Interning for Tony Stark

Christmas Lights

Since it's Christmas Eve I decided to make a Christmas one-shot. 

Tony would deny it at gunpoint, but he's really, really into Christmas.

He plays it off by pretending he's humoring Pepper or saying that it's just a part of the long game that is constantly improving Stark Industries' PR, but every year the place is so aggressively decked out that it looks like Frosty the Snowman vomited all over the tower. Christmas lights on the ledges outside. Trees in the lobby and every main room. Carols blasting in the halls. Rhodey dressed up as Santa Claus for the employees' kids at the company Christmas party (which, granted, took an egregious amount of blackmail to accomplish, but it's worth it every year).And then, of course, the prolific Christmas Eve Eve dinner on December 23, in which Tony invites (read: demands the attendance of) friends, company execs, and whichever people are calling themselves Avengers to a feast so prolific that they once almost had to roll Thor out of the front door afterward.

A feast Tony is more than a little hesitant to be planning this year, all things considered.But there are still plenty of people looking forward to it, and this is the last Christmas he'll have the tower at his disposal. No point in wasting it, even if they are down a few people (and the people are considered war criminals now in at least a dozen countries, if not more). That and Tony was actually looking forward to inviting Underoos and his aunt to the shenanigans. Most of the adults are too stuffy to say anything more than "beautiful decorations, Tony," whereas the kid will probably flip his ridiculously earnest shit.

He is attempting to finalize the menu for the whole shebang when the kid happens to interrupt — or at least, the AI Tony installed in his suit does. Tony's wristwatch buzzes at him, something he only lets it do if Pepper, Rhodey, May Parker, the kid, or the kid's AI is attempting to contact him. This time, unfortunately, it's the latter.

"What's shaking?"

FRIDAY answers on behalf of the kid's AI: "The systems in Mr. Parker's suit are reporting a code yellow."

Tony closes his eyes for a moment because honestly, there aren't enough colors in the goddamn rainbow to anticipate the kinds of shit this kid gets into. Code yellow he knows, at least, means that the kid is unconscious but not in any kind of mortal peril.

"Get me coordinates."

He's in Queens, not too far off from his apartment. Tony tries calling him first, because nine times out of ten it'll jerk the kid back into the land of the living, and he'll stammer some kind of excuse for what happened and be on his way (at which point Tony will check on his vitals for the next hour because super healing is damned, the kid is terrible at assessing his own damage). This time, though, is the unlucky tenth time when Peter answers, leaving Tony no choice other than to suit up.

He wishes the kid weren't knocked out cold, because otherwise, the scene he stumbles on would be more than a little bit funny — one Spider-Man in a back alley, tangled in someone's still lit Christmas lights, conked out behind a dumpster.

"Kid."

Peter flinches but doesn't actually say anything. Tony disengages the suit and pulls off his mask, knowing that alone will wake the kid up like a livewire and feeling a little bit bad for the panic he knows he's about to cause. Sure enough, Peter's eyes fly open momentary terror, his arms jerking against the tangle of Christmas lights before his gaze finally settles on Tony's.

"Oh, shit."

"That about sums it up," says Tony, trying to figure out where Peter begins and the Christmas lights end. "What happened, you get into a turf war with Frosty the Snowman?"

"I ..." Peter licks his lips, still blinking himself back into consciousness. "I got tangled in someone's Christmas lights." Tony holds in a laugh. Bleeding teenager, he reminds himself. Not funny. 

"I don't even know if I'm supposed to l lecture you."

"Might as well," says Peter, as Tony rolls him over in an effort to detangle him.

"Well, now you've ruined the whole thing by sounding so miserable."

"Woo. I'm having the time of my life. Please lecture me, Mr. Stark."

"Save the sarcasm for someone who isn't rescuing you from becoming an anthropomorphized Christmas sweater, why don't you?"

He gets a begrudging laugh out of the kid then, as he rolls him back over and manages to get the last of the Christmas lights unwrapped from one of his ankles. The kid groans and pulls himself up into a sitting position, blinking at Tony like he really is waiting for a lecture.Jesus. He feels like the Grinch.

"C'mon, kid." Tony stands up and offers his hand to hoist him back up. "Go grab your backpack. Your services are needed."

"Huh?"

"You're going back to the tower with me so we can scrape some of that blood off your head before your aunt murders us both, and because you're going to help me decide on a menu for the annual Stark Industries Christmas dinner."

"Did you say Christmas dinner?" Peter asks. His brow furrows. "How hard did I hit my head?"

"This is serious business, kid. I expect your full attention. Y'know. When you're slightly less concussed."

Half an hour later Peter's perched on the couch in the rec room, wearing one of Tony's admittedly vast collection of ugly Christmas sweaters (to be fair, Tony doesn't wear them — Rhodey's an ass and keeps sending them every year as gifts) and nursing the hot cocoa that Pepper decided he needed the moment they walked through the door.

"Cancel the whole menu," says Peter, who has an alarming amount of whipped cream on his nose. "Just have Pepper make this."

"Noted. It's all you're going to be allowed to drink there, anyway."

"Ha." Peter's eyes widen. "Wait, I'm invited?"

"Jeez, kid. Yes, you're invited. You and your terrifying aunt."

"Whoa."

The kid's eyes light up so absurdly that Tony has to look away for a moment, struck with an unexpected pang. It'll be different this year. But the kid doesn't know that. And for that alone, he supposes, it's worth going through with it.

"Just, uh — hands off the Christmas lights."

Peter's grin is so wide that it seems impenetrable to sarcasm. "Can do."

 And then, a beat later: "Aunt May will probably want to make fruitcake."

"Aaaand invitation revoked."

Peter sighs into his cocoa. "Fair."