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“This place is too fancy,” Peter says, trailing after Tony and nearly tripping over his own feet. He looks up, craning his neck to peer at the golden dangling things hanging from the ceiling. He’s never been to Chicago and he’s only stepped inside a hotel this nice exactly once, when Tony brought him to Germany to fight Captain America.
But now he’s in Chicago, with Tony, in a fancy hotel named after London or something, for the Stark Robotics and Technology Conference. Tony said he needed an intern to come with him, help out with stuff, and he’s been especially considerate and close and kind since all the shit happened with Vulture.
Peter doubted for a little while that Tony really liked him—maybe he considered him a burden, someone that had to be watched and doubted, but now it feels more personal. He’s texting him, they’re working together in the lab, and Tony did the whole intern deal officially so Peter would have a reason to be around more often.
Peter feels more valued, now. Yeah, Tony was definitely doing stuff for him before, but now he’s—more open about how much he cares. Not hiding it in webshooter combinations or tucked away details. He definitely doesn’t want Peter to die, that’s for sure. It’s been way different since he almost did.
“It’s not too fancy,” Tony says, approaching the front desk. “You’re too fancy. You’re overdressed.”
“I’m in jeans and a t-shirt,” Peter says, watching as the lady behind the desk immediately recognizes Tony. “I’m in a Star Wars t-shirt. A Yoda t-shirt.”
“Thank God it’s not Jar Jar or I would have had to change,” Tony says. “Can’t have you outshining me.” He grins at the woman. “Hey, I’ve got two specific rooms booked under—”
“Yes, Mr. Stark, we’ve been expecting you,” she says. “We’re very excited you chose the Londonhouse for the conference this year.”
“Of course,” he says. “You guys have my favorite hotel gym, I couldn’t resist.”
“Oh, shouldn’t I be checking us in?” Peter asks, shouldering closer to him and trying not to get distracted by everything. “I’m the intern. I should be—interning. Intern duties.”
“I am, in fact, capable of checking into a hotel,” Tony says, glancing at him over his sunglasses. “Despite what Happy may tell you.”
Peter snorts. “Yeah, he’s uh—”
“Yeah, I know he’s uh,” Tony says. “He’s got a big mouth, that’s what he’s got. Telling kids things kids don’t need to know about their mentors slash bosses. I know what stories he’s sharing.”
“It’s fine,” Peter says, his elbows resting on the counter. “It doesn’t change how I see you.”
“2000 was a very different year for me,” Tony says, narrowing his eyes. “I was still recovering from saving the world from Y2K. Yes, that was me, hold your applause. Happy wanted to get more involved and if I let him do all the checking in, then that’s what I let him do. He never complained back then.”
“2000,” Peter says. “The year before I was born.”
Tony looks disgusted. “God, you’re an amoeba.”
Peter grins.
“Here you are, Mr. Stark,” the woman says. She’s so dressed up that it looks like she’s ready to go dancing or something, her high-collared suit reminding Peter of something he’s seen in May’s closet. She pushes two cards towards Tony, and Tony pushes one of them towards Peter. It’s got gold around the edges and it doesn’t look like a room key. It looks like—something that should cost money. That’s what it looks like.
“And everything is in order for tomorrow,” the woman says.
“Oh, I’m sure,” Tony says. “I trust you guys. And the team of lunatics I sent over here last week. I hope they’re not accruing too many fees.”
“They’re perfect guests,” the woman says, with a look that screams that she’s happy Miss Potts isn’t here. “All the things you asked for are already set up in the rooms. Do you need help?”
“We’re alright,” Tony says. “I’ve got my very capable intern taking care of everything this time around, so Mr. Hogan won’t be here bothering you. This one is nice and actually has manners.” He claps Peter on the shoulder.
Tony hasn’t told Peter to do one single interning thing this weekend, and Peter is afraid he’s falling down on the job. But he nods anyways, smiling at the lady and trying to represent that Stark professionalism.
“Thank you, ma’am,” Peter says. “We appreciate everything you guys are doing for the conference, we know it’s, uh—we know it’s gonna be great.”
“We appreciate you right back,” the woman says.
“Thank you very much, Miss Carolyn,” Tony says, taking his own key and a couple papers she put on the counter, too. He rolls his suitcase around and Peter follows, hoisting his backpack up on his shoulder. He holds tight to the room key like someone is gonna come snatch it from him.
“You need a rolling bag,” Tony says, glancing at him. “Are all your clothes really stuffed in there?”
“I didn’t need that many clothes,” Peter says. May told him he should have brought some extras, but Peter knew what he wanted to wear.
“Thank God you’ll have an iron in your room,” Tony says, grinning and nodding when they pass by a couple groups that recognize him.
They head for the elevator, and Peter grits his teeth. “The one time I tried to iron something I burned right through it and I also burned my hand,” he says.
Tony stares at him in horror, and keeps walking. He doesn’t walk into anybody, in fact, people part for him to come through, and somehow he still knows where he’s going. Peter laughs.
“Yeah, that’s the same face May made,” Peter says. “But she had to deal with the aftermath.”
“It’s amazing how smart and capable you are with most things, and yet you can’t manage an iron or tie a tie,” Tony says. There’s an area with a bunch of elevators, and Peter can see the Grand Ballroom when he looks over his shoulder. It’s already mostly set up for the conference, and there are security guards at the entrances.
Tony punches the button for the elevator and one of the doors by the far wall opens up, and they head over there and get inside.
Peter leans against the wall while Tony chooses their floor, and the doors close. “Do you, uh, want me to do some interning stuff? Like go and get you coffee? Make sure the, uh—programs are all ready? Make sure the paintings are straight in the ballroom? Make sure the chairs are—”
Tony snorts. “Kid, I just thought you’d enjoy this. May told me about when it came through Queens but you two couldn’t make it because she was working and didn’t want you to go alone, and I thought, after all the shit you’ve been through lately, that you deserved something fun. No interning for you. That’s just an excuse.”
Peter remembers that. It was six months after Ben died, and he wasn’t gonna bother May too much about the conference. He didn’t know how much tickets cost anyways, or if kids his age could even go.
He really hung onto the idea of Iron Man after Ben died. Peter held him closer than ever.
“Thanks,” Peter says, clearing his throat and nodding at Tony. “For real, like. A million times.”
“You deserve it,” Tony says, reaching over and knocking him in the arm. “You might think it’s boring, anyways. Might wanna go out and get coffee just to escape.”
Peter scoffs. “Yeah, uh. I doubt it.”
~
Their rooms are right next to each other and Peter’s is absolutely gigantic. The shower is as big as his bedroom at home, and he’s almost afraid of sitting on anything or touching anything because he might mess it up. The curtains are like tapestries. The bed sheets look like velvet. Everything smells like lavender and happiness.
“What is this?” Peter asks, standing in front of his king-sized bed and looking at what seems like an Easter basket.
Tony is still out in the hallway, dropping his bag off in his own room. “What’s what?” he calls. “I can’t see you.”
Peter approaches it. “The basket thing,” he says. “There’s a big gift basket on my bed. Is this supposed to be here? Is this supposed to be yours? Is there weird stuff in here that I’m not supposed to see?”
He hears Tony laugh, and then a door closes. “No, that’s for you,” Tony says. “I always ask for weird shit when I stay in hotels and I asked them to create a gift basket for a fifteen year old Stark intern on his first out-of-towner.” Tony walks into Peter’s room, the door swinging closed behind him. He immediately opens the closet, taking out the iron and the ironing board.
Peter only briefly glances at him, peering into the bag. “There’s—an I love Chicago pillow. Two boxes of fancy cheese. A box of chocolate chip cookies. A crossword book. A...things to do in Chicago manual. A...Chicago photography book, oh my God, it’s big, it’s...hardcover. A bottle of...cologne? What the hell? Fancy peanuts, a bag of coffee, and a—thermos with the hotel logo. Cool! Oh, and a stuffed raccoon. Why a raccoon?”
“No clue,” Tony says, flipping out the ironing board over close to the kitchenette. “Should have requested a spider.”
Peter snorts.
“Okay, hand over your outfit for tomorrow,” Tony says, holding out his hand. “I’m sure it’s not even folded.”
“You are absolutely correct,” Peter says, putting his bag down on the bed and unzipping it. He’s got his best outfit for tomorrow, aka his only pair of black jeans and a button down shirt. He pulls them out in a messy wad and Tony shakes his head as Peter hands them over.
“Open your presents and turn on the TV,” Tony says, spreading the clothes out on the board. “This is gonna take a bit. Wrinkle city, Peter.”
Peter sighs and tries not to worry about messing things up, lounging back on the bed and grabbing for the remote. He looks over at Tony and laughs, quickly pulling his phone out of his pocket. “Iron Man ironing. Amazing.”
Tony shakes his head. “Moron.”
Peter grins and takes a picture.
~
“He got me the better room, May,” Peter says, cocooned under the covers, still stuffing his face with the cheese. “I was looking at the layout online—”
“Why in the world are you looking up the hotel layout?” May asks, laughing.
“I don’t know, it’s a super cool hotel and I wanted to look at the layout,” he says. And maybe he’s a little paranoid about tomorrow. People always want to mess with Tony, and this is a scheduled event. Sure, he’s got security, but people can figure shit out if they really want to hurt him. Peter definitely saw that with the Vulture and his people. So he wants to be familiar with his surroundings. “But my room is bigger and has a nicer bathroom. Why would he give me the better room?”
“Honey, as much as I hate giving in like this, I’ve finally come to the conclusion that Tony is a good person and he cares a lot about you. And after all that damn mess with the plane and all that—well, he’s finally doing things right when it comes to you, thank God. If he wasn’t I wouldn’t have let you go with him in the first place.”
“Yeah, but like, I don’t need a big room or a bigger room than him or anything,” Peter says, sinking lower in the pillows.
“Hey, just enjoy it,” May says. “It’s not an all the time thing that you get to experience nice hotels. I love nice hotels.”
Peter snorts, and pairs a piece of cheese with part of a chocolate chip cookie. “Fine,” he says, wishing she could be here too. “I love you.”
“I love you too, sweetheart,” she says. “Sleep good and have fun tomorrow, call me after.”
“I will,” he says. “Night, May.”
~
His nightmares are always about the warehouse, now. All of it weighing down on top of him, and sometimes he feels like he’s trapped there again, like everything he’s doing now is just in his head. He wakes up in a panic, feeling small and young and stupid, forgetting that he made it out, that he found his strength and solved the problem, took Toomes down.
He lays there, breathing hard and clutching at his chest. He’s still got the gift basket on the bed beside him and the TV is still on, and he shakes his head at himself. He’s sweating and he shivers, trying to calm down.
He told Tony about it a week ago. What happened in the warehouse, being trapped under the rubble. Tony’s eye twitched and he stood there like a video game glitch, and then he apologized and said he felt like shit, promising he wouldn’t let something like that happen again. Peter knows this and that aren’t connected, because this trip was already planned before they had the conversation. But he figures Tony knowing about it definitely contributes to their newfound closeness. More on the I’d rather Peter didn’t die front.
Peter sighs and grabs his phone, composing a text. mr. Stark are you awake
He watches as the dots immediately come up, and he sort of feels like an idiot. He’s fine, he’s fine, he’s totally fine. He didn’t need to text him. He glances at the time and realizes it’s almost one in the morning.
Yeah, you okay?
Peter blows out a breath. yeah I’m okay I just wanted to make sure I wasn’t bothering you with the TV!!!
He shakes his head at himself again. The TV isn’t even really that loud. Tony is good at reading people, despite the fact that the conversation is entirely text, and he can probably see right through him.
The phone buzzes.
Whenever I have nightmares I try to ground myself in the moment and remind myself where I really am, what’s going on, what my plans are, why the nightmare isn’t real. You’ve got milk in your fridge, that might help. Deep breaths!
Peter’s face heats up but he’s smiling at the sheer fact that he can message Tony Stark and that’s the kind of response he’ll receive. Not many people can say that. He doesn’t really regret the initial message anymore. Not really.
okay, thank you! sorry I feel stupid
He gets out of bed and flips the light back on, walking into the kitchenette and over to the fridge. He grabs the bottle of milk out and hears his phone buzz again on the bed. He takes a sip and walks back over, sitting down. His heart is finally starting to beat normally again.
Don’t feel stupid, I had a nightmare about my old babysitter just three nights ago and nearly pissed the bed. Just try and sleep, bud, turn on the Disney Channel.
Peter snorts, and just as he’s about to reply, he hears a few light taps on the wall that he shares with Tony’s room.
Knock knock knock knock knock…
Peter grins and moves over, finishing the melody.
Knock knock.
~
There’s a lot going on the next day, with the conference starting, but Peter notices the weird guy immediately. He’s got this extra sense that goes off sometimes and as soon as he looks at this guy he feels weird.
“What’s wrong?” Tony asks, over their extremely fancy breakfast, fruit smorgasbord and all. “Why are you twitchy? What’s that look?”
Peter pushes his eggs around on his plate. There are a lot of people in this hotel restaurant, and it’s shining and shimmering and almost built to distract him. But he keeps an eye on the weird guy in the red jacket.
“Nothing,” Peter says. “Nothing.”
Tony narrows his eyes at him and takes another sip of his water. “Okay,” he says. “We’re lying, but fine. You can stick with me until I do the speech, you wanna go look at the tables? See if there’s any swag you can get?”
“Swag,” Peter laughs.
“I know for a surefire fact there’s swag, and there’s Stark swag, too. I know there is because I designed it, and I know the kid who literally stole my lanyard wants Stark swag.”
“Me?” Peter asks. “Steal? No. I don’t do that.”
Tony laughs.
“I borrow. I borrowed, with intentions of returning. Eventually, maybe.”
Tony grins at him, and flicks water at him. Peter winces and shakes his head, glancing over at the weird guy again. He’s at a corner table by himself, eating pancakes. Tony follows Peter’s gaze, turning almost completely around, and Peter hisses at him. Tony turns back and gapes at him.
“What?” Tony asks. “What did that man do to you? Should I have him arrested? Thrown out of the hotel? What?”
“No, no,” Peter says. “Let’s go look at the tables. And the booths and the stuff and the swag.”
“Alright, swaggy,” Tony says, rubbing his hands together. “You done?”
“Yup,” Peter says, taking the last bite of his biscuit.
“Alright, let’s head out,” Tony says, getting up.
Peter starts to stand too, looking at him. “Don’t we have to pay?”
“They saw me,” Tony says, gesturing towards the waitress. “They’ll bill my room.”
~
Tony introduces Peter to everybody as one of his “most promising interns”, going on and on about what a future he has at the company, and Peter has no idea how to behave other than stand there and blush profusely. Tony talks about MIT and Empire State College already being interested in Peter, and if Peter didn’t know any better, he’d think Tony was being honest with these guys and not playing a part.
There are all kinds of booths set up outside the grand ballroom, lots of companies to sign up with, a small section of high school kids with their own homemade robots. Lots of people are looking at him because he’s with Tony, and Peter tries to take everybody’s cards and everybody’s free stuff, enough to bring back to Ned. They listen to speeches in the ballroom, watch presentations and little movies, and at one point, Peter looks over at Tony and he just...can’t believe he’s here.
“Stop hovering around the Oscorp booth,” Tony says, tugging him away. “I only invite them to be cordial.”
Peter snorts. “Wow, Mr. Stark, the jealousy is flaring.”
“No jealousy. Just hatred. Plus, I’m getting ready to go up there and do the damn speech. You wanna be anywhere specific? Not out here near the Oscorp booth. I can find a seat for you.”
“I’ll find one,” Peter says, awkwardly patting Tony’s arm. “Do good! You got this! Yay!”
Tony laughs. “Videotape it and make it a meme or something. Give me bunny ears again. It’s what the world wants.”
Peter grins at him, and then he catches the weird red jacket guy out of the corner of his eye. He feels the hair on his arms stand on end, and he gets the worst feeling. “Uh, yes. Yes, I’ll do that.”
“Alright bud, I’ll meet you by the food delivery drone that kid from Boston made,” Tony says. “Don’t do anything weird.”
“Okay,” Peter says, already distracted. He waits for Tony to disappear into the little curtained area beside the stage, and then Peter immediately turns away from the ballroom, starting to track the red jacket guy. Peter tries to blend into the crowd, tries to keep an eye on him, and he sees that he’s on the phone, moving erratically through groups of people. He’s moving towards the left side of the ballroom, where the elevators and hallways are, the stairs up to the main lobby.
Peter knows there’s like, a lot of security here, yes, yes, he keeps reminding himself of that, but something is drawing him towards this guy. He listens hard and tries to tune everything else out.
“—yeah, yeah, he’s giving the speech now,” the guy says, quietly, into his phone, looking around suspiciously. “I’ll get him right afterwards. Yeah. Where everybody can see.”
Peter swallows hard and moves faster, towards him. His heart beats loud in his ears. He weaves around a woman and smiles softly, trying to stay polite even though he’s panicking. “Excuse me, miss,” he whispers, trying to keep the guy in his sights.
“Okay, yeah,” the guy says. “Lemme go. I just wanna make sure.”
He hangs up then and slips into the hallway with the bathroom, next to the elevators. Peter follows, and when he turns the corner he sees him in one of the little nooks with the water fountains. He pulls something out of his pocket—
He’s got mace.
He’s gonna fucking try to mace Tony! What the hell?
Peter watches him replace it in his pocket again, taking out his phone and texting something Peter can’t see. The security guys should have clocked this guy from a mile away. He’s shifty and planning shit and not exactly hiding it. How the hell did he even get in here?
Peter looks over his shoulder to make sure nobody is following him, and when he’s sure he’s alone he approaches the guy, throwing an arm around his shoulder and immediately nudging him down the hallway.
“Uh, what the—”
“You’re not gonna mace Tony Stark,” Peter says, picking up the pace and walking faster. “I’m not gonna let you mace Tony Stark.”
They’re further down the hallway now and the guy makes his move, slipping under Peter’s arm. Peter wasn’t really expecting a fight, for some reason, maybe because his indignation was blinding him, and he dodges one punch he sees coming, throwing another of his own. He doesn’t want to kill this guy, so he holds back, but in holding back he accidentally lets himself get hit in the face.
“Buddy, I’m not gonna like, do this with you,” Peter says, hitting him once in the stomach, and yeah, Peter didn’t exactly think this through all the way, he’ll—he’ll admit that. In his head. “We’re just gonna—”
The guy hits him again, straight in the nose, and Peter clutches at it. He’s angry now, and he sweeps his legs out from under him, punching him too. They struggle in a mess of limbs.
“Just stop, stop, you’re not gonna do this and I don’t want to hurt you—”
Peter gets a terrible feeling, and then the asshole maces him. Just. Straight in the eyes, a whole ton of mace and it’s like he’s on fire and he doesn’t yell because somebody is gonna hear him yell and this is bad enough, as it is, someone is gonna see this on a security camera and come arrest him, and he can hear Tony’s voice giving the speech already because now that his eyes are closed he can hear everything else better and Jesus this hurts, but he can hear the stupid guy scrambling more clearly now, too.
“What the hell, kid, Tony Stark is an asshole, he deserves to get maced in front of everybody—”
“Tony Stark is awesome,” Peter says, through gritted teeth, and he finds the guy’s face with one hand and punches him out with the other.
He can tell that he’s out, now, and Peter slumps back, rubbing at his burning eyes. He struggles like hell to pick the guy up, trying to peer through the hazy fire, and he drags him into the bathroom and drops him against the wall. Peter washes out his eyes for what feels like forever without it helping, and then he goes back outside and finds the closest security guard that he actually recognizes.
“Mr. Parker,” the man says, eyes wide.
Peter’s are still burning. “There was this guy and he was planning on macing Tony when he walked out of the ballroom after his speech so I kind of got in a fight with him,” he says. “I’m okay, uh, but he’s knocked out in the bathroom.” He doesn’t know what else to say and it sounds crazy enough on it’s own. “You know, uh. Intern duties.” He laughs awkwardly and now it sounds worse.
“Mr. Parker, please let us know about something like this before you step in, you could have been seriously hurt.”
He’ll be fine in like an hour, but he’s not gonna say that to this guy, obviously.
“Sorry, I just—I got mad and he saw me listening and it was a whole big thing,” Peter says. He still hears Tony talking, and he wants to get in there. He rubs at his eyes and they just sting. “You got it from here? We good? Sorry.”
“Do you need medical—”
“No, no, I’m okay,” Peter says, walking away from him. “I’m good! Thank you!”
The security guard gives him a weird look but Peter keeps going, still rubbing his eyes. He walks back into the ballroom, and Tony is still on the stage behind the podium.
“And that’s why we have to encourage our kids to—” Tony looks up just as Peter moves into sight—his eyes go wide, his jaw goes slack and his brows furrow. He stares at him in horror and Peter reaches up, wiping away some of the blood that drips from his nose. He blinks through the strain and holds his thumbs up, nodding happily.
“Uh,” Tony stammers. “Uh. Uh. Encourage the kids to—take care of themselves and hone their skills and all that, yeah, you don’t want to hear me ramble on, go out there, check everything out, uh, enjoy. Enjoy the rest of the, uh—conference. Day.”
People clap and Peter claps harder and moves over to the side of the stage where Tony is gonna come out from. He pushes his way through the crowd and Tony disappears into the curtained area before he rushes back out again, still wearing that look of pure concern.
“What the hell, Peter?” Tony asks, taking his arm and quickly whisking him out of the room.
“I’m fine,” Peter says. “I’m fine! I know that’s not how your speech was supposed to end.”
“Yeah, I don’t like speeches anyway, what the hell, Pete?”
~
They go back up to Peter’s room and Tony frets with a first aid kit while Peter tells him the whole story.
“And like, I wasn’t paying attention properly because I was like, so mad it was happening in the first place,” Peter says, holding a washcloth to his nose. “Mr. Stark, I’m gonna be fine, you know I’m fine, I just—”
Tony sits down in the chair across from the bed, exasperated. Then he gets up, grabs the stuffed raccoon, and tosses it at Peter. He stands there and crosses his arms over his chest.
Peter snorts, holding onto it with his free hand. “What? What. I know I didn’t go about it in the exact right way—”
“You think I can’t take mace to the face? You think I can’t take mace to the face so you gotta go get maced in the face for me?”
Peter narrows his eyes. He drops the bloody washcloth that made him realize his nose was bleeding a lot more than he thought it was, and he rubs at his eyes again. “I didn’t want somebody to do that to you,” he says. “At your cool robotics conference in front of everybody, or anywhere, you know. I don’t like it.”
Tony stares at him for a second, shaking his head. But he’s smiling softly, like he’s irritated and proud at the same time. “I’m glad you’re on my team, webs,” he says.
Peter grins back at him. “I’m glad I’m on your team too.”
“Once you stop bleeding and your eyes stop burning out,” Tony says, shaking his head again, “you wanna go see the big bean? Do some tourist shit? Think you might deserve it. Think you might have already deserved it but now you deserve it extra. Line of fire intern duties, all that.”
“Oh, can we go to the Skydeck?” Peter asks, sitting up and reaching over for his gift basket. “My ‘things to do in Chicago’ manual said it was like, one of the best things to do here.”
Tony snorts, sitting back down again. “Yes. We can do Skydeck. And get souvenirs and take photos for May.”
Peter grins again. “Cool! I guess I should get maced more often.”
“No. Nope. Not that.”
Peter laughs, and tosses the raccoon back at him.