"This is an absolute nightmare."
"Yeah?" the other boy with extra-sized posture, geeky-vibe, and friendly eyes slightly murmured. Lego pieces in dark grey color were more interesting compared to his best friend's whining. His half-lidded eyes lazily glanced at his 'spider'-buddy then stared at the yellow, flashy banner which was being installed by their classmates, back to the toys on his fingers, "Really. Since when did those things attract you?" he smirked, placing the bricks with extreme caution as if his whole life depended on it.
Peter Benjamin Parker exhaled an exaggerated breath, "Yea, I did think I wouldn't give any shit. I stop caring until Uncle Ben… you know," he lightly shrugged. A simple yet strong gesture to make Edward 'Ned' Leeds switched his attention from the star-ship replica to Peter's chestnut hair. Concerned.
"No need to force yourself to come, Pete," Ned spoke in a reassuring tone. His thick, fluffy palm patted his friend's shoulder, "Well, you didn't show yourself last year too, so, yeah," he smiled, a nice try one but it still could be categorized as a 'smile', "Attending the Father's Day celebration is not mandatory."
"Uh-huh…"
"…"
"…"
"…you want to come, don't you?"
"Thing is," another sigh, another doubt; Peter grunted and brushed his own short, wavy hair, made it way messier than his usual one. Ned didn't mind a prize for being the best-friend-of-2018, really, since it was only Peter who could make him feel guilty for playing Lego. Set aside the Millennial Falcon and Han Solo's bobby head – this time, Peter needed more than just a box of plastic construction toys plus two cans of soda, "… I want to write something about someone," the Spider-man hesitantly spoke as his fingers rubbed the Erlenmeyer flask with questionable intention, "He's a proud man and brags everything he can about his inventions, but when it comes to his private life, he's untouchable."
Ned grabbed his unhealthy beverage before stating the fact, "You want to write about Mr. Stark," an effortless guess. He didn't understand what the use of Peter's fidgeting gesture was; it was obvious.
"Well…"
"You want to announce the whole school that you and Mr. Stark—"
"HUSH!" Peter silenced Ned by shoving a straw to his mouth. He smirked asymmetrically to three girls who passed their table and whispered, 'weirdo' – the Webs scoffed, it wasn't an easy task to keep Ned's mouth shut even for a millisecond, "No. No superhero-related stuff," he added, a glimpse of seriousness on his both eyes, "I just want to tell his ordinary days, things I considered interesting."
"To be fair, everything about Mr. Stark is extremely interesting," Ned couldn't agree more.
Peter giggled, more relaxed.
"Just make sure you have the authorization." playfully, Ned made his voice sounded like an AI.
For a while, the only sound perceived by Peter's both ears was Ned's sip noise came from soda remains and ice blocks. Right; the annual celebration to honor fatherhood, paternal bonds, and the influence of fathers in society – it wasn't just a usual event. No matter how narcissistic Anthony Edward Stark was, he kept his personal stories for himself and few trusted people. The fact that he established a special (read: romantic) relationship with the resident of Blacker Street was the valid proof; let's save this for later. Another consideration, if he nailed the blessing from Tony, it didn't mean he magically could produce decent writing. He was an ace of Midtown School, not because he was an art-genius.
And writing required an 'artsy' skill.
"I doubt the result, instead of Tony's approval," a faint crack came from his spine, "You know how terrible my writing sense is." Peter's chuckle synchronized with Ned's. He was the worst author ever.
"Write it in Chemistry," the young Leeds joked, and the science-geeks laughed in unison.
Peter lightly jabbed Ned's left biceps but inaudibly thanking him for reducing his anxiety. The heavy atmosphere among them turned into a livelier one, even though a storm, full of conjugations and punctuation, was happening inside his head. He jolted when the bell loudly rang; he quickly grasped his belongings and ran all the way to the class. The 'part-time Avengers' sat on the very back row, blankly stared at the whiteboard without taking a single note for the whole video-making subject.
"O – Oh, Mr. Doctor Strange! You're here!"
…awkward.
Not quite right. It wasn't 'awkward', the perfect phrase would be, 'out of place' – minimalist-modern interior, steel and glass, automatic doors and self-cleaning windows, met an ancient artifact and a dull-red flying cloak. If it wasn't bizarre enough, the man in his forties, with an aesthetic beard and a hairstyle which reminded him of a skunk, didn't sit on the sofa like any normal being. He was floating with his both legs crossed and hands formed a weird bewitching-gesture the spider-teen could never comprehend. It was weird, but it didn't shock him anymore. Peter had seen what Wanda Maximoff could do with her hands and manipulating the raw energy was something beyond his intelligence.
(Also, remind him not to pick a fight against a sorcerer.)
The main point was… Stephen Vincent Strange was hanging around Mr. Starks' working space – okay. He could be my Steph-father in no time. He stopped questioning someone else's sexual preference since he witnessed his childhood hero stole kisses from Winter Soldier's cheek. A huge mental image.
"Peter," the baritone flew like a spring river; it was comforting and warm. His feet, wrapped in a pair of complicated-artistic boots, touched the floor in such grace. Iron Man did have a unique taste in finding a man with a dramatic entrance. Take a look at how the Sorcerer Supreme flicked his fingers.
"Okay, cool," for an inter-dimensional isotonic drink which appeared from nowhere. Peter gripped the cold can tightly and tried not to examine it in a logical manner, "Where's Mr. Stark?" he opened the tin container, followed by a hiss and faint smoke, and drank it sip by sip. The young Parker didn't even bother himself to ask what kind of method Stephen used to be here. Since when. Why and how.
The goatee casually replied, "Taking care of the gun-smuggling somewhere in Albania," Stephen calmly gestured Peter to sit on the sofa, "His newest creation was imitated by the irresponsible party out there and auctioned for a higher price. It was illegal, sold in the black market, and we both know. Tony."
"Yep, Tony," Peter nodded wholeheartedly, "You're not coming with him?" he asked, curiously.
"I have my own expertise."
Silently listening to Stephen who was collected whenever he countered, as if everything was perfectly staged and arranged – and what's with that 'I'm-ready-to-give-you-a-counselling' pose, for Nick Fury's sake' – the Friendly Neighbourhood's expression changed, "Wait, this is fishy," his caramel eyes angled in inquisitiveness, "He asked you to stay here, didn't he?" Peter pointed at Stephen's cryptic smirk.
"And to prevent you from doing things he thought you would do, correct," the magic practitioner was to the point. He might be dealing with astral projection most human couldn't consider it as a rational procedure, but he was a surgeon with his analytic science of reasoning. Stephen categorized this baby spider-ling as a gifted; a distraction would lead him into a worse situation, he decided to be honest.
"But, what if Mr. Stark is in trouble…"
"He won't."
"…right."
Stephen carefully analyzed and he acknowledged it; Peter's hand played with the can, he didn't swallow his drink anymore, his gaze wandered, his lips repeatedly opened and shut and he scratched the back of his head. Juvenile, the ex-neurologist concluded. At least, this stubborn young man had grown from a reckless superhero to a more docile, composed individual who held himself from flying all the way to Albania. Sometimes, a pure heart and a strong sense to help people in need weren't enough to be a patriot. He relaxed his sitting stance – might consider to have this comfortable love seat like this one for the Sanctum – and spread his hands. A fine, non-verbal way to show him that he would listen.
"It's okay, you could ask me anything, Peter," he spoke, full of attention, "What's on your mind?"
Peter smirked, a bit troubled.
Stephen inclined his torso forward.
"There's this event in my school, you know, it's not really a competition but I want to compete – not compete, in fact, it's just…" Peter sighed, "You know when you submit writing willingly and teachers will pick one or two to be read in front of the parents gathering?" He grinned inelegantly like an idiot.
"A speech, yes."
"Do you think Mr. Stark will allow me to write about him?"
And whoever said that 'the world is not enough' – probably James Bond – could come to his mansion and faced his newest repulsor of MARK 50; Tony Stark fully discerned that Albania was far… He was getting older; sending a missile to the other side of the portal was years ago and he couldn't surpass his own accomplishment by flying back from Albania without the need to visit a reflexology parlor. It was a tiny margin of luck that his armor wasn't detected as a projectile weapon when he crossed conflicted countries below him. He was safe and sound, now, sipping a pilsner of non-alcoholic ginger ale, waving goodbye to his boyfriend who was just disappeared behind the portal and went to his—
"M—Mr. Stark! I want to ask you something!"
…
For the sake of the eight-angled star polygon on Carol Denvers' chest.
When he entered his highly upgraded laboratory, what he expected was a concerned voice welcoming him. His condition was stable and facial hair was unscathed but it didn't mean that his attained mission, eight hours ago, not dislocate his old, human joints. Tony grumbled while finishing his drink. His artificial power might be an imbalance but his mortal body would reach the age of fifty in no time.
"What is it, Kiddo?" unlike coddling, pampering Stephen, Tony listened to Peter's chirping voice along with his bouncy attitude half-heartedly – just like how he dealt with SHIELD gathering or practically any press-conference, "Let me guess, you just destroyed a high-tech suit worth a million dollars—"
"No! Not at all!" Peter trailed behind Tony while flapping his hand.
"In the newest episode of 'Peter Parker Screwed Up' season finale…"
"Have some faith in me, Mr. Stark!" the schoolboy pouted, "It has nothing to do with superhero life!"
"Huh, what a surprise," smirked nonchalantly, the mechanic continued the small tour encircling his workshop which smelled like gasoline and burning coal, "So, you didn't infiltrate a random alien ship?"
Peter's caramel eyes rolled lazily.
"School project?" Tony grabbed a screwdriver and started to dismantle his battle armor.
"Yes! Yes!" Peter nodded enthusiastically (and Tony hoped the Spider-boy didn't break his neck.)
"A new lab?"
"Err – that's too much."
"Upgrading your AI?"
"No, Karen is doing great!"
"You got an F for—"
"—art. I've told you yesterday."
"I know!" Tony showed him a mischievous look and Peter knew immediately that his mentor didn't put any educational thing into his current consideration, "You got detention for having sex—"
"Iwanttowritethingsaboutyou."
His devilish face was replaced by awe.
"Excuse me?"
Peter exhaled deeply, "I want. To write. Things. About you."
"I didn't ask you to reiterate your sentence, Pete," it almost felt like, okay, Kid, now you've captured my attention. Tony stared at his subordinate attentively, arms crossed, and saw a seriousness in his whole body language. He didn't remember when was the last time they talked like this – a month ago?
Peter's absence of ridiculous vibe absorbed Tony's awareness. He realized he wasn't facing the hero next door, the crime-fighting-spider, but the ordinary, humble Peter Parker. Tony saw this side of his once when he politely declined his proposal to join the official Avengers. The futurist rubbed his left temple, tried hard to overcome his panic attack – he often suffered from it, lately, especially when he had to deal with Peter as his guide. It reminded Tony to his own father, who left him nothing but ashes concerning love and compassion. Hardly he controlled his emotion and softened his inflection.
"I'm listening," he finally spoke, "Now, explain 'things'. What things?"
"You as a… Father figure?"
"…"
"—for Father's Day event. At school."
At that exact moment, Tony lost all his capability in talking. He thought that he dropped his genius brain somewhere between Albania and the United State. The silence was the only sound they heard.
Peter looked down for a second, before resuming his intention, "You did a lot of things for me – you showed me that being a hero is more than just saving people, you taught me how to deal with many kinds of situations, you scolded me, sometimes, so I knew if I did stupid moves," he smiled, a tender curve, a sincere expression as he directly looked at Tony's eyes, "…well, of course, I won't do it if—"
Tony didn't say a word.
He let his tight embrace on Peter's smaller body did the talking.
"It's totally fine, Ned – you, we know Mr. Stark, he's a super busy man!"
Ned glanced at Peter; clearly fathomed how disappointed his close friend was.
Midtown School of Science and Technology was bustling this morning. Cars were parked in a hurry, parents with fancy clothes, students wore their best outfit – Peter was a bit overwhelmed with his scurry surroundings. He decided to sit on the middle row; he didn't want to draw any attention and tried to blend in just like any normal kid. Ned grabbed a chair right beside him and offered him a cup of lemon soda, which he timidly refused, Peter couldn't ingest anything at this moment. His stomach was having a massive battle underneath meanwhile his deepest heart still wished for Tony's presence.
Peter played with the web-shooter he did hide under his jacket, carefully so it didn't literally shoot some webs – as he felt a soft touch on his shoulder which he recognized as Ned's big, meaty palm.
"Things just didn't go as planned, Pete," he tried to comfort Peter with a wistful smile, "But, maybe it's for the best, you know, he might tell everyone here that you're a legitimate Spider-Man." he joked.
"That won't happen," he replied with a small giggle.
"We're talking about a billionaire who casually confessed about his true identity as a superhero and gave his address to a bunch of terrorist," Ned shrugged, teeth exposed, "Besides, I have a dream."
"Keep on dreaming, then," Peter put his arm on Ned's shoulder, leaning on him gleefully, "Let's just forget about this stupid idea and Mr. Stark – it's not like they will pick my horrible writing anyw—"
"Let's have Peter Benjamin Parker to read his inspirational essay – Mr. Parker, please join us here!"
The whole hall stayed silent,
Peter froze at the gaze of literally all the invitees. He glanced, to the right, to the left, his lips formed a silly grin, and softly, very, very softly, he finished his sentence in a whisper with miserable intonation.
"—aaaaaay, shit."
"Steph, STEPHEN – can you fix my tie? Please tell me that you can, just use your Harry Potter spells on me and makes this work. Oh, Lord have mercy, it looks too flashy. Is it? Should I change my tie? Which one do you like best, the red one? Or the Slytherin one? I look good in red but I think I have to tone down a bit, don't you think? Also, my hair, Stephen, do something to my hair, it won't listen to—"
"Tony," the sorcerer grabbed his significant other by his shoulders, "Relax. Take a deep breath."
The old Stark blinked, "I am."
"No, you're clearly not," Stephen retorted, "You're anxious."
"Yes, but just a pinch, and I'm not nervous, it's just because we're late," Tony snapped.
"We can reach Peter's school in two seconds," said the younger man calmly. He added a slight pressure on his grip to reduced Tony's restlessness and it appeared to be working, "Tony, love, what's wrong?"
Tony let Stephen held his hand and entwined his scarred fingers around his smaller ones, "It's just…" he let a tired sigh out, "I always wrote about my dad, back when I was a child, and he never came to this kind of event, so…" Tony fidgeted, the tip of his lips twitched in sorrow, "I don't know, Steph."
"It's almost like you take a 'revenge' to the kid, by attending and make sure you're there to listen to his speech," Stephen finished what Tony couldn't state, but the Iron Man nodded otherwise, "That's sweet, Tony, but you shouldn't let your anxiety affects you. You're strong, the kid's too, and both of you formed a great team, not only as two superheroes the mortal world needs but also as a family."
"Yes…" he huffed, breathed in and out, let Stephen helped him dealing with his sudden panic attack. Tony hated to show his vulnerable side to anyone – but with this man, everything seemed to be right.
"Splendid, your heart rate is returning to normal," said Stephen, "Wait until you hear Peter's speech."
Tony raised an eyebrow, "You read his writing, didn't you?"
"Better – I edited it," the enchanter admitted.
"… Should've known that."
"The kid loves you, Tony."
"I know, I love me too."
Stephen chuckled.
"Thank you, Stephen," Tony embraced his hand, his fingers, his wrist, he never thought that having a company could diminish the fear and terrors which had gnawed his sanity for years, "Thank you."
"There's no need to be nervous, it's supposed to be easier than facing the journalists, right?" Stephen patted his partner's cheek, "You'll be doing great – just, not with those gaudy sunglasses," he added.
Tony rolled his eyes, but eventually discarded the shades, "Okay, now, the fireworks circle, please."
"Portals." Stephen corrected.
"Yes, yes, the magic ring, Dumbledore," his sassiness just kicked in, and Stephen couldn't understand himself for being relieved by someone else's impudence, "Also Stephen, get proper clothes! You will not witness Peter's important moment wearing that superannuated fabric and foredoomed relics!"
Stephen frowned, "Wait – I am invited?"
"I invite you, now, go to my closet and—"
The Stone-keeper fluttered his hand, and in less than a second, his red and blue attire was replaced by fine garment – a full set of a white shirt, black trousers, and a pair of oxford shoes. Stephen perfected his appearance by a long, beige trench coat and a suspender underneath. Tony's jaws just dropped.
"—damn, that's effortless," he hummed, "You could be my fairy godfather at any time."
"I know I look good, Tony, this is your chance if you want to flirt," Stephen teased playfully.
Tony leaned in and kissed his lover's cheek, "Now, shall we?"
"Sure, Tony, I love you too."
"Oh, yes, no, wait!"
Ned lowered his voice – he awkwardly grinned at the people who glared at him for making a noise in the middle of Peter's speech – and cupped his hand to form a funnel circling the speaker. The big guy excused himself and avoided the megaphones surrounded the hall. After made himself sure he could talk with the person who just called, he resumed his sudden report as if he was getting involved in a serious, super-secret mission. What more to tell; it was that Tony Stark himself who contacted him.
"Yes, Mr. Stark, he's reading it – yes, on the stage, with a microphone," Ned furrowed his eyebrows, Tony was a genius, wasn't he? Why did he ask petty things like that – "Okay, you'll be here?" he asked in confusion, "Why are you in the gymnasium hall?" and he swore to God he heard things resembled firework or explosion behind, "Uh – Peter's been talking like… Five minutes? It's already halfway from his whole writing, though. Okay, okay, Mr. Stark!" His smile cracked when he said this, "Please don't do anything dramatic and steal all people's attention from Peter, I mean, are you running? Mr. St—"
BHAM— !
Ned dragged his palm across his own face,
The doors were kicked open. Ned was sure Tony did something since the Iron Man briefly fixed his left sleeve – there must be a mini-repulsor beneath the blazer. The owner of Stark Industries grinned at those stares projected at him and lifted his both hands. Stephen Strange, right behind him, scoffed and murmured things which sounded like, told you. The crowd started to buzz and some of them took a picture of Tony. At this point, he had given up if his face became the trending topic on Instagram. Peter, on the other hand, stiffened once again – he didn't expect this, for having the man he idolized eventually came to hear him speak. Tony gave him double thumb-ups, silently asked him to continue.
Well, it was his fault for entering the hall abruptly.
"It's okay, it's okay, earth is fine, no aliens around, I'm just here to…" he extended his hand to Peter's direction, meanwhile his little brat made an X signal using his forearms; Tony snorted a sharp laugh, "Hear a speech about me," again, the participants of the event whispered in astonishment. Stephen held his chuckle seeing his spouse-to-be handled things clumsily, "Did he mention good things about me? No?" his rhetorical question alleviated the atmosphere, "Sure! Good! The stage's yours, Parker!"
Tony could hear a faint handclap before Peter got back the attention he deserved.
Stephen shook his head and hissed, "Celebrity."
"I panicked," Tony flared. He quickly nodded to the familiar face he unintentionally saw, "Hi, May."
The beautiful woman with long, wavy hair smiled back, "Stark."
Tony casually waved before they both returned their full attention to Peter. Stephen exhaled in a comical, visually exhausted manner, yet he still held Tony's hand in clandestine. They chose the back row for a reason and Tony secretly thanked Stephen's long coat – they could hide their intertwined fingers beneath. Peter carried on his delayed speech and told many little stories about Tony. About how he prioritized his studies, the part-time in Stark Industries which broadened his knowledge, and the gifts Tony created to help him with his research. Stephen squeezed Tony's hand when his companion's eyes were getting wet. He was a heartless scientist, but indeed an emotional father.
"—and, the most important lesson Mr. Stark ever taught me was," Peter cleared his throat, intended to slay the punch line, "Just don't do anything I would do, and definitely don't do anything I wouldn't do," when he finished his sentence, he could hear laughter from the audience, which was acceptable.
The creator of the life lesson did laugh too, "There's a little grey area in there."
Stephen gently smiled.
With his free hand, Tony pressed his watery eyes and wiped away the tears remained. He found it hard to breathe with his heart filled with happiness and warmth. Peter just got off from the platform and bowed at the crowd, a satisfied grin on his innocent face suited his biological age. Tony set aside his superhero thought for a while and enjoyed the rare moment as a human. He pushed a button on the smart wristwatch which connected him to Peter's artificial intelligence, "Karen, you're recording?"
/ "From thirty-two different angles, Sir." / its inhuman, feminine voice answered.
"Great," Tony tapped another switch on the side of the temple of his glasses, "Now, Fri. Get me all access from this school's security camera. Combine all of them and make a short-but-nice movie."
/ "Consider it done, Sir." / FRIDAY obediently responded.
"Aren't you a bit obsessed, Tony?" Stephen teased.
"Can't help it, he's my son." Tony proudly conceded.
Stephen tightened their grasp, lovingly, "Ours, soon."
Tony chuckled and returned Stephen's delicate gestures with the same positive energy. Unrevealed matching metal band encircled their both ring fingers – it was about time until the world knew how much those old men loved each other. Peter saw it as clearly as the script on his hand. He decided not to disturb his mentor and his beloved and rushed his steps to Ned's side instead. Overall, today was a superb day, and he might want to wait just a little bit longer since Tony obviously needed privacy.
/ "—he's a great, creator, inventor, also a fighter who could—" /
"ARE YOU GUYS SERIOUSLY STILL WATCHING THIS?"
Peter yelled and stole Tony and Stephen's full attention. The old couple were sitting side by side, sank on the sofa and armored themselves with thick blankets while keeping their eye on a huge monitor with Peter's chubby face. Tony hugged a basket of caramel popcorn and Stephen warmed him with – Peter was sure it was some kind of magical heater, look at the mandala pattern glowed in the dimmed room.
"Oh, hi, Pete," Tony sluggishly greeted, "How's college?"
"It was fine, I think I have to postpone a subject because Fury needs me," he dragged himself to the nearest chair. It's been two years since Tony and Stephen's marriage (it was a total blast and massive heartbreak in town), a year and a half after his legal adoption, and a full year of the Spider-Man officially an Avenger. Things changed, indeed, except his two fathers' habit to rewatch his ridiculous speech at least once in a month, "A+ for my chemistry project, A+ for science exam, just any other boring day."
"My son," Stephen chaffed.
"My son," replied Tony cockily.
"I spent more time with him when you're busy saving the world."
"And who watched his ass when you're doing those scary exorcisms?"
"God, Dad, please," Peter pointed his index finger at Tony and quickly aimed it at Stephen, "Pop, you too. And really, stop watching this, it's humiliating!" he sounded frustrated and tried to snatch the remote – unlucky him, having an Iron Man and Sorcerer Supreme as his foster parents meant he could never easily beat him in the war of seizing the controller, "Now, using the infinity stone is cheating!"
Tony lazily snuggled his long-time partner and smiled, "You look great in this video."
"It happened literally two years ago," Peter grunted.
"And you didn't write anything about me," Stephen added.
"What could I write about you, Pop – that I have a Steph-father who mastered interdimensional-astral-projection who saved the earth from magical threats?" asked Peter humorously, "Besides, there's no such a thing in college, you know. Everybody's busy partying! Not me, I'm just dealing with the aliens."
Three of them laughed in harmony.