Chapter Text
Peter was late.
Not to say that this wasn't a regular occurrence -- the day that Mary Jane and Harry stopped teasing Peter about his habitual tardiness would probably be the day that the earth split in two -- it was just that Peter had picked the absolute worst day in the history of forever to be late:
His first day of student teaching.
Peter hopped nervously from foot to foot, trying to stare at everything but the woman in front of him typing his information on the computer.
"First day?" she asked, quirking an eyebrow. Peter started. "You're trying to get your teaching certificate in Physics, right?"
"Yes, ma'am," Peter answered and snuck a peek at her nameplate. "I'm sorry, Ms. Van Dyne; I don't mean to rush you or anything."
"Janet is fine," she laughed and handed Peter his guest badge. "And you're fine. Though if I may offer you some advice?"
"Yeah?" Peter clipped the badge to his belt loop, smile only slightly uneasy.
"Don't let Mr. Stark scare you off." Janet's eyes crinkled at the corners. "His teaching methods are a little unorthodox, but he's the best AP Physics professor we've ever had."
"Oh, um," Peter coughed to clear his throat and pulled a real smile on, "thank you, Ms--Janet."
She matched his grin, relinquishing the rest of his personal documents and handing him a candy out of the dish on her desk. "Welcome to Erskine Memorial, Peter Parker."
"Thanks," Peter said gratefully and promptly walked into a door.
"Sorry." A woman with her hair pulled back into a tight bun released her hold on the handle and stalked in, heels clicking sharply on the tile.
"Oh, Maria, don't be mean to the new fish," Janet giggled, shooting an apologetic look to Peter. "She's always extra testy on the first day of classes, sorry."
"And that was...?" Peter looked in the direction she went, still rubbing the side of his face.
"Maria Hill," Janet supplied, popping a butterscotch disc in her mouth. "She's the dean here."
"You guys only have one dean?" Peter wondered aloud, following her cue and unwrapping his own little candy.
Janet shrugged. "You know, budget cuts and all."
"I'm the only dean the students need here," Maria affirmed, coming back out a random door with a thick stack of slips. "I will put the fear of god in these out-of-dresscode delinquents," she promised darkly, striding out of the office with a vicious grin.
"Should I let her scare me off?" Peter joked, clutching his things to his chest and scurrying out at Janet's contrite laugh.
***
"Mr. Stark?" Peter called, sticking his head in the classroom.
It was empty.
Peter frowned, checked the clock on the wall, then his watch. There was still about fifteen minutes before the students were due in for homeroom. "Is anybody in here?" he continued; Peter checked the room number. Had he written it down wrong?
"Hello?" Peter sang, stepping in and peering around the classroom. "Mr. Stark?" he tried again, circling around and trying for the office. That was empty, too.
"Crap," Peter hissed.
A gentleman with dark, curly hair and wearing glasses entered the office through the other door. "Oh, hello there," he smiled. He extended his hand. "You must be Tony's new TIT. I'm Dr. Banner -- Bruce."
Peter took the man's hand and gave it a firm shake. "Peter Parker," he introduced. "Er, TIT?"
"Teacher-in-training," Banner elaborated, grabbing his mug from the desk and taking a sip. He chuckled a bit. "Tony just likes to call them 'tits'. He's sort of terrible with things like that."
"You don't, ah, happen to know where he is do you?" Peter asked, still a little uneasy, and that's when Tony Stark burst in from Dr. Banner's classroom, shouting, "Honey bear, you won’t believe what I've just made!"
Tony paused at seeing Peter, then burst into a full grin. "You must be my new bitch!" he crowed and clapped him on the shoulder.
"What?" Peter squeaked, voice cracking.
"Oh yeah, this is awesome, perfect, amazing. Listen newbie, I gotta make a Starbucks run -- the stuff is shit here, you know? -- so if you wouldn't mind just babysitting my little homeroom kiddies till I get back, that would be just peachy keen, Petey; can I call you Petey? Anyway, I should totally be back before first period, no need to worry, thanks buddy, you're the best, see ya!" Tony skipped out, flashing peace signs.
"Um. What?" Peter stood there in the door of Bruce and Tony's conjoined office, jaw dropped as students began slowly filing in. Peter stared at the kids blankly, wondering if he'd really been that small as a (Peter checked his notes) freshman.
Then one of the little brats opened up his mouth and drawled, "You're not Mr. Stark. Who the hell are you?"
Yep. Peter was going to die.
***
Tony parked his sexy, fancy car back on campus, hung up his "You break my car, I break your knees" sign, and grabbed his cupholders full of yummy drinks, elbowing the door shut behind him. Tony clicked the lock button on his keychain and strolled into the front office, dropping down a cup on Fury's desk.
"Stop leaving campus during classes, Stark," Principal Fury growled, grabbing up the beverage anyway.
"Hey, no worries Fury: I got a little birdy watching my class for me," Tony grinned, balancing a cardboard tray in either hand. "Besides, freshies are so boring. Why can't you give me any seniors for homeroom?"
"It's first period, Stark. And because the freshmen are the only ones actually scared of you," Fury barked, setting his cup down. "I can only imagine the trouble you and a bunch of highschool seniors would get up to."
"That hurts, Fury, that really does," Tony simpered, twirling around and offering one arm to Janet. She beamed, accepting the paper cup appreciatively. "None for you, though, Coulson!" Tony shouted. Predictably, the man didn't answer, but Tony could still feel the man rolling his eyes in his office.
Tony made his rounds, first to A Hall to discreetly deposit a cup right inside Scary Natasha's door, then to B Hall to hand Clint one. Tony passed by the gym and waved to Thor (who apparently never drank coffee, the poor guy) and finally ended up in E Hall, right outside Steve Rogers' class.
He popped in, grinning widely. "Hi pumpkin pie," he cooed, taking great delight in the way the girls all giggled. "Coffee?"
Steve frowned and stepped back from the chalkboard (an actual, god-forsaken chalkboard). "Mr. Stark, I'm in the middle of going over my syllabus," he informed Tony, as if Tony himself wasn't already fully aware of what he was interrupting.
"So you don't want this glorious cup of coffee I hold in my hands?" Tony drawled, holding up the cardboard holder.
Steve sighed, grabbed a cup, and said, "Goodbye, Mr. Stark." He took a sip, the corner of his lip twitching up as he waved Tony off.
Tony winked and departed with a little twirl, making his way back to his own hall. When he strode into Bruce's class, Bruce held out his hand for a cup without even looking at Tony. Finally, Tony slunk through their office and into his own room so he could save Peter from making a ridiculous ass of himself.
He handed the stammering kid one cup and saved the last for himself. Tony swallowed a mouthful and hummed, eyes flickering to the clock. "Okay, we've got five minutes. Let's do this shit." He hopped up on his desk. "You kids give me your email addresses, I'll send you the syllabus, but it's really easy: I don't give out homework. I have better things to do with my time than grade your half-assed, did-it-on-the-bus bullshit. As such, tests are so freakishly difficult, you will cry and wet your pants, but -- on the off chance you can actually pass my class -- if you do well in here, you'll pass your AP test with flying colors. You can eat, you can drink, I don't care, but if I find shit on the floor, I will make you lick it up, because I am not your mommy. I pay people to clean up after me, why would I clean up after you?" Tony gulped down some more coffee, sighing sweetly. "Questions?"
One little dipshit (and this happened every-fucking-year) raised his hand and blurted, "Aren't you like, a billionaire, or something? Why are you a teacher?"
Tony always answered the same thing: "Because I love torturing little brats like you."
***
"So how you likin' Erskine so far?" Tony asked around a donut, walking in even step with Peter. Dr. Banner was at Tony's left, tapping quickly into his cell phone.
Peter shrugged, hands jammed in his pockets. "It's okay; there's just a lot more going on than I remembered when I was in highschool."
Tony snorted, checking his goatee for crumbs. "You're telling me. And I don't do jack around here. The first days are always screwy; it'll simmer down in a week or two." Tony led Peter past the cafeteria and down a random hall. "Teacher's lounge: tada!" he sang, pushing the door open. "Anyway, I normally take first lunch so I can hang out with my homies, lemme introduce you all. You've already met Bruce, of course." Tony gestured behind him at the man, who smiled indulgently at Tony. "Shorty over there's Clint. He teaches English and Creative Writing over on B Hall."
"I'm the same height as you, Stark," he piped up, turning a page in his book. He looked up then and offered Peter a friendly wave. "Clint Barton."
"Scary lady is Natasha Romanoff; she teaches like, fifty different languages and lives in the ceiling at A Hall." Tony pointed at the redhead sitting beside Clint.
"Five languages: Spanish and French in the fall, German, Latin, and an elective course in Italian in the spring," Natasha corrected, taking a sip of her coke. She raised an eyebrow at them. "I also know Russian."
"Impressive," Peter noted, grinning. "I'm Peter Parker."
The edges of her lips upturned ever so slightly. "Thank you. I go through the curriculum quite swiftly, though. Not many are brave enough to voluntarily take my classes."
Tony dragged Peter over to the table in the corner to two men opposite as night and day. "Big guy's Thor Odinson and tall, dark, and gothic over there is his brother Loki Laufeyson. Thor's like, the best gym coach ever and Loki teaches European History." Then Tony stage-whispered to Peter, "Don't ask why their last names are different, just roll with it."
Peter held out his hand. "Peter Parker."
Thor beamed instantly, nearly crushing Peter's hand in his massive grip. "Welcome to our humble lounge! It is an honor to have you here with us, Peter Parker."
Loki snorted at Thor's antics, but ignored Peter altogether.
"And speaking of history: Mr. All-American dream boat is Steve Rogers," Tony jerked a thumb over to the counter along the wall, where a tall blond was jamming his fingers to the buttons of a sorry-looking microwave. "He hates me."
"I don't hate you, Tony," he insisted, pulling his tupperware out of the death-trap. "You just don't act very professional in front of the students."
"Hey, my kids love me, thank you very much," Tony quipped, ungluing himself from Peter's side so he could make his way over to the fridge. "Besides, it doesn't matter how 'professional' I act; they're still going to be hormone-driven little monsters at the end of the day."
"If you'd just set a good example for them--" Steve started.
"If we turned around long enough, they'd start having sex against the lockers," Tony finished for him, laughing at the pink flush crawling up Steve's ears.
"The would not!" Steve insisted.
"They have," Loki sneered, twirling his noodles with a pair of chopsticks.
"You bring anything to eat, kid?" Tony asked him then and Peter bit back a swear word. Tony nodded at the face he made. "Right, right, you were late. Apple?" he offered, opening up a scary large lunch box and tossing him a granny smith.
"Thanks," Peter smiled.
Maybe Peter wasn't going to die.
Steve swivelled his head and glared into Tony's unapologetic grin.
"Steve, I had the best idea for our next hangout," Tony started, holding up a slim tablet.
"I'm teaching, Mr. Stark." Steve pressed a finger to the back of Tony's shoulder and spun him around, pointing him towards the door. "You have a class, too, if I'm not mistaken."
"Pff, it's a power point, a drunken monkey could handle it -- Peter is handling it," Tony insisted indignantly.
"Goodbye, Mr. Stark," Steve told him firmly and closed the door in his face. "As I was saying, Christopher Columbus actually happened upon the Americas by accident; what he was looking for was an alternate route to Asia..."
Really, it wasn't that he hated Tony; on the contrary, Steve quite enjoyed his company -- as long as it wasn't during class. Tony had this irritating habit of interrupting his lectures for nothing more than to relieve his apparently neverending boredom. And when he wasn't doing that, Tony was skipping staff meetings, or mouthing off to Nick Fury, or hiding out in Bruce's classroom and building weird things (Steve often considered telling him going next door didn't really constitute as 'hiding', but that was another battle altogether).
"--and following the fall of Constantinople in fourteen fifty-three, the land route to Asia had become increasingly perilous to travel, so--"
A soccer ball sailed through the open window and Steve scrambled over to it, aiming to catch it before it sent one of the kids to the hospital. Frowning, Steve hurled the checkered thing outside like one would pass a basketball. "Coach Odinson!" he admonished to the man currently jogging towards him.
"My apologies, Steven," Thor replied, slightly distressed. "Young Altman has a mighty kick, but his aim leaves much to be desired. I shall have words with him."
"You should have more than words," Steve attested, still stern-faced. "I really don't want one of my kids to get a concussion on the third day of classes."
"I shall strive to do just this," Thor promised, firmly grasping the soccer ball into one giant palm.
"Oh my god, why are the teachers so hot here? This is so fucking unfair," one of his female students hissed.
"Send him to Coulson," Fury said with a tiny wave, still scrolling through his endless list of emails.
"She's one of Steve's kids," she grimaced and Fury let his face drop to the desk.
"Motherfucker," he hissed into the wood. "Send her in."
"Nothing, sugar bean, whatever gave you that idea?" Tony wondered with wide eyes, straightening up and leaning casually against Bruce's desk.
"Uh huh," Bruce drawled. He circled around the desk, checking for booby traps. "I assume you've done something to my workspace?"
"No, no," Tony insisted, waving his hand in the air. "Just looking for a paperclip, gumdrop -- why are you so suspicious, jeez?"
Bruce slowly raised an eyebrow, but the grin he cracked broke his facade. "I'll find it, Tony. And then I'll sabotage your desk."
"You are so rude, so mean, Bruce, you hurt me deep in my heart, I'm going to teach my kids," Tony pouted, darting through their office. As soon as Tony was out of Bruce's hawkeye, he grinned evilly to himself, clapping a hand to Peter's shoulder. "Watch and learn how it's done, little proby."
Peter nodded swiftly and took out his notebook, pen at the ready.
Tony snorted, shutting down the projector as the bell signified the herding of the animals into his classroom. "Okay, AP Physics -- listen up!" he barked, strolling over to the front of the class. Tony snatched up a marker and began scribbling across the whiteboard. "What'd we do yesterday -- graphing shit, right? SOH CAH TOA?" Tony capped his marker and spun around, hurling it in the air. Fortunately, one of the kids caught it. "Kinematics: the study of motion in one dimension. Number one: Velocity. Think of velocity as speed, except velocity actually cares about the direction, that is the change in displacement as time passes -- gimme back my marker, Daniels. The equation for velocity looks like this and I swear this is the easiest thing you'll ever learn, so if you can't get this crap, feel free to stop by Ms. Munroe's class and tell her how you completely fail at fifth grade division..."
Tony always talked a mile a minute, never pausing, never needing to stop for breath. It was almost as if he came with two gears: standstill and full throttle. Some students, he knew realistically, wouldn't be able to keep up. If they couldn't, it was all on them, though. Tony honestly couldn't give two fucks who hid their cells inside their jacket sleeves or slept through his monologues. If they wanted help, they could damn well ask for it themselves and if the kids wanted to pay attention and learn... well, they'd do that, too; Tony graduating from college at seventeen proved just that.
Out of the corner of his eye, he spied Peter watching the whole thing intently: from the way Tony switched from one topic to the next without so much as a hiccup, to the way he flopped over his desk and constructed multi-colored paper clip chains before circling back to the board to tie it all together.
When he'd reached a pause in his lesson, Tony dropped down into his chair and pulled his phone, tapping out a little winky face and sending it to Bruce. The he smiled wide, sat back, and waited for the magic to happen.
"I like big butts and I cannot lie," trickled in from Bruce's classroom and he shrieked, "Tony!" mid-lecture, followed by a loud crash and an impressive attempt at holding back every curse word known to man.
It was soothing.
Loki inhaled deeply through his nose and sighed, slipping the strap to his messenger bag over his head and locking his classroom door on the way out.
And as he always did at three twenty-six, Loki paced down the hallway towards the faculty parking lot, one hand sliding up to tug at the tie around his neck. Loki unbuttoned his shirt cuffs and ran a hand through his hair; at three thirty exactly, he paused momentarily in the middle of the hall to grab his keys out of the front flap on his bag.
Except, instead of continuing on his merry way fifteen seconds later, what Loki had the pleasure of encountering was a stumbling, idiotic, coccydynia of a tit smashing into him and sending Loki sprawling to the tile.
"Oh my god, I'm so sorry, I didn't see you and I was running late, I'm so sorry," Peter babbled, crawling around on his hands and knees and gathering up all his things. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Laufeyson--"
"Don't," Loki ordered, holding up one hand to silence him. He laid there on the floor, closed his eyes, and just breathed.
Loki hated his life.
"Nope," Natasha said pointedly. She tapped a finger to the frame of her glasses and patted Clint once on the shoulder. "Just turn around and walk away."
"Yeah, but shouldn't we--"
Thor sprinted by them, nearly skidding over both Loki and Peter. "Brother, are you alright?" he shouted in a voice that was always three decibels too loud.
Clint snapped his mouth shut. Then he hummed, "Right then. Bye Nat; see you tomorrow!"
Natasha flicked three fingers at Clint in a pseudo-wave, the corner of her mouth twitching as she stalked out the door.
"Go big: go for the multi-pack," Tony quipped, suddenly in front of him.
Steve yelped, both boxes flying through the air. Tony caught one of them, but the other suffered an untimely death at the hands of an unforgiving, crappily-tiled floor. He grinned sheepishly, offering the box to Steve.
"Thanks," Steve smiled lightly, edging away from the perished oatmeal box. He grabbed his cart. "Maybe we should leave before someone sees what you did."
"Woah, hey now," Tony interjected, nonetheless following him to the next aisle. "That was totally your bad -- all I did was offer my expert opinion."
Steve snorted and grabbed a bag of cookies from the shelf in front of him. "Yes, well, your expert opinion ended in the destruction of a cinnamon apple oatmeal box," he joked, contemplating going back to the other aisle to peruse the cereal selection. "How's your new student teacher working out for you, by the way?"
"Peter? Ah, he's great, fine, terrific, does all my work, doesn't even complain," Tony noted, flashing a smirk over at Steve. "I hear you already sent a kid to Fury."
"She cursed in the middle of my class!" Steve hissed, a tiny wrinkle appearing on his forehead. "I said precisely in the syllabus I don't tolerate foul language in the classroom."
Tony bit back his laugh. "That sounds real rough, Rogers. Anything else exciting happen or just the near hospital visit?"
"Only you would be interested in gossiping about potential injuries," Steve mused, shaking his head. Halfway through reaching for a box of crackers, Steve paused and narrowed his eyes suspiciously at Tony. "Wait. Why are you at Costco?"
"I love Costco," Tony affirmed instantly. He nodded. "Oh yeah, I always shop at Costco -- totally buy all my," Tony looked around, face twisting into something incomprehensible, "f...ood? Here. Yeah. I buy my food here. And," Tony faltered, eyebrows raising to his hairline. "Sofas? Wait, what is this place?" Tony squawked. His jaw dropped in horror. "I don't understand."
"It's a bulk store," Steve said slowly, as if speaking to a five-year-old. "You buy groceries here."
"People buy their own groceries?" Tony said weakly, but before Steve could respond, Tony continued with, "Joke. That was a joke."
"What are you doing here, Tony?" Steve asked, drumming his fingers against the cart handle.
"You wanna go out for coffee sometime?" Tony suggested, that familiar Stark smirk slipping back on his face. "Maybe dinner if you're feeling especially generous with your time?"
Steve rolled his eyes. "We do that all the time," he sighed.
"Yeah, but that's with the whole gang," Tony retorted. He stuffed his hands in his pockets. "I'm talking about a date."
"Goodbye Tony," Steve smiled, patting his friend on the arm. "See you tomorrow morning."
"What are we betting on?" Peter gasped, still trying to cough the water out of his lungs.
"When Clint and Natasha are going to get together," Ms. Munroe, the Algebra teacher, replied. She placed a five in the can. "Same as last week."
"You guys do that here?"
Tony raised an eyebrow over at Peter. "What do you think teachers do in our spare time?"
"Stark, all you have is spare time," someone who Peter hadn't yet met joked; a few of the other teachers chuckled to themselves. "But I'm changing my wager: twenty says they'll be together before prom," she continued, crumpling up a bill and tossing it over to their table.
"Fifteen on Clint crashing and burning," a gruff man proposed, stuffing his money in the canister.
"This is all very juvenile," Steve noted as he handed Tony a small stack of ones. "Homecoming. Clint will ask her."
"Such a romantic," Tony teased, slipping the money in the pot. He turned to Peter and arched a brow. "What's your gamble, Petey?"
"What?" Peter's eyes widened. "Oh, I don't know them all that well and--"
"Bet," Tony ordered and Peter blurted, "Christmas party. Ms. Romanoff'll initiate it." He reluctantly pulled a ten out of his wallet.
"How do you know there's going to be a Christmas party?" Tony asked, eyeing him cautiously.
"Who doesn't have a Christmas party?" Peter joked a little feebly.
"They're coming," Loki mentioned, not bothering to look up from his folder full of papers.
Tony snapped the lid on the coffee can and tossed it under the table. "Any final bets?" he hissed and Bruce stuffed some money in his shirt pocket.
"My bet's still the same, as well," Bruce supplied, still sipping at his coffee.
True to Loki's word, Clint and Natasha arrived moments later. "Morning everyone!" Clint chirped, setting his lunch in the fridge. Natasha went immediately for the coffee pot.
She frowned suspiciously at it. "Who didn't clean the carafe before brewing a new pot?"
Bruce froze mid-swallow.
Natasha turned around then, eyeing everyone in the room. She zeroed in on the stench of guilt Bruce was emitting. "Bruce," she prompted.
"Who actually washes that thing out anyway?" Bruce speculated, fingers tapping nervously against his cup.
"I do," Natasha confirmed, pursing her lips together. She sighed after a moment and grabbed herself a cup anyway. "I will remember this," she told Bruce firmly, filling a mug and stalking out.
"Yikes," Clint grimaced, snapping open the cap to his juice drink. "Her kids are gonna get a pop quiz."
"This school is crazy," Peter muttered to himself, staring down at his hands. "This school is honestly, legitimately crazy."
"You got it, bub," Tony verified, finishing off his own extra-large caffeinated beverage. He swatted Peter lightly. "C'mon, we got class."
Peter stared out at the unimpressed, possibly hungover juniors and seniors before him. "Right," Peter coughed, straightening the notes before him. "Let's see how well you guys grasped the first chapter. Who can tell me about the slopes of these graphs?" He turned around to begin drawing said graphs and a paper ball hit him in the back of the head. Peter closed his eyes for a second, sighed, and let himself revisit the possibility that he was going to die.
Bruce looked up from his lesson plan, highlighter cap in mouth. He clicked the cap firmly back on and stuck it behind his ear. "Yes sir?"
The student waved him over and Bruce stood, weaving through the rows of desks. "I'm not really good with the metric system--" he started, voice barely above a whisper.
"Ahh, no worries." Bruce swivelled around his notebook and started scrawling letters across the top of the page. "This is a little mnemonic device I learned when I was in school. People think the metric system is hard to pin down because we're raised learning about Fahrenheit and fifty-two eighty feet in a mile, but with the metric system it's so much easier. Like this." Bruce jabbed his highlighter at the book. "Freezing is at zero celsius and boiling is at a hundred. There's a thousand millimeters in a meter and a thousand meters in a kilometer. Using this bad boy," Bruce referenced the line of letters at the top, "you can pretty much start from anywhere and shift a decimal point over when you want to switch to any level of measurement. Just start to the right of the letter and you should have no problems."
"Oh," he murmured. The teen pressed his pencil to the paper and tried it out; he sucked his lower lip between his teeth. "Thanks, Dr. Banner."
"You're such a good teacher, sugarplum," Tony piped up from one of the lab tables in the back.
Bruce raised his head slowly, eyes narrowed in mock-suspicion. "You could be, too, if you stopped hiding out in my supply closet."
"Ooh, that hurts, Dr. Banner, that really hurts me right there." Tony knocked on his chest. "It's almost like you guys are trying to get me to work? Besides, they're just reviewing the chapter and Petey's got that all under control."
Bruce snorted, smiling fondly as half the class choked back their laughter. "Principal Fury's going to get you one of these days."
"Me? Nahh," Tony insisted, waving his hand. He skirted around the kids and slipped through the cracked door of his office. "Fury'll never catch me."
"Take notes, guys," Bruce called loudly then. "Those who don't learn to respect authority now will spend the rest of their lives stuck as a high school physics teacher."
"Ru-ude," Tony sassed, shutting the door behind him.
"Fun first week?" Tony asked, poking at him with a pen. He grinned. "Still wanna be a teacher?"
"Mm." Peter slowly pulled himself up into a sitting position. "I don't remember being this bratty in high school."
"Oo-hoo-hoo," Tony laughed, sticking the pen behind his ear. "That bad?" Peter side-eyed him. "Touchy, touchy. You gotta toughen up or they're going to eat you alive, kid."
"I'm pretty sure I'm only supposed to be observing for the first few weeks anyway, but you keep leaving me by myself with no clue how this stuff's supposed to go, so," Peter retorted, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Touché, Mr. Parker," Tony noted, clearly impressed even as he raised one eyebrow over at Peter. "Alright, fine. I shall spend the next week in the class where I can impart my glorious wisdom and knowledge. In return, I shall come and go as I please afterwards. Deal?"
"You already do that anyway," Peter laughed, already reaching out to shake the man's hand. "Deal."
"Awesome, sweet." Tony clapped him on the back. "Get your stuff and let's go. You got plans?"
"Ahh," Peter started.
"Good. You can hang out with us tonight, rookie." Tony snatched up his briefcase and darted into Bruce's class. "What time you wanna get started tonight, baby doll?" Tony grinned, eyebrows waggling at his fellow science teacher.
Bruce's lips twitched as he continued straightening his desk. "Same time as always, Tony. I'm starting to think you just come up with new excuses to call me strange pet names."
"I have been caught!" Tony declared, throwing the back of his hand to his forehead. "By the way, newbie's coming, too."
"Very exciting," Bruce mused, locking up his drawers. "Think he'll faint?"
"We thought sweet, little Clint was going to sink, but he swam like a pro," Tony quipped, fingers glancing across his phone. "You get that text, Petey?"
Peter popped his head in the classroom. "How'd you get my number?" he asked, frowning in disbelief.
"I think the real question is: what hasn't he gotten from you yet?" Bruce replied with a little grin. "Take it as a compliment; Tony knew my email address and last three places of employment the second I got here."
"Oh sweetbuns, there you go ruining the surprise," Tony cooed, wiggling his fingers. He pointed at Peter. "That's my address. We normally hang out Friday nights to forget the pains of the week."
"Oh." Peter stared down at the text alert on his phone. "Thank you."
Tony winked. "No problem, kid. Whose turn is it to pick, by the way?" He started scrolling through his phone, muttering, "Don't worry, Petey: we'll add you to the wheel."
"It's my turn, actually," Bruce interjected and his smile was pure evil. "And I demand entertainment via Greek and all the stand up in your queue."
"I see your Greek and stand up and raise you a dance-off between Clint and Thor," Tony grinned, in the process of texting out the plans.
"Clint's going to need a lot of alcohol for that to go down," Bruce considered and zipped up his bag, hauling it up by the strap.
"I'll see to that," Tony promised; he turned back to Peter. "You're twenty-one right?"
Peter made a face. "Yes."
"Perfect, awesome," Tony murmured, pocketing his cell at last. "What's your poison, Petey?"
"Oh, you don't have to--"
"You are the unpaid intern currently racking up student loans right?" Tony drawled, raising one eyebrow. "I don't even take money from Loki and he's a douche."
"Beer's fine," Peter croaked and Tony snapped his fingers.
"Damn, I would've pegged you for the body shots type," Tony muttered, smirking at the somewhat horrified look Peter gave them.
Tony snorted, waving him in. Bruce and Clint were there, sitting on the couch beside Tony, but no one else had yet arrived. "I am hardly a billionaire," he replied, flipping through the channels.
"Your butler let me in," Peter retorted.
Tony sighed and rolled his eyes. "Jarvis needs to stop answering the door and enjoy his retirement," Tony shouted.
An older man popped his head in, drawling, "This household would cease to function without me."
"Jarvis, there is no household; this is a two-story house," Tony quipped, relinquishing control of the remote to Bruce.
"Which has nine bedrooms, nine and a half baths, and when was the last time you dusted the library, sir?" Jarvis smiled, managing to seem both completely sincere and unbelievably smug all at once.
"You think you're so funny," Tony griped, taking a swig of his water.
"I rather quite believe myself hysterical." Jarvis inclined his head in their direction. "Enjoy your evening, gentlemen."
"Goodnight, Jarvis," Tony shooed. He turned his attention back to Peter, pointing a finger to the opposite side of the room. "Drinks are in the fridge and takeout's on the counter; help yourself."
At Peter's hesitance, Clint stood. He ushered him along. "Come on; it really is okay." Clint led him through the hall and down a new flight of stairs, through another hallway, and finally to the kitchen.
"So, if Tony has all this money, why is he...?" Peter paused, staring down at the immaculate countertops.
"Teaching when he could be doing fuck-all?" Clint finished for him, grabbing a handful of gyros from a large paper sack. "That he won't actually tell us. I think it's because he gets bored." Clint drug out a twenty-four pack and handed it to Peter. "What we do know is Tony's the main reason EMHS is still afloat: the state doesn't give us shit."
"What, really?" Peter asked, nearly dropping beer all over the floor.
"Yeah, he supplies us with new textbooks when the old ones fall apart, bought new equipment for the cafeteria, even made sure all the kids got to go on their senior field trip last year." Clint laughed, leading him back towards the media room. "I'm pretty sure he'd buy the whole school if Nick would let him."
"But isn't he just the principal?" Peter wondered and Clint shot him a look that said Peter really didn't want to know. "Right. Gotcha. So yeah, Greek. I love Greek."
"Who doesn't?" Clint grinned, stuffing a sandwich into Peter's mouth.
"I never," Natasha began, tapping a finger to her lips, "killed a Swiss man."
"Natasha, you really scare the crap out of me sometimes," Tony divulged.
"Thank you," Natasha said sweetly. No one drank, so she shrugged and downed her shot. "I am trying to keep the game exciting," she continued, lashes slightly lowered.
"I've never done drag," Bruce offered, flashing teeth when both Tony took a sip from his glass and Clint swallowed a mouthful of beer.
Steve pursed his lips, gazing around the circle. "Never have I ever... been pulled over." Everyone but Steve drank.
"That's not entirely fair, golden boy," Tony laughed, elbowing Steve in the side.
"You're just mad because I'm going to win," Steve quipped, waving to Loki and Thor as they arrived.
"You're on, Rogers," Tony challenged, sinister plans already formulating in his brain.
"I've never gone streaking on my college campus," Peter offered; Tony, Steve, and Natasha drank.
"Rogers, you danger-man!" Clint whooped, reaching across the circle to high-five him.
"It was for a fraternity pledge!" Steve insisted, cheeks heating, though he did slaps Clint's palm anyway.
"I have never intentionally spoken ill of someone," Thor declared, beaming around the circle.
"I call bullshit," Tony huffed, index finger tapping against his glass.
"You may as well drink," Loki told them, already throwing back his shot. "He has never consciously said something to hurt another human being."
"If the game is going to continue this way, we're going to need a lot more booze," Tony laughed, uncurling himself from his spot on the couch and moving to stand.
"Tony," Bruce called, stretching out a hand. Tony rolled his eyes and handed him the glass; Bruce took a sip and hummed. "Okay, thank you. Carry on."
Shaking his head in more amusement than anything, Tony gulped back the last of his drink and set it to the table with a solid clank.
After he'd scampered out, Loki drawled, "I've never collected plush birdies," and smirked devilishly at Clint.
"I told you that in confidence, you jerk!" Clint accused, mock-affronted as he twisted off the cap to another beer.
"G--o." Peter snorted and tried again. "Good."
Tony visibly held his tongue, eyes crinkling down at the youth. Tony clapped Peter on the back and his world swam for a moment, fuzzy patches of black attacking the corners of his vision. "Don't puke on my floor," Tony ordered to Peter's obvious discomfort. "You need a bucket or something?"
"I'm good," Peter wheezed after a moment, resting his cheek on the glass table in front of him.
Peter stared out across the room. Clint had taken to flailing in front of the television set in an apparent attempt at Dance Central and Natasha had pulled one chilling smile onto her face before collapsing onto an armchair. Thor had passed out awhile ago on Loki's shoulder, who'd sneered, but allowed it. Bruce was still semi-conscious, but fading fast and even Steve had eventually succumbed to the copious amounts of alcohol he'd been plied with.
The only one who wasn't completely shit-faced was Tony.
"You have an amazing alcohol tolerance," Peter lamented; he jabbed a finger in the general direction of the other man. "Is this kosher? Getting sloshed with you guys a week into this thing?"
Tony patted him on the head. "We're not exactly your prime examples of normality, so take from it what you will."
Peter blinked, nice and slow. "Oh."
Tony huffed another quiet laugh and scratched at his scalp. He nudged Bruce's shoulder lightly, whispering, "Bruce. Come on, cupcake, let's put the kiddies to bed."
"I'll help," Steve offered, loose-limbed and hauling himself up off the floor. He tiptoed over to Natasha to tap her lightly on the shoulder.
"Mm, yeah," Bruce murmured sleepily, rubbing a hand across his face. "Come on, Peter; I'll show you where you can sleep."
"Oh, I can just," Peter broke off into a yawn, "call a cab."
"It's four in the morning," Tony informed him and Peter winced visibly. "Yeah. It's totally fine, Petey. Just don't puke on my floor."
"Got it," Peter confirmed, rising to his feet somewhat unsteadily. Bruce placed a hand on his shoulder so Peter could regain his balance.
"You got Thor?" Tony asked Loki, flicking off the television and grabbing Clint by his shirt collar.
Loki nodded once, closing up the book he wasn't really reading and threw one of his brother's arms over his shoulder so he could pull him up.
"Woah," Peter blurted. Loki actually snarled at Peter, mostly-dragging his brother out the door. "That was supposed to be a compliment!"
"Noise," Natasha hissed, one hand covering her eyes. "Turn it down or I will break you."
Peter clamped his mouth shut and let Bruce lead him to the empty guest room.
"This house is enormous," he muttered to himself more than anyone else, hands jammed into his jeans.
Steve could tell he was feeling awkward without Tony present, so he offered, "Want to help me make breakfast?"
"Oh, yeah, sure." Peter peered around the kitchen again.
"Right," Steve laughed. "You don't know where anything is. Come on." He stood from the table, waving Peter over as he made his way to the stove. He reached into a random cabinet and pulled out a big skillet. "Can you handle eggs?"
"Sure can," he quipped, brightening. He seemed to gain a bit of his footing then, for he hopped over Tony's fridge, pulling out eggs, butter, and various vegetables out of the bottom drawer. "Any food allergies?" he called, grabbing a hunk of cheese.
Steve quirked again. "Hungover? I'm pretty sure they'll eat anything."
"You're not hungover?" Peter asked, magically procuring a bowl and whisk. He started beating a whole carton of eggs together.
"Nah," Steve confirmed, circling back to the fridge to grab the bacon from the back. "I get a little buzzed, but that's all alcohol really does for me. I'm surprised you're up, though."
"Fast metabolism." Peter quirked a grin. "I've never had an ounce of fat on me."
"Watch it, son. That'll come back to bite you in the butt later."
Peter snorted, fishing out a knife from the board on Tony's counter. Steve fished him out a cutting board so he could start dicing.
Before the silence could become stifling, Steve asked, "So how was your first week working with Tony?"
Peter snorted again and Steve couldn't help but laugh. Peter finally said, "It was very, very busy. Tony goes through the coursework like you wouldn't believe -- it's like doesn't know how to stop."
"And that is why most of his kids who take the AP test pass." Steve turned the burner on a threw a hunk of butter in another skillet. "He likes to act like he doesn't care, but I think he does deep down."
"Or he's just trying to get through the lesson as fast as he can so he can run away and hide," Peter claimed, squinting one eye suspiciously and pointing his spatula at Steve.
"That's far more likely," Steve conceded with a wide grin.
Tony always had a sixth sense for when other people were cooking food. He wandered in, hair stuck up in five different directions and a smear of grease from forehead to cheek. "Bless you, children," he told them, veering straight for the coffee pot. He inhaled the bitter bean smell, snatching up a mug and pouring himself a cup. "You're making omelettes? Oh, I'm keeping you," Tony promised, patting Peter on the head. He swallowed the first mouthful of coffee, humming. "Wonderful."
"Good morning, Tony," Steve greeted, neatly placing strips of bacon in the bottom of his pan. "Sleep well?"
"'Well' implies sleep actually happened," Tony shot back, wiping his hands on the hem of his shirt.
Steve frowned disapprovingly.
"What?" Tony squawked. "I had shit to do."
"What was it you always said about Friday nights being our 'off night'?" Steve wondered aloud, a wrinkle appearing between his brows.
"Technically it was Saturday morning," Tony corrected, jabbing a finger at Steve. He finished his cup, already grabbing for the carafe again. "And besides, pumpkin, it wasn't for school, it was for--"
"Tony, please tell me you finished that prototype or I am going to set your game room on fire, so help me God," a gorgeous redhead demanded as she stalked into the kitchen.
"Only for you," Tony sang, pulling a thin black box out of his back pocket and waving it at her. She snatched it away from him and Tony pouted, "What? No kiss?"
Peter stared. Steve elbowed him and he coughed abruptly, turning back to his eggs and keeping his eyes firmly on them.
"Good morning, Pepper," Steve welcomed, smiling politely at her.
"You're funny," she told Tony, then turned to Steve. "Good morning, Steve. How are you?"
"Just fine, thank you, ma'am." Steve whirled back around to flip the bacon. "Would you like to stay for breakfast?"
"Don't start calling her 'ma'am'; she'll get ideas," Tony whispered theatrically and Pepper swatted his ear.
"I'd love to, but this was a business visit." Pepper slipped the box into her purse and turned her attention to Peter. "And who would this be?"
"Oh, sorry," Peter blurted. He held out his hand. "Peter Parker: Tony's new student teacher."
"You poor man," Pepper sympathized, giving his hand one firm shake. "I'm truly sorry for anything and everything this man makes you do."
"You're so mean to me, Pep," Tony sniffed, rinsing out the pot to make another. "So cruel."
"Mm, and if you didn't avoid me all week, I wouldn't have to be," Pepper drawled, raising one eyebrow. "How was the first week of class, by the way?"
"Hey, I avoid everyone all week, not just you," Tony laughed. "And it was totally awesome: I had my little tit here do most of my teaching."
She flashed Peter another understanding grin. "Once again: I feel nothing but pity for this boy. Gentlemen." Pepper inclined her head to Peter and Steve, then to Tony. "Mr. Stark."
"That'll be all, Ms. Potts!" Tony called as Pepper departed.
"How many jobs do you have?" Peter asked, digging out plates and cutlery.
"Just the one," Tony smirked. "Pepper's the one who runs my company; I just invent shit for her."
"Your company?"
"Uh, yeah. Stark Industries? That big ass building in the middle of Manhattan?" Tony shook his head. "You need to get out more, kid."
"He has a company?" Peter squeaked at Steve.
"Uh, billionaire," Tony reminded him, sweeping his arms out majestically.
"Yes, you look so very rich right now," Steve teased as he scooped bacon onto a paper plate.
Eventually everyone else (Jarvis included, though he looked just as impeccable as he had last night) filed into the kitchen in various states of dishevelment, greedily accepting the proffered meal.
"Good first week?" Bruce asked Peter politely, smiling over at the man.
"Great first week," Peter eventually answered with a bright grin of his own.