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Peter sat hunched on the bottom step of the rickety stairs, unconsciously picking at the frayed hem of his sleeve. He was very aware of MJ slouched just a few steps behind him, her intermittent gaze sending fizzy tingles down his spine, but he kept his eyes stubbornly fixed on the hotel’s main room where the acadec team was arguing in front of the TV. Onscreen, the sorcerer from earlier was magnified, a clip of him blasting the water creature overlaid with the newcaster’s rapid-fire Italian. Peter occasionally saw little blobs in the background that might have been his team, but the newscaster never mentioned them so he couldn’t be sure.
Surprisingly, the team was taking the incident well. Peter guessed he shouldn’t have been surprised though; the world was a weird place now, even for people who weren’t secretly superheroes. Plus, New Yorkers could shrug off almost anything— it would take more than a measly water monster attack to phase them. Even now his classmates were engaging in mass speculation about the media-dubbed “Mysterio” who had killed the creature.
“I’m just saying—”
Three distinct people groaned. On the TV, digital Mysterio shot another light beam.
“Abe, shut up with the conspiracy theories,” Sally called from where she was reclined on the floor.
“Hey—!”
“Well I want to hear his idea,” Charles cut in.
“Thank you—”
Peter leaned his head tiredly against the railing. He had no idea who this “Mysterio” was, but he definitely did not want to join the team’s conspiracy/argument mess. Even Mr. Harrington was speaking up now, and Flash was saying something about Spiderman, of all things. Flash was a Spiderman fan? That was… disconcerting.
Peter’s phone buzzed in his back pocket, snapping him out of his spiraling thoughts.
Quickly, he pulled it out, managing to silence the ringtone but not before the opening riff to “I am Iron Man” blasted through its tinny speakers. Peter winced.
The room quieted for a beat as a few people looked over at Peter, but they quickly lost interest as he stood and walked to the alcove at the side of the stairs.
Peter pressed his phone to his ear.
“What the fuck, kid,” was the first thing Tony said when the call connected.
“Hey!” Peter hissed, turning away from the chaos of the main room, “It wasn’t my idea for some weird water-monster thing to attack us.”
His dad chuckled, and it was only because Peter knew him so well that he could detect the strained edge to it. “Yeah, figured. What is it now? Three for three? Three field trips, three disasters?” he tutted disappointedly. “I can’t let you go anywhere, Jesus.”
“No, I’m Peter,” Peter couldn’t stop himself from saying, “Not Jesus.”
“You’re grounded.”
“Dad!”
Tony’s chuckle sounded a little less forced this time. “Seriously, kid, are you okay? I saw you get hit twice with a bell.”
Peter felt his face heat up. “Oh, cra— you saw that?”
“Uh, yes,” his dad said, the “duh” clearly implied. “I see everything. You should know this by now.”
Peter groaned.
“So really, you okay?”
“Sto bene,” Peter assured him. But then his spidey-sense spiked. Immediately he looked up.
The noise level of the room was still fairly high, but Peter saw a couple sets of eyes flash incriminatingly away from him. One of them Brad’s .
“Not even a scratch,” he continued in Italian, turning away again. Better safe than sorry— he did not want anyone to hear this conversation.
"Bene,” his dad said in the same language. “So how soon should I be there?”
“What?” Peter felt the eyes snap back to him and immediately he lowered his voice. “No! You don’t have to come— I can handle this. It’s not even that big a deal!”
“Really, Mr. I-brained-myself-on-a-bell-twice-in-a-row?”
Peter crossed his free arm with a pout, scuffing his ragged shoes on the equally-ragged wooden floor. “Okay, first of all, I was kinda busy holding up a clocktower—”
“Yeah, yeah, kid, I get it,” Tony cut in. “But the point still stands— we don’t know how big of a situation this could be. I don’t want you to be without backup if it blows up, ya hear me?”
Peter’s frown deepened, but he nodded absently. “Yeah, I know, but…”
“But?”
Peter drummed his fingers against the old telephone on the wall as he grasped for the right words. “It’s just… we’re on a school trip. I— I want it to be normal for once, y’know? I want to hang out with my friends and do cheap, touristy things, and… I dunno…”
“Tell something to a certain someone?” Tony prompted, a teasing note in his voice.
Peter flushed. “Dad.”
Tony chuckled, before he let out a sigh. “Dunno know how you’re going to manage ‘normal’ with Fishbowl-Man and the sea terrors, kid.”
“Fishbowl-Man?” Peter laughed.
“I mean, am I wrong?” Tony asked. “That’s a rhetorical question, I know I’m right.”
Peter shook his head in mock-exasperation, a smile tugging at his lips. “I’m just gonna ignore all the supernatural stuff for now. Mr. Fury can deal with it.”
“I’ve taught you well, my spawn,” Tony intoned, before his voice took on a more serious tone. “Alright, I’ll talk with Fury. You sure you don’t want me to come?”
Peter crossed his free arm over his stomach. “I mean, I don’t not want you to come…” He leaned tiredly against the stairs. “I’ve always wanted to go to Italy with you… but, I’d rather just have a regular school trip with my friends, and Iron Man coming isn’t exactly— normal.”
“You’ve got me there,” Tony conceded. “But if this gets bigger, I am coming, capisci?”
“Capisco.”
“And don’t think I’ll forget that comment— one of these days we’re going to go to Italy together, and we’re going to have the best time.”
Peter couldn’t suppress the grin that spread across his face. “Really? That would be awesome!”
“Hell yeah, kiddo. Can’t believe you’re going on an American high school tour to Italy… We’ve gotta go to that place on Calle del Forno. Oh! And definitely to Galeazzo’s...” Tony trailed off, and Peter could clearly picture the ‘thinking face’ his dad got when he was sucked into his rapidly growing web of thoughts.
“Sounds good,” Peter said. There was a muffled thump from the other side of the call and a curse. “You okay?”
“Yeah— shit— table,” Tony gritted out.
Peter tried in vain to hold back his laughter, and switched back to Italian. “You’ve really got to work on that. Can’t have the general public knowing that Iron Man runs into things when he’s distracted.”
“Shut it, kid. I will revoke your lab privileges.”
Peter gasped. “Papà!”
Tony gave a snort of laughter at Peter’s positively scandalized tone. “Alright, kid. See ya when I see ya. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do—”
“—and definitely don’t do anything you would do,” Peter finished. “Bye dad.”