Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

People had Opinions about Tony Stark.

Peter had known that even as a kid. He'd had opinions, too, of course. He’d always thought Iron Man was amazing, because he was the only Avenger who wasn’t a superhero just because he was brave or strong, but because he was smart.

Peter wasn’t sure how brave or strong he was most of the time, but he knew he was smart. Tony Stark being Iron Man made Peter think he could be something amazing one day, too.

But he knew May thought about it differently. She’d spent the early 2000s protesting a war Mr. Stark had made a lot of money off of. She and Ben used to argue––not fight, but argue––whenever Ben brought Peter home an Iron Man shirt or action figure. The argument (not a fight) they’d had after Ben brought him home an Iron Man mask for his eighth birthday was a real doozy.

Peter had sat on the floor in his room, wearing his Iron Man shirt and the mask and pretending to flip through the latest Thor comic book. (Thor was okay, but he was never the smartest Avenger in the room, or at least that was how the comics made it seem.) To this day, he recalled every word of their exchange.

“Is this really the role model we want him to have?” Peter remembered May demanding. “You know how he made his money, Ben.”

“Yeah, and I know what he’s doing with it now,” Ben had replied. “Peter likes him because he makes it cool to be smart, and I want him to think that, don’t you?”

“There are lots of other cool, smart people who didn’t make their money in weapons of mass destruction. I’d like it if he decided to worship one of them instead.”

“Maybe when he gets older, he will,” Ben said. “But for now, he looks up and Tony Stark’s flying around in his red and gold suit, and I don’t know––I think it’s okay for him to learn that you can make amends for your mistakes. That you’re not the worst thing you ever did.”

“He didn’t do one bad thing, Ben,” May said. “I mean, Jesus, there are people sitting in jail because they got caught with weed on them, and Stark has a body count in the thousands. How forgiving do you really think we should be?”

Ben had sighed. “Next time, I will talk to you first. But are you really going to take the mask away from him?”

Peter remembered frowning in alarm and plotting where he might hide the mask so May couldn’t take it from him. There was a loose floorboard in his closet, but he didn’t think it was wide enough. Maybe it could stay at Ned’s house for a while.

Fortunately, May had echoed Ben’s sigh and said, “No. Just––cool it on the Iron Man merch for a while, will you? Or at least buy the knock off stuff that Stark doesn’t actually make any money off of.”

“Oh, that mask is definitely a knock off. The real ones are like two hundred bucks! What am I, crazy?”

May had laughed. “That’s my guy,” she’d said, and somehow, even though he couldn’t see them, Peter remembered knowing that she’d kissed him.

Despite May’s misgivings, the next year Peter and Ben had gone to the Stark Expo for his birthday. That was where Mr. Stark had saved Peter’s life for the first time, though Peter wasn’t sure Mr. Stark remembered it. He definitely didn’t know that the kid in the Iron Man costume had been him. May had kind of come around on Mr. Stark after that, or at least stopped complaining about him where Peter could hear her.

Things were different now. Peter guessed it was one thing not to like Tony Stark, war profiteer, and something totally different to not like your kid’s superhero mentor, who occasionally came over and made spaghetti bolognese in your tiny kitchen and fixed the broken air conditioner. Peter knew Mr. Stark went out of his way to be extra funny and charming with May, partly because it made Peter’s life easier, but also because May not-so-secretly terrified him.

May knew she was being charmed, of course, but she let him get away with it, and over time, Peter thought it kind of worked. Six months after May found out he was Spiderman, Peter was pretty sure she actually liked Mr. Stark. Or at least she thought he was funny and useful, and that was close enough.

And thank God, because it turned out that if people had Opinions about Tony Stark, then Peter had Opinions about their Opinions. And his Opinion was that theirs were crap.

***

It started, as a lot of things did, with someone being wrong on the internet.

There was a subReddit that was supposed to be about the Accords, but in reality it was mostly rampant speculation about what had gone down between Mr. Stark and Captain Rogers for most of the Avengers to end up on the run. Ned found it one night and sent Peter the link, and the next thing Peter knew it was two o’clock in the morning and he was arguing with some dickwad in Ohio who claimed that Mr. Stark had obviously been part of the Hydra conspiracy within SHIELD and Captain America had figured it out, so that was clearly why they’d had a falling out.

That makes no sense!, Peter typed out, furious and sleep-deprived. His name was on the list of people Project Insight was supposed to kill!!!

I know, isn’t that convenient? came the reply.

That’s not convenient, it’s just the truth!!! And here, Peter had to go looking for the actual text that proved it. Fortunately there were entire websites devoted to annotating and explaining the SHIELD files Black Widow had dumped on the internet in 2014, so it wasn’t that hard to find, but still.

Fake news, Midwestern dickwad replied, and Peter almost pitched his laptop across the room. He counted backwards from a hundred by sevens and thought about warm brownies until his blood pressure came down.

You just don’t want to admit that maybe Captain America was wrong, he finally wrote, when he got himself under control.

Whatever. Between Steve Rogers and Tony Stark, only a moron would believe Tony Stark. Which, just in case you can’t do the math, makes you a moron.

Peter rolled his eyes, slammed his laptop shut, and went to sleep. Or, more accurately, lay in bed stewing about all the things he should have said and didn’t, knowing that it didn’t really matter. People didn’t go on the internet to change their minds about anything. The Midwestern dickwad had made up his mind about Mr. Stark years ago. So had Peter, for that matter.

It just pissed him off, because he knew how much the fight over the Accords had cost Mr. Stark. He was still renovating the top ten floors of the tower after deciding not to sell it after all. Peter wasn’t stupid. He knew that that was basically like May getting rid of all her bedroom furniture six months after Ben died, because looking at it just reminded her of what she’d lost. The Accords had cost Mr. Stark everything, and Peter knew they were still causing him a lot of stress. It wasn’t fair that on top of that, people were badmouthing him on the internet about them.

Peter fell asleep eventually, but it took him a long time. And when he did, he dreamed about yelling at the entire state of Ohio.

***

“So then this jerk tells me that only an idiot would believe Mr. Stark over Captain Rogers,” Peter told Ned through a mouthful of cafeteria mac and cheese, “and I realized that I was never going to change his mind, so I went to bed.”

“It took you that long to realize that?” Ned asked, thumbing through the conversation thread on the Reddit app on his phone. “This guy is just a troll.”

Peter sighed. It came out more like a growl. “I know, I know, I just––it pisses me off.”

“What pisses you off?” MJ asked, setting her tray down beside Peter’s. “Patriarchy? Systemic racism? Childhood poverty in the richest country in the world? The fact that Hollywood hasn’t had a new idea in ten years and it’s clearly a sign of our cultural malaise?”

“People being mean to Tony Stark on the internet,” Ned replied, looking up. “He was up until three o’clock this morning, arguing with people on Reddit.”

Peter balled up a napkin and threw it at him.

“That is the dumbest, saddest sentence I’ve ever heard, Parker,” MJ declared, opening her carton of chocolate milk. “The last thing Stark needs is you defending his honor. On Reddit of all places.”

“Hey, I actually know Mr. Stark, all right?” Peter replied, keeping his voice down. “He’s been really nice to me. And he doesn’t deserve people giving him shit on the internet about the Accords.”

“Someone can be nice to you, specifically, and still be an asshole,” MJ said bluntly.

“Uh oh,” Ned muttered.

Peter stared at her. “Is that what you think about him?”

MJ shrugged. “Kind of, yeah. I mean, he made all his money selling weapons for longer than we’ve been alive, then finally gave it up and got into clean energy––fine, great, except probably you should be able to find your moral compass without having it literally blow up in your face. He’s a total misogynist––”

“No, he’s not,” Peter interjected. “Ms. Potts runs his company.”

“And I’m sure he respects her, but women in general? Especially ten years ago?” MJ shook her head and dragged a french fry through a puddle of ketchup. “I keep waiting for his Me Too moment to arrive. I’m sure it’s out there somewhere.”

Peter gaped like a fish for a second before managing to stammer out, “That’s––that’s not––that’s not true. He’s a hero.”

“So what? That doesn’t mean anything.”

“He almost died during the Battle of New York,” Peter said, trying to keep his voice even. “He saved all of us.”

“Yeah, he did,” MJ conceded. “But I’m not sure that makes him a good person. Face it, Peter––he’s a rich white guy who doesn’t think about how his actions affect anyone but himself. He doesn’t deserve your defense, and he’s definitely not worth losing sleep over.”

Peter honestly didn’t know what to say. “You’re wrong,” he finally said. “You don’t know him.”

“Do you?” she replied. “Does anyone, really?”

Peter stared at her, totally unprepared for the tangle of emotions in his chest. MJ didn’t know––she didn’t know how much Mr. Stark had done for him, she didn’t know how close they were, she didn’t know that Peter owed him everything. She didn’t know why what she was saying was so wrong.

Ned knew, or at least he knew more. He was watching Peter with wide eyes.

“I have to go,” Peter finally said, shoving back his chair. “Didn’t finish the last problem set for calc last night.”

MJ looked almost surprised. Like she hadn’t expected Peter to walk away over it. But she didn’t apologize, of course, because MJ never did. She just shrugged and ate her fries. Peter got up and left.

His phone buzzed while he was working out the last solution on the problem set. Peter pulled it out and looked at it. Mr. Stark had written, Hey kid, we still on for Friday?

Peter grinned to himself. Yeah, of course.

Staying over?

Gotta check with May but probably, Peter wrote back, and put his phone away, feeling suddenly a lot better about everything.

***

Still, it nagged at him.

MJ wasn’t some random stranger spouting crazy conspiracy theories on the internet. MJ was smart. MJ knew things, even if Peter was pretty sure that her cynicism was at least fifty-five percent an act. It bothered him that she thought such terrible things about Mr. Stark. He didn’t think she was right, but he wondered if maybe she was more right than he wanted her to be.

After all, one thing was true––someone could be really nice to certain people and still not be a good person. Even Flash was nice to his friends. Mostly.

Between the conversation with MJ and the lack of sleep, Peter was kind of a mess that evening. After he let the pasta water boil over and somehow dropped an entire carton of eggs on the floor, May sent him to sit in the living room while she finished making dinner. He couldn’t even argue about it, annoying as it was.

“All right, kiddo,” May said, once they were settled in on the sofa, each with a bowl of pasta and pesto, shredded rotisserie chicken on top. “Out with it. What’s going on?”

Peter shrugged. “Nothing. Had trouble sleeping last night, that’s all.”

“Hmm. Any particular reason?”

He took a giant bite of pasta to try and avoid answering. She raised an eyebrow at him and waited him out.

Peter swallowed and drew a deep breath. “Do you like Mr. Stark? Like, as a person?”

May’s other eyebrow climbed up to join the first one. “That’s an interesting question. Why do you ask?”

“I dunno. I was thinking about stuff I used to hear you say about him. And MJ doesn’t like him. And people on the internet—”

“Oh, Peter.”

“I know, I know. But—MJ. And you. And... I don’t know. I know some of what she said is true.”

May sighed and set her fork down. “All right. Cards on the table, kiddo. I didn’t used to like him. He was arrogant and richer than anyone actually needs to be. I didn’t see him doing much with his money, either. And I hated that he‘d made it selling weapons. The world was already dangerous, but he made it worse. I still think a lot of that was true of him before he became Iron Man. I don’t think I’d have cared much for that Tony Stark at all.”

Peter nodded, looking away.

“But.”

She paused. Peter glanced back at her.

“The Tony Stark I know now isn’t that guy.” She reached out and pushed a strand of hair behind his ear. “The one who goes out of his way to keep you safe and always asks me how my job is. The one who makes the best damn pasta carbonara I’ve ever had and wants to take us both to Italy this summer. That Tony is funny and generous and kind, and I do like him.”

Peter sighed, relieved. “Yeah, me too. It was just... some of the things MJ said...”

May pursed her lips. “Peter, she doesn’t actually know more about Tony than you do. Arguably, she knows far less.”

“Yeah, but—”

“No buts.” May frowned at him thoughtfully. “I don’t often tell you that you’re too young to understand something, but this is something that I really do think comes with age. The older you get, kiddo, the more you realize that people are complicated, and that even when you think you’ve figured them out, you probably haven’t. And they can change when they really want to.”

Peter bit his lip. “You think Mr. Stark has changed.”

“I think Tony Stark has changed more in the last ten years than most people do in their whole lives.” She pointed her fork at him. “But don’t tell him I said that––or that I said that I like him.”

Peter grinned at her. “You know you scare him, don’t you?”

“Damn right I do, and I intend to keep scaring him. Now eat your food.”

Peter ate his food. After they’d finished, May put on an episode of Queer Eye and let Peter lean against her. He snuggled in close, comfortable and safe and for once not itching at all to go out as Spiderman. Just for tonight, Queens would be all right without him.

“Hey, can I stay over at the tower tomorrow night?” he asked between episodes.

“Sure, sweetie,” she said, and smoothed the hair off his forehead before kissing him there.

***

The next day, Peter set his tray down on their usual table in the cafeteria. Ned was finishing a paper for history in the library, and he hadn’t seen MJ yet that day. He wasn’t sure he would.

He’d just pulled out The Great Gatsby to try and get a head start on his weekend reading when MJ set her tray down across from him. He looked up. “Hey,” he said, tentatively.

“Hi,” she said, awkward in a way that MJ never, ever was. “Can I sit here?”

“Yeah, of course,” he replied, blinking.

She sat down. “So. Um. I think I should apologize to you.”

Peter blinked some more. “For what?”

“Yesterday. Ned kind of... told me off after you left.”

Peter had to deliberately shut his mouth after it fell open. Ned almost never got angry, and Peter was pretty sure he’d never seen him mad at MJ. “He did?” he managed after a few seconds. “Why?”

MJ sighed. “Because I was kind of a jerk, and I deserved it. No, don’t,” she said, when Peter started to object. “Look... I knew that you knew Tony Stark, but I didn’t know that you were actually, like, close. If I had, I wouldn’t have said all that stuff.”

Peter shrugged, glancing away. “The weapons stuff is probably true. He’d probably even agree with you about it.”

“Yeah, but the other stuff––the Me Too stuff––I have no reason to think that. Except that he’s a rich white guy, and as a group they’re kind of... awful.”

“He’d probably agree with you about that, too.”

She gave him a very small smile. “Anyway. That doesn’t mean that every individual rich white guy is awful. Statistically, some of them have to be okay. And––and I actually do think he was trying to do the right thing with the Accords. We can’t have a bunch of vigilantes no one elected making decisions for the greater good. I think it’s shitty to try and take people’s civil liberties away, but I don’t think that was ever what he wanted. Plus... Ned said he’s been a really great mentor and he’s kind of important to you, so––so I’ll try to keep an open mind about him, I guess. Or at least not run my mouth like that. Sorry if it upset you.”

“It did, kind of,” Peter admitted. “It’s just—everyone thinks they know him and they don’t, at all. May didn’t used to like him, either, but she’s come around now she’s met him a few times. He makes really good Italian food, so that helps.”

Peter had the distinct pleasure of seeing MJ actually taken by surprise. “Tony Stark cooks?”

“Yep.” Peter took a bite of his cheeseburger. “Well,” he said, and swallowed, “he cooks, like, five things. Pasta carbonara, spaghetti bolognese, pancakes, scrambled eggs, and steak on the grill. He came over a few weeks ago and made spaghetti, and it was the best thing to come out of our kitchen since––um. For a long time.”

Since Ben died was what Peter had nearly said. And even though he hadn’t said it, MJ gave him a sharp look.

MJ being MJ, she didn’t say anything about it. “I can’t believe he cooked at your apartment.”

Peter shrugged. “That’s what I mean. He’s not who you think he is. His sense of humor is way more self-deprecating than you’d expect––like sometimes I wish he’d say something nice about himself once in a while. And he reads a lot. Mostly nonfiction, but I made him read Harry Potter a couple months back. He complained a lot, but he finished all of them.”

“Interesting,” MJ said, and Peter didn’t think she was even being sarcastic.

“He is.” Peter smiled to himself. “Maybe you’ll meet him sometime. But you have to be nice,” he added hastily.

“Pfff.” MJ picked up her own cheeseburger. “Fifty percent nice. Stark Industries has some factories in China that I have questions about.”

“Seventy-five percent nice,” Peter offered, “and you’re probably better off asking Ms. Potts about those.”

“Deal,” MJ said, and punctuated her promise by taking a bite.

***

The security guards at Stark Tower all knew Peter by now. They waved him through to the private elevator when he arrived that afternoon, and Peter stood still for the retinal scan.

“Good afternoon, Peter,” FRIDAY greeted him as he stepped inside the elevator. “Mr. Stark is in the workshop, but he assumed you would be hungry and asked me to bring you up to the penthouse. He will meet you there.”

“Yeah, that sounds good,” Peter said, smiling. Mr. Stark took every opportunity to feed him. It was kind of embarrassing sometimes, but the truth was that Peter never quite got enough to eat anywhere else, so he didn’t usually say no.

“Hey kid,” Mr. Stark greeted him. “Pizza or Thai? Or both?”

“Um, Thai.” Peter slung his backpack onto the couch and climbed up to sit at the kitchen island.

“You heard him, FRI. Order us all the Thai food in the land.”

“Yes, boss.”

“You’re in a good mood,” Peter observed, raising an eyebrow at him.

“It’s possible that I slept for eight hours last night,” Mr. Stark said, going to the fridge. He started pulling out the ingredients for a smoothie. “I can’t remember the last time I did that.”

“Maybe you should try it more often.”

Mr. Stark pulled a face. “Sleep and I aren’t friends. We never have been. You, on the other hand, should sleep more than you do.” He started to slice strawberries and drop them into the blender. “Don’t follow in my footsteps in this, Pete.”

“It’s not like I want to not sleep,” Peter objected. “Just sometimes I can’t. Or I have nightmares.”

Mr. Stark hummed and added a fistful of spinach, then half a frozen banana, some coconut yogurt, and a splash of OJ. He turned the blender on. It wasn’t blaringly loud like Peter and May’s was, but he still waited until it was done to speak again. “That what happened Wednesday night?” he asked, as he poured it into a cup.

Peter blinked at him. “How did you know?”

Mr. Stark tapped the StarkWatch on his wrist. Peter looked down at the one on his own and groaned. “You know that’s really creepy, right?” he said, even as he accepted the smoothie. Mr. Stark shrugged, unrepentant. “It was nothing, really.”

“It kept you up till three o’clock.”

Peter took a gulp of smoothie, then squinted at him. “Have you been talking to May about me again?”

“Always, kid. But in this case she told me I should ask you.”

Peter groaned. “It’s embarrassing.” Mr. Stark raised his eyebrows at him. “I was, um. On the internet.”

Mr. Stark blinked. “What, you were looking at porn until three in the morning?”

“What? No!” Peter yelped, face flushing bright red.

Mr. Stark shrugged, looking as though he was trying to be laid back about it. A very slight eye-twitch gave him away. He wasn’t quite as cool with that idea as he wanted to be. “You’re sixteen, you were on the internet all night, and you said it’s embarrassing. What am I supposed to think?”

“No, that’s not––no,” Peter insisted, shaking his head. He sighed. “Did you know there’s a subReddit about the Accords?”

Mr. Stark’s brow furrowed. “Not specifically.”

“Well, there is. Lots of people have opinions, I guess. Someone on it was saying some stuff... about you...” Peter pulled a face. “It made me mad, that’s all, so I argued with him about it, and suddenly it was the middle of the night. That’s all.”

“You were arguing with an asshole on the internet about me until three in the morning?” Mr. Stark said slowly.

“Well, more like two, but then I was all pissed off, so I couldn’t sleep.”

“That’s...” Mr. Stark shook his head. “Kid, I’m flattered, but it isn’t necessary. I pay a PR team very well to deal with people talking shit about me on the internet. You definitely shouldn’t lose sleep over it.”

“I know,” Peter sighed. “It was just... I don’t know.” He looked away, aware that he was about to embarrass both of them. “You do a lot of good, and it pisses me off that not everyone sees that.”

“Hmm,” Mr. Stark said. He was quiet for a little while. Peter glanced back and saw that he was staring out the window at the city below. Finally he said, “I do good because for a while I did a lot of bad. You know that, right, kid?”

“Yep,” Peter replied.

Mr. Stark looked at him. “And?”

“And... and it still counts,” Peter said with a shrug. “People can change.”

Mr. Stark smiled at him, looking older than usual and a little battle weary. “I’m glad you think that, Pete. Gives me hope. Still––don’t do it again, all right? I’d rather you just get a good night’s sleep.”

Peter smiled. “Sure, Mr. Stark.”

Mr. Stark eyed him for a few seconds, as though noticing that Peter hadn’t exactly promised not to do it again. Pete smiled innocently until Mr. Stark rolled his eyes and looked away, giving in.

Mission accomplished. Peter sipped his smoothie in satisfaction.

***

The thing was, Peter knew that people had Opinions about Tony Stark. But he also knew that most people only had about ten percent of the actual story.

He didn’t kid himself that he knew everything about Mr. Stark, or that he could even make the parts he did know into one coherent whole. It was like that Walt Whitman poem that they’d read in English last semester. Mr. Stark contained multitudes. He was the rich, arrogant Tony Stark, who’d made his money selling weapons, who could be harsh and cutting with the people around him, who’d partied too hard when he was younger and made bad life choices that got written up in the press.

He was also the Tony Stark who always cooked at least one meal with his own hands for Peter whenever he stayed over at the tower, who fussed about whether Peter was sleeping and eating enough, who loved Star Trek reruns and threadbare hoodies on lazy Saturday mornings.

Hardly anyone knew that Tony Stark, because he’d made sure they didn’t. But Peter did. For whatever reason, Mr. Stark trusted him. Peter would never quite understand how that had happened, because he didn’t really think it was about Spiderman. Maybe at the beginning, but not now. Not for a while.

Regardless, Peter knew way more about Tony Stark than most people did. And that, he decided, meant that his opinion mattered more. More than MJ’s, and definitely more than some dickwad’s on the internet. More than May’s, even. Not more than Ms. Potts’s or Colonel Rhodes’s, but maybe... maybe more than anyone else’s.

So sure, other people got to have opinions about Tony Stark. Peter guessed there was nothing he could do about that. But if they got to think whatever they wanted, then Peter got to think––no, Peter got to know––that they were dead wrong.

And maybe, occasionally, when he couldn’t sleep and someone was being especially stupid, he told them so.

Fin.

Chapter Text

For once in his life, Tony had gone to bed early. Pepper was in Chicago, due back the next morning, and they’d both planned to take the day off. They were going to drive upstate, find a farm selling pumpkins or apples or squash or whatever farms sold in early November, or maybe a winery. Hudson Valley wine was nothing to write home about, but that wasn’t the point.

It was going to be romantic as hell, and he was going to be awake for it. His sleep patterns had been more predictable than usual lately, and he had to admit that he felt better than he had in a long time. There had been a point when he’d thought he’d never sleep well in the tower again, but the renovation––along with time, and, if he was honest, a certain spider-kid––had done its job. Being there didn’t bother him anymore. Mostly.

He’d gotten into bed at 10:15. He planned to read for forty-five minutes, until he got Peter’s nightly text letting him know he was home safe, and then turn out the lights.

At 10:48, FRIDAY said, “Boss, Karen is signaling me.”

Tony immediately tensed up. So much for his early night. “What happened?” he asked, already climbing out of bed. “Are we talking broken wrist or knife to the gut?”

“Neither. Peter appears to be physically unharmed but in the midst of a severe panic attack.”

That was new. And alarming. “Is May working tonight?”

“The shared calendar indicates that she is working until midnight and therefore not expected home until nearly one.”

“Got it.” No reason to alarm her then, Tony decided as he headed for the elevator and the landing platform. “Plot a course to Pete’s location. And play me the last few minutes of Baby Monitor footage through the HUD.”

Peter hated that Tony still kept tabs on him through the Baby Monitor, but it was part of the deal they’d struck after the debacle with Toomes. Peter got to keep some of the advanced weaponry and Karen––to whom the kid was obviously attached, and Tony would be lying if he said he didn’t find that adorable––but the monitoring systems all got re-activated. Peter had whined, but Tony and May had held firm. That was the only way he got to keep going out as Spiderman.

And on nights like tonight, it saved everyone a huge headache.

It was a robbery at gunpoint in a bodega, Tony saw. Somewhere in Peter’s neighborhood, though not the famous Delmar’s. Peter easily webbed up one guy with a gun, but he missed his friend. The second perp obviously had not expected Peter to show up, and he panicked and shot at him. The bullet went wide, missing Peter by about a mile and hitting the guy behind the counter in the shoulder.

Peter held it together long enough to get the second would-be criminal mastermind trussed up, but then he collapsed in a heap beside the store owner. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he gasped, obviously close to tears. He grabbed a rag and held it to the wound, which was bleeding pretty freely. “I’m so, so sorry.”

“It’s okay, mijo,” the store owner said. His voice was tight with pain, but he had obviously picked up on Peter’s panic––and his youth. Peter didn’t sound a day over his fifteen years. “Hear those sirens? Help is on the way. But you should go.”

“I can’t––I can’t––I can’t leave you.”

“I’m going to be okay. It’s just a scratch. But if the police catch you, there will be questions. Go.”

Peter went. The sound of his breathing into the mic was loud and fast, like he was gasping. He didn’t make it far; about a block from the bodega, he landed in an alleyway and collapsed, pulling his knees up to his chest.

“Peter, your vitals indicate that you’re having a panic attack,” Tony heard Karen say.

“No, no, I’m fine, I’m, I’m fine––”

“You are hyperventilating. If you don’t calm down, you risk passing out.”

Peter tried to answer, but all that came out was a bunch of stuttering nonsense syllables. By then, Tony had crossed the river and was well into Queens; in fact, up ahead, he could see the flashing lights from the cop cars parked outside the bodega. Tony engaged stealth mode and flew a single, slow loop overhead; he caught sight of the EMT’s bringing the bodega owner out on a stretcher. He looked as fine as anyone who’d just been shot possibly could. Tony kept going, zeroing in on Peter’s location.

He landed at the mouth of the alley and stepped out of the suit, leaving it standing sentry. He suddenly wished he’d worn something more substantial than a hoodie and pajama pants for this. The November night air was chilly, and the alley was... well. It was an alley. At least he had shoes on. “Kid?” he said, not immediately seeing Peter. He heard a noise––a high pitched whimper––from the other side of the dumpster.

Tony came around the dumpster and saw Peter sitting on the ground, hugging his knees to his chest and rocking back and forth. “Aw, jeez, kid,” Tony murmured. He knelt down on one knee, trying not to think too much about what he was kneeling in. He was going to have burn these pajama bottoms. “Pete? You with me, bud?”

Peter gave a gasping sort of sob. Tony winced. “I’m going to take your mask off, all right?” he said. He wasn’t sure Peter was capable of giving any kind of consent at the moment, but he paused anyway. Peter didn’t object, so Tony took hold of the bottom of the mask and peeled it off slowly.

Peter was mess underneath. His eyes were wide and watery, rimmed with red, and his nose was running. He kept sniffling, almost choking himself, even as his mouth was clenched tight against any other noise he might make.

“Hey there, kid,” Tony said, keeping his voice gentle. Before Peter, he hadn’t known he could speak like this to anyone. It still wasn’t the most comfortable thing in the world, but faced with a shaking, crying, panicking kid, he found himself capable of things he’d never have expected. “I saw the footage from your suit. Good work with that robbery.”

Peter shook his head emphatically. “No, no. They shot him.”

“I know,” Tony said. “But he’s okay. He was awake and talking, wasn’t he? And on my way over, I saw them putting him in the ambulance. He was conscious, and the EMTs weren’t acting like it was a life or death situation.”

Peter shook his head again. “No, no. They shot him. Oh my God, Mr. Stark, there was so much blood. And I can’t––I missed the second one. Again.”

Tony frowned. “What do you mean, ‘again’?”

Peter buried his face in his hands, rocking back and forth. “I didn’t––I wasn’t sure where I was for a minute. I can’t believe––it was just like before––I thought there was only one, but there were two, and I let my guard down and they shot him.”

“Pete––”

“And there was just so much blood. I tried to stop it, but Ben just kept bleeding. He just––he just kept bleeding.”

Oh shit.

Tony felt like kicking himself. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t seen what this was actually about sooner. He’d known that Peter’s uncle had been killed in a robbery gone wrong, and he’d known that Peter had been there to see it.

“Pete. Peter. Look at me, all right?”

Peter’s eyes found his.

“You know where you are?”

He nodded. Tony didn’t really believe him. “Where?”

“Alley. Queens.” He swallowed. “I’m—that wasn’t—Ben’s been dead a long time.”

“Almost two years.”

Peter nodded, looking away. He drew a shaky breath. “He was really okay?”

Tony didn’t have to ask who he meant. “Seemed like it. Want me to have FRIDAY find out for sure?”

Peter nodded, biting his lip. His breathing and heart rate were starting to slow. Tony wondered how soon he could encourage him to stand up so they could head back to the Parkers’ warm, dry apartment. Tony deeply regretted not having put on real pants before running out the door.

“It appears that Mr. Martinez was taken to New York Presbyterian-Queens,” FRIDAY said after a moment. “From what I can discern from communication from the ambulance, he sustained a graze from the bullet and a minor concussion. The police have taken the two perpetrators into custody.”

“See, kid? Everyone’s okay.”

Peter shuddered. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.” He blinked, really looking at Tony for the first time. “You’re in your pajamas.”

“Sort of.”

“You were in bed,” Peter realized, looking mortified. “Oh God, Mr. Stark, I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Tony said. “Flashbacks happen to the best of us. But if it’s all right, maybe we can head back to your place? I’m starting to lose sensation in the top layer of skin on my thighs.”

“Yeah, sure.” Peter climbed to his feet, holding onto the brick wall of the alley. Tony offered him his hand for balance, and Peter took it, smiling shakily at him.

Tony realized then that they had a dilemma. They were about a twenty minute walk from Peter’s house. It was cold and getting colder. Normally Peter could web swing only slightly slower than Tony could fly, but he looked like he barely knew where he was. Tony didn’t want him web swinging in that condition.

There was only one solution.

“We’re flying Iron Man Express, kid,” Tony said, pushing Peter’s mask into his chest. “Put your mask on and hop onboard.”

“What?”

“You heard me, Mr. Strong and Sticky. Don’t make me say it again.”

Peter put his mask on. “I could swing it,” he muttered.

“Of course you could,” Tony assured him. He stepped back into the suit and it closed around him. FRIDAY, bless her, immediately turned on the heater, and Tony felt his extremities tingle as the blood rushed back into them. “Hop on, kid.”

Peter grimaced but didn’t argue. He jumped up and grabbed hold of of the back of the Iron Man suit. “I feel ridiculous,” he muttered. “Like I’m a baby koala. Or one of those monkeys that rides around on its mother’s back.”

“Hey, that imagery isn’t doing a lot for my ego either,” Tony said. “You stuck on?”

“Yep.”

“Great. FRIDAY, for the love of God, put us in stealth mode. We don’t need a shot of this on the front page of the Bugle tomorrow.”

It was fortunate for their collective sense of dignity that it was a quick flight to Peter’s apartment. In less than five minutes, Tony was touching down on the roof. Peter scaled down the side of the building and crawled in his window, then came up the stairs to let Tony in. He’d changed out of the suit and into a pair of sweatpants and one of his nerdy, too-big t-shirts. This one had Chewbacca on it. No text, just... Chewbacca.

“You really don’t have to stay,” he told Tony as they took the stairs back down to the fifth floor. “I’m okay now. It was just one bad moment.”

Tony decided to temporarily let the “one bad moment” remark go. “Well, then let me stay for my sake,” he replied, reaching out to rest a hand on Peter’s shoulder. He squeezed it gently. “You kind of scared the hell out of me.”

He should’ve known better. Peter hunched. “Sorry.”

“No, that wasn’t––it’s okay, Pete.” Tony paused while Peter let them into the apartment. “This sort of thing is part of the gig.”

Peter looked skeptical.

Tony toed off his shoes in the Parkers’ tiny entryway and followed the kid into the living room. Peter sat down on the sofa, and Tony perched on the coffee table across from him, close enough that their knees knocked together. “Listen to me, Pete. Are you listening?”

“Yes,” Peter said, though he still wouldn’t look Tony in the eye.

Good enough, Tony decided. “Next time you see Pepper, tell her I said she could tell you about how I was after New York. I think––no, I know––I scared her on a regular basis, because I was a mess. But the worst mistake I made was trying to deal with it on my own, when I had people who would’ve backed me up in a heartbeat if I’d let them.”

Peter wrapped his arms around himself. “Oh.”

“Yeah. So when I said I wanted you to be better than I was...” Tony sighed, remembering that moment on the ferry. Not his finest, for sure. He was lucky the kid was way more forgiving than he should be. “There has to be a way to be a superhero and a mostly functional human being at the same time, and I think––after long experimentation and mostly negative results––that means admitting when we’re not okay.”

Peter looked overwhelmed. Tony took pity on him. “Go take a shower, all right? I’m going to hang out with you until your aunt gets home.”

Peter nodded and stood up, heading toward the bathroom. He turned back. “There’s, um, pizza in the fridge. If you’re hungry.”

“Are you hungry, Pete?” Tony asked.

Peter shrugged. Tony arched an eyebrow at him.

“Yeah,” Peter admitted.

“I’ll get that heated up, then. Seriously, kid, go. Shower.”

Peter shuffled off to the bathroom. Tony went into the tiny kitchen and opened the fridge, finding the plate with leftover pizza on the top shelf. It had a post-it stuck to the plastic wrap it was swaddled in. May’s handwriting said, Larb you, kiddo!

Tony smiled to himself. He put the post-it note on the counter, where Peter would be sure to see it, and put the pizza on a cookie sheet. He went to slide it into the oven.

Which was when he remembered that preheating the oven was a thing. Dammit.

Fortunately, the kid took his time in the shower. He took long enough, in fact, that Tony started to worry, but just as he was about to knock on the door and make sure he hadn’t drowned––or had another panic attack––the water shut off.

Peter looked considerably better when he emerged. He smiled when he saw the note from May, and he accepted a plate of pizza and a seltzer with a murmured thank you. By the time Tony settled on the sofa next to him with his own plate––which held a single piece of pizza––they’d gone five whole minutes without an unnecessary apology.

Peter had already put on an episode of Planet Earth. For a while, there was only the sound of chewing and David Attenborough’s narration, punctuated by a periodic siren from outside the apartment and the sound of people upstairs walking around.

The sounds from upstairs were really loud, considering how late it was. Tony wondered whether it was normal for apartment walls to be this thin. Was this just something that people lived with all the time?

“You have a really weird look on your face,” Peter remarked through a mouthful of pizza.

“Your neighbors are loud.”

“Our neighbors?”

Tony pointed toward the ceiling.

“Oh,” Peter said. “I guess? I don’t really hear it anymore. I’ve never lived anywhere we didn’t share at least a floor, a ceiling, and two walls with other people.”

Tony blinked. “That sounds hellish.”

“It’s not that bad.” Peter shoved a piece of crust in his mouth and chewed, chewed, chewed, swallowed. “Actually, the people up there now are pretty quiet. The people who lived there when I was nine or ten used to come home late on weekends, kind of drunk, I think, and make a lot of, um, noise. Their bedroom is right over my room, and I could hear everything.”

Tony stared at him in horror. “Oh my God.”

Peter grinned. “I’ve never seen Aunt May laugh as hard as she did when I asked why they were doing jumping jacks and yelling in the middle of the night.”

Tony snorted out a laugh. “Jesus. What did she say?”

Peter shrugged. “She told me the truth. She’s a nurse, she doesn’t get embarrassed about that kind of thing.” Peter, on the other hand, was definitely kind of pink with embarrassment, but he looked pleased with himself––probably for having made Tony laugh. Tony had noticed that Peter went out of his way to do that. Tony was just glad to see Peter feeling better.

They finished the episode. It was late by then, and May was due home in about twenty minutes, so they didn’t start the next one. They cleared away the pizza plates, and Peter started making a salad for May to have when she came in. She didn’t like to eat anything heavy or greasy after a late shift, he told Tony, but she was always hungry, so he tried to have something healthy for her when she came home.

“You’re a good nephew, Pete,” Tony said, watching him slice up tomatoes.

Peter shrugged. “I try.” His hands stilled briefly. “I don’t want her to know about tonight.”

“I know you don’t,” Tony replied. “But I think she probably should. Remember what I said before? She’d back you up in a heartbeat if you let her.”

“She’ll overreact.” Peter picked up the knife again. “She’ll want me to stop going out as Spiderman, and I have to go out. It was one bad moment. I can’t let it keep me from doing what I need to do.”

Sometimes Tony thought that Peter was karmic payback for his own misspent youth; other times he was pretty sure that he was payback for everything he’d put Pepper and Rhodey through over the years. He could hear that note of desperation in Peter’s voice so clearly because he’d heard it in his own. The kid was desperate to keep going, moving forward, never stopping, because the minute he stopped, everything he was running from would coming crashing down on him, and he was terrified he might not survive the tsunami.

Tony knew that feeling. He used to drink to get away from it. He’d be damned if he let Peter get started down that road.

“Was it really just one bad moment?” Tony asked quietly.

Peter dumped the tomatoes into the bowl and started peeling a carrot. He didn’t answer right away, and Tony forced himself to be quiet. He wanted to fill the silence, but the first piece of advice May had ever given him about Peter was that he needed to wait him out. He wants to tell you, she’d said, but he has to come around to it. He can’t do that if you don’t let him process. So Tony physically bit his lip to prevent himself from saying anything.

“It was the only time I kind of didn’t know where I was,” Peter finally said. “But there’s been other... stuff. Nightmares. One time I was watching a TV show, and someone got shot in a convenience store, and I kind of... couldn’t breathe.”

“Has that happened other times?” Tony asked. “The not-breathing?”

Peter nodded once. “It’s been worse since Toomes.”.

Tony breathed out. “Yeah. This stuff... builds on itself.”

“But I can handle it,” Peter said, and started chopping his carrot, a little messily. “I’ve been handling it. Tonight was just a bad coincidence.”

“Kid, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but it’s not out of the realm of possibility that Spiderman is going to see other shootings, or the aftermath of them,” Tony pointed out, as kindly as possible.

Peter dumped the chopped carrot into the salad and pulled a package of cheese out of the fridge. He chopped up some of that and threw it on, and then he reached for a package of turkey. Tony stayed quiet.

“You want me to tell May,” Peter finally said.

“I think you should.”

“Would you... would you tell her for me?” he asked, looking up at Tony.

“I can,” Tony said, “but, Pete... you guys have to learn to talk to each other about this stuff.” Peter shrugged. Tony grimaced, struggling with how much to reveal. Boundaries were not really a thing he’d ever quite grasped. Walls, yes; he did walls like nobody’s business. But healthy boundaries, not so much. What were healthy boundaries when it came to your teenage superhero mentee, anyway?

To hell with it, he decided. More was probably more in this case. The kid had to know he wasn’t alone. “Pepper and I struggled with this for years,” he said bluntly. Peter raised his head, startled. “I didn’t want her to see the scary stuff, and she hated being kept in the dark. It frightened her more to know there were things I was deliberately hiding from her. And some of the things I hid... they put her in danger. Information is power, kid. You gotta trust that May is on your team and give her the information she needs in order to help you. And me, too.”

“You’re easier,” Peter said. “You get it.”

Tony didn’t know what to say in the face of such trust. He didn’t deserve it, not after taking away the suit and leaving the kid defenseless against Toomes. But Peter didn’t seem to care whether he deserved it or not. “May will get it, too, if you give her the chance.”

Peter nodded. He looked down at the salad he’d made. “Not tonight,” he said. “She’s always really tired when she gets home after a swing shift. But she’s off tomorrow. I’ll talk to her then.”

“Good,” Tony said. “And tell her she can call me if she has any questions. Or I can send her to Pepper.” He paused, contemplated that scenario, and cringed. “On second thought, that might be terrible for both of us.”

Peter grinned. “I think May would really like Ms. Potts.”

“That’s exactly what I’m afraid of.”

Peter laughed. Tony relaxed, smiling at him in relief. Before he could second guess himself, he stepped forward and put his arm around Peter’s shoulders, giving him a quick, sideways squeeze.

Peter looked up at him, smile softening a little. “Thanks for coming to get me tonight, Mr. Stark.”

“Anytime, kid,” Tony said, ruffling his hair gently. Peter bumped his head against Tony’s shoulder, just once, and then stepped away to finish May’s salad.

A minute or two later, there was the sound of a key in the door. May let herself in and heaved an enormous sigh––of relief, exhaustion, exasperation, Tony honestly couldn’t tell. “Sweetie, I told you not to wait––Tony,” she said, in surprise, catching sight of him. “Oh God, is everything––”

“It’s okay, May,” Peter said, stepping out of the kitchen so she could see him. “I’m fine. Look––all limbs accounted for.”

May let out a relieved breath. “Oh. Good.” She stepped out of her shoes and hung up her jacket.

“Sorry for surprising you,” Tony said. “I was just giving Pete a hand with something, that’s all.”

“Spiderman something?” she asked, padding over to the kitchen. She smiled when she saw the salad Peter had made her and kissed him on the cheek.

“Spiderman adjacent,” Tony replied.

“Jammed web shooter,” Peter lied easily, getting her a fork. “All fixed now.”

Tony gave him a stern look behind May’s back. Peter gave a minute shake of his head and mouthed, Tomorrow. May, drizzling dressing over her salad and giving it a thorough toss, didn’t notice.

“Wow, it’s late,” Tony said after a beat or two of silence. “I’d better get going. Pepper’s getting back in the morning, and we have this whole day trip planned. Pete, I’ll see you Wednesday for lab time?”

“Yeah, of course,” Peter said, walking him to the door. “And, um, thanks again. For helping with the web shooter.”

“Anytime,” Tony said again, and squeezed Peter’s shoulder.

He headed up to the roof, where the Iron Man suit still stood sentry. He stepped inside of it and launched himself upwards and westwards, toward Manhattan and the tower. The city below was dark and still at this time of night, as quiet as it ever got. Not even the trash collectors were out and about yet.

Halfway home, the HUD came to life. “Boss, you have an incoming text from May Parker,” FRIDAY said. “She says, ‘It wasn’t really a web shooter, was it?’”

Tony sighed to himself. “Write back, Fri. ‘No, but he didn’t get hurt. He said he’d talk to you about it tomorrow. If he doesn’t, let me know.’”

“Sent,” FRIDAY said. Tony flew onward, over the East River and the Queensboro Bridge. He could see the landing platform of the tower now. “Mrs. Parker has replied. She says, ‘Thank you, Tony. I’m glad you were there for him.’”

“Should I reply, do you think?” Tony asked. “Maybe a thumbs up emoji?”

“I suggest quitting while you’re ahead, boss. I realize it’s not a concept you’re familiar with.”

“Smartass.” She was right, though. Tony decided to leave it be for now.

Tony landed on the platform and headed inside, hitting the nanobot casing on his chest. The suit flowed back into it. There were a couple of minor tweaks, he thought, but overall he was pleased with the Bleeding Edge armor. And the tweaks would give him and Peter something to do on Wednesday during their lab time.

In his bedroom, Tony changed into clean pajamas and crawled into bed. It was 1:34 in the morning. He yawned. “When’s Pepper getting in, Fri?” he asked.

“Her plane lands at 6:35 and she should be home by 7:15.”

Tony grimaced. Best laid plans, he supposed. Hopefully Pepper wouldn’t mind if he slept in just a little later than he’d intended. She probably wouldn’t, if he told her it was for Peter. She really liked that kid. Kept saying that he was good for Tony and smiling whenever she saw them together.

Peter was good for him. Tony knew it, even if he didn’t like to admit it. Tony had a lot of scars, a lot of old wounds he’d decided he’d just have to live with, because they were never going to fully heal. Peter had wounds of his own––too many for a kid that young. He was good at hiding them, but tonight Tony had gotten his clearest glimpse yet of how deeply they ran.

Unexpectedly, being around Peter had soothed some of Tony’s old hurts. The scars were still there, everything still ached and probably always would, but he was sleeping better and dreaming nicer dreams. Tony could only hope that he did the same for Peter––could only try to be as good for the kid as the kid was for him.

And tonight, just maybe, he had been.

Fine.

Chapter Text

Tony would be the first to admit that he played a little fast and loose with his own safety in the workshop. He wore goggles and sometimes gloves when he was soldering, but basically everything else he considered extremely optional.

It’d driven Bruce nuts. Considering that Big Green had come about because of some highly questionable lab safety choices, Tony thought that was understandable. He’d worn goggles and gloves and sometimes even a lab coat just to get him off his back—but Bruce had been gone for two years now, and Tony had gotten kind of lax about it.

Until Peter started joining him in the workshop and freaked out about it.

“You’re not wearing safety goggles for this?” Peter demanded the first time they mixed his web fluid together in the workshop. “This is, like, really reactive, they always make us wear safety gear at school—”

“Yeah, that’s because high schoolers don’t know what they’re doing. Which means,” Tony added, because he wasn’t an idiot, “that you have to wear goggles and gloves, and I might even find you a lab coat.”

For maybe the first time ever, Peter didn’t look impressed with him. “If I’m wearing safety gear, you should be, too.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Kid, I’ve been doing this longer than you’ve been alive. I promise you, I’m fine.”

Peter still didn’t look convinced. Ever since, he’d been after Tony about proper lab safety protocol––goggles and gloves and lab coats and fucking paper booties. He wouldn’t even let Tony eat in the workshop, because stuff could get cross-contaminated. Apparently that was Rule #1 at Peter’s School for Future Bruce Banners: “No Food In The Labs EVER.” Tony had been eating in his own workshops for decades, thank you very much, and the worst that ever happened was that DUM-E kept trying to feed him motor oil smoothies.

Tony thought the kid’s obsession with safety was overkill, personally. Nothing he and Peter did was that dangerous––okay, some of the chemical compounds they were experimenting with for the new web fluid were volatile, and sometimes testing a new suit got a bit hairy, but none of it was anywhere near as dangerous as the first time Tony had put on the Iron Man suit in his lab in Malibu.

Which, come to think of it, he was never telling Peter about, ever. He could just see the sad Bambi eyes the kid would give him. Tony didn’t think he’d survive it.

Just like with Bruce, it was easier most days to give in and wear the safety equipment instead of arguing. Peter could be annoyingly persistent when he was convinced he was in the right. But occasionally, Tony was feeling stubborn.

“You realize we’re superheroes, right?” Tony said in exasperation one Friday afternoon. He’d still been slurping his lunchtime smoothie when the kid had arrived, and the look of disapproval on Peter’s face had rankled. The smoothie had been in a cup. With a lid. “You’re in the wrong line of work if you’re obsessed with physical safety.”

“I’m not obsessed with anything,” Peter replied. “But even I know that there are risks you take for a reason, and then there’s being a dumbass.”

Tony blinked. “Did you just call me a dumbass?”

Peter widened his eyes innocently. “No, Mr. Stark. I would never. I said you’re being a dumbass.”

Tony frowned. “You know, I think I miss the days when you were intimidated by me. There’s not a lot of people I’d let get away with that.”

Peter hesitated. Not a lot, but enough for Tony to know that he was worried he’d crossed a line. “I’m not going to apologize for not wanting you to blind yourself with chemicals or burn yourself with a soldering iron.”

Tony held his hand up. “I appreciate the concern, kid, but––”

Peter scoffed.

Tony stared at him. “Did you just scoff at me?”

Peter’s back went ramrod straight. “Yeah, I did. Because you don’t appreciate the concern.”

“It’s not your job to worry about me,” Tony replied. “You’re the kid, I’m the adult. I worry about you, you don’t worry about me. That’s how this works.”

“Too bad, because I worry about you, too!”

“Well, don’t!”

“It’s not like I have a choice!” Peter paused, looking taken aback by the force of his own response. Tony was a little taken aback himself. Before he could recover, Peter added, in a more normal tone of voice, “And it’s not about me being a kid and you being an adult, anyway.”

Tony crossed his arms over his chest. “Oh? And what, pray tell, is it about?”

Peter crossed his arms over his chest, mirroring Tony’s stance. “It’s about you not taking care of yourself.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Kid, you have no idea. I slept seven hours in a row last night. I haven’t had a drink in––FRIDAY, how many days has it been?”

“A hundred and twenty-seven, boss.”

“A hundred and twenty-seven days,” Tony repeated. “I worked out this morning. Hell, Pepper has me doing hot yoga with her whenever her instructor comes to the penthouse.”

Peter cracked a very small smile. “You hate hot yoga.”

“Damn right I hate it. I puked the first time I did it, and I have never gotten over that. But everyone else seems to think it’s good for me, so I do it.” Tony heaved a sigh. “My point, kid, is that I take much better care of myself now than I have at any other point in my adult life.”

“Okay, fine. So why don’t you want to follow safety protocols in the workshop?” Peter asked.

Tony opened his mouth to answer, paused, then shut it.

“Um, Mr. Stark?” Peter said after a moment.

“Hang on, kid, there’s a good reason.”

“No, that’s not––what is DUM-E doing?”

Tony turned in time to see DUM-E drop something into the vat full of web fluid base. It was heated up and waiting for the last few ingredients that would transform it from a vat of boiling hot acid into super strong and super stable web fluid.

“Shit,” Tony said, sprinting across the lab. “Did you see what he––”

“No! Crap, that stuff is––”

“Corrosive, I know. Shit,” Tony said again, because the vat had started smoking and he could smell fumes. They smelled... not good. His brain didn’t have an analogy, they were just not good. Even DUM-E agreed, judging by the series of high-pitched, distressed beeps he emitted.

“Mr. Stark—” Peter said, and started coughing.

Shit, shit, shit. Tony should have had face masks in the lab, but he didn’t. Bruce did, he was sure, but Bruce’s lab was one floor down and totally useless.

There was pressure building in Tony’s chest even as he lunged to grab Peter and drag him further away from the vat. Tony’s eyes started watering, and he could feel his throat and eyes and nose starting to burn.

It was too late to stop the reaction. There was no way to contain it until it stopped reacting, not without knowing what DUM-E had put in it, and that was not his top priority. His top priority was getting Peter—and himself but mostly Peter––out of the lab and into decon as soon as possible.

The further they got from the vat, the less it smelled like toxic chemicals, but Tony was coughing now, too, and the burning hadn’t gone away. He shoved Peter out of the lab. “Seal it off,” he croaked at FRIDAY, and pushed the kid into the elevator. He didn’t have a decontamination shower down here––before meeting Peter he hadn’t actually worked with chemicals all that often––but Bruce did. “Bruce’s floor,” he managed.

Peter doubled over, hacking. “Oh my God,” he managed. “It burns.”

“I know, I know.” The elevator doors opened, and Tony put his arm around Peter’s shoulders. His own eyes were streaming so badly that he could barely see, but he managed to navigate them to the decon showers. There were two, thank God. “Clothes off. Use the eyewash station. Yell if you need anything.”

They stumbled into the showers. The water turned on automatically, coming out with almost uncomfortable force from the giant shower head and immediately soaking all of Tony’s clothes. He struggled out of his shirt and jeans, tossing them out of the shower and into the lab. He could hear Peter doing the same next door. They were both still coughing, the sound of it echoing off the tile. Tony tasted copper and hoped it was just because the lining of his throat was so irritated.

Once he was naked, he went straight for the eyewash station that was attached to the faucet, bending over so it could rinse his eyes out directly. The relief was immediate. Tony drew a deep breath and regretted it when it triggered a coughing fit. Once he managed to get it under control, he said, “Pete? You okay using the eyewash station?”

“Y-yeah,” Peter replied. “How––how long? In the shower?”

“Fifteen minutes,” Tony said. “Just let it sluice you off, okay?”

“Yeah.”

It felt like forever. Tony was still coughing, still tasting copper, and he was starting to feel short of breath and light-headed, too. He knew they needed to do the full decontamination, but he was also beginning to suspect he might need to get them down to the medbay, where there was oxygen.

Tony swallowed. “FRI, do you know what DUM-E dumped in the vat?”

“I’m afraid not, boss. I have vented the fumes outside the building. I also took the liberty of alerting Helen Cho at Avengers HQ of the situation. I am waiting for a response.”

“Thanks,” Tony said, relaxing slightly. Tthis was still a clusterfuck of a situation, but Helen would know what to do. “Pete, how are you doing?”

“Um. I don’t... I don’t feel very well.”

Tony didn’t either. “Dizzy? Nauseous?”

“Yeah.”

“Me too, kid. Just hang in there, all right?” Tony braced himself against the wall and kept his face over the eyewash station. “How long, FRI?”

“Three minutes, ten seconds.”

“You hear that? Three minutes, kid. We can do it.”

Peter’s answer was the sound of retching and liquid hitting wet tile. Tony cringed. He was feeling nauseous, too, but he wasn’t quite to that point yet. “Peter?”

“I’m okay,” Peter said, sounding breathless. He coughed harshly and it quickly became a retch. “Oh––oh no, there’s––I think I threw up blood.”

“It’s okay, it’s probably just from your throat,” Tony said, not wanting the poor kid to panic. “Is it a lot of blood or just a little? Light or dark?”

“Just... just a little. Pretty light, I think. Mr. Stark, I really want to lie down.”

“I know, Pete, just a little longer.” He’d barely finished his sentence when the water shut off. Tony straightened up, back screaming at him for being bent over for fifteen minutes straight, and realized they were both totally naked and couldn’t put their clothes back on, since they were contaminated. “Okay,” he croaked. “Scrubs. Hang in there, let me find us some scrubs.”

Fortunately, Tony remembered correctly where the spare scrubs were. He threw on a pair out in the lab and handed Peter’s to him through the curtain of the decon shower. Peter put them on and shuffled out, barefoot and soaking wet. He was pale, and his eyes were red and irritated.

“Okay, medbay.” Tony put his arm around Peter’s shoulders again. Neither of them was coughing as badly anymore, but the shortness of breath hadn’t gone away. If anything, it was worse. He steered them toward the elevator, leaving a trail of wet footprints behind them. “You still feeling nauseous? Lightheaded?”

“Yeah,” Peter mumbled. “You?”

“Yeah.”

“Is––is Ms. Potts here?”

Tony shook his head. “Hong Kong.”

“Boss,” FRIDAY interjected, “Dr. Cho has responded. She said the decon shower was correct, and that you should both have oxygen, either through a mask or tube. She and Colonel Rhodes are leaving the compound now and should be here within one hour. I am sending her your vital signs so that she can monitor them in transit.”

“Thanks, FRI,” Tony said as they got into the elevator. “See, kid? The calvary is on its way.”

Peter smiled wanly. The two of them were leaning on each other, Tony realized, both of them barely standing. It was tough to take a full breath, and Tony’s chest was starting to hurt.

In the medbay, FRIDAY had to talk him through getting the oxygen set up. Peter tried to help, but then he threw up again, this time into the sink. No blood this time, thank God, and Tony thought he’d probably been right that it was just from his throat. But after that Tony made him sit on one of the beds with an emesis basin while he fumbled through getting two oxygen masks hooked up. Or tried to, anyway.

“Mr. Stark?” Peter asked, sounding very far away. “Are you okay?”

Tony blinked. His head felt very fuzzy and his chest felt very tight. Peter was standing right in front of him, when he could’ve sworn he’d been sitting on the bed.

Peter grabbed hold of him and shoved an oxygen mask onto his face. “Take a breath,” Peter commanded him, and Tony did. He closed his eyes as oxygen flooded his deprived body, immediately soothing some of the inflammation in his nose and throat. Peter dragged him over to the bed, and Tony collapsed onto it, doing his best not to get tangled up in the oxygen line.

Peter was watching him with wide eyes. He didn’t have his own mask on yet, Tony realized. Tony was still holding it in his hand. He held it up and pushed it onto Peter’s face. Peter’s eyes fluttered shut in a mirror image of Tony’s own relief. Tony nudged him into lying down, and for a while they just rested there like that, on the narrow hospital bed, holding oxygen masks to each other’s faces. Peter was quiet, not even trying to talk, but his eyes were fixed on Tony’s.

After some time, Tony forced himself to move––to put the strap on for his oxygen mask, and help Peter do the same. He had every intention of moving to a different bed, too, but when he went to stand, he realized that Peter’s hand was fisted in the front of his shirt. So instead he just shifted over so that he was a little more comfortable and put his arm around Peter. Peter tucked his head beneath Tony’s chin.

Tony took his mask off just enough to speak. “You doing okay? How’s the nausea?”

He felt more than heard Peter lift his mask. “Okay. Queasy but not too bad.”

“Good.” Tony stroked a hand through Peter’s hair. “Good. We’re just gonna stay here till Helen and Rhodey get here, then. Tell me if you start to feel worse.”

“If you promise you’ll tell me,” Peter returned, squeezing Tony’s hip where his hand rested.

“Deal,” Tony said, and put his oxygen mask back on.

***

He must have dozed off, because the next thing Tony knew someone was shaking him awake. He blinked a few times to clear away the fuzziness and realized that Rhodey was bending over him, frowning in worry.

“There you are, Tones,” Rhodey said, some of the worry clearing.

“Where’d I go?” Tony mumbled, and winced at the raw feeling in his throat. He shifted and nearly tumbled off the bed. Rhodey steadied him. Tony glanced down and saw Peter looking back at him, face covered in a mask, both of them squished up on the same bed. He remembered, all at once––the workshop, the accident, the decon shower. Holding Peter’s mask to his face while Peter held Tony’s own to his. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” Rhodey said, relaxing.

Peter lifted his mask away from his face and asked, “How’re you feeling, Mr. Stark?”

Tony was pretty sure that was supposed to be his line. He pulled his own mask up and said, “Okay. Head hurts. And my throat. Eyes feel really dry.”

“Yeah, me too,” Peter said. He put his mask back on and dropped his head to rest against Tony’s chest.

“How’s your chest feel?” Rhodey asked.

“Sore,” Tony admitted. He hadn’t tried to take a full breath without the oxygen mask yet, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to. “Helen here?”

“Yeah, she’s in Bruce’s lab consulting with FRIDAY, trying to figure out what you guys inhaled,” Rhodey said. He gently pushed Tony’s mask back on. Tony didn’t bother resisting. He felt unaccountably weak from the entire ordeal. “I saw the footage. You’re lucky this is the first time DUM-E has done something like that. Having the robotic equivalent of a golden retriever as your assistant is not proper lab safety.”

Peter made a triumphant noise and took his mask off. Tony rolled his eyes in anticipation.

“We were arguing about lab safety when it happened,” Peter said, sounding breathless. “Mr. Stark won’t wear gloves or a lab coat, and sometimes he doesn’t even wear gog––goggles!” He started coughing harshly, cutting himself off. Tony tried to sit up, but Rhodey shoved him back down and put Peter’s mask back on him. Tony settled for rubbing the kid’s back until the coughing subsided.

“Okay, neither of you is allowed to lift your mask to talk until Helen gets back,” Rhodey informed them sternly. “And, Peter––I share your pain. He was just as bad, if not worse, at MIT, because he liked to work after a few drinks. The only person who’s ever been able to get him to observe proper protocol is Bruce Banner.”

Tony wanted to argue, but he couldn’t, because of the mask. He settled for glowering at Rhodey, even though he knew that his glower had no effect on him. Rhodey patted him on the head, and Peter made a muffled noise that Tony suspected was a giggle.

Fortunately, it was only another couple of minutes before Helen appeared, carrying a file in her hand. “Hello, you two,” she said, seating herself on a stool next to Rhodey. “How are you feeling?”

“They both have headaches, sore throats, and eye irritation,” Rhodey reported, before either of them could take their masks off to answer. “Tony says his chest is sore, and Peter appears to be prone to coughing jags, still.”

She looked unsurprised. “Any nausea?”

Tony shook his head. Peter nodded.

“General weakness?”

They both nodded that time.

“Okay. Well, you’re lucky that it wasn’t worse than it was,” she told them. “It seems that DUM-E dumped bleach into that vat of acid.”

Tony flinched. Peter uttered something through the mask that might have been, “Oh shit.”

“Indeed,” Helen said. “But your exposure time was brief and the decontamination routine seems to have saved you from any major burns or eye injuries. What I’m most concerned about now is chemical pneumonia––especially for you, Tony,” she added. “Your reduced lung capacity makes it all the more likely. You’re each getting a chest x-ray, and I’m prescribing rest and observation for the rest of the weekend. Peter, were you planning to stay over?”

Peter pulled his mask down. “No, I was just here for the evening.”

“I’d like you to stay until Sunday, so I can keep an eye on you,” Helen said. “Will that be a problem?”

“No, but...” Peter glanced at Tony. “I guess we have to tell May what happened.”

Tony tugged his mask down. “We were gonna have to tell her regardless, kid.” Peter looked unhappy. Tony ruffled his hair. “If it helps, I think she’s way more likely to be mad at me than you.”

Peter grimaced. “That’s not it. I just don’t like stressing her out.”

“I know, Pete.” Tony nudged Peter’s mask back into place. “But at least this is within the realm of normal.”

Peter shrugged. Tony replaced his own mask and let himself relax against the bed while they waited for their chest x-rays. He wasn’t sure what May’s reaction to this would be. She was a nurse, so she probably would know exactly how much worse it could have been and be relieved that it wasn’t––but she might also be pissed at Tony for letting it happen in his own workshop. He hoped she didn’t restrict Peter’s time at the tower; it was one of the highlights of Tony’s week, and he would seriously miss it. Plus, he didn’t want the kid to have to go back to making his web fluid in his high school’s chemistry lab. That was a recipe for having his identity revealed.

The medical staff had all moved upstate when the Avengers did, but the state-of-the-art equipment had mostly stayed. The chest x-rays were fast and painless. By the time the scans were ready, Peter and Tony had both graduated from oxygen mask to cannula, and Peter had been cajoled into moving to his own bed. Tony hoped they’d be allowed to leave the medbay in the next hour, and maybe put on clothes that weren’t scrubs.

Peter’s scan was clear, but Tony’s made Helen purse her lips in displeasure.

“I’m prescribing you a preventative course of antibiotics,” she told Tony.

Tony groaned. “Do we have to? They’re going to screw up my stomach for weeks.”

“Not as much as a raging case of chemical pneumonia would,” she replied sweetly.

“Do what she says, Tones,” Rhodey intoned from where he sat with his feet up on Peter’s bed. “Or do I need to call Pepper?”

“Et tu, platypus?” Tony sighed. “Helen, seriously, I think I’d like to wait a day or two and see how things go before taking any antibiotics.”

“Do you know how much of a difference a day or two makes with an infection?” she replied. “Tony, your reduced lung function makes you highly susceptible to pulmonary issues, and any scarring could seriously impact your quality of life. I’m not willing to take the risk.”

“Well, I am,” Tony replied, trying to sound as decisive as possible.

Helen stared him down. Tony stared back. Unstoppable force, immovable object.

Until Peter spoke.

“Please, Mr. Stark,” he said plaintively. “I would feel really bad if you got sick because of an accident that happened while we were making my web fluid.”

There was a moment of silence. Rhodey gave a low whistle. “Damn, kid. That was masterful.”

Tony glared at Rhodey, then turned to Peter. The effect of the kid’s big eyes was only made worse because they were still red and irritated, giving the impression that he’d been crying. “This wasn’t your fault in any way, kid, you know that, right? DUM-E is my bot, I wrote his shitty base code, and I’m also the one who left bleach lying around in the workshop when I knew you’d be making your acid-based web fluid.”

“But it was still my web fluid,” Peter said. “Neither of us would’ve gotten hurt if it wasn’t for that. You don’t even usually use those sorts of chemicals in the workshop.”

That was true enough. Tony sighed, then winced when it sent a pang through his chest. “That doesn’t make it your fault. Promise me you won’t beat yourself up over this.”

Peter shrugged. “I won’t if you take the antibiotics.”

Rhodey actually laughed, because he was the worst. Tony shook his head. “Fine. You win, kid. Give ‘em to me, Helen.”

“It’s actually a shot,” she said, readying the syringe. “One now, one in a week. And I want to x-ray your chest again tomorrow and Sunday.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever you want. Since everyone is ganging up on me,” Tony grumbled.

“Hey, for once I didn’t have to do anything,” Rhodey said. “Put it here, Peter.” He leaned over and offered Peter his hand for a high-five, and Peter––the little shit––gave him one.

“I hate both of you,” Tony muttered as Helen gave him the shot in the meaty part of his arm. He could only be glad for whatever shreds remained of his dignity that it wasn’t in his ass.

“No, you don’t, Tones,” Rhodey said with a grin. “Not even a little bit.”

He was right, and it was annoying. “Can we go?” Tony asked Helen.

She didn’t do a great job of hiding her smile. “Yes. But I mean it when I say you need to rest. If you start to feel worse or you develop new symptoms, I want you to tell me immediately.”

“Will do,” Tony said. “Thanks for coming down. You, too, I guess,” he added to Rhodey.

Rhodey rolled his eyes. “I hope you’re a better patient than Tony is,” he said to Peter, as he and Helen helped them disconnect from the oxygen tanks.

“I’m starting to think that might be a low bar,” Peter replied. “But I think I’m okay. My aunt’s a nurse, so I’m pretty well-trained.”

“Really? Do you think she’d be willing to come hang out at the tower this weekend?”

“Oh,” Peter said. “I hadn’t thought about it, but I bet she’d really like that, since I can’t leave. Would that be okay with you, Mr. Stark?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Tony slid off the bed. “As long as she doesn’t––whoa.” His head swam and his knees buckled. Everyone else in the room yelped and dove to catch him at the same time. Rhodey got there first and lifted him back onto the bed.

“Back on oxygen,” Helen declared. “No walking for you just yet. Jim, I think there’s a wheelchair in one of those closets. Could you locate it, please?”

“Are you kidding me?” Tony groaned. “I changed my mind, kid. I don’t want your aunt to see me like this.” He didn’t even really want Peter to see him like this, but he supposed it was too late.

“May’s a nurse, Mr. Stark. She won’t bat an eye, I promise.”

Tony was too busy sucking on oxygen to reply. Peter just patted him on the arm. He didn’t appear to have gotten so much as a headrush when he’d stood up. His healing factor meant that he wasn’t at risk for much of anything as a result of their little adventure, though Helen had insisted on the chest x-ray out of an abundance of caution.

Rhodey took charge of the wheelchair. This time, they successfully left the medbay and took the elevator up to the penthouse. Peter went off to put on proper pajamas and call May, and Tony let Rhodey take him to his room.

“Well, this was a clusterfuck,” Tony sighed as Rhodey was helping him change.

“Little bit,” Rhodey agreed. “Could’ve been a lot worse, though.”

“I hope Peter’s aunt doesn’t decide I’m a terrible influence.”

Rhodey frowned at him. “Why would she? This was an accident, Tones. I’m sure she’ll understand that.”

“Yeah,” Tony sighed. “Maybe.”

“Although...” Rhodey paused. “You could take your own safety a little more seriously. If for no other reason than I think it’d really upset Peter if something happened to you.”

Tony didn’t answer right away. He let Rhodey help him out of the chair so he could step into pajama pants, and then they briefly took out the nasal cannula so he could pull a shirt over his head. It was enough to leave him slightly breathless. Maybe Helen wasn’t wrong about the antibiotics. “Yeah,” he finally said, when he was settled in the chair again. “He does seem pretty... attached.”

“That’s one word for it,” Rhodey said dryly. Tony very carefully did not ask him what word he would’ve used.

Peter wasn’t in the living room yet, which was probably for the best. It meant that Tony didn’t have to protest when Rhodey fussed over him, helping him settle in the corner of the sofa with the chaise, under a blanket, with an extra pillow, and the portable oxygen tank tucked discreetly away behind the sofa. He really didn’t feel well, and Rhodey had always made him feel better. If he couldn’t have Pepper, he was very glad to have Rhodey.

Shit, Pepper. He definitely needed to tell her about this before she somehow heard about it. He glanced at the time. Hong Kong was twelve hours ahead of New York, which meant that it was just after six in the morning there. She probably wasn’t up yet, but she would be shortly. He’d send her a text asking her to call him when she had a chance.

“I’m going to make tea,” Rhodey finally declared, when Tony was nested to his satisfaction. “That’ll help your throat. Any preferences?”

“Something with caffeine,” Tony said. “I haven’t had coffee in hours, and all I need is to add caffeine deprivation to my list of ills. Also... when you get the chance, could you go down to the lab and check on the bots? FRIDAY said she’s vented all the fumes, so it should be safe. DUM-E could probably use a familiar face and some reassurance. Right, FRI?”

“I agree that that would be beneficial, boss,” FRIDAY said. “Though I have conveyed to DUM-E that you and Peter are safe, and that helped assuage his distress over having caused the accident.”

Rhodey squeezed his shoulder. “You got it.”

Tony texted Pepper, who did not respond immediately. He’d tried to word his request for a phone call as casually as possible, but one of her many super powers was telling faux-casual from real-casual. Somehow, she always knew when something was wrong and he was trying to downplay it. He was sure this time would be no exception.

Peter wandered out a few minutes later, wearing pajamas and dragging the comforter off his bed. “Tea, Peter?” Rhodey asked from the kitchen.

“Yes, please.” Peter flopped onto the sofa next to Tony and dragged his comforter over himself. “May says she hopes you’re feeling better. She’ll come over after her shift and bring stuff for both her and me for the weekend.”

“Good,” Tony said. He hesitated. “How mad was she?”

“She wasn’t,” Peter said, looking up at him. “She said it sounded really scary, and she was glad that you knew exactly what to do. I never thought she’d be mad, I just didn’t want to stress her out. Why’d you think she’d be mad?”

“You got hurt on my watch, kid,” Tony said. “I know it was your web fluid, but it was my workshop, and you’re her kid.”

Peter sat up and looked at him earnestly. “It wasn’t your fault, Mr. Stark. May knows that.” He looked down and picked at a loose thread in her comforter. “I know she was kind of––she didn’t start out liking you that much. Because of the Spiderman thing, and the Germany thing, and also... well, she didn’t like you much before she knew you. But things are different now.” He looked up. “I think she’s figured out that I tell her more stuff now, because you always tell me to tell her. She likes that.”

Tony swallowed. “Okay. Point taken.”

“Good.” Peter lay back down, with his head almost but not quite in Tony’s lap. There was a cushion in the way. It wasn’t as close as they’d been earlier, huddled together on the bed in the medbay, but it wasn’t far off. Tony rested his hand on the crown of Peter’s head, and Peter made a noise of contentment. Tony stroked his hand lightly through Peter’s hair.

Peter sighed. “What should we watch?” he asked sleepily.

“I don’t care,” Tony said, yawning. “I might take a nap.”

“Me too. Today was exhausting.” Peter flipped idly through the offerings until he landed, predictably, on Brooklyn Nine-Nine. “Episode preference?”

“One of the Halloween ones,” Tony said, even though he didn’t think he was going to last more than three or four minutes. Jesus, six months ago he didn’t even know the show existed and now he had episode preferences. That was definitely Peter’s fault.

Peter, of course, didn’t think it was strange at all. He just hummed in agreement and found an episode to put on.

Tony slumped further into the sofa. He closed his eyes and let the weight of Peter against his side and the familiar theme music lull him to sleep.

***

Tony woke to quiet voices in the kitchen; Rhodey and May, his brain catalogued. Peter was still at his side, breathing easily and steadily in his sleep. Someone had turned the TV off. The sun had been going down when they’d come upstairs; it was now fully dark, aside from the ambient glow that New York City always gave off.

He fumbled for his phone. It was a little after nine. He’d been asleep nearly three hours. He had two missed calls from Pepper, and a text. The text said, Rhodey called and told me what happened. He said you were resting. Let me know when you’re awake and I will call. I love you. P.S. Do what Helen tells you!

Tony was in the middle of typing out a response when May stepped into view. She had her hands wrapped around a mug and had clearly come over to check on Peter, but she smiled when she saw him.

“Hi Tony,” she said quietly. “It’s good to see you awake.”

“Hey,” he rasped. He cleared his throat, wincing, and she frowned.

“Here, take this,” she said, giving him her mug of tea. “It’s fresh, I haven’t drunk out of it yet. Rhodey said you didn’t have anything before you fell asleep. You shouldn’t let yourself get dried out, that will only make the irritation worse.”

Tony wanted to protest, but his throat was too sore. He took a sip; it was chamomile with honey, and it was immediately soothing on his poor abused throat. “Thanks,” he murmured.

“Of course.” She tugged an ottoman over and sat down. “How are you otherwise?”

“All right. I think I can probably take this out.” He tugged lightly at the oxygen cannula.

“Don’t push yourself. It’s not doing any harm where it is. Any shortness of breath or tightness in your chest?”

“No more than usual,” Tony said, hoping she’d leave it be.

May frowned. “Yeah, about that... I saw your x-rays. I had no idea, Tony. You must have been in a lot of pain for a long time.”

Tony blinked, bemused. Most people who found out––and there weren’t that many of them––focused on the scarring, or asked him how he could be Iron Man when he couldn’t even take a full breath. He didn’t think he’d ever had anyone ask about his pain levels before. It was weirdly thoughtful. “I was,” he admitted. “I’m not anymore. Stupid lab accidents aside.”

She nodded. She was quiet for a moment, watching Peter sleeping at Tony’s side. Tony sipped his tea. “Colonel Rhodes said you thought I’d be angry at you over the accident,” May finally said.

Tony shot a glare toward the kitchen. Rhodey had his back turned, doing something at the stove, and didn’t appear to notice Tony glaring at him. When Tony looked back at May, she was smiling almost... fondly. “Um,” Tony said. “Yes? It was my workshop after all. I should have been more careful.”

She shrugged. “I worked in a lab in college, I know that accidents sometimes happen. And when it did, you knew exactly what to do, and you took great care of my kid. That’s what matters. You have a plan for making sure it doesn’t happen again?”

Tony had already thought about this. “No more mixing the web fluid in the workshop. We’ll use Bruce Banner’s old lab. It has decon showers and no robots.”

She nodded. “Good enough for me.” She fell silent again, watching Peter, a soft smile on her face. Then she looked at Tony. “I wasn’t sure about you at first. I was never your biggest fan, and I couldn’t tell how invested you actually were. I knew it would be worse for Peter to get attached, only for you to get bored and decide you didn’t actually have time for him. That would have devastated him.”

“I won’t,” Tony said, horrified by the idea. “I would never, May.”

“I know that now.” She leaned forward. “You can stop worrying that I’m going to take him from you, Tony. I don’t think I could at this point, even if I wanted to, and I don’t want to. You’re good for him.”

She got up and left, heading back to the kitchen. Tony let his head fall back against the sofa.

Peter stirred against his side. Tony looked down and watched the kid roll over onto his back. He looked up at Tony, blinking sleepily.

“How much of that did you hear?” Tony asked him.

“Enough,” Peter replied. His own voice was a little hoarse, but not as bad as Tony’s. “You’re really going to let me use Dr. Banner’s old lab to make the web fluid?”

“Yep,” Tony said, relieved that the kid had decided to zero in on that instead of any of the sticky emotional stuff.

“That is pretty cool.” Peter grinned, seemingly more to himself than at Tony. Then he looked up. “Does that mean we have to follow Dr. Banner’s rules?”

“Dr. Banner isn’t here,” Tony pointed out.

“Still, it’s his lab,” Peter said reasonably. “So I think we should follow his rules. About things like lab safety. You know he’d want us to.”

Tony groaned, tilting his head back. It was hard to argue with the kid’s logic after the day they’d just had, even though the truth was that basic safety gear wouldn’t have saved them from inhaling the fumes. “Jesus, kid. Fine, you win. When we’re in Bruce’s lab, I will wear a lab coat, and goggles, and gloves. I draw the line at the booties, though,” he added, lifting his head to frown at Peter. “I’m not wearing the booties.”

Peter smiled back at him, looking far too pleased with himself. “It’s a deal, Mr. Stark.”

Tony supposed it was a deal, and not one where he’d exactly come out on top. And yet, as he watched Peter hunt around for the remote and turn the TV back on, as he listened to Rhodey and May in the kitchen discussing dinner, as he texted Pepper to let her know that he was awake and she could call when she had a break between meetings... he couldn’t help feeling as though he had come out on top, somehow. Against all odds.

He supposed that was worth the price of some safety gear.

Fin.

Chapter Text

Tunnels were not really Spiderman’s thing. They were, in fact, the opposite of his thing. Spiderman was made for the air, for swinging between skyscrapers, up where the air was reasonably clean, and you couldn’t smell the garbage.

The subway tunnels were basically the exact opposite of that. Hot, dark, wet, poorly ventilated, smelly, full of rats. Full of things that were worse than rats. And absolutely nothing to swing on. Peter had to climb the walls of the tunnels and scuttle. It wasn’t especially dignified. Or sanitary.

Peter loved and hated the subway just as much as any other New Yorker. It was the arterial system of NYC. Without it, the city couldn’t live. But that didn’t change that the tunnels themselves were just flat-out gross.

“Why did I agree to this again?” he whined. He’d only been hanging out mostly upside down at the intersection of two tracks for thirty minutes and it was already terrible. “This sucks. This is not what I want to write about for my essay on what I did for my summer vacation.”

“Did you call me just to complain?” Tony asked.

“Um... yeah? This is really boring. Like, so boring.”

“I hear that most of detective work is just waiting around for someone to screw up.”

Peter sighed. “Yeah. I guess so.”

“And you do want to catch this guy.”

Peter sighed again, heavily. “And I do want to catch this guy,” he agreed, because seriously, some asshole was going around and pulling the emergency brakes on random subway trains, messing things up for everyone, and that wasn’t gonna fly in Peter’s city.

Also, NYPD had asked for him specifically, and that was the first time that had ever happened. Now he was starting to wonder if it might not have been a joke.

“What’d you guys do today?” Peter asked after a few seconds.

“Took Morgan swimming in the lake. Baked cookies. Read The Pigeon Needs a Bath. She actually fell asleep. Then I was afraid to move, so I ended up just sitting in the rocking chair until she woke up again.”

“I hate you,” Peter muttered. “That sounds like the best day ever.”

“It kind of was. Retirement is amazing.”

“How’s the arm?”

“Better than it was, but I’m still getting used to it,” Tony admitted. “Barnes said it took him three or four months, though. There’s just a little lag time between when I think something and when the arm does it.”

There was a distant rattle of a train. “Hang on, Tony,” Peter said, and muted his mic. He flattened himself against the ceiling of the tunnel, wincing at the noise. He had just enough clearance for it to not be dangerous, but not enough clearance for it to be comfortable. And he had to wait for the entire train to go by to see if his guy was onboard, riding on the outside of the last car, waiting to pull the brake and ruin the commutes of several thousand people.

Not this train. Peter watched it rattle off down the track and relaxed. He unmuted himself. “This is stupid.”

“How long do you have to hang out?”

“Probably till 6:30 or so? He always strikes during the evening commute.”

“Wow, what an asshole.”

“Seriously! Like, who spit in your Cheerios, dude? People are just trying to get home!”

“Well, if you catch the guy by this weekend, you want to come up to the house?”

“Yes,” Peter said, without even thinking about it. “Yes, I want that.”

“It’s a plan, then. Bring your suit, we’ll disinfect it.”

“Ugh. I wish I could say that wasn’t necessary.”

“I’ve been in those tunnels. I know how necessary it is.”

“Yeah.” Peter grimaced. Another train rattled down the track toward him. “Gotta go, Tony.”

“Stay safe, Pete.”

They disconnected. Peter flattened himself against the ceiling as the train passed below him. No subway bandit.

Peter let out a length of web and hung upside down, staring down the length of track into the inky blackness. Maybe he should change location. NYPD thought the pattern of disruptions meant the culprit was climbing in and out of the tunnels in the general vicinity, but that was just their best guess.

Peter climbed down until he was oriented sideways on the wall of the tunnel and started crawling down the tunnel, looking for entrances and exits. The police didn’t think the person was enhanced, so he had to be getting in and out the normal way.

Two more trains had rattled by with no sign of the culprit when he reached an intersection. He paused, concentrating; Bucky was always trying to get him to hone his senses, rather than just shut them down. Down one tunnel he heard the distant rattle of a train, and down the other, he could make out the sound of turnstiles––there was a station not that far away––and voices.

Peter frowned. Something was off about the voices.

It took him a few more seconds to realize that there were two sets of voices––the murmurs he could hear from the platform, indistinct, and others that were much closer and more discernible. Which was weird. His contact at NYPD, Captain Jones, had told him that MTA was canceling all track work in this area until they caught the culprit. There shouldn’t have been anyone out here.

Peter crawled back up to the ceiling and crept along, straining to filter out the general noise so he could eavesdrop on the conversation happening up ahead.

“Are you sure about this, Carl?”

“Am I sure about it? Damn right I’m sure about it. I’m sure about half a million dollars. But it sounds like you aren’t so sure about it.”

“It’s just––did it have to be rush hour?”

“That’s what he said. Dude wants a body count.”

Body count. Peter went very still, then crept closer. Somehow, he didn’t think this was his subway bandit.

“Hey, Karen?” he whispered. “Can you send my position to Captain Jones and tell him I need backup?”

“Yes, Peter,” she replied.

“And, um... are you getting any readings from up ahead? Like, how many people?”

“Two people, Peter. Both likely to be male, judging by height and build. I’m also detecting an explosive device.”

Peter had more or less known there was a bomb, but having it confirmed was worse than he’d thought it would be. In the tunnels under Midtown, a bomb could do a lot of damage––not just underground but depending on its force, possibly structural damage to buildings in the area. Peter didn’t want to think about it.

He didn’t have time to wait for backup, he decided. He crept along the ceiling until he was almost directly over the would-be terrorists. They were both wearing ski-masks, black jeans, t-shirts, and gloves. It’d be hard to pick them out of a line-up later if he had to. Better if it never got to that point.

The bomb was on the ground. It was small and almost innocent-looking. No convenient timer to tell Peter how long he had before it blew, because this wasn’t a movie.

Peter took a deep breath and dropped down. “Hey guys. Are you looking for the subway bandit, too?”

“Shit,” one of them said, freezing.

His accomplice swung something at Peter’s head––a wrench. Peter stopped it with one hand and yanked it out of his grip. “So, uh, about this bomb that you two planted,” he said. “Any chance I can talk you out of it?”

“Too late, it’s armed. Besides.” Peter was pretty sure the guy––Carl––smirked, but it was hard to tell with the ski mask. “I think our boss is going to be especially pleased when it takes you out.”

Peter blinked. “What’s he got against me?”

“Nothing. He doesn’t care about you. Tony Stark on the other hand... well, I’m guessing he’ll be real upset when he hears about this.” He nodded sharply. “Vinnie.”

Peter was prepared for Vinnie to punch him. He moved almost before Vinnie did, ducking and blocking. What he wasn’t prepared for was the super strength behind the punch. It snapped Peter’s head back and sent him sliding down the tunnel.

“OW,” he said, sitting up. “That was rude, Vinnie.”

“Punch him again, Vin. Then we gotta get the fuck outta here.”

“Do I really need to––”

“YES. Punch him again, Vinnie!”

“Okay, no,” Peter said, climbing to his feet. “Don’t punch me again.”

Vinnie sighed audibly. “Sorry, kid,” he said to Peter.

Peter blocked the first punch, which Vinnie totally telegraphed. But he was distracted enough––by, you know, the bomb––that he missed the second one, right in his ribs, and the third one, a jab to the kidney. Both were vicious. Then Carl grabbed Vinnie by the arm and together they bolted down the tunnel, leaving Peter curled on the ground, eyes watering, staring at the bomb.

Peter sat up, grimacing. “Karen, can you tell Captain Jones what’s going on? They should start evacuating people ASAP.” He climbed to his feet, holding onto the wall. Vinnie had packed a serious punch––at least as much of one as Bucky with the arm. He was going to be feeling this for a day or two, provided he didn’t die. “Also, can you let Sam know that we’ve got a new enhanced individual in town? Super strong, name of Vinnie?”

“Yes, Peter. Should I also mention your current situation?”

“Yeah,” Peter breathed, looking at the bomb itself. “That might be a good idea.”

They weren’t going to be fast enough. Vinnie and Carl would’ve wanted to give themselves a few minutes to get away, but that was probably all the time he had. Peter crouched down, getting his first good look at the thing. He touched it; it was warm. Was it supposed to be warm? Did that mean something?

Shit, this was not something he’d covered with either Tony or Sam and Bucky. This was definitely a “call for back-up and get the fuck out of there” situation, except it was rush hour, in Midtown, and there was no time for any of that.

Peter picked the bomb up gingerly and turned it over, looking for a way in. He froze. Suddenly Carl’s gloating made sense.

Stark Industries was emblazoned across the back of the bomb.

“Oh shit,” Peter said aloud. “Karen, call Tony.”

“Calling Mr. Stark.”

“Hey, kid, you get bored again already?” Tony asked.

“Uh,” Peter said. “So. Hypothetical situation.”

“Oh boy. I can already tell I’m gonna love this.”

“If I was hypothetically holding an armed Stark Industries bomb, what would you suggest I do?”

Tony was silent for a moment. “Um. What?” he finally said.

“Yeah, so, I didn’t find the subway bandit, but I did find these two guys, Vinnie and Carl, who were planting a bomb, I guess because someone paid them, and Vinnie has powers, like, he’s super strong and he punched me, actually kind of hurt, and then they ran off and now I’m standing here with the bomb, and I gotta say, I kinda––I don’t know what to do, Tony.” Peter tried to take a deep breath but his chest wouldn’t expand all the way. “There are people in these tunnels, like a lot of them, and I don’t know how long we have or what’s going to set it off––”

“Okay, it’s okay, kiddo. We’re going to solve this together.”

Tony sounded so calm. Peter knew that Tony couldn’t be feeling as calm as he sounded, but Peter was freaking out, which meant Tony couldn’t. “Promise?” Peter said.

“I promise. Now, under the SI logo, there should be a five digit code. What is it?”

“Um... SN-896.”

“Okay. I’m pulling up the specs on it. SI weapons all had a hidden kill-switch or fail-safe. I’m looking for that now.”

“Either of those would be good,” Peter agreed fervently.

“It would be. Also, Karen says you’re right below Greeley Square Park. Get the police to evacuate it along with the subway.”

“Right,” Peter said, feeling himself start to calm down a little. “You catch that, Karen? Tell the police that in addition to evacuating everyone out of the Herald Square station, they need to clear Greeley Square Park and get a bomb squad down here.”

“Notifying them now, Peter.”

“Any luck with that kill-switch, Tony?”

“Yep. Good news, there should be a kill-switch inside. Be careful getting it open.”

Peter snorted. “You don’t have to tell me that, believe me.” He very carefully pried open the panel and revealed the wiring underneath. “What am I looking for?”

“On the right hand side, there should be a small black button. You might have to feel for it.”

“I have to put my hand inside the bomb and feel for it,” Peter repeated.

“I know, I know, kid. You can do this. I’m right here with you.”

There was no time to waste. Peter didn’t let himself think about what he was doing too hard. Very carefully, he reached in and felt for the button. It only took him a few seconds to realize that it wasn’t there––but there was a hole where he suspected it should be.

“Someone ripped it out.”

“What?”

“Someone ripped out the kill switch!” Peter hissed. “Jesus, who does that? What kind of psycho––oh wait, never mind, the kind of psycho who plans a bomb in a subway tunnel during rush hour. Stupid me.” He took a deep breath. He could hear shouting down on the platform, as the police started evacuating people, but he knew that station. They were going to bottleneck in the stairwells.

“Okay,” Tony said, and for the first time, Peter heard a shake in his voice. “Peter, it’s time for you to get out there.”

“What, just leave?”

“Yes. The longer you sit there, the more danger you’re in.”

“I can’t, they haven’t gotten everyone out and the bomb squad isn’t here.”

“And you standing over the damn bomb until it goes off helps how? Just GET OUT OF THERE.”

Peter opened his mouth and then paused, listening. It couldn’t be––but it was. It was so quiet that a normal human’s ears probably couldn’t have detected it, but it was also totally, horribly unmistakable. The sound of a train coming down the track.

“What the fuck,” he said aloud. “There’s a train coming.”

“What? Are you sure?”

“YES, I’M FUCKING SURE, TONY.” Peter gulped air. “Sorry. This is stressful. I have to––shit, I have to try and move the bomb topside.”

“Kid––”

“Karen, tell Captain Jones what the plan is,” Peter said, trying to keep his voice from cracking or trembling. “I’m coming up, I’m gonna set the bomb down in the middle of the park.”

Tony was quiet for a heartbeat. “That’s a good idea,” he finally said. There was no more shake in his voice. “Open air is a good idea.”

“Okay.” Peter swallowed. “I guess I gotta go, then. I have to concentrate.”

“I’m going to stay on the line with you, Pete. I won’t talk, but I’m gonna be here.”

Peter’s throat was tight. “Okay, thanks. Here I go.”

The sound of the train was getting louder. Peter tucked the bomb carefully under one arm, trying to keep it level, and scuttled up the side of the tunnel to the top and then back toward the exit he’d seen earlier, as fast as three limbs would take him. The bomb was still really warm––maybe even warmer. That couldn’t be good.

The train was really, really close now, but so was the ladder that would lead him up and out of a manhole cover in the park. Which had hopefully been cleared. The station was still being evacuated, but it was a hell of a lot easier to clear a pedestrian zone than a subway station. Peter grabbed hold of the ladder and started up.

“Come on, come on, come on,” he whispered as he climbed. True to his promise, Tony didn’t respond, but Peter felt him there, anyway. “Almost there. Oh my God, I have so earned that weekend at the lake. The whole damn week, in fact. I’m gonna read so many books with Morgan. We’re gonna eat so many juice pops and be on a terrible sugar high. I wanna go out on the boat. A whole afternoon on the boat, just us,” he said, picturing it. “And I’m gonna take a nap in the hammock. Like, at least three hours. It’s gonna be great.”

And with that, Peter shoved open the manhole and took a deep gulp of fresh air. It felt like the first breath after too long underwater. His lungs almost burned with relief.

But he wasn’t done yet. He climbed out, bomb still cradled against his side. The park was at one of the busiest intersections in the entire city: 6th Avenue and Broadway intersected to form a triangle between 34th and 32nd Streets that the city had marked off as a pedestrian zone. On a nice weekday evening in the summer, it should have been bustling with ambling tourists carrying Macy’s bags and tired commuters dodging the tourists as they tried to get home.

It was utterly deserted. NYPD had shoved everyone back to a hopefully safe perimeter. But as Peter came out, he could see that the bomb squad was waiting. They even had one of those robots he’d read about, the ones that did the dangerous work of detonating bombs so that people didn’t have to risk their lives. Bucky and Sam were there, too. But not Wanda, and that was a bummer, because out of all of them, she probably stood the best chance of containing the blast if it happened.

Peter stood up. He heard the train rush by underneath.

He walked a few feet away from the manhole and very, very gently set the bomb down on the ground.

“I did it,” he whispered to Tony. “I just set it down.”

“Good job, kid,” Tony whispered back. “Now get the fuck out of there.”

“Roger that,” Peter said with a shaky, relieved laugh, and turned to run.

He made it ten feet before the thing blew.

***

Peter was aware of his aching body before anything else. His ribs hurt. His stomach hurt. His head hurt. Muscles he hadn’t even been aware of hurt.

The next thing was a beeping. Heart monitor, he thought. And then, Tony is going to be so pissed.

Awareness came more quickly after that. Light beyond his closed eyelids. The smell of antiseptic. A hand holding his.

Peter opened his eyes. He’d expected the room to be bright, but it was fairly dim, which was good, because his head was killing him. It was one of the hospital rooms at the tower. The hand belonged to Tony. He was asleep with his head on the bed, back at an angle he was definitely going to regret, holding Peter’s hand in his flesh hand.

Peter swallowed. His mouth and throat were unpleasantly dry. He squeezed Tony’s hand.

Tony was awake almost at once. “Pete?” he asked, lifting his head. He groaned as he straightened his back.

“Hey,” Peter croaked.

“Hey there, kid,” Tony said, face clearing. He scooted up close and put his hand on the side of Peter’s face. “Good to see you awake. How you doing?”

“Thirsty.”

Tony smiled. “Let’s do something about that, then.” He reached over and pressed a button, and within about thirty seconds Dr. Banner came in, followed by a couple of nurses. Peter endured their fussing over him, and the neurological exam––apparently he’d hit his head pretty hard and been out about nine hours––and was finally declared fit for liquids and maybe, in an hour or so, a smoothie.

“What else besides the concussion?” Peter asked, once he’d sucked down most of an eight ounce glass of water.

“Cracked ribs, a dislocated shoulder, and a bruised kidney,” Dr. Banner said. “The suit saved you from some pretty unpleasant road rash. You’re going to be sore for a while, though. I’d like you to take it easy the next few days.”

“No argument here,” Peter said, smiling wanly. He felt tired in the way he often did when his body was hard at work healing him, and it hurt when he tried to take a full breath. “Was anyone else hurt?”

“Not badly,” Tony said. “A couple of people got hit with debris, and I think a few got injured in the crush to get out of the subway station. But everyone else was outside the blast radius.”

Peter swallowed. “And did––my mask––”

“It stayed on,” Tony assured him. “Bucky and Sam made sure no one even thought about removing it.”

“Oh,” Peter said. “And the––the terrorists? Carl and Vinnie?”

“There’s a BOLO out on them. Bucky and Sam––and Rhodey, he got in last night––are working with NYPD and the FBI. I gave them the footage from your suit, so they know what they’re looking for. They’re not going to get far.”

“Okay.” Peter relaxed. “That’s... that’s good.”

Dr. Banner exchanged a glance with Tony. “Do either of you need anything else?” Dr. Banner asked.

Peter shook his head. “No, we’re good, Bruce. Thank you,” Tony said.

“Yeah, thanks, Dr. Banner,” Peter echoed.

Dr. Banner smiled at both of them and left. Peter settled back against his pillows and yawned. “Where’s May?” he asked on the tail end of it.

“Asleep in the next room. Want me to get her for you?”

“No, let her sleep.” Peter looked at Tony and fiddled with a stray loose thread in the hospital blanket. “You can go sleep, too, if you want,” he offered, trying not to sound as reluctant as he felt. It was the middle of the night, and Tony had obviously rushed down from the lake house just because Peter got hurt. He was pretty clearly exhausted, and Peter was okay. He didn’t need him to stay.

Tony shook his head. “I’ll sleep when you sleep.”

“I’ve been sleeping for the last nine hours.”

Tony gave him a look. “You were unconscious, kiddo. And I did sleep for part of that.”

“Yeah, but just with your head on the bed, not like real––”

“Pete, do you really want me to leave?” Tony interrupted.

Peter went quiet. “No,” he admitted.

“Me neither. So let’s not do this.” Tony leaned back in his chair and scrubbed his hands over his face. “Sorry,” he muttered after a moment. “I didn’t mean to snap at you. It’s been a long day.”

“No kidding,” Peter sighed. “Are you okay?”

Tony stared at him. “Am I––Pete, you’re the one who had to deal with the bomb. A bomb that I made. I’m pretty sure you that’s not the question you should be asking me.”

Peter shrugged. “I’m pretty sure it is. Yeah, I had to deal with the bomb, but we both know what it’s like to watch––or listen, I guess––when someone we care about is in danger and not be able to do a damn thing about it. I’m pretty sure we’d both rather be the person dealing with the bomb. So. Are you okay?”

Tony looked away, chewing on his lower lip. “No,” he admitted. “I’m not.”

Peter nodded. He scooted over in the bed, wincing when his ribs protested. They were going to take the longest to heal, he knew from experience. He patted the bed next to him. “Come on. These hospital beds are extra wide, there’s room enough for both of us.”

Tony hesitated, probably because he didn’t think he deserved the comfort Peter was offering. Which meant that Peter had to make it about him. “Please?” Peter said, widening his eyes. “I’m injured and I want cuddles.”

Tony rolled his eyes, but he also stood up. “You’re a menace, you know that?” he grumbled as he hitched himself up onto the bed. Peter started to reach down for the spare blanket at the foot, before being brought up short by both his ribs and his shoulder. He hissed in pain, and Tony gently prodded him back against the pillows before grabbing the blanket himself. He flipped it out so that it covered both of them.

Tony put his arm around Peter’s shoulders, and Peter snuggled into his side. Then he picked up the arm that wasn’t across his shoulders––the prosthesis, gleaming in rose gold and vibranium––and moved it across his hip so that Tony was holding him with both his arms.

“Comfortable?” Tony asked him wryly.

“Very. It’s not as good as the hammock, but it’s as good as it’s gonna get for now.” Peter nuzzled into Tony’s shoulder. “So,” he mumbled. “Do we need to talk about how it’s not your fault that a bomb SI hasn’t made in at least ten years––”

“Fifteen years.”

“––fifteen years somehow ended up in the wrong person’s hands, and through a series of totally unforeseeable events ended up in the same wrong place at the same wrong time as me, because Parker luck is the worst?”

Tony sighed. He bent his head, and Peter felt his lips brush the top of his forehead. “I know all of that. I do. But I can’t help but think... if you had died, it would have been because of bad decisions I made.”

Peter kept his eye roll mental, but it was a hard one nonetheless. “Right. Because if it hadn’t been an SI bomb, it wouldn’t have been a HammerTech bomb, or a pipe bomb that someone made using instructions from the internet, because that’s definitely not a thing people do.”

Tony was silent. “I hate it when you’re mature and reasonable,” he finally said. Peter snorted a laugh and then groaned when it made his ribs ache. Tony rubbed a soothing hand up and down his back. “Sorry, no jokes, not even bad ones. Got it.” He sighed again. “I know you’re right, Pete. Doesn’t change the fact that I feel responsible for what Stark technology does in the world. Doubly so when it might hurt you.”

“I know you do, Tony,” Peter said, looking up at him. “That’s why you’ve done so much good with it in the last fifteen years. Don’t beat yourself up over this, please. Although...” he added slowly, “if you really feel like you need to make it up to me...”

“What, Pete?” Tony asked, sounding way too eager. “New car? New suit? Fancy vacation?”

“None of the above. I want that week at the lake with you and Morgan and Pepper––May and Happy, too, if they want to come.”

Tony groaned. “You’re killing me, kid. At least let me fly us to a nicer lake. Tuscany has some beautiful ones.”

“Nope. I don’t want a nicer lake. I want our lake. For a whole week.”

Tony growled a little, but he caved, as Peter had known he would. “Fine. You got it.”

“And you have to take at least two naps with me in the hammock.”

“Okay.”

“And family board game night with Settlers of Catan.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “I hate playing Settlers with you and Pepper, you gang up on me and Pepper always ends up with some sort of sheep conglomerate––yes, yes, okay, fine,” he added hastily, when Peter gave him the big eyes again. “We can play your stupid board game.”

“Thank you,” Peter said smugly.

“You sure I can’t buy you a car?”

“I’m sure. Where would I even park it?”

“They have these things called garages––”

“In New York?”

“Yes, Peter, even in New York City, they have garages.”

Peter made a face. “How about next year, if I end up choosing a college outside the city, you can buy me a Prius or something?”

“Seriously, a Prius? Killing. Me.”

“Well, I’m not going to be the kid at school with an Audi that hasn’t been released yet or some sort of tricked-out Lexus or Jag. That’s not me, Tony.”

Tony’s sigh this time was soft. “No, it’s not. Okay, fine. Mid-range hybrid it is. Next year.”

“Yeah,” Peter said, snuggling into Tony’s side. “Next year.”

The two of them went quiet. Tony’s hand was still moving up and down his back, pausing at the top to rub the short hair at the nape of Peter’s neck. Peter’s eyes drifted closed.

He was almost, almost asleep when he remembered something. “Dammit,” he said, opening his eyes.

“What?”

“I can’t go to the lake house next week, I didn’t catch the frickin’ subway bandit!” He groaned, covering his eyes with his hand in exasperation. It shouldn’t have felt like such a big deal, but he’d really been looking forward to all that nice quiet time with his favorite people.

“Um,” Tony said. “Actually, you kind of did.”

Peter uncovered his eyes and looked at him. “What?”

“I mean, not directly, but when MTA and NYPD got their heads out of their asses and finally managed to shut the subway down––after the bomb went off, which, don’t get me started––he ended up trapped in the tunnels behind a stalled train. Someone spotted him and decided, ‘Hey, see something, say something.’ They have him in custody.”

Peter blinked. “Whoa. Okay. Who was he?”

“Disgruntled former MTA employee,” Tony said with a shrug. “He’d been fired, I guess, and decided to try and make the MTA look bad. Well, worse than usual.”

Peter shook his head. “Man. Okay. What a jerk.”

“Pretty much.” Tony rubbed Peter’s shoulder. “You doing okay? Want something to eat?”

“Not yet,” Peter mumbled, re-burrowing into the covers and Tony’s side. “Think I’m gonna sleep for a bit. When I wake up, I’ll eat something. You sleep, too,” he added, opening one eye in order to fix Tony with it.

“I will,” Tony promised.

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” Peter closed his eyes. “Need to be well-rested for our week,” he murmured. “Gonna be a great week. Way better than this one.”

“It will be, Pete,” Tony murmured. He was rubbing at the spot just behind Peter’s ear that always made his scalp tingle. “It’s gonna be the best week. I promise.”

Peter smiled to himself and fell asleep.

Fin.

Chapter Text

The snow was coming down almost sideways. Peter stood close enough to the windows that his breath fogged up the glass, watching how it accumulated in neat, even piles on the railing of the deck, on the steps, and on the roof of the garage. It looked like icing on a gingerbread house.

Tony came to stand beside him. He put his arm around Peter’s shoulders, squeezing a little. “The forecasters just upped their prediction from eight inches to twelve. You wishing you’d gone back to the city with Pepper?”

Peter turned to look at Tony in surprise. “No. Why?”

Tony shrugged. “It’s really coming down out there. Not sure what the roads are going to look like by morning. You might be stuck here for a while with me and Morgan.”

“Yeah, that’s a real hardship,” Peter said with a smile. He’d known that was a possibility when he’d declined to catch a ride with Pepper when she’d gone into the city that morning for a spate of meetings. He hadn’t wanted to give up his last twenty-four hours at the lake house. Now it looked like those last twenty-four hours might last forty-eight or even seventy-two.

Truthfully, he wasn’t sure whether to feel sorry about that or not. On the one hand, he’d had plans with Ned and MJ for the last few days of their winter break. On the other, May and Happy wouldn’t be back from their New Year’s trip to the Florida Keys for a couple more days, so the apartment would be empty and boring. But mostly, Peter hadn’t felt ready to leave the lake house yet for his life in the city.

“You want some hot chocolate?” Tony asked. “I was just about to make some.”

“Sure,” Peter said, smiling at him. Tony went into the kitchen, and Peter turned away from the windows and reclaimed his seat on the floor next to the coffee table.

It was covered in bits and bobs of machinery and circuitry, since all three of them were using the snow day as an excuse to tinker. Tony was designing a new set of wings for Sam, Peter was upgrading his web shooters for the thousandth time, and Morgan was toggling back and forth between watching TV and fiddling with her circuit board project. Peter was helping her with the tricky bits. He was pretty sure they’d have something that would turn a lightbulb on by the end of the blizzard.

“Pepper texted,” Tony announced, as he returned to the living room with three mugs of hot chocolate. “She said she’s going to stay overnight in the city instead of trying to come back.”

“Mommy’s not coming home?” Morgan asked, looking up.

“Not tonight, sweet pea,” Tony said, reaching over to push her hair out of her face. “But we can video call her at bedtime, how about that?”

Morgan didn’t look much happier, but she nodded. She was used to Pepper not being home at least a couple nights a week.

“What’re you working on, Pete?” Tony asked, sipping at his hot chocolate.

“The taser webs have been kind of glitching,” Peter said, frowning at his web shooters. “They’re just kind of inconsistent. I think the pH of the new web formula is affecting the conductivity. I like the new formula because it dissolves faster, but this is annoying.” He glanced up at Tony. “Maybe you could take a look later?” He didn’t say after Morgan goes to bed, because she never reacted well to being reminded that people did anything even the slightest bit interesting after she went to sleep. The sense of FOMO was strong with that one.

“Sure.” Tony glanced outside and then at his watch. “It’s later than I realized. I guess we should think about dinner. What do you want, Morguna?”

Morgan had been looking pretty glum ever since she’d found out Pepper wasn’t coming home, but at the prospect of food she brightened. “Can we have pizza? And juice pops?”

“Juice pops are for dessert,” Tony said. “But yeah, we can have pizza for dinner. You want to help me make the dough?”

“Yeah!” Morgan yelled, jumping to her feet. She galloped around the sofa once and then ran into the kitchen.

“We’re making the dough?” Peter asked Tony, not bothering to keep the skepticism out of his voice.

“When are you going to learn that I’m a good cook now?” Tony replied, shoving himself to his feet with his vibranium arm. “Pizza dough is easy.”

Peter shook his head and followed Tony into the kitchen. He knew Tony was a good cook now, and he was especially good at anything Italian. But the Tony Peter had known before the blip couldn’t boil water without courting disaster, and he hadn’t been around for Tony’s transformation into someone who made pizza dough from scratch without even consulting a recipe. Peter suspected it was never going to not be a little bit weird.

Pizza dough was pretty easy, though, even with Morgan “helping.” She was better at kneading than Peter thought she’d be, and she had better instincts than Peter did for how much water to add.

While the dough was rising, they picked out toppings from the fridge and pantry. Morgan was going through a picky phase and didn’t want anything but cheese, so Tony decided they’d make personal pizzas. That way, they could each have anything they wanted. Peter immediately went digging and found ham in the fridge and canned pineapple in the pantry. Tony wrinkled his nose, but since it wasn’t his pizza, Peter didn’t let him shame him out of his preferred toppings.

Tony himself went for Italian sausage and mushrooms. Which Peter supposed was fine, if you liked that kind of thing.

Morgan was less helpful in rolling the dough out than she had been in making it. Peter distracted her by getting her to help him grate cheese, so that Tony could actually get the dough divided and rolled out for the three separate pizzas. But somehow, at the end of it, they had three pizzas that actually looked like pizzas, ready to go into the oven on their pizza stones. The kitchen was a mess and they were all covered in four and sauce, but Peter was pretty sure dinner would be delicious.

Peter took Morgan upstairs to get changed and cleaned up while Tony wrangled the kitchen. Flour and water had made a paste in her hair, so he washed it in the sink and combed it out.

“Hey, I’ve got an idea,” he said as he towel dried her hair. “Let’s have a pajama party.”

“Yeah!” Morgan agreed. “You put yours on, too!”

“That’s the idea.” Peter got her changed into her kitty pajamas with the footies that looked like paws and sent her back downstairs to Tony while he put his own pajamas on.

The pizzas were just coming out of the oven when Peter came back downstairs. Tony––who had been informed of the pajama party plan by Morgan––went up to change, while Peter sliced the pizzas and got Morgan settled on the sofa with a plate of pizza and her spill-proof cup of milk.

Morgan stared outside, her eyes wide. “That’s so much snow,” she whispered.

It was a lot of snow. And unlike in the city, where it got slushy and gray and gross within an hour or two, here it was pretty much pristine. Just a field of white snow as far as the eye could see, almost glowing.

“It’s supposed to keep going for most of the night, and we might get a few more inches tomorrow,” Tony said, sitting down next to Morgan with his own plate of pizza. “Good thing we’re all stocked up here, because I don’t think we;re going anywhere.”

“Can we play in it tomorrow?” Morgan asked.

“Sure, if it breaks up a little.”

“How are we going to shovel all of this?” Peter asked Tony, a little warily.

“I have a plow, kid, at least for the driveway,” Tony said, sounding amused. “Though I might ask you to do the front walk so that those of us who have heart conditions don’t have to.”

“Fair enough,” Peter said, relieved. It wasn’t like shoveling snow was hard for him, but trying to do the long driveway by hand would’ve taken all day, even for Spiderman.

They’d had a fire going in the fireplace all afternoon, but Tony added another log after dinner, right before they put on Frozen 2. Peter didn’t even argue with the choice of movie. It seemed pretty on-theme for their evening. They piled all the throw blankets in the entire house onto the sofa, and Morgan snuggled in between Peter and Tony, for once not demanding that they let her down so she could sing all the songs. She only lasted about a third of the movie before falling asleep against Peter.

Peter looked up and caught That Look on Tony’s face––the one he got whenever he saw Peter and Morgan being especially sweet together. Not quite crying but definitely choked up. Peter could practically hear the mushy Dad-thoughts Tony was having. But it was hard to blame him. When Morgan was snuggly like this, Peter caught himself having some pretty mushy thoughts himself.

Like right then, he was thinking that he had zero regrets about not going back to the city. Even if he got stuck here through the weekend, this was totally worth it.

***

Peter and Tony stayed up way too late that night, tinkering with the solution for Peter’s taser webs until Peter was satisfied with the results. He might have to fine-tune it on his own, but it would do for now.

It was after one o’clock by the time they finally crashed. But Morgan was up at seven and made sure everyone else was up with her. Peter let her drag him out to the kitchen, where Tony put a giant cup of coffee in his hand. Peter drank it while blinking tiredly out the windows at the slate gray sky and the enormous expanse of snow on the ground, stretching from the house all the way down to the lake. Fourteen inches, with even more predicted that afternoon.

Peter felt more human after consuming the enormous breakfast Tony made, with pancakes and eggs and bacon and even more coffee. Then the three of them video chatted with Pepper––the city hadn’t gotten more than six or seven inches, most of which had already melted––before going to get changed for their snow day.

Peter had always disliked the cold, and he hated it even more since the bite threw of his ability to thermoregulate like a baseline human, but the Spiderman suit was all-weather. It would keep him warm and dry no matter what. He put it on, without the web shooters, and tossed boots, pants, and a coat over it, in case one of Tony’s neighbors came by. It wasn’t likely, since their closest neighbor lived three miles away, but it’d happened before.

In the end, getting the snow cleared away wasn’t as bad as Peter had feared. Tony used the plow to clear the long driveway and the parking area. Morgan rode on his lap, giggling the entire time. Meanwhile, Peter and his super strength made quick work of the front walk and the stairs. They were expecting more snow in the late afternoon, so it didn’t seem worth doing a perfect job, just enough that no one would slip and fall.

He was clearing the last of the snow from the bottom step when he heard the sound of the plow cut out. Morgan ran up the the freshly shoveled walkway toward him. “Peeeeeeeterrrrrr,” she said, grinning at him.

Peter leaned on his shovel. “Morrrrrrrgaaaaaaan,” he replied.

Her grin widened. “Do you wanna build a snowman?” she warbled at him, totally off-key.

Peter laughed. “Sure, kiddo. Let’s do it.”

It was good snow for a snowman––wet enough to pack together without being slushy. Morgan wanted to make a whole family of snowpeople, so they got to work rolling the big balls of snow for the bodies. Peter was put in charge of stacking them, while Morgan hunted down exactly the right sticks to use for arms and legs.

Peter was rolling the bottom portion of the Morgan-sized snowman when a giant wet ball of snow landed right between his shoulder blades. He whipped around just in time to see Tony lift his hands in feigned innocence.

“Wasn’t me, kid,” Tony said.

“Oh, really? Who was it, then? Morgan?” Peter smirked at her.

She grinned. “Nooo...”

Peter bent down and grabbed a handful of snow. He shaped the snowball carefully, eyeing Tony, who looked like he was starting to regret his life choices.

“Just remember, I’m an old man, kid,” Tony said, starting to back up.

“Now you’re an old man?” Peter replied. Tony turned on his heel and started running. Peter caught up with him in just a few steps. He shoved his snowball right down the back of Tony’s jacket. Tony yelped in outrage, and Peter booked it out of there.

He scaled the side of the cabin, all the way up to the relatively flat roof over the deck, where the snow was still pristine and untouched. He cleared some of it off and sat down, legs hanging down, and started making snowballs.

“If you fall off of there, May is going to kill me,” Tony said.

“I’m not going to fall,” Peter replied, genuinely offended. He lobbed a snowball at Tony. It hit him square in the chest. “Guess no one’s going inside the house now.”

“Except through the back door,” Tony replied dryly. He bent down to make another snowball. Peter pitched another one his way and it hit his back. Tony straightened up and retaliated, but Peter smacked it out of the sky and got showered with loose snow.

“Show off,” Tony said. He threw another one at Peter, and Peter batted it out of the air.

The next time he threw one, Peter had his own snowball ready; he threw it at Tony’s, and the two snowballs exploded in mid-air. They both whooped, and Peter grinned so hard he thought his mostly-frozen face was going to crack.

Later, he’d realize that was when they lost track of Morgan. One minute she was there, watching them throw snowballs at each other and giggling at Peter on the roof, and the next––

She was standing on the deck with Peter’s web shooters, still giggling as she pointed them at Tony, who was holding a giant snowball. Peter was pretty sure she planned to web the snowball to Tony’s chest, which would’ve been funny if the web shooters hadn’t been loaded with the taser webs.

“Morgan, no!” Peter yelled, but it was too late. Her aim was impeccable; they hit Tony right where he was holding the snowball, almost square in the chest.

The taser webs weren’t strong enough to kill someone, but they were meant to be a serious distraction to guys much bigger than either Peter or Tony. The charge knocked Tony back on his ass in the snow.

Peter was already scrambling down the side of the house. Tony hadn’t sat up yet, and all Peter could think about was Tony’s offhand remark about his heart condition the day before––one of dozens of offhand remarks Peter had heard him make about it over the years, as though it was nothing but a minor inconvenience.

Right up until his own kid accidentally electrocuted him.

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” Tony was saying breathlessly as Peter landed on his knees beside him in the snow.

“Right, sure,” Peter said, not buying it for a second. He cleared away the webbing––inert now––and put a hand under Tony’s back to help him sit upright. Tony groaned and tried to catch his breath, pressing one hand against his chest. Peter could hear that his heart was beating way too fast and slightly off-rhythm, almost skipping a beat every few.

“Daddy?” Morgan asked tremulously from the porch.

“Dad’s okay,” Peter said, not wanting her to come down and realize just how not-okay Tony was. “Just stay up there, Morgan.”

“You gotta help me stand,” Tony said in a low voice. “Or she’s going to get scared.”

“Can you stand?” Peter replied, voice equally low.

“Watch me,” Tony said, and grabbed hold of Peter’s shoulder. “Come on, Pete,” he added, when Peter hesitated. “I can’t just lie in the snow.”

He was right about that. “Fine, but put most of your weight on me, all right?”

Worryingly, Tony did. Peter got them both to their feet safely, and Tony put his arm around Peter’s shoulders. His heart was still beating way too fast. “Tony, your heart,” Peter murmured.

“I know, believe me, I know,” Tony replied. “Just get me inside.”

Morgan was watching them with wide, dark eyes. “Daddy, I’m sorry,” she said, as they paused at the bottom of the stairs up to the deck. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. I thought it was just Peter’s webs!”

Peter decided there was no point in lying to her about it. “They were special webs, with electricity. You couldn’t have known that.”

Morgan covered her mouth with her hands. “Did I ‘letrocute you?”

“Just a little,” Tony said, managing a weak smile. “Hardly at all.”

Morgan didn’t look like she was buying it. Peter made an executive decision. “Morgan, your dad’s all wet from lying in the snow. Can you go get two towels from the downstairs bathroom and bring them to the living room?”

She nodded and ran inside the house. Peter looked at Tony. “Don’t even argue. I can hear how fast your heart is beating,” Peter said, and scooped Tony up in a bridal carry. He mounted the steps and got him inside the house as quickly as possible. He could hear Morgan in the downstairs bathroom. He lowered Tony onto the sofa just as she came out, dragging two towels from the towel rack behind her.

“Good job, kiddo,” Peter said. “Now can you do me a favor and go upstairs and get Dad’s favorite sweatshirt and his pajama pants?”

She nodded. Her eyes were wide and Peter had the feeling that tears were on the horizon the minute she wasn’t distracted, but she ran upstairs without any hesitation.

“Okay,” Peter said, crouching down at Tony’s side. “How are you?”

“It’s not that bad,” Tony said, without lifting his head from the back of the couch where it was resting.

“I can literally hear your heart beating, Tony. I know what it normally sounds like and that isn’t it.”

Peter was doing his best to keep his voice steady and calm, but he couldn’t entirely keep the edge out of it. Tony looked at him and raised a hand to cup Peter’s face. “Kid. Look at me. I’m okay. And this isn’t your fault any more than it’s Morgan’s fault.”

Peter looked away. “I shouldn’t have left the taser webs out where she could find them.”

“Well, now we know.” Tony rubbed his chest, wincing. “I’m a little tachy and arrhythmic from the shock. But it’s nothing to worry about.”

“Is that what Bruce is gonna say when I call him?”

“We don’t need to call––” Tony stopped at the look on Peter’s face. “He’s probably going to want to get me in for an EKG, especially if it doesn’t resolve itself soon. But the roads are a mess out here, so that’s going to have to wait. I think the arrhythmia is already going away.” He rubbed again at the center of his chest, as though it ached.

Before Peter could respond, Morgan thumped down the stairs with Tony’s MIT sweatshirt and pajama pants in her arms. “I got them!” she announced, stopping just short of the sofa and dropping them on the ground.

“Thanks, Morgan,” Peter said. “Good job.”

“Yes, good job, Morguna,” Tony echoed, reaching his vibranium arm out to her. Morgan took a hesitant step forward, then another, until she reached the sofa and Tony could fold her into his arm. She tucked herself under it, burying her face in his side.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“I know you didn’t, baby,” he replied, kissing her on the top of the head. “And I’m only a little bit hurt, anyway.”

Peter sat on the edge of the couch. “Morgan, can you make sure your dad doesn’t try to get up from the sofa for the next five minutes while I call Uncle Bruce?”

She nodded.

“Thank you. I’ll be right back.” Peter shot Tony a stern look and took his phone out onto the porch so he could talk to Bruce without Morgan overhearing.

The clouds had started to gather again, turning the sky an even darker shade of gray. It was definitely going to start snowing again soon. Peter really hoped Tony didn’t need a hospital. The nearest one was about twenty-five miles away.

“Hello, Peter,” Bruce greeted him. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

Peter decided to skip straight to the point. “Morgan shot Tony with my taser webs and now his heart is racing and slightly off rhythm. We’re basically snowed in, so taking him to the hospital would be...” Peter glanced at the sky and swallowed. “Difficult,” he finished. “How worried should I be?”

Bruce was silent for a beat. “Well, that’s... not what I was expecting. Hang on, let me access the data from Tony’s health tracker via FRIDAY––oh dear, I see what you mean. He’s definitely got some tachycardia, but I see improvement just in the last five minutes. Is he conscious and talking?”

“Yep. Insists he’s fine.”

“Of course he does,” Bruce said with resignation. “Well, under normal circumstances, I’d tell him to come to the compound for an EKG and observation, but if you’re snowed in, I’d say the best thing to do is stay put. Keep him hydrated and calm, and give him Gatorade if you have it to help balance his electrolytes. You can also put a cold towel on his face, sometimes that helps.”

“Okay,” Peter said, feeling a little better.

“Do you have access to his health tracker data?”

“Yeah, but also I can, uh... I can hear his heartbeat,” Peter said, a little awkwardly. “And I know what it usually sounds like.”

“Okay. So keep an eye––or an ear––on it, one way or the other. I will, too, and if anything worrying happens, I’ll call you, all right?”

“I will.” Peter hesitated. “What’s the worst case scenario, Bruce?”

“The worst case scenario is that his heart doesn’t recover its regular rhythm on its own and we have to give him a light shock to reset his rhythm.”

“Uh...”

“I know that they keep a defibrillator at the cabin, because Pepper insists on it, so if worst comes to worst, I can walk you through doing it.”

“Yeah, I really hope that isn’t necessary,” Peter said fervently. “There’s been more than enough electrocution today.”

“I don’t think it will come to that. Tony’s heart rate has already dipped from a hundred and thirty beats per minute to a hundred and fifteen. Still higher than I’d like it to be, but trending in the right direction.”

Peter took a deep breath. “Right. Okay.”

“You’ve got this, Peter. Call me if you need to.”

“I will. Thanks, Bruce.” Peter disconnected.

Inside, Tony was lying on the sofa, exactly where Peter had left him, with Morgan tucked into his arm. He was still wearing his wet clothes, and now Morgan was wet, too––not to mention the sofa.

“All right,” Peter said, trying to sound in charge and confident instead of freaked out. “Pajama party, part two. Morgan, go get your pajamas on and get some books from your room. We’re camping out here the rest of the afternoon.”

She nodded, though without the enthusiasm Peter had expected. She scampered upstairs again, and Peter turned to Tony. “Are you okay out here, or do you want to lie down in my room?” Peter’s bedroom was the only one on the ground floor, and he didn’t want to try and get Tony up the stairs just yet.

“I’m okay here.” Tony let Peter sit him up and start working his wet clothes off of him. “What’d Bruce say?”

“He said your heart rate is already slowing down, and you should have Gatorade and a wet towel on your face. And stay nice and calm.”

“I can do that,” Tony said. He pulled the sweatshirt over his head, then stood unsteadily to put the pajama pants on. Once he was lying down safely––in the recliner this time, since the sofa was damp––Peter took his wet things and left them on the floor of the laundry room to deal with later.

Morgan came back downstairs wearing clean pajamas and lugging a backpack full of books. She made a beeline for Tony, climbing up next to him. Peter used the opportunity to go change out of his suit and into clean pajamas of his own.

He glanced at his phone to check Tony’s vitals and realized there was a message from Pepper.

Bruce texted to let me know what happened. Is everything okay? Do I need to come home?

Peter looked outside. It’d started snowing again––big, wet flakes. It wasn’t supposed to snow as heavily as the night before, but he doubted all the roads had been plowed. She might be able to snag a ride in a Quinjet, but Peter knew she’d had meetings scheduled all week.

I don’t think so, he wrote back. But we’ll call you in a bit.

Okay. Take care of them for me.

Peter took a deep breath, feeling somehow buoyed by Pepper’s trust in him. I will.

***

It was easier to keep Tony in the recliner than Peter had thought it would be. He drank his Gatorade and lay with a towel over his face, while Peter built a fire and Morgan read him book after book from her collection. Once the fire was going, Peter stretched out on the floor and listened to Morgan’s voice and the beating of Tony’s heart. It was nice and even, no more missed beats. Still a little fast, but better than it had been.

Tony was clearly exhausted from the ordeal. After they’d all talked to Pepper and had lunch, he took Peter up on his earlier offer to lie down in his room. Despite Tony’s protests that he didn’t need an escort, Peter walked him down the hallway and made sure he got settled. Tony put up with Peter fussing about his Gatorade and getting him a fresh damp towel for his head, but finally he said, very quietly, “Pete. I’m okay.”

Peter let out a breath. “I know. It’s just. I heard your heart stop once before.”

He didn’t even know until he said it that it’d been in the back of his mind all morning. He didn’t think about it that often anymore, or at least he tried his best not to. But there it was.

Tony’s eyes softened. “Come here, kid,” he said, beckoning Peter down. Peter bent over, and Tony kissed him on the forehead. “I love you. Keep an eye on your sister while I take a nap.”

Peter nodded, throat too tight to speak, and straightened up. He closed the door behind him and leaned against it, rubbing a hand over his face. Then he pushed off of it and headed back toward the living room. They’d been reading a lot of books and watching a lot of movies, he thought. Maybe he and Morgan should play a game or do a puzzle or something while Tony napped.

“Hey Morgan, what do you want to––” He stopped. The living room was empty. “Morgan?”

No answer. He paused, listening. He could hear Tony in his room––heart beating steadily, breathing nice and even––and then, upstairs, Morgan’s heart beating. It was faster than Tony’s, and her breathing much less even, and then she made a noise like a sob. Shit.

Peter took the stairs two at a time. She wasn’t in her room, he realized when he reached the top of the stairs, she was in her parents’. He paused in the doorway to Tony and Pepper’s room, listening again. She was in Tony’s closet.

He crouched down beside the closet door, which was pulled mostly shut. “Morgan?” he said, hoping he hadn’t already scared her.

She sniffled but didn’t answer.

Peter sat on the floor. “You okay in there, kiddo?”

Another sniffle. Then, in a very small voice, “Y-yeah.”

“You want to come out?”

A sob. “No.”

“Not even for a juice pop?” Peter tried.

“No! I don’t deserve juice pops!” Morgan sobbed.

“Oh, kiddo,” Peter murmured, heart breaking. He’d wanted to give her the chance to come to him, but that was too much. He got to his knees and pulled the closet door open. She was crouched in the back, behind all of Tony’s suits. She had her knees pulled up to her chest, and there were tears streaming down her cheeks. Peter crawled in with her, glad for once that Tony owned a truly ridiculous number of suits and had a closet big enough to fit them all. He squeezed in next to her and pulled her mostly into his lap.

“You do deserve juice pops,” he told her, wrapping her up in his arms.

“No, I don’t,” she said, voice muffled as she pressed her face into his shirt. “I h-hurt D-daddy. I hurt him r-really b-bad.”

“No, you didn’t,” Peter said, rocking them both back and forth. “Your dad’s okay, I promise. And it wasn’t your fault, you didn’t know that the web shooters were set to taser.”

She sobbed again, her entire body going rigid with it. Peter held her tighter. He’d never seen her so upset, he thought––not when Tony was in the hospital after the battle with Thanos, not when Peter had broken his leg last spring, not even when she’d had the flu while Pepper was in Hong Kong. She cried so hard she almost gagged, and he worried she might puke on him, and then she went quiet, breathing hard, catching her breath between sobs.

And it was in that quiet that Peter understood why she was so upset.

“Seeing Dad hurt like that was scary, wasn’t it?” Peter asked her quietly––feeling slightly daring, as he always did, when he said “Dad,” rather than “your dad.” Morgan, of course, never noticed.

She sniffled. “Yeah.”

“It scared me, too. But you did a great job helping me take care of him. And he’s going to be okay, I promise you. We’re going to make sure he’s okay.”

She sniffled again––a really snotty, gross one this time. Peter tried not to think about what she was smearing all over his shirt. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.” Peter pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Have I ever steered you wrong, snuggle bug?”

Morgan shook her head.

“So can you trust me when I say that Dad’s gonna be okay?”

She nodded.

“Good.” Peter gave her a squeeze. “You ready to get out of the closet?”

She hesitated. “Can we sit in the chair?”

“Sure. Whatever you want.”

Peter crawled out of the closet. Morgan followed him out and grasped his hand firmly as they left Tony and Pepper’s room and went to her room just down the hall. The chair in question was the antique rocking chair that had been in her room her entire life, or so Peter had been told. It was the chair Pepper used to nurse her in, and the chair that Tony would rock her to sleep in.

Peter knew that Morgan had started turning her nose up at it lately, feeling like she was too much of a big girl to be rocked to sleep in the chair. But Peter sat down in it, and she didn’t hesitate before climbing up in his lap. He stretched and managed to snag a blanket off her bed. He spread it out over both of them and started rocking them gently, using his foot.

Weak winter light filtered through the window overhead. Snow was coming down again outside––not sideways like yesterday, but in big clumps. Morgan was a small, warm weight against Peter’s chest, growing heavier by the second. Peter closed his eyes.

***

When he woke, he was alone in the chair, tucked beneath the blanket. But the room was lit by a soft yellow light, and he could hear Tony quietly reading The Cat in the Hat. Morgan usually insisted on reading the book herself, since being read to was “for babies,” so the fact that she was letting Tony do it meant that she was still not feeling up to snuff.

Peter turned his head and saw the two of them curled up on Morgan’s twin bed. Tony paused to turn the page, and Peter said, “Hey.”

“Hey, Pete,” Tony said, looking up. “You have a good nap?”

“I guess so.” Peter yawned. “How long was I out?”

“A couple of hours. I came up here looking for the two of you and found you asleep in the chair. And yes, I did take pictures,” Tony added with a smile.

Peter smiled. “Thanks. How’re you feeling?”

“Much better. But I’m sure you can hear that.”

Peter listened closely to Tony’s heartbeat. It was a little fast, but otherwise it sounded normal. And Tony himself looked much better––he had good color in his face, and he’d obviously navigated the stairs just fine. “It sounds good to me. Did you talk to Bruce?”

“Texted a bit. I’ll go see him at the compound tomorrow if the roads are clear, just to be safe.”

Peter nodded, satisfied. “How about you, Morgan?” he asked. “How’re you doing?”

“Good,” she said, burrowing into her dad’s side.

“We’re feeling a little clingy,” Tony explained. “I think there might just be enough room if you want to join us.”

Peter thought about resisting, but they looked awfully cozy, and he was still kind of sleepy. Tony and Morgan moved over, and Peter stretched out on the outer edge of the bed. There was, in fact, just enough room for the three of them, with Morgan sprawled out mostly across Tony. Peter curled up around them and put his head on Tony’s shoulder.

“Comfy?” Tony asked wryly.

“Very. You’re a great pillow.”

“Happy to serve. I’ll add that to my résumé. Billionaire, retired superhero, stay-at-home dad, great pillow.”

Morgan giggled. Peter winked at her, and she smiled. “Mommy’s coming home tomorrow,” she said.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yep,” Tony said. “The snow’s already stopped, and the roads should be cleared by tomorrow. Pepper’s driver will bring her back, and he can take you back to the city. If you’re ready to go.”

“I guess I should,” Peter said, even though he wasn’t sure he wanted to. Maybe––just maybe––Morgan wasn’t the only one feeling clingy after everything. But if he left tomorrow, he’d still have a couple of days to hang out with Ned and MJ before school started again, plus squeeze in some Spiderman activities. It was just hard for him to imagine at the moment. It felt like his life in the city existed in a different world altogether than the one he was in.

“You’ll be back before you know it, Pete,” Tony said softly, as though he could read Peter’s mind. “And we still have the rest of today.”

“No snowball fights,” Peter said firmly.

Tony chuckled. “No argument here.” He curled his vibranium arm around Peter’s shoulders, pulling him closer. Peter adjusted his head so it was resting on Tony’s chest and listened to Tony’s heart beating strong and steady beneath his ear.

“Can we finish the book now?” Morgan whined. “Pleeeeeeease?”

Peter grinned. Tony laughed and dropped a kiss on her forehead. “Yes, baby. Let’s finish the book.”

Fin.

Chapter Text

Everyone agreed later: It was Rhodey’s fault. At least fifty percent.

Rhodey personally thought this was unfair. Peter’s acceptance packet to MIT was lying out on the island when Rhodey walked into the common kitchen in the Avengers’ residence at the compound. He wasn’t snooping; he didn’t open the envelope. It was literally lying on the counter, with the letter on top that opened with,

Dear Peter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted as a member of the Class of 2029 of the Massachusetts Institute of Technology.

It was, truth be told, an enormous relief. After the last three months that Peter had had––getting outed as Spiderman, having to clear his own name of a murder charge, moving out of the city and up to the compound––he deserved some good news. Plus, as a proud MIT alum himself, Rhodey knew how much this was going to mean to Tony.

In retrospect, Rhodey should’ve waited to talk to Peter. But in the moment, he was just too excited. He texted Tony immediately: Hey congrats! You must be so proud!

What? Tony replied, within a few seconds.

Oh shit. Rhodey realized then that he’d made a mistake, but he hoped there was time to correct it. Nothing. Sorry, my mistake.

You’re a terrible liar, platypus. What’s going on? Why would I be proud––wait. You’re at the compound. This must have something to do with Peter. A reason I’d be proud and you’d be excited––DID HE GET INTO MIT??????????

Rhodey cringed. Yeah, he wrote back. Just saw the packet. I thought he’d have told you already.

He did NOT tell me! Rhodey could almost hear the indignation in Tony’s voice.

Maybe wait for him to say something, Rhodey suggested. And don’t tell him I told you!

Too late, Tony replied, and Rhodey groaned, putting his head in his hands.

He decided to make himself a sandwich while he waited for the shoe to drop. Someone––almost certainly the future MIT graduate in question––had left out raspberry jam, peanut butter, and vanilla almond milk, because he was addicted to smoothies in that combination. Rhodey was just sitting down, about to bite into his sandwich, when the elevator doors opened and one pissed-off Spider-Kid stormed out.

“Did you tell Tony about MIT?” Peter demanded.

“I did, and I’m really sorry,” Rhodey said. “I know you wanted to tell him yourself, and I should’ve never assumed you’d done it already. I was just so excited when I saw the letter, and I wanted to––”

“That’s not the problem,” Peter interrupted.

Rhodey faltered in his apology. “It’s not?”

“No, the problem is that I’m not going to MIT, and I wasn’t ready to talk about it yet! Especially not with Tony!”

Rhodey didn’t know what to say. “You’re not going? But that’s all you talked about last fall.”

“Yeah, well, a lot has changed since then, hasn’t it?” Peter replied, with a hard edge to his voice––newly acquired since his identity had been revealed. “There’s no point now. But Tony, of course, doesn’t get that, and I wasn’t ready to try to talk about it, only now he knows. So, you know, thanks for that.” Peter spun on his heel and stomped off, leaving Rhodey alone with his sandwich.

“Shit,” Rhodey said aloud. A few seconds later, his phone buzzed. He glanced down and saw that Pepper had texted him.

Tony’s on his way to the compound. Expect fireworks.

***

Bruce did not like confrontation.

Before his integration, he really hadn’t liked it. Had avoided it at all costs, really. These days, it was a lot less catastrophic, but he’d never developed a taste for it. So while some of his teammates––namely Bucky and Wanda––seemed pretty fascinated by the knock-down, drag-out fight Tony and Peter were having, Bruce was less so.

He could have left, he supposed. But he’d been in the middle of cooking dinner for everyone when Tony had arrived and made a beeline for Peter’s room, where Peter had been sulking ever since Rhodey had blown his secret. (Not that it was much of a secret, considering Peter had left the acceptance letter lying out for anyone to see. Bruce himself had seen it, he’d just had the good sense not to immediately text Tony about it.) He didn’t really want to abandon the vindaloo at this point. So he was trapped in the kitchen along with all of his much nosier teammates.

“It’s my choice, Tony!”

“Three months ago, MIT was your choice!”

“Well, shit changes, doesn’t it? I’m never going to get to have that life! There’s no point wasting time and money pretending I am!”

“Having your identity out there doesn’t change––”

“YES, IT FUCKING DOES! Besides, MIT was never about me.”

“Uh oh,” Rhodey muttered.

"It was about you!” Peter continued. "You wanted me to go to MIT.”

"I want what’s best for you, and MIT is the best STEM education money can buy. So fucking sue me.”

"What does it matter whether it’s the best education? I’m never going to grad school. I’m never going to get a fucking PhD. I’m just going to be Spiderman until it fucking kills me.”

There was a collective in-drawn breath among all of the Avengers crowded into the kitchen. Bruce dropped the spoon he was holding and said, “Wanda, you’re in charge of the food. Sam? Rhodey?”

“On it,” Sam said, heading for Peter’s bedroom door, with Rhodey and Bruce right on his heels. Sam didn’t bother to knock, just opened the door and stepped right in. Peter and Tony were facing off over Peter’s bed. Both of them had their arms crossed over their chests. Peter looked mutinous but also as though he might start crying; Tony looked shocked and pale. It was clear that Peter’s last blow had landed hard––maybe even harder than Peter had intended it to.

“All right, it’s time for a time-out,” Sam said, “before someone says anything––anything else––they can’t take back.”

“I don’t need a time-out,” Peter muttered.

“Yeah, you do, Peter,” Sam said, not unkindly. “Why don’t you take a walk with Bruce? I’ll check in with you in a bit.”

“Come on, Peter,” Bruce said gently. “Get your coat. Let’s get some fresh air.”

Peter grumbled, but he came along without much more resistance. He and Bruce left the main residence building and headed down toward the dock and the lake.

Bruce thought of Nat, as he always did whenever he set foot on the dock at the compound. She might have known how to diffuse this situation, he thought. She had understood Tony better than either of them ever wanted to admit, and though she and Peter had only met briefly, Bruce thought they would have liked each other.

But Nat was gone, and the rest of them were still here. Still trying to figure things out the best they could. Bruce couldn’t do what she would have done, but he could still help.

Probably. Hopefully.

It was cold out on the dock, the wind blowing off the water the gray, white-capped water. Peter sat down on the bench. Bruce crouched down next to him, so they’d be at eye-level with each other.

Bruce thought of and discarded a number of opening gambits. Finally he ventured, “You know, I might be the world’s leading authority on the dangers of bottling up your emotions.”

Peter snorted out a laugh, as Bruce had hoped he would, but he didn’t say reply.

“You’ve been keeping a lot of stuff to yourself lately, haven’t you?” Bruce asked.

“I guess so,” Peter said, kicking his feet out.

“Why’s that?” Bruce asked. “You know that your aunt and Tony love you. You know that the rest of us consider ourselves your team.”

“I know,” Peter said. “But it’s just...” He drew a shuddering breath. “Having my identity out there changed everything. I used to feel like––like maybe I could do it. I could have a normal life and be Spiderman. But now I know I can’t, so––so why even try? And I knew Tony wasn’t going to get it. He’s never had a normal life, and he never really bothered to keep Iron Man a secret at all.”

“That’s true,” Bruce said. “Have you considered that ‘normal’ might be overrated?”

Peter shrugged, looking down. “Normal seems pretty great right now, I gotta say.”

Bruce sighed. “Well, I won’t push you towards MIT if that’s not what you want. I’m a Harvard man, myself, you know. But there is a point to getting an education. You’re so smart, Peter. You’re also brave and kind. Don’t you want to see what you could do with all of that? Because I do. I really want to see what you’re capable of, with time and resources and training.”

Peter looked at him, eyes wide. Bruce thought he’d succeeded in surprising him. “Really?”

“Really,” Bruce confirmed. “Just something to think about.”

“Yeah,” Peter said. He bit his lip. “I guess.”

Bruce decided that was enough for now. He’d leave the really hard stuff to Sam, who was actually trained for this. “Hey. Want to see who can throw the farthest?” he asked.

Peter smiled, albeit weakly. “You’re on.”

***

“I can’t believe––how could he––he is so stubborn! Why would he work so hard to just––to just throw everything away?” Tony turned on his heel to face Sam and Rhodey. Sam had shepherded him out of Peter’s room and into Tony’s mostly unused suite on the same floor, which had the added advantage of being further away from the kitchen and its resident eavesdroppers.

“I don’t know, Tones,” Rhodey replied. “Maybe you should ask him.”

“I did ask him! He said it didn’t matter whether he got an education or not. Didn’t matter, Rhodey! That isn’t––that doesn’t even sound like him!”

Sam glanced at Rhodey, who gave him an open-palm gesture. Passing the metaphorical ball. Sam cleared his throat. “Actually, it does sound like him. Peter’s been struggling the last few months.”

Tony stopped and stared at him. “Struggling? What does that mean?”

“He took the identity reveal hard, Tony,” Rhodey said.

“Yeah, I know, I was there. But we got that sorted out,” Tony said. “Cleared of all charges. I even sued that dishrag of a newspaper for libel.”

“Yeah, but... his identity is still out there now,” Sam said. “He had to leave his school, move out of May’s apartment––plus she and Happy got married. It was a lot of change, all at once.”

“Okay, fine,” Tony conceded. “That still doesn’t help me understand why he suddenly doesn’t want to go away to school. It’s not like Boston is even that far. It’s not much further from our house than New York.”

Rhodey shrugged. “I don’t know, but I don’t think you’re going to get anywhere with him by yelling about it.”

“Yeah.” Tony rubbed his face with his hands. “Yeah, I know. Shit. That was not my finest parenting moment.”

“It wasn’t,” Sam had to agree. “But on the other hand, you might’ve gotten some good information from it. I think a few things slipped past his brain-to-mouth filter.”

Tony was silent. “Do you think he meant what he said?” he finally asked. “About how he’s going to be Spiderman until it kills him?”

Sam glanced at Rhodey again. “I don’t know,” Rhodey said. “But I think he used to be able to imagine something else for himself, and now he can’t.”

Tony rubbed a hand over his face. “Okay. Okay. I think––I need to talk to May. Sam––”

“I’ll talk to Peter,” Sam agreed. He hesitated, not wanting to overstep, but finally decided to take the plunge. “And when you talk to him again, try not to get so visibly worked up. You feed off of each other, you know? You’re worked up, so he gets worked up, so you get worked up, and then––BOOM.”

Tony nodded. “Yeah. Okay. I just––I can’t stand to watch him throw away everything he wanted.”

“None of us want that,” Sam said. “And maybe this is just temporary. But also, sometimes what we want changes. Sometimes our priorities are different than they were. And that’s okay, too.”

Tony sighed. “Yeah.”

“We’re all looking out for him, Tones,” Rhodey added, reaching out to rest a hand on Tony’s shoulder. “Trust me. Call May, all right? Sam’ll talk to Peter. It’s gonna be okay.”

Tony sighed heavily, looking despondent. “I just want him to be happy and to have a good life. Is that so much to ask?”

“It’s not,” Sam said. “I think that’s all any parent really wants for their kids. But we all know what it’s like when the superhero gig gets in the way of that. We’ve just gotta help Peter figure this out. Even if he makes choices that are different from the ones we would make.”

Tony nodded, even if he didn’t look any happier. Sam decided it was best to leave him to Rhodey and went back out to the common area.

The others had, apparently, eaten and run. The only two people left were Peter and Bruce, in the kitchen. Bruce was dishing up vindaloo for both of them. At the sight of Sam coming out of Tony’s room, Peter’s shoulders immediately hunched up around his ears.

“Hey, Peter,” Sam said, sliding onto one of the stools at the kitchen island.

“Vindaloo, Sam?” Bruce asked.

“Yes, please,” Sam said.

Bruce made up plates for both of them and slid them across the kitchen island toward them. He took his own enormous bowl––it was a mixing bowl, but Bruce had long ago co-opted it for his Hulk-sized portions––and paused, looking at Peter. “I was going to spend some time in the lab this evening,” he told Peter. “Why don’t you come join me? I’ve got some projects I could use a hand with.”

Peter nodded, poking listlessly at his vindaloo. Bruce squeezed his shoulder gently and left.

Sam let Peter get some of his food down, though he noticed that he wasn’t eating with much enthusiasm. He kept glancing at the door to Tony’s suite, as though Tony was going to come out and start yelling at him again at any moment.

“He’s not mad, you know,” Sam finally said. “He’s just concerned.”

Peter snorted. “His concern was really loud, then.”

“You were pretty loud, too.”

“Only after he was.” Peter hunched again. “He thinks he knows what I want, but he doesn’t.”

“Have you told him?”

“I tried,” Peter replied, frustrating oozing out of every word. “He wouldn’t listen.”

Sam sighed. “Yeah. That’s probably true. But I think he might be ready to listen soon, if you’re ready to talk. He was going to give your aunt a call.”

“Oh great, so they can gang up on me.”

“No,” Sam said firmly, “because they both care about you. But I don’t think you’ve given either of them all the relevant information.”

Peter stabbed a piece of chicken with his fork. “Bruce said the same thing. I feel like you’re both talking around the thing you actually want to say.”

“Maybe because we’re not sure you’re ready to hear it yet,” Sam replied quietly. “Are you?”

Peter shrugged. “I don’t know. But I’d rather you just said it.”

Sam supposed that was fair. “I think you’ve been very unhappy the last three months,” he said carefully. “I think you’ve spent a lot of time and energy shielding others from seeing your unhappiness, maybe even from letting yourself see it. Am I right?”

“Maybe,” Peter whispered. He hunched again, but this time he seemed to curl in on himself. Sam lay a hand on his back, between his shoulder blades. “I thought I was doing okay. Until I got the letter. And then I realized that I’d been lying to myself all this time, thinking that someday I could get back to normal. But I won’t. I never will.”

Sam sighed. “I’m not sure that’s true, Peter. But I know it feels that way right now.”

Peter bit his lip. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Me neither,” Sam told him. “I don’t have a magic wand that I just wave and make this better. But for right now––let’s finish our food, and then we can go down to the gym, maybe run the obstacle course a few times. See if Bucky and Wanda want to join us. Sound like a plan?”

Peter nodded. “Yeah, sounds like a plan.”

***

Pepper was curled up in her favorite chair with a glass of wine, watching the pilot of Downton Abbey for about the fortieth time, when Tony called. She paused the show and answered. “So, did you take my advice?” she asked.

He let out a long breath. “Not exactly.”

She had told him exactly one thing when he’d left for the compound, more pissed than she’d seen him in a long time: Don’t yell. “And how did that go?”

“Not great. But Sam and Rhodey and Bruce intervened before either of us could say anything truly unforgivable. I fucked up, Pep. But he just––he kept saying he didn’t want to go. That he’d never wanted to go, that it had just been me that wanted him to. And I know that wasn’t true,” Tony added, sounding a little desperate. “Was it?”

“It’s impossible to say for sure,” she said gently. “You know how much Peter wants to make you proud. But if I had to hazard a guess, then I’d say that no, that isn’t true.”

“Okay. Good.” Tony paused. Pepper imagined him in their suite at the compound. It was much smaller than the old one, since they hardly ever used it anymore. But there was a little sitting area with a sofa, and she thought he might be stretched out there, rather than in the bedroom. “I talked to May.”

“What’d she say?”

“She was... surprised. Not as upset as I was, but definitely surprised. Made me feel better that I wasn’t the only one caught off-guard. But I guess...”

“What?” Pepper asked.

“I thought he’d been going down to the city on weekends,” Tony said. “He’s hardly been up to the house at all, so I thought he must be going to New York to see May and swing around the old neighborhood. But he’s not. May hasn’t seen him in weeks.”

Pepper raised her eyebrows. “Really? Did he tell you he was going to the city?”

“He must have, at some point, but he was always vague about it. And I guess he was doing the same thing to May.”

“What about MJ?” Pepper asked.

“I don’t know,” Tony said. “I haven’t reached out to her or Ned. It didn’t feel right. But I think he’s been fooling us all. What I can’t figure out is why. He’s never been a secretive kid––well, other than the secret identity, but even that didn’t come naturally to him, he was terrible at it. And now it’s out there. So why would he start lying to us all of the sudden?”

Pepper balanced her wine glass between her fingertips and chose her words carefully. “Do you want my opinion or are you thinking out loud?”

“I want your opinion. I’m stumped on this one.”

Pepper sighed. “I don’t know for sure. You and May know Peter better than I do. But I don’t believe for one second that it’s because he doesn’t trust you or May, so please, please, try not to get defensive and upset when you talk to him.”

“But then why would he lie to us at all? And not just lie to us, but avoid us both for weeks? Weeks, Pepper!”

“Why have you lied to me, Tony? I’m really asking,” Pepper added, before Tony could respond. “Think about the times you’ve lied to me. Why did you do it?”

Tony was silent for a long stretch. Pepper sipped her wine and waited him out.

“I was scared,” he finally said. “I was freaked out about something, and I was scared, and I––shit. I was trying to protect you from it. Oh, kid. Peter.”

Tony sounded heartbroken. Pepper wished she were there to hug him. “Exactly,” she said softly. “And I think this is one of those ways in which the two of you are very much alike.”

“Yeah,” Tony said sadly.

“You’re such a good dad, Tony,” Pepper said, because she knew he needed to hear it sometimes, even after all these years. “You might’ve made a mistake, but that doesn’t make you less of a good dad. Peter adores you. The two of you will get there. And when you do, bring him up here for a few days. Morgan misses him something awful, and now that she knows you got to see him, she’s started whining about it.”

Tony gave a weak laugh. “I will. Even if I have to physically stuff him in the car. I have a vibranium arm now, I could totally do it.”

“Of course you could,” Pepper said placatingly. “I believe in you.”

Tony was silent for almost a minute after that. Pepper waited on the line, letting him think. Finally he said, “Okay.”

“Okay. I love you.”

“Love you, too, Pep.”

They disconnected. Pepper took another sip of wine and opened her chat thread with Peter on her phone.

It had been a long time since she’d heard from him, she realized. Her last conversation with him was from two weeks after his identity had been revealed. Pepper, Tony, and Morgan had driven down to the compound to help Peter move in, and that night she had texted him to let him know they’d gotten home safely.

He usually texted her a couple times a week––a cat GIF or a meme or asking for a new picture of Morgan. But since then––nothing.

She sighed, thumbs hovering over the keyboard of her phone. Hi Peter, she finally started. I hear it’s been rough lately. I’m sorry that I haven’t been in touch. But I wanted to say that I’m here, and that I truly, 100% do not care where you go to college (though I also truly, 100% believe that you should).

She sent it, then went back through her photos until she found a particularly cute picture of Morgan from the previous week. She’d found a unicorn hood in a box of dress-up clothes at her dance studio and was posing in front of a mirror. Also, your little sister misses you and hopes you’ll come visit soon. She sent the photo, put her phone aside, and turned the episode back on.

Two or three minutes went by before it buzzed. She picked it up, expecting to see some sort of effusive commentary on how adorable Morgan was, or maybe a rant about how unreasonable Tony was being. But instead Peter had written, with uncharacteristic brevity, Thanks, Pepper.

Pepper sighed. She sent him three purple heart emojis and spent a moment feeling grateful that Morgan was still young enough that most of her problems could still be solved with a hug and a kiss from one of her parents.

Tony had his work cut out for him.

***

May had only been to the re-built Avengers compound a handful of times. Her most recent visit had been when they’d moved Peter in, not long after his identity was revealed. That day was a blur in her mind, so she needed Tony’s AI to guide her toward the living quarters.

It was spacious and modern and a little cold. She remembered thinking that it didn’t look much like Peter. She’d driven to the nearest town with a Target and bought a bunch of blankets to try and make at least his room feel cozy. She’d known that under the circumstances, he wasn’t going to feel at home for a while, but Peter was resilient and adaptable. She’d thought he’d adjust.

In the months since, she’d thought he was adjusting. He was always full of stories about training with this Avenger or that Avenger. He was too busy to come down to the city, but he’d talked about Tony and Morgan enough that May had assumed he was getting up to the lake house regularly. She’d been a little bitter about it, if she was honest, but she knew he was assimilating all the recent changes in his life––not just being out as a superhero or living at the compound, but to her being married to Happy. For her, it had been eight years since Ben had died; for Peter, only three. Those five years were a huge gap.

She wasn’t sure what she’d find when the elevator opened. Maybe an entire platoon of Avengers, gaping at their little family drama. Tony had made it sound as though everyone was very invested. But when the doors opened, the common area was empty aside from Peter, sitting at the kitchen island with a mug of something in his hands.

He looked up and his eyes widened. “May?”

“Hi, honey.” She crossed to him, holding her arms out, and wrapped him up tight. “I’ve missed you so much,” she said into his hair. “And I am so proud of you.”

His arms came up, belatedly, to hold her back. “I missed you, too. I’m sorry, I—“

“Don’t apologize,” she said, squeezing him tighter for a few seconds. “You haven’t done anything wrong.”

He sagged, dropping his head to rest on her shoulder. “I lied to you.”

“I know. It’s okay. I mean, it’s not,” she pulled back to look at him and smoothed his hair back, “but it will be.”

He nodded wordlessly and dove in for another hug. She held him, cupping the back of his neck with her hand. Her baby, who was taller now than she was and a full-fledged Avenger. She’d been feeling a bit superfluous, she realized. Shunted aside. But she wasn’t––far from it.

After a minute, maybe two, someone cleared their throat. May felt Peter go tense in her arms.

“So, this is what I should have done,” Tony remarked, sounding wry and self-deprecating, “instead of coming in guns blazing and raring for an argument.”

Peter ducked his head. “Maybe,” he said into May’s shoulder.

May pulled away so he couldn’t use her to hide, but she kept her arm around his waist. “It’s not too late, you know,” she told Tony.

Tony looked at Peter. “I’m sorry, Pete. I really am. I’m so proud of you for getting into MIT, but this isn’t about me, it’s about you. I’m sorry for yelling, and I’m really, really sorry that I dropped the ball the last few months and didn’t realize how hard it’s been for you.”

“Me too,” May said.

Peter looked from one to the other. “Whoa, what? I thought––I fucked up here.”

“No, you really didn’t,” Tony said, before May could. “And I am so sorry, kid.”

“Oh,” Peter said in a small voice. He swallowed. “That’s... that’s okay. It wasn’t your fault for not noticing.”

“Yes, it was,” May said.

“What May said,” Tony added. His metal arm twitched, then subsided. He looked at Peter, uncharacteristically hesitant. As though he wasn’t sure he’d be welcome if he tried to hug him.

Their fight must have really been a doozy, May thought. Peter loved getting hugs from Tony.

May nudged Peter, then inclined her head toward Tony. “Come on, kiddo. Hug it out.”

Tony shook his head, holding his hands up. “You don’t have to. I get it if you’re still mad.”

“I was never really that mad.” Peter let go of May and stepped toward Tony, arms held loose and open at his sides.

Tony moved to hug Peter like he thought Peter might change his mind if he gave him too much time to think about it. Peter hid his face in Tony’s shoulder, and Tony turned to give him a kiss on the cheek. “Love you, Pete,” Tony said roughly.

“I love you, too,” Peter said, in a raw voice. “And I know you said I didn’t fuck up, but I’m still sorry I lied to you. I don’t even know why I did.”

“Because you were hurting and afraid and you wanted to keep us from seeing it,” Tony said, without letting go of Peter. “I get it. I’ve done it more times than I can count. As Pepper reminded me last night.”

“Oh.” Peter pulled back, sniffling. May dug a packet of Kleenex out of her pocket and handed to him. He blew his nose. “Did it ever work?”

“Well, she dumped me once or twice,” Tony said wryly. “I had to stop before she’d marry me. So... no.”

Peter gave a watery laugh. Tony slung his arm around Peter’s shoulders. “What do you say the three of us get out of here? Drive down to that diner we used to stop at on our way up from the city?”

“That’s at least an hour away,” Peter protested half-heartedly.

“So? You got somewhere to be?” Tony asked.

“Not really,” Peter admitted. “Just training and homework. But don’t you have to get back to Pepper and Morgan?”

“Nope. And when I do, I’m under strict orders to bring you with me, unless you go back to the city with May.”

That was apparently all the convincing Peter needed. He nodded, wordlessly, and went to put his shoes on.

Tony looked at May. “Thank you for coming.”

“Of course.” She leaned against the island. “We got a plan here?”

“The vaguest outlines of one.”

“Good enough, I guess.”

“You guys know I can hear you, right?” Peter called from his room. May grinned. Tony covered his face with his hand.

The diner was closer to an hour and a half away. It was just off Main Street in an historic but slightly shabby upstate town. They parked down a side street and walked up. May hung back and let Tony and Peter walk ahead. Tony put his arm around Peter’s shoulders, and Peter leaned into his side.

Her phone buzzed with a text from Happy. How’s it going? he’d written.

Not bad, she wrote back. No shouting.

She got three thumbs up emojis back in a row.

Peter and Tony had stopped here enough times that they knew one of the servers who was working. She seated them in a back corner booth, away from the windows but with a clear line of sight towards the door. Tony and Peter slid in across from each other, and May slid in after Peter.

The server brought them waters and took their drink orders—coffee for May, because it’d been very early when she’d left the city, iced tea for Tony, and a soda for Peter—and then left them alone with their menus.

“What do you think, breakfast or lunch?” May asked, flipping through it. It was 11:30. She could’ve gone either way.

“Breakfast,” the two of them said together, without hesitation.

May laughed. “Okay, then.”

She waited until they’d ordered and their drinks had come, so they wouldn’t be interrupted again right away. Then she glanced at Tony and raised her eyebrows: You go first.

Tony raised an eyebrow right back. No, you.

“Okay, one of you say something,” Peter said in exasperation.

May held her hands up in surrender. “Okay, let’s start with the obvious question. Do you really not want to go to MIT, Peter?”

He heaved a sigh. “I... don’t know. I did,” he glanced at Tony, “before. But now... I can’t wrap my head around being away at school with everyone knowing who I am. I couldn’t even stay at Midtown after it happened. Wouldn’t I just be putting everyone around me in danger?”

“We’d have to think about security,” Tony said. “You might not be able to live on campus. But we’d work it out.”

May set her coffee down. “I actually wonder if we made a mistake by taking you out of Midtown.”

Peter frowned. “There wasn’t any choice. Was there?”

“Not in the immediate aftermath,” Tony said slowly. “But once the dust settled, maybe. It’s not too late. There’s still four months left in the school year, and you’ve kept up with your work. You could go back.”

Peter was silent for a few seconds, playing with his straw wrapper. “Maybe. I want to think about it. I don’t hate living at the compound. Everyone’s been really nice. But... I don’t know. It feels like knowing me is... radioactive, I guess.” His mouth twisted wryly. “Like it's too dangerous for me to really keep in touch with my old life.”

“Is that why you’ve barely spoken to Ned since you moved?” May asked.

Peter’s head came up. “How did you––” His eyes narrowed. “You talked to him.”

“I texted him last night after I talked to Tony. He said he’s spoken to you maybe twice since you moved, and any time he brought up coming up to see you, or you coming down to visit, you deflected.”

Peter shrugged. “I didn’t want to put a bullseye on his back. Or on... on MJ’s.”

May blew out a breath. “Peter, tell me you didn’t ghost her.”

“Of course not!” he said, sounding genuinely offended. “I broke up with her.”

“Phone or text?”

“Phone! I’m not a jerk, May. And I still––I still like her. But it’s too dangerous for us to be together now.”

“What did she think about this?” Tony asked.

“She wasn’t thrilled,” Peter admitted. “She said I was making her decisions for her, and it was sexist and stupid, and perfect safety isn’t possible because the world is dangerous, and some things are worth the risk, and if I get to go out and risk my neck, what right do I have to tell her she can’t do the same?”

“A cogent argument,” Tony said.

“All of MJ’s arguments are cogent,” Peter sighed. “But I was so overwhelmed. It felt easier to just... break things off. And now it’s too late. She won’t respond to my texts.”

May glanced at Tony, silently putting the proverbial ball in his court. He had way more experience with this sort of thing than she did.

“So let me get this straight,” Tony said slowly. “Your life had imploded. You were lying to me and May, letting us both think you were spending time with the other one when you weren’t. You were barely speaking to Ned, and you’d broken up with MJ, so basically you cut ties with every person who could have supported you, right when you needed them most, because you didn’t want to put them at risk or let them see how miserable you were.”

Peter’s shoulders hunched up around his ears. “I know it doesn’t make sense.”

“Oh kid, you have no idea how much sense it makes to me.” Tony covered his face with his hands, then took them down and looked Peter right in the eye. “I was dying of palladium poisoning from the arc reactor, and I told no one. Not Rhodey, not Pepper, not Happy. No one. I told myself it was because I didn’t want to upset them, but really it was because I couldn’t deal with their concern on top of everything else. And if I died––well, I knew they’d be upset, but at least I wouldn’t be there to see it.”

“Oh,” Peter said in a small voice.

“The thing is,” Tony said, and then stopped, because the server had brought their food. He waited while she distributed everything and topped off May’s coffee, and then left. “The thing is,” Tony repeated, catching and holding Peter’s eyes again, “if I had died, not having told them wouldn’t have spared them anything. And I took away their opportunity to be there for me when I really needed them.”

“So it was selfish?” Peter asked, poking at his breakfast potatoes with his fork.

“It was. But I was scared and in pain, and I was really just trying to get through it, so it was also forgivable. At least, all my nearest and dearest forgave me, thank God.”

“Hmm.” Peter cut into his omelette and took his first bite. May leaned over and kissed him on the side of his head and moved a piece of her french toast onto a plate for him before she drenched the rest in maple syrup.

For a few minutes, they all concentrated on eating. May could tell that Peter was mulling things over, and Tony had gotten better over the years at letting him, instead of rambling to fill the silence. When Peter had eaten most of his food and started picking at Tony’s potatoes, May cleared her throat. “Where else did you get in?”

“Oh,” Peter said, sounding as though he’d almost forgotten what the catalyst for all of this had been. “Um. NYU, Columbia, and Cornell.”

“Wow, Peter. That’s amazing,” May said, giving him a sideways squeeze. “Congratulations.”

“Congrats, kid,” Tony said, grinning at him. “You know I’m biased, but any of those would be great.”

“Thanks,” Peter said, looking a little pink. “I don’t know what I’m going to do––I always assumed it’d be MIT, but if not, I guess one of the New York schools makes sense.”

Tony looked thoughtful. “Cornell is actually an interesting idea. It’s only an hour from the lake house. You even could live with us if you wanted to––not that you have to,” he added hastily. “But it’s an option.”

Peter’s eyes widened. “Really?”

“Sure. Morgan would be thrilled.”

“And you wouldn’t... you wouldn’t be angry that it wasn’t MIT?”

Tony sighed. “No, Peter. I don’t––okay, I can’t bring myself to say I don’t care at all, but I don’t care that much about where you go to school. And I care a lot that you go somewhere, because you are too fucking smart not to.”

“Dr. Banner kind of said the same thing.” Peter made patterns in the ketchup on his plate using the tines of his fork. “You don’t think... it just seems like kind of a waste. If I’m going to be an Avenger.”

Tony put his fork down. “Okay, no. First of all, as a founding member of the Avengers’ Brain Trust, I’d like to argue that being smart and scientifically savvy and well-trained is at least as valuable an asset as super strength or super speed or a hammer that focuses lightning. Would you agree?”

Peter nodded, looking down.

“Secondly... kid, if you don’t want to be an Avenger, you don’t have to be.”

Peter looked up at that. “But I do. I’ve always wanted to be an Avenger. Just... someday. Not yet. I thought... I thought I’d get to do other things first.”

He looked unaccountably sad. May glanced at Tony, who frowned. “Pete, did you mean what you said to me during our fight? The last thing you said to me?”

Peter didn’t answer. May looked from Peter to Tony and back again, and finally asked, “Sweetie, what did you say?”

Peter shifted uncomfortably. “I was really mad, and I was trying to make Tony listen to me. So I said... I said it didn’t matter if it was the best education, because I was just going to be Spiderman until it killed me. And it’s probably true,” Peter added, looking at Tony. “You know it is. The fact that you got out without dying is a miracle. Almost literally.”

May had gone very still. The truth was that she tried very, very hard not to think too much about the risks Peter ran as Spiderman. She knew about the injuries, and she knew how close Tony had come to dying after the battle with Thanos, but she tried not to connect either of those to the idea of Peter dying. To hear him say it so plainly made her heart miss a beat.

Tony, for his part, just sighed. “I can’t argue with that. But that makes it all the more important for you to have a life outside of Spiderman. You can go to grad school if that’s what you want. You should have relationships and friendships. You’re not taking a vow of poverty and moving into a monastery. Your life isn’t over.”

Peter looked down at his plate. May realized that he was shaking, and that was enough to make her move. She squeezed his shoulders, pulling him into her side. “It felt like it,” Peter said, voice trembling. “It felt like it was over. Like I would never get to do any of the things I’d planned. Like this was just it.”

“Oh baby,” May said. Peter curled over to lay his head on her shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”

Peter sniffled. “It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t know.”

“That doesn’t change the way you were feeling,” May replied, holding his head to her shoulder.

Peter sniffled again, burrowing in and hiding his face in her hair. “It’s been awful. I thought I had a handle on it, but I really, really didn’t. And I just... I j-just want to be a kid for a little longer. Not forever, but I w-want to finish high school at Midtown. And... and I really like the idea of going to Cornell and living at the lake house. I know it’s not––it’s not normal––”

“Hey, hey, Pete, don’t even think about that,” Tony said, waving his hands. “Plenty of kids live at home during college. And who knows, you might live with us the first year and decide you’re ready to move out. But don’t for one second worry about what’s normal. We need to do what’s right for you. Got it?”

May felt Peter nod. He sat up and used a napkin to wipe his eyes. “Thanks,” he mumbled. “I know I’ve been a pain in the ass. But I––I’m really glad you guys are here.”

May took Peter’s hand in hers. “We’re always here for you, Peter. As much as you’ll let us be.”

He nodded, wordlessly, and dropped his head to rest on her shoulder. Tony caught her eye, then signaled their server for the check.

The car was quiet on the way home. About fifteen minutes into the drive, Tony glanced into the rearview mirror and smiled. “Pete’s asleep.”

May turned around to look. Peter had twisted around and curled up with his feet on the seat and his face resting against the window. He looked much younger than seventeen with his hair flopping in his face. She turned back. “I don’t think he’s been sleeping very much.” She went quiet, watching the scenery slip by outside. “I still can’t believe neither of us caught this. He must have felt so abandoned.”

“Well, he won’t from now on,” Tony said with determination.

“No,” May agreed, and glanced at Tony with a smile. “He won’t.”

***

The door to Peter’s room was cracked open. Rhodey could hear music coming from it––something he didn’t recognize that he was probably thirty years too old for. He knocked.

“Come in!” Peter called. The music cut out.

Rhodey pushed the door open. “Hi Peter.”

“Oh hey, Rhodey,” Peter said, straightening up from the box he was packing. “What’s up?”

Rhodey leaned against the doorjamb. “I heard you were leaving us.”

“Yeah. I mean, not forever, but for a while.” Peter gestured Rhodey into his desk chair and shoved some stuff aside on the bed so he could sit. “I’m going to try going to school at Midtown again.”

“So I didn’t mess things up for you too badly, then?”

Peter shook his head, smiling. There was an easiness about him that Rhodey realized now had been missing for months. “Not at all. I’m really glad things turned out the way they did. Even with all the yelling.”

Rhodey relaxed. “Good. I’m glad.”

“But...” Peter hesitated. “I hope you won’t be too disappointed if I don’t go to MIT. It’s a great school,” he added hastily, “and, you know, six months ago, I really, really wanted to go there. But I think I need something different now.”

“Hey, kid, it’s your life,” Rhodey said, holding his hands up. “I’m proud of you for getting in, but you should do what’s right for you. So what are you thinking, then? NYU? Stick close to home, be the friendly neighborhood Spiderman for a bit longer?”

“No, I think I might give Spiderman a bit of a rest in college, actually,” Peter said. “Or maybe only pull the suit out at breaks. I’m, um. I’m thinking about Cornell. So I can live at the lake house for a year or two.”

Rhodey honestly had not seen that one coming. “Wow. Tony must be thrilled.”

Peter shrugged, glancing away. “I think it’ll be good for me to have that stability. Considering everything that’s happened the last couple of years.”

“I think that’s a good idea. I bet Sam agrees.”

Peter gave him a small smile. “He does.”

“Okay, then.” Rhodey nodded. “Just remember––MIT will always be there for grad school.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “Tony said exactly the same thing. I just want to get through my undergrad first.”

“Fair enough.” Rhodey glanced around, taking in the half-packed boxes. “You want some help?”

“Oh, you don’t have to.”

“I want to. I know things turned out okay,” Rhodey added, before Peter could protest again, “but I still feel bad that I stuck my foot in it. Let me make it up to you by helping you pack.”

“Okay,” Peter conceded. “If you really want to, my bookshelf needs to be packed.”

“I am great at packing bookshelves.” Rhodey stood in order to put one of the flattened cartons together. He taped the box together along the seams and started filling it with books from the shelves over Peter’s desk. He had a surprising number of them, considering his addiction to his StarkPad was almost as bad as Tony’s.

“Hey, kid,” Rhodey said after a moment. Peter glanced up. “Once an Avenger, always an Avenger. We’re all here for you, no matter what. We’re your team. You know that, right?”

Peter smiled at him. “I do. But it’s nice to hear it. Thanks, Rhodey.”

“Any time, Peter.”

Fin.