Archive of Our Own ^beta

When Peter invites Tony over to his apartment, he doesn't know what to think.

It's not that he doesn't like the kid, because don't get him wrong, he does. Peter's probably one of the high points in Tony's life, right up there with Pepper and Rhodey and all the other people he's managed to befriend over the years. He's a sweet little ball of Star Wars references, nerdy puns, and sunshine, and he'll probably never know how much Tony cares about him.

But an invitation to his house? 

That's not even remotely in the field of things he'd been expecting.

So Tony thinks it's reasonable that he has a bit of a mental breakdown in the middle of his workshop, staring at the dark screen of his phone only moments after Peter had hung up with a cheery "See you soon, Mister Stark!".

Thirty minutes later, Pepper finds him under his favorite metal table, muttering quietly to himself as he tries to figure out what the best course of action is from here. Of course, she doesn't have time for his bullshit- she drags him to his feet, brushes the wrinkles out of his t-shirt, and hands him his shoes before telling him that it's time for him to get out of the house and she'll kick him out herself if she has to.

Tony, who isn't interested in getting into a fight with an angry Pepper, doesn't hesitate to pull his jacket on and leave. He takes the Audi- it's Peter's favorite car to see him in, probably because it's so flashy, bright, and glaringly not what he's used to.

He's a funny kid like that.

There's a tan Volkswagon in Tony's usual parking spot in front of the Parkers' apartment building, the back hatch opened wide to show stacks upon stacks of suitcases and other sorts of luggage. He has to pull around the block three times- three times- before he finds an available space between a large van and some kid's tricycle. Seriously, kid, do you want your stuff to get stolen?

Tony has half a mind to take the tricycle, maybe stash it in the back of his car, because it would be so satisfying. The little Pepper in his head, however, reminds him that it would also be very illegal.

He leaves it on the street with a begrudging hope that somebody will run it over.

The lobby receptionist, an old guy who looks like he's eaten a lemon, shoots him a glare over the top of his boxy computer. Tony does what he does best: ignores him and pretends that he's better than everyone else, because in this apartment building? He is.

With the exception of Peter and May, of course. They're angels.

May answers the door with a grin and a plate of homemade cookies, ushering him into her apartment and sitting him down on the couch before he can even say a word. She tells him that Peter's in his room and he'll explain everything when he comes in, then goes back to their little niche of a kitchen for another batch of cookies. 

Even Tony has to admit that however small their apartment is, it's the textbook definition of homey.

He waits there for a few minutes, sprawled out on the couch with an uncharacteristically good chocolate chip cookie in his hand (May is not the best baker, but these taste like actual cookies, so he's sort of surprised). The sound of the air conditioning unit on the windowsill and quiet humming from the kitchen fill the living room, flooding in with the smell of sugar and chocolate and something that Tony can't really identify.

It's really nice.

Peter comes out just when Tony's wondering if he should go ahead and leave, decked out in a bright pink hoodie and a pair of ripped jeans. It's the first time he's ever seen him out of the Spider-Man suit, and if he didn't know better, he would've thought that Peter was just a regular teenager. They both know that it's not the case, but it's almost refreshing to see him like this.

"Mister Stark!" Peter exclaims, eyes sparkling with something between the lanes of excitement and amusement. "Thanks for coming!"

Tony shrugs. He knows how out-of-place he looks in this apartment- his Armani suit doesn't fit in with the well-worn throw pillows and old blankets.

"No problem, Underoos. I didn't have anything else to do."

A little grin curves across the kid's lips. "That's great, 'cause I was wondering if I could maybe ask you a favor?"

A favor? Since when has Tony been in the 'asking favors' category of anyone's life? Normally he's the one asking people for favors, and they're always out-of-bounds and obnoxious. God, he hopes he hasn't already messed Peter up.

"What kind of favor?" He asks suspiciously.

May barks a laugh from the other room.

"Nothing serious. Just... I dunno." Peter scuffs the toe of his bunny-face-covered socks against the floor, staring down at his feet with an abashed expression on his face and a pink flush in his cheeks. "You don't have to do it if you're too busy."

Tony internally kicks himself. Don't embarrass the teenager, idiot, he's impressionable.

And, as if he needs another reason to feel guilty, it's not like Peter's the best at asking for favors. He'd rather do things on his own for the sake of not bothering anybody else with his own problems.

The last thing Tony wants to do is make him feel worse about himself and his needs.

"No, kid, go ahead," he prompts. "As I said, I've got nothing else to do."

The blush disappears. Peter nods slowly, bites his lip, and jerks his head sharply at the door he'd come out of- his room, if Tony remembers correctly.

"I've got a fish."

A pause.

Back in the kitchen, May drops something and bites out a curse.

"That's... nice," Tony says slowly. 

Peter clears his throat. "A betta fish. And May and I are going on a vacation because she has a bunch of sick days left over from this year and she's going to lose them if she doesn't take them and we didn't wanna-"

May cuts him off. "Peter, honey, you're rambling," she says sweetly. "Just tell him what you need."

"Yeah, go ahead." Tony waves a hand. "It can't be that bad."

He takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, and- in one breath- shouts, "Ineedyoutofeedmyfish!"

Tony blinks.

May sighs and says, "Say it again, honey."

Another deep breath. "I need you to feed my fish."

Oh.

"That's it?" Tony asks, shocked. "Kid, if you just needed me to feed your fish, you had nothing to worry about."

Peter breathes a sigh of relief and buries his hand in the deep pockets of his hoodie.

"Thanks, Mister Stark. Ned was gonna do it at first, but now he's going on vacation, too. So I kind of panicked?"

"No panic necessary."

One of Peter's hands twitches toward the doorknob. He watches Tony expectantly, head tilted to one side like he wants something. Like he's waiting for something.

"Do you want to show me your fish?" Tony asks, surrendering to the awfulness that is Peter Parker's puppy-dog eyes.

"Yeah!" Peter yelps, ripping the door open so hard it almost flies off of its hinges before dashing into his room and disappearing from view. Tony cocks an eyebrow and turns to stare at May, who stifles a laugh and shakes her head.

"He's been really excited to see you, Tony. Hasn't stopped talking about you all day." She pulls yet another tray of cookies out of the oven and sets it on the counter. "You make him incredibly happy."

Those five words warm him to the core more than any number of cookies ever could. You make him incredibly happy. He's never heard them in relation to himself- never even thought of them in relation to himself, really.

"Mister Stark!" Peter calls from his room, impatience reverberating from his every word. "C'mon!"

May shrugs and jerks her head at the door in the same fashion as her nephew. "Might as well go ahead in and rip the bandaid off, right?"

Tony nods, forces himself to stand without wincing at the popping in his joints, and steps into the darkness that is Peter's room without another word.

The first thing that he notices is that, for a teenage boy's personal space, it's impressively clean. Everything has a spot- the books are organized by size in a wooden bookcase, the bed is made, the carpet is clean, and the drawers of his dresser are closed. There's a screwdriver and a few scraps of metal on the desk, haphazardly pushed into a pile. A Lego set, still in its box, sits next to Peter's backpack.

The second thing is how many Star Wars and Avengers posters there are on the walls. How much fan merchandise he's scattered around his room, ranging from a Captain America Pop figure on the bookshelf to something that looks like an arc reactor waffle maker (whoever decided it would be a good idea to manufacture those is in for a storm).

The third thing is how, despite all the Avengers paraphernalia, there isn't a single Spider-Man figurine in the room.

Peter stands next to the only window, hunched over a small table with a single object on it- a glass bowl with a plant on top. When he hears Tony walk in, he turns around with the biggest smile and points an excited finger toward the bowl.

"Mister Stark, meet Darth Betta!"

Tony can't help himself- he snorts, covering his face with his hand and laughing so hard his shoulders shake.

"Darth Betta?"

Peter pouts, covering his fishbowl with both hands like he's shielding a child's ears.

"I thought it was funny. And so does Darth Betta," he says petulantly. "It's funny, right?"

"Very funny," Tony laughs. "You're very funny, kid."

He steps closer, wiping imaginary tears from his eyes, and leans down to stare at the bowl. Peter moves his hands to reveal a small fish with a red, fan-shaped tail. It's entire body is tinged with electric blue, with a stripe of blue around the tail and a lightning hue to the scales. It's an attractive fish, that's for sure. But there's something about that color scheme...

"Underoos." Tony turns slowly, one eyebrow arched so far north that it feels like it might touch his hairline. "Did you pick a fish with your colors on purpose?"

Peter blushes again.

"Maybe. But it's super cool!" He says desperately. "I mean, Darth Betta looks nice either way. I just thought it was a nice touch."

"Of course."

"I wasn't being... you know, full of myself or anything."

Tony kicks himself again.

"I know, I know. I'd never think that."

Peter breathes a visible sigh of relief. "Oh. Good."

"Yeah."

An awkward silence overtakes the room, punctuated by another creative curse from the kitchen and the sound of breaking glass. Peter jolts, staring at his open door, and makes to go in and help his aunt.

"I'm fine!" She shouts. Peter stops. "Just dropped a measuring cup, no problems! Keep talking!"

He watches the door nervously for a moment, biting his lip, before walking back over to Tony and Darth Betta.

"Sorry about it being so last minute an all that," he apologizes. "D'you think you can do it?"

Tony snorts again and nods. "I think I can fit Darth Betta into my busy schedule, kid."

"Thank you so much, Mister Stark, I swear I'll make it up to you later."

"Nothing to make up for," Tony says good-naturedly, drumming his fingers against the table. "It's not a problem."

He's not lying.

...

Peter leaves the next day, hopping into May's tan Volkswagon with a cheerful "See you later!". Tony wakes up at six in the morning to see him off, because he knows that Peter would do the same for him without being asked.

Peter would do the same for anyone without being asked.

He leaves a note on Darth Betta's table. Black ink spells out a set of incredibly specific instructions, ranging from how much to feed the fish to how often the bowl needs to be cleaned, even though May and Peter are only going to be gone for three days and the instructions say a week.

It's pretty obvious that Peter loves his fish.

Tony carefully reads the instructions, then goes through them three more times to make sure he's got everything down. It says to feed him twice a day, but only a little bit of food, so Tony does just that- he sprinkles a pinch of fish food into the tank, waits to see if Darth Betta eats any- he does- and leaves the Parker apartment, locking the door behind him as carefully as he can before heading back to the tower.

He does the same thing the next day, and Darth Betta looks perfectly happy. 

It's not until the third day, the day before the Parkers are supposed to come back, that everything goes wrong.

...

When Tony walks into Peter's bedroom, humming happily, he doesn't know what's about to happen. In fact, it takes him a good bit of time to figure it out.

He's opening the container of fish food when he sees it.

Darth Betta, Peter Parker's beloved fish, is floating just under the surface of the water on its side. It isn't moving. 

Oh, God.

Tony drops the half-open bottle to the ground, gasps, and rushes across the room. He bends over, wincing when his back cracks and he comes to eye-level with Darth Betta.

The late Darth Betta, that is, because Peter's fish is most definitely dead.

"No, no, no," he mutters, pulling his phone out and dialing up the first number that comes to mind. This is bad, this is bad, this is sososososososo bad.

"Tony?"

"Pep, thank God," Tony gasps. "I need help."

"What?!"

Okay, so maybe Tony- a hero who constantly puts himself in life-threatening situations- could've worded that better. Pepper sounds like she's about to outright faint, her voice breathy and horrified.

"Tony, what's going on? Are you hurt?!" She asks, forcing the words out at an impressive speed. "I'm coming, just give me your location-"

"No!" Tony cuts her off roughly, smacking himself in the forehead. "No, I'm not hurt. It's not that kind of an emergency."

The line goes silent.

"WHAT?!" Pepper's voice explodes with the force of an atomic bomb in Tony's ear. He jerks away, almost dropping the phone.

"It's the kid's fish! I went over to feed it and it's dead and he's going to kill me!"

It takes her a few moments to compose herself, and when she does, Tony can tell that it would take nothing more than a twitch to set her off again. 

"You called me because of a dead fish?"

"Peter's dead fish. Pep, I know I don't say it often, but I need you to tell me what to do."

Pepper hesitates.

"You should probably just tell him the truth, Tony. Peter's a sweet kid, you know he won't be mad at you."

"No," he snaps, voice tinged with hysteria. "No, you don't understand. He loves this fish. If he finds out I killed it, he'll send me to wherever fish go when they die to apologize."

"It's a fish."

"He named it Darth Betta. He left me really detailed instructions to follow, and I messed up."

She goes quiet again. Tony holds his breath, crossing the fingers of his free hand, and waits for her to give him an idea. To save him.

"You could buy him another fish," she says flatly, clearly exasperated with his behavior. "One that looks just like Darth Betta. I'm pretty sure Peter wouldn't notice the difference, and there are plenty of places you could get one in New York."

And just like that, he can breathe again.

"Pep, you are a genius. I would kiss you right now, but I have to go replace a fish."

Tony's about to hang up when Pepper speaks again, beams of exhaustion radiating from the speaker like lasers.

"I still think the easiest way to take care of this would be to tell Peter the truth, Tony. I honestly doubt that he'd be mad. It would be easier, and when you lie, it never goes well."

"Yeah, well," Tony snorts and pulls away from the receiver. "Since when have I been good at facing my problems head-on?"

...

He drives twenty minutes through downtown Manhattan to an obscure store in the middle of the shopping district. The neon sign above the front door blares Manhattan Aquarium Supply in bright pink, and the windows- tinted a dark gray that makes it hard to see inside- glow a contrasting blue.

It looks exactly like the sort of place he never expected to have to go. But he never expected to be mentoring a fanboying teenage superhero, so maybe this isn't as weird as he thinks.

The guy behind the counter has more piercings than Tony thinks should fit on a single human being's ear. He's staring down at his phone, bored out of his mind, a fuzzy shock of neon green hair sticking up on his scalp like a glowstick.

This is not what he wanted to be doing on one of his only days off.

You killed the kid's fish, now fix it.

Tony takes a deep breath and walks over to the front counter. Green Hair doesn't look up, too buried in whatever he's doing to do his literal job. Tony rolls his eyes, clears his throat, and raps his knuckles against the wooden countertop.

The look of surprise on Green Hair's face when he jerks up and sees Iron Man staring down at him is almost enough to make up for whatever sort of crappy customer service deal this place has.

"I'm here to get a fish," Tony says, taking a bit too much pleasure in the way his face pales. 

The cashier's jaw drops and closes like he's a fish out of water. It takes him a few attempts to get anything out, and when he does, it's immediately clear that this is probably the most interesting thing that's ever happened to him.

"We- we have fish," he stutters. "Uh..."

"Yeah, I know. That's why I'm here."

The two men stare at each other for a minute, appraisal and annoyance clear in both of their expressions, before Green Hair gets up the nerve to speak.

"Wh-what kind of fish do you need?" He asks.

"Betta. Blue and red. I killed this kid's fish and he loved it so I've gotta get an exact replica."

Maybe this is a little over this guy's paygrade, but Tony doesn't really care.

Then again, he does look like he's about to faint.

"The bettas are over there." He points a finger toward a vertical display against the opposite wall made up of a tall bookshelf and a multitude of glass jars that looked much too small for anything to live inside. "If we have anything to match yours, it'll be over there."

Tony nods his thanks and makes his way over to the display, ducking under a low-hanging light fixture and weaving around a table covered in small bowls full of living goldfish. There are a lot of betta fish, that's for sure- ranging from a bright white to the darkest black, there have to be about a hundred of them in their separate bowls.

This is going to be fun.

...

Thirty minutes later, he leaves with an identical betta fish in a bag and an eased conscience. Peter's not going to find out, and he's not going to die.

Ha.

Ha.

Ha.

...

Peter and May come back the next day, right on schedule, and the first thing the kid does is thank him for taking care of his fish. Tony grins and ignores the stab of guilt in his gut before taking May's suitcase for her and helping them get their things back up the stairs, chatting with his mentee about what he did on his vacation all the while.

He doesn't want to give anything away.

Later on, he realizes that he probably should've known that Peter was smarter than he thought.

The first thing Peter does, after unlocking the door and dropping his suitcase on the couch in the living room, is run straight for his room and rush over to his fish. Tony follows more slowly, dread building in the pit of his stomach as he prays for a miracle.

Peter turns around, a flat look on his face, and raises an eyebrow.

Whoop, there it is.

"Mister Stark..." He says slowly, biting his lip like he's afraid of how Tony's going to respond even though it's his fish that died. "That's not Darth Betta."

"Kid, I'm so sorry, I swear I didn't mean to!" Tony says, frantically gesturing toward the bowl. "I don't even know what I did wrong! I followed all of your instructions-"

Peter cuts him off with a big grin and a shake of his head.

"It's okay. You didn't mean to, I get it."

Wow. Whatever he was expecting, this definitely isn't it.

Tony blinks, gaping like the cashier at the fish store, and points stupidly at the betta.

"I killed your fish."

"My fish died, Mister Stark," Peter corrects. "You didn't kill it. This stuff happens sometimes."

"You're... you're not mad?"

" 'Course not, it's a fish. Darth Betta was great, yeah, but you're... great-er? Is that a word?" He stops, thinks for a minute, and snaps his fingers. "Better. That's it."

"Kid..." Tony trails off, shocked.

"It's true. Now, you've gotta help me name the new one," Peter says. The look on his face is one of mischief and excitement, and for a minute, Tony realizes that he's gotten himself into something pretty crazy and very much out of his control.

"So I was thinking about something like Sharkira? Like Shakira but with Shark instead of 'Shar'."

Tony buries his face in his hands, shakes his head, and groans.

"That is awful."

"What about Han Sole-o? 'Cause a sole's a fish? That one's pretty cool, right?"

"So much worse."