Archive of Our Own ^beta

Happy took one look at Peter sulking in the rear view mirror and sighed. He muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “teenagers,” or maybe “Tony” under his breath; it was more of a huff or a grumble– too indiscernible even to his super-hearing. Peter fully expected him to roll up the partition to let him stew in silence, but he was surprised when the car took a turn that wasn’t part of their usual route— in the opposite direction they typically went in.

For a brief, wild moment, Peter seriously wondered whether he was about to experience his first kidnapping at the hands of Happy Hogan. Or perhaps it was a clone of the man? (Were it not for the absence of his Spidey-sense, Peter probably would have taken his chances jumping out of the car door.)

Except— he couldn’t, because they were child locked . Which he didn’t even have time to feel properly affronted by (because, seriously?) before the car was slowing down; it would seem that they had already reached Happy-not-Happy’s designated location for kidnapping a superpowered teenager— which was a… McDonald’s?

“What is this?” Peter asked, startled out of his contemplations as he stared up at the curved golden arches, slightly dingy and covered with a layer of NYC grime. 

“What does it look like? Junk food,” Happy replied, ever irritable. “Now get your scrawny ass inside and order before I change my mind.”

Things only got more surprising from there, when Happy ordered their food as “to stay” instead of “to go.” 

When Peter shot him a bemused side eye, the man snapped, “Don’t look at me like that. I don’t want crumbs on my upholstery again.”

Peter didn’t bother to protest or make some snarky comment back, sliding into a booth and propping his head morosely on top of his crossed arms. Without the momentary distraction of his potential kidnapping, his sour mood from less than an hour ago had returned with a vengeance. He forced himself to be polite and mumble a half-hearted ‘thanks’ to Happy when the man returned with their order— because as strange as this was, the bodyguard seemed to be attempting to cheer him up— though even to his own ears, the words sounded rather pathetic.

They barely lasted a few moments in silence— and were it any other situation Peter would have laughed at the irony, because for once, it wasn’t him who broke it.

“So you going to tell me what’s got you so pissy, or am I going to have to play 20 questions?”

Peter gaped at him. He was pretty sure that if you’d asked him a week ago, he’d have sworn that Happy Hogan would sooner gouge out his own eyes than willingly sit down to listen to him talk. Yet, here they were— and the man’s eyes were looking suspiciously intact. Taking him to get food in an attempt to distract him was one thing— already out of character enough— but initiating a conversation about feelings ?

“Is this a Freaky Friday kind of situation?” Peter asked, peering at him suspiciously through his lashes, foul mood momentarily discarded. “Did you secretly get swapped with a therapist or something? Should I be, like, concerned?”

“You and your obscure movie references,” Happy grumbled. “Just shut up and eat your damn burger.”

Peter, satisfied that this was indeed a typical Happy-Hogan-esque response, obliged, and resisted the immediate urge to point out that Freaky Friday was in no way classified as an “obscure movie.” He picked up one of the french fries that had fallen out of its basket and poked it half-heartedly in the ketchup container.

“Why are we here?” Peter asked, after another moment of thick, heavy silence had passed. Luckily, Happy was not the type of man to pretend to be oblivious for fun (unlike certain other people Peter was attempting not to think about), because he didn’t bother asking for clarification.

“Because if something has got you moping like this, I'm sure Tony is fifty times worse, and I do not want to be in any vicinity of that. I’m leaving it to Potts or Rhodes,” Happy responded, ever-blunt. Peter couldn’t help the scowl that crossed his face at the verbal mention of his mentor— there went his plan of trying to pretend the man didn’t exist for even five minutes.

Happy sighed, but it didn’t sound as exasperated as Peter would have thought, given the situation. “What did he do?”

Peter stabbed another fry viciously into his ketchup, watching as it crumpled pathetically with the force. When that provided him no modicum of satisfaction, he picked up his burger and sunk his teeth into it— with an amount of force that he had to admit rather resembled a feral animal trying to bite someone— firmly keeping his eyes averted from the bodyguard across from him. He heard a faint snort.

“Don’t tell me to get a shovel, my back can’t handle that kind of activity anymore.”

Peter glanced up sharply, startled. “Huh?” he asked, the word coming out as more of a garbled half-hum around his mouth of cheeseburger. Happy grimaced in clear disgust at the sight.

“You’ve got the classic ‘I’m-harboring-homicidal-fantasies-about-Tony-Stark’ look.”

“I’m not— I don’t have homicidal fantasies ,” Peter sputtered, a little appalled despite himself. Happy shrugged, apparently unbothered by the distinction.

“Trust me, kid, spend enough time around him and you will. So what’d he do?”

The second round of questioning was apparently enough to break past the initial walls of Peter’s sullen self-defense, because the words started pouring out of him, without his own accord.

“He’s acting like— like— ugh.” Peter dropped the burger back on its wrapper and ran his hands through his hair. “I don’t get him. It’s like he’s overbearing half of the time, and then the other half of the time he doesn’t seem to care.”

The bodyguard grunted slightly, shifting in his seat and letting out what sounded like an exasperated huff of breath. “Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve heard a complaint like that,” he said wryly. “You think he doesn’t? Care?”

“It’s not his place,” Peter blurted out— because that was really the crux of it. “No. Yes. It’s— he— ugh. It’s like it's only his place when it’s convenient for him. He only wants to act like my—” he cut himself off and flushed violently when realized he’d almost said the words aloud. The word. The dad word. He didn’t meet Happy’s eyes, but the implication was clear, and he felt the bodyguard’s gaze resting heavily on him. Peter cleared his throat and continued as if he hadn’t abruptly stopped mid-sentence. “He only wants that responsibility when it comes to ordering me around, or telling me what not to do. Never for anything else.”

When he said it aloud, it came across as a little bit pathetic. It wasn’t as though he wanted his mentor to play catch with him— wasn’t as though he needed that, not really— but it did grate at him, to have the inklings of that kind of relationship dangled within reach. But only ever to bench him, or ground him, or say he wasn’t prepared enough. Like he had all the authority of being Peter’s father, but Peter had none of the claim on him. Nothing to show for it except being treated like a teenager rather than a teammate. 

Maybe if Tony would just choose one or the other, Peter thought, he could live with the distinction. But the way his mentor seemed to vacillate between roles made it impossible to know where he stood. Tony kept Peter at arm’s length— the emotional distance akin to a teammate— yet put the kind of restrictions on him that felt distinctly parental. It was as though he had the worst of both versions, and he couldn’t exactly say that to the man, because none of it had ever been verbalized. It would just be Peter reading too much into it, laying a claim that he didn’t have.

“You’re right. It’s not his place,” Happy said, and the comment startled him so much that Peter looked straight up and into the other man’s eyes. He was grimacing slightly. “But Tony’s never been particularly good with boundaries. He’s used to going after what he wants, and getting it. And this? This… thing, with you two? It is something he wants. He’s just shit at showing it like a normal person.”

Peter opened his mouth, ready to provide some immediate comment on the matter— but found that words refused to form, freezing on the tip of his tongue when he made the mistake of holding Happy’s gaze. Whatever the man saw in Peter’s eyes was enough to have him sighing once more and leaning forward.

“Look, kid.” Happy started, tone a little awkward. “I’ve known Tony for years. I’ve… never been big on best friends, really, but if I had to pick one, well, it’d be him.” His gaze flickered over Peter’s shoulder, then back to his face, and he pursed his lips.

“Tony is many things. Impulsive, stubborn, and reckless to boot. He’ll make you feel like a fool standing next to his genius, and then, without a second thought, pull the kind of high-stakes stunt that would make anyone else think twice. He’s brilliant and shrewd and knows exactly where everyone’s weak points are and how to hit them the hardest, with minimal effort. He’s cocky, arrogant, a pain in the ass, and I would not call him nice by any stretch of the definition. He holds grudges like nobody’s business and has no problem making your life harder if it sends a message— or even just because he feels like it. He’s negligent with his money, his possessions, and especially his own well-being. And, honestly? He can be so annoying that seventy-five percent of the time, you’ll want to hit him with your car.” 

(Peter elected to refrain from mentioning that he didn’t have a car. It didn’t feel like the right time.)

Happy paused to pull in a breath then, and Peter blinked at him.

“Is there… a ‘but’ in there?” he asked, hesitantly. “You’re kind of giving me mixed signals, here.” He didn’t disagree with the statements, not really. His mentor could be all those things— and Happy would certainly know that better than Peter himself would— but there was something about hearing it spoken aloud that made him feel a strange urge to defend him, too.

Happy shot him a mildly annoyed glare. “I was getting there, kid, you’re messing up my delivery. Have some patience,” he grumbled, and Peter raised his hands in submission. The man cleared his throat and continued with another pointed look in his direction.

“ But …” he stressed. “He’s also generous— and loyal and brilliant and stubborn, and the craziest person I’ve ever met. He can be kind and affectionate, but only in the way he knows how: through giving. He won’t say 'I love you,' but he’ll spend hours building you something you never even realized you needed. Maybe it’s something that didn’t even need fixing, but he saw a way to make it better. He’ll forget your birthday, Christmas, if you’re allergic to strawberries— hell, probably even where you go to school. That’s what FRIDAY’s for. What he will not do is send you out there without every ounce of protection he can create. He designs, he fixes, he perfects, and that tech? It’ll never fail you, not when it matters most. Keeping you safe is his way of caring, even if it means pushing himself until he can’t find a single thing left to improve. Which usually lasts about a day, before he comes up with something else.”

“Like… five hundred and seventy two web-shooter combinations?” Peter murmured, feeling something twist in his gut, the anger draining out of him in one fell swoop. Happy nodded, small and short.

“He… doesn’t exactly say what he means, most of the time. He’ll bury his true feelings under a verbal avalanche of meaningless chatter, or behind some kind of pointed attack. He’s really only predictable in his unpredictability.” Happy pressed his lips together in a firm line, gaze sweeping over Peter’s hunched-over form, and he seemed to come to some internal conclusion before continuing. “But here’s the thing, kid. He cares— about you, a lot. Enough that I think it scares him, more than anything else. He’s used to fixing everything himself, and now he’s got this whole other person he wants to keep safe and keep close, but he doesn’t know how. And when you try to bring that up, or make him slow down, he thinks he’s failing you.”

Peter’s hand stilled on his fries, and he looked down, studying the paper wrapper on the dingy plastic tray. It occurred to him, then, just how true Happy’s words rang. He’d been so focused on the harshness of his mentor’s words, and the accompanying sting of them, that he’d brushed over the gentleness that belied the man’s actions. It wasn’t that he didn’t know Tony cared, in his own way. He’d seen the evidence himself countless times— the endless upgrades, the tech, the advice hidden under his biting and snarky comments. It was just… confusing. 

His mentor would show he cared in these grand gestures, in the things he’d build and plan and anticipate, but never in the simple words Peter thought would make it feel real. It was different. Growing up, May and Ben were polar opposites— they didn’t have the money or the materials for the grand gestures, but Peter had never doubted he’d been loved, in the simplest profession of words. Tony was… not like that, not in the slightest. It felt as though Peter were trying to read a different language entirely, attempting to parse the deeper meaning without even having a basic grasp on the vocabulary.

Happy seemed to sense what he was thinking, because he leaned in a little closer, his expression softening. “Look, kid, I know it’s hard to deal with someone who talks one way but acts another. You’re looking for something clear, something to hold onto. But Tony’s not the kind of guy who’s gonna give you a heartfelt speech or tell you everything you want to hear.” He gave Peter a faint smile that looked more like a grimace. “He’d sooner throw you a device that literally defies physics and has some kind of tracking system in it that breaks thirteen international laws rather than even admit that he cares about you.”

Peter snorted, finally allowing himself a reluctant smile. “Yeah, sounds about right.”

Happy took a slow sip of his soda and shrugged. “I’m not saying it’s perfect, or even that it makes sense half the time. But I’ve been around long enough to know that when Tony puts his energy into someone like he has with you? That’s something special. He might not say it, but he’s put his faith in you, in ways he doesn’t— and hasn’t— with anyone else. He sees something in you.”

Peter nodded slowly, throat clogging inexplicably. Perhaps it wasn’t fair to expect things from Tony he wasn’t used to giving, or to expect words when the man was more fluent in actions. (And maybe, in his own way, Tony was trying to offer him something closer than he’d originally realized.)

“So, what do I do?” Peter asked, voice softer now— the harsh edge from before melting into a kind of pliant acceptance.

Happy considered him carefully. “You want my advice? Don’t change the way you do things just to fit into what he thinks is safe. Tony’s gonna have to figure out that you’re not a normal kid, that you can handle yourself— and that doesn’t mean he’s failing. Just keep showing him that, with or without a suit, you’re capable of making your own decisions. He’ll come around. He’s stubborn, not impossible.” He paused. “Most of the time.” Another pause. “Alright, some of the time.”

Peter managed a crooked grin, feeling something warm settle in his chest. “Yeah. Okay. I think I can do that.” He swallowed past the lump in his throat, voice coming out even softer. “Thanks, Happy.”

Happy gave him a fleeting, rare smile, something almost— approving? (Peter still wasn’t quite certain this wasn’t a Freaky Friday situation, to be quite honest.)

“You’re welcome.” He pointed a finger in Peter’s direction. “Don’t make this a habit, though. You teenagers have too many emotions for my taste. Next time you’re on your own.”

Peter’s laugh came easier, bubbling up of its own accord— as familiar and warm as if he were laughing with Ned over a shitty meme or joke. Happy arched an eyebrow but didn’t comment, shaking his head slightly before eating the last few bites of his burger.

The silence was more comfortable, now, and Peter felt the last of his bad mood peeling away— replaced by the familiar urge to comment and quip.

“On an unrelated matter…” he started, noting the way the bodyguard rolled his eyes, as if he’d expected Peter’s usual chatter to restart at any point. He didn’t truly seem too annoyed, though, so he soldiered on. “Should I be concerned about how many times you referenced killing Mr. Stark throughout this conversation?” 

Not that he really thought Happy would cross that line, of course, but given the billionaire’s track record with former-SI-employees-turned-sworn-enemies, it was hardly a stretch.

Happy scoffed, crossing his arms. “Please, kid. If I were ever gonna go full supervillain, it would've been years ago— before I spent half my life dealing with Tony’s publicity stunts and personal death wishes. Would've saved myself from a mountain of headache meds. And I’d miss out on that nice, cushy retirement fund.”

Peter had to admit, it was a rather compelling argument.

“Besides, I have a running tally for how many times Potts has threatened to stab him with her stiletto. She’s well into the dozens by now.”

Peter shuddered at the thought. “Remind me to never get on her bad side?”

Happy snorted. “Oh, trust me, kid— that is one place you never want to be.”

(Peter whole-heartedly believed him.)

—

“I told you to leave it to the professionals, Peter.”

“Since when do you get to decide who’s ‘professional’ enough to help? I’m out there trying to save people just like you!”

“Right, because getting yourself killed is really helpful. I’m not looking to add another name to the list, alright?”

“And neither am I!” Peter shot back instantly. The memories of Ben came, unbidden, just as they always did. 

Tony snorted disdainfully. “You think rushing in there without a plan makes you a hero? Newsflash— it just makes you reckless.”

And, wow— that was rich, coming from him. Peter stared at him incredulously, half-tempted to spit that retort out, but the bigger part of him felt hurt by the accusation.

“So that’s what you think? That I’m just some kid who doesn’t know what he’s doing?”

“If the shoe fits,” Tony replied instantly, barely pausing for breath. His words were so quick, so dismissive, they hit Peter like a slap. It was like Tony had been waiting to say it all along, like he didn’t even have to think twice about it.

Peter’s jaw clenched, a hot flush creeping up his neck. “You don’t get to decide what’s safe for me! I’m not a child who needs babysitting.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Tony shot back, voice hardening. 

“Oh, yeah, because you can’t be fooled, can you?” Peter asked, and his tone held far more bite than he was used to in arguments. His mentor narrowed his eyes in return— taking it as a challenge, not backing down. 

“Watch it, kid, I’ve been doing this nearly longer than you’ve been alive.”

Peter’s frustration boiled over, his voice rising as he gestured sharply. “That’s just it! You think because you’re… you’re Tony Stark, you know what’s best for everyone! Newsflash— you’re not always right.” His voice got quieter without his own accord, anger mingling with disappointment. “I thought you trusted me.”

“So did I.” The words were out of his mentor’s mouth, in the space between them before either of them could even take a breath.

Peter stared at him, hurt and disbelief crashing together in his chest like some sick cocktail. He felt horribly small—- dismissed, like he’d just been put back in his place. And, worse, he thought they’d been over this— the man pushing him away without so much as a second thought. He felt all the more betrayed, like everything he’d proven to himself and to his mentor during Homecoming had all been for naught.

Tony had seemed to trust him, and Peter believed that he had; that he’d proven himself capable. But clearly the man had already made up his mind about him— that he was too young, too reckless, too much of a kid who didn’t know his own limits— and no matter what Peter did, he would never be enough.

“You know what?” Peter said finally, voice flat and tired. “Forget it. I’ll stay out of the way, okay? Wouldn’t want to be a liability .” 

—

Even after his conversation with Happy, it took Peter a whole extra day to muster the courage to face his mentor, and he found himself hesitating outside of the lab door. The sting hadn’t entirely faded, and the idea of facing Tony again still made his stomach twist nervously.

It shouldn’t; it was still Tony, after all, and he was still Peter— but the billionaire was notoriously capable of holding a grudge.

He raised his hand to knock, awkwardly— so used to being automatically let in— only to hear Tony’s voice, muffled but clearly annoyed, on the other side.

"FRIDAY, remind me why I don’t just lock the door to everyone when I’m working? I swear, one more interruption and—"

Peter barely caught the end of that sentence before his hand fell back down at his side. Maybe this was a bad idea. But, just as he turned to go, the door slid open, and he found himself face-to-face with Tony.

"Oh, it’s you." Tony’s brows lifted, though his tone was softer than Peter had anticipated— the remark holding none of the disdain or disgust that it could have. Rather, he seemed completely thrown off-guard for a moment, before he blinked and that same neutral mask was back in place.

"You coming in, kid, or are you waiting for an invitation or something?"

The humor, even in its familiarity, was jarring, given how they’d left off. There was a kind of undeniable tension that couldn’t be eased even in the face of his mentor’s attempt at normalcy; it was clear he had no intentions of bringing up their argument himself. In any other case, Peter may have appreciated the attempt, the ease at which Tony was showing he wasn’t mad any more. Tony had the habit of never apologizing verbally, after all, which often made it easy to characterize him as callous in the face of his mistakes; but after his conversation with Happy, Peter has come to realize that it’s moreso for a lack of words, not for a lack of regret. Regret was one thing that Tony Stark seemed intimately acquainted with.

But this was no minor argument, and the sting of his mentor’s words still hadn’t faded. Peter wasn’t sure they could fade, not until he got some kind of verbal confirmation that they weren’t the truth, outside the heat of the moment. And if Tony wasn’t going to bring it up— and it seemed increasingly likely that that wasn’t the case— then it would just have to be Peter.

“Look, I…” Peter started, feeling his throat close up as he struggled to find the right words. He’d spent so long stewing in his frustration that now, faced with his mentor, he was left feeling more vulnerable than angry.

Tony looked up at him, raising an eyebrow. “Spit it out, kid. This awkward tension is going to give me wrinkles.” It was a piss-poor attempt at levity, and Peter could hear it; the strain in his voice, the catch in his chest. He was certain that if he were to meet Tony’s eyes, he’d be able to see the tightness in the corners, too. But he bit back the instinctive, familiar, safe response ( “You already have wrinkles” ) and forced himself to come up with the words he needed to say.

“I know you think I’m reckless,” he started, gaze firmly affixed to the floor and his shoes. “And maybe sometimes… I am. But I thought we were past you thinking I can’t handle myself.”

Tony was silent. Peter still refused to meet his eyes— knowing that if he saw the truth, there, he wouldn’t be able to finish. So he took a deep, stabilizing breath, and soldiered on.

“When you act like I’m some kid who needs constant looking after, it makes me feel like you don’t actually trust me,” Peter admitted, voice quiet. Happy’s words rang in his head ( “He cares— about you, a lot. Enough that I think it scares him, more than anything else. He’s used to fixing everything himself, and now he’s got this whole other person he wants to keep safe and keep close, but he doesn’t know how. And when you try to bring that up, or make him slow down, he thinks he’s failing you.” ) He desperately hoped that the bodyguard had gotten his analysis of Tony correct, or this was about to be horribly embarrassing.

“I know you’re trying to protect me, but you do it by putting up walls and treating me like I’m not capable.”

Silence.

When Peter dared look up (because he had never truly been good at waiting), Tony was quiet, jaw tight and staring at him pensively. He set down the tool in his hand, letting out a long breath. 

Peter braced himself for the inevitable rejection— the final blow.

“Kid, if there’s one thing I’ve learned the hard way, it’s that I can’t protect everyone,” he said finally, his tone uncharacteristically quiet. “But when it comes to you, it’s… different. I know you’re strong, and you’re smart as hell. And I do trust you. I… shouldn’t have implied otherwise. But I also know what’s out there. I’ve seen what happens when people think they’re invincible.”

Peter looked at him, taking in the weariness etched into his mentor’s expression; a certain vulnerability hardly anyone was privy to.

Tony ran a hand over his face, glancing away— and that moment of vulnerability was gone, washed away as quickly as it came. “I know I’m not… the easiest person to get. And I’m definitely not good at this whole… ‘mentor’ thing.” He took a deep breath, finally looking Peter straight in the eye, face twisted in a grimace like the words were physically painful to get out; dragged out like barbed wire all throughout the length of his trachea. “But you’re not just another kid to me, alright? You’re… more than that.”

Peter felt something warm unfurl in his chest, a reassurance that, for the first time, felt like a shared understanding. He hadn’t realized just how much he needed to hear the words until he had. After all, Tony may operate the best by showing his affection, but Peter had always operated best by speaking it— or, in turn, hearing it.

“I know,” he said simply, allowing a small grin to stretch across his face. “Happy told me.”

Tony stared at him, a little incredulous. “Happy… told you?”

Peter shrugged and glanced away. “I was, ah… not in the best mood. He took me out to eat. We talked.”

There was another long, drawn out beat of silence. Peter found his eyes brought back to his mentor’s— unable to keep his gaze away for long, feeling too much anticipation about what he would say. When their eyes met again, Tony sighed, long and slow.

“I don’t know what he told you, but I wasn’t…” Tony pressed his lips together in a firm line. “I didn’t want you to think I was trying to replace—” He cleared his throat awkwardly, cutting himself off in a way that was so wholly un-Tony-Stark-like that Peter couldn’t help but huff out a small, tired, laugh. Your father. Ben. It was just like when Peter had cut himself off, talking to Happy— unwilling to put the words into the air, even though the meaning was more than blatantly obvious. 

Still, Peter knew that some things did need to be said out loud. And hey, to hell with it, right? Full send. He’d already come this far anyways.

“I know,” he said, instead. “You were trying so hard not to step on my toes about it that you twisted yourself into something you’re not.”

Tony blinked, then furrowed his eyebrows slightly, clearly confused. “I’m… not following, kid.”

Peter pursed his lips and poked half-heartedly at a discarded straw wrapper on a nearby table. “You have a very black-and-white way of thinking about it. You thought that showing you cared would be taken the wrong way. So you pretended like you didn’t, even though you did. I know you did. Do.” He heaved a sigh, then, and scrubbed a hand roughly over his face.

“You’re right, I don’t—” Peter’s face twisted. “I don’t need a new father . But I would rather you step on my toes because you care than pretend like you didn’t. I always… it’s always good to have more people who care. And, I mean— yeah, you— yeah, your concern is fatherly. Paternal. Whatever. That doesn’t mean that you’re my father , but I mean—” Peter waved a hand wildly, and was aware that he was rambling and likely incoherent. “Ben was fatherly, and he wasn’t my dad, but I loved him like one. But he was still my uncle. The same way you’re still Mr. Stark, even if I—” he broke off, running his hands through his hair before resting them across his face, and groaned. It came out as a muffled sound through his palms. “I’m not making sense, am I?”

Tony was quiet for a moment. “No, you are,” he said, and his voice was… uncharacteristically gentle. Peter peeked at him through his fingers. The man had a small smile on his face. “It’s kind of like… JARVIS and FRIDAY,” Tony’s gaze grew distant. “FRIDAY could never replace JARVIS, but… she has the same role he once did.”

“Yeah,” Peter got out, before letting out a breathy chuckle. “Did you just—” he shook his head. “Only you could bring technology into this.”

Tony huffed and rolled his eyes a little, but it came across as fond. Peter’s tongue darted out to wet his lips, and he blurted out his next words before he could talk himself out of it.

“I know you’re not trying to replace Ben. To be honest, you couldn’t, even if you tried. Nobody could.”

“You know, I usually take those kinds of statements as challenges,” Tony commented, before he could think better of it. Peter snorted, a faint sound of amusement.

“I don’t need you to be, anyways,” he said, a little quieter. “You’re doing just fine as you are now.”

Tony’s eyes met Peter’s for a long, silent moment— an unspoken agreement that held an unfathomable warmth, something Peter had never quite been privy to before. It felt like a shift— similar to the one after Homecoming, but somehow closer, more personal. Peter couldn’t quite characterize it, exactly; it didn’t fit neatly into any label, and he wondered if it ever had. It wasn’t mentor and mentee, not anymore. If it had ever truly been that; too far out of the bounds of normalcy to follow any of the usual rules or etiquettes such relationships usually consisted of. 

And yet, it wasn’t, and could never be, a traditional father-son bond either. A relationship like that often grew from the familiarity of shared blood or from years spent learning each other’s routines and rhythms. Peter already had a father, and he wasn’t looking to replace him— just as Tony, he sensed, wasn’t trying to become something Peter had already lost. In a way, their bond was something entirely different, built and chosen rather than familial obligation.

It was as though Tony were stepping into a pair of well-worn shoes, further along the very same path that his father and Uncle Ben had already walked, years prior. Tony didn’t need to go back to the beginning, to try and make up for lost time like a father who’d come into his son’s life late. The Peter of the past had needed something different, and Tony seemed to understand that. Instead, he offered what Peter needed now .

Peter remembered thinking, during the conversation with Happy, that Tony seemed to vacillate between mentor and paternal figure, and somehow Peter had ended up with the worst of both traits. It seemed that was resolved, now— the same dichotomy was true, but now Peter had acquired an amalgamation of all the best traits of both. No longer ‘mentor’ and ‘mentee,’ but they were Tony and Peter, Mr. Stark and kid, Iron Man and Underoos. And it was… nice.

Then Tony got up and clapped his hands together, and the moment was broken. “Christ, kid, you’ll give me acid reflux. I have a heart condition, y’know.”

“I hear stress is bad for that,” Peter said, mock-seriously— more than happy to push the emotionally charged conversation on the back burner for now. Tony shot him a look.

“Says the one who’s trying to make me go gray before my time,” he grumbled.

Peter immediately opened his mouth to respond— because come on , he’d left himself wide open with that one— when FRIDAY spoke up.

“Apologies for the interruption, Boss, but Mr. Hogan is here to drive Peter home.” Oh, right ; he forgot he’d asked Happy to drive him back, in case this discussion went horribly awry. He’d neglected to tell the man that things were going fine, but it felt rude to send him back or keep him waiting now that he was already here.

Peter hesitated before turning on his heel to head towards the doorway of the lab. It felt kind of wrong to just… leave so abruptly, especially after such a vulnerable conversation (well, for their terms, at least). If it were May, he would simply hug her goodbye, and that would alleviate the residual emotional effect. And this type of scenario was why he and Ned had come up with their handshake originally— a way to finalize their goodbyes to each other so they weren’t standing around awkwardly, unsure of who should leave first. A way to break the tension. But neither of those options really worked for Tony, so he supposed just… leaving was his only option. 

“Bye, Mr. Stark,” he settled on, succeeding in sounding only the slightest bit awkward to his own ears. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Hey, kid,” Tony called after him, before he’d even made it two steps in the opposite direction. Peter pivoted on his heel, letting out a sound of confused acknowledgement, and felt—

Arms? Arms. Tony’s arms. Around him. Not just a side hug— which Peter had been the frequent recipient of in the recent months— but a full-on, frontal, undeniable hug.

“Oh,” Peter said— somehow still surprised, even after this entire conversation. All it had taken was a hug to render him speechless, apparently. “We’re there, then?”

“Yeah, kid,” Tony responded— and the amused rumbling of his chest was loud and undeniably comforting underneath Peter’s ear. “We’re there now.”