Archive of Our Own ^beta

The elevator doors slid open with a quiet ding, and Peter stepped into the common room, pulling off his mask with one hand and yawning with the other.

It had been a long patrol—nothing dangerous, just a couple of break-ins, one mugging he stopped before it got serious, and a lot of walking. The city had been cold tonight, and his hoodie wasn’t cutting it under the suit.

Tony was already on the couch, a tablet in his lap, glasses perched low on his nose. He looked up the second Peter walked in.

“You’re late,” he said, but there was no real bite to it. Just habit, more than anything.

Peter dropped his mask on the coffee table and gave a tired shrug. “Sorry. Took a little longer to clear the route. There was a guy tagging walls down on 12th. He panicked when he saw me and ran into traffic. Had to pull him onto a fire escape.”

Tony raised an eyebrow, then tossed the tablet aside. “So just a regular Tuesday.”

Peter gave a crooked smile and sank down onto the couch next to him, pulling his knees up and hugging them to his chest. He looked tired, but not drained. Just used-up in the way Tony had come to recognize—school day, homework, and then three hours of neighborhood patrol like it was no big deal.

Tony handed him a bottle of water. Peter took it without a word, twisting the cap off and sipping like muscle memory.

They sat in silence for a moment. The city was a low hum outside the window. The kind of quiet that only really existed thirty stories up.

Then Tony said, almost too casually, “I’m proud of you.”

Peter looked over, surprised. “Wait—what?”

Tony kept his eyes forward, focused on the skyline. “Just figured you should hear it. I’m proud of you. For tonight. For what you do. For how you do it.”

Peter blinked. “Oh.”

“I mean it,” Tony added. “You’re juggling school, saving the city, not forgetting to eat most days… You show up for people. Even when you’re running on fumes. That’s not easy. Especially not at your age.”

Peter was quiet for a second, processing. Then he said softly, “Thanks, Dad.”

Tony glanced at him, something warm flickering behind his eyes. “Anytime, kiddo.”

Peter leaned a little into his side, not enough to be obvious—just enough to be felt.

Tony let his hand rest on Peter’s shoulder, gave it a light squeeze, and didn’t let go right away.

And maybe they didn’t say anything else for the rest of the night, but they didn’t need to.

Peter heard him.

And Tony made sure he would always know.