Spider-Son & Iron Dad two shots

A Slow Day

Spooktober 27: Bloody Hands

It's a slow day.

Rain pattered quietly on the windows of Tony's office, and it was grey and stormy, winds and cold water caused plenty of goosebumps and shivers outside the building so the inside had the heaters cranked high and met with dry sweaters and thermal socks. The dimness in the sky soaked through the inner office's ambience, making the lamp's glow from his desk hazier and warmer all at once.

A rainy 4pm in Avengers Compound, and Tony was doing paperwork of all things. His pen tapped against his desk as he stared down at an endless pile of words and papers, something he would normally not touch with a ten foot pole, but Pepper had asked him nicely and kissed his temple pleadingly so Tony really couldn't resist.

The kid decided to hang out today, had texted him earlier about having a quiet (and dry) spot to finish his literature analysis assignment and that he wouldn't mind if Tony was busy doing paperwork at the same time. So now he was here, flipping through a book page by page and tucked cozily in the corner of the room in a big baggy sweatshirt to keep him warm.

Tony hadn't learned properly how to enjoy these sorts of moments. The quiet kind, the kind where nobody needed to be scolded, nobody was in danger, nobody was in a rush because there was nothing to do. They used to make him anxious, like a quiet moment was a curse, like it meant the next thing they would handle would be worse. If he wasn't doing anything to prevent the next worst thing, then he was useless, and if he was useless, then— Well. There was a reason he's still kicking.

But this? This was a quiet moment. There was no where Tony would rather be, than to sit quietly in the company of this tumultuous teenager who wormed his slimy silly way right into the crook of his heart—and to just breathe in the warm air and let it soothe his soul, for just a moment.

Relax about it, he wanted to say to himself. It was normal. He just had a cool, funky little intern, a nice kiddo who kept up with Tony's brain and talked just as quick, and it was fine. Yeah, the kid was stubborn as all-get-out, and maybe Tony saw a bit of himself in the way he persevered  to help other people, and the adoration was normal for that. Expected, even. (Stop looking at him like that! He wasn't being defensive.)

It's a slow day.

Peter yawned quietly from where he sat in the corner of the room, leaning against the leather chair and not sitting in it, surrounded by his notes. The yawn was contagious, so when Tony's mouth stretched open with a sigh, he furrowed his eyebrows.

"You're making me yawn, kiddo," Tony murmured. He flipped the paper and read over the new lines of text.

"Sorry, Mr. Stark."

"You're good."

The silence continued back into its steady rhythm, both of them working page by page. Signature by question answer. The gentle rain behind Tony, matched with the comfort of it all, is making his eyelid heavy and droop with their weight.

It made him remember faintly that he hadn't gotten sleep in a while, actually. He had gotten the tiniest amount last night, the rest of it spent staring up at the ceiling while Pepper slept and laid her hand on his chest. He must have been thinking for hours, because he fell asleep when the sun rose and woke up nearly two hours later when Pepper's alarm went off.

He didn't talk to her about it. Didn't want to make her worry. Pepper was under the impression that the nightmares had mostly ceased in the last few months, she had liked to thank Peter for it, and she looked so relieved that Tony didn't want to burst her bubble and spoil the illusion of that.

The truth was, despite Peter's miraculous ability to help, he also had a miraculous ability to make people worry themselves into a head of grey hair. Tony doesn't know how May does it. He has at least three nightmares per month where that kid is getting into some kind of trouble.

Nevertheless, the lack of sleep was catching up to him now, and he stifled another yawn, signing the millionth paper on the pile with a lazy initialed scrawl.

His hand paused in its writing, letting the exhaustion soak and stew in his limbs for just a moment. That's when his eyes finally slipped closed and he inhaled slowly, becoming very... very relaxed...

THUD.

Tony yanked his head up at the sharp pain that radiated from his face. It felt numb and buzzy, and he had it happen enough times before to know that he just slammed his face into the table because he fell asleep.

Peter looked up at him in alarm, his eyes wide in a dear-in-the-headlights kind of surprise. "Mr. St—Oh no, you're bleeding!"

Tony's gaze fell to the papers below him, which now have a drop of blood soaking into the parchment. He quickly raised his hands up to his nose and blocked the papers from being soaked. "Great."

Peter quickly stood up. "That's a lot of blood. Did you break anything?"

"Nope, just a bloody nose," Tony replied stiffly, his hands quickly becoming drenched. He sighs and tilts his head down, letting the blood drip faster into his hands. Might as well speed this up. "Can you get me a tissue, Pete? They're down the hall."

"Yes!" Peter turned and left the room, jogging away from Tony's view. He came back in a matter of seconds—super strength really does help his speed—and handed Tony the whole box. "Y'know, you should really keep a box of tissue in your office."

"Yeah, yeah." Tony grabbed a bundle of the stuff and held it up to his face. "I'll be sure to keep it in mind."

Peter snorted. Tony dared to look back up at him, and watched Peter quickly shake his head. "Sorry, you just— You're plugging your nose, so you sound funny."

Tony raised an eyebrow. His voice was high pitched and nasally from the tissue blocking his nostrils, and he would now take full advantage of it to make his kid laugh. "What do you mean, Mr. Parker? I don't sound funny at all."

Peter tried to hide his grin, but failed miserably. "Right. Of course. Sorry, Mr. Stark."

"I'm a very serious boss," Tony continued. "With a very serious intern, right? Right, Pete? Right?"

A laugh fought past his lips and Peter quickly covered his mouth and looked down. Bingo—There's the laugh. Tony smiled himself.

"Right, Mr. Stark," Peter nodded quickly. "Very—Very serious. Mhm."

Tony pulled away the tissues and saw that the flow of blood had thankfully stopped, so now he was just left to cringe at the messy state of his hands. "Alright. I'm gonna get to a sink. Dried blood is not the new Armani. Did you finish your English homework?"

"Yep! All done. Did you finish your super boring paperwork?"

"...Yep. And you know what I think we need?" Tony looked over at him. "Icecream for dinner. What do you think, kid?"

Then Peter smiled and gave an enthusiastic thumbs-up, so Tony really couldn't resist.