The Waterspout

In Which Tony Starts Talking and can't Stop

When Tony collapsed into bed at the end of the long Saturday, he was surprised to find only a single text message from Peter. He rolled his eyes, finding the letter to be far longer than the usual updates, and proceeded to read it with the kid’s voice in his head.

Hi Mr. Stark. Um, I sorta kinda got stabbed.

The saturation of anxiety in Tony’s system skyrocketed.

It wasn’t bad, before you freak. :) A scratch. All healed up now! A thumbs-up emoji had Tony grinning lightly. But the suit doesn’t have spider healing, so it needs a patch up.

The next line came later, like an afterthought. If you’re busy it’s not a big deal. - PP

Tony rolled his eyes. The kid would never have asked him for help if is truly wasn’t a big deal; someone had planted this idea in his head that Tony didn’t have time for him. Who? Oh right, that had been Tony.

The man rubbed the bridge of his nose, trying to pretend he wasn’t excited. This was (if he thought about it) quite perfect. He’d get out of some conferences, into the workshop, and get to see the kid for the first time in months. And this was something he was supposed to do, right? Fix the suit. Improve the suit. He could do that without screwing anything up, without changing the conversations.

So Tony replied to Peter for the first time in months, breaking the radio silence for good.

I’m always busy. Get your ass over here tomorrow, and we’ll see what I can do about the suit’s ‘spider healing.’

“You, Karen, are a genius.” Peter punched the air when he read the single response. “Tomorrow. Well, today now, I guess. He didn’t give a time…”

    “He’ll know when you’re going over, Peter,” Karen hummed.

    Peter laughed. “Yeah, of course he will.”

    An hour and three classes worth of homework later, Spider-Man was swinging through the streets. He didn’t know who would be at the compound; better safe than sorry with his secret identity. The rip he’d engineered in the suit near his hip (God, the material was strong; he’d had to sharpen all of the kitchen knives after) was actually quite inconvenient, stretching and pulling and contorting the suit in ways he wasn’t used to.

    As he got closer to the compound, doubt started to flicker in his gut. What, exactly, was he doing? Engineering some excuse to see a busy billionaire because a voicemail the man wasn’t even aware was sent? Sabotaging his own suit for it? This was dumb. This was really, really dumb.

    But… he couldn’t deny how relieved he’d felt when Mr. Stark responded. That he acknowledged Peter’s existence. And he couldn’t deny how happy he’d felt when the man’s voice had come through in that message for the first time in so, so long.

    What. The actual. Fuck.

    So Spider-Man finished his journey to the compound and was met by one Happy Hogan waving both hands halfheartedly from the grounds to get his attention. Spider-Man grinned, sending a web just a bit closer than necessary and leaping gracefully to the earth. He took off his mask, shaking out brown curls and grinning like an idiot. “Happy!” Peter greeted, bouncing forward.

    The perpetually grumpy man let Peter hug him, squeezing him back just a little. “Long time no see.”

    “I know! No talk, either.” Peter made a face. “Mr. Stark know I’m here?”

    “What are you kidding? ‘Course he does. He’s waiting in the workshop.”

    Peter, suddenly remembering that this was Iron Man’s workshop he was about to enter, fidgeted nervously. “Um. Am I late or...did I make him miss--”