Chapter Text
bruce
“Is it an option anymore?” Tony shrugs. “Alright, you just...let me know.”
“Maybe this is what they mean by fate.”
“Don't know.” Bruce sniffs. “I never really thought the Hulk thing was fate. Just bad science.”
Tony looks up. “Peter says he got bit by a spider.”
“Yeah, I've thought about that a lot. Obviously the venom was some kind of vector for whatever it was that did this to him.” He pauses. “Any changes?”
“None today.”
“Right.” Bruce toys with the spine of a notebook. “Nice of you to put up his aunt and that girl.”
“So you're thinking about her.” This is obviously a subject change Tony's happy about.
Bruce shakes his head. “Don't do this.”
“Natasha is a ghost right now, Bruce. Barton can't even tell me where she is. She's incommunicado and you're--”
“That's not what this is about.”
“Then what is it?”
He sighs. “Tony, she's a grieving woman. Her nephew is in a coma. I can't just...walk up to her. Hi, would you like to get dinner? I'm also a disaster, all the time.”
“See? You have something in common.”
“It's not fair,” Bruce argues.
“What's not fair is you holding yourself back. You're not married or buried.” He ticks these reasons off as Bruce turns his back to search for his missing cup of tea. “Come on, Banner, help me out here.”
“Tony. Drop it.”
“Fine, fine.” Bruce looks over his shoulder as Tony checks his watch, making a few notes. “Thor's on the move, apparently.” He pauses. “You sure you don't wanna talk about your adventure?”
“You've got other things to worry about, Tony.”
“Right, right.” He turns and heads out, leaving Bruce alone with a long-cold cup of tea in his hands. His usual company.
Peter's room is a little less medicinal when Bruce drops by later. He expects May or Tony, or that girl he met the morning before, but – no one. The room is silent but for the distant beeping surrounding them, quietly telegraphing Peter's soft life force into the universe.
His aunt's brought a blanket and some books – old sci-fi from the looks of them, the covers worn out from years of being thumbed through over and over. Bruce lifts one, folds the cover back –
Ben – thought you could use a distraction from torts. -may
-- snaps it shut. Another.
Ben – this one's from Peter, he picked it out of the line at the grocery store all on his own. Happy Birthday. -may
Ben – two years down, one to go! Happy finals week. -may
Ben – another one bites the dust. Proud of you. -may
All of them, Ben's, until the last one –
Pete – it's not all GPA's and comp exams out there. Sometimes it's aliens, too. -ben
“Ben and Pete have a dedicated sci-fi shelf in the living room.”
Bruce shuts the little paper back and fumbles it on the bedside table, knocking most of the stack to the floor. “Shit, sorry--” He looks at her as she leans down to help. “Peter's really into this stuff, huh?”
“My husband and his brother were pretty big dorks. I think it runs in the family.” She pauses. “Well. I guess.”
“You guys took care of Peter. I don't think DNA always plays such a big part in the family thing.”
May smiles, righting the little stack and taking the rest of Bruce's hands. “Tony says when they wake him up he'll have to be here for a little while, so. I brought him some things to read. Might be a few steps ahead of myself, but.” She plants her hands on her hips, looking hard at her scuffed shoes. Bruce glances at the boy in the bed.
“I'm sure he'll appreciate your foresight when he has to listen to Tony prattle on about suit enhancement for six hours a day.”
“Is that what you two do down there?”
Bruce chuckles. “Sometimes.” Ultron leaps to mind. He pushes it aside. “Peter's really lucky to have you.”
“He's lucky to have all this. I don't know how we'd afford anything.”
“Tony would take care of it.”
“I know, but...”
“You don't like feeling beholden.” She nods. “Don't. He's reckless when it comes to certain types of cash flow. You should see my room here, it's--” He pauses. May looks up quickly, and Bruce's cheeks get home. “Or anyone's, really.”
She nods. “Spare no expense.”
“Spare no expense.” Then: “Tony isn't...harassing you about anything. Is he?”
“Just about Michelle. He thinks this was too much for her. Not sure when he became parent of the year, but...I don't think he's wrong. I should send her home.”
“I have a feeling she's going to resist. She seems the type.”
“All of Peter's friends are too smart for their own good,” she mutters, shaking her head. They stand together, watching the machine breathe for Peter. It gets awkward after a bit. Peter doesn't really belong to Bruce in any way. He doesn't know him beyond his brief visit to the compound, or beyond the new reports. And May is the woman who's raised him, and some unkempt physicist in loafers is watching her kid breathe next to her, like he belongs there.
“I need to get back to work.”
“Sure.” She turns to him and smiles. “Thank you. For coming to see him. For making this...easier.”
“Of course. This place is...better, because of Peter. I think, anyway.”
“I'm getting that impression.” She turns back to the bed and settles into the chair beside it, picking up one of the paperbacks and leafing to a dogeared page in the middle, settling in for the afternoon.
Bruce turns and leaves them there, but not before he moves to the stack and says quietly, “Can I--”
“Of course.” May reaches to the middle of the pile and pulls on out. “Ben and Pete like this one the best.”
“Thanks.”
“Any time.”
tony: how was ur bedside chat
bruce: please drop this
tony: security has you chit-chatting for fifteen minutes
tony: just letting you know
bruce: goodnight tony
sam
He feels like shit.
Everything's hurt since their rumble with those weapons dealers, and the bodyslam into concrete he got when the kid snatched him out of the way of whatever it was that nearly pulverized the Spider-Man did not help.
But it saved him, that's for damn sure.
Sam leans on the cane he's been using with his physical therapist and makes his way through the halls after his session. He's only been to see Peter once, partly because walking too far is painful, and partly because –
god, Steve would be so mad –
Shame floods every part of him, any time he thinks about the way that kid just...laid there. Didn't move. Didn't even twitch. Every time he hears Tony's voice over his earpiece yelling Peter's name.
There's a nurse there this afternoon, making sure the kid's getting liquids and nutrients and everything. He's gotten thinner, probably. Sam has. Chewing's hard.
“He okay?”
The woman looks up, gives him a smile. “He's on the mend. The doctor's talking with Ms. Parker and Mr. Stark in the next room. I think we're headed in the right direction.”
Sam nods. “That's good.”
“And how are you today, Mr. Wilson? I helped set your leg, do you remember?”
“Uh, no. I don't. Sorry,” he adds quickly.
She shakes her head. “You were in a lot of pain. Just let me know if you need something.”
“Sure.” She gives him another smile and leaves the room. Sam stands awkwardly in the middle for a few seconds before settling into the chair. Someone had mentioned that Peter could hear them, sometimes. Sam leans forward, resting his chin on his cane. “Hey, kid.”
The breathing machine sighs at him.
“Yeah, I know.” He glances at the stack of books, the old blanket on the bed. Trinkets from home, to help him or help his aunt, Sam's not sure. “You're not awake, but...I wanted to say thanks. I'll do it when you're up, too, I just. Needed to get it out there. Sorry,” he adds. “You shouldn't have had to save my ass. I mean it's embarrassing, too, you know, since you were such a little shit in Berlin, but whatever.” He shakes his head. “You're gonna give me ten kinds of hell if you can remember I said all this when you wake up.”
He leans close. “And you're gonna wake up, or I'm gonna give you hell, you understand me?” He stands. It's time to rest, PT took it out of him. “I'll be back tomorrow.” Sam eyes the stack of books. “Also I'm gonna take one of these. Can you believe this place doesn't have Netflix.”
“It does. You just don't have the password.”
Sam turns with a start, finds Tony filling the doorway. “Don't do that.”
“Team account. Ask Steve for the password.”
“Steve uses Netflix.”
“He watches that British baking show.”
Sam shakes his head. “Right. Thanks.”
“Thank you,” Tony says, and looks right at him. It's a little unnerving, but Sam'll take it over the way Tony was looking at him almost a year ago. Through the mask, determined to do what he thought was right.
Guess Sam can't blame him. Not for everything. Not forever.
(Well. He can for a few things, and he can hold onto those things for as long as he damn well pleases.
Still
Still.)
“How's PT?”
“Sucks.”
“It'll get better.” Tony claps him on the shoulder. “Enjoy the book.”
Sam thinks about bugging Steve to see if Tony was right (it wouldn't surprise him), but there's something about a book and a rainy afternoon – clouds have been rolling in all day, and now a storm is starting to tip-tap at the windows.
He cracks open the book (Ben – ten cent box at the goodwill, couldn't believe it. Camp's great, see you soon. -peter) and settles into a chair for the night.
vision
Wanda –
I hope you are well, wherever you happen to be this week. I know it can change from day to day, and I respect your desire to sojourn on your own. Still. You are missed here.
The compound is abuzz with activity. The young man Mr. Stark brought to the battle in Berlin is family of his, apparently. A son, called Peter. He was injured in a battle last week, perhaps you heard of it wherever you are. The energy here is rather devastating, come to think of it. They've put the boy in a coma, and the remaining bits of our team sit bedside, holding a constant vigil.
You would enjoy him, I think. He's young and clever, much like your brother was.
I hope that did not upset you. I know you prefer not to speak of him.
I am continuing to do so. I will change the subject.
Mr. Stark and Miss Potts are engaged. They disagree on the truth of the matter. He says they will marry in June, though she insists a wedding will not occur at all. Perhaps when you return, you can suss out the truth in all this.
The boy's staying here means an influx of outsides. His aunt, a lovely young woman who I often find crying at night in the kitchen. I apologize again, I do not think that is an appropriate story to tell in a letter to someone you care for and miss. But, again, I think your presence here would be appreciated. You have a way with empathy that I do not. I cannot understand her feelings or motivations. Obviously she is sad, and I know other facts that make her only more sad to me, and apparently to herself. I cannot decide which part of it all is worse.
There is a girl, a young one here that is a friend of Peter's. Clever, I can tell. Cautious, even more so. But the rest of her escapes me. She is there most hours of the day. I have seen the Captain carry her to bed twice over.
I've suggested you return too many times, I think. Mr. Stark says that we should not try to push too hard. That you have your reasons for leaving, and I should respect those.
It is only hard because I miss you, terribly.
My only friend, I think.
That was too much. I apologize again.
Wishing you well, wherever your days abroad shall take you.
Yours,
Vision
pepper
They can't find Tony when the doctors decide Peter is well enough to wake up.
So they call Pepper.
She has run faster in heels before, she's certain, but she barrels down the halls and toward the hospital room, trying to call Tony, trying to figure out where the hell he's gone –
He saunters in twenty minutes later, and she knows he knows, but he's trying to play it cool. She reaches for his hand.
“We're going to start weaning him off the ventilator and reducing the drugs. It's been almost a week, so this isn't going to be like flipping on a light switch.” May and Michelle are with them now, each grasping the others hand. “You'll see him go in and out a few times, but he won't be very responsive.”
“How's his head?”
The doctor gives them a smile. “Whatever that heal factor is, it's worth it. His looks really good, Tony. I promise. We're going to have to keep him under observation, and he's going to need some PT and some breathing therapy, but, honestly? It's looking really good. By tonight he should be extubated and off the drugs. We'll do another scan in the morning, but I'm not worried.” He looks at them all. “We pulled through.”
It's a process to reduce the drugs in Peter's system and wean him off the ventilator. His eyes flutter open every so often, prompting May to sit closer each time. Michelle disappears at one point, reappears with her phone pressed to her ear.
Tony paces in the hall.
“I don't like this.”
“I know.” Pepper reaches out, stills him. “But we're here, now. We've made it this far.”
“Like I really don't like this.”
She sighs, gripping his hand in hers. “But we did it.”
He nods. “Yeah. I guess we did.”
May sticks her head into the hall. “Tony?”
“Yeah?”
“They're going to take out the tube. Do you—”
He nods, going into the room after her. Pepper stays in the hall, watching through the window. There's a lot of work being done, the harsh sounds of suction coming from Peter's bed as they start removing the tube. Pepper gets a glimpse of his face – uncomfortable, tired, young –
Lucky, too.
They place an oxygen mask over his face, and he takes heavy, active breaths.
Pepper smiles.
This...isn't her family. Not all of it. Not yet. But she feels her heart skip at the thought of Peter being around, Peter being there, being present, being...Peter. Spider-Man. All of it. She's grateful, she's happy. She thinks that if this is what marrying Tony will be like, maybe she'll stop fighting it.
She glances at the ring on her finger.
Maybe. Once the fun of teasing him wears off. Just maybe.
A June wedding would be nice.
tony
May hugs him. Tony needs to get his head checked out, his thinks.
She hugs him, and Peter is coughing and breathing and looking around the room.
May hugs him, and Tony feels alive.
may
She wraps Tony in her arms because they did this thing together. They didn't falter.
(The slap was worth it.)
Michelle hovers at the end of the bed, and May brings her into the embrace.
In bed, Peter drifts back to sleep, breathing without the mask or the tube, and looking, finally, like her nephew.
peter
His head hurts.
Everything sort of hurts. Talking isn't really possible. The first time his voice comes out of his mouth, it doesn't even sound like him. It sounds like someone else, like someone he's never met before. He shuts up. He's got a reputation to maintain.
There's a lot going on he doesn't see. The lights are too bright, the world is too much. All his senses, everything is a lot. He drifts. He thinks he hears Michelle. He thinks he did hear her, days ago. Or hours? Or has it been weeks?
He definitely heard Sam. He's going to give him shit for that.
He heard Tony and May. Steve and Bruce.
God, he thinks he dreamed Michelle was there, but he's hoping she's not, even as he's praying she is.
(It means she's so much smarter than he's ever given her credit for – and that Ned probably caved.)
And if he's brought another person into this fold of people who know who he is, that just makes his stomach twist. He hates that he's done it to someone else, but he's too tired to blame himself and apologize.
He has a lot to apologize for.
His orange juice is thickened to help him swallow. It's...weird.
But he's starving, sucking down jell-o and jell-o-fied foods. Steve comes by to say hi, accidentally eats some broccoli goo.
“I thought it was guacamole,” he mutters, as Peter wheezes a laugh.
“Anyway, I brought some books, but I...” May frowns. “I swear I brought more than this.”
Peter glances at the stack. A memory comes to him.
Bruce asking May to borrow something.
Also I'm gonna take one of these.
“It's like one of those little libraries,” he manages.
She smiles, reaching out to stroke his forehead. “I'm sure we'll get them back.”
“Ben would appreciate it.”
May bites her lip, and she's going to cry again, Peter knows it, but he can't stop her. She's smiling, at least.
“Yeah,” she says. “He would.”
It's almost midnight when MJ winds up in his room. Peter's half awake, trying to decide whether to read or sleep. She crawls onto the end of his bed and draws her knees to her chest.
They stare at one another until she says quietly, “Three months.”
“...Huh?”
“You're going to ask how long I've known, but that'll put a strain on your voice, so I'm just telling you. I've known you were Spider-Man for three months.” She scoots closer. “I also know you have eighty-two freckles on your face.” She pauses. “I counted.”
“That's a fun fact.”
“That's what I told Ned.”
“Ned.” Peter feels awake now, starts looking for his phone, or something. “I need to call Ned.”
“I told him we'd facetime in the morning. He's been out of cell range for a couple of days, he just got back to his aunt's house a couple hours ago. He's missed you,” she adds. “He was worried.”
“Told you, didn't he?” MJ nods. “Punk.”
“He can't keep a secret. You picked the wrong dude to guard your secret identity.” Peter shrugs. “How do you feel?”
“Fine.”
“Liar.”
“Fine's easier than the truth.” She nods. Peter swallows. “I thought I was just dreaming you were here.”
“Oh?”
“Sorry. I mean I'm glad I wasn't. Not that I don't...don't enjoy dreaming about you, I just...ah, hell.” Peter falls back against the pillows. “I'm glad you're here, is what I'm trying to say.”
He closes his eyes, wants to say more, but he's dissolving into a coughing fit and MJ is getting his weird thickened water.
“This stuff is weird.”
“I don't like it.”
“Get better then,” she says. She's so close now. She's so close.
“I will.” He takes a drink. “I need some motivation, I think. Need to get out of bed.”
MJ moves suddenly to his side, stretching out and tucking herself under his arm. Peter relaxes, leans back.
“For the record, I did not pine at your bedside. I'm just...very glad to see you.”
“I know.” He looks at her, and she lifts her head to gaze at him properly. “I pined enough for both of us.”
“...For me?”
“For you. For solid food. For consciousness.”
MJ smiles. “Sap.”
“Well, one of us has to be,” he murmurs, and meets her halfway.
It was only a matter of time before the inevitable Tony one-on-one took place. Peter's pretty high off his makeout session with Michelle the night before, after which she refused to leave just on principle, but still. This is kind of a mood killer.
He doesn't want to be lectured on being careful or whatever.
He wants his girlfriend to read crappy sci-fi novels to him and he wants talk to Ned again. There had been crying. Peter misses his best friend.
But Tony's settling into the chair and talking about how long he'll need to stay at the compound before he can go home, what he can expect from PT and the breathing treatments.
Then: “I'm sorry, Peter.”
“...For what?”
“You got hurt and you got hurt because of me. I'm laying that out for you.”
“I got hurt because I got in the way. It wasn't anyone's fault.” But my own goes unspoken.
“I'm your--”
“Don't say dad.”
“I'm your mentor,” Tony says. “I gave you the suit, I gave you the directive, I...Jesus, Pete, why are you making this hard?”
“I'm not. I just don't want to hear you feel bad for yourself.”
“You know, I knew you were gonna do this. Everyone else did, too, so why wouldn't you? You gotta be, like, purposefully fucking contrary, don't you?”
“I'm just telling you the truth.”
“Let me feel like shit about this.”
Peter shrugs. “Fine. Feel like shit.”
“Good.” Tony pinches the bridge of his nose. “You scared the shit out of us, you know that?”
Peter looks at his blanket.
“Your aunt slapped me.”
“She did what?”
“She hit me,” Tony says, points to his cheek. “Right there.”
“That's...”
“It was well deserved. She's a strong woman, you know.”
Peter nods. “I do.”
Tony sighs. Stands. “Right. We'll...do this thing later, I guess. I just wanted to get it out there.”
“Okay.”
He stops,looks like he's about to say something else before he moves toward the door. “Hey. I care about you, and I'm glad you're okay.”
“Thanks.” Peter leans back. “And thanks for...taking care of me, I guess.”
Tony shrugs. “Don't worry about it. Rest up, you've got stuff to do in the morning.”
He's in the same room as Sam for PT.
“Hey, Petey. You finally showed.” Peter looks sheepish. Sam lifts his cane. “Look. We match.”
“Yeah.” Peter looks at his own. “Guess we do.”
“Sam.” His therapist tugs on his shirt. “We have to finish these sets. And you have to eat lunch today.”
“Not hungry.”
Peter shrugs. “I've got jello if you want some.”
“See?” Sam looks at his therapist. “That's the kind of generosity you expect from a man who saved your life. Free god damn jello.” He smiles at Peter. “I took one of your books by the way.”
“You and half the compound.”
“Yeah, I've seen a few lying around here and there, that's what--” Sam stands up straighter, nodding toward the door. “Cap.”
Peter turns. Steve Rogers is still just – god he's intimidating. Peter swallows thickly.
“You're up,” he says. “I heard when I got in this morning.”
“Yeah.” Peter looks down and nods. “Yeah I'm good.”
“I wanted to steal you for a bit, if that's alright.”
Peter's therapist shakes her head. “Fifteen more minutes, Captain.”
“Fair enough. I'll be in the kitchen.” He gives them a wave and Peter gets back to work. When he finds Steve a little while later, he's peeling boiled eggs, which, of all the mundane things Peter's never expected to catch Captain America doing, it's peeling eggs.
“Protein,” he explains.
“Makes sense.” Peter lowers himself into a chair. “So.”
“So.” Steve sits across from him. “You saved one of my guys. I haven't had the chance to thank you for it.”
“I was just doing my job.”
“No.” Steve shakes his head. “Your job is to go to school and finish and become a productive member of society. Whether you do that by being Spider-Man or a teacher or whatever is up to you, I don't care. But right now that isn't your job. But you did it anyway. And you didn't even have to be there.”
“Tony asked me to be.”
“But no one asked you to throw your lot in with the rest of us.”
Peter breathes. God he's...he's angry. He's so angry at being told that none of this is really his fight. Like Tony didn't offer him a new suit and a place on the team, like he doesn't have a room at the freaking Avengers compound, or access to all this amazing stuff.
Peter didn't choose the circumstances that made him this way, but he was the one who made his first suit, and he was the one who told Tony –
when you can do what I can, and the bad things happen – they happen because of you.
“Peter--”
“Stop telling me what I shouldn't have to do.” He stands, a little too quick, dizziness overtaking him. “I'm...I'm sick of it. I'm sixteen, but I'm not an infant, and I can hold my own as well as the rest of you.” He points. “I took your shield. I fought you. And your buddies. I took on the Vulture, I can do these things, and I'm not going to stop just because you're worried about feeling guilty if I eat it.”
“You got hurt--”
“So what? I'll be stronger. I'll do better. I'll work harder. But I'll do all of that because I want to.”
“Your aunt--”
“Gets it better than you do,” Peter says. “You're not my dad and neither is Tony. You aren't Ben. You've got no right to shove your...your misaligned guilt complex down my throat just because it sucks that I got these powers when I was fourteen and not forty.” Peter presses his lips into a thin line. “Fuck that.”
“Peter.”
“Thanks for the chat, Cap. Sorry I swore at you.” He tries his best to storm out of the room, but – it's hard with the cane.
“And you'll apologize to Captain Rogers. Again.”
“No.”
“Yes,” May says. “You will. Everyone is just worried, Peter. You have to understand that.”
“You know what I understand? That I got brought into this and everyone's just walking around on eggshells until I decide I can't handle it. Which isn't gonna happen.”
“You can't yell at Captain America.” MJ looks up from her nails. “It's treason.”
Peter rolls his eyes. “I can't believe you're both ganging up on me.” They fix him with twin stares. “Fine. I'll apologize. But I'm not quitting. I'm not giving up any of this. Take the suit and I'll just make myself a new one.”
“I know,” May says, not unkindly. She takes his hand. “But Tony is someone who cares about you. He's trying to do right, Peter. Everyone is.” She leans closer. “I know you're scared.”
“I'm not--”
“You are,” she says, and that unlocks it, right there.
The feeling of all the air in his body rushing out in a single stroke. The bones in his body clacking together, his brain rattlingin his skull.
Peter trembles and feels the air catch in his lungs.
“...It hurt so much,” he murmurs.
“I know.” May leans in and wraps her arms around him. He feels Michelle's hand hook around his ankle. Circle the swell of bone with her thumb. “Don't push us away because of it.”
Peter breathes. “I have to get better.”
“You will.”
“I have to be stronger.”
May pulls back. “Peter. You are the strongest person I know. A bad thing happened. It doesn't make you weak. Neither does everyone caring about you,” she adds. “Don't be combative just for the sake of it. It's alright to be afraid. And it's alright to say it out loud. That's your responsibility to yourself, Peter. You have limits. Don't break them.”
(“With great power,” Ben says, turning off the television, “comes great responsibility.”
“Cheeseball.” May kisses the top of his head.
“It's true! Peter, look at me.”
Peter is eleven, and his uncle has just won another case, gotten paid pretty much diddly for it, and they're still celebrating. He looks.
“Someday you might have the chance to make things better.”
“Like you.”
Ben shrugs. “I'm not sure if I make things better, Pete, but I go to work and I try. And if you can make them better, then that means you've got power, kiddo. And when you've got power, you've got responsibilities. That's where corruption comes from.”
“Don't talk about corruption at the dinner table.”
“Where the hell else am I supposed to talk about it?” May rolls her eyes. “Anyway. If you ever have the power to change things, you change them, Peter. For the better,” he adds. “Some people, you know, they get a little bit of power and their heads spin. Like that Stark guy.”
“Tony Stark is trying,” May says.
“He should try harder. That much money, and he's Iron Man? I expect great things from someone like that.” Ben points at Peter. “And so should you. Just because a man has a mask and some money doesn't make him great, Pete.”)
Tony's in his workshop when Peter goes looking. There's a lot of welding and banging happening, but it stops when he enters, and the smooth voice of Friday says, “Good afternoon, Mr. Parker.”
“Uh, hi.”
Tony looks up, pushing his welding mask back and fixing him with a grin. “Did you swear at Steve?”
“I apologized! Twice!”
The mask falls back down as Tony wheezes with laughter, sitting on his work bench and catching his breath. “That's priceless.”
“It was cathartic,” Peter argues.
Tony shrugs. “Whatever you need, Pete.” He takes off his gloves and mask, tossing them onto a table. “What's up?”
Peter breathes deep. “I came to say I was...sorry.”
“Sorry.”
“Yeah. For...being an little asshole, I guess. I know you're trying your best and you've really taken care of me and my family and MJ--”
“It's what you do,” Tony says.
“Right.”
“Look, I...” Tony stands pushing the hair back from his face. “I'm sorry I wasn't there, before. I'm sorry I didn't know, that we didn't have it sorted out. And I'm never going to ask you to give me more than you want to or more than you can, but...”
“I could...give a lot more than I have been.”
“Not an obligation.”
“Well.” Peter scuffs the floor. “You're...my dad, I guess.”
“Yeah. Yeah, I guess.”
“And I should want you there more. And I should want to be there more. With you, for you, whatever.” Peter looks up at him. “I can do this. Just like I can wear the suit and...and show up when I need to show up. I can show up for you, too.”
Tony smiles. “Hey, that's all anyone can do, right?”
“Right.”
“And I'll be there for you. I promise. Whenever you need me, whatever you need from me, I'll be there, I'll always--”
“Don't.” Peter sucks in a breath. “Don't say always.”
Tony's mouth works for a minute before he nods. “Makes sense.”
“Seriously. Don't promise to be there forever or whatever.”
“I'll be there as time and outside forces allow.”
Peter nods. “Better.”
They stand awkwardly in the middle of the workshop until Tony clears his throat.
“Are we huggers yet?”
“We could try,” Peter offers.
And so –
they try.
Feels good, he'll admit later, to have someone kind of just...hold on. It reminds him of May, the way she grips him extra tight in the mornings and squeezes his arms just a little too hard. Tony's got a different kind of grip, the kind that affirms, the kind of, in another time or place might seem like bullshit, but here, with Peter – it's not. A hand grips the back of his neck, and Peter breathes.
He's starting to associate this scent – burning, whiskey, grease, aftershave –
with something bigger than just...Tony Stark.
It's starting to feel like family.
some moments last forever, but some flare up with love, love, love