Father Figure

by Lessislost

Summary:

an older man who is respected for his paternal qualities and may be an emotional substitute for a father.

/

Tony Stark has been told he's selfish his entire life. The avengers are living in his tower and keep acting like assholes. He found this homeless kid he cant leave alone and Fury put the team on a mission to bring Spider-Man in. Oh, and he has this breathing problem!

Chapter 1

Tony Stark was a selfish man.

That was a fact known by everyone—by those who truly knew him and especially by those who didn’t. His philanthropist facade fooled no one, and every large-sum donation was dismissed as nothing more than a publicity stunt.

After a month of articles and speculation, he stopped publicizing his donations, tired of the constant backlash. He knew it was his fault. He had let the public see his rebellious, immature tirades. But sometimes, he wondered—what would his life have been like if they hadn’t? If his mistakes hadn’t been broadcasted for the world to see? If he even had a life without that public outrage keeping him in check?

This was his fault. He reminded himself of that constantly. He had chosen to ruin his life publicly, so he had to accept that his rehabilitation would be forcibly private.

No one cared about his charity work, but everyone wanted to hear about him tearing into another hot-shot CEO. His Iron Man work seemed to be the only thing that earned him any real praise, but even that came with a bitter truth—they weren’t praising him. They were praising Iron Man.

A persona. A suit. A mask people were more than comfortable separating from the man inside it.

As a child, his father ignored him—unless he was being dragged to social events to be shown off. He’d be thrown into a thousand-dollar suit and ordered to be ready by five.

The rest of the time, he spent locked away in his room with nothing to do but read. He’d sneak scraps from his father’s lab, taking apart stolen bits of tech just to build something of his own—his own little creations, his own small rebellions.

There was a time, buried deep in his memory, when he left their cold, sterile mansion without permission. He walked for hours just to reach a park, then sat on the swings for several more, watching the world move without him. No one noticed he was gone.

Not until he came back.

He couldn’t remember the punishment—only the dull ache in his back, the deep purple bruises, and the lesson that followed. The act itself was hazy, but his father’s screams still tore through his mind as an adult. Loud, brash, branding him with the word “Selfish.”

Tony never understood what was selfish about what he did. But he did understand that it was something he apparently always did. That he was ruining everyone else’s life by choosing himself.

Howard Stark’s absence in most of Tony’s childhood was difficult, but the moments he was present were worse. No matter what he did, it was never enough to meet his father’s ever-growing list of expectations. And Howard made sure he knew it.

Tony spent most of his single-digit years in silence, with no one around. He’d sit through fancy dinners and elegant balls without a word, staring at his shoes even when smacked on the shoulder and told to stop slouching.

Sometimes, Tony found it hard to breathe. Like when his father screamed at him for what felt like hours. Or when his mother met his eyes—then turned away, ignoring him as he cried beneath his father’s belt.

It started early, buried deep in his childhood. And now, at 46, he still found himself losing his breath when one of the Avengers sneered at him. When Pepper’s frown held more disappointment than usual. When Happy glared at him for eyeing a liquor store. When Rhodey caught him smoking on the roof.

Oddly enough, the breathing thing seemed to be getting worse as he got older. He’d thought about mentioning it to someone—maybe a doctor—but it didn’t happen often enough to be genuinely concerning. And he always forgot about it after a while.

Which only made things worse.

Because every time his breath stuttered, every time it vanished and refused to come back, every time it came too fast and too sharp—it caught him so off guard that it only made the problem worse.

He tried.

He wanted to be as selfless as the rest of the Avengers, but it never seemed to work out. No matter what he did, it felt like he wasn’t allowed to do good. The world had made up their minds about who he was. Each article recommended to him was about Steve Rogers’ latest life saved or Sam Wilson’s inspiring words to the press.

Returning from a mission that dragged on for far too long, most of the Avengers squeezed themselves into two supercars while Tony chose to fly in his suit. As the team debated their next meal, he spotted a small corner store selling sandwiches.

DELMAR’S.

The name rang a bell—Pepper had mentioned it once. Her father used to take her there as a kid.

Slowing his descent, he eyed the empty store with its flashing "OPEN" sign before stepping inside.

A gruff voice greeted him. A man emerged from the back and froze when he caught sight of Tony, whose Iron Man suit dismantled and stored itself into his pocket.

"Good evening." Tony approached the register. "Can I place a big order, or is it a bad time?"

He winced at the unintentional jab at the man’s lack of customers, but if he noticed, he didn’t seem to mind. Instead, he smiled and nodded.

Tony ordered fifty sandwiches—any kind they wanted to make. Surprisingly, the man was amicable, and to Tony’s shock, their small talk wasn’t unbearable. Maybe only talking to the Avengers was starting to get to him.

The man, Delmar, spoke about inheriting his father’s store, using what little money he had to restore it. The city tried shutting it down, but the community fought for him. He was thankful—eternally grateful for the people who had so little yet gave so much to keep his little store open.

The bell chimed as the Avengers walked in.

"There goes Tony, probably buying out the whole store so we can’t get a sandwich!" Clint called from the back seat of Natasha’s sleek black car.

Tony’s hand paused, credit card hovering over the reader. Wasn’t that a bit rude to say to the guy buying them food? The laughter from the rest of the team proved otherwise.

He tapped the card. Because, well, he’d be selfish if he didn’t buy them, right?

As the team settled in, chatting and waiting for their order, a young boy walked into the deli. He froze upon seeing them, eyes wide, hand tightening around the strap of his old, tattered backpack.

Tony noted the details. Faded blue hoodie with the logo of that smart-kid school that kept sending Pepper emails. Baggy jeans. Beat-up Converse. The kid couldn't have been older than fifteen.

Mr. Delmar sighed. "Sorry, Peter. We’ve got a big order right now."

The kid visibly deflated. Tony felt something tighten in his chest.

Not anger. Not annoyance. Something different.

Before he could fully process it, he moved. His hand grabbing the boy's shoulder careful not to be too forceful.

"Give five of my order to the kid. However he likes them," Tony said. Then, after a glance at the shelves, he grabbed two packets of gummy worms and a Coke, placing them on the counter. "These too."

Mr. Delmar rang him up, then handed over a bag. Tony turned to the boy.

"Sorry for the inconvenience, kid. Hope it’s enough food—God knows you kids need it. Puberty and all."

Peter looked up, eyes shimmering.

"T-thank you, Mr. Stark. Iron Man, sir."

Tony scoffed at the title, about to brush it off—

But the kid ran off. Fast. A paper slipped from his backpack, fluttering to the floor.

Tony bent down to pick it up, knees popping, "Whoa, that kid's fast."

"Weird. I’ve never seen him show any emotion but embarrassment," Delmar mused.

"You know him?" Tony asked, unfolding the paper.

"Yeah, since he was little. Most of his family passed, but I think he still has his aunt. Gorgeous woman."

Tony barely heard him.

His eyes locked onto the page.

Equations. Schematics. A self-sustaining wave energy conductor.

A detailed design labeled every component, meticulously crafted with cost efficiency in mind. The math—at least from a quick glance—was solid. This was the kind of work Tony expected from his senior-level developers, not from a kid in a tattered hoodie.

The work of a genius.

"W-what was that kid's name again?"

"Peter Parker."

Tony felt something spark inside him. A feeling he hadn’t had in a long, long time.

This boy… he needed to find him.

Chapter 2

After the villain was defeated and Peter had escorted as many citizens as possible to ambulances, he changed out of his suit and headed home. It had been a hard day, but he took solace in the fact that it was finally over. No casualties this time.

Aliens had invaded—which, if he thought about it too much, was completely insane. But it wasn’t the worst thing he’d faced. He had fought stronger villains on his own. This was an Avengers mission; he was only there to assist with evacuations and protect civilians. If he was being honest, the Avengers' tunnel vision during battles annoyed him. They were so focused on fighting and defeating the enemy that they rarely considered what was happening around them. Sure, they made an effort to cut down on property damage, but Peter still saw too many names on the casualty lists. Too many kids’ names. Too many names he recognized from growing up in Queens.

So, when he got bit and once he had established himself as a hero and mentally prepared for whatever consequences might come, he started tagging along to battles.

Usually, Peter kept his distance from the Avengers. He avoided them whenever possible because, legally, he was still a vigilante. He couldn’t be on the streets without going through what was probably an incredibly long and complicated process with S.H.I.E.L.D. As much as he admired the Avengers—or, rather, the idea of them—he had never actually met them. He kept his distance, and they never seemed particularly interested in him. Occasionally, Iron Man would check up on him, stare at him from a distance in between fights or throw him a water bottle when it was over and they were heading out, but that was the extent of his relationship with the so-called Earth's Mightiest Heroes.

Inserting himself into their battles was usually fine since he tried not to get too involved. Evacuating civilians, dealing with stray enemies—that was manageable. But lately, he hadn’t been able to find any of his usual odd jobs, and with the weather getting colder, he spent most of his time starving and freezing in what should have been warm autumn air.

Today, a few aliens had slipped past Hawkeye and gone straight for a mother and her daughter. With pure fear coursing through his veins, Peter had swung in, trying to web them to a tree. But he was weaker than usual—too drained, too hungry. They yanked him off their backs with ease, slamming him into the pavement. The impact almost knocked him out as he felt something inside him crack. He barely managed to web their feet together as they closed in on him. As they fell, he flung himself toward the mother and daughter, pushing them out of harm’s way as the massive aliens crashed down. Sloppy. That entire encounter should have been quick—web, subdue, move on. Instead, he had put that woman and child in even more danger. And now, his ribs ached, and he wouldn’t be able to get enough food to heal properly.

As he stepped onto a too-familiar street, he glanced up at his old apartment. The one he had lived in with his parents, then with Uncle Ben and May, and finally, just May. The warm yellow lights were on, casting soft shadows of a man carrying his daughter. Laughter spilled out from a slightly open window, probably letting in a peaceful evening breeze. He imagined the family cooling off after an evening of playing, unwinding together.

Peter forced himself to look away, but the longing gnawed at him. He ached to step inside, to have May hug him, to cook a dinner that was always slightly too salty and half burnt, to watch the same four movies they always did. To rest in the comfort of familiarity.

His stomach growled as he passed restaurant after restaurant, snapping him out of his thoughts. He wished he had enough money to buy himself a warm meal, to cozy up in bed with candles flickering around him, books stacked beside him, his favorite songs playing softly in the background. Too many blankets tucked around him as he ate his favorite foods. Nothing seemed better than that right now.

But as he walked through the streets of Queens, his body screamed at him. A dull throb echoed through his bones. He shivered as the light breeze cut through his worn down hoodie. His senses started going haywire—the scent of musk and sewage from the nearby drains, the chatter of people blocks away, all of it overwhelming and unfocused. Each hunger cramp made him pause mid-step as the pain reverberated through his entire body. Every blink blurred his vision.

He needed to eat.

His metabolism was working overtime to heal his injuries instead of keeping him from collapsing. And he was collapsing—slowly, but undeniably.

A large sign caught his eye, and he made his way to the sandwich shop he frequented. Or, as much as a broke, homeless kid could frequent anywhere.

Sometimes, if he was lucky, Mr. Delmar would sell him something cheap. Sometimes, he’d only charge for the price of the bread, throwing in toppings and muttering something about needing to get rid of them anyway. Mr. Delmar was an old family friend. He had seen Peter come in with Uncle Ben, then with Aunt May, and now… just Peter. He had only asked once where May was. Peter had played it off, saying she was too busy with work to take care of him sometimes. Mr. Delmar had given him a wary glance before bagging his sandwich and letting him walk away.

Peter preferred it that way. People assuming he was fine. And if they didn’t think he was fine, at least they didn’t say anything. That was just as good.

As he pushed open the door, the bell above jingled, announcing his presence. Usually, the shop was empty at this time. But tonight, to Peter’s surprise, it was packed.

With Avengers.

He froze in the doorway, stunned. It was weird seeing them like this—just sitting at a tiny table, chatting casually. None of them spared him a glance.

Except Tony Stark.

Peter felt a strange twinge of fear. Would he recognize him? Would he somehow put two and two together and realize that the scrappy kid standing in the doorway was the same vigilante who forced himself into Avengers battles?

Peter quickly averted his gaze and stepped toward the counter. The workers were busy, assembling what looked like a dozen sandwiches for the heroes. Mr. Delmar spotted him, his expression immediately softening into a frown as he approached.

“Sorry, kid,” he said, his voice quiet. “We’re a little busy right now. I don’t think we’ll have much to spare.”

Peter nodded, forcing a smile. “No problem.”

He turned and started walking away, but his breath quickened against his will. Tears pricked at his dry eyes, threatening to spill.

I don’t know how much more of this I can take.

His thoughts spiraled. He was so tired. Tired of pretending he was fine. Tired of surviving like this. As stupid as it sounded, he was starting to think this might be his breaking point. No food tonight meant he wouldn’t heal properly. And with the weather getting colder…

He might not make it through the night.

His body was already shutting down.

Before he could reach the door, a hand landed on his shoulder.

A ripple of comfort spread from the touch. His breath hitched. Pure panic followed. Why hadn’t his Spider-Sense warned him?

He turned.

Tony Stark.

Peter stared in disbelief as the billionaire spoke to Mr. Delmar, telling him to give Peter some of his food.

A moment later, Stark handed him a bag—five sandwiches, two packs of his favorite gummy worms, and a Coke.

“Sorry for the almost inconvenience, kid,” Tony said with a slight smile. “Hope it’s enough food. God knows you kids need it. Puberty and such.”

Peter blinked. His vision blurred as tears slipped down his face before he could stop them. That warmth—the comfort he had felt from Stark’s touch—was back, radiating off him like a presence.

“T-thank you, Mr. Stark—Iron Man—sir!”

Before Tony could respond, Peter turned and ran, the warmth fading with each step he put between himself and the man who had just unknowingly saved him.

Chapter 3

Notes:

Edited...

Tony Stark was fascinated.

The equations were solid. The schematics—detailed, efficient, cost-effective. Every component was labeled with precision, the math checked out, and the whole thing looked like something he’d expect from his senior developers. But this wasn’t some Stark Industries engineer.

This was a kid.

And Tony needed to find him.

Slumped in his chair, he unfolded the sheet of paper again, scanning it as Friday’s voice cut through his thoughts.

"Searching for all available information on Peter Parker."

That name—Peter Parker—had been stuck in Tony’s head since he left Delmar’s. After buying an unreasonable amount of sandwiches, he’d tossed the bag at the Avengers before heading home. He’d even scoured the streets of Queens, hoping to catch sight of the kid, but Parker had disappeared the moment he bolted from the shop.

The schematics were perfect. If this was Parker’s finished product, Tony needed to pick his brain. Show him the work. See what he could build with the right materials.

It unsettled him, how quickly he wanted to bring this random kid into his lab. His lab—the one even the Avengers weren’t allowed in. But something about Parker felt different. Special.

Friday’s voice pulled him back.

"Peter Parker, 14 years old. Reported missing by his school three months ago. Parents died in a plane crash when he was six, placed in his uncle’s care. His uncle, Ben Parker, was killed in a convenience store shooting seven months ago. His legal guardian, May Parker, has also been reported missing by her employer. She hasn’t been seen in three months. Peter Parker's name appears in several academic records, science fair articles, and mentions of his decathlon team."

Tony exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Jesus.

This was going to be a problem.

The Avengers filtered into the conference room, the air thick with the usual mix of exhaustion and exasperation. Tony, true to habit, sat as far from the front as possible, closest to the exit. He hated being in enclosed rooms with the others. Hated even more having them at his back.

On the massive screen, Nick Fury stared down at them, expression unreadable.

Clint and Sam strolled in last, laughing about how they’d beaten Tony to the meeting.

Fury didn’t wait. "This mission should be relatively easy."

Clint threw his arms up. "Finally."

Fury continued, ignoring him. "I want you to locate someone and bring him in for a conversation."

Tony was already two steps ahead. "You want Spider-Man."

Fury nodded. "Correct. He’s reckless, and he’s getting cocky. The kid has power, real power. If someone with the wrong agenda gets to him first, we’ve got a problem. Bring him in."

Steve frowned, raising a hand like they were back in school. "Wait. You’re not talking about recruitment, are you?"

"That’s not what I said." Fury’s tone gave nothing away. "But if he shows potential, maybe you'll find yourself with a new teammate."

And just like that, the screen cut to black.

The room was silent for a beat before Clint scoffed. "Is he insane? That rookie isn’t Avengers-level."

Natasha, legs crossed, barely glanced up from her phone. "I doubt Fury’s serious. He likes keeping us in the dark. My bet? He’ll try scaring the kid into quitting."

Tony didn’t say anything.

Because unlike the others, he wasn’t thinking about a reckless rookie swinging around in red-and-blue spandex.

He was thinking about a 14-year-old genius who had designed something Stark Industries could’ve spent millions developing—and gotten it right.

Yeah.

Tony needed to find Peter Parker.

🕷

 

Peter feels horrible. Truly. There’s nothing he wants to do less.

After the kindness Mr. Stark showed him, the realization of what he has to do now makes him nauseous with guilt.

Most people assume that, as a hero, Peter would be strictly against breaking the law—but in reality, it’s more of a gray area. Technically, everything he does as Spider-Man is illegal, so what’s one more crime on the list?

A few days ago, he’d gotten slammed into the ground during a fight with those alien things. His makeshift suit, already worn and barely holding together, had been completely shredded. It wasn’t even a suit anymore—just scraps barely clinging to his body.

After sketching out some new designs, he started researching materials, looking for anything durable yet flexible enough to move in. That’s when he found it: an article from a few years ago about a reinforced fabric developed by an SI engineer. It was perfect. Exactly what he needed.
And completely unattainable.

The material was expensive—military-grade, impossible to buy without the right connections. Peter spent hours searching for alternatives, but nothing came close.

And now, here he was, standing outside Stark Industries at way too late o’clock, trying to convince himself this wasn’t a terrible idea.

Before he even realized what he was doing, he had hacked into the employee database, found the floor where the material was stored, and made a copy of an access keycard. He was only a little proud of that last part.

Now, standing outside Stark Industries in the dead of night, Peter could feel his stomach twisting. This was a terrible idea. He knew it was a terrible idea. But what was he supposed to do? He couldn't just keep swinging around in rags. And it wasn't like he was stealing money or weapons—just a scrap of fabric that no one would even notice was missing.

At least, that's what he told himself.

He tugged his hoodie over his head, keeping his face low as he swiped the card against the reader. It beeped. The light turned green.

Hah. Still got it.

Peter slipped inside, careful to keep his movements quick but unhurried. Acting like he belonged was half the battle. He avoided the main corridors, ducking into side hallways when he saw late-night employees chatting by the vending machines. The deeper into the building he got, the heavier the guilt sat in his chest.

Mr. Stark was nice to me. He bought me so many sandwiches.

Peter shook his head, pushing forward. He was doing this for a good cause. He found the storage room where the fabric was kept, slipping inside and scanning the shelves. There! Rolls of the reinforced material sat neatly stacked, labeled with long serial numbers and warnings about restricted access. A sudden feeling of warmth reached him but he paid it no mind, his spider sense wasn’t going off so he was clearly not in any form of danger. He reminded himself that he didn’t have time to think about the room’s temperature as he grabbed the smallest one he could find—just enough to patch up his suit and experiment with.

And then—

"Wow, so this is how you repay me for the sandwiches?"

Peter froze.

Oh, shit.

He turned slowly, heart pounding. There, leaning against the doorway with arms crossed, was Tony Stark. Looking right at him. The oddly familiar warmth radiating off him.

"Y'know," Tony continued, his voice far too casual, "if you wanted something from my company, you could’ve just asked instead of pulling off a half-baked heist."

Peter’s mouth went dry. Think. THINK.

"I—uh—" He held up the roll of fabric. "I was gonna pay you back?"

Tony raised a single eyebrow. "Oh, were you now?"

"... Eventually?"

Peter wanted the floor to open up and swallow him whole.

Chapter 4

The only thing Peter could feel was fear. It coursed through his body like electricity, buzzing in his veins, making his fingers twitch, overpowering the comforting warmth that placed itself on him like a blanket. His eyes were wide—like a deer caught in headlights—as he slowly placed the roll of fabric back where he found it, praying Mr. Stark would spare him. His mind raced, searching desperately for an escape.

"I'm sorry." He hated how small his voice sounded, how the fear bled into it. He wanted to be confident, to charm his way out of this mess, but he couldn’t summon anything other than sheer panic and guilt.

Tony hummed, his usual smirk fading into something more conflicted, as if he hadn’t expected Peter’s immediate apology. With a flick, he turned on the storage room lights.

"This isn’t how I wanted to find you, Parker."

"W-what?" Peter’s heart nearly stopped.

Hearing his name—his real name—come from Iron Man was mind-blowing enough to make his brain short-circuit. It took everything in him not to start fanboying right then and there.

"Peter Parker, right?" Tony stepped back slightly, like he was giving Peter the chance to bolt. The tension in Peter’s shoulders loosened, just a little.

"I’ve been looking for you," Tony continued, watching him closely. "You’re surprisingly hard to find."

"But… w-why?"

Instead of answering, Tony pulled something out of his pocket—a folded sheet of paper. He unfolded it carefully and turned it so Peter could see.

His wave energy conductor schematic.

Peter’s breath caught in his throat. He hadn’t even realized he lost it.

“The day at the sandwich shop,” Tony said. “You dropped this.” He stepped forward again, still leaving a clear path for Peter to run.

At the corner shop, Peter had been too disoriented—too wrecked—to really look at Tony’s face. But now, under the harsh storage room lights, he could see him clearly. The hint of stubble around his goatee. The deep lines of exhaustion. The dark circles under even darker eyes.

Tony tapped the schematic with two fingers. “This, Mr. Parker, is a work of genius.”

Peter was pretty sure that if it were possible to die from sheer astonishment, he’d have dropped dead at least three times by now. For someone who had been labeled a prodigy at such a young age, he found himself completely lost—utterly incapable of understanding anything that was happening in this moment.

Tony was still talking, launching into a full-blown tangent about how insane Peter’s work was—how he could change the world with his genius, how it was mind-blowing that no major science organizations had scouted him yet.

Peter should have been over the moon—his idol was standing in front of him, showering him with praise—but his brain was too scrambled to process it properly. Instead, panic took over.

“Wait. Wait. Wait.” He shot his hands up, waving them frantically to cut Tony off. “Are you not going to, um… I don’t know, call the police on me???”

Tony arched a brow. “Do you want me to call the cops on you, kid?”

“N-No! Of course not!”

Peter groaned, dragging his hands down his face before shoving his curls back in frustration. “I just… I don’t understand what’s happening right now.”

Tony paused, as if actually considering the situation, before nodding to himself. “Alright. How about this—I give you an internship here at Stark Industries, I pick your brain a little, and I won’t call the cops on you for trying to steal thousands of dollars’ worth of military-grade material. Deal?”

“W-what? An internship?” Peter blinked, mind reeling. “But—SI doesn’t even take high schoolers! And—you don’t get anything out of that deal!”

“Jesus, kid, you’re really making this harder on yourself.” Tony crossed his arms, leaning casually against the storage shelf. “You won’t be an SI intern. You’ll be my personal intern.” He gave Peter a pointed look. “And what I get is a brilliant mind in exchange for, y’know, not sending you to jail.” He shrugged. “Seems like a pretty sweet deal for you, if you ask me.”

Peter took a deep breath, trying to steady his racing heart. Tony very kindly allowed him to take a moment to think, probably to process. Peter had snuck into SI, attempted to rob Tony Stark, and then, once he had been caught, was offered an internship under the man himself. He could cry from the sheer stress of it all. He wouldn’t doubt that Tony could probably see smoke emitting from his ears, the cogs in his mind working overtime.

"This is so insane. This is so insane." Peter muttered under his breath. This is insane… but it could be something amazing… Finally, after one last deep breath, he looked back up at Tony with a determined expression. “Okay. Yes. I accept your deal.”

Tony grinned, the warmth surrounding Peter wrapping itself tighter. “Wonderful choice, Mr. Parker.” He turned suddenly and strode out of the room. “Follow me, and I’ll show you to your room.”

“W-what? My room?” Peter staggered as the warmth he was finally getting used to was ripped away, quickly hurrying to catch up as Tony sped through the hall.

“Yes, your room, kid. I’m assuming you’re homeless, seeing as you have no connections to anyone and your only living family is MIA.”

Tony glanced at Peter, surprised to see the stony look that overtook his face at the mention of his aunt. Something he’d be filing away to look into later. A weird feeling in his nonexistent heart radiated through him—a feeling that made him want to say something, anything, to get that look off the kid’s face.

“Am I wrong to presume that?”

“N-no…” Peter mumbled, looking away.

“Great, then you’ll stay in a guest room while we sort out your whole situation.”

Without warning, Peter’s stomach rumbled loudly, startling both of them. Peter cringed, crossing his arms over his stomach and turning away from Tony, hoping—praying—that he wouldn’t have to deal with his idol making fun of him. Memories of the past months after his bite—always being hungry, constantly having his stomach rumbling in the middle of class while his judgmental peers stared at him—flashed through his mind.

“I’ll order some food. Do you like Chinese?” Tony’s voice was calm, almost soft.

“Y-yes, sir…”

“Jesus, none of that! Tony is fine.”

To Peter’s surprise, he felt his shoulders untense, almost as if the warmth radiating from Tony had finally reached his brain.

“Okay, Mr. Stark,” Peter mumbled cheekily.

Notes:

I'm posting these kind of quickly (like i write edit them immediately post it) so please bare with my constant republishing chapters...

Thank you for the comments and kudos i appreciate it greatly!

Chapter 5

“Why is there a child in the dining room?”

It was incredible how quickly Pepper could sense when Tony was doing something without her permission. As if she had a sixth sense dedicated solely to catching him in his questionable decisions. He ignored the annoyance that hit him at her mothering—you’d never assume Tony was older than her.

He glanced at the boy inhaling his Chinese food. Peter was polite and neat, but he was still eating at a frankly frightening speed. Tony was lucky he always overbought food—looked like there wouldn’t be any leftovers. Not that he minded. He was just glad Peter didn’t seem too on edge around him.

His hair was messy, unbrushed, but he didn’t look filthy. The bruises Tony had seen just a few days ago were gone. Suspicious. Maybe they were already old. Tony knew a few people who didn’t bruise easily—Pepper, for example, could smack into a desk at full speed while rushing through SI and still walk away without a mark. He ignored the enhanced people he knew who barely bruised at all. This was just a boy. Not a superhero, of course.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He adjusted the phone, holding it between his ear and shoulder as he picked up his chopsticks. He refused to let his Lo Mein go cold. Casually, he nudged a cup of water toward Peter, subtly reminding him to drink between his enormous bites.
“Tony, Friday told me you entered the penthouse with a kid. I’m watching the footage right now. Hand him another egg roll—he’s been eyeing them.”

Tony smirked. Even while clearly annoyed with him, Pepper couldn’t help but be caring. He grabbed another egg roll for himself, then pushed the rest toward Peter, motioning for him to take them.

“Make sure he doesn’t make himself sick, though,” Pepper added, a note of nerves in her voice. “Did you kidnap him?”

Sputtering, Tony scoffed. “No, Pep, I didn’t kidnap him. I, uh—”

“He’s blackmailing me, actually,” Peter cut in smoothly, voice calm and collected. The little shit.

“TONY!” Pepper shouted into the phone as Tony burst into loud laughter. Peter snatched another egg roll.

“It’s more complicated than you think, Pep. I didn’t kidnap him I’m just sort of relocating him…? He tried to rob me—”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake.”

“—and instead of, I don’t know, sending him to jail, I’mhousinghimandmakinghimmypersonalintern.”

“What was that, Tony? It almost sounded like you said you’re kidnapping this random kid who tried stealing from you.”

Peter giggled as Pepper took a deep, slow breath. “Is what you’re doing illegal?”

“I don’t think it is… yet?” He wasn’t too sure what the legalities of housing a homeless kid were. If anything he’d need to find his aunt first before he could sort out anything else.

“Tony, I swear to God, if you fuck up, I’m staying in Portugal so you can deal with your messes while I enjoy the gorgeous beaches without you.”

He knew it was an empty threat. Pepper loved working at SI too much to leave it all for a pretty view. He knew she loved him too much to actually do that. But still, his breath stuttered. A cold, buzzing fear coursed through him. It amazed him that simple words could bring up memories he fought so hard to bury.

It only took him four seconds to recover. But it was long enough for Peter to notice. For Peter to hear the change of his breathing pattern.

For a brief moment, Peter saw something crack behind the billionaire’s easy bravado. Saw the way he had to reset himself before continuing as if nothing happened. Peter had to remind himself that he had no right to comment on it. That Tony Stark was showing him incredible kindness. That maybe—maybe—the man deserved a moment to deal with his own emotions without some random kid he picked up butting in.

But the warmth Peter had just started getting used to faded, just slightly. And as it left, a terrifying feeling crept into his chest—one he knew too well but couldn’t quite name. Something about this moment, this feeling, felt inexplicably familiar.

He had only known Tony Stark for an hour and a half. He knew that wasn’t a reasonable amount of time to trust someone. To care about them. And yet—

Peter knew, with absolute certainty, that he couldn’t let anything happen to him.

His Spider-Sense wasn’t warning him about Tony Stark.

It was telling him to protect him.

Tony let out a breath. Peter looked down at his food.

“It’s going to be okay.” Tony didn’t sound too sure of himself.

“It better be.”

Pepper ended the call, leaving Tony to huff as he tossed his phone onto the table. He looked over at Peter, who had finally finished shoving as much food into his mouth as possible. The boy sipped his water, eyeing Tony with a hesitant, childish look.

Tony was reminded—again—that this was a fourteen-year-old. A kid who had lost his whole family and lived on the streets for months. The same kid who had cried when Tony bought him food and then sassed him when he bought more. It was a little terrifying how immediately Tony felt connected to him.

He took a deep breath. “Where’s your aunt, kid?”

“I don’t know.” The lie slipped easily from Peter’s lips, as if he had been born to say it. But it ate at him instantly—he could feel a tiny chamber in his heart ache as he lied about Aunt May. The water in his throat felt thicker, like something was blocking it. Probably all the other horrible lies he was saving for later.

Tony watched him carefully. “Why did you run away? Why didn’t you go to the police?”

Peter hesitated. The real answer? He had no other living relatives to take him in. He couldn’t be in the foster system—it wasn’t safe. Not for him. Not for whoever he ended up with. They’d interfere with Spider-Man. They’d make it harder. Instead, he went with: “I knew how bad the system is. I didn’t want to deal with abusive foster parents.”

Tony seemed to contemplate that.

“Alright. That’s fair.”

Peter let out a deep breath of relief.

“I want to set a few rules.”

Peter’s stomach filled with dread. He had no idea what to expect. He shouldn’t be worried—Tony had been nothing but kind—but he couldn’t stop the instinctive fear creeping in. Much to Peter’s embarrassment, Tony immediately seemed to sense it and softened his expression.

“Nothing too insane,” Tony assured. “Just stay in the penthouse and my lab floors. You can leave whenever you want—just let me know where you’re going so I don’t lose you. Don’t touch the suits. We have a fully stocked kitchen. Use it.”

At Peter’s wide eyes, Tony added, “I’m a billionaire. There is no ‘eating my food’—it’s your food now, too. If I catch you skipping meals because you think you’re freeloading, I will lecture you about nutrition while eating a donut at 3 a.m.”

Peter snorted, but Tony wasn’t finished.

“FRIDAY is always watching… in a non-creepy way. She’ll know if you get murdered in the hallway. Or if you try to microwave aluminum foil. Just a heads-up.”

A pause. Then, with a completely serious expression, Tony added: “And lastly, no brooding in dark corners.”

Peter blinked. “What?”

“Listen, kid, I get it. You’ve got the whole ‘mysterious, tragic, lone-wolf’ vibe going. But if I catch you dramatically staring out a window, sitting on the floor in a dimly lit hallway, or perching on the edge of a rooftop like a sad gargoyle, I will turn on disco lights and blast ABBA until you stop. This is a no-brooding household.”

Peter giggled, but it was quickly cut short by a yawn. Tony felt something warm settle in his chest—an emotion he didn’t quite know how to name. Instead of trying to understand his emotions he stood up and motioned for Peter to follow him.

As they walked, it dawned on Tony just how insane this situation was. He had known this kid for less than two hours, and now he was letting him sleep in a room right across from his own. For all Tony knew, Peter could be a crazed serial killer—

Yeah. He was definitely being reckless.

(Oh well. Not like that was new.)

He stepped into the guest room, glancing around. It was simple—a full-sized bed with navy blue bedding, a few pillows. An empty wardrobe he’d have to fill soon. A desk in the corner with a computer set up. A TV mounted on the wall across from the bed. A mostly empty bookshelf, save for a few books Tony had published and way too many from Bruce. A soft rug and a seat, making up a little book nook.

Peter stared.

Tony tried not to feel stupidly pleased about the wonder in his expression.

“There’s a bathroom through that door,” Tony said casually. “Take a shower or a bath—I don’t care. I’ll bring you some clothes. Give me two seconds.”

Tony quickly exited, and Peter could hear him rummaging through his own room before returning with a few articles of clothing.

“Use these if you don’t mind,” Tony said, handing them over. “You can leave your clothes in the hamper—I’ll take care of it tomorrow.”

Peter hesitated, gripping the clothes carefully, avoiding eye contact.

Tony Stark was offering him clothes.

This whole thing was surreal.

“Get some rest, kid.” Tony turned to leave but paused when Peter suddenly spoke.

“…Thank you, Mr. Stark.”

Tony smiled. “No problem, kid. Good night.”

“Goodnight.”

Peter stayed there for a few moments, basking in the warmth Tony had left behind. Then, still dazed, he headed for the shower.

Notes:

Let me know if there's any mistakes and whatnot!

I'm so sorry but I'm pretty sure im going to go into the last chapters and add some shit to them. I think the story progressed too quickly and its bothering me lolz. I'll try not to republish chapters too much.

Thank you for your comments and kudos they're greatly appreciated!