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It started in the way these things often did… with Peter saying something small and unassuming that left Tony feeling sideways..
It had been a slow Saturday. The Tower was quiet, and the universe was intact, leaving Tony with a lot of time on his hands. He decided to liven things up by texting Peter, inviting him to come to the lab.
‘Wanna blow something up together?” ’
The immediate response was a predictable, enthusiastic, ‘Yes!’
It took very little time for the kid to arrive. Swinging over the traffic rather than sitting in it probably helped.
They jumped right into the science, diving elbows-deep into the inner workings of a scraped Blu-ray player. The plan was to repurpose it into some kind of multi-spectrum energy scanner. Though Tony doubted that it would ever pass a safety inspection.
While they worked, Peter talked. No. He rambled… about everything under the sun.
It started with a debate, rating chocolate chip cookies from best to worst by brand. Then he started talking about school projects, and that shifted into a story about something, unforgivable but completely hilarious, that Flash had done.
That subject, too, came to an abrupt end, the next one starting with no fanfare, warning, or even a breath.
“Can I ask you a kinda weird question?”
Half distracted by the project, Tony hummed without looking up. “Sure, kid. Shoot.”
A few beats passed before Peter began. When he did, his words came slowly, like he was choosing his words with extra care. “Well… There’s this guy,” he said, twisting a bright green microfiber cloth between his hands. “He kinda looks like me… Not a lot, or anything. Just enough that I can–” He released a breath that sounded a lot like a defeated sigh. “Sometimes, I like to sort of pretend he’s my dad. In my head. That’s weird though, right?”
At first, Tony didn’t respond. He just looked up, his brow furrowing as everything Peter said started to process.
The kid had a father figure? How?
Who?
He blinked, the creases on his forehead deepening as the space behind his sternum hollowed out, then folded in on itself, like discarded foil. He’d taken shrapnel. He’d been strangled, flung, and scorched. None of those things could compare to the train barreling through his insides with zero regard for dignity, breath, or bone.
He carefully set the screwdriver aside, fingers trembling from what had to be the biggest, most dramatic overreaction of all time. The kid was allowed to have other people in his life. That was normal and– probably healthy.
Inwardly, he rolled his eyes and started wrangling his thoughts, knocking them down a notch before trying to respond.
“I think–” He lifted his chin and clasped his hands behind his back, casual and unassuming. “As long as that person is good to you, it’s fine.”
Peter’s shoulders visibly loosened. “Cool. Cool, cool, cool. I just wasn’t sure if it was, ya know, too weird.”
“Not weird,” Tony said, but he didn’t mean it, because it was weird. Hugely weird. Monumentously, heart-poundingly weird. At least for him.
Because he already thought of Peter as his kid. He’d been thinking of him that way for a while. Long enough that he’d caught himself checking in too often, becoming too invested, and buying things no fourteen-year-old needed just to see the smile. The idea of anyone else playing pretend-dad with Peter made him feel like his skin was trying to crawl off his body.
The subject changed again, and Tony found himself suffering from verbal whiplash. Peter had gone back to yammering about something he was doing on his table. He could see the kid’s mouth moving and the stylus flourish, but his brain wasn’t even in the room anymore. It was off somewhere in the depths of his skull, ranting into a jealous void.
Who did this unknown person think they were? He knew Peter first. He called dibs… right?
His jaw clenched so tightly his teeth ached. Maybe there was a misunderstanding? Maybe the kid pretending the guy was his dad was more of a game than an expression of feelings. He needed to know more.
He leaned back against the lab bench, folding his arms in a loose, nonchalant cross over his chest. “So, this guy. Is he a teacher, or…?”
Peter shrugged, still looking at the screen. “I mean, he teaches me stuff.”
Okay. So, not necessarily a teacher.
He racked his brain for the next easy guess. “Family friend?”
Peter looked up brow creased, his hand waffling side to side. “Kind of? May wasn’t super impressed when she first met him, but he’s growing on her.”
Great. Perfect. Awesome.
If May liked this guy, Tony was doomed, because she did not like him. She tolerated him, maybe, occasionally laughing at his jokes or whatever. But if she had to pick someone for Peter to look up to? To trust? To, God forbid, imagine as a father?
She would not pick him. He could guarantee it.
He masked his growing panic with a thoughtful hum and crossed the room under the pretense of checking on some manufacturing equipment settings. His eyes drifted over the countertops. The surfaces were covered with wire scraps and half-stripped screws. There was a cup of soda Peter had set aside, a ring of moisture slowly growing beneath it.
“That’s great, buddy.” He picked up the cup and tossed it into a nearby trash can. “He’s good to you, he teaches you stuff… May likes him. Sounds like a real solid guy.”
Peter leaned forward, elbows on the bench, and a grin spread across his face. “Yeah. He really is.”
The rest of the afternoon passed in a slow haze. Tony nodded when appropriate and feigned interest in circuits. All the while, his mind spun like an off-kilter centrifuge. He needed to know who this person was. More importantly, he needed to make them go away.
Not permanently. That would hurt Peter, and he wasn’t a monster. But he wouldn't mind if the guy ended up somewhere far, far away. Like… the other side of the planet, far away.
He needed a plan. Nothing terribly underhanded. Not exactly. Just… strategic. A way to thoroughly convince the guy to get lost, without making it too obvious. The last thing he wanted was for Peter or May to find out he was behind the sudden move.
He sat at the computer pretending to write code while running some scenarios through FRIDAY, looking for flaws. There were many. Every scheme seems to have at least six loopholes in it. He was starting to get frustrated when he finally hit on something.
It took some fine tuning, but by that time Peter left for the evening, bag slung over one shoulder, he had the framework of a decent ploy. It started with a charitable raffle for an all-expense-paid trip to a tech conference in China– One SI was one hundred percent not involved with. The winner would be given an exclusive tour through the exhibit hall, giving them the opportunity to have real one-on-one conversations with the sponsors and exhibitors.
And if the guy walked out of the conference with a handful of offers for cushy international jobs that came with benefits and a generous relocation package– housing included… Well?
Who could say no to that?
The tricky part would be running the contest through as many proxies as possible to ensure it couldn’t be traced back to his name, company, or trusts. Ever. He was positive it could be done. He’d just have to get a little creative.
“Hey, FRIDAY?” he asked, pacing the lab like a shark at the edge of a tank. “I’ll work on the ruse. You start narrowing down who this guy is. Pull lab and penthouse footage from the last few months. Flag every time the kid mentions an adult. Names, activities, aimless ramblings… Figure out what you can. Figure out names. Start a list of prime suspects.”
“Any specific parameters, boss?”
“Focus on male adults. Between the ages of– I dunno. Let’s say twenty-five and fifty. Positive interactions only. Bonus points it the kid smiles like he hung the damn moon while he’s talking.”
"Would you like me to analyze your interactions with May Parker and compile a cross-referenced list of all individuals she and Peter have both mentioned?"
“Yes!” Tony halted his steps, shoes squeaking on the tile. “God, yes. Make an extra note of anyone she says anything even remotely complimentary about.”
“Where would you like for me to store the collected data?”
“Create a private server, give it a unique, twenty-character, alpha-numeric pass code, and email it to me. Encrypted. I’ll figure it out.” He pressed his lips together and cut his eyes to the side. “Call it ‘Operation: Three’s a Crowd.”
“On it, boss.”
The following week became a flurry of covert operations. He’d sorted out at least a handful of ways to distance himself from the semi-rigged raffle. ‘Semi’ because he decided it would be less conspicuous if there were more than one tech dream vacation package. There would still only be one job offer. He could only call in so many favors. Especially with no explanation and a tightly worded NDA.
He invited Peter over a little more often. Not enough to trigger any suspicion. Just a couple of extra days and added hours. Because the more time the kid spend in the Tower, the more reconnaissance FRIDAY could do. And, frankly, he enjoyed the added company.
Even if every conversation he had with the kid was turning into a thinly veiled interrogation.
“Who did you say was helping you with that physical project, again?” He stirred his coffee, feigning only mild interest as the kid looked up from his textbook.
“Ned. The teacher let us pick our own partners, which is awesome because it’s an excuse to hang out at his apartment after curfew. Even on a Tuesday.”
Another day, he asked, conversationally about decathlon practice, friends, and May’s colleagues.
“Anyone new hanging around lately?” The urgency in his tone was barely concealed.
Thankfully, Peter didn’t seem to notice. He simply looked up, head tilted to the side, and said, “No? Not really.”
It was a non-answer, but Tony took it, because what other choice did he have? He couldn’t come right out and ask. Not only would that put his plan in jeopardy, but it’ would make him sound completely insane.
As such, he tried to keep it casual. Curious, not obsessed. However, by day four, he was starting to grit his teeth every time Peter mentioned someone’s name. By day six, he was tired, jittery, and no closer to an answer.
“What have you got, FRI? Please tell me you’ve got something.”
"Based on your demographic parameters, Peter’s enthusiasm indicators, and the recurring frequency of May Parker’s references, I have refined the list to two likely candidates."
Two? That was good. Great, even. He’d have Peter all to himself in no time at all.
“Well, don’t hold out on me, darling. Gimme the list.”
“Mr. Isagani Leeds and Mr. Roger Harrington.”
Tony’s brain stalled, full blue screen. “What?”
Neither of those names made sense.
Ned’s dad? The man was an insurance sales agent. His hairline was receding, he had a warmly toned complexion, and he was shaped like a suburban potato. He was nice– a good man who was definitely good to Peter. But they looked nothing alike.
Mr. Harrington? Slightly less impossible. At least, they had the same hair color. And he did teach science. He also coached the Academic Decathlon. He was kind and seemed to care deeply for all his students. At the same time, he was barely capable of finding his own car keys. Emotionally nurturing a teenager felt like a huge stretch.
He ran a hand down his face and sighed. “I don’t think that’s it, sweetheart. Try it again.”
“Of course, boss. Re-running all relevant data now.”
The results remained the same, prompting Tony to go through the files himself, double-checking them manually.
Awesome. Still nothing.
Tony plopped into a barstool at the counter in the penthouse. He was supposed to be eating lunch, at FRIDAY’s rigid insistence, but he wasn’t all that hungry. He sat there, the sun cutting through the windows in lazy golden shafts. He picked up a pair of wooden chopsticks and poked at a carton of leftover fried rice while his mind raced in a tight, endless circle
He could feel his patience wearing thin.
The next time Peter dropped by, he found himself itching to ask more questions, gather more information, find something, anything he could latch onto. A name. All he needed was one measly name, and everything could go back to whatever version of normal existed before the kid admitted he had a semi-imaginary dad.
The overhead fluorescents flickered slightly above the workbench, and the thrum of electric guitars ripped through the speakers like white noise. He kept his head down, fingers unlacing a tangle of wires. Across the way, Peter sat, leaning over an old toaster, screwdriver in hand.
He waited for a soft lull between projects– a moment when their heads were a little less occupied than their hands. Then he cleared his throat, reached for his mug, and took a long swig.
“Hey, Pete.” He glanced momentarily to the side, mug still clasped between his hands.
“Yeah?” Peter looked up, lips and tongue stained blue from the half-empty bag of gummy worms sitting at his right.
Tony opened his mouth, prepared to ask something completely innocuous. Another mundane question that might pull a new name out of the kid’s mental Rolodex. What came out was a far cry from nonchalant, the words rolling off of his tongue, a runaway mine cart.
“Who is this person you like to pretend is our dad? I’ve been racking my brain and I just can’t figure it out.”
Peter blinked, clearly caught off guard. “What?”
Realization hit like a punch to the gut. Tony’s eyebrows shot up, shoulders tense.
Stupid, stupid, stupid. Where did that come from? Why would he ask that?
He closed his eyes and released a slow breath. The jig was up, that was for sure. And the plan went tumbling down with it. What that being the case, he figured he may as well go ahead and press for an answer. A new scheme could be created later. Perhaps an even better one.
“Your pseudo father figure… Who is it? I give up. Just tell me.”
A flush rose up Peter’s neck all the way to the tips of his ears. He looked away, one hand fidgeting with the drawstring on his hoodie, wrapping it around his finger in a tight coil.
He couldn’t figure out why the kid was so reluctant to answer. It wasn’t a fully invasive question. He already knew the person existed. What harm could come from offering a name? Unless…
“Lordy. It’s not Happy, is it? Because if it’s Happy, I’m gonna have some feelings to work through.” He pressed a hand ot his chest, fingers curling inward, in hopes of keeping his heart from beating past his ribs and through his t-shirt.
Peter huffed a nervous laugh, eyes wider than saucers. “No!” He held both hands palm forward. “Definitely not Happy.”
Tony bit his tongue, waiting for more.
The kid rolled back on his heels, reaching around to scratch the back of his neck. Then his eyes dropped to the floor like he was counting the tiles. “It’s…” He paused to swallow. “Well. It’s you.”
Silence reigned, imperious and unchallenged, draping the room in velvety stillness.
“Me?” Tony asked, his voice cutting through the quiet with sharp, high-pitched disbelief. “I thought you said May liked this guy?”
A sheepish grin formed on Peter’s face. “Technically, all I said was that he was growing on her.”
Tony thought back, replaying their conversation in his head. Peter said the person was good to him, taught him stuff, and that they had some common features.
He was good to Peter. Not just in the transactional, ‘here’s a check, don’t die’ sort of way. What they had was far more involved. Hands-on. He’d been careful with him, attentive in ways he wasn’t with most people. Making sure the kid had what he needed, physically, socially, and emotionally, had quietly become a top priority somewhere along the way.
Teaching had never been part of his self-image. It was a skill he hadn’t even known he possessed until Peter came along. But with him, it came naturally. He’d taught the kid everything from science and engineering to how to knot a tie. How to change a tire in the dead of winter, because it was a learning opportunity, and he didn’t want to be missed.
And he supposed they did look somewhat alike. Wavy brown hair, dark eyes that always held more than they said, and that lean, muscular build earned from constant motion.
For the first time in a week, everything made sense.
Warmth unfurled in his chest, slow and bright, until it reached his face. A smile spread so wide, his cheeks burned with strain. “Pete, I–”
“I’m sorry!” Peter’s arms flailed desperately by his sides. “I know it’s probably weird. I didn’t mean to make things awkward.” He hunched forward, shoulder slumped, hands shoved into his hoodie pocket. He bounced slightly on his heels, eyes closed, like he wanted to disappear into the floor.
“Not weird, Pete. One hundred percent not weird.”
Slowly, Peter looked up, staring. “Really? Are you sure?”
Tony nodded, chuckling lightly. "If it is, then we’re both weird. Because I’ve been thinking of you as my kid for a while now, buddy..”
There it was, all laid bare. His truth, quietly offered.
Peter’s face lit up like the sunrise. His fingers twitched, half-raised, unsure.
“Is this the part where we hug?” Tony tilted his head, a smirk lifting a corner of his mouth.
“I don’t know. Are we there yet?” Peter laughed, mirroring the expression.
Tony huffed, taking a short step forward. “Get in here, you little punk.” He opened his arms, wide and inviting. And Peter walked right into them.
They pulled each other close. Peter’s arms wrapped tightly around Tony’s middle, and Tony pressed his chin lightly to the top of Peter’s head. It wasn’t actually the first time they’d hugged, but it felt different. Like something unspoken had finally slotted into place.
After a few seconds, Tony looked up at the ceiling, mid-embrace. “Hey FRIDAY?”
“Yes, boss?”
“Be a dear, and cancel Operation ‘Three’s a Crowd.’”
Peter leaned back slightly, eyes narrowed, face atwist. “Operation what?”
With an exaggerated sigh, Tony pulled Peter in again, using one hand to hold his head in place. “Nothing. Don’t worry about it. Let’s just hug it out, then go do some science.”
Peter laughed, the sound bubbling out, vibrating against Tony’s chest. “Sure, Mr. Stark. Let’s do that.”
Finally, Tony’s lungs loosened, and he felt like he could breathe. The gnawing jealousy, the scheming, and worry, all of it dissipated, replaced by something quieter. Something that felt like peace.
He sighed contentedly.
Maybe it didn’t have to be pretend. Maybe it wasn’t.
Maybe it never had been.