Spider-Son & Iron Dad two shots

the kind of december

a/n: happy late holidays ✨🎁🎄

"Peter!" Pepper smiled softly and folded a bookmark into the pages of her book. "I didn't know you were coming over today."

Peter shifted on his feet and smiled back at her. "Hey, Pepper. Sorry for coming unannounced, then—Mr. Stark said that he needed my help with something. Uh... Do you know where he is?"

Pepper hummed. "My guess is that he's in the kitchen. He said something this morning about making cookies." She gave a wary look. "Not entirely sure how well that will go, but... If he has his heart set on something..."

"Right," Peter huffed with an easy grin. He set his backpack down next to the couch. "I'll go and check, then."

Baking cookies is... not what Peter expected. It started with a text message early in the morning, he had seen it right before he got on the subway to Midtown. Just a simple request, asking if he wanted to come over after school to help him with: "Important intern business. You know, as a rookie."

So clearly, Peter thought he was signing up for another "retreat." He was expecting to show up and to talk Avengers business, hero stuff, the kind of thing that Tony usually talks to him about—and cookies were not on that list.

Maybe it was a Certified Avengers CodeTM, something that he wasn't clued into yet because Tony was right; he was just a rookie. (But this rookie was eager to learn, so Peter was here and ready for whatever came his way.)

The hallway of the compound that Peter trailed down was decorated corner to corner, the lights wrapped delicately with pine garlands and plastic snowflakes hung from the ceiling. Holidays were readily approaching, it seemed to breathe in every corner and blossom into poinsettias and holly, and—

Peter came to the end and tilted his head around the corner.

In the kitchen, the illustrious Anthony Edward Stark was hunched over a red and gold mixer, slowly tipping a huge bowl into it. All at once, the content fell heavily into the mixer and up came the flour in a huge white cloud.

"Shit—" Tony coughed and turned his face away from the mess. He dropped the bowl and quickly rummaged for the lever to turn the mixer off. "Geez, that's bad. Haven't snorted this much white powder since my college days."

Peter blinked.

"...Boss. Peter is in the doorway."

Tony's head shot up and he grinned. "Pete! Come on in. Don't think about the thing—the joke that I just said a couple seconds ago."

"Right..." Peter walked in. "Uh. What are you doing, Mr. Stark?"

"Cookies. I texted you about it, remember?" Tony grabbed a towel and wiped the flour of his face. "Thought it'd be a fun little bonding opportunity or something. A get-to-know-each-other opportunity."

"Oh."

Closer inspection of the counter was less impressive. A perfectly opened box of baking powder was dichotomously covered and surrounded in the same material. There were cloth towels saturated in water and some brown liquid that Peter guessed was vanilla extract by the smell, all piled up in a disgusting and dangerous mountain near the electrical outlet that the mixer was plugged into.

Peter dubiously looked up at his mentor. "Have you ever... made something before?"

"Excuse me?"

"No no no!" Peter quickly shook his head. "Not like that—I mean like—Have you ever baked something before?"

Tony looked up and pursed his lips. (If Peter didn't know any better, he'd think it was Tony trying to remember the last time in his entire long life that he had actually baked. Peter did know better. He was right.) Then he nodded. "Yeah, I made Pepper an omelette a few years ago."