“New kid.” Tony dumps his jacket on his chair as he walks in, spins on his heel and points to the back of the classroom, where a boy is bent over a book not really reading it, his shoes making quiet scuffling sounds as he fidgets. “Why don’t you introduce yourself?”
The room goes quiet when he enters, as it always does. It’s not because Tony cares - he doesn’t. It’s just a gentle gesture of respect, a thing the kids can give back to a guy who’s given them so much.
The boy looks up quickly; he appears startled, Tony thinks maybe he’s had too much sugar, or caffeine, because he’s way more alert than a sleep-deprived teenager should be. Tony watches the boy’s eyes, flitting nervously from student to student, all of whom are giving him bored looks or not looking at all. Finally, the kid speaks.
“I’m - I’m - I’m Peter,” he says quietly. “I’m from Queens.”
He glances at Tony with a brief, hopeful expression, then looks back at his book, his fingers lightly tracing the words without reading them.
“Welcome, kid. Okay, let’s talk science.”
Tony’s fast. He’s chaotically analytical, he knows things - the students have seen it. Like five weeks ago, when he noticed Corey’s sudden dip in attendance and his loss of interest in science (the kid had a passion for it) and somehow connected that with the two-days-prior conversation about Corey’s sick dog. When he mentioned it privately to the kid, he erupted into tears and told him how the dog had been put down - Tony sat with him after school every day for a month talking about it, until Corey came back with a watery smile and a puppy from his dad.
Now, Tony hadn’t known Peter Parker for long - he’d been in his class for a couple months - but he knew the kid was good. And yeah, good at science, but that wasn’t what Tony meant; Peter had a good heart, he wanted to help people, he’d ask ‘entirely theoretical’ questions about medicine and machines that could change lives but didn’t exist, and when Tony spoke he could see the twinkle in his eyes, and sometimes the kid doodled things on a stray notepad but Tony knew he was grasping onto every word he said.
But Peter’s effort dips; one day he’s racing into the classroom 20 minutes late, his still-open backpack shrugged over one shoulder and his hair a dishevelled mess and his cheeks red from running (Tony doesn’t punish him because he’s only just walked into class himself 10 minutes ago). There’s another instance in which Peter’s homework is scrawled messily in black ink and is half the length of anyone else’s. The tired eyes, the way his hands sometimes flit to his head, then jolt back as soon as he senses anyone’s gaze on him… Tony knows something’s up. He calls him back after class.
Peter looks nervous. Everyone’s gone home, it’s just the two of them now. Tony smiles and indicates to a free chair by his desk, but he himself sits on the table.
“No,” Tony cuts him off, he doesn’t want to add anymore stress to the kid, and he smiles kindly. “You’re not in trouble, kid. Just wanna talk.”
Peter gazes at his lap. He knows what’s coming. He meets Tony’s eyes again. “I’m sorry -”
“Don’t be. Am I giving you too much work? I can lay off,” says Tony.
“N-No, it isn’t… It isn’t that.”
“You wanna talk about it?”
Peter sighs. He does, he really does; no one knows he’s Spider-Man, and he wants advice and - well - his teacher is Iron Man, if he can make time to teach and save the world, why can’t Peter do the same?
“Alright, kid.” Tony puts a hand on Peter’s shoulder encouragingly. “But you know I wouldn’t tell anyone, right?”
And Tony’s got this look in his eyes and he’s worked it out. He’s seen the headaches, the fidgeting, the guilt, he knows. The kid’s got a secret and he wants to help people. Sometimes he shows up with inexplicable bruises and promises they’re not from home, that he’s just slipped over during gym.
Peter breathes out and closes his eyes tightly. “I’m Spider-Man.”
Tony smiles. Peter’s eyes are still closed and his face has gone pale, but there’s some sort of relief there; his shoulders have relaxed and he seems somewhat happier, like a weight’s been lifted from his shoulders.
He opens his eyes and repeats himself more clearly. “I’m Spider-Man.”
“Well I must say, I was expecting Spider-Man to be… an actual man,” Tony jokes, and Peter’s eyes narrow playfully, but he looks so glad that Tony believes him. “Anyway, maybe you should come by the tower tomorrow night and Iron Man could be your mentor.”
“R-Really?” Peter grins widely. “Mr. Stark, that’d - that’d be awesome.”
Tony nods. “Sure. Oh - and we’ll have to fix that crappy pyjama suit of yours.”
“Hey! At least it’s comfortable! You fly around in a tin can.”
They both laugh. Tony squeezes Peter’s shoulder, and the kid’s chest fills with warmth. He’s got help. He knows it’s all going to be OK.
Peter wraps his arms around Tony.
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