"Hey, kid, you made it!" Tony shouted over the din of rumbling fans and shouting food hawkers. He couldn't help but smirk as Peter's curly head spun in one direction and then another and then another (all four cardinal directions, Tony thought, impressed) before finally turning the right way.

Relief broke across Peter's face, and he rushed over through the bustling and jostling crowds. "Mr. Stark!" Peter shouted. "I—whoops, sorry, ma'am." Peter ducked out and around the way of a large family of too many heads for Tony to count. They were all wearing blue football jerseys with the numbers of their favorite players.

"Excited?" Tony asked when Peter finally managed to stumble up to him.

Peter's shoulders bunched up slightly. "Yeah," he replied, shooting Tony a close-lipped smile. "Totally." A small alarm started ringing at the back of Tony's head—Peter seemed much more subdued than normal. But then Peter turned his head straight ahead and asked, "How'd you get the tickets?"

"I didn't," Tony replied, guiding Peter around a gaggling group of little kids. "A friend of mine pulled some strings."

"Really?"

"Don't look too impressed," Tony said, but he couldn't help but feel the beginnings of a smile at the awe in Peter's face. A part of Tony relaxed at the quietness from before. The kid was probably just overwhelmed or still in the pre-game daze. "This guy's been wanting me to sponsor his team for years now." When Peter raised his eyebrows, Tony waved a dismissive hand. "I don't even really like the team. And besides, I try to keep Stark Industries from sponsoring this kind of stuff." At Peter's still confused expression, Tony explained, "If I sponsor one sports team, I'll have a million others lining up my front door. Not to mention that Pepper's not altogether impressed with most of the coaches and players, either."

"Oh." Peter turned back to the stadium. "Do you come to these games a lot?"

"Every once in a while," Tony replied with a shrug of his own. "Used to go more often before, but things get busy." He cast a side-glance at Peter. "But it's football season, and I figured you would want to at least get a look at a real game for once. Not just high school football."

"Oh," Peter repeated. Tony watched his Adam's apple bob up and down as he swallowed. "Um…thanks, Mr. Stark." Peter smiled, but again, that small alarm started ringing at the back of Tony's head. Tony examined Peter carefully, trying to look for some small telltale bruise or flicker of the eyelashes—anything that would explain why Peter wasn't the same excited, talkative ball of teenage-boy energy that he usually was.

"Everything okay?" Tony asked at last.

Peter blinked. "Why'd you ask?" he asked back, shoving his hands in his pockets. That alarm from the back of Tony's head rang a little louder. Asking questions as a response was an evasive tactic, one that Tony had used himself whenever he came in from a late night back and didn't want his parents or Pepper knowing what exactly was going on. Tony would have smirked if he could, but the fact that this evasive strategy was coming from Peter, who still built Legos and liked to have the crusts cut off his sandwiches, unsettled him.

"Because you're acting…off," Tony said. He crossed his arms. "C'mon, out with it. Is this school? Friends? Bullying? A girl?" He waited for Peter's face to redden or, better yet, for Peter to nod his head or admit to something. But with each guess, Peter's head only seemed to sink lower and lower to the ground, while his shoulders seemed to bunch higher and higher to his ears. "What's wrong?"

When Peter still didn't answer, Tony asked, "Is it…" He felt something cold settle in his stomach. "Is it your aunt? Is everything okay at home?"

That at least got a reaction. Peter's head jerked up, and quickly shaking his head, he stammered out, "No, it's not Aunt May. She's fine. She's great. Healthy." He paused. "And so is everyone else. Nothing like that."

"Then what is it?" Tony asked, exasperation bleeding into his voice. Dammit, was he this evasive when he was a teenager? Mostly, Tony remembered being able to ask enough questions back to whoever was asking him about things that the receiving end of his backtalk usually got annoyed enough to finally stop pestering him.

"I just…" Peter shrugged again.

"Your shoulders are going to fly away if you keep doing that," Tony deadpanned.

Peter's shoulders froze mid-shrug. "If I do what?" he asked, his voice an octave higher than normal.

"If you keep doing this," Tony replied, mirroring Peter's movements. He dropped his shoulders back down and watched, to both his amusement and satisfaction as Peter gave him a sheepish smile in response. "Ah, yes, a reaction. We're finally getting somewhere." Tony pocketed his hands. "You going to tell me what's bouncing around that head of yours?"

Peter pressed his lips together. Then, dropping his head, he mumbled something unintelligible.

"You're going to have to be louder than that," Tony sighed.

Peter cleared his throat. Perhaps just a few notches louder, Peter repeated, "Please don't…" and the rest was lost to mumbles.

"Peter. C'mon."

Peter's eyes flicked up to Tony and then re-focused on the ground. Tony saw Peter's chest fall and rise once, twice, as though the kid was getting ready for some kind of marathon before Peter finally said, "Please don't get mad at me."

Tony frowned. "Why would I get mad at you?" he asked. He paused. "Wait, don't answer that. Did you get hurt somewhere? Did you commit a crime? Because just so you know, cheating once on a quiz doesn't really count as a crime." A second of silence passed before Tony amended, "Don't tell Pepper I said that. But cheating on a tenth grade chemistry quiz doesn't count as a real crime unless you do it again. Did you get hurt somewhere?"

Peter squeezed his eyes shut. "No," he replied in a small voice.

"Then what is it?"

Eyes still remained tightly shut, Peter said, "Idon'treallylikefootballbutIdidn'tknowhowtotellyouthatwithoutyougettingmadandIknowthatyoujustgottheseticketsandnoteveryonegetstogoseereallifefootballgamesandstuffsoIknowI'mprobablyreallyluckybutIjustreallyreallyreallydon'tfindfootballinterestingbutIdidn'twanttoletyoudownordisappointyoubutIdon'tknowanythingaboutfootballandI'mkindanervousthatI'mnotgonnahaveanythingtosaywhilewatchingthegamesoIdon'treallyknowwhattodo."

Tony blinked. And then, lifting his hands, he said, "I'm going to need you to repeat that for me but slower." As Peter opened his mouth, Tony added, "A lot slower. Human speed, please. And open your eyes for me."

Peter cracked open an eye, and then the other. As though surprised to find that he hadn't combusted, Peter looked down at his hands and repeated, "I don't really like football, but I didn't know how to tell you that without you getting mad…" He looked up at Tony, as though waiting for a reaction. When Tony didn't say anything, Peter continued a little faster, "Don't get me wrong, I know that these kinds of games are a huge deal, and I'm really grateful that you invited me and stuff, but I have no idea how to follow football, and I was—am—really nervous that I'm not gonna have anything to really say during the game, and I didn't want you think that I was totally bored, but Mr. Stark—" Peter inhaled quickly before continuing, "I really don't like football."

Tony stared. He waited one second, two seconds, three seconds before he asked, "Is that all?"

Peter blinked. "What do you mean, is that all?"

Tony shrugged. "I mean, is that all that was getting you all worked up?"

"I—" Peter rubbed a hand behind his neck. "I—yeah. That was all."

"Okay," Tony said, looking over at the stadium. "Then what do you want to do instead?"

Peter stared up at Tony. "What do you mean?" he asked.

Tony lifted a shoulder. "We won't go to the game, fine," he said. "You don't like football, that's no problem. So then we've got the rest of the day. What do you want us to do with it?"

"Us?"

"Yeah, us. My schedule's all cleared out, too."

Peter's face pinked—there it is, Tony thought. "You don't…" Peter looked down at his shoes. "You can watch the game. I mean, you got the tickets."

"Kid, someone gave me the tickets," Tony replied. "And I told you, I don't even watch these games most of the time. I just thought you might be interested, which you aren't, and that's okay." He stressed the last word as Peter seemed to sink a little lower to the ground. Tony shook his head, more to himself than to Peter. Was the kid actually going to sit through a who-knows-how-long game just out of guilt? "I'm glad you told me. Now we can do something that's actually worth doing."

Peter just barely lifted his head. "You sure?" he asked, his voice just a little over a whisper. "You're not mad?"

Tony stared. He took in the deep furrow in Peter's brows, the tightness of his shoulders, the color still in his cheeks. Tony sighed. Then, stretching out a hand to Peter's shoulder, he said, "I'm not mad, Peter. Not at all. Not even a little bit." To his relief, Tony felt some of the tension slowly lessen from Peter's shoulder. Encouraged by this small victory, Tony added, "Now let's do something actually interesting."

Peter smiled up at Tony—a real smile, not the tense close-lipped ones that had been lurking around earlier. "Sounds good," he said.

As the two made their way back to the front of the stadium, Tony said, "Just let me take care of something real quick." Peter only nodded once before Tony walked back into the crowds. It didn't take him too long to find the concession stands and, feeling Peter's curious stare on his back, Tony made a quick exchange—two football tickets (and actual bills, of course) for two pretzels.

Tony only heard some sputtering and wheezing from the concession stand workers as he returned to Peter with two large, hot pretzels in his hands.

"You have to at least get some of the food here," Tony said, handing Peter a pretzel that was the size of his head. Taking a large bite of his own, Tony asked, his voice somewhat muffled around pretzel dough, "So where off to, kid?"

A few hours later, Tony was looking up at a Tyrannosaurus rex fossil. "Dinosaurs," he said, casting a glance at Peter. "Did you go through a dinosaur phase when you were a kid?"

"Maybe," Peter said defensively.

"I did, too," Tony replied, looking back up at the skull of the fossil. "I don't think I've met anyone who didn't go through some dinosaur fossil when they were growing up." He felt Peter relax beside him, and smiling to himself, Tony asked, "If you could build Jurassic Park, would you?"

"Don't know," Peter replied. "I mean, it'd be really cool, but…" He paused. "I don't know," he repeated. "Maybe I'd only build Jurassic Park with the herbivores. It wouldn't be a park for long, though." When Tony looked down at him, Peter smiled guiltily. "They'd probably somehow accidentally go free."

"I had a feeling you'd say that," Tony said. He shoved his hands in his pockets. "I guess technically, if Pepper ever wanted to, then Stark Industries can suddenly start investing in tech to bring dinosaurs back." He tried to imagine bringing up a proposal at Pepper's office and matched the grimace that Peter now shot him. "Yeah," Tony said, nodding at Peter's expression. "Probably not going to happen."

"I don't think the dinosaurs would be too happy with their new habitat," Peter said, walking around the Tyrannosaurus rex. He examined the triceratops and added, "I think they'd be better off in their own time." He looked back at Tony. "I mean, can you imagine one of these guys tromping around the city?"

"Well, we've already had our fair share of aliens and superheroes tromping around the city, so I think it'd be more a question of if the city could take on a dinosaur added to the mix," Tony replied. Walking up to Peter's side, he added, "So I think New York's already got enough on its plate."

"What if we let the dinosaurs run around the Met stadium?"

A corner of Tony's lips twitched upwards. "That might make the football game a little more interesting to watch." At Peter's laugh, Tony added quickly, "Don't tell Pepper I said that."

A/N: The last time I was at MetLife stadium was for a concert, not for a football game, so I may or may not have mixed up where the concession stands are in relation to the exits of the stadium, so sORRY. I had some fun writing this, especially considering that I, too, am not the biggest American football fan.

As always, comments/constructive criticism are appreciated!