Peter and Tony One Shots

Hotel Standards

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ABBA was blasting through the speakers as Peter Parker hummed along, with Tony Stark watching him cautiously. "You know, Pete, you should listen to some AC/DC. It's much better." Tony said with a laugh but Peter shook his head. "You never give other bands a chance!" He protested, raising his eyebrow slightly. "Yeah, that's because all other bands are just not as good."
"How long until we get home?" Peter yawned, suddenly tired by the day's events.
"I don't know, Kiddo, at least 4 hours." Tony muttered as Peter groaned in despair.
     Suddenly the car lurched and spluttered. "Crap."
"What is it?" Peter asked, frowning with concern at the noises the car was making.
"Looks like the engine's giving up. We're going to have to pull over."
Tony pulled the car into a nearby side alley and turned to face his son. "There is no way I can get this up and running and then drive four hours back to the compound. We'll have to stay the night."
Peter shrugged and pointed towards a neon sign reading the word "motel".
     "Right. Not exactly billionaire standards but that's ok."
"Oh come on, dad, it'll be an experience." Peter grabbed his dad's hand and led him into the lobby of the old building.
"A room for the night, please." Peter asked and Tony reluctantly mumbled something in agreement.
"Ok, follow me please. Y'all can pay tomorrow. We don't offer breakfast or dinner, but there's a vending machine outside." The man said, rolling his eyes when he saw Tony smirk at his son. "Wait, I know you from somewhere, don't I?" He muttered, staring at Tony's face.
"I'm Tony Stark."
"Ah, that jackass on TV who owns Stark Industries?"
"That would be me." Tony replied bluntly, yanking the keys from the man's hand and leading Peter to their motel room.
     There was a single double bed in the middle of the room and a toilet in the very corner, without pretty much anything else there. "You have got to be kidding me." Tony said, raising his eyebrows.
"Oh, come on dad, it's not that bad." Peter rushed towards the bed and collapsed onto it, yelping slightly as a spring on the bed broke. "There is no way in hell I can sleep on that thing." Tony remarked. "I'm going to get us some food."
     Ten minutes later Tony returned, his scowl even deeper than when he had left. "They only had pot noodles."
"That's ok, I like pot noodles."
"There's no hot water, I asked."
"Oh. Well cold pot noodles are good too." Peter tried to smile, though even his positivity was starting to waver.
     "Let's just get to bed," Tony muttered, clambering into the metal bed. "Jesus, kid, there's a spring sticking into my back. Are you alright?"
"Mmhmm. I'm gonna sleep now," Peter replied.
     Around an hour later, there was a cry. "No, Derek. You cannot screw Michelle behind my back and expect me to be ok with it!" A woman screeched and Peter sat bolt upright.
Tony yawned, woken by Peter's movements. "It's fine, Pete. It was just the neighbours arguing. Go back to sleep." Tony mumbled, rolling over.
     "Nope, no thank you, not today, nope." Peter muttered again and again, throwing his legs over the side and the bed and storming across the room. He picked up his phone and speed dialled the number 3.
"Hello?"
"Uncle Steve. Come and pick me and dad up. We're stranded in a motel from hell just off Route 66. Thanks."
"Peter, what are you doing?" Tony asked, turning on a dusty lamp that was on the floor, next to the bed.
     "I phoned Uncle Steve. He'll be here soon, he's going to take the Quinjet. Let's be honest, this motel wasn't exactly hotel standards."