’s neck, giving a gentle squeeze. “Let’s get you upstairs and comfortable, alright?”
“Yeah.” Peter nodded, his lips tugging into the faintest smile. “Yeah, I wanna go home.”