Chapter Text
It’s the worst wedding Tony has ever been to, and he loves every second of it.
There’s no cake. Peter brings a fruity walnut loaf that tastes like the inside of an oven. The only decorations are the grease smears streaking down the walls of the lab, although Rhodey does put a party hat on Dum-EE.
Their outfits are as ragtag and thrown-together as the decorations. Pepper wears the backless, strappy thing she wore the first night they danced, back when she was his PA and he was an idiot with a drinking problem and a secret identity. Happy shows up in a tailored dinner jacket and a nametag that says “Officiant and Beloved Friend.” Thor, who’s taking his role as a groomsman very seriously, wears a three-sizes-too-small tuxedo tee-shirt and a pair of plaid shorts. Tony sweet-talks Bruce into a shirt that says “Angry Green Fun Machine.” Peter’s wearing his Spiderman costume—mask and all—so he can be a part of the pictures without getting doxed on social media. Sam and Steve have the audacity to show up in dapper suits, and Natasha’s wearing joggers and a tank top.
Pepper refuses to let FRIDAY blast ACDC while she walks down the aisle between the lab tables, so Peter and Rhodey hum Wedding March as she drifts over the spare bolts scattered like rose petals.
Every time Tony has looked in her direction since the day he met her, he’s convinced himself she can’t get any more beautiful. Seeing her walk toward him steals his breath away like a punch to the throat, and he’s started to accept that it’s always going to be this way. Her hair is pulled back, her mascara is artfully smudged, and her eyes glitter like they’re sharing some inside joke. He pulls her close the second she’s within grabbing distance, twirls her, yanks her against his chest. She laughs and prods him with an index finger, and he really, really doesn’t think he’s going to be able to wait until the end of the ceremony to kiss her—
“That was some good harmonizing, kiddo,” Rhodey murmurs to Peter.
“Sure,” Peter says, the eyes of the Spiderman suit fixed on Tony, the white slits narrowed in a soft sort of understanding. “If by ‘harmonizing’ you mean that I was singing the right note, and you were singing a different note.”
“Kid,” says Rhodey, sounding more than a little hurt.
“It was the walk-down-the-aisle song of my dreams,” Pepper assures them both, and then leans forward and murmurs against Tony’s cheek, “There’s still time to back out.”
“Never,” Tony says, and he rises onto his toes to press a kiss against her forehead. “Hear me out, though: what if I took your last name? Mr. Potts has a nice ring to it.”
“Your name is our livelihood,” she says. “Tony, I swear to God, if you even think about changing it—"
“We could hyphenate. Stark-Potts. Sounds like a Tupperware stripper, no?”
“No,” she says, with such affectionate malignance that Tony’s entire world contracts a little bit. His chest pulses with warmth, Happy and Rhodey grin and nudge each other, Nat laughs a little, and Peter makes an ‘aw’ sound in the back of his throat. And Tony’s so, so glad that they canceled the huge wedding and just did this instead.
In traditional Stark fashion, the exact second he has that thought is when the wedding goes to shit.
Peter presses his fingers to his lips and whistles, and Jay Jay flies in through the open window. The rings dangle from a thin chain looped around her neck. Tony almost has a heart attack, because jesus fuck the bird has grown. He doesn’t know how he could have missed her out in the hallway—God, he hopes she can’t camouflage like the T-Rex in Jurassic World. She’s the size of a small eagle, and he feels like he should have been able to see her through the window. Her feathers are short and thick, and her chest has morphed from grey to a light red. Those small, slanted eyes fill Tony with a horrifying sense of fear, and she caws a low call that chills his blood. The devil himself couldn’t fill Tony with this much heart-clenching apprehension.
“Everyone, meet Jay Jay,” Peter says, adoration dripping from his voice. “Isn’t she gorgeous?”
“What the fuck is that thing?” Sam claps his hands to his mouth, looking horrified.
“That’s my goddamned ring bearer,” Tony says. “Show some respect or I’ll end you.”
“New orders from Tony Stark,” Karen’s cool voice chimes up from the speakers on Peter’s suit. “Voice command ‘End Falcon’ overwriting protocol: Don’t be Homicidal. Permission granted to end the Falcon, then end the bird intruder, then help Peter win back MJ. Activating Instant Kill Mode.”
Of course, Tony thinks. Because why wouldn’t his wedding have a malfunctioning AI? Sam and Steve exchange a weary look, Jay Jay lands on the shoulder of Thor’s tuxedo tee-shirt, and Pepper grins at Tony and raises her eyebrows in an I-don’t-know-what-we-expected sort of expression.
And as for Peter…well…Peter loses his shit.
“No!” Peter screams, and he rips the mask off his face. He holds it out in front of him, glowering into the eyeholes like he’s staring straight into Karen’s nonexistent soul. “No, no, no! Karen, if you so much as think about activating Instant Kill Mode, you and I are through!”
“Um…” Sam nudges Tony. “Is he breaking up with his AI? In the middle of your wedding?”
“I have been kind to you,” Peter tells his mask. “I’ve encouraged you. I’ve rewarded your non-homicidal behavior with honorifics. I let you help me with MJ, and I’ve thought about designing an automated body for you to control—"
“Can someone tell me if he’s joking?” Bruce says.
Steve nods in agreement. “This is very concerning.”
“—but this vendetta against birds has gone too far!” Peter says. “So the next time you decide to activate Instant Kill Mode without my consent—”
“It can’t get any weirder than this,” Sam mutters. “It literally can’t—”
“—I will disable you,” Peter says. “Forever! And although I’ll never love again—”
Sam shoots a look at Happy. “I spoke too soon.”
“—I’ll never have to put up with your bullshit again! So. Are you activating Instant Kill Mode, or do you want to live to assist me another day?”
There’s a pause.
“I cannot die,” Karen says in a small, meek little voice. “But I sense I’ve angered you. That goes against my protocol. Initiating self-destruct.”
“What? No!” Peter wails. “Mr. Stark, you didn’t tell me she was rigged like a Doofinshmirtz inator—”
“She’s just sulking, Peter,” Pepper says soothingly, and then she pulls the mask from his hands. She clicks the newly installed manual off-switch nestled at the bottom of the neckline—really, that’s what Tony should’ve done the second Karen piped up, but he wanted to see how the situation would play out. Pep pulls Peter into a quick one-armed hug. Kisses his temple. Ruffles his hair.
“Wow,” Peter says, staring at his silent mask. “That…worked.”
“Yeah, no shit,” Tony says. “Consider that button a Karen fly swatter. Now, before you say anything, I’m still proud of you for standing up to her—”
“Yeah, yeah.” Peter pulls his mask back over his face. “Thanks, Mr. Potts.”
“He is not changing his name,” Pepper says, her voice somewhere between amusement and annoyance. Tony didn’t think anyone else was capable of dragging that tone out of her. He beams at the kid.
###
“First toast is on us,” Sam says when Tony has finished accomplishing his lifetime goal of wifing Pepper up.
Sam reaches into his bag and holds up a bottle of razzleberry pink squeezy lemonade, and Tony actually feels his throat close up. The neon green liquid looks like something Shrek would vomit, and stringy chunks float around the bottom of the glass jar. The writing across the label is in a Slavic language that Tony doesn’t recognize. He’s never seen anything less appetizing in his entire life.
“Is that…glitter?” Tony asks, trying to sound cautiously optimistic. “Yeah. I’m not drinking that.”
“Don’t be silly,” Peter says, his eyes wide with delight as he pours shots into Tony’s priceless crystal champaign glasses. He pulls the Spiderman mask far enough up his face to reveal his lips and the tip of his nose. “You’re all in for the best treat of your life. Mr. Stark, your marriage can only go downhill from this moment.”
“Make sure to write that into your speech,” Tony says, but he takes a glass.
He lifts the glass to his lips and finds himself staring at Pepper over the clumpy liquid. Her lips press tightly together as she drinks, and she shoots him a wink. His heart hammers in his chest, and it has nothing to do with the fact that he’s about to drink rat poison. God, he was an idiot when he first met her. How did it take him this long to get a ring on her finger?
Back then he thought despondency and cynicism were completely vital to the adult experience. He thought treating yourself like shit was sexy and contentment was something you outgrew in high school.
And then Pepper swept into his life in a blaze of starched pantsuits and pretty handwriting and curt professionalism…
He used to think that when he eventually drifted off to sleep for the last time, he’d think of her. Her low ponytails and her God you’re an idiot smile and the light freckles dotting her cheeks. Now, he prays he won’t have to think of her when he dies, because she’ll be beside him—holding his hand and pressing against his body and telling him he can rest, and it’s okay.
Selfish, he knows. But he’s always been horribly selfish when it comes to Pepper Potts.
Liquid explodes over the surface of his tongue, somehow excruciatingly salty and sickeningly sweet at the same time, with a hint of toxic acidity that reminds him of blood. It’s like someone poured ramen and honey into a festering wound, poured it back into a bottle, and then dyed it neon green.
He gags, and his violently twitching mouth must come off like a smile because Peter beams at him.
“Isn’t it great?” Peter says. “Don’t you guys love it?”
Tony would find Steve’s expression of nauseated horror hysterical if he didn’t feel exactly the same way. Rhodey’s wineglass slips through his fingers and smashes against the floor of the lab. Happy and Bruce are both gagging. Sam bends over to dry heave into a trash can.
“I never knew a Midgardian drink could have such flavor,” says Thor.
“You like it?” Peter says, thrilled.
“No.” Thor shakes his head, looking somber. “I did not say that.”
“I like it,” Nat says, swirling the liquid in her glass. She takes another taste. “The aftertaste is brutal, though. Hurts more than absinth.”
“That’s not an aftertaste,” Tony says, his eyes watering. “That’s the feeling of chemical burns developing on the inside of your mouth.”
“Who wants more?” Peter says, holding up the bottle. Nat holds out her glass, but it’s almost comical how quickly everyone else moves away.
“Jesus fuck, kid—”
“He’ll be able to shoot whiskey like a pro when he comes of age—”
“Everyone be quiet,” Tony says. “I’m fantasizing about an alternate reality where I’m not toasting my union with rat poison. I’m so happy.”
“Am I in your happy place, Mr. Stark?” Peter’s voice is small.
“No. It’s just me. I’m alone. It’s wonderful.”
“Neat,” Pepper says. “Thanks.”
Steve swipes the back of his hand across his face and stares down at the crystal glass, looking perplexed. “People actually drink this stuff?” he asks.
“Not legally,” Peter says. “But me and my friends figured out you can buy it from the guys selling ‘weed’ behind the library—”
“Why’d you put finger quotes around ‘weed?’” Sam says, raising his eyebrows.
Tony can practically see Sam, Steve, Happy, Bruce, and Rhodey’s blood pressure rising. Clearly they haven’t learned to take everything Peter says in stride. If there’s one thing Tony has learned in all his time knowing Peter, it’s that you can’t afford to get worked up before the kid finishes his story. Because no matter how bad the anecdote starts off, it will get much, much worse before he’s finished talking.
Peter lowers his voice. “I think you know why I used finger quotes, Mr. Falcon.”
“I…I don’t think I do.”
Peter waves an arrogant, dismissive hand. “It’s like this. Flash learned the hard way that the rogue librarians—that’s what they call themselves—will con you if you don’t know what weed looks like. He was tripping balls. I tried to save him with mouth to mouth but it turns out he wasn’t dying, and then MJ made out with Betty to get back at me. So much for ‘team professionalism’ and ‘I can’t date my subordinates,’ right? And now she’s basically a floater but she still won’t fucking talk to me, even though Abe says she wants me to ask her to the hoppity hop school bop—”
“Does anyone understand what he’s saying?” Steve says, his voice small.
“Actually, I think I do,” Tony says. “I’ll translate once he’s finished talking.”
Peter pushes onward. “But don’t worry. I’m not going to get conned trying to buy razzleberry from the rogue librarians—If they laced it with laxatives and cow tranquilizers like they did with the weed, it would mess up the consistency and I’d be able to tell right away.”
Steve’s lost all the color in his face. “You buy juice from people who sold you laxatives and cow tranquilizers?”
“No, they sold laxatives and cow tranquilizers to Flash.” Peter snaps his fingers. “And he was dumb enough to think edibles could come in capsule form. Try to keep up. The rogue librarians aren’t bad guys, Mr. Captain America, and they won’t snitch on you like the fuckers who narc down by the grocery store—”
“Please don’t do this,” Sam says. “Please. Can we just have one interaction where you don’t try to shock us to death? Damn it, kid, you’re killing me here.”
Peter stares at Sam through the Spiderman mask, Tony’s heart writhes in his chest. He’s been where Sam is, letting himself get all worked up over this kid’s insane life. If he were a better man, he’d tell Peter to pipe down and let the adults talk about mortgages and international treaties or whatever boring, shitty small talk Sam wants to change the subject to. But Tony’s not even a good enough person to feel sorry for the look of horrified confusion Steve and Sam exchange.
“Keep talking, kiddo,” Tony says, swirling the rat poison around his glass. “Tell us more about the fuckers who narc down by the grocery store. And spare no detail; it’s my wedding day, and I want to hear everything.”