Chapter Text
“Incoming call from Dad.”
Peter froze, panic coursing through his veins. “No. No, no, no! Don’t answer!” He did not need his father knowing he was atop a Staten Island Ferry, about to take down the weapons, buyers, and sellers of an alien tech operation he’d been following the past few weeks. Mainly because his father had told him, well, not to.
“Got a sec, Spiderling?” Tony’s face popped up in front of him.
“Uh, Dad, I’m at school,” Peter tried, focusing on the movements of the three thugs he’d already put a location to.
“No, you’re not,” Karen said pointedly.
“Papa told me to just wait ‘til you got home,” Tony continued, “But I just wanted to tell you that you did a nice job in DC.”
“Okay…”
“My dad never really gave me any support and I’m just trying to break the cycle of shame.”
Peter crawled higher to get a better look at his targets. “Uh, thanks, Dad, that’s great but I’m kind of in the middle of something…”
Tony’s jaw shifted. “You are just like your papa, always cutting me off when I’m complimenting you. Anyway, great things are about to…”
The blare of the ferry horn interrupted him this time. His dark eyes narrowed.
“What was that?”
“Uh, I’m at band practice,” Peter lied.
Tony frowned. “That’s odd, Stephen told me you quit band six weeks ago. What’s up?”
“I gotta go! Uh, end call.”
“Hey!” Tony warned, his upper lip curling as his face disappeared from Peter’s screen.
A twinge of guilt prickled the back of Peter’s neck. He hated lying to his dad, even though lying to his dad was easier than lying to his papa. Peter could put on a face brave enough to fool Tony, but one look of Stephen’s icy blue eyes had him crumbling. He couldn’t even get so much as a sore throat past his doctor dad.
But this wasn’t about Tony, or Stephen. This was about him. He needed to prove he didn’t need the training wheels protocol.
He was Spider-Man, and he was going to catch these bad guys.
“Stephen!” Tony was shoving his phone back into his pocket, frantically searching their quarters of the compound for his husband. He’d already suited up, ready to leave as soon as his backup had been found.
“Babe!”
Stephen came around the corner of the kitchen, teacup between his hands. “I’m right here, Tony.” His voice was so calm. It set Tony’s teeth on edge. “You don’t have to shout.”
“I’ve been looking everywhere for you!” Tony hissed. “Didn’t you hear me calling for you?”
“I was making tea. What’s the matter? What’s got you so riled?”
“Get your cloak. We gotta go.”
Stephen’s brow furrowed. “Go where? What’s going on?”
“It’s Peter,” Tony urged. “I just got off the phone with him, I think he’s in trouble. I already called the FBI.”
“The FBI?! Tony, what the fuck is going on? Tell me. Now.”
Tony’s shoulders heaved. “It’s those illegal alien tech weapons he was telling us about. I told him to stay out of it…”
“Let me guess,” Stephen said, “He didn’t listen?”
“I don’t need any of your smartass comments right now, Strange.”
Stephen snickered, his Cloak of Levitation settling into place around his shoulders. "He is your son in many ways, Stark.”
“If you would like it to remain that way, I suggest we leave.”
Tony didn’t know everything that had happened. He didn’t want to know. The ferry had been split in half; Peter was in between both pieces, holding them together by two shots of web-fluid.
“Babe, take the other side,” he ordered Stephen, who was already spiraling red ropes of magic from his fingers. “I got this side. We have to get the boat back together.”
“You got it, honey.”
Tony summoned an array of Stark Technology drones to give them a hand, watching them snap to the side of the sinking ferry. He could see his son through one of the broken windows.
“Hi, Spider-Man. Band practice, was it?”
The drones initiated their launch sequence; Stephen hollered “ready when you are, hon!” from the opposite side.
“Go for it, sweetheart!”
The combination of Stephen’s magic, the drones and Tony himself reconnected the ship with little effort. Tony lasered the incisions together to create a proper seal. Peter was flying after him, yelling at him if he could do anything to help.
“I think you’ve done enough,” Tony said. The sternness in his voice was apparent. “I’ve got this,” he then told Stephen, halting the sorcerer in mid-air. “I’ll see you back at home.”
Peter sat high on the ledge of one of the dock buildings, barely acknowledging his dad as Tony swooped in behind him.
“Previously on Peter Screws the Pooch, I tell you to stay away from this and instead, you hacked a multimillion dollar suit so you could sneak around behind our backs doing the one thing I told you not to do.”
Peter’s voice quivered. “Is everyone okay?”
“No thanks to you.”
“No thanks to me?” Peter’s head snapped up and he clambered to his feet. “Those weapons were out there, Dad, and I tried to tell you about them but you didn’t listen!” He came closer, his voice rising to a shout. “None of this would have happened if you had just listened to me!” He scoffed, hurt. “If you even cared, you’d actually be here.”
Tony climbed out of the Iron Man suit, pressing a serious advance on his son. Peter backed up hastily.
“I did listen, kid. Who do you think called the FBI, huh? Don’t you dare try and pull the uncaring parent card; you know how much your papa and I care for you. We were the ones who told the rest of the team you could do this because we believe in you. Everyone else thought it was crazy that we recruited our fourteen-year-old son…”
“I’m fifteen,” Peter interrupted.
Something inside Tony snapped hard like a rubber band. “No, this is where you zip it, alright? The adult is talking! What is somebody had died tonight? Different story, right? Because that’s on you! And if you died…” Tony’s hands extended out. “I feel like that’s on me. Or your papa. We’re your parents, we’re supposed to protect you. Neither of us need that on our conscience.”
“Yes, sir,” Peter said shamefacedly. “I’m sorry, I understand.”
“No, sorry doesn’t cut it.”
“I just wanted to be like you.”
Tears broke Peter’s voice. That rubber band inside Tony snapped harder this time.
“And I wanted you to be better.”
Peter looked away; a tear or two caught in the sunset and glinted against his cheek.
“It’s not working out,” Tony decided, admittedly and ashamedly right then and there, without thinking it through or discussing it with Stephen. “I’m gonna need your suit back.”
Peter’s jaw dropped. “For how long?”
“Forever,” Tony grunted. “That’s how it works when you don’t listen to your parent.”
“No, no, please,” Peter begged. “Please, Dad, please. Please, this is all I have! I’m nothing without that suit!”
“If you’re nothing without this suit, then you shouldn’t have it.” Tony shook his head in disappointment. “God, I sound like my dad.”
Peter’s mouth opened and closed several times. “I don’t have any other clothes,” he finally said quietly.
“I’ll take care of that,” Tony said. “Then you need to get your ass home.”