#threenager

It was after ten in the evening and Tony was in his bed for once. He wasn’t sleeping. He was leaning up against the headboard, glasses perched on the end of his nose, thumbing through a magazine. They’d done an interview and photoshoot with him several months prior and it had finally been published. He didn’t like the photo they’d picked for the cover. His smile was off and a few errant strands of hair had fallen limply against his forehead. He hoped the article would make up for it.

He was about halfway through the two-page spread when his phone began to ring. Blindly, he reached over to the bedside table and wrapped his fingers around the device. He didn’t bother checking the caller ID as he brought it up to his ear. There was no reason to. It was his personal phone and only a handful of friends and colleagues had the number. 

“This is Stark,” he mindlessly greeted, the phone tucked neatly under his chin.

“Oh Thank God you actually answered!” a high-pitched voice rang out from the other end of the line.

Tony sighed, wondering which one of his imbecile contacts had allowed their toddler to play with their phone. “Hey there, Little Buddy. Does your mommy or daddy know you have their phone?” he asked, bringing the chipmunk-like chatter to a halt.

“Come on, Mr. Stark! This is serious!” the voice squealed. Though, all of the R’s and L’s were either missing or slurred into W’s. “I’m kind of in a bind here and I could really use your assistance.”

The first thing to pop into Tony’s head was how the vocabulary didn’t quite match up to the voice. Before he could stop himself the words, “Wait. How old are you?” slipped out of his mouth. 

The tiny voice growled. Vaguely, Tony wondered why he’d not already hung up. 

“It doesn’t matter! I really need you to hear me out here, Mr. Stark!”

“Yeah, okay,” Tony interjected. “That’s enough phone time for you today, Kiddie. Mr. Stark is going to say ‘bye-bye’ now.” Before he could press the end call button, the voice on the other end of the line grew increasingly frantic.

“No, Mr. Stark! Wait! Please! It’s me, Peter! Peter Parker! I need your help!”

As the voice pleaded, Tony pulled the phone away from his ear to verify who he was speaking to. Sure enough, the name Peter Parker was displayed across the screen, along with the cheesy photo he’d set to go with the contact information.

“Peter?” he questioned, still not quite believing. ”Why the hell do you sound like a nineties cartoon character?”

His inquiry was met with silence. He was right on the verge of probing for more when he heard Peter gather a deep breath.  

“Well, I was on patrol, right?” Peter said. “You know, just swinging around minding my own business. Then some weird guy with a big floaty book popped up out of nowhere! I tried to get away from him but then he threw this yellowish-orange glowy light ball thing at me, and he shrunk me! He shrunk me, Mr. Stark! And I- I don’t have any other clothes.” 

When the rambling finally came to an end, Tony reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose. “You don’t have any other clothes,” he blandly repeated. “You just told me some random guy shot you with an unknown substance and you’re going your biggest concern is, ‘I don’t have any other clothes?’”

“I’m pretty sure being naked in the middle of New York City is actually a very big concern, Mr. Stark!”

Seeing as that hadn’t even crossed his mind, Tony sighed and pulled up the Spider-Suit's last known coordinates. Thankfully they weren’t far. “Alright. You win. I’ll be there in twenty.”