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It starts with one Steve Rogers acquiring a bottle of Asgardian mead during an Avengers holiday gathering.
"Dad," Tony feels someone tugging at his sleeve, drawing his attention away from his conversation with Bruce. "Daaaaad..."
Well, he is nothing if not flexible, if a suddenly acquired child in the Tower was anything to go by. "Yes, sweetheart?" he looks over to the side, face to face with a Peter whose cheeks are flushed and eyes bright and bushy-tailed.
"D'you- do you think Harley likes me?" Peter asks, words slightly slurring. Tony sends Bruce a pleading look, who only shrugs and goes away with his own glass of water, effectively saying 'your child, your problem'. “Dad!" Peter tugs at Tony's sleeve particularly hard that time. "Don’t- don’t tell him I said this but..." he leans in close to Tony's ear to whisper it. "He has a really nice butt," he confesses in between giggles.
Tony's eyes roam the room for anyone who could be the possibly culprit of this madness, and his eyes land on Steve's hands still holding on to the huge bottle that couldn't have been from anywhere but Asgard. He sets down his drink and rubs his face with his free hand, "I can't believe I got saddled with this," he mutters to himself.
"Your problem now," Tony says, hefting Peter by the arm towards Steve. His boyfriend is thankfully still sober, just the Aquarian dispenser of Enhanced-affecting liquor. Realistically, he should be the most appropriate babysitter for the occasion. Should be. "Don't give him anymore of the stuff, you hear?"
Steve's ears turn red at being caught, and Tony's insulted he thinks Steve would be able to get away with that. Plenty insulted, actually. "I won't," Steve says bashfully, ducking his head.
"Good," Tony smiles, pecking him on the cheek before flitting away.
For the record, Steve tries really hard to keep Peter under his watchful eye. It's not his fault that strong alcohol makes Peter skittish.
...That's Steve's excuse and he's sticking with it.
There's one minute where he's setting down the jug to talk about something or other with Carol, something that's half-banter and half-shop talk that doesn't have any business being in a holiday setting. But they both enjoy it, so who's there to stop them? Anyway, that's what's happening in one minute and then in another, she's looking over his shoulder and remarks, "I think you lost something."
"Shit," he curses, turning around but not missing how Carol snorts at his reaction. "Peter!"
Tony's having a good verbal sparring of a session with Supreme Mugwump when he feels something tugging at his sleeve again. He sighs, holding up a finger to pause their vigorous discussion, turning to his reacquired koala-child. "Yes, Pete?"
“Dad, can you ask Dr. Wizard to make a love potion for me? Please pretty please? So Harley will like me back?” Peter pleads, hands clasped like a child in prayer.
If Tony had a nickel for every time he's sighed or palmed his face at Peter's ridiculousness, he'd have enough to throw to get rid of the smug look on Oz's face. "Kid, I don't think love potions are part of Gandalf the Grey's MO," Tony says, turning to point an accusatory finger at Stephen and mouthing 'don't'. "How'd you get away from Steve, anyway?"
“He got distracted talking to the really really really strong glowing lady!" Peter says exasperatedly, frustrated that his dad's ignoring the more important matters at hand. "Daaaaaaddddd pleaseeee? Can you make some kind of like Loveme-inator 3000 machine or something?" and that's when he brings out the deadly pout, and Tony has to look away. Not that he was already thinking of the ethical and physical constraints of creating such a machine in the first place. Nope. "Aren’t you supposed to be the smartest person ever? Ugh.”
"...that's a hard no on the 'loveme-inator'," Tony says shortly after, putting his hands on Peter's shoulders. He shoots a pleading look at Stephen, who only shakes his head, a small amused smile on his face. "Listen, bud, we're gonna take you to Bucky, okay? You can nibble on cookies while you're there."
“Y-yeah," Peter nods hesitantly. "Maybe I can get him to threaten Harley to love me!" he says like it's such a bright idea. "Wait, wait, no. I don’t want to scare Harley... too much.”
Tony shakes his head, caught between lecturing and laughing at Peter's antics. But, like an adult (for once), he says nothing but pats Peter's hair. "There will be no threatening of any sort in this household," he plants his grasp on Peter's shoulders firmly, "now let's get you to Bucky," and steers him to the kitchen.
"Drunk spider-baby," Tony says, sitting Peter down on the kitchen stool. "Handle with care," he says with a nod, squeezing Bucky's arm before going back to the festivities.
Peter looks around the kitchen counter but can’t find what he’s looking for. “C-cookies?” He looks like a distraught child, and damn if the sight doesn't tug on Bucky's heartstrings.
With a sigh, he moves a rack of cooling snickerdoodles in front of Peter. "Here's some cookies, squirt," he says, ruffling Peter's hair affectionately with his free hand. The oven timer goes off and he moves quickly to get one batch out and another in, setting the timer again before standing near Peter, arms crossed. "What's got you down?"
Unceremoniously, Peter says, “I need Harley to have my babies," before shoving five cookies in his mouth.
Had Bucky been drinking anything, he'd have spit it out by now. "What," he says flatly.
All he hears Peter say amidst the chewing and crumbs is some humming, crunching, and then "Babies."
"I got that," Bucky says, putting a hand on the counter for leverage, leaning in a little. "But I missed the part where you and potato boy have been together long enough to warrant that."
“No dating," Peter starts, resolute. Bucky would laugh if Peter didn't look so damn serious about it. "Only babies. Actually," he holds up a hand. "Wait," he closes his eyes and puts two fingers against his temple, channeling Professor X or something. "Maybe dating, yeah. No!" He flares out the hand that was touching his temple. "Definitely dating.”
"That's what I thought," Bucky grinds out, jaw set. "And have you thought of telling Harley anything about this yet?"
“No!" Peter shouts. "Can you do it? Please please please please?" he pleads for the umpteenth time this evening. All these adults just don't get it! "Maybe also with like a knife pointed at him?" he mimes pointing a dagger at someone, fingers curled to a fist. "To convince him to love me back, please?” his fist goes lax when he sets his palm down on the counter. “Actually, no, don’t. Knives are scary,” Peter tilts his head, “Just a really mean look might do the trick.”
"I'm not..." Bucky starts, a little pained as he sighs and massages his temple. "I'm not threatening anyone, twerp," he continues. "Scaring anyone into liking you isn't gonna work. You're just gonna have to be yourself and hope for the best."
Peter pouts. “I liked my plan better,” he says as he stuffs the last few cookies in his mouth.
"Your plan involved using an ex-brainwashed assassin to scare your crush shitless," Bucky critiques, dry. "0.5/10 for the rationale, -50/10 for execution."
“Ugh," Peter groans, nearly nosediving into the counter had Bucky not lain a hand on his shoulder to steady him. "But being myself is boring and talking to hot people is hard,” he whines even more, kicking his feet against the counter.
"You're a 15 year old superhero swinging around New York fighting crime. You literally just drank alcohol meant for the gods and didn't pass out immediately, and ate 30 cookies in about 3 minutes," Bucky lists off with his metal fingers. "And that's just what comes to mind right now. You're an interesting kid, and you talk to Harley all the time. Just go with the flow."
“But Harley's so much cooler!" Peter throws his hands up in the air. "He’s gonna think that stuff is dumb.”
"Jesus, Joseph, and Mary, kid, you're worse than Tony when we were courting him," Bucky mutters to himself, rolling his eyes.
“Well," Peter sniffs. "What did you guys do to get him to love you?”
"We had to give it to him straight, basically," Bucky sighs. "Irony aside, Tony wouldn't budge with subtlety, waved it off as me and Stevie being more chummy than usual to get something from him," he shakes his head. "Ridiculous, really. But we realized that we just had to come up to him, take him by the shoulders and say 'hey, we'd really like to go out with you, is that okay?'" he shrugs. "Simpler than anything we had up our sleeves."
“Harley has really nice shoulders,” Peter comments absently, flicking off stray crumbs from the counter.
"Annnnd we're done with this discussion," Bucky pulls Peter by the arm off the stool. "Come on, up you get," he leads him back to the living room. "Before you end up eating all my damn cookies."
“But they’re so good.”
"Yes they are," he pats Peter's shoulders twice. "But everyone else needs to realize that by tasting it themselves, now get out of my damn kitchen."
Tony doesn't even flinch when he feels someone cling onto his back now. He just finished up talking to Clint about the idyllic farm life with his wife and kids when he feels a chin resting on his shoulder, arms and legs wrapping around his torso and waist. "Dad, you don't think he thinks I'm too clingy, don't you?" Peter asks, pout evident even just from his voice.
"Oh my god, kid, why," Tony says, biting his lip because he's not sure whether to laugh or sigh in exasperation. "Just ask him out!"
"What?" Peter asks, eyes wide, the surprise enough to loosen his grip and make him end up standing in front of Tony. "Just like that? What if he says no?! I'll jump off the Empire State building no webshooters, dad please," he pleads in a rush.
"Okay, okay, okay, what the fuck?" Tony doesn't even dignify Peter's scandalised gasp with an eyeroll. "No. There will be no jumping off tall buildings in this house. Also, him not liking you back is not the end of the world. And finally, clearly, you two need better eyes," he makes Peter turn around to face directly at Harley. "Because your boy's been eyeing you all night."
“He’s been watching me? All night?! Oh my god how do I look? Dad, oh my god, is my hair okay? Do these pants make my butt look big?”
“Peter, no—“
“Oh my GOD! Do these pants make my ass look flat? I have to take them off. I will not be caught assless while Harley Keener is looking at me!” Tony has absolutely no time to unpack all of that, so he dumps out the entire suitcase altogether. He inhales through his teeth with a hiss.
"I'm gonna need something stronger than this," with a determined grip, he drags his flailing mess of an intern-slash-son towards the bar, where their hired bartender was doling out drinks to several others. "Vodka on the rocks, bartender."
“Oh god. Oh my god, dad— shut up, SHUT UP! He’s coming this way, play it cool!” Peter panics, and Tony's a little worried for the top he's wearing, considering Peter's iron-grip on the hem.
"I didn't say anything?"
“Shhh!”
And, would you look at that, Harley was making his way towards the father-son disaster duo. "Tony," he nods towards him, "do you mind if I borrow Peter for a few minutes?" Peter tries to slyly nod at Tony, nudging him to say yes. It would've been sly had Peter not been so un-self-aware and turned himself into a flashing marquee sign reading 'SAY YES!'.
"All yours," Tony releases his admittedly hard grip on Peter's arm, waving them off as he starts downing his drink. "Use protection, lovebirds," he says with a grin. Peter doesn’t even catch Tony saying the last part because he’s too busy admiring Harley.
Harley sputters and turns a little bit pink, saluting Tony before leading Peter away from the bar.
They end up on the couch, spectators to Clint and Sam's Mario Kart duel. "You doing okay? You looked like you were freaking out earlier."
“What? When, me?" Peter sputters, a failing attempt at playing it coo. "Nah," he waves a dismissive hand. "That was, um, som— someone else. Yeah, all cool here.”
"Peter," Harley levels him a dry look, setting his solo cup on the side table beside the couch. "You sure you're okay? Do you need anything?"
Peter stares at Harley’s face for a second or two longer than he should have. “Do you wanna go out with me?" he blurts out. "I mean, it’s fine if you don’t— I’ll just jump out the window right now but it’ll be okay 'cause dad will just catch me with his suit but like! Yeah, no, it’s fine, I didn’t even say anything.”
"Whoa whoa whoa, wait a sec," Harley waves his hands in a sort of time-out motion. "You were going a bit fast for me there. Dial it back, and run that by me again," he bites his lip. "You wanna... go out with me?"
“I uh— um, yes,” Peter tries to put up a serious face, squinting his eyes.
Harley lies back for a minute, taking all of that in as his heart hammers in his ribs. The music's loud, Clint and Sam are loud, everything is loud, but he's sure Peter could hear his heart thrumming in his chest, it's going so damn fast. "Uh," he starts eloquently. "Are you sure? You're not just saying dumb things because Steve let you get drunk tonight?"
“Drunk? Me? I’m not drunk I’m totally fine, pfff. But, um, yeah, I’m sure.” Peter keeps glancing back and forth at Harley and the window in case he needs to make his escape.
"Right," Harley's looking intently at Peter's face, looking for any sign that Peter could possibly be messing with him right now. Not that Peter ever would, but he's had enough fake dates from bets for a lifetime. Finding none, he reclines and takes Peter's hand in his. "I'll go out with you," he says, a little giddy. "But," his face sobers up again. "On the condition that you admit you're drunk, and you need to tell me if you want to take back asking me out when you're sober again."
“I- okay, fine. Maybe I might be just a little tiny bit drunk..." Peter trails off in admittance until his brain catches up to him. "Wait, did you say you would?” the smile that erupts on his face becomes the brightest thing in the room, “I’m not gonna take it back.”
"Yes, I would go out with you," Harley returns Peter's smile with his own, grateful that Peter hasn't seem to have noticed his grip on his hand. "And you say that now, but being drunk makes people do dumb things," he tacks on with a shrug, more informational than anything.
Peter pulls Harley closer to him with newly found confidence, “I can do dumber things if you want.”
There are several, very loud parts of Harley that is screaming at him to go with it, to finally be able to touch Peter like that. But then there's a bigger, monolithic, rational part of him that is batting them off like flies. "Don't take this the wrong way," he says, almost a whisper with how close they are. "But I don't think you should be doing this when you're drunk," to console, his hand reaches up and caresses Peter's cheek.
Peter flinches at the touch before embracing the warmth of Harley’s hand. Peter closes his heavy-lidded eyes, “S'kay.” he slumps over, leans on Harley’s shoulder and starts snoring ever so quietly.
Harley snorts at the sudden transition from one awake spider-boy to a dead asleep one, poking Peter's cheek for good measure. Harley adjusts himself so he doesn't end up achy from holding Peter up, then looks around to find Tony.
When he meets his eye, he puts a thumb up and Tony tips his glass towards him in acknowledgment.
Unfortunately for Peter, the mead does in fact do a number on him, especially when he wakes up not knowing what he did last night. Even more so when the world gleefully reminds him with a text from Harley.
From: 🤠
Just checking in: you still up for our date?
✔︎ Seen 8:23AM
From: Peterman
our WHAT
✔︎ Seen 8:23AM
"JARVIS, is Harley awake yet?" Peter asks, looking up at the ceiling instinctively.
"He is indeed, young sir. He is currently preparing breakfast with Sergeant Barnes in the communal kitchen."
"Cool," he nods, pulling his sheets off him (When did he get into bed? When did he change clothes?) and standing. The world is a teensy bit wobbly, but it clears away after a moment. He hastily sends a text to Harley.
From: Peterman
no nvm dont answer that im comign down
✔︎ Seen 8:25AM
Harley, with all the patience of a saint, explains the entirety of last night's situation, Bucky butting in with commentary on how hopeless and pine-y he was while he ate 30 snickerdoodles in one sitting. That explains why there were no leftover cookies in the fridge, at least.
"So are you still okay with that?" Harley asks, hesitant as he hands Peter a plate. Peter loads it up with all the breakfast staples before returning to Harley's question, butterflies whipping up a storm in his stomach.
"Okay with what? The going out thing?" Harley nods, a hopeful look on his face. Peter's kind of in disbelief because he could've had this earlier, what the heck? "Yeah, of course," he replies, as nonchalantly as he possibly can while fireworks explode in his head.
Harley whoops, pumping his fist as a smile grew and just about split his face in half. Bucky rolls his eyes, muttering "kids" under his breath.
Peter only just managed to tamp down all the nervous energy thrumming in him as he ate a peaceful breakfast with Harley and Bucky. Really, he wanted to zoom up into the sky like a firework. Or run down to the workshop and tell Mr. Stark all about it. One of these causes Mr. Stark less headaches than the other, so he goes for that.
"Mr. Stark-!" Peter's excited yell gets cut off by an adamant hand. He ran into the workshop, thankfully unlocked, breathless and yelling his joy in to the air.
Mr. Stark is there, already somehow working on something at too-early in the morning — probably hasn't even slept yet, yeesh — and Steve is sitting in the ratty old couch in the corner. There must be a clear question mark on Peter's face, because then Mr. Stark continues.
"Nope, nuh-uh. No more Mr. Stark-ing in my presence. Not since someone," Tony looks pointedly at Steve, who looks away. "Gave a minor Asgardian mead and said minor wouldn't stop following me around and calling me dad like a lost puppy."
"I did what?!"