Flash challenge — Peter's surprise

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× ʀᴀᴛɪɴɢ:

G

× ᴡᴏʀᴅs:

3,463

× ᴛᴀɢs:

Mild swearing

× ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀs:

Peter Parker, Aunt May, Tony Stark

× ʀᴇʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴsʜɪᴘ(s):

Tony Stark & Peter Parker

[ #fanfiction ]

✧ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✦✧✦ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✧

Description:

Growing up broke isn't easy. Peter was used to it, yeah. And it'd become almost tradition that May had to work on his birthday, so it wasn't surprise that again, he had no plans for the date.

Until, uh, he did get a surprise. A rather nice one, at that.

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Notes:

So uh, I didn't realize the luck of the draw challenge was GMT :'-) So I'm saving what I wrote for that for something else, and here's my try at this challenge instead haha...

I stayed up all night to write this. Idea came to me then got distracted and watched Homecoming, and now here we are. This was going to be a lot longer, but then I asked myself why, and tried to not make it as long. :-|

So, enjoy! A lil short story, nothing heavy or sad for once.

All photos are from Weheartit, edit made by me (and ruined with confetti rip)

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Another lazy afternoon with nothing to do but twiddle around with a screwdriver. Guess there was one thing Peter'd been putting off; he'd found this computer just thrown out in the trash behind his complex the other week. Sure, the motherboard was busted, like, really busted. Not something even spare scrap parts could fix. But, at least it would keep his hands occupied. And, uh, guess he was kind of putting off throwing it out and actually rummaging for something salvageable… heh.

God, why was it so hot? He was only in shorts he'd been wearing since middle school and a shirt from a band he'd never heard of. But, Jesus, he was sweating like he was wearing a snowsuit, times ten. And drinking water only made it worse. Humid days like this drained any life that was left in him.

It was August, and the summer hadn't been kind to Queens. Not to mention their AC was busted since May didn't really have enough cash on hand to get it fixed, and his ceiling fans only use was to push dust around. As much as he liked being on break, he didn't.

Gave him more time to do literally nothing, except be on his phone all day, and sometimes terrorize the town with Ned. Reblog a couple of memes, send Happy a picture of a Corgi (or thirty), check Tony's Snapchat that he seemed to update hourly. He hated how ‘just one’ round of Smash would start with the sun rising, and end with it rising, again.

And, another important thing to note, maybe? Not that he cared, in particular… maybe he cared just a little, but: tomorrow was his birthday. Another reason why summer sucked. Most of his friends / classmates were gone; everyone else got to celebrate their birthdays during the year, had parties thrown for them during class, even bigger ones over the weekend. Never Peter. He knew MJ was in Spain, visiting some relatives, not texting because, you know, international fees up the wazoo and all that.

Ned similarly was at his grandparents in Wisconsin. Though, they texted sporadically throughout the day (mostly to catch up on Game of Thrones and send throwaway selfies back and forth) and had video called a couple of times. Ugh, things were so boring. So boring that Peter contemplated getting a part time job just to keep himself preoccupied with something not dumb (and, yeah, money would be really cool too, especially to get the damn air fixed).

He yawned and turned over onto his side. Hadn’t made his bed in a few days. Guess his room could use some tidying. Clothes in the corner, stained with paint and oil and ice cream. Comic books all in a stack that was once neat-ish, until he tripped over them in the middle of the night and hadn’t bothered to pick them up. A worryingly old cup of something fuzzy from Shake n’ Swirl on his desk.

And that’s what he found himself doing until May got home later that evening. Or at least, planned to do. It’d gotten a little cooler (by like, maybe two degrees, if that). But at least the breeze was refreshing. Still hot though, he was out of his mind how gross he felt. Peter’d found a little handheld fan in his closet, shoved away in a photo box for some reason.

Everything sort of went downhill after that discovery. Yeah, he’d sorted through most of his clothes, hanging some up that he deemed were still safe to wear, throwing the rest in his hamper. Sorted out his sheets and put his comics back on a shelf, organizing them in alphabetical order. But once he found that fan, it was back to scrolling on his phone, fan leaning against a pillow, blowing a direct path to his face. He was sprawled out on his stomach when he heard the front door rattle; they’d had a bell around the handle so they’d always know when one or the other got home.

“Hey May,” he called, glancing towards his door. It wasn’t closed all the way, only open a smidge, and he could see the kitchen lights flick on.

“Hi Peter,” her voice was always so sing songy, Peter use to think she’d be perfect playing a princess at an amusement park. “Don’t come out here please.”

More rustling, sounded like paper bags. He smirked to himself, breathily chuckling. “I won’t. Kinda busy anyways,” he said, thumbing through an Empire Strikes Back gifset.

“Yeah? What’re you up to?”

“Just, y’know, important things.”

“Did you Skype Larb today?”

“Nah. Texted him a bit though. Said his mom wanted to go on a tour of a cheese making factory.”

“Sounds fun.”

“It does.” He heard her steps growing closer, before a door creak. He looked up, finding May with her hands on her hips. His smirk grew to a lopsided sort of grin, slight shame filling him.

“Same place I left you this morning.”

“Yeah, well— it’s hot.”

She looped her arm with his elbow, yanking him to his feet, gracelessly, “That’s why you get out, enjoy the nice fresh air. It’s free, you know.”

“And do what?” He shoved his phone in his pocket, following her into the living room. The only lights still on in the room were the string Christmas lights they always left up; a warm white in the otherwise dark. It was suspiciously dark, rather.

“Whatever you want, Peter. It’s a big world out there,” she met his curious eyes, hand blindly reaching for the light switch, before she yelled, “Surprise!”

His eyes shifted upwards, a pennant taped above the doorway of their tiny kitchen; white and gold in color, its glittery lettering reading out ‘Happy Birthday’. And in his moment of distraction, she took that as her chance to pull out a paper party hat, slipping the elastic strap under his chin.

“Listen, I know it’s not much, but,” she gestured behind them with her shoulder, “picked up your favorites from Prachya Thai, and,” then she grabbed something from the table, holding up a copy of ‘Back to the Future’. “Movie night?”’

His grin only grew more as he felt his face flush. “Sounds great, May.”

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Every year it was like this. May surprising him with dinner from one of their select favorite spots (whether they decided to be fancy and actually eat out, or stay in and relax over a board game or something), and then profusely flooding him with sorries. May always felt like she had to apologize for not showering Peter in extravagant presents; yeah, Flash’s parents might’ve gotten him a Corvette for his sixteenth, but Peter was honestly just glad to have a roof over his head. That’s all he could ask for. He didn't need much more than that to feel at least some level of contentment.

Well, that, and the other extra May never forgot. Slice of layered German chocolate cake from this hole in the wall bakery down the street; owners were nice people, an older brother sister duo from Frankfurt, using their families recipe to make one of the most delicious things Peter looked forward to eating every year.

She’d always squish a candle down in it, obnoxiously singing and clapping to the point their neighbors would in (yelling through the paper thin walls with her, chanting his name), and Jen stealing her few bites of it.

“Make a wish, Peter.”

He suddenly panicked. He hadn’t even thought about what to wish for. Oh god, times were dire and now when he most needed his big brain, it wouldn't work. Everyone knows a birthday wish is like, more powerful than a lucky star.

He was… okay with everything he had, and the way his life was now. Yeah, sure, he’d like to officially be known as an Avenger, that would be pretty neat. Like a red bow on top the entire package called his life. Stop being called kid too; he'd tried to get past that one, bigger feat than he realized.

Uh, maybe a PS4, he wouldn’t mind one of those.

“Here’s to another year at Stark’s internship program thingie,” he blew out the candles.

It was a few hours later. Credits were rolling, food scooped out of all its plastic containers and styrofoam containers. May was yawning, leaning her elbow against the head of the couch, her fingers running through Peter's curls.

“You going to be okay with me gone all day tomorrow?”

He nodded. Not like he'd really planned on doing anything anyways, anything different than he did today. And the day before, and the day before that. Wake up late, stay in the same clothes he kept rewearing, probably try videoing Ned for a bit. Maybe text MJ (to get spammed with ‘data rates may apply’ messages), see if Tony would answer his call (nine times out of ten, he did).

“I wish I didn’t have to work. But, overtimes mandatory this week.”

“It’s fine, May. I get it. Not upset or anything, see," he put on the biggest smile he could muster.

She chuckled. “Promise when I have more money, I’ll take us to the zoo for a day or something, okay?”

He ducked his head, rubbing at the side of his neck. “Sure, that sounds great. I heard they’ve built a new arachnid exhibit too.”

“Yeah, you can go check out that one by yourself,” she cupped his cheek, kissing his forehead. “I gotta catch some sleep if I don’t want to be living off of coffee all day tomorrow. Don’t stay up too late, okay?”

“I’ll try not to.”

“Good. Night, Peter,” she slid off the couch, walking to her room. He waited for her door to close.

“Night May.” He checked his phone, a few photos from Ned but otherwise, pretty useless notifications. Another half hour ed of Peter curled up on the couch before he finally clicked the TV off and slinked his way to his room, quietly as can be. He threw himself down on his mattress, sighing.

Most nights he found himself restless like this, going down a YouTube rabbit hole, uselessly tossing and turning until he finally ed out in the middle of a random British show the algorithm suggested him. And tonight was definitely going to be one of those nights. Scrolling down Instagram, double tapping any Avenger related photo (at this point, Cap was the only one who didn’t use the site) until his hand grew tired and cramped. He opted for streaming instead. Though, the text he got from Ned at twelve sharp didn’t make him smile any less.

Sleep sucked. Throwing his blankets off didn’t help. Nor did flopping onto his stomach, or switching sides. Or, this, which was his last resort: climbing to the top bunk, his legs looped around the railing so he could hang upside down. Hey, at least that was a talent of his; he could rival a bat with how long he could hang upside down before his mind couldn't take it anymore, growing dizzy at the thought of sitting regularly. He laid back down, flat on his back.

From the corner of his eyes, he watched as time ticked away; one turned to two fiftening, turning to half past three, and then five minutes before five... everything faded away.

His muscles twitched. There was a rumble, and his breath caught tight in this throat. He blinked, kept his eyes fluttering, but sleep was still heavily present, and his mind fogged. Everything felt stuffy, and his throat dry, like he'd swallowed a glass full of sawdust by mistake.

Then there it was again; an unfamiliar crash. He sprung up, pillow clutched in his arms as he scanned the room. He was drenched like he'd been thrown in the ocean, clothes stuck to his body, and in no mood for a goddamn fight. His window was open, but it’d been that way when he’d gone to sleep. Uh, right…?

He was squinting. Something was off. The hairs on the back of his neck stood straight up, and, well, that didn’t mean just nothing, he knew that. Then he locked eyes with another pair. Again he was reminded of PE class, flashbacks of dodgeballs colliding head on with his stomach flooding back. All the air from his lungs was punched out in one fellow swoop and he felt goosebumps grow.

He'd always kept a bat in his room, for safe measures. Knew he'd never let anyone mess with May. Worst comes to worst, he could always toss his bed and figure out an excuse later.

“Get up and don’t make a sound.” The voice was oddly familiar, but he couldn’t place it. Was he actually awake? God, he couldn’t be.

“If y-you’re gonna harvest my organs, just do it already. I don’t need ‘em anyways,” he mumbled, biting his lower lip.

Then a soft snort. “Wh— kid, it’s me.”

Peter grew still, until he scratched the back of his head, brows deeply knitted. “Mr. Stark?”

“Yeah," his sarcasm was dripping, "Who else would it be?”

“I dunno, I thought you were a fucking intruder or something, you about gave me a heart attack!”

Tony hurriedly shushed him, a low ('Nuh uh') in his throat, raising and then lowering his hands in a gesture to pipe it. “Quiet down. Do you want your, might I add, unnervingly gorgeous, aunt waking to this? No, seriously, you don’t. Also, language, Pete, come on.”

“Um, okay, sorry,” his fell to something just above a whisper. “What’re you doing here?”

“Duty calls, Parker.” He'd finally gotten a good look at Tony’s face, his features illuminated by his phone. He was dressed far too nice for the time of the day. It was early as death, how could someone even be (semi) functional in the morning, in any sense?

Tony flashed the screen towards him before gesturing with a shoulder, the one that Peter usually noticed Tony gripping when they had a moments time to themselves. “Happy’s waiting outside for us. Are you dressed?”

“I mean I’m—” Peter looked down, “these are my pajamas.”

Tony nodded. “Well, if you don’t want to be walking around in your jammies all day, you should probably change. Quick like a bunny now, we have a big day ahead of us.”

Still fumbling over himself and now yawning, Peter climbed down, shuffling across the room to his closet. He gave Tony another glance, like he couldn't believe he was standing there (because, he didn't). He didn’t want to risk turning on his light; it wasn’t unusual he was awake this early, because this was about the time he’d be going to bed. But he wasn’t really in the mood to be scolded either.

So he pulled out anything he could feel; pair of jeans, some short sleeved shirt, and hoodie, just in case. Who knows; they could be going on a mission to Antartica for all he knew.

Once dressed, Tony looked back towards him, phone light illuminating his corner of the bedroom. “Ready to go?”

“Yeah, um, where exactly are we going?”

Tony waved towards his window. Seriously. It was too early for this. He yanked open the screen, sticking his elbow out towards Peter. “Hold on.”

“W-what do you mean?”

“Unless you feel like early morning parkour, I think this is the easier option.”

With another shove of his elbow in face, Peter muttered out a ginger "alright, alright," and wrapped his hands around Tony's bicep. He pulled them into a fire escape; thing was so old and rusted, it was less of an escape and more of a sure death trap. Wouldn’t trust that ladder with his life, not even half of it. Sure, that was illegal and against safety regulations, but their building manager was some sleezy guy that only cared about the cash anyways.

“We’re going for a ride, Parker,” Tony said with a flick of his wrist. Metal emerged, falling down in an etch-a-sketch like pattern, enveloping his hand. A repulsor hummed, like a scared cat, and a steady blue emitted. Off they went, drifting from the eleventh floor to the back alley way in a matter of seconds, like a scene from Mary Poppins. Definitely a lot easier than his methods, Peter could it. “Okay, you can let go now.”

“Okay,” he nodded, swallowing hard. “So, um, right. Where are—”

“Happy’s this way.”

“Sure,” he trailed behind Tony like a lost puppy (since he technically was, in this case). “And then—”

He opened the door for Peter. “In you go.”

Another look at Stark, another nod back at Peter, and he slid in, leather creaking with his movements. “Hi Happy,” he offered him a small wave. “But, what about May?”

“Slipped a note on your pillow when you were changing.” Tony closed the door behind himself, locks clicking, car beginning to drive off.

“And now…?”

“We can go wherever you want, kid. It’s your birthday.” There was a genuine smile playing at Tony's lips, something of a rare site. In the rearview mirror, he could see Happy mimicking the same expression; another sign those two had been friends for… maybe too long.

“Oh— oh, yeah, it is!”

“How old are you again, thirteen?”

“I’m, uh, I’m sixteen, Mr. Stark.”

“I know. I’m just kidding with you. So!” He clapped his shoulder. “Where’ll it be?”

“You’re serious? Like, anywhere I want?”

“I mean, within reason. Can’t really go to Italy because I need to be in Seattle tomorrow. But, yeah, anywhere you want. Really. Ever been to Disneyworld?”

His nostrils flared. “Yeah, once, when I was a kid. Like, really little.”

“You want to go there?”

“Do you?” his eyes felt like they were peeled back, taped open into a sense of hyper realization.

“I’m up for anything you want to do.”

“Well…" he stroked his chin, humpfing to himself. "Ned is in Wisconsin right now.”

Tony looked at him, deadpan. “Wisconsin? I offered to take you to Disneyworld, and you’re asking me to bring you to Wisconsin.”

Peter shrugged. “I haven’t seen him in awhile.”

“Well,” Tony glanced at his watch. “It’s only six. Happy, what time would we get to Orlando if we left Wisconsin asap?”

Happy hummed. Peter could see the calculations running through his mind before he spoke. “Something like," he paused again, "one, maybe two at the latest.”

“Has Ned ever been to Disneyworld?”

“N-no sir.”

“Think he’d want to?”

“Seriously?”

Tony nodded. “Most magical place on earth, ain’t it?”

"Sure," Peter was nervously laughing over his own words. Tony snapped his fingers.

“Oh, that reminds me," he bent over, pulling out a thin box from under the seat in front of him. "I did get you a little something you need to open before we take off.”

The box was quite flat, wrapped unperfectly in a red paper that Peter could tell was left over from Christmas. "Are you sure?" He asked, freaking almost speechless. God, he didn't know how to react right now, how to even process what was going on around him.

"Very sure."

He looped a finger under a bulging edge of the paper, tape releasing. The box was full of tissue paper, this time a navy blue. He submerged his hands in the tissue, like an excavation— until he felt something hard.

He pulled out a black frame, sleek and metal. But, that wasn't the gift. It's what was inside the frame. There was a mock certificate printed out, framed behind glass, proudly reading 'completion of the Stark Industries internship program'. His name was spelled out in comic sans, the entire thing was blotchily printed and looked overall crude.

But when he looked back at Tony through his lashes, he sniffled. Who started cutting onions in here. Squidward, was it you? No, now's not the time to memes Peter, FOCUS.

He draped his arm around Peter's shoulder. "Okay, alright, don’t get all emotional on me now.”

“Sorry, Mr. St—”

“Kidding, again. C’mere." Peter didn't think he was needy. Well, maybe sometimes. But, hugging Stark to him was like… he was like the dad he could never have. Well, he could, but Tony wasn't his dad. Maybe sometimes he'd pretend he was, just imagine them playing ball and going to the mall together on father son outings.

But it was like when Tony hugged him, the rare few times he did, Peter didn't want to let go. Tony got it, he knew the shoes he was filling. Also didn't just write him off as some kid from Queens.

He spoke, gently, rubbing circles along Peter's back. “Promise me though we’ll take a photo for May, before we leave, okay?”

Peter nodded.

“Happy birthday, Pete.”

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