This B.S. Better Be Worth It

by losingmymindtonight

Summary:

Originally, Tony's plan had been to just surprise Peter with the fact that he would be on campus for a semester.
He’d never actually expected Peter to sign up for his class.

Notes:

I have so many WIPs and I blame all of you from Tumblr for this entirely.
This entire series is inspired directly from this Tumblr post:
https://welove1stickyboi.tumblr.com/post/180804093572/peter-mentions-hes-missing-home-once-after
The credit for the idea 100% goes to them! I just stole it and ran.

Chapter 1: A Crash Course In How To Hate Your Mentor

The kid said that he was lonely, so Tony did the only thing Tony could think to do in a situation like that: overreact.

He called MIT and, within 24 hours, had set himself up with a visiting professor position.

The administration wanted to keep the whole thing as hush hush as possible (and so did Tony, if he was being honest) so they listed the class without an instructor. Electrical Engineering and Robotics in the Modern World, Tuesday and Thursday 3:00-4:30, optional recitation on Fridays 3:00-4:30, restricted access to 3.7 and higher GPA.

Originally, Tony's plan had been to just surprise Peter with the fact that he would be on campus for a semester.

He’d never actually expected Peter to sign up for his class.

He’d been scrolling through the profiles of the students who’d applied for the lecture when he’d seen the name.

Peter Parker. Sophomore. 4.0 GPA. Chemical Engineering.

He shouldn’t have done it. He knew he shouldn’t have. It was a conflict of interest. He was 99% sure it was against MIT’s policy. It was just an all around terrible idea.

He clicked Accept anyway.

Needless to say, the first day of class was something Tony would never forget.

He watched the students file into the classroom through the security camera. Even though the feed’s quality left a lot to be desired (he made a mental note to donate for better security systems), he spotted Peter’s curls immediately.

The class was relatively small: about 15 kids. Despite the size, Peter blended in perfectly. Tony had to smother a grin as he watched him babble animatedly to the kid sitting next to him. They’d walked in together, so Tony assumed they were friends.

When he walked into the classroom, he did it with every ounce of pizzazz you’d expect from Tony goddamn Stark.

“Yes,” he greeted, reveling in the way a shocked silence washed over the room, “I’m exactly who you think I am.”

Everyone stared. Peter looked horrified.

“Alright!” He clapped his hands, rubbed them together. “Introductions.” He pointed at a blonde girl sitting at one end of the large conference table. “You. Go. Name, major, and rate your intelligence on a scale of the 1-10. 10 is me, of course.”

He could practically taste Peter’s glare.

“I-uh-I’m Kelsie.” She looked terrified. “I’m an Electical Engineering major. Uh, 6?”

“Your number is way too low.” He smiled at her. “Your GPA’s a 3.9, right? Internship in a robotics lab and significant contributions in community service. That’s impressive.”

Kelsie blushed. He moved on to the kid sitting next to Peter, the one he’d been talking to earlier.

“You. Go.”

“I’m Jackson. I’m a mechanical engineer. I guess I’m about a 7.”

“Still too low. Aim higher, guys.” He turned to Peter with what he knew was a shit-eating grin on his face. “You’re next. Chop chop.”

Peter met his gaze head on. His voice was a deadpan. “Peter Parker. Chemical Engineering. 11. You’re the worst person I’ve ever met.”

God, he loved his kid.

“You treat all your teachers with this level of disrespect, Mister Parker?”

“Only the annoying ones.”

He pointed at Peter severely, shoving down the urge to ruffle his hair. “I’m making a note that you’re a troublemaker.”

“Good idea.”

He forced himself to the next kid in line. “Alright. Go.”

“Uh, I’m Gwen…”

The rest of the class was a little uneventful for his tastes. Peter just brewed as they went through the syllabus. Tony held back from quipping at him, mostly for the sake of seeming at least a little professional.

He glanced at the clock. 4:29.

“Alright, class. This time again on Thursday. Same place, same me. Bring your brilliance and maybe a pencil. We’re gonna change the world.”

The clock turned to 4:30, and everyone packed up and rushed to shake his hand and express their shock and admiration. Peter, on the other hand, sat exactly where he’d been the whole time, arms crossed tight over his chest.

The last students filed out and he finally, finally got to meet the kid’s eyes with every ounce of his fondness shining through.

“Don’t you have a place to be, Parker?”

“Last class of the day. Although I’m sure you already knew that.”

He ignored the jab and held out his arms. “Well in that case, you have time to get over here and give your old man a hug.”

Peters eyebrow quirked up. He stayed exactly where he was. “I can’t believe you.”

“See, I’ve been informed that I have a lot of personality traits that are unbelievable. To which are you specifically referring?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I should’ve been more obvious. I’m referring to the fact that you moved states just to teach a class at MIT that I’m taking, Mister Stark!”

“To be fair, I didn’t expect you to sign up.”

“That-that’s not an excuse!”

“You said you were lonely!”

“Yeah! But I didn’t think you’d uproot your entire life just to come keep me company!”

“It’s just for a semester. I’ve taken longer business trips.”

“Yeah? And what does Pepper think of all this?”

“Well, if you must know, she told me I was an idiot.”

“She’s right.”

“Jesus. This is the last time I do anything nice for you.” He held out his arms again. “Seriously, Pete. C’mere. Do I have to beg?”

“Yes.”

“That’s cold.”

“So is crashing my class.”

“It’s not crashing if I’m the one teaching it.”

“Tony.”

“Peter.”

The stared at each other for a minute. Then, the tension released from Peter’s shoulders and he pushed his chair back with a sigh. “Fine. You can have a hug.”

“Fantastic. Came all this way just for that.”

Peter still fit right into his arms. He brought a free hand up to his hair, grinning when the kid sighed at the touch.

“I did miss you, by the way.”

Tony gave him a squeeze. “Oh, I know. I missed you too, snark and all.”

Peter’s chin was heavy on his shoulder. “Does this mean I don’t even have to try and you’ll give me an A?”

He laughed. “Nice try, Parker. I’m gonna be even harder on you than everyone else. I know what you’re capable of.”

“Goddamn it.”

Chapter 2: In Which Tony Revisits The Foolhardiness Of Youth

Notes:

Just so y'all know, this whole story is essentially me thinking of funny things that could happen and trying to write them out in the least stressful way as possible. So, all of these chapters will probably be short and sweet.
If you have any ideas about what you'd like to see these two idiots get up to, feel free to let me know!

“So, I’ve been told that a responsible professor gives his students assignments.”

Tony reveled in the way the small class chuckled nervously. He reveled even more in the way Peter rolled his eyes to the back of his head.

“You’ll be building your own robots throughout the semester. Presenting those to the class will be your final project. I’ll grade you on whether or not I’d want to market it with SI.” And, wow, now they looked scared. That wasn’t particularly the plan. “Hey, don’t look terrified. If you do well, you have a chance to patent and sell your invention as an undergrad. That shit looks fantastic on resumes and grad school applications.”

“Wait,” one of the three girls in the class (Katie? Karla? Kathie?) stared at him in shock, “you’ll actually buy our robots?”

“Yeah. That’s what I just said.” He ignored the immediate rush of whispering. “But we have a long way to go before then. First step is figuring out what you’re actually gonna create. And here’s the great thing about being in a class with me: sky’s your limit. Aim high. Don’t worry about the material costs, I’ll get you whatever you need.”

The class stared up at him, starry-eyed. He even caught a spark of excitement in Peter’s eyes. He could see the kid’s brain racing through ideas.

Peter’s friend, Jackson, raised his hand slowly. “Anything we want?”

“Well, alright, there are limits. No weapons. Nothing the government would arrest us for making.” That elicited a tentative wave of laughter. “But when it comes to cost, I’ll cover it. My advice is to think about what the world needs. What kind of problems could you solve? If you don’t have any immediate ideas, I’d suggest thinking about the medical field. There’s a lot of interest in using robots for surgery or rehab right now. Think of other ways we could apply technology to make hospital care better.”

The room was filled with vigorous nods. Hey, maybe he wasn’t so bad at this professor thing after all.

“Alright.” He rubbed his hands together with a grin. “I want your preliminary proposals in by 11:59 on Sunday night, so I can have them looked over for class on Tuesday. I don’t care how long they are, just get your point across. It can be a blueprint, an abstract, a PowerPoint, whatever. We good?”

A wave of nods.

“Perfect.” He glanced up at the clock. Eh, what was the harm in letting them go ten minutes early? “Well, skedaddle. Have a good weekend. Don’t get too shitfaced.”

--

When he started sifting through the proposal submissions on Monday morning, he didn’t have Peter’s.

It pinged into his inbox at 2:34 am on Tuesday morning as an attachment to an email with no subject.

He was already considering killing the kid before he actually read the damn essay. By the time he was done, however, he was planning on it.

Goddamn it, Parker. What was the last thing I said to you in class?

--

He gave a bullshit lecture on the Iron Man suit for Tuesdays class. He’d originally planned on making everyone start on their projects, but almost everyone had some serious rethinking to do before they could start getting hands-on. So, lecture.

At the end of class, he handed out 14 of the 15 papers with a reminder of his office hours (yeah, he had a real office and kept real office hours like a real adult) and a quick pep talk about how important revision is in the creative process.

“Alright. Good work. Now go on. I’ll see you Thursday.” He points at Peter. “Not you, Parker. I want to talk to you.”

Every filed out. Peter watched him passively until the room was empty.

“Yes?”

He tossed Peter’s assignment onto the desk in front of him. “What the hell was that?”

“My paper.”

“Do you usually write assignments while you’re drunk?”

The passive expression on the kid’s face was infuriating. “I wasn’t drunk.”

“Bullshit, Parker. I’ve proofread your papers for years. You were either drunk, high, or having a stroke. Which was it?”

“None of the above.”

“Are we really gonna do this? Because there isn’t a class in here for the rest of the day, and I’ve got nowhere to be. I’ll play this game all day long.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “Yes, I was drunk. Okay? Are you happy now?”

“Jesus, Peter, it’s Tuesday. Why the fuck were you wasted on a Monday night?”

“Reasons.”

“You better make those reasons clearer to me in the next 60 seconds.”

“Or what?”

“Or I’ll call May.”

Peter groaned. “I’m an engineering major.”

“Oh, and that explains it, does it?”

“It kinda does.” Peter popped his feet up onto the conference table. “We have some of the highest rates of substance abuse of any majors.”

“You know this, and you still do it?”

“Uh, excuse you. Who said I abused alcohol?”

“Me. Right now.”

“Well, you’re wildly misinformed.”

“I’m wildly misinformed? Parker, I’m gonna kick your ass.”

“I’m 18, so I don’t think that’s technically even legal.”

He narrowed his eyes at the kid. “Peter.”

“Tony.”

He paused, reevaluated his approach. “Seriously, buddy, talk to me. You’re okay, right? Just being young and dumb and all that jazz?”

Peter’s face softened at the change in his mentor’s tone. Score one for Tony. “I’m fine, Mister Stark. I’m, uh, I’m sorry about the assignment. Really. I’ll redo it.”

“It’s fine. It’s a good idea, anyway.” He walked around the table and plopped down in the chair beside Peter. “We aren’t doing hard drugs, right?”

The horror on Peter’s face was all the confirmation he needed. “What? No!”

“Not smoking anything on the regular?”

Peter glanced down shyly. “Not on the regular.”

“Where’d my sweet, innocent kid go, huh?”

“‘M right here.”

“Yeah, I know.” Tony popped his chair back a bit. “You’ve been doing great, kiddo. I’m proud of you.”

Peter’s face lit up. “Thanks.”

“But if you do another one of my assignment drunk, I’ll personally come and make you redo it, hangover and all. We understood?”

Peter laughed. “Yeah, yeah. I get it. I get it.”

Chapter 3: I'd Let You Die, But It'd Be A Waste Of Tuition

Notes:

I have the flu. Can you tell?

Peter didn’t show up to class.

Tony was sure that his lecture was awful, because he kept having to haul his gaze away from the empty seat where the kid usually sat.

It was just… Peter didn’t skip class. Especially not Tony’s class.

Never Tony’s class.

He glanced between the clock and the door and sighed. Class was over, and there was still no sign of Peter. Not great.

“Alright, everyone. Make sure to have your revised proposals in by 11:59 on Sunday, same as last time. If everything goes well, we should be able to start getting hands on by Monday. And remember: I’ve got late office hours from 5:00 to 7:00 tonight if anybody wants some one-on-one help. We clear?”

A rush of nods.

“Perfect. Then you’re free. Uh, hey, Jackson?” He singled out the kid Peter always seemed to talk to as everyone started packing their bags. “Can you hang back for a sec? I just had a quick question.”

“Uh, yeah. Of course, sir.” The kid scurried up to him, backpack slung carelessly over one shoulder. “Is everything alright?”

“Oh, yeah, yeah. Everything’s fine. I’ve just noticed that you and Mister Parker are buddies. Any idea why he didn’t show up for class today?”

Jackson shrugged. “I dunno. I saw him at the dining hall with a couple of guys from the robotics club on Tuesday night, but I haven’t really talked to him since. We’ve got Aerospace and Design together on Thursday mornings but my girlfriend’s in that too, so I usually sit with her.”

“And you didn’t see him when you came in?”

“It’s a big lecture class, Professor, and I wasn’t looking. I’m sorry.” The kid glanced around nervously. “Is Peter in trouble?”

“No, no. Not at all. It’s just not like him to skip class. Thought I’d check in.”

“Oh, good. Well, I mean, you could send him an email, right? If you’re worried.”

Or I could call him. Or text him. Or show up at his dorm and hack the locking system to get in.

“I’ll do that. Thanks, Jackson. Sorry to hold you up.”

“Oh, no, it’s totally fine.” The kid backed up and grinned. It reminded Tony of Peter, and his stomach clenched with worry. “Bye, Professor Stark!”

“See you on Tuesday.”

Now what the hell is my kid up to?

--

He went back to his office and checked his email.

A message from the Dean. A bunch of SI bullshit. Two students asking to schedule meetings on Friday.

Nothing from Peter Parker.

He grabbed his phone, sent a quick text.

TS: Any reason why you didn’t show up to class today?

He waited three minutes, then sent another.

TS: I’m not mad, just worried.

TS: Come on, kid. Don’t leave me hanging.

TS: It’s okay if you cut. I used to do it too.

He spent the next five minutes skimming through a contract for SI, eyes anxiously jumping back and forth between the light of the computer screen and the darkness of his phone.

TS: You better not have died from alcohol poisoning.

TS: Answer me, Parker.

TS: Now.

TS: I’m not kidding.

Five more minutes. His phone buzzed once, making his heart jump, but it was just a Hay Day notification, (he’d downloaded the game at Peter’s urging), and not his elusive spider-kid.

Finally, his patience broke. He snatched up the phone and hit the Call icon by Peter’s name.

It rang.

And rang.

And rang.

And rang.

And-

“Hey, it’s Peter. Uh, I guess I must not have my phone on me. Or I broke it. Or I watched it ring because I don’t feel like partaking in human interaction today. Leave me a message or just send me a text, I’ll probably respond faster to that anyway.”

Beep.

“Damn it, Parker. You better not have watched that phone ring. You didn’t come to class, you’re not answering your texts. Something’s up. I’m trying not to go all helicopter mentor on you, but you’re making this really difficult, alright? Just call me back so I know you haven’t choked to death on your own vomit.”

He hung up and resisted to urge to chuck the phone into a nearby wall.

He was overreacting. He must be. Peter was a college kid, and sometimes college kids skipped class and didn’t answer their mentor’s calls.

The kid was fine.

Tony hacked into the school’s lock security system anyway.

--

It had been concerningly easy to program his ID card to open both Peter’s building and his room. Maybe he’d bring up that security issue later, but for now he was grateful for it.

He swiped his card just outside of the kid’s building. The light on the reader flipped from red to green, and he heard the satisfying click of the door unlocking.

Yep. Still got it.

He remembered his way to Peter’s room from when he’d helped him move in. He was on the fourth floor, a few rooms down to the left. 416.

(“I wish it was 420.”

“Don’t be immature, Pete.”

“Admit it, you’d want to live in dorm 420 too.”

“No, I wouldn’t, because I’m a mature adult.”

“Sure.”)

He tried not to glance around nervously as he made his way through the badly lit corridor. After all, a 50-something year old man alone in a college dorm was suspicious enough. He didn’t need to add to it by looking like he was up to no good.

He didn’t even bother knocking on Peter’s door. Instead, he just swiped the card and pushed right in.

Sorry, buddy, but this is what you get when you don’t answer my calls.

You better not be having sex.

Please don’t be having sex.

Thankfully, Peter was not having sex.

In fact, at first glance he thought the room was empty.

Peter’s chair was pushed into his desk. The lights were off, blinds closed. The only sign of human habitation were the tissues scattered all over the floor.

Then the mound of blankets on the top of Peter’s lofted bed moved and a raspy, congested voice sounded from above him.

“If you’re here to kill me, just do it.”

Tony laughed. “Oh, kid.”

A head of matted curls popped up. He could just make out a pale face through the darkness. “Mister Stark?”

He started picking his way through the snotty tissue minefield that was Peter’s floor. “In the flesh.”

“What’re you doin’ here?”

“Checking on you. You didn’t show up for class today.”

“Oh. Whoops.”

“Yeah, whoops.” He reached the ladder for Peter’s bed and gave it a quick shake. Seemed sturdy enough. “Why didn’t you answer your phone?”

“Desk.”

Tony glanced over and sighed. Sure enough, the sleek, black StarkPhone was plugged into the charger by the kid’s lamp.

“Would it have killed you to climb down and grab it?”

“Maybe.”

He kicked off his shoes and started up the ladder. When he reached the top, he sighed.

Peter was tucked underneath a mound of at least four blankets. There were cough drop wrappers and tissues scattered everywhere. An old Gatorade (mostly full) was precariously balanced where the side of the standard-issue mattress met the wall.

He didn’t even have the heart to laugh.

“Hey, buddy.” He kept his voice soft. “You think this bed’ll hold both of us?”

He got a shrug in response and took it as a yes. He pushed the trash off the side of the bed as he crawled towards Peter. He’d clear it all up later.

He was careful not to accidentally jostle the kid as he settled down beside him. After all, despite what their name might suggest, twin dorm beds weren’t exactly made for two people. Once he was sitting awkwardly, one shoulder pressed against the hard wall and the other hovering above Peter’s head, he drew back the blankets smothering the kid and sighed.

“You look awful.”

“Do I look like I’m about to die?”

“No, you look like you’re already there.”

He did, too. The kid was pale, a thin layer of sweat clinging to his face. His eyes were glassy, lips chapped. There were heavy circles underneath his eyes. He looked like he’d been hit by a truck.

Peter swallowed roughly as Tony completed his visual inspection. Yeah, he could practically see the sore throat. Poor kid.

“When was the last time you left your room?”

“Uh, what day is it?”

“Thursday.”

“Tuesday? I think.”

“Jesus, Pete. Have you even eaten?”

“Mm. Cheerios.”

“Is that where these crumbs came from?”

“Mhm.”

“Jesus. Why didn’t you call me?” He pressed the back of his hand against Peter’s forehead and winced. “Oh, Pete. That’s one hell of a fever. Now wonder you look like the walking dead, any higher and you’ll fry your own brain.”

“Could’ve told you that.”

“Have you taken anything?”

“No.”

“Stubborn dumbass.” He pulled a face as he raked his eyes back over the state of the kid, the mattress, and the dorm room in general. “Alright. Step one: let’s get you out of this bed.”

Peter’s nose scrunched up as he whined. “Noooo.”

“Yes. I’m going to grab your super-kid NyQuil, get you drugged up, and then change your sheets. Is your spare set washed?”

“Don’t need new sheets.”

“Yes, you do. Have you seen your bed, Parker?”

“Uh, not really.”

“Wow, you’re really reassuring me, kid. Now come on, get up. This isn’t up for negotiation.”

Peter groaned. “Can’t you just leave me to die?”

“No, thanks. That would be a waste of tuition money. I’ve already paid for this semester.” He tugged the kid upright. “C’mon. I’ll help you climb down. You’ll feel a lot better once we’ve gotten some cold medicine into you and then you can get some sleep on some nice, clean sheets.”

He had to support almost all of Peter’s weight as he clumsily clambered down the ladder. As soon as their feet touched the ground, the kid dropped his forehead onto his shoulder and groaned.

“Feel sick.”

The adjusted his stance to account for the kid’s extra weight and rubbed a comforting hand up and down his back. “Like you’re gonna puke?”

“Little.”

“Do we need to go to the sink?”

“No. Jus’… need to be still for a second.”

“Alright. We can do that.” The heat radiating from Peter was making him sweat in the impromptu embrace, but he ignored it. “Oh, kiddo. I wish you’d called me.”

“‘M fine.”

“You and I appear to have very different definitions of fine.”

The kid let out a little whine in response, and all of his exasperation evaporated.

“Hey, you’re alright. You wanna sit?”

“Mm.”

“Chair or floor?”

“Floor.”

“Okay.” He bent his knees, ignoring the yelp of pain that his back let out at the movement, and carefully lowered Peter down until he was propped against the wall. “You need to eat something before I can give you your meds. Do you know what you have?”

“Pizza rolls?”

“That’s… not a good option. Jesus. Is that what you live off of?”

“No.” The kid opened his eyes just long enough to glare at him, incredulous. “Eat at dining halls.”

“Gross.”

“Hm.”

“Stay still, I’m gonna raid your food stash, okay?”

“Mm.”

“If you feel like you’re gonna puke, shout.”

“Mm.”

“Don’t fall asleep yet.”

“Mm.”

“You better be listening to me.”

“Mm.”

“Peter.”

A lethargic smile curved across the kid’s face. “I am.”

He hovered his hands over Peter’s shoulders for an extra minute, just to make sure he wasn’t going to topple over, before standing and wandering over to the shelf where Peter kept his food. There wasn’t much there, frankly. A half-eaten bag of chips, a box of Cosmic Brownies, and a few dusty oatmeal packets that he distinctly remembered May buying during move-in.

Perfect.

He had to wash a bowl and a spoon from the stack cluttered beside the sink, but at least the microwave was clean. He checked the packet’s instructions once before pouring in the oatmeal, water, and then setting the microwave’s timer for 2 minutes.

Considering the fact that the last time he did anything substantial in the kitchen was nearly three years ago, he thought he was doing a pretty good job.

While the oatmeal cooked, he started stripping the sheets off the bed. The hamper was already full, so he just chucked them into an empty corner.

The microwave beeped. He grabbed the spoon and carried the steaming bowl back over to Peter, setting it gently in his lap.

“Just try to get a little bit of that down for me, okay? Go slow, there’s no race.”

Peter took the proffered spoon in a loose grip, staring down at the soupy oatmeal like taking a bite was the most daunting task in the world. “M’kay.”

“Good boy. I’m gonna make your bed, alright? Do you still keep your sheets in the top drawer?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.”

It took him a shameful amount of time to get the sheets onto the lofted bed. God, he was getting too old for this.

Peter’s comforter was long due for a wash, so he just grabbed one of the kid’s over-sized throws and laid it over the top sheet. He was running a high enough fever that Tony didn’t want him getting too much warmer anyway.

He spent the rest of the time Peter was picking at his food cleaning up the tissues and other trash scattered across the floor. He found a can of Lysol spray underneath the sink and doused everything he could think of in it. Finally, he cracked a window open to let the space air.

Yeah, he was a cleaning master.

By the time he was done, Peter had set the bowl to the side and dropped his head back against the wall, eyes shut. He really looked pathetic, pale and red-nosed. It made Tony’s stomach ache in sympathy.

He could see that the kid had managed to eat about half of what he’d been given and decided that it was probably enough to cushion the meds. It didn’t look like he was going to be eating anything else in the near future anyway. He pulled the first aid kit down from the top shelf and rifled through until he found the bottle full of what was essentially super-strength NyQuil.

“Alright, squirt.” He knelt in front of the kid and cupped the side of his face to get his attention. “Your room has been disinfected and your bed is no longer covered with crumbs and snot. You’re welcome.”

Peter leaned into his hand with a contented sigh. “Thank you.”

He swiped the pad of his thumb across his cheek once in response. “I’ve got drugs. You want water or Gatorade to wash them down with?”

“Water.”

“Coming right up.” He washed out a dusty glass and brought it back quietly. He set the water in one of Peter’s hands and two pills in the other. “Here you go. Sooner you get these down, the sooner you can go back in your bed and sleep.”

“I feel really gross.”

“I can tell. I think you’ve probably got the flu, I got an email from the department warning me that it’s going around. We’ll email your professors tomorrow and see if we can get your absences excused.”

“‘M sorry.”

“None of that. The only thing you should be sorry for is not calling me sooner. What’s the point of me being here if I can’t help you out, huh? Now take your pills.”

Peter did. For a second after he downed them, they looked perilously close to coming right back up. The kid soldiered through, though, and then gave Tony a shaky nod after a minute or so passed.

“Okay. ‘M okay now.”

“Not gonna puke?”

“No. Don’ think so.”

“Good. C’mon, then. Back to bed.”

Something childish and desperate sparked in Peter’s eyes as Tony helped him to his feet. “C’n you stay? Please?”

“Of course.” He soothed, coaxing Peter’s shaky body up the bed’s definitely-not-sick-kid-friendly ladder. “Where else would I go?”

He was glad that no one else could see how ridiculous he had looked, gracelessly climbing onto the bed and crawling all the way up the mattress until he reached Peter’s pillow. He was pretty sure that there wasn’t a single person on Earth who could make that maneuver look cool.

Now that he thought about it, maybe the lofted beds in and of themselves were a pretty effective form of collegiate birth control.

The space was cramped, and Tony wanted to give Peter as much room as possible, so he shoved his back against the head of the bed and tried to scoot as far to the side as possible. Peter, on the other hand, just curled up under his thin blanket and immediately dropped his head down on Tony’s lap.

Right. For just a second, he’d actually forgotten about the fact that Peter Parker had zero concept of personal space. How could he have been so stupid?

He rolled his eyes even as he brought up a hand to brush through the kid’s hair. “You have a pillow, Peter.”

 “‘M sick. Leave me alone.”

“Alright, alright. You look too pathetic to argue with, anyway. Now get some sleep. The meds should kick in soon.”

He waited until he was pretty sure the kid was at least dozing, if not out, before silently sliding his phone clear of his pocket and tapping on his email app.

Peter’s eyes blinked open sluggishly as the dull light from the screen lit up the room. “What’re you doin’?”

He kept his voice quiet, wary of disturbing any of the kid’s sorely-needed rest. “Shh. You’re alright. I’m just cancelling my office hours.”

Over-heated fingers curled around the hem of his shirt. “What’re you tellin’ them?”

“Family emergency. A sick kid counts as that, right?”

Peter’s eyes fell shut again. Despite his obvious exhaustion, his voice managed to come out cheeky. “‘M I your sick kid?”

“Who else?” He ran his free hand back through the teenager’s sweaty hair. “Now go to sleep. With any luck, you’ll be back to writing lab reports and eating shitty dining hall food in no time.”

“C’n’t wait.”

“Me neither, kiddo. Especially because you’ve got that revised proposal due Sunday night.”

Peter smiled, all laziness and contentment. “C’n I have ‘n extension?”

Even though the kid couldn’t see it with his eyes closed, he smiled back. “I’ll think about it.”

Chapter 4: PSA: Go To Your Professor's Office Hours, They're Bored

Notes:

This was written in an afternoon, so if there are any error, I apologize.
Shout out to hopeless_hope (the-great-escapism) for talking about this story and spurring me to throw this chapter together today. I'm glad I get to bother you with my shenanigans, and I hope this makes you smile.

Tony’s office hours were, possibly, the most boring few hours of his week.

Once the initial excitement of oh my god, Tony Stark is my professor wore off, the kids just started… not coming. He’d been reliably informed by nearly every fellow faculty member he met that this phenomenon was, actually, pretty normal, but that knowledge didn’t change the fact that is made his life dull as hell.

He’d mentioned it to Peter in passing, one day, while they were sipping coffee and eating donuts in the corner of the student center, and then the kid had just started… showing up.

It was a thing, now. Every Monday, from 2:30 to 4:00 ,and Thursdays from 5:00 to 7:00, Peter waltzed into his office, flung his backpack against one of his metal filing cabinets (they’d come with the office, and Tony wasn’t entirely sure why he needed them, considering the fact that they weren’t living in the 1970s anymore and digital archives were a thing), and curled up on his couch with whatever assignments he had.

It replaced the gaping hole that the lack of lab sessions had left in both of their routines. They’d grown used to a silent companionship, both engrossed in their own thoughts but resting comfortably in the feeling of togetherness. In all honesty, these were some of Tony’s favorite moments with the kid. Quiet, light. Between his own work, he liked to peer over the top of his laptop and watch Peter think, eyebrows knitted together and gaze somehow zeroed in and distant all at once.

Now, though, it looked like Peter was doing anything but the assignment that he’d just told Tony was due by midnight. He glared at him, despite knowing that the kid was too focused on whatever social media app he was currently scrolling through to take heed of it.

“I thought you had an assignment to finish,” he chided.

“I do,” the kid muttered, eyes still trained on his phone. His textbook was lying across his lap, open but discarded.

“And why aren’t you doing it?”

“Study break.”

“Study break my ass. You’ve been here for five minutes.”

The corner of Peter’s mouth quirked up. “Half an hour, actually.”

“Yeah, most of which was spent poking your nose over my shoulder while I was trying to work.”

Peter glanced up, openly pouting. “I wanted to help.”

“And you’re welcome to. But first,” he pointed at the kid’s textbook, raising a meaningful eyebrow, “homework. What class is that even for, anyway?”

“How to Stage a Revolution.”

He snorted. “God, that course. Literally can’t believe you’re taking that. Can’t believe they teach that.”

“It fulfills part of my HASS requirement. Plus,” Peter set his phone aside and shot Tony a lopsided grin, “it’s training me in how to overthrow the establishment. Might be useful one day.”

“As someone you would be overthrowing, I’m concerned.”

“You should be concerned.” The kid yawned, stretching out lazily, still not reaching for his textbook. “The elite exist to be displaced, eventually.”

“Not giving me warm fuzzy feelings over here, buddy.” Despite the hypocrisy of it, he pushed his own work aside in favor of giving Peter his full attention. “And I wouldn’t get too high and mighty over there, Mister Defender of the Downtrodden. You’re the one who’s inheriting SI.”

“Maybe I’ll liquidate it. Donate all the money to, I dunno, the Red Cross or something.”

“How about you use the revenue to fund your revolution?” He offered, fondness, warm and gentle, flowing through him.

“Oh, that’s a good idea. Thanks.”

“No problem. Always here to help out with your plans for world domination.”

“It’s not world domination, Mister Stark.” Peter dropped his textbook on the floor with a dull thud and shuffled until he was sprawled out all over the couch, feet kicked up on the arm. “It’s liberation.”

“Funny, that’s what all the supervillains say.” He threw one of his stress balls in the kid’s direction, purposefully missing. “And, hey, don’t put your grimy feet on my couch, Parker.”

“Like you care.”

“At least take your shoes off.”

“Fine.” Peter toed off his sneakers and let them drop to the floor. “Happy?”

“Happier,” he corrected, hiding him grin behind his palm. “It’d make my entire day if you’d do that assignment, though.”

The kid threw an arm over his eyes, waving his other hand around flippantly. “I’m napping. Isn’t that good, too? Brain fuel, and all that.”

He sat back, narrowed his eyes. Peter sounded way too tired for just being worn out after having class all morning. Now that Tony was really studying him, he could see the fatigue in his body, too, lining his shoulders and resting on his face. “Did you pull an all-nighter again?”

“No,” the tone of the kid’s voice screamed yes, “I don’t know why you would think that.”

“Oh, I don’t know, because you’re passing out on my couch at 3:00 pm on a Monday, and that seems like exactly something a dead-on-his-feet college student would do?”

“Correlation doesn’t equal causation.”

“You are such a little shi-”

“Uh, Professor Stark?”

His posture went ramrod straight in half a second, eyes leaping to the open door, where, much to his surprise, one of his students (and, by default, one of Peter’s classmates) was standing awkwardly, glancing between him and the kid like they were the most confusing math problem in the galaxy.

“Ah, yes, hello.” He watched Peter sit up out of the corner of his eye, forcing back a grin at the surprise still shining on the kid’s face. Yeah, kid, I’m a professor. Forget that for a second, in all your disrespect? “Rani, right?”

Her eyes lit up. “Yes, sir.” She glanced over at Peter. “I can, uh, I can come back later if you’re busy, sir. I didn’t mean to intrude.”

He waved away her concerns. “No, no. You’re not intruding. He,” Tony shot the kid a warning look, “is just finishing up an assignment. Isn’t he?”

“Sure. Yeah. Absolutely.” Peter raised his hands in surrender, then gave Rani a shy smile. “Hi, Rani.”

“Hey, Peter. How’re you?”

“I’m good, yeah. You?”

Tony grinned, eyes darting between the two of them in interest. Rani shuffled awkwardly, tugging at the straps of her backpack. “I’m good too.” She shrugged. “Definitely failed that Principles of Chem test but earlier it’s fine, I’m fine. Not salty or anything.”

Peter laughed, relaxing back into the couch a little. “Yeah, I feel.” Tony had the impression that Peter did, in fact, not feel, because the kid probably would’ve come stumbling into his office openly bawling if he thought he actually failed a test, but he kept his mouth shut. “I think he wants us to die.”

“Less finals to grade that way.”

“Oh, my god, that must be it. We’ve cracked the code.”

“Rani,” he clapped his hands to break up the conversation, smile still plastered on his face, “what can I do for you?”

She blushed. “I, oh, right. Sorry, Professor Stark. I was just wondering if you could help me go over my project proposal again.”

He gestured to the chair on the other side of his desk, twirling a pen in his hand. “Of course. You’re doing a prototype for underwater rescue, am I right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Perfect.” He pulled the original schematics for the project up on his laptop while Rani fumbled through her bookbag for her notes. He glanced up and caught Peter watching him, and mimed a quick get to work in his direction while she was distracted. “Did you have questions about the suggestions I made?”

“I, uh, well, you see,” she was really blushing now, “I actually… couldn’t really read your handwriting, sir. That’s, uh, that’s one of the reasons that I’m here.”

Peter let out a bark of laughter, startling Rani so much that she physically lurched in her seat. Tony just glared at him, stomach sinking at the realization that he would never, ever live this one down.

“It’s okay, Rani,” the kid was snickering into his hand, obviously trying to play it off but doing a terrible job, “you’re not the only one.”

“Peter here,” he pointed accusingly in his direction, “thinks my handwriting is illegible-”

“Because it is.”

“-Which it is not.” He forced himself to turn back to Rani with a polite smile. “Sorry. Yes. Right. Your proposal.”

“And your handwriting. Your illegible handwriting,” Peter added, still giggling.

“Homework, Parker,” he snapped. “Now.”

Rani shifted, looking beyond stressed. Tony felt bad for her, really. He couldn’t imagine being in her shoes right now. “I, uh, it’s not that your handwriting is illegible, sir. I just… well, I read once that people who have unconventional handwriting are usually highly intelligent, so it’s… it’s not an insult, sir. Not at all.”

“See, Parker?” He preened at the statement. “Highly intelligent.”

The kid grumbled something inaudible under his breath, but Tony let it go. He was pretty certain that he didn’t want to hear anyway.

The next half an hour so of Tony’s life was spent poring through Rani’s proposal and, if he was being honest, it was pretty goddamn brilliant. He helped her tweak a few of the more technical aspects, pointed her in the right direction with some of the math, but it was relatively easy to get it on the right track.

She was smart. A mini genius, really. He was already making a side note to follow her academics and hire her for SI straight out of school, if she went looking for a job rather than a PhD.

Once they were finished, Rani stuffed her papers into her backpack and slung it over her shoulder, thanking him profusely before pausing to shoot Peter a genuine smile. “Bye, Peter. I’ll see you Wednesday?”

The kid shot her a lazy thumbs up. “Bright and early.”

“We can suffer together,” she offered, heading for the hallway.

“Always more fun that way,” Peter called after her.

The moment Tony heard the door to the stairs close in the distance, he rounded on the kid. “Making friends, are we?”

Peter raised an eyebrow tauntingly. “Oh, am I not allowed to do that?”

“Oh, no, you are.” He winked, ignoring the way the kid dramatically gagged at the gesture. “She’s cute. How do you know her?”

“She and her girlfriend are in Robotics Club with me. Plus, we have Principles of Chemical Science together. Believe me,” Peter winced, “that class is a bonding experience.”

“Hm.” He leaned back in seat, considering the kid carefully. “And how’d the test she mentioned go?”

“Fine. I mean, it was hard, but I, like, studied a bunch.”

Busted. “All night, I presume.”

In his defense, Peter floundered for only a second or two before recovering. “I already told you I didn’t-”

“Parker, you’re cute. Genuinely, I mean it. You’re the most precious creature on the planet. I know this because you think that you can actually lie to me with any level of effectiveness.”

He could see the resistance flood right out of the kid. “Ugh. Fine, yeah, I didn’t sleep last night.” Ha. Score one for Tony. “It’s not a big deal, though, like, everyone does it. And at least my professors can read my handwriting.”

“Oi,” he resisted the urge to give Peter a solid shove, “none of that sass, Underoos. And I think you’ll find that they won’t the longer you go without sleep. Fine motor skills are some of the first things to go.”

“You would know,” Peter shot back.

“Yeah, I would. Do as I say, not as I do, remember? That’s, like, a pretty significant lesson with me. We’ve been through it before.”

Peter sighed, curling himself back up on the couch with a half-glance into the hallway. “You’re not that bad.”

“I’m pretty bad.”

The kid’s eyes were shut, and he sounded way too exhausted for the argument. Tony almost felt bad. “No, you’re not.”

He stood quietly, slipping past his desk and kneeling at the side of the couch. He knew that Peter knew he was there, his approach definitely wouldn’t have made it past his weird sixth sense thing, but he didn’t give any outward sign of acknowledgement.

He glanced at the clock on the wall. 3:52. Well, his office hours were basically over anyway.

“How much do you have left on that assignment?” He murmured.

Sure enough, the kid didn’t startle at his voice suddenly being so close. He just blinked open his eyes with a heavy sigh. “Not a lot. It’s just discussion questions. I have, like, two more pages to read and then the questions’ll probably take me less than fifteen minutes.”

Tony nodded, then slipped off his jacket and tossed it over Peter’s upper body. His stomach flip-flopped when the kid pulled it tight around himself and buried his face into the fabric, taking a deep breath and sinking into the cushions.

“You nap,” he brushed Peter’s bangs out of his face, “and I’ll wake you a little before dinner so you can finish up, alright?”

“Thanks,” he whispered.

“Yeah, bud.” He stood and shut his office door. He doubted any kids were going to show up for the last five minutes of his office hours and, if they did, he couldn’t really bring himself to care. Did that make him a bad professor? Wow, probably. “Just don’t make this a habit, alright? You can have one solid nap on my couch a month. Capiche?”

“Mhm.”

He sat at his desk and positioned his laptop so he could watch Peter as he worked. “I’ll be grading. Shout if you need anything.”

“Will do.”

“Don’t drool on my jacket.”

Even across the room, he could see the kid’s half-awake grin. “No promises.”

“Brat.”

Notes:

This is inspired by my own personal love of sitting in my dad's office when I'm home and watching students/faculty come in to talk to him. I loved it a lot as a kid, and I still do it. People think I'm a student of his nowadays, hence some of this chapter coming to life.