Chapter Text
People had Opinions about Tony Stark.
Peter had known that even as a kid. He'd had opinions, too, of course. He’d always thought Iron Man was amazing, because he was the only Avenger who wasn’t a superhero just because he was brave or strong, but because he was smart.
Peter wasn’t sure how brave or strong he was most of the time, but he knew he was smart. Tony Stark being Iron Man made Peter think he could be something amazing one day, too.
But he knew May thought about it differently. She’d spent the early 2000s protesting a war Mr. Stark had made a lot of money off of. She and Ben used to argue––not fight, but argue––whenever Ben brought Peter home an Iron Man shirt or action figure. The argument (not a fight) they’d had after Ben brought him home an Iron Man mask for his eighth birthday was a real doozy.
Peter had sat on the floor in his room, wearing his Iron Man shirt and the mask and pretending to flip through the latest Thor comic book. (Thor was okay, but he was never the smartest Avenger in the room, or at least that was how the comics made it seem.) To this day, he recalled every word of their exchange.
“Is this really the role model we want him to have?” Peter remembered May demanding. “You know how he made his money, Ben.”
“Yeah, and I know what he’s doing with it now,” Ben had replied. “Peter likes him because he makes it cool to be smart, and I want him to think that, don’t you?”
“There are lots of other cool, smart people who didn’t make their money in weapons of mass destruction. I’d like it if he decided to worship one of them instead.”
“Maybe when he gets older, he will,” Ben said. “But for now, he looks up and Tony Stark’s flying around in his red and gold suit, and I don’t know––I think it’s okay for him to learn that you can make amends for your mistakes. That you’re not the worst thing you ever did.”
“He didn’t do one bad thing, Ben,” May said. “I mean, Jesus, there are people sitting in jail because they got caught with weed on them, and Stark has a body count in the thousands. How forgiving do you really think we should be?”
Ben had sighed. “Next time, I will talk to you first. But are you really going to take the mask away from him?”
Peter remembered frowning in alarm and plotting where he might hide the mask so May couldn’t take it from him. There was a loose floorboard in his closet, but he didn’t think it was wide enough. Maybe it could stay at Ned’s house for a while.
Fortunately, May had echoed Ben’s sigh and said, “No. Just––cool it on the Iron Man merch for a while, will you? Or at least buy the knock off stuff that Stark doesn’t actually make any money off of.”
“Oh, that mask is definitely a knock off. The real ones are like two hundred bucks! What am I, crazy?”
May had laughed. “That’s my guy,” she’d said, and somehow, even though he couldn’t see them, Peter remembered knowing that she’d kissed him.
Despite May’s misgivings, the next year Peter and Ben had gone to the Stark Expo for his birthday. That was where Mr. Stark had saved Peter’s life for the first time, though Peter wasn’t sure Mr. Stark remembered it. He definitely didn’t know that the kid in the Iron Man costume had been him. May had kind of come around on Mr. Stark after that, or at least stopped complaining about him where Peter could hear her.
Things were different now. Peter guessed it was one thing not to like Tony Stark, war profiteer, and something totally different to not like your kid’s superhero mentor, who occasionally came over and made spaghetti bolognese in your tiny kitchen and fixed the broken air conditioner. Peter knew Mr. Stark went out of his way to be extra funny and charming with May, partly because it made Peter’s life easier, but also because May not-so-secretly terrified him.
May knew she was being charmed, of course, but she let him get away with it, and over time, Peter thought it kind of worked. Six months after May found out he was Spiderman, Peter was pretty sure she actually liked Mr. Stark. Or at least she thought he was funny and useful, and that was close enough.
And thank God, because it turned out that if people had Opinions about Tony Stark, then Peter had Opinions about their Opinions. And his Opinion was that theirs were crap.
***
It started, as a lot of things did, with someone being wrong on the internet.
There was a subReddit that was supposed to be about the Accords, but in reality it was mostly rampant speculation about what had gone down between Mr. Stark and Captain Rogers for most of the Avengers to end up on the run. Ned found it one night and sent Peter the link, and the next thing Peter knew it was two o’clock in the morning and he was arguing with some dickwad in Ohio who claimed that Mr. Stark had obviously been part of the Hydra conspiracy within SHIELD and Captain America had figured it out, so that was clearly why they’d had a falling out.
That makes no sense!, Peter typed out, furious and sleep-deprived. His name was on the list of people Project Insight was supposed to kill!!!
I know, isn’t that convenient? came the reply.
That’s not convenient, it’s just the truth!!! And here, Peter had to go looking for the actual text that proved it. Fortunately there were entire websites devoted to annotating and explaining the SHIELD files Black Widow had dumped on the internet in 2014, so it wasn’t that hard to find, but still.
Fake news, Midwestern dickwad replied, and Peter almost pitched his laptop across the room. He counted backwards from a hundred by sevens and thought about warm brownies until his blood pressure came down.
You just don’t want to admit that maybe Captain America was wrong, he finally wrote, when he got himself under control.
Whatever. Between Steve Rogers and Tony Stark, only a moron would believe Tony Stark. Which, just in case you can’t do the math, makes you a moron.
Peter rolled his eyes, slammed his laptop shut, and went to sleep. Or, more accurately, lay in bed stewing about all the things he should have said and didn’t, knowing that it didn’t really matter. People didn’t go on the internet to change their minds about anything. The Midwestern dickwad had made up his mind about Mr. Stark years ago. So had Peter, for that matter.
It just pissed him off, because he knew how much the fight over the Accords had cost Mr. Stark. He was still renovating the top ten floors of the tower after deciding not to sell it after all. Peter wasn’t stupid. He knew that that was basically like May getting rid of all her bedroom furniture six months after Ben died, because looking at it just reminded her of what she’d lost. The Accords had cost Mr. Stark everything, and Peter knew they were still causing him a lot of stress. It wasn’t fair that on top of that, people were badmouthing him on the internet about them.
Peter fell asleep eventually, but it took him a long time. And when he did, he dreamed about yelling at the entire state of Ohio.
***
“So then this jerk tells me that only an idiot would believe Mr. Stark over Captain Rogers,” Peter told Ned through a mouthful of cafeteria mac and cheese, “and I realized that I was never going to change his mind, so I went to bed.”
“It took you that long to realize that?” Ned asked, thumbing through the conversation thread on the Reddit app on his phone. “This guy is just a troll.”
Peter sighed. It came out more like a growl. “I know, I know, I just––it pisses me off.”
“What pisses you off?” MJ asked, setting her tray down beside Peter’s. “Patriarchy? Systemic racism? Childhood poverty in the richest country in the world? The fact that Hollywood hasn’t had a new idea in ten years and it’s clearly a sign of our cultural malaise?”
“People being mean to Tony Stark on the internet,” Ned replied, looking up. “He was up until three o’clock this morning, arguing with people on Reddit.”
Peter balled up a napkin and threw it at him.
“That is the dumbest, saddest sentence I’ve ever heard, Parker,” MJ declared, opening her carton of chocolate milk. “The last thing Stark needs is you defending his honor. On Reddit of all places.”
“Hey, I actually know Mr. Stark, all right?” Peter replied, keeping his voice down. “He’s been really nice to me. And he doesn’t deserve people giving him shit on the internet about the Accords.”
“Someone can be nice to you, specifically, and still be an asshole,” MJ said bluntly.
“Uh oh,” Ned muttered.
Peter stared at her. “Is that what you think about him?”
MJ shrugged. “Kind of, yeah. I mean, he made all his money selling weapons for longer than we’ve been alive, then finally gave it up and got into clean energy––fine, great, except probably you should be able to find your moral compass without having it literally blow up in your face. He’s a total misogynist––”
“No, he’s not,” Peter interjected. “Ms. Potts runs his company.”
“And I’m sure he respects her, but women in general? Especially ten years ago?” MJ shook her head and dragged a french fry through a puddle of ketchup. “I keep waiting for his Me Too moment to arrive. I’m sure it’s out there somewhere.”
Peter gaped like a fish for a second before managing to stammer out, “That’s––that’s not––that’s not true. He’s a hero.”
“So what? That doesn’t mean anything.”
“He almost died during the Battle of New York,” Peter said, trying to keep his voice even. “He saved all of us.”
“Yeah, he did,” MJ conceded. “But I’m not sure that makes him a good person. Face it, Peter––he’s a rich white guy who doesn’t think about how his actions affect anyone but himself. He doesn’t deserve your defense, and he’s definitely not worth losing sleep over.”
Peter honestly didn’t know what to say. “You’re wrong,” he finally said. “You don’t know him.”
“Do you?” she replied. “Does anyone, really?”
Peter stared at her, totally unprepared for the tangle of emotions in his chest. MJ didn’t know––she didn’t know how much Mr. Stark had done for him, she didn’t know how close they were, she didn’t know that Peter owed him everything. She didn’t know why what she was saying was so wrong.
Ned knew, or at least he knew more. He was watching Peter with wide eyes.
“I have to go,” Peter finally said, shoving back his chair. “Didn’t finish the last problem set for calc last night.”
MJ looked almost surprised. Like she hadn’t expected Peter to walk away over it. But she didn’t apologize, of course, because MJ never did. She just shrugged and ate her fries. Peter got up and left.
His phone buzzed while he was working out the last solution on the problem set. Peter pulled it out and looked at it. Mr. Stark had written, Hey kid, we still on for Friday?
Peter grinned to himself. Yeah, of course.
Staying over?
Gotta check with May but probably, Peter wrote back, and put his phone away, feeling suddenly a lot better about everything.
***
Still, it nagged at him.
MJ wasn’t some random stranger spouting crazy conspiracy theories on the internet. MJ was smart. MJ knew things, even if Peter was pretty sure that her cynicism was at least fifty-five percent an act. It bothered him that she thought such terrible things about Mr. Stark. He didn’t think she was right, but he wondered if maybe she was more right than he wanted her to be.
After all, one thing was true––someone could be really nice to certain people and still not be a good person. Even Flash was nice to his friends. Mostly.
Between the conversation with MJ and the lack of sleep, Peter was kind of a mess that evening. After he let the pasta water boil over and somehow dropped an entire carton of eggs on the floor, May sent him to sit in the living room while she finished making dinner. He couldn’t even argue about it, annoying as it was.
“All right, kiddo,” May said, once they were settled in on the sofa, each with a bowl of pasta and pesto, shredded rotisserie chicken on top. “Out with it. What’s going on?”
Peter shrugged. “Nothing. Had trouble sleeping last night, that’s all.”
“Hmm. Any particular reason?”
He took a giant bite of pasta to try and avoid answering. She raised an eyebrow at him and waited him out.
Peter swallowed and drew a deep breath. “Do you like Mr. Stark? Like, as a person?”
May’s other eyebrow climbed up to join the first one. “That’s an interesting question. Why do you ask?”
“I dunno. I was thinking about stuff I used to hear you say about him. And MJ doesn’t like him. And people on the internet—”
“Oh, Peter.”
“I know, I know. But—MJ. And you. And... I don’t know. I know some of what she said is true.”
May sighed and set her fork down. “All right. Cards on the table, kiddo. I didn’t used to like him. He was arrogant and richer than anyone actually needs to be. I didn’t see him doing much with his money, either. And I hated that he‘d made it selling weapons. The world was already dangerous, but he made it worse. I still think a lot of that was true of him before he became Iron Man. I don’t think I’d have cared much for that Tony Stark at all.”
Peter nodded, looking away.
“But.”
She paused. Peter glanced back at her.
“The Tony Stark I know now isn’t that guy.” She reached out and pushed a strand of hair behind his ear. “The one who goes out of his way to keep you safe and always asks me how my job is. The one who makes the best damn pasta carbonara I’ve ever had and wants to take us both to Italy this summer. That Tony is funny and generous and kind, and I do like him.”
Peter sighed, relieved. “Yeah, me too. It was just... some of the things MJ said...”
May pursed her lips. “Peter, she doesn’t actually know more about Tony than you do. Arguably, she knows far less.”
“Yeah, but—”
“No buts.” May frowned at him thoughtfully. “I don’t often tell you that you’re too young to understand something, but this is something that I really do think comes with age. The older you get, kiddo, the more you realize that people are complicated, and that even when you think you’ve figured them out, you probably haven’t. And they can change when they really want to.”
Peter bit his lip. “You think Mr. Stark has changed.”
“I think Tony Stark has changed more in the last ten years than most people do in their whole lives.” She pointed her fork at him. “But don’t tell him I said that––or that I said that I like him.”
Peter grinned at her. “You know you scare him, don’t you?”
“Damn right I do, and I intend to keep scaring him. Now eat your food.”
Peter ate his food. After they’d finished, May put on an episode of Queer Eye and let Peter lean against her. He snuggled in close, comfortable and safe and for once not itching at all to go out as Spiderman. Just for tonight, Queens would be all right without him.
“Hey, can I stay over at the tower tomorrow night?” he asked between episodes.
“Sure, sweetie,” she said, and smoothed the hair off his forehead before kissing him there.
***
The next day, Peter set his tray down on their usual table in the cafeteria. Ned was finishing a paper for history in the library, and he hadn’t seen MJ yet that day. He wasn’t sure he would.
He’d just pulled out The Great Gatsby to try and get a head start on his weekend reading when MJ set her tray down across from him. He looked up. “Hey,” he said, tentatively.
“Hi,” she said, awkward in a way that MJ never, ever was. “Can I sit here?”
“Yeah, of course,” he replied, blinking.
She sat down. “So. Um. I think I should apologize to you.”
Peter blinked some more. “For what?”
“Yesterday. Ned kind of... told me off after you left.”
Peter had to deliberately shut his mouth after it fell open. Ned almost never got angry, and Peter was pretty sure he’d never seen him mad at MJ. “He did?” he managed after a few seconds. “Why?”
MJ sighed. “Because I was kind of a jerk, and I deserved it. No, don’t,” she said, when Peter started to object. “Look... I knew that you knew Tony Stark, but I didn’t know that you were actually, like, close. If I had, I wouldn’t have said all that stuff.”
Peter shrugged, glancing away. “The weapons stuff is probably true. He’d probably even agree with you about it.”
“Yeah, but the other stuff––the Me Too stuff––I have no reason to think that. Except that he’s a rich white guy, and as a group they’re kind of... awful.”
“He’d probably agree with you about that, too.”
She gave him a very small smile. “Anyway. That doesn’t mean that every individual rich white guy is awful. Statistically, some of them have to be okay. And––and I actually do think he was trying to do the right thing with the Accords. We can’t have a bunch of vigilantes no one elected making decisions for the greater good. I think it’s shitty to try and take people’s civil liberties away, but I don’t think that was ever what he wanted. Plus... Ned said he’s been a really great mentor and he’s kind of important to you, so––so I’ll try to keep an open mind about him, I guess. Or at least not run my mouth like that. Sorry if it upset you.”
“It did, kind of,” Peter admitted. “It’s just—everyone thinks they know him and they don’t, at all. May didn’t used to like him, either, but she’s come around now she’s met him a few times. He makes really good Italian food, so that helps.”
Peter had the distinct pleasure of seeing MJ actually taken by surprise. “Tony Stark cooks?”
“Yep.” Peter took a bite of his cheeseburger. “Well,” he said, and swallowed, “he cooks, like, five things. Pasta carbonara, spaghetti bolognese, pancakes, scrambled eggs, and steak on the grill. He came over a few weeks ago and made spaghetti, and it was the best thing to come out of our kitchen since––um. For a long time.”
Since Ben died was what Peter had nearly said. And even though he hadn’t said it, MJ gave him a sharp look.
MJ being MJ, she didn’t say anything about it. “I can’t believe he cooked at your apartment.”
Peter shrugged. “That’s what I mean. He’s not who you think he is. His sense of humor is way more self-deprecating than you’d expect––like sometimes I wish he’d say something nice about himself once in a while. And he reads a lot. Mostly nonfiction, but I made him read Harry Potter a couple months back. He complained a lot, but he finished all of them.”
“Interesting,” MJ said, and Peter didn’t think she was even being sarcastic.
“He is.” Peter smiled to himself. “Maybe you’ll meet him sometime. But you have to be nice,” he added hastily.
“Pfff.” MJ picked up her own cheeseburger. “Fifty percent nice. Stark Industries has some factories in China that I have questions about.”
“Seventy-five percent nice,” Peter offered, “and you’re probably better off asking Ms. Potts about those.”
“Deal,” MJ said, and punctuated her promise by taking a bite.
***
The security guards at Stark Tower all knew Peter by now. They waved him through to the private elevator when he arrived that afternoon, and Peter stood still for the retinal scan.
“Good afternoon, Peter,” FRIDAY greeted him as he stepped inside the elevator. “Mr. Stark is in the workshop, but he assumed you would be hungry and asked me to bring you up to the penthouse. He will meet you there.”
“Yeah, that sounds good,” Peter said, smiling. Mr. Stark took every opportunity to feed him. It was kind of embarrassing sometimes, but the truth was that Peter never quite got enough to eat anywhere else, so he didn’t usually say no.
“Hey kid,” Mr. Stark greeted him. “Pizza or Thai? Or both?”
“Um, Thai.” Peter slung his backpack onto the couch and climbed up to sit at the kitchen island.
“You heard him, FRI. Order us all the Thai food in the land.”
“Yes, boss.”
“You’re in a good mood,” Peter observed, raising an eyebrow at him.
“It’s possible that I slept for eight hours last night,” Mr. Stark said, going to the fridge. He started pulling out the ingredients for a smoothie. “I can’t remember the last time I did that.”
“Maybe you should try it more often.”
Mr. Stark pulled a face. “Sleep and I aren’t friends. We never have been. You, on the other hand, should sleep more than you do.” He started to slice strawberries and drop them into the blender. “Don’t follow in my footsteps in this, Pete.”
“It’s not like I want to not sleep,” Peter objected. “Just sometimes I can’t. Or I have nightmares.”
Mr. Stark hummed and added a fistful of spinach, then half a frozen banana, some coconut yogurt, and a splash of OJ. He turned the blender on. It wasn’t blaringly loud like Peter and May’s was, but he still waited until it was done to speak again. “That what happened Wednesday night?” he asked, as he poured it into a cup.
Peter blinked at him. “How did you know?”
Mr. Stark tapped the StarkWatch on his wrist. Peter looked down at the one on his own and groaned. “You know that’s really creepy, right?” he said, even as he accepted the smoothie. Mr. Stark shrugged, unrepentant. “It was nothing, really.”
“It kept you up till three o’clock.”
Peter took a gulp of smoothie, then squinted at him. “Have you been talking to May about me again?”
“Always, kid. But in this case she told me I should ask you.”
Peter groaned. “It’s embarrassing.” Mr. Stark raised his eyebrows at him. “I was, um. On the internet.”
Mr. Stark blinked. “What, you were looking at porn until three in the morning?”
“What? No!” Peter yelped, face flushing bright red.
Mr. Stark shrugged, looking as though he was trying to be laid back about it. A very slight eye-twitch gave him away. He wasn’t quite as cool with that idea as he wanted to be. “You’re sixteen, you were on the internet all night, and you said it’s embarrassing. What am I supposed to think?”
“No, that’s not––no,” Peter insisted, shaking his head. He sighed. “Did you know there’s a subReddit about the Accords?”
Mr. Stark’s brow furrowed. “Not specifically.”
“Well, there is. Lots of people have opinions, I guess. Someone on it was saying some stuff... about you...” Peter pulled a face. “It made me mad, that’s all, so I argued with him about it, and suddenly it was the middle of the night. That’s all.”
“You were arguing with an asshole on the internet about me until three in the morning?” Mr. Stark said slowly.
“Well, more like two, but then I was all pissed off, so I couldn’t sleep.”
“That’s...” Mr. Stark shook his head. “Kid, I’m flattered, but it isn’t necessary. I pay a PR team very well to deal with people talking shit about me on the internet. You definitely shouldn’t lose sleep over it.”
“I know,” Peter sighed. “It was just... I don’t know.” He looked away, aware that he was about to embarrass both of them. “You do a lot of good, and it pisses me off that not everyone sees that.”
“Hmm,” Mr. Stark said. He was quiet for a little while. Peter glanced back and saw that he was staring out the window at the city below. Finally he said, “I do good because for a while I did a lot of bad. You know that, right, kid?”
“Yep,” Peter replied.
Mr. Stark looked at him. “And?”
“And... and it still counts,” Peter said with a shrug. “People can change.”
Mr. Stark smiled at him, looking older than usual and a little battle weary. “I’m glad you think that, Pete. Gives me hope. Still––don’t do it again, all right? I’d rather you just get a good night’s sleep.”
Peter smiled. “Sure, Mr. Stark.”
Mr. Stark eyed him for a few seconds, as though noticing that Peter hadn’t exactly promised not to do it again. Pete smiled innocently until Mr. Stark rolled his eyes and looked away, giving in.
Mission accomplished. Peter sipped his smoothie in satisfaction.
***
The thing was, Peter knew that people had Opinions about Tony Stark. But he also knew that most people only had about ten percent of the actual story.
He didn’t kid himself that he knew everything about Mr. Stark, or that he could even make the parts he did know into one coherent whole. It was like that Walt Whitman poem that they’d read in English last semester. Mr. Stark contained multitudes. He was the rich, arrogant Tony Stark, who’d made his money selling weapons, who could be harsh and cutting with the people around him, who’d partied too hard when he was younger and made bad life choices that got written up in the press.
He was also the Tony Stark who always cooked at least one meal with his own hands for Peter whenever he stayed over at the tower, who fussed about whether Peter was sleeping and eating enough, who loved Star Trek reruns and threadbare hoodies on lazy Saturday mornings.
Hardly anyone knew that Tony Stark, because he’d made sure they didn’t. But Peter did. For whatever reason, Mr. Stark trusted him. Peter would never quite understand how that had happened, because he didn’t really think it was about Spiderman. Maybe at the beginning, but not now. Not for a while.
Regardless, Peter knew way more about Tony Stark than most people did. And that, he decided, meant that his opinion mattered more. More than MJ’s, and definitely more than some dickwad’s on the internet. More than May’s, even. Not more than Ms. Potts’s or Colonel Rhodes’s, but maybe... maybe more than anyone else’s.
So sure, other people got to have opinions about Tony Stark. Peter guessed there was nothing he could do about that. But if they got to think whatever they wanted, then Peter got to think––no, Peter got to know––that they were dead wrong.
And maybe, occasionally, when he couldn’t sleep and someone was being especially stupid, he told them so.
Fin.