Peter Parker, the most responsible kid in all of Queens, got up early. He made himself a nutritional and delicious breakfast of homemade pancakes with fresh strawberries and a tall glass of orange juice before taking a quick shower, brushing his teeth, combing his hair, and putting on his nicest outfit. 

He breezed out the door and waited fifteen minutes for the bus, before arriving to school and heading directly to Mr. Harrington’s classroom where he told his teacher, politely, that he had his permission slip filled out AND that if he or the principal had any questions about the validity of his internship, they could reach out to Stark Industries and speak with their legal team. 

And then, victorious , he strolled out of the classroom and into the hall where his classmates greeted him with cheers, confetti, and an expertly choreographed dance to a school wide cover of “Dancing Queen” and no one ever made fun of him again and -

Meanwhile, in this universe? Peter Parker, the most luck challenged kid in all of Queens, fell asleep before he could set his alarm and woke up forty-five minutes late dazed, disoriented, and in MAJOR trouble. 

Dreams of a healthy breakfast become the reality of a granola bar eaten in three bites and chased down with a glass of milk that he has to chug in the bathroom while stripping out of his clothes. He refills the cup with mouthwash and then dives into the shower to hurriedly scrub off the post-patrol funk that he hadn’t bothered with last night, alternating between making mad grabs for the shampoo and pouring mouthwash into his mouth and, somehow, his eyes. 

He scrubs, gargles, shouts when he almost falls, chokes on the mouthwash, spits it out, slides in the pool of minty freshness, manages to rinse off, and jumps too high out of the shower, sticking to the ceiling with one hand that thinks it’s saving his life given all the duress that he’s currently under. 

He doesn’t have a prayer of catching the bus by the time that he actually makes it out of the house. And no amount of spider stamina is going to save him now because, as fast as he can run, time is not slowing down and he only just makes it into his seat for first period when the late bell rings. 

No victorious music.

No flash mob choreographed to ABBA. 

Just him, panting with exertion, and minty fresh stinging lingering in his mouth and in his eyes. He wheezes and blinks hard, drawing the attention of Michelle… who slowly lifts up her notebook and shows the sketched outline of him. 

He gives her a thumbs up and then promptly bonks his head down against his desk, wondering where he can get a white flag to wave at Lady Luck. Whatever her problem is with him… he’s officially surrendering. 

***

His surrender goes unnoted. 

Three pop quizzes, the pacer test in gym, and Flash getting his entire lunch table to chant “Penis Parker” is enough proof of that. He’s not just rattled when he slinks into Mr. Harrington’s class, head down and shoulders slumped as he tries to fold into a smaller version of himself. He’s totally defeated. Pummeled down, cartoon birds flying around his head, totally KO’d. 

He drops down into his desk in the front row and only manages the faintest of smiles when Ned walks past, giving him two thumbs up and mouthing what Peter thinks is, “You’ve totally got this!” but might actually be “The cheese rides at midnight” since he doesn’t know how to read lips. 

“Hey, guys. How are you doing today?” Mr. Harrington asks as he rises from his desk to stand in front of the class. There’s a smattering of half-hearted replies, murmurs of being fine, good, and okay. Peter doesn’t say anything, just stares at the graffiti on his desk and hopes beyond hope that they’re going to jump right into the lesson. “Good, good. We have something unique planned for today. But before we jump into that, if you have a filled out permission slip, please place it on the edge of your desk. I’ll come through and collect and then we can get started. Okay?” 

Just like that, the classroom becomes a riot of bags being unzipped, papers being shuffled, and side-conversations resuming in full. And Peter, who’s already mentally bruised, cringes from all of the noise as he pulls his slip out of his bag and places it on his desk. Face down. Which, in his opinion, is totally inconspicuous. No need to call attention to it, Mr. Harrington. Just pick it up, shuffle it into the pile, and move on. Please don’t flip it over, please don’t flip it over, please don’t -

Mr. Harrington picks the slip off of his desk, flips it over, and starts to move to grab Michelle’s...and then stops, walking backwards until he’s standing in front of Peter’s desk, again. 

And Peter wonders why he bothers hoping for things as Mr. Harrington lowers the sheet back against his desk and points to Mr. Stark’s signature. He swallows against the lump forming in his throat before he looks up, trying to keep his expression composed. 

“...Is something wrong, Mr. Harrington?” Peter asks, softly, trying not to look guilty. He has nothing to be guilty about, why is he feeling guilty at all?! 

“Mr. Parker, I’d like you to step out into the hall. I will join you out there momentarily.”

He points sharply to the door. Peter jumps up as though he’d received an electric shock and grabs his bag, hurrying out into the hall. His cheeks turn red as he goes, listening to the stunned silence of his classmates. He bursts through the door and staggers to stand against the wall, breathing heavily. 

Okay. 

Okay.

Okay! 

This doesn’t have to be bad. Maybe Mr. Harrington is going to apologize for what happened yesterday. Maybe he’s like… like an avid collector of things that Tony has signed and knows what an authentic signature looks like. And, maybe he’s just too embarrassed to admit in front of the whole class that he was wrong? 

Wishful thinking. Why is he bothering with wishful thinking? Wishful thinking is the exact same thing as hoping and hoping, so far, has gotten him nothing but disappointment. 

He chews on his bottom lip and waits, every second dragging by. 

And then, finally, Mr. Harrington steps out of the classroom and into the hall with Peter’s permission slip in hand. He holds it up and, with his free hand, points to Mr. Stark’s dark, looping signature. 

“I sincerely hope that this is a joke, Mr. Parker,” Mr. Harrington says, slowly. “A very distasteful, immature joke considering our conversation yesterday about the seriousness of forgery. Because if you mean to look me in the eye and tell me that Tony Stark actually signed this, then I won’t be there to defend these actions anymore. Do you understand me? These are your two options. You can either enter that classroom and apologize to your peers for wasting my time and their time with this foolish behaviour, own up to your lies, and resume class as normal or you can continue on this path to self-destruction as it leads you directly to the Principal's office.” 

Peter can feel the blood draining out of his face and his pulse thundering in his ears. Shame washes through his first, and panic at the thought of being sent to the Principal’s office… but then, seconds later, righteous fury rings through. He’s NOT lying. Mr. Stark signed this, with his own hand. Mr. Stark told him, plainly, that he IS an intern in his own way. And, sure, he’s trying to keep the whole Spider Man and Peter Parker thing separate, but that’s not the secret or the lie that’s being addressed now. 

The unfairness of it all, the weight of his bad day, and the resentment that coats the back of his throat when Mr. Harrington talks down to him all collide in the pit of his stomach and he straightens his shoulders and looks him right in the eye. 

“Mr. Harrington, if you or the Principal have doubts about the validity of my internship, Mr. Stark told me that you could contact Stark Industries and speak directly with their legal team about why you’re harassing me when I’ve filled out all the relevant paperwork that needed to be admitted to the school.” 

Mr. Harrington’s eyes bug out of his head, a little, before narrowing. And he takes a long, deep breath before pointing in the direction opposite of the hall. 

“Principal’s office. Now. I’ll be setting your classmates up with the necessary paperwork for them to enter Stark Industries while you, Mr. Parker, can consider yourself banned from the trip in addition to whatever punishment you’ll be facing for forgery and lying. I’m sorry, Peter, but I can’t keep allowing these delusions that you’ve fixated on. You need to understand that there are consequences for your actions. Now go.” 

Peter’s eyes smart with tears but he keeps his jaw clenched and turns on his heel, marching stiffly in the direction of the Principal’s office. 

And he thinks he can hear Lady Luck laughing at him in the echo of Mr. Harrington’s decision to give up on him. 

***

The school secretary doesn’t look surprised to see him when he steps into the office. She doesn’t even stop typing at her computer when she looks over at him and Peter realizes, after a moment, that the teachers must talk to each other. That they probably gossip about students the same way that students gossip about teachers and about each other. He clenches his jaw a little tighter as she nods her head in the direction of the Principal’s office. 

“Go right in, Mr. Parker.” 

He offers her a feeble wave that she doesn’t return before trudging into Principal Morita’s office. The door closes behind him with a thud and Morita looks up, eyes brightening as understanding dawns in his expression. 

“Ah, Mr. Parker,” He says as he shuffles the papers on his desk. “And here I was hoping that you’d prove Mr. Harrington right…” 

Peter drops his bag next to the chair in front of Morita’s desk and sits, trying to keep calm. 

“So, what was it? Boasting about the internship? Trying to argue with him about it?” 

“No, sir.” Peter says, stiffly. “Mr. Stark signed my permission slip to Stark Industries, alongside my Aunt May’s signature, and Mr. Harrington thinks that I forged it.” 

“Correction. Mr. Harrington knows that you forged it. Just like we knew that you forged his signature on the internship papers and on your emergency contact slip… and, both times, he vouched for your usual honesty and integrity. We took the hard times that you were going through into account, we let it slide… but three strikes, Mr. Parker, and you’re out. I’m sure you’re familiar with that concept?” 

“But -” 

“Mr. Parker, unless you’re about to own up to your poor decisions and apologize, I don’t want to hear it. I’ve never really had to punish a student for forgery and lies quite at this level… but I’m thinking two weeks of in-school-suspension, ineligibility for all field trips for the remainder of the school year, and end to your early release, and hand written notes of apology to each and every one of your classmates and teachers for your lies should be a sufficient enough to get through to you. I’ll be calling your Aunt May and -” 

“Peter.” Karen’s voice suddenly sounds off in his ear from the indetectable earbud that he wears. “Your heart rate has elevated to concerning levels. I am activating “Baby Monitor” protocol and alerting Mr. Stark of your location and distress.” 

“Wait, no!” Peter exclaims, without thinking, and interrupts Principal Morita’s speech. 

“I’m sorry if you think that’s a little harsh, Mr. Parker, but this is your third offense. Actions do have consequences. As sorry as we all are for your recent loss and as much as we want to help, we can’t let you continue acting this way. And, if you TRULY believe that you have been granted this fictitious internship, then we can provide your aunt with resources for you to talk to someone, but you’re a very bright boy and I’m sure that you…” 

He trails off as the intercom on his desk crackles to life, the secretary’s voice squawking through. 

“Principal Morita? There’s a...Mr. Stark on the line for you.” 

Morita blinked at his intercom, fumbling to press the button. “I’m sorry, what?” 

“A man claiming to be Tony Stark of Stark Industries is on the line, asking for the principal.” 

“I…”

The shock on Peter’s face is completely genuine when Morita shoots him a half-questioning and half-accusing glance before he reaches for his phone and picks it up. 

“This is Principal Morita.” 

There’s a minute and a half of silence. Peter knows because he counts every second as they pass, holding his breath. Mr. Stark called the school? 

“...Uh-huh. And tell me, which of Mr. Parker’s friends is this? Hm?” Morita asks, after that minute and a half ticks by. “Let me tell you, lying for a friend will only land you in as much hot water as they are in and you are welcome to spend the next two weeks in ISS with him by owning up to this little ploy and coming down to my office OR I can double his sentence. Come on, speak up. Who is this, really?” 

“That would be me. Tony. Tony Stark.” Mr. Stark calls as the door to Principal’s office swings open and he comes striding in, still holding his cell phone up to his ear as he talks. “Yes, THAT Tony Stark. Unless you think that uh, this is one of Peter’s friends in a really elaborate costume?” 

“I...I uh… I….” 

It sounds like Morita is malfunctioning, his eyes growing wide and his gaze darting between Tony and Peter, mouth agape as he babbles. Then it seems to click for him and he jumps to his feet, looking like he might bow to Tony. 

“Mr. Stark!” He says, breathlessly. “It’s really… it’s you.” 

“Hold the applause,” Mr. Stark says, irritably, glancing down at Peter who meets his gaze with shock and what he hopes is appreciation and not just more shock. “Yes, it’s me. Glad we got that sorted. See, after my intern told me that his teachers and school administration were questioning the validity of his internship with me I thought, what the hell? Why don’t I take a break from my multi-billion dollar company to come down to this inconsequential little high-school and tell these people what they should have already gathered from the paperwork I filled out? It just sounded like a great use of my time. And, hey, look at that. You already have him detained. Looks like I got here just in time.” 

“I...I um…” 

Mr. Stark’s gaze flicks to Peter’s face. “Hey, kid? Does he speak in full words?” 

“I um,” Peter clears his throat. “I think he’s just surprised, Mr. Stark.” 

“Well, can you think of a way to reboot him? I have places to be.” 

It’s...strange, seeing Mr. Stark in full Tony Stark mode. Peter never realized how much of him that he got to see unfiltered, in the lab. The man behind the mask was so impressive that Peter forgot that the mask, itself, was even more so. 

“Well, Mr. Stark… Principal Morita was in the middle of telling me what my punishment is going to be for lying about my internship and forging your signature. But, since you’re here, I guess the conversation is kinda… over?” 

“Would you look at that? See what a quality intern he is? He did all my prep work for me without even knowing that I was coming. Now that’s drive. Okay, you. Principal man. Stop the incoherent babbling, do me a favour, and call in that teacher. Mr. Harris? Mr. Hardass? Mr. -” 

“Harrington,” Peter supplied, quickly, before Mr. Stark could get any more creative with the insults. 

“Right. Him. Get him in here so that I only have to clear this up once.” 

“Right away, sir.” Morita said, hitting the button on the school’s intercom and speaking quickly. “Mr. Harrington, to my office. Mr. Harrington, immediately.” 

“Thank you. Now, can you make another chair appear? I think Parker’s had a difficult enough day without me kicking him out of his seat.” 

“Of course! Of course! Let me just… I’ll go find you one. Our most comfortable one! I’ll be right back.” 

Peter’s never seen his Principal sprint as quickly as he did then, bolting for the door and already shouting for his secretary to help him find a chair. The door shuts behind him with a solid thud and muffles the voices of star-struck hysteria, leaving Peter alone with Mr. Stark… who immediately turns to look at him. 

“Hey, kid. Are you okay? Karen sent a diagnostic report of your heart rate -- I thought you were in a hold up, not just sitting in a Principal’s office. We gotta get you some Xanax, kid. Remind me to book you with my psychiatrist. Believe me, I know a thing or two about anxiety and I…” 

He trails off and clears his throat. 

“Anyway, are you okay?” 

“Yeah, I mean… yeah. I’m okay.” Peter says, nodding. “They thought I forged your -” 

“Signature? Yeah, you said. Pep was planning on visiting, anyway, to clear things up. She’s uh… what is that word she uses? She’s -” 

“More diplomatic?” Peter suggests. 

“No, less of an asshole,” Tony says, the corner of his mouth twitching with amusement. “But when Karen sent the diagnostic and then your location, I put two and two together and thought I might make more of an impression in the moment. And, hey, out of curiosity… what is the punishment for forging Tony Stark’s signature around here?” 

“Two weeks of in school suspension, ineligibility for all future field trips, handwritten notes to all of my classmates and teachers apologizing for my lies, and um, no more leaving early.” 

“That’s it?” Mr. Stark asks, looking unimpressed. And, at the look on Peter’s face, he starts to backtrack. “Well, I’m sure that feels like a lot when you’re a kid. I was thinking jail time. Of course, I’ve seen prisons nicer than this place, so… potato, potato.” 

He pronounces the word the same way both times and Peter almost starts laughing, but the door opens back up and Principal Morita and Mr. Harrington came shuffling in. They place a plush, spinning chair from the computer lab next to Peter’s chair… and, at Mr. Stark’s disgruntled look, Peter moves to it so he can have the sturdier, less spinny chair. 

“Mr. Stark. It’s...really you,” Mr. Harrington says, awestruck, as Tony takes a seat. 

“We already had this conversation. I don’t like moving backwards. Stark Industries is all about innovation for a reason.” Mr. Stark interrupted, pointing for both Principal Morita and Mr. Harrington to move behind the desk. Which they did, unquestioningly. “According to Mr. Parker, it was you and Principal Morita, here, that had issues with the validity of his internship, right? Well, let me clear this up once and for all with the hope that I will never have to come back here. Mr. Parker is my personal intern…. Well, that’s it. That’s the whole statement I had prepared. I trust you can take me at my word?” 

“Of course, of course,” Principal Morita said, taking a seat. Mr. Harrington moves to do the same… only there isn’t another chair and he hits the floor before sheepishly standing again. Everyone ignores that. “Now that you’re here and you… yes, we will of course… but, surely you can understand our skepticism? Stark Industries doesn’t accept high-schoolers as interns… or anyone under eighteen, surely, for liability reasons?” 

“Both true statements!” Tony says. “And both covered in the papers that I filled out, where I clearly stated that Mr. Parker is the only exception to the rule due to his advanced intelligence and the full cooperation of his legal guardian as well as my decision to take full responsibility for his well-being. If you'd pull the contract out, I can show you exactly where -” 

“We uh, we don’t have them on file. We...threw them out.” Principal Morita confesses, quietly. So quietly that Peter almost didn't hear him.

And the underlying air of amusement disappears from Mr. Stark’s posture completely. He straightens up in his seat and leans forward, his nanotech sunglasses creeping back away from his face so that they can see the full effect of his gaze. 

“You what ?” He asks, quietly. “I’m sorry...instead of using the contact information that we had listed -- the highly sensitive contact information, beneath the non-disclosure agreement that you, presumably, signed -- to contact us and ask for validation of some kind. You...You threw out the very important legal documents pertaining to one of your students with no proof of forgery? Just on an assumption?” 

“We… we shredded them…” Mr. Harrington offers, faintly. 

“...Alright. This might be above my head.  You hear that, gentlemen? This is such a grievous error that there’s nothing I can do about it. I’m going to have to pass this along to my better half, Ms. Potts. She and our legal team should be able to decide if any action needs to be taken against the school at large and then, if assuming we are provided with proof that the documents were thoroughly destroyed and not putting me at any personal risk thus requiring us to sue the both of you into the ground, we can draft up a new pile of paperwork. For you to guard as though your very lives depend on it. Because they do. In the meantime, as one of Mr. Parker’s emergency contacts, I’ll be taking him out of school to… to, I don’t know. Get him some ice cream and show him a nice, long list of private, elite high-schools that I can get him into that will treat him with the respect that he deserves not only as a person, but as my intern.” 

Mr. Stark stands rigidly, vibrating with obvious anger. 

“The head of my legal team will be in touch with you soon, if not Ms. Potts herself. I trust you’ll make yourself available for her call and the subsequent inspection of -” 

“Um...Mr. Stark?” Peter interrupted, timidly, drawing his furious gaze onto himself and away from the cowering principal and teacher. 

“...Yes, Mr. Parker?” He asks, slowly, his gaze softening just a little. 

“What about the field trip?” 

“...What about it?” 

“It’s just…” Peter clears his throat and nervously laces his fingers together. “A lot of my classmates were really looking forward to a tour of Stark Industries. And it doesn’t seem fair to punish them for this. If… if they can provide proof that the paperwork was destroyed by Friday, can we still go?” 

Mr. Stark looks between Peter and them, his brow furrowing. 

“...No.” He decides, shaking his head. And Peter opens his mouth to protest, but Tony holds up a finger to silence him. “Not by Friday. They have until Thursday to provide proof AND to deliver handwritten apology letters to you, me, and our CEO for wasting our time like this. I trust you two can do that?” 

“Yes! Yes, absolutely we can. We…” 

“Good.” Tony interrupts. “Let’s go, Mr. Parker. I am so tired of being here. I don’t know how you do this for eight hours.” 

“Uh, Mr. Stark? You… you have to sign him out at the front desk…” 

Mr. Stark ignores that, steering Peter out of the office and then out of the building without giving a second glance at the awestruck secretary who watches them leave. 

“Mr. Stark,” Peter whispers as they stroll out into the bright sunlight. “That was… that was so… awesome .” 

“Don’t you dare thank me for that,” He growled, fixing Peter with a glare. “That wasn’t a favour to you, Pete. That was the bare minimum of what you were due. Don’t thank me for things that you deserve, alright?” 

“Got it, Mr. Stark.” 

“Good.” Tony relaxes some, then, clapping his hands together. “Happy should be here by now. I came in the suit, but it’ll have gone home by now… how about that ice cream I promised?” 

“Wow, really? I didn’t think you were… I mean, you don’t have to...thank - thank you, Mr -” 

“Ah-ah! You finish that sentence, and I’m barring you from the toppings bar. What did I just get finished telling you about thanking me for things you deserve? Now, come on. I'm not allowed to get day drunk anymore so let's go stress eat."