Archive of Our Own ^beta

Peter was nothing like his father. He looked at his father and saw a bright, fluorescent beam, shining on everyone he walked past. He was sarcastic, witty, and funny. Peter swore he was the opposite. He was a sweaty, anxious, awkward, embarrassment.

Sure, he knew how to joke around like his dad did, but it wasn't the same. He couldn't simply walk up to someone and start a conversation. He was a dork, through and through. And he was sure they all wished he was different.

He leaned against his cold locker and sighed quietly, wishing it wasn't like this. Wishing he wasn't a loser with no friends. He walked to class alone, ate in the library alone, and pretty much only talked to people when he was forced into a group project- which then he just ended up doing the work by himself anyway.

He walked out the school's double doors and bounded toward his dad's car, climbing in before anyone could say something. 

"Pete!" Tony greeted with a grin. "How was school? How's that one friend- Mitchell?"

"Michael," he corrected with a matching smile. "He's good. School was fine."

"Just fine?" He leaned forward to squint at the building. "I don't pay good money to this school for it to be fine..."

Peter just rolled his eyes. He might've been a nerdy kid, but he was a good liar. Ever since the start of freshman year, months ago, he had been feeding Tony lies about how popular he was.

Tony thought, of course, because he was the son of a billionaire: he'd have tons of friends. Which in retrospect, could've been true, if the cool kids weren't convinced that he was a total loser. He'd heard the phrase, "nothing like his dad" enough times for it to be engraved into his brain.

Michael wasn't even real. Peter didn't personally know anyone named Matthew. 

He'd tell Tony he'd go out with friends, but he'd be at the library, like a dork. It was embarrassing enough that everyone at school knew it, but he was trying to keep that away from his family as long as he possibly could.

"Steve is joining us for dinner, if you don't mind," Tony asked, clearing his throat.

Peter couldn't help but genuinely smile at that. Tony and Steve had finally kicked off their relationship, which he and Nat had totally been shipping from the start. It was honestly funny that his dad was so nervous about it. 

"Why would I care if you invited your boyfriend to dinner?" He asked, shrugging with a smirk.

But his dad's face was more serious. "It's kind of just been us for a while, kid. I don't want anyone involved in my personal life if you aren't comfortable with it."

His eyes creased with understanding. "Oh, dad, that's-"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm being too sappy I know. Whatever, kid. I'm glad you like him."

"No, shut up, that's not what I was saying," he made a face and shook his head. "I'm really glad you asked me, dad, but Steve kind of already was family, y'know." He shrugged again, "extended family."

Tony smiled warmly, softly, like the thought of it went right to his heart. "Yeah. Yeah, well, I just wanted to make sure."

"Of course."

--

Dinner with Steve was good. It was normal. It honestly didn't feel any different compared to the many team dinners he'd been dragged to.

Steve smiled at him, like the soft-hearted soldier he was, and asked: "Anything interesting happening at your school? Are you involved in anything?"

He felt his face warm at being put on the spot. It was very hard to lie to Captain America. "Uh, not much," he said. "I mostly just hang out with my friends."

"Michael, right? Tony's told me."

He held back the urge to glare at his father, and smiled back politely. "Oh yeah. We go to- parties, and stuff."

Tony's eyes widened slightly and he gave his son a surprised look. "Parties, huh? This is the first I'm hearing of you going to parties.."

He knew he was blushing now. Either from embarrassment or the intense feeling of oh shit oh shit oh shit. "Just casual stuff, dad," he lied easily. "Nothing crazy."

His dad shot him one last curious glance, but he focused on eating instead of interrogating him, which Peter was immensely thankful.

"I'm sure Friday would tell Tony of anything crazy," Steve says, like the helpful captain he is.

He isn't sure how thankful he is, but he shares a look with Steve that tells him this man knows I'm a liar. He is so done for.

After dinner, Steve helps him load the dishwasher while his dad queues up a movie. The blonde pauses, after closing it, blinking at him. "Parties, huh?" He teases.

Peter blushes immediately. Because somehow, Captain America is a walking lie detector. "Yeah," he agreed, for some reason.

"Son, you know Tony would love you no matter what?"

For some reason, that's worse than actually being called out for being a loser. He frowns tightly, trying to not let it seep into his tone. "I know that."

"You don't need to lie to him," he continued, as if Peter didn't get it the first time.

His grip hardens on the counter, and he feels his shoulders tense. "You're gonna tell him, aren't you?"

Steve's face tightens, but he doesn't look mad. Just concerned. "No, Peter. I wouldn't do that."

He lets go of the counter and leaves for the living room, ending the conversation before anything more dreadful could come out of his mouth.

His dad loops an arm over his shoulder during the movie, and Steve's words echo through his head. Tony would love you no matter what.

--

A week later, the strangest thing happens. It's like the universe is starting up a long chain of connected events, trying to ruin his life. Or maybe, in this case, make it a little better.

Matthew Mackenhall is standing at his locker, looking at him with scrutinizingly. And Peter is blinking, eyes darting around, wondering if he maybe got lost. "Did you.. need something?"

Matthew grins. "Just you, kid"

Matthew is a tall, short-haired brunette senior. He wasn't on the team, but he hung out with football players. He was by any means, considered popular. He was definitely not someone who would be looking for Peter.

So he furrowed his eyebrows and closed his locker with slow, practiced caution. "What's up?" 

"You're Stark," he stated. "You're dad is famous, yet you sit alone. You don't even try to talk to us."

Suddenly his entire body feels like it's on fire. Because yet another person has caught him out. What is in the air this month? He stiffens, and then he shrugs, because it feels safer than opening his mouth.

"I've seen you in the library during third lunch," he adds. "You should come sit with us." And then he walks away.

Peter is left standing there in his wake, wondering what the hell is going on. Maybe it's a prank. Someone will jump out of a corner and yell you just got punked! They don't want you to sit with them!

But then Matthew glances back, giving him a once-over that make's Peter's stomach do a flip that shouldn't really be legal.

Problem is, Matthew is ridiculously attractive. And Peter is certifiably not. He was sure, after seeing everyone with their hot dates at homecoming, that he was going to die alone. Matthew, however, was going to end up on The Bachelor.

Peter was gay. Matthew was.. unknown. But out of all of the popular kids, he was most likely to be a secret gay kid. Probably not most likely to have a crush on Peter, out of all gays at their school, but he could definitely be seen with a man.

It made Peter's palms sweaty just thinking about it.

Against all odds, Peter forces himself to approach their table at lunch. They sat outside, at a round table, basking in the sun. There were five of them, an overwhelmingly large number for a friend group, in his humble opinion.

He was nervous, to say the least, and he felt out of place. But Matthew lit up at him like it was Christmas, even standing up to wrap an arm around his shoulders, pulling him towards the group. "Guys! This is Stark."

There was one boy in his grade who he recognized, Flash Thompson. A total jerk. Peter only ever saw him when he was making fun of someone, and he was forced to turn the other way, just out of anxiety of not wanting to be seen.

He squinted at Peter, slowly bit an apple, but didn't say a word.

A girl with long amber hair smiled brightly at him from across the table. "I'm Abigail."

So they went around, introducing themselves with names Peter internally swore to not forget. 

Long amber hair was Abigail.

John, with the piercing blue eyes and a buzzcut, was her boyfriend.

Justice, brown skin and short black curls, was Flash's older sister. Probably the only reason he was over here at all, which was kind of just depressing. 

There weren't a lot of them, but it was enough to make Peter's chest tighten slightly. They were well known, popular, even if they lacked the numbers to prove it.

Flash and Justice's parents were rich business owners. 

John was on the football team: junior varsity.

Abigail, cliche, was a cheerleader.

And Matthew was... well, he was Matthew. Hot, tall, fit. He checked all the boxes for high school hotshot.

Or maybe Peter was just sickeningly into him. 

He tried to ignore the way he felt with his arm around him; wanted, accepted. He liked sitting at their table, hearing their stories, understanding their lore. He enjoyed being a part of it and earing their approval. 

He was even added to a groupchat at the end of the lunch period, which for a fifteen year old- that was revolutionary.

--

For once in his life, he was finally starting to feel included in things. After he was added, he was grossly becoming glued to his phone. Which eventually led to Tony confiscating it at dinner.

"Are you serious?" He practically whined.

The rest of the team had froze in their story, now watching Tony and Peter with wide-eyed, curious looks. "Have you even been listening to Romanoff's very interesting Budapest story?"

"Yes?"

"Tell me the last thing she said."

His eyes found hers instinctively, but instead of helping him she just smirked knowingly. He turned back to his dad, who was holding the phone in the air and staring at him with his dad look. 

"You can have it back after dinner," he stated firmly, leaving barely any room for argument.

He huffed and threw his arms in the air, and Tony slid the phone into his pocket, before returning to his seat.

"If it helps, I didn't really care if he was listening or not," Natasha offered with a shrug.

Peter bit his tongue to hold back a retort, and Tony rolled his eyes. "Well I do. It's not like you to be on your phone like this, what's Michael got going on right now anyway?"

Michael. The fake persona he'd created to get his dad off his ass, was now biting him directly there. He bit the inside of his cheek, shaking his head and fighting to come up with some kind of response. He could feel Steve's gaze on his. Because Steve knew.

And hell, Natasha would probably sense it too.

"Oh yeah, we haven't heard about him lately, huh?" Clint said, as if they were all his parents.

He wondered if maybe they'd all figure it out. All of them except for Tony, of course. Because Tony would always believe him. Which was just beginning to make it harder to lie to him. He was starting to get sick with guilt. 

He tried to ignored the burning behind his eyes and sighed. "Me and Michael aren't really talking right now."

The room felt very stuffy then, the sound of silverware on plates filling it. Clint hummed, "what did that punk do? Me and Tasha need to beat his ass?"

Usually, he'd find that hilarious, but his stomach was starting to turn. He shrugged. "It's not a big deal."

But they were staring at him. Including his father. Because he might be able to tell him a lie, but he couldn't hide his emotions. 

"We don't have to talk about that, Peter," Steve said, before Tony could try. 

"I had a strange interaction with a consultant today," Bruce supplied, turning the tide away from him. 

But he still managed to meet his father's worried eyes. He tried to convey some kind of smile, but his guilt managed to contort it into a grimace.

"Here." Tony handed him his phone, standing in his bedroom. 

But with the tone he held and the face he made, he clearly wanted to have a conversation. Peter sat down on the bed.

"Thanks," he said. "Sorry for being... yeah."

"It was vibrating a lot," he added, as an afterthought. "A little annoying."

Peter slightly recoiled, taken aback. "Sorry for having friends."

His dad held his eyes closed for a beat, as if regretting his choice of words. "Not what I meant. I want to- You know you can talk to me, right?"

Peter's shoulders hunched slightly. "Yeah. Duh."

Tony gave him a look, "geez, you really are my kid. Look, I just mean, with all this teenager stuff."

He took a breath and after a moment of thought, sat down next to Peter. A hand landed on his shoulder and squeezed. 

"I know I'm not the best at this stuff, but I'm trying to do my best, kiddo. Breaking the cycle of shame and," he sighed, "I want you to trust me."

He felt his face soften. "Yeah, dad. I know that."

All of his emotions tumbled into his mouth, and he bit his tongue. He felt his eyes burn again, and he knew he had to say something before he just started crying. Tony stared at him for a minute, as if he knew he had something more to say. As if waiting for him.

"Dad I-" he paused, weighing his words. For a second of gratifying guilt, he nearly let it all come down. But instead, "I love you."

And then he was pulled into a hug. "I love you too, Pete."

--

Matthew brought him to a party. It was a Saturday night, and his dad was under the impression that he was at a study group. But instead, he was in a house with huge windows, tons of of teenagers, and the strong smell of alcohol. 

It was a nice place. And he wondered, silently, if the parents had good jobs. If they knew their lovely home was full of trashy kids, destroying the place. His guilt for his own father, who couldn't have been further away, just managed to increase.

"You want a drink?" Matthew offered, smiling easily.

But he knew it was a test. Like everyone else was with these guys. And he couldn't fail, not when he was this far in. So he grinned and nodded, "sure."

Matthew poured him a red solo cup and handed it to him. He didn't know what was in it. All he knew was that it smelled awful, and burned his throat. And Matthew laughed at him in a way that made him blush.

"That was cute," he said, lightly condescending but mostly endearing. "First drink?"

He choked a laugh as he nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I've never done- yeah."

Instead of making fun of him, he just looked him up and down and smirked. "Wanna try something else?"

He never really considered edibles in his range of bucket list items, but somehow he still ended up laying on a bathroom floor. Matthew was hovering above him, his eyes looking uncharacteristically nervous.

"Peter?" He said like it was a question.

The door was closed and they were alone, like Matthew was hiding him from the world. He felt like he was floating. Like he wasn't even in his body. He had an awful feeling of nausea, but he knew from multiple times of trying, that he wasn't going to throw up. 

He didn't know how much he had to drink. He didn't know how much he had taken.

All he knew was that somehow, by all means, he was in way too deep. And his dad was going to kill him. 

"Oh my god Tony Stark is going to murder me.." Matthew muttered, shaking his head.

"You're telling me," Peter giggled, because he couldn't help it.

The senior just swallowed and backed himself into the door. He rubbed his hands down his face. "God I literally just turned nineteen, what the fuck am I doing?"

Peter tried to sit up, but he was knocked back down with a wave of nausea and dizziness. He felt sick, which made him crave his bed. And blankets. And maybe some hot chocolate...

"I can't get you hot chocolate, Pete."

"Can you at least call my dad?" He found himself asking.

Matthew was silent, and he was beginning to get nervous. Because this bathroom was too small for him to be hiding in for this long. And he was high, and a little tipsy, and he was losing his mind. 

"Please, call my dad?" He begged, because apparently nothing else was working.

He had a hazy memory of how they ended up in there. Matthew's hand on Peter's lower back, his mouth moving slowly towards his. He thinks they might've kissed if he didn't run to the bathroom to throw up.

Which didn't work, as recalled. Because of course he had to fuck that up too. His first kiss ruined by his first high ruined by someone far too old for him.

He knew it was wrong. Lying, almost kissing a senior, not telling his dad about anything.

He felt sick and twisted. His world- his freshman year -was slowly crumbling around him, and was beginning to feel like he'd be like this forever.

"Your dad is on his way, Pete," Matthew said, but he sounded like he was under water.

Or maybe Peter was the one under water. It would explain why his head felt so heavy. He felt like he might pass out. 

"Please don't pass out," Matthew pleaded. "Please, Peter, I'm so sorry. It's gonna be okay."

--

He woke up in his bed. His eyes slowly opened, but his head was pounding and the sunlight in his room made him instantly close them with a groan.

"Peter?" He heard his dad ask. "You awake buddy?"

A sense of dread filled his stomach and he snapped his eyes open. Steve was there too, a comforting hand on Tony's shoulder.

"Dad?" He croaked, "m' head hurts."

Steve passed Tony an open water bottle, which he passed to Peter. And then two pills. He took them without question, trusting that they wouldn't give him anything that wouldn't help him.

"Kid, I need you to tell me how much you remember from last night."

His breath caught, and he felt his heart pick up. Of course. Last night.

The party. The drinking. The edibles. Matthew.

He felt tears prick in his eyes before he could stop them. "I-I'm sorry," he managed, covering his eyes.

But instead of yelling at him, arms were wrapped around him. He was hugging him. Running a hand through his hair, and comforting him, as if Peter wasn't the one who fucked up.

"I'm sorry," he repeated. "I should've- I don't know what's wrong with me."

"Oh kid," Tony said gently, now sitting with him on the bed. "Nothing is wrong with you."

Steve had left the room at some point during the hug, leaving them space to talk.

"I'm sorry I didn't notice you were struggling," Tony says, and Peter knows he means it, but he just shakes his head.

"I lied. I lied about everything. I'm sorry, but I can't be like you. I really tried, promise."

His dad squeezed his knee and frowned. "Lied about what, bub?"

"Michael," he said weakly.

Tony's eyes widened, and he blinked for a moment, before shaking his head. "What do you mean?"

"Michael wasn't real. I just- I just wanted you to think I was fitting in."

Tony's face pinched, and he held Peter's chin, eyes gazing into his in a way that made Peter know he was reading every inch of his expression. "You weren't fitting in?"

He shrugged miserably. "I dunno. I don't really have.. friends, I guess."

He knew he was breaking his dad's heart. He was finally showing him who he really was. That he couldn't be the kid he was raised to be.

"I didn't want to disappoint you," he continued, ducking his head.

But Tony's hand moved to squeeze the back of his neck. "Oh Pete.. You could never disappoint me. I don't care how many friends you have. I don't care how popular you are. I still love you. You're still my son."

"But I'm not cool like you-"

"Shut up," he said, his hand moving to cover Peter's mouth. "You are so cool, Peter. And I'm not even being sarcastic. You're the coolest kid I know, and I fucking hate children."

He snorted, but still sniffled. "What about- what about the party?"

"Oh you're absolutely grounded," Tony said with a grin. "After you explain to me who the fuck Matthew is and how you met him and why I should get him blacklisted to every Ivy league."

"A senior I met," he tried.

"That kid was a senior?"

Peter blushed and looked away. 

"Peter, how old was he?"

He held his breath, bit his bottom lip, and said, "nineteen."

Tony's jaw dropped, and he looked as if all the wind was sucked out of him. "Ninteen?! Oh dear lord-"

"Dad it's fine," he rushed, "really. I'm fine. It's not a big deal."

"Peter this kid called me at midnight, telling me my son was passed out on a bathroom floor at a party, which I'm now finding out was full of seniors. Did he give you something? He was the reason you went, wasn't he? He brought you there?"

He might not be a lie detector, but his dad was a genius.

"He acted like he liked me, I thought-" he cut himself off with a meek shrug. Eyes averting themselves to the floor, to avoid seeing his dad's expression.

"Peter, look at me." 

Tony didn't look mad. He never did, really. Tony Stark's facial expressions ranged from proud to concerned when it came to Peter Parker. But now he looked protective. 

"Kiddo, he took advantage of you." His words were so real, that is stabbed Peter right in the chest. "You deserve better. You don't need any of these kids."

"They liked me," he repeated, more insistent this time. "Nobody ever likes me."

He squeezed his hand. "Give it a month, Pete, and I swear you'll have a line of teens on our doorstep asking for you."

"Are you sure?"

"More than anything, kiddo."

There was a long beat of silence, and Peter leaned forward to rest his head on his dad's shoulder. "Are you still mad about the party?"

Tony hummed, "not sure yet. I'm a little upset about how you went about all of this, but it isn't all your fault, kid. I don't feel like I can punish you for something I could've prevented."

He pulled away. "But-"

"Nope," he pulled Peter's head back down. "Shut up and let me love you."

--

"Hey," a shy-sounding voice said, making his head pull up from his computer.

A fuller, tanned boy was standing in front of his table in the library, clenching his backpack strap for dear life. He had on a Star Wars shirt, with may the force be with you on it. He recognized him from his literature class.

"Peter, right? I'm Ned. We have lit together."

He blinked slowly, and then smiled. "Yeah. I recognize you."

He looked relieved, and pulled out the chair across from him. "Oh, good. I was a little worried you were too cool for me."

"No, no," he assured. "I like your shirt."

"Hey, thanks, Star Wars fan?"

He let out an unintentional giggle. "Duh. What's your favorite movie? I like Empire Strikes Back."

Ned winced, "I prefer the prequels. Revenge of The Sith is my favorite."

"Ah, Anakin's mental fission is good to see. But I prefer the originals."

Ned smiled and shrugged. "Guess we'll have to agree to disagree."

"Or," he said, reaching for a limb, "we could just rewatch all the movies."

"I like your style, Pete... What're you doing this Saturday?"