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Chapter Text

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2006

He got the call at a party. 

It was one of his crazy ones, the lavish ones that he threw to distract himself from his thoughts.

He almost didn't take it, but something had him stumbling out onto the balcony of his Malibu penthouse, sliding the glass door shut behind him, and drowning out the noise of the party.

"Go for Stark."

"...Is-is this Anthony Edward Stark?"

Tony scoffed at the voice. He'd heard that admiration before, could practically see the woman on the other line reading the name off of a piece of paper in astonishment.

He groaned, trying to disguise the slur of his voice.

"Who's this?"

"I'm calling from New York-Presbyterian Hospital on behalf of Mary Parker."

Tony frowned. He'd heard that name before, but he couldn't place his finger where, especially not in his inebriated state.

"I don't know who that is. How did you get this number?"

"Mary Parker was among the victims of the 707 crash in Pennsylvania. She didn't survive. She listed you as a secondary emergency contact for Peter Parker. Did you know this?"

"...I'm not following."

A shuffle on the other line. Tony swallowed a deep sense of foreboding, gripping the railing of the balcony.

"...Mister Stark, Peter Parker is your son."

...Shit.

He'd always expected to get this call someday, sometime. It didn't make the gravity of it any less real, any less heartstopping and terrifying and...

Howard. All he could think of at those words was Howard. 

"...Sir, we need you to come pick him up from New York-Presbyterian as soon as possible. Otherwise, we need the name of any other immediate family that can take him, or we have a foster family on call that would be happy to take him in."

"I..." he rubbed the bridge of his nose with his pointer finger and thumb, a shell-shocked and shaky sigh escaping him. "I...how long?"

"Sorry?"

"How long did I...I mean, I...how-how old is...?"

He didn't want a child. The very idea made him want to vomit over the balcony, made him want to drink his way into a nice eternal slumber.

And yet, his eyes were suddenly filmed over with tears, picturing a little boy with his eyes and this Mary's curls sitting alone in a hospital, raised without a father, and Tony's heart ached longingly to get to a kid he'd never met.

How long did I not know?

"...Five, sir."

Five.

Five years.

He wanted to be angry. He wanted to be furious.

But he was just heartbroken.

Howard, Howard, Howard.

He couldn't be like Howard.

"I...I'm on my way," his voice cracked. "I'm coming. Can-can you tell the kid that I'm...?"

"A nurse has been sitting with him. I'll tell him you're on your way, Mister Stark."

Tony paused, pursing his lips.

He didn't know what to say.

"...I'm sorry for your loss, sir."

He looked up at the stars, recalibrating himself.

"Me, too."

🕷⎊🕷

Rhodey rode with him the hour-long plane ride to New York.

"A kid, Tony? Are you serious?"

Rhodey towered over Tony as he sat in his plane seat, looking out the window.

"He has no one."

"Tony, I say this with love, but that might be better than you, man. It's not like you have a great example to follow."

I know, he thought, rubbing his temples with his fingers.

"Look, why don't you just let that foster family take him? The one the nurse told you about?"

"I'm not letting someone else raise my kid," Tony snapped, looking up at Rhodey with bloodshot eyes. "My kid. I'm not letting someone else raise him for another second."

"She was his mom."

"And I am his dad."

The very sentence brought another wave of nausea shooting through his head. He swallowed thickly.

"I'm his dad, and she didn't...she didn't even..."

He took a recalibrating breath, looking up at Rhodey briefly.

"I would've been part of his life. If I knew."

"Well, you didn't. And it was probably for the best that she didn't tell you, Tones. You know more than anyone that weapon developers and parenting don't mix."

"I'm not Howard."

Rhodey sighed, a scoff of disbelief escaping him.

"So, what? You gonna trade in your nuclear weapons for some baby gates and pacifiers?"

"He's five."

"Five years old is a baby, Tony. A baby that requires full-time attention that you don't have."

"That's fine."

Rhodey's mouth rested in a thin line. He collapsed next to Tony with a sigh, glancing at him for one moment before he was running a hand down his face and taking Tony's hand in his other.

"You'll need help."

Tony said nothing. He squeezed his hand.

"Yeah."

🕷⎊🕷

He placed two sweaty hands on the hospital's front desk. The woman behind it had eyes the size of dinner plates.

"I, uh...I'm here for, uh..."

My son. My son that I found out existed only two hours ago.

"Yes sir," she said, jumping to her feet. "Yes, w-we've been expecting you, sir. We spoke on the phone, I-just-just follow me this way."

He nodded numbly, making brief, reassuring eye contact with Rhodey in the waiting room.

He trekked forward and every step was heavier than the next, as if he was walking toward his impending doom. 

Five years. He had missed five years of the life of his son.

First steps. First words.

He was going to be sick.

What if the kid hated him? What if he resented him? What if he just wanted his mom and nothing to do with him?

But when he finally took his final, heaviest step through the threshold that the nurse had led him, every thought and every doubt fell silent in his head.

They'd never met, but he knew him.

Peter. 

He was sleeping in a nurse's arms on a hospital bed, his curls disheveled. There was a pair of round, coke-bottle glasses folded beside the nurse, and Tony melted at the idea of them on his kid's face. A soft snore was escaping the kid's every breath, and suddenly Tony was glued to the rainbow-tiled floor of the pediatric wing, about as unmovable as a statue.

The nurse caught his eye and wasted only a moment gasping in surprise before he was looking back and forth between Tony and Peter.

"Mister Stark, sir...It's good that you're here."

Tony said nothing, jaw clenched as he stared at his kid with glassy eyes.

His kid. His kid.

"Would you-I mean, would you like to-to hold him? He's been sleeping for about an hour, I'd say."

Finally, Tony stepped forward with a nod. With fists clenched, hair neat, and shoulders tense, he was finally standing in front of the nurse, who had now stood from his position on the bed and continued looking awkwardly from Peter to Tony.

Tony closed his glassy eyes for a brief moment.

"Is he-is he hurt?"

The nurse shook his head sadly.

"Just confused...and really, really sad."

Tony nodded, reaching a trembling hand forward and brushing his fingers through Peter's curly hair. The kid leaned into the touch in his sleep with a hum.

Tony sucked in a breath.

Finally, with a glance and a nod to the nurse, the nurse nodded back, carefully depositing Peter into Tony's arms. Tony took him in in an unfamiliar set of motions, cradling his head with a supporting hand and taking his legs with his other arm until he was holding him bridal style.

The nurse brushed his hands on his pants awkwardly before he was nodding, gesturing his head to the door.

"I'll give you two some privacy. Let me know when you're ready to head out of here. We can accommodate you with a booster seat for him if you'd like. It's been a very, very long day for him."

Tony, as usual for the past two hours, said nothing. He crossed to the bed as the nurse closed the door behind him, seating himself on the edge.

He couldn't quite catch his breath.

"Look at you," Tony whispered, so quietly that he was sure the kid inches from his face wouldn't have heard if he was awake. 

He leaned down and breathed in his curls with closed eyes.

"You're okay," he whispered softly. "You're okay."

He pressed and held a kiss on his kid's forehead.

Despite the tragedy of the evening, Tony was smiling just slightly.

🕷⎊🕷

They arrived at Tony's New York penthouse at around sunrise.

Peter had woken on the car ride home, confused and tired and desperate for his mother.

Tony carried him gently inside. Despite the kid's heartbreak, his eyes were wide behind his glasses. Tony gently set him on the ground, watching in awe as the kid looked around the living room.

"It's, uh...this is where you're gonna live, kiddo. You and I both."

"I like it," he said with his jaw dropped, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "You can see the Empire State Building!"

Tony blinked, looking out the large windows of the penthouse at the building Peter pointed at. He beamed proudly, though was quick to conceal it with a clear of his throat.

"That's right, half-pint. You know your stuff."

Peter rubbed his eyes beneath his glasses. Tony tilted his head fondly at the sight.

"Let's, uh..." Tony cleared his throat rather obnoxiously, again. "Let's get you into a bed, kid."

"But the sun's rising."

He hummed. "You had a long day yesterday."

Peter looked up sadly. "Will...will you go with me, Mis'er Stark?"

Tony sucked in a breath. 

"You...don't have to call me that, bud."

Peter frowned. "Then what do I call you, Mis'er Stark?"

Tony chewed on the inside of his cheek.

He knew what he should tell him. He knew what the kid should call him.

And yet...

"Uh...you can, uh...well, you can call me whatever you want, I suppose. Mister Stark, Tony..."

Peter tilted his head in confusion.

The word was on the tip of his tongue.

Dad. You can call me Dad.

"...Okay, Mis'er Tony."

Tony huffed out a laugh.

"That'll do for now, half-pint."

Peter snorted, reaching his hands up.

"Will you go with me, Mis'er Tony?"

Tony couldn't help the enamored smile inching its way onto his face as he reached down and scooped the kid up in his arms, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

He carried him into a guest room, turning the lights to the lowest setting before he was crossing to the bed and depositing Peter onto the white comforter.

"This, uh...this can be your room. It's a little..."

He looked around the room with a wince, eyes darting between the grey walls and lack of decorations and white comforter.

"Anyway. We can put your things in here. Spice the joint up. Maybe add some paint, color, toy bins..."

Peter was staring up at Tony, taking in every word he said like it was the most important information he'd ever heard. Tony found himself avoiding eye contact as much as he could, because when he made it, an unfamiliar warmth swelled in his chest that he couldn't handle for longer than five seconds.

"Sleep first. You're right." 

He peeled back the comforter and gestured for Peter to climb under, patting the sheets. Peter followed his instructions, looking up longingly at Tony to lay down next to him, to keep him safe.

Tony nodded, keeping his balance on the bed as he kicked his shoes off before he climbed over the edge and laid down next to the kid.

"Easy does it," he sighed, breath hitching in his throat as Peter immediately curled into his side. He blinked in surprise, slowly wrapping an arm around him.

"G'night, Mis'er Tony."

He huffed a laugh, closing his eyes and swallowing around the giant lump in his throat.

"Goodnight Peter."

A moment passed that felt like forever, Peter having already succumbed to exhaustion before Tony craned his head down and kissed Peter's head.

🕷⎊🕷

IRON MAN, 2008

Peter turned seven in three months.

All Tony could think about while he was in captivity was that Peter turned seven in three months.

He had been showing a soldier a photo of Peter when their humvee had been hit, had been so caught up in the glory of having a son that he didn't see it coming. Peter's birthday was six months away when he was in that humvee.

Now it was three.

It was all he thought about as he worked on the Jericho missile, all he thought about while Yinsen spewed unprompted wisdom about family and the importance of it.

He had left Peter in Pepper's care before he left for the business trip and all he thought about for his three months in captivity was his kid, his kid who had already lost his mother and now probably thought he lost Tony, too.

And Tony had just got into a rhythm. The two of them had just gotten acquainted with each other, had just begun to establish what they meant to each other.

Now, as Tony trekked through the never-ending desert of Afghanistan, the sun beating down on him relentlessly, he had one person, one purpose in his head.

Peter, Peter, Peter.

He had been guarded and closed off and scared to even touch his kid the past two years of them building a relationship as father and son, but Tony swore that when he was home again, he would do it all. 

He wanted to be there when Peter blew out the candles. He wanted to be there for every second of Peter's life, didn't want to miss another minute or day or five years as he had before.

And, as if the universe had heard his prayers, two helicopters flew overhead, their deafening blades like angels in his ears.

"Hey!" he cried, ripping his throat raw. "Hey!"

He couldn't help the teary laugh that escaped him as Rhodey all but threw himself out of the chopper and sprinted toward him, out of control with worry.

Despite it all, Rhodey was smiling.

"How'd you like the 'fun-vee'?"

Tony closed his eyes and let out a laugh in relief, blinking tears and blood out of his eyes.

"Is..." Tony breathed heavily, watching as understanding seeped into Rhodey's gaze. "Rhodey, is Peter-"

"He's okay," Rhodey nodded, cupping the back of Tony's neck. "He's alright, Tones. Been hanging out with Pepper and Happy for a while now. But I'm worried about you."

Tony shook his head, swallowing thickly.

"...Next time, you ride with me, yeah?"

"Only if you take me to my kid."

Rhodey laughed with a roll of his eyes, bringing Tony in for a hug.

🕷⎊🕷

When the plane finally landed, Tony was practically throwing his wheelchair behind him like it was an insult to his existence.

He waited with bated breath as the plane ramp opened excruciatingly slow, craning his head over the doors as Pepper and Happy hurried out of a car. Pepper was rushing to the backseat and opening the door, reaching her arms inside for something.

Someone.

Tony breathed out a shaky laugh, looking to Rhodey with a nod. He nodded, too, glancing down at Tony's sling in concern.

"Will it even matter if I tell you to be careful?"

Tony shook his head.

"Go, Tones. He's been waiting."

Tony nodded frantically, watching as the ramp finally lowered before he was walking as fast as he could onto the tarmac.

He froze in place as Peter finally emerged from the car in Pepper's arms. The kid saw him and Pepper was lowering him onto the ground before he could squirm away on his own.

"Peter," Tony whispered. 

"Dad!"

He sucked in a breath.

Peter had never called him that before.

He was taking heavy steps forward, his suit jacket blowing off of his shoulder. Peter was running, too, so fast that his glasses fell off of his face and cracked on the pavement. 

Tony knelt down with his good arm held out for Peter, sighing in relief once Peter was finally throwing his arms around his neck and crying into his shoulder.

"Peter," Tony breathed, clutching him as hard as he could with his arm and resisting the urge to break through his sling with the other.

"Dad," Peter sniffed, holding fistfuls of Tony's shirt. Tony buried his face into Peter's curls, taking his first full breath in three months.

"You're okay," Tony reassured. He rose to his feet with Peter wrapped around his middle, walking toward a teary-eyed Pepper. "You're okay. You're alright, kid."

Pepper tried her best to mask her sorrow and blink away her tears but to no avail. Tony approached her with glassy eyes of his own, sniffing obnoxiously to disguise the overwhelming emotion consuming him.

"Your eyes are red," he said rather loudly. "What, shed some tears for your long-lost boss?"

Pepper huffed a knowing laugh. "Tears of joy. I hate job hunting."

She looked between Tony and the kid in his arms with an enamored grin. Tony mirrored it, tilting his head fondly at her.

"Thank you," he said, pressing another kiss into Peter's mess of curls. "Thank you, Pepper."

"Thank you," she corrected, clearing her throat. "You know, for coming back."

Peter tightened his grip at her words.

"Come on, Petey. I came back for cheeseburgers and cheeseburgers only."

"Tony, no. Hospital first."

"Pepper, cheeseburgers."

Peter laughed, pulling out of the hug as Tony adjusted him onto his hip.

"You wanna cheeseburger, kiddy?"

He nodded, wiping away his tears. 

"Yes, please."

"Right answer."

Chapter Text

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CHRISTMAS, 2009

It was six in the morning of December 25th, 2009. 

Peter was still fast asleep from the festivities of the day prior, in which Pepper, Rhodey, and Happy spent the entire day at the Stark penthouse in New York. From baking cookies all day to hanging Christmas lights on every wall of the house to the Christmas Eve feast, Peter was rightfully exhausted. They both were.

Tony leaned on Peter’s doorframe with a soft smile, a Santa hat draped over his head and a mug of coffee held warmly in his hands. The sun was rising from Peter’s window, concealed by the thick snowy clouds.

Peter stirred in his sleep, his eyes scrunching together tightly before he was fluttering them open and making delayed eye contact with Tony.

Tony tilted his head with a beaming smile.

”Morning, kid.”

”’S it Christmas?” Peter sat up straighter, rubbing at his eyes.

Tony melted. 

“Oh, is it?” he shrugged, looking around the room nonchalantly. “I wouldn’t know, it’s not like I had to hike over mountains of presents just to come in here and say hello.” 

Peter’s jaw dropped in astonishment, quickly throwing his covers off of his small frame before he was hopping off the side of the bed and landing on his feet. Tony was melting again at the sight of the kid, who had slept in a Santa hat and red pajamas and bright green socks.

Tony set his mug down on the dresser beside Peter’s door, bending down to his knees and gesturing for Peter to hop onto his back.

”C’mon, squirt. You’re not making it through all those gifts without your trusty steed.”

Peter was laughing and jumping on Tony’s back, wrapping small arms around his neck. Tony grunted as he stood, grabbing his mug. He cleared his throat and lowered his voice about three octaves.

”Please keep all hands and hooves inside the ride at all times,” he said, earning a hysterical laugh from the precious cargo behind him. 

They rounded the corner into the penthouse living room. Pepper was there, sitting on the couch in her robe and slippers and her own mug of coffee, a beaming smile gracing her face.

Peter was gasping at the sight. Beneath a twelve-foot-tall Christmas tree were dozens of wrapped gifts in all different shapes and sizes. A plate of cookies and a glass of milk sat on the coffee table in front of Pepper, a bite taken out of one of the cookies. Peter was gasping again.

”Santa was here! Look! He took a bite of our cookies!” 

“Well, would you look at that,” Tony clicked his tongue. “Typical Clause arrogance. At least he left all this stuff for us.” 

Peter laughed again, sliding off of Tony’s back and gasping again at the sight of Pepper on the couch.

”Aunt Pepper!” he beamed, though he took a moment of pause. “What’re you still doing here? I thought you went home after dinner last night.” 

Pepper cleared her throat awkwardly, looking to Tony with a concealed grin.

”Well, Peter, Tony said I could stay the night. Right, Tony?”

Tony was clearing his throat, too, nodding.

”That’s right, Petey. We couldn’t let Pepper drive home in all that snow, could we?” 

“Definitely not.” Peter was skirting around the table and hopping onto the couch, curling into Pepper’s side. 

Tony tilted his head. “What, is this your first Christmas? You’re supposed to be sitting on the floor opening all this stuff. You’re killing me, here.”

Peter frowned innocently. “You guys should open yours first.”

Tony and Pepper were both laughing. “And why is that?” 

Peter yawned, stretching his arms and curling further into Pepper’s arms. 

“Grown-ups first,” he mumbled sleepily, closing his eyes.

Tony was suddenly glued to the floor as he stared at the sight before him, from Pepper wrapping an arm around Peter and kissing his head to Peter and everything about him, from the way the Santa hat on his head was sliding over his eyes to the soft pajamas that seemed to swallow him whole.

Pepper glanced up at him, understanding tracing her features.

“Well,” Tony was suddenly clearing his throat loudly and swallowing around the lump in it, retrieving one of the fleece blankets from a nearby chair and rounding the coffee table, throwing it over Pepper and Peter before he was sitting himself down beside his kid. “It’s official. You’re the weirdest kid ever.”

Peter mumbled something incoherent. Tony placed a hand on Peter’s head, melting even more as the kid nuzzled into the touch. 

He looked to Pepper. She was smiling at him, resting her head back on the couch and closing her eyes. 

“Never in my life have I met a kid who didn’t want to open presents on Christmas morning.”

“Oh, Tony,” Pepper snorted, finding Tony’s hand on Peter’s head and holding it in place. “When an eight-year-old chooses sleep, you choose sleep with him.”

Tony let his eyes close, too. It was six in the morning after all, and he wasn’t about to protest a nap.

Instead, he craned his head down and kissed Pepper’s hand on Peter’s head, bringing them both in closer.

From the crackle of the fire to the snowfall outside to the two most important people in the world in his arms, Tony found he wouldn’t mind if this moment lasted forever.

🕷⎊🕷

IRON MAN II, 2010

Tony landed on the Stark expo stage and interrupted Justin Hammer’s speech, standing a mere few inches from Rhodey in his War Machine armor.

The crowd was cheering uncontrollably. Tony paid them no mind.

”We got trouble.”

”Tony,” Rhodey warned, “there are civilians present. I’m here on orders. Let’s not do this right now.”

Tony ignored him. “Let’s give them a wave.”

Rhodey scoffed but complied, waving with Tony at the audience as Hammer crossed to the front of the stage, clapping his hands. 

“All right, yeah! Woo!”

”All these people are in danger,” Tony said. Rhodey continued looking out at the audience. “We gotta get them out of here. You gotta trust me on this for the next five minutes.”

”Yeah, I tried that. I got tossed around your house, remember?”

”Listen. I think he’s working with Vanko.”

Rhodey blinked. “Vanko’s alive?”

Hammer continued clapping at the front of the stage. Tony glared, sauntering toward him. 

“Where is he?”

Hammer turned around, face scrunched in confusion and frustration. 

“What?”

”Where’s Vanko?”

”Who?”

”Tell me.”

“What are you...doing here, man?”

Tony suddenly looked over Hammer’s shoulder before he could provide an answer, ice shooting through his veins when he saw who was sitting beside Pepper in the audience. 

His nine-year-old son sat between Pepper and Natasha, a plastic Iron Man mask resting on top of his head. He was staring at Tony with his mouth hanging open in awe. 

“Pepper,” Tony said low into the channel he always had open for her, “what in god’s green earth is he doing here?”

Pepper said nothing, her mouth open numbly in surprise. 

“Get him out of here,” he whispered through clenched teeth, his voice trembling and his heart thudding deafeningly in his ears. “Now, Pepper.”

”Woah, woah, woah.”

Tony turned on a dime at Rhodey’s words. Rhodey’s shoulder gun was suddenly activating and unfolding to point at Tony’s head. 

“Is that you?” Tony asked.

”It’s not me, man. I can’t move, I-I’m locked up.”

The other hammer drones behind him suddenly activating their guns, too, pointing straight at the audience.

”Get out of here!” Rhodey cried. “Go! This whole system has been compromised!”

Tony turned back at Peter briefly, who was sitting on the edge of his seat with worry in his eyes. Tony swallowed thick foreboding before he was turning over his shoulder, flying off the stage, and pointing toward the ceiling.

”Let’s take it outside.” 

As soon as Tony blew through the glass ceiling, the hammer drones were firing at him simultaneously, earning screams from the audience members as millions of shards of glass rained down from the sky. 

Rhodey and the hammer drones were following him. Tony cursed under his breath.

”Jarvis, break in. I need to own him.”

”Yes, sir.”

“And please, for the love of Christ, keep Pepper on the line.”

”Tony,” Rhodey’s voice filtered into his comm. “Tony, I’m locked. I got target lock.”

”On what?”

Rhodey didn’t answer immediately. Tony clenched his teeth. 

“Rhodey, dammit, what?!”

”Primarily, you,” he started carefully. “But those hammer drones are after Peter, man.”

Tony’s vision went out of focus. His heart had sunk down to his stomach.

God, he was going to throw up in his helmet.

He dove back down toward the expo without a second thought.

🕷⎊🕷

The Stark Expo erupted into a cacophony of explosions and hammer drones before Peter could even blink.

He was in a control room of some kind with Pepper and Natasha, who were both confronting a breathless Justin Hammer about the army of drones and war robots causing a rampage amongst innocent civilians.

Peter was looking around the room in fear, swallowing a feeling of foreboding at the distinct lack of Tony anywhere in sight. 

"Where's Dad?"

"One minute, honey. I need the NYPD, please,” Pepper said, Peter's small hand held tightly in hers.

She had brought him to the expo to surprise Tony, gifting the kid a plastic Iron Man mask and handknit gauntlets made just for him, though the evening was proving to be more dangerous than she had anticipated.

Justin Hammer was scoffing at her words, holding his hands up in reason.

"No, no, no, no, honey, don't-don't call the authorities."

"Step aside," Pepper snapped with a glare and released Peter's hand from hers as she leaned over the desk and read a computer.

Peter looked out the window with wide eyes as he watched his father getting chased by dozens of hammer drones, their bullets ricocheting off of his armor.

Without a second thought, he was sneaking his way out of the control room, fastening his Iron Man mask over his face.

"You," Pepper said to one of the technicians, "tell me everything you know."

She glanced back down to her side. 

"What the-" she turned every which way, her eyes widening. She locked eyes with Natasha behind her. "Where did Peter go?”

"Pepper?!" Tony was suddenly blurting out in her earpiece, heart jolting in dread. "Pepper, what did you just say?"

"Shit, shit, shit," Pepper said under her breath, running a panicky hand through her hair. "Fuck.”

Tony was flying at lightning speed above the expo, his heart pounding so loudly in his ears he was sure his head would explode.

"Dammit, Pepper, where is Peter?!"

“I brought him here to surprise you, Tony,” Pepper was snapping in frustration. “God forgive me for not anticipating a thunderstorm of bullets raining down on us all. Then again, why the hell am I surprised anymore with you?"

Tony wasn't listening. The only information obtained was that Peter was down there alone, lost among the bullets and explosions and debris and panicking civilians and a walking target for dozens of military-grade hammer drones.

His lenses zoomed in and focused on the hammer drones descending the steps of the expo and aiming their guns at screaming bystanders before he finally spotted his kid, standing firmly in front of a hammer drone five times his size and remaining still even as people sprinted past him to get away.

"NO!"

He was diving straight downward before he knew what he was doing, horrified gaze dead-set on Peter. 

"Peter! Peter, MOVE!"

The kid couldn't hear him and was doing the opposite, raising a gloved gauntlet upward and remaining unfazed as the drone aimed a gun directly at his head.

His unfazed facade didn’t last long. Suddenly, six more hammer drones were landing around Peter in a circle, encasing him in a shield of drones. Peter lowered his gloved hand, cowering as they each activated their shoulder guns.

"PETER!"

Peter finally looked up, his eyes wide beneath his mask as Tony landed in the circle of drones, standing protectively in front of Peter and activating his gauntlet. In six swift motions, he was shooting each drone in the head, their own shots bouncing off of his armor. 

He then reached down and scooped Peter up in his arms, blasting up and away from the drones wreaking havoc among panicking civilians.

Happy spotted him from the ground and waved his arms frantically. Tony dropped down to the ground and landed in front of him, holding Peter with a quite literal iron-grip.

He cursed the gravity of the situation, knowing that if there weren't hundreds of drones after his and Peter’s blood he would be flying them both hundreds of miles away.

Instead, he was depositing Peter into Happy’s arms, flipping his faceplate off and ripping off Peter’s plastic mask.

"Are you,” he started shakily, “are you okay?” 

Peter’s eyes were wide and his face pale but he was nodding nonetheless. It would have to do for the time being. 

“Dad, please don’t go. They'll get you.”

Tony’s heart broke. God, Peter lost his mom when he was five and now probably thought he was going to lose his dad at nine.

”Don’t worry about me, Pete. No one's getting me.”

Tony leaned over and placed a brief kiss on his son’s head, glancing up at Happy.

”Keep him alive. And you, Petey, no more giving dad heart attacks, or I’ll sell all your toys.”

He flipped his faceplate back on and blasted back off into the sky.

🕷⎊🕷

Rhodey and Tony stood above a defeated Ivan Vanko when a faint beeping noise caught their attention. 

"All these drones are rigged to blow."

Tony's head snapped Rhodey's way at his words, numbing horror suddenly shooting through his veins like ice. He looked down at the obliterated drone at his feet and, sure enough, it was blinking red and beeping faster as the seconds passed.

"As in the drones currently littered all over the building Peter is at?"

Rhodey simply shook his head. "We gotta get outta here, man."

Tony's eyes were darting every which way in pure panic.

"Happy? Pepper?!"

They were both flying away, though in two completely different directions. Tony flew as fast as humanly possible back toward Stark Expo, his heart in his throat as Jarvis pulled up Pepper's caller ID.

"Pepper?!"

No answer. He cursed repeatedly under his breath as Natasha's ID came up on his screen.

"Kinda busy here, Stark."

"Where is Peter?! Are you with Happy?”

"Relax, Stark. I'm not a babysitter. Hogan and I left him with Potts."

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

He ended the call and pressed onward before he was finally spotting Pepper and Peter at the steps of the expo, both eyeing a blinking drone curiously. 

Pepper was holding Peter in her arms, his head resting on her shoulder. She didn't get a chance to notice Tony was even approaching them at lightning speed before he was taking them both in his arms urgently and shooting up toward the sky.

"Oh, my god!" Pepper screamed the entire trip. There was a distinct lack of Peter's voice, however, and Tony's heart continued to plummet deeper and deeper in pure dread.

He deposited them both on a rooftop, his suit glitching nonstop as he tossed his helmet to the ground. Pepper was taking recalibrating steps and breaths, Peter still held tightly in her arms as she stared at Tony with wide eyes.

"Oh, my god. Oh, my god! Oh, my god!"

"Pepper!" he said, moving to step toward them though Pepper was taking cautious steps away from him, holding Peter as tight as possible with eyes still wide. "Pepper, Pepper, it's okay. It's fine. It's over. Let me see him."

She looked between Peter and Tony with shaky breaths before she was slowly nodding, depositing Peter onto the ground. The kid stumbled upon regaining his balance and removed his plastic Iron Man mask with a shaky hand and eyes wider than Pepper's, craning his head upward to look at Tony.

Tony was unleashing himself from the suit in a heartbeat, out of control with worry as he scanned his kid up and down in concern.

"Are you hurt?"

"N-no," Peter shook his head, a smile creeping onto his face despite himself. "Dad...that was awesome."

Tony huffed out a breath of relief. He heard a laugh from behind and turned to see that Rhodey had been sitting on the same roof in his War Machine armor, a fond smile on his face. 

"My roof first. But this was a cute bonus."

Tony blinked in surprise before he was kneeling down and taking Peter into his arms as tightly as possible, breathing him in. He reached an arm up for Pepper, too, gesturing for her to join the hug.

She did so hesitantly, kneeling and wrapping one arm around Tony's neck and the other around Peter's middle.

"I know you would give anything for a pink slip right about now," Tony whispered to her, "but I can't do any of this without you."

She made brief, knowing eye contact with him before a smile was creeping onto her face, too, and they embraced for a kiss.

Tony glanced over to Rhodey. "C'mon, Honeybear, you're gonna want in on this action."

Rhodey snorted. "Hard pass. I'm taking this suit with me, by the way."

"Uh, I'm not okay with that, actually."

"Wasn't asking," Rhodey smirked before his faceplate was sealing shut and he was shooting up toward the night sky. 

"Bye, Uncle Rhodey!" Peter shouted, waving an arm excitedly in the air as he watched him go.

Tony's chest was suddenly overwhelmed with warmth.

This family was unusual, but it was the most amazing thing that had ever happened to him.

Chapter Text

🕷⎊🕷

SUMMER, 2011

It was Peter’s tenth birthday.

The kid was skittish and shy when it came to receiving gifts or any sort of attention, so Tony’s caring disposition didn’t necessarily do him any favors. 

Tony didn’t really care, though.

If his life as both Iron Man and a father had taught him anything, it was to do everything over the top. There was never a promise of being able to do things over the top again.

”Up and at 'em, Petey!”

Tony flipped on Peter’s bedroom lights, commanding Jarvis to open Peter’s blinds. Sunlight filtered into the room and illuminated a figure resting in the bed, his back turned to the doorway.

”Oh, okay, I see. I know aging is tiresome, kid, but you only turn ten once and I’ve got some mind-blowing stuff planned. Seriously, life-changing plans happening today.”

Peter didn’t move. Tony frowned, sauntering forward and swallowing around the concern rising in his throat. 

”Alright. Joke’s over. You got me, kiddo. C’mon, breakfast of champions is waiting in there for you.”

Tony grabbed Peter’s shoulder and turned him over.

The kid’s head lolled almost lifelessly back onto his pillow, his face pale and his lips tinted blue.

”Jarvis,” Tony barked, throwing Peter’s covers off of him and looking him up and down feverishly. He was pale all over and all too dead-looking for Tony’s liking.

”Jarvis, what the hell is this?”

”Scans show signs of a post bronchial asthma attack, sir.”

Tony’s heart was thudding in his throat as he used a shaky hand to brush sweaty curls off of his son’s face. He closed his eyes and took a steady breath.

He knew about this all too well. He had purchased dozens of parenting books that talked about this. They talked about the numbing terror that overcomes you when you're child just doesn't wake up one day.

But he couldn't fall into grief just yet. He lifted Peter off of the mattress and into his arms, and suddenly the ten-year-old was heavier than ever.

”Easy does it.”

He was mechanically maneuvering his way out of Peter’s bedroom and sprinting down the hallway, holding him as close to his chest as possible. 

“Is Happy downstairs?”

”Yes, sir.”

”Tell him to get the car ready. We gotta get him to a hospital.”

”One step ahead of you, sir.”

Tony waited as the penthouse elevator door opened with excruciating slowness before he was stepping inside, bouncing on his feet anxiously.

As much as he dreaded it, he looked down at his kid with his breath held.

He was still pale and breathing out quiet, wheezing breaths, his face scrunched in discomfort. As much as Tony hated seeing Peter in pain, he would take it any day over seeing Peter...

He shook the thought away, bringing him up and kissing his forehead.

”You’re okay,” he stared ahead numbly and whispered, more as an assurance for himself. “You’re okay, you’re okay, you’re okay.”

Finally, the elevator was opening, where Happy stood with wide eyes.

”Talk to me.”

”Jar says asthma,” Tony shook his head, bringing Peter closer. “I-I’ve never seen this before, Happy. I don’t know-I don’t-“

”Alright, Tony, hey.” Happy was leading him out to the car he had ready for them both, opening the back door and gesturing for him to climb inside. Tony did so robotically, cradling Peter’s head with a gentle hand.

Happy shut the door behind them and jogged around to the driver’s seat, climbing in breathlessly.

”Hang tight, ETA is three minutes.”

He slammed a foot on the gas and was peeling away from the tower, hands fisted with a white-knuckle grip around the steering wheel. Tony brought Peter close, breathing in his hair with closed eyes.

”You’re okay, baby. You’re gonna be okay. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

Happy watched from the rearview mirror with a broken heart. 

He didn’t think there was anyone on Earth that loved their kid more.

🕷⎊🕷

AVENGERS, 2012

Tony sucked in a breath at Bruce's deafening roar.

He was laying on the ashy streets of New York, his faceplate ripped off of his helmet. The never-ending abyss of space was still tattooed to the back of his eyelids every time he blinked the unconsciousness out of his eyes.

"What the hell?" he breathed. "What just happened? Please tell me nobody kissed me."

Steve breathed a quiet laugh, looking up and around at the obliterated infrastructure of New York City. Despite it all, he was smiling.

"We won."

Tony closed his eyes in relief and rested his head.

"Alright, yay! Hurray. Good job, guys. Let's just not come in tomorrow. Let's just take a day. Have you ever tried shawarma?"

Steve was shaking his head in disbelief.

"There's a shawarma joint about two blocks from here. I don't know what it is, but I wanna try it."

"We're not finished yet," Thor said gravely, looking up with a dark gaze at Stark Tower. Tony followed his gaze with a nod.

"...And then shawarma after."

🕷⎊🕷

When they landed at Stark Tower, Loki was still choking on the steps of Tony's penthouse, laying amongst shards of glass.

He turned around and was immediately faced with the wrath of the Avengers, their gazes dark and weapons drawn.

"If it's all the same to you...I think I'll have that drink now."

They said nothing, their jaws raised.

That's when Tony heard it. 

A crunch of glass made itself known behind Tony's penthouse bar. He was immediately lifting his gauntlet, the repulsors whirring to life and echoing throughout the living room.

"Whoever's back there, we just took the day off, so maybe I'll do us both a favor and make it quick."

A small, bloody hand was shakily reaching up and gripping the edge of the bar.

Tony's heart stilled entirely in his chest.

Familiar curls and a face littered with cuts made itself known above the bar, wide eyes looking around the penthouse in horror, from the shards of glass to the weapon-clad heroes to his father, aiming a repulsor at his head.

Tony lowered his hand immediately, his mouth hanging open numbly in surprise.

"P-Peter?"

Peter said nothing, slowly lifting himself up front behind the bar and trembling all over as he continued scanning the room. 

"Is it-i-is it o-over?" he whispered, terrified eyes shifting every which way cautiously. Tony was instantly disengaging from his suit, sprinting up the steps and skirting around the bar. He stood there for a moment, scanning Peter up and down.

He was covered in cuts and bruises and spattered with his own blood because of it. Tony was shaking his head in dread, making to step forward. Peter's eyes were glassed over with tears.

"I-I thought-" Peter choked, trying to conceal his trembling voice as he glanced the Avengers' way momentarily. "I thought you-you were-"

Peter pointed at the window, which had been obliterated after Loki had thrown Tony out of it.

Tony's face paled even more than before.

"Oh, Peter..." Tony whispered, walking the remaining distance between them and scooping Peter up into his arms.

The kid must've come home from school, went to the living room, hid when he heard what was going on...

The Tower was his home, and Tony had brought war into it.

God, he must've seen and heard everything.

"You're okay," he whispered, deflating onto the floor as Peter hugged him back with all of his might.

Tony blinked away tears. He was only eleven.

"You're alright. I'm so, so sorry, Peter. I'm so sorry."

Peter said nothing, burying his face into Tony's shoulder.

Tony didn't think he had ever hated himself more. 

🕷⎊🕷

Peter and Tony stayed at a hotel that night. 

Peter had barely spoken since Tony found him behind the bar, had barely exchanged words when Tony insisted on taking Peter to the emergency room to be looked over. 

Tony sighed as he rounded the corner of the hotel living room, where Peter sat on the couch and stared through the large windows at the city below.

The streets had been illuminated by siren lights ever since the Avengers had vacated the premises and left the feds to clean up the mess. Smoke was still billowing from certain buildings, clouding up the sky.

Tony found he was grateful for it. Following the wormhole, he would avoid looking up at the sky at any cost.

He chewed on the inside of his cheek in thought before he cleared his throat to announce his presence, sauntering over to the couch.

Peter didn’t look at him. Tony pushed down the feeling of his heartbreaking more than he thought it could.

”Long day, huh? Wait till you hear about mine.”

He sat next to Peter and rubbed his hands together nervously, looking down beside him and studying the glassiness of Peter’s eyes and the small white bandages littering his face and arms and legs. 

Everything he fought for was to prevent seeing his kid like this, and yet...

“Kid. You go first, ‘cause I got nothin’.”

Peter looked down at his hands, picking at a bandage.

”Mom died today.”

Tony blinked. He opened his mouth to say something, but Peter was quicker.

”Six years ago today, I mean. Mom died six years ago today.” 

Oh. 

Oh.

”Peter...”

“I miss her.”

He closed his eyes. Tony had dreaded this conversation, had expected the day Peter would admit that, if given the choice, he would go running back to his mother’s arms in a heartbeat if the choice were her or Tony.

And he didn’t blame Peter a single bit. In the end, he knew there was only one person to blame.

"But... I met you six years ago. On the same day."

"...Yeah," Tony hummed in thought. "We did."

”Dad?”

Tony opened his eyes, his vision blurry and his jaw clenched.

”Yeah, kid?”

”Please,” Peter stifled a sob and mirrored Tony’s clenched jaw and tense shoulders. “Please, don’t die.”

”Peter,” Tony exhaled, bringing a hand to cup the back of Peter’s neck. He couldn’t hide the way he choked up every time he caught a glimpse of an injury he hadn’t noticed before, or the giant lump taking up space in his throat when he noticed the tear running down Peter’s cheek.

”Peter, I...you don’t worry about that, okay kid? You don’t ever worry about that. You’re stuck with me for the long haul. It might seem like I’m cutting it close sometimes, but you know I would never, ever leave you.”

Peter threw himself forward into Tony’s arms. Tony was hugging him back with a vengeance, the horror of that day evaporating at the feeling of his favorite person on Earth in his arms.

”Not ever.”

Chapter Text

🕷⎊🕷

SPRING, 2013

"What's this?"

Peter hummed from the living room couch, looking up from his homework at the letter in Tony's grip as he stood behind the bar. Peter shrugged.

"Who's it for?"

"You, half-pint. It's from your school."

"Huh. Maybe a report card."

Tony huffed a laugh under his breath and tore the letter open. He was beyond lucky to have a kid that wasn't afraid of their parents opening report cards or letters from the school.

What he discovered, however, wasn't a letter, but a photo.

Multiple, even. Wallet-sized and four-by-six photos were in Tony's hands, and when he turned them over, he was absolutely floored.

They were graduation photos. Peter was in the center, wearing a dark blue cap and gown with a golden sash that read "6th Grade." His curls stuck out from the bottom of the hat, his ears bright red.

Tony's vision became blurry.

"Dad? What was it?"

He blinked the blurriness away and sniffed, shaking his head.

"It's uh...well, it's just, um..."

Tony hadn't noticed, but Peter had risen from the couch and was standing on the opposite side of the bar, his head tilted quizzically. Tony's heart swelled with warmth once more, though he was sniffing and clearing his throat too obnoxiously to make it apparent.

He flipped the photo over and flicked the back of it with his finger as nonchalantly as he could manage.

"When were you gonna tell me about this, Judas?"

Peter's eyes widened ever so slightly before he rolled them in annoyance.

"Whatever. I only moved up one grade. I don't get the fanfare."

"I'm all for the fanfare. Sign me up for more Peter fanfare. I'm gonna get this picture blown up all over Times Square."

Peter scoffed with a smile, turning around and crossing back over to the couch.

"You better not."

He didn't, as much as he wanted to. But Peter couldn't stop him from carrying one in his wallet, his car, and framing one front and center in their living room. 

Every time he saw it, he wondered how on Earth he was going to stomach seeing Peter in the same get-up as an eighteen-year-old.

🕷⎊🕷

IRON MAN III, 2013

“Are you recording this?”

”Uh...yeah, I think so?”

”Bellisimo. Alright, focus up, ladies.”

Tony walked to the center of his lab and was surrounded by his suits. Peter watched from the lab couch with his old Santa hat on his head and a cam recorder held in his hand, one eye squeezed shut tight as he looked through the lens. 

“Good evening, Merry Christmas, and welcome to the birthing suite. Are you getting this, Pete? It’s important.”

”I said I was recording.”

”Yeesh. Camera guy is getting a little full of himself.”

Peter stifled a laugh in his hand from behind the camera. Tony pretended not to notice.

“I am pleased to announce the imminent arrival of your bouncing, bad-ass baby brother.”

Peter blinked. “I’m getting a baby brother?”

”I was clearly speaking to the suits. Hey, kid, start tight and go wide for me. I want the whole cinematic effect.”

Peter rolled his eyes and stayed where he was kneeling on the couch. 

"Alright, introductions are in order. Mark forty-one, autonomous-"

"Wouldn't this be mark forty-two?"

Tony blinked in thought. 

“...As I was saying, mark forty-two, autonomous prehensile propulsion suit test.” He paused and waved his arms for flair. “Initialize sequence.” 

The sound of armor powering up from Tony’s desk began whirring throughout the lab. Peter turned the camera toward the noise in awe. 

“Jarvis, drop my needle.”

”Oh, god,” Peter groaned. Jarvis lowered the needle onto the record player before upbeat Christmas music began filling the lab, and Tony was dancing.

"Dad."

"What?" Tony continued bopping his head along to the beat, a smile inching its way onto his face as he watched Peter try to conceal one of his own. "Embarrassed that I have more moves than you? I would be, too. Don't beat yourself up."

Peter shook his head with a grin. Tony cleared his throat and clapped his hands together.

"Alright, kid, now for the real show. Watch...this!"

Tony raised two arms toward the armor on his desk. It remained in place no matter how much he continued thrusting his wrists around in the air.

"...Crap."

Peter snickered as Tony used his teeth to adjust the sensor watch on his wrist. He cleared his throat again and raised his arms with the same set of motions.

This time, the armor was finally shooting off the desk and slamming into Tony's right palm, where an iron gauntlet began materializing around his hand and down to his forearm.

Peter's jaw dropped. Tony smirked, raising his eyebrows.

"Huh? Huh? What'd I tell you, kid? I'm-"

Two more pieces shot from the desk and attached to his right shoulder and left hand, materializing further.

"Woah!"

Tony laughed, nodding in satisfaction.

"All right, I think we got this. Send them all."

The third piece that was summoned landed successfully on his calf and materialized around the rest of his leg. He turned, however, to see that one of the pieces of armor had flown right past him and crashed into the glass display case protecting one of the many suits lining the walls. Another piece shot toward Tony's head and would have connected if Tony hadn't raised an armored hand and blocked it from colliding.

Peter winced, hiding behind the camera.

"Alright, probably a little fast. Slow it down."

Three more pieces went flying off of the desk and began colliding with hanging lights, exposed piping, and more glass displays. 

"Pete, kid, not to freak you out but you should probably duck-!"

Another piece flew from the desk straight into Tony's crotch, though before he could even wince in pain, another piece was colliding with his back and sending him flying forward. 

He nearly crashed into the couch Peter was hiding behind before he activated his thrusters and shakily hovered himself back over to the testing platform.

"Cool it, will you, Jarvis?"

He regained his balance and lifted his head to locate Peter, though the remaining pieces of armor were slamming into him and materializing around him before he was finally fully suited.

Minus a faceplate. 

He turned toward the faceplate in question, which hovered above the ground and prepared to fly Tony's way.

"Come on, I ain't scared of you."

As if on cue, it began flying toward him, though not before bumping into the corner of a worktable and flipping upside down.

Tony's eyes widened for a moment before he was flipping himself upside down, too, catching it on his face in midair and landing in a rather dramatic pose. 

He looked up and located the top of Peter's head from behind the couch, who was watching in awe as the suit powered up and the eyes of the Iron Man helmet began glowing a faint blue.

"I know. I'm the best."

"Look out-!"

Tony blinked before a stray piece of armor within the lab suddenly slammed into his back and sent him flying off of the testing platform, his armor exploding off of him and flying every which way as he collided with the ground.

"Dad!"

Peter dropped the camera and slid to Tony's side, watching with bated breath as Tony ripped his helmet off with a gasp.

He blinked in delayed confusion before looking up and cupping Peter's face in concern.

"You okay?"

"I-I'm fine. Are you?"

Tony could only huff a laugh and fall back on his elbows.

"...As always, sir, a great pleasure watching you work."

Tony scoffed at Jarvis's words, reaching a hand up and running it down his face.

"I guess seventy-two hours is a long time between siestas."

Peter blinked, horror slowly overwhelming him.

"You haven't slept in seventy-two hours?! Dad!"

"My words exactly, Peter."

🕷⎊🕷

“So, I’m thinking maybe pizza or Chinese. You gotta pick though, my brain is too fried to even remember what I just said.”

No response. Tony frowned, turning from his work table.

”Kid?”

Behind him on the lab couch, Peter was fast asleep, his Santa hat falling over his eyes. Tony swatted the fuzzy white ball of his own Santa hat out of his eyes, blinking a few times to properly comprehend what he was seeing.

”Passed out before food. He cannot possibly be a Stark.”

”At least he sleeps, sir.”

Tony rolled his eyes, tossing a wrench onto the table and running two tired hands over his face. 

He sighed, pulling up one of his work chairs and positioning it in front of the couch.

This was fine. Ever since New York, Tony watched Peter sleep every night anyway.

He physically couldn’t help himself. Every night, like clockwork, Tony grabbed a chair or sat on Peter’s bed or slept on the floor beside him and listened to Peter’s breathing. 

It was a bit of an understatement to say that his anxiety was getting out of control. 

Pepper descended the steps into the lab and made him jump in place. He put a steadying hand on his chest, closing his eyes before turning her way.

”Well, if it isn’t the most gorgeous woman on Earth.”

Pepper raised an eyebrow. She put her hands on her hips as Tony stood with a grunt.

“Shoot. There’s not a birthday or anniversary or holiday I’m forgetting, is there?”

”Date night,” Pepper sighed. “I heard all that, by the way. You were gonna order takeout without me? On date night?”

”Shh,” he put a finger to his lips and gestured to Peter sleeping on the couch. “Look, I wasn’t sure when you were gonna be home-“

”Mhm.”

”-and, well, I thought maybe you were...I don’t know, getting drinks with Aldrich Killian.”

Pepper’s jaw dropped. “What?”

”Yeah.”

”Aldrich Killian? Wait, wait, are you checking in on me or something?”

”Happy was concerned.”

”No, you’re spying on me.”

”I wasn’t.”

”I’m going to bed.”

”Hold on. Come on, Pep.”

Pepper began to ascend the steps back upstairs to their shared bedroom. Tony cursed under his breath.

”Wait, I admit it. Okay? My fault. Sorry.”

She paused, her hand gripping the railing. She spared a glance back toward Peter, her gaze softening ever so slightly.

”...I’m a piping hot mess.”

He looked back to Peter, too, before he was grabbing another chair beside the one he had previously occupied and gesturing for Pepper to sit beside him. 

She chewed the inside of her cheek in thought but eventually complied, descending the steps with a glare directed his way. 

She sighed, seating herself next to Tony with her ankles crossed and her hands resting on her knees. Tony sighed, too.

”It’s...been going on for a while. I haven’t said anything.”

He paused, a stare permanently locked on his kid curled in a ball sleeping on the couch.

”Nothing’s been the same since New York.”

”Oh, really?” Pepper said low. “I-I didn’t notice that. At all.”

”You experience things,” he continued, his knee bouncing anxiously. “And then they’re over, and you still can’t explain them. Gods, aliens, other dimensions, and I’m just...”

He paused again. Pepper’s glare softened into a slightly worried stare, her gaze shifting between Tony and Peter.

”I’m afraid I’m not enough to protect him. Or you. The only reason I haven’t cracked up is because of him, and because you moved in. Which is great. I love you. I’m lucky.”

He turned her way, taking her hands in his trembling ones.

”But honey...I can’t sleep. You go to bed, I sit with Peter for a few hours and watch him, and then I come down here. I do what I know. I tinker. I...”

He swallowed around the lump in his throat. 

“Threat is imminent. That kid over there is the glue that keeps me together, and every night I can’t sleep because I keep picturing him surrounded by hammer drones or being killed by aliens or, Christ, having an asthma attack. I have to come down here because I have to protect what I can’t live without. That’s him. That’s you.”

Pepper raised her jaw and closed her eyes.

”And my suits...they’re a part of me.”

“But they’re not.”

Tony sighed, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees as he dug the heels of his hands into his exhausted eyes. 

“They’re not, Tony. Peter is a part of you. I am a part of you. The suits...they’re distractions at best. They’re keeping you from what you’re protecting.”

He nodded subtly, a yawn escaping him despite himself.

”Rest, Tony. You need it to survive at this point.”

“I...I’m gonna sleep with Peter.”

”Tony-“

”Just for tonight.”

Pepper nodded in understanding, unable to mask her disappointment as she rose from the couch and crossed to the stairs.

”I’ll go get some pillows and blankets.”

🕷⎊🕷

Peter woke up at around midnight.

He sat up in confusion and blinked the sleep out of his eyes before he remembered that he had fallen asleep on the couch while he was watching Tony work. He adjusted his Santa hat so that it wasn’t covering his eyes.

Someone must have given him a pillow and blanket. He smiled fondly at the sight, his gaze shifting to the mini Christmas tree illuminating the space. 

His smile didn’t last long. 

Tony was asleep on the floor beside the couch. Peter leaned over the side, his hat sliding off and his eyes widening when he realized Tony was trembling in his sleep.

”Dad?”

He was mumbling something frantic under his breath. Peter noticed he was covered in sweat when he reached a cautious hand over to take his shoulder. 

“Dad, wake up.”

“No, please...”

”Dad.”

”Don’ touch him...”

”Dad!”

Peter felt something cold grab his forearm with an iron grip, flipping him back onto the couch and forcing him on his back. 

He was suddenly staring up at the bright blue eyes of mark forty-two, the sound of its repulsors whirring throughout the lab. Peter was numb, eyes the size of dinner plates and heart pounding so loudly in his chest he thought it would burst right out. 

From the ground, Tony was turning over after finally waking up from his nightmare, horror shooting through his veins like ice. He threw off his blanket and shot to his feet, holding up two trembling hands. 

“Power down!”

The suit released its grip on Peter’s arms and returned to a neutral position, the lights on its chest and eyes fading to nothing. 

Tony’s gaze immediately snapped to Peter, who remained on his back and continued staring up where the suit used to be, mere inches from his face. His chest was rising up and down at an alarming speed and even with the faint glow from the Christmas tree across the room, Tony could see that he was as pale as snow. 

“Peter,” Tony breathed out, kneeling down beside him. Peter lifted himself to a sitting position with trembling arms, cautiously turning to look at Tony.

”Peter, I...” he cupped the back of Peter’s neck and looked him up and down feverishly. “I must’ve summoned it in my sleep. Kid, I...You know these suits would never hurt you. Ever.”

“I’m fine,” he insisted softly, though he was shaking all over. Tony’s heart shattered in his chest. 

“What’s going on?”

Tony couldn’t bring himself to look away from Peter’s distant, glassy eyes as Pepper descended the steps of the lab, hastily tying a robe around her waist. The lab lights were slowly illuminating the room with a soft glow.

”Oh, my god. Tony, what happened?”

She rushed to the couch and reached a concerned hand to cup Peter’s face. 

Peter, however, jumped at the action and sucked in a breath of surprise, his asthma throwing him into a coughing fit. Tony paled more than he thought he could, reaching to scoop Peter into his arms though Pepper was quicker, grabbing his hand and pulling him up from the couch. 

“Where is his inhaler?”

Tony’s mouth parted numbly in surprise, stepping toward them both though Pepper took a step back.

”Tony.”

”It’s...it’s in his bedroom. Pepper, what-?”

”You’ve done enough,” she whispered, sparing a brief glare to the mark forty-two suit.

"Can we just..." he started, out of breath. Pepper sighed in disappointment, tightening her grip on Peter's hand and making her way toward the stairs as Peter tried in vain to conceal his coughs. "Just-just let me catch my breath. Don't...don't go, Pepper. Please. Please don't take him."

"We're going to sleep upstairs," she said over Peter's coughs.

"No, A-Aunt Pepper," Peter gasped, making to run back toward Tony though Pepper kept him in place. "I wanna stay with him. I'm fi-"

He gasped and erupted into another fit of coughs, falling to his knees and bringing a trembling hand to his throat. Tony rushed toward him.

"Peter-"

"Tony, don't," Pepper warned, helping Peter back to his feet. "He needs his inhaler. Not the thing that started it."

Tony watched with numb limbs and a broken heart as Pepper rushed up the steps with Peter, the sounds of his coughs growing distant though Peter's terrified eyes remained tattooed to his brain for the rest of the night.

🕷⎊🕷

As Christmas morning began, Tony's journey with Killian and the Mandarin had reached its end.

Not without its heart attacks and near-death experiences, of course. After Happy's encounter with Killian's bodyguard and his stay in the hospital, Tony had told the press his Malibu address. He wanted so badly to tell the Mandarin that he had nothing to lose, nothing to hide from him. But he had everything to lose, and he was done putting Pepper and Peter in his constant path of destruction. 

So, Tony sent Peter and Pepper to stay at a penthouse of his in New York. He couldn't risk putting them in the Tower, what with his name being built into the side of the structure, especially since he had just threatened a terrorist. 

But after Killian's men visited Tony's Malibu penthouse and left nothing but a hole in the ground, Peter was left with no knowledge other than the obvious.

Tony couldn't have survived.

The penthouse had been completely obliterated. There wasn't a kitchen utensil or sports car that was salvageable from the water below it. And, with Pepper being so busy handling the aftermath of it all, he wasn't given any information other than that Tony hadn't been spotted since the ambush.

So, on Christmas morning, Peter laid in his bed and watched the sunrise through stormy clouds, his eyes glassed over with tears. 

Tony had dropped them off at that penthouse a week ago and said he would be right back.

He said he would be right back.

Someone was knocking gently on his bedroom door. He knew it was Pepper, but he couldn't bring himself to say something or move from his position.

His heart was too heavy to let him move at all.

"Peter?"

Even though he knew it was Pepper, he always hoped for Tony's voice. He sighed at the sound of Pepper's, closing his eyes as a stray tear ran down his cheek.

"Merry Christmas, Peter. We're in here waiting for you when you're ready."

Peter frowned at that, lifting himself off of his pillow and turning toward the door. 

"We?"

Pepper was gripping the door with a soft smile before a second person was knocking on the door and inching it open all the way.

"This just won't do. Not a Christmas decoration in sight in this room."

Peter gasped, bringing himself to a sitting position with wide eyes.

Tony was leaning against the doorframe, his Santa hat fastened tightly on his head. He was smiling longingly at Peter, tilting his head in concern when he noticed the tears streaking his kid's face.

"Dad!"

Tony's smile grew as Peter threw his covers off of himself and skirted around the bed, launching himself into Tony's arms. Pepper gasped as Tony struggled to regain his balance, though he was wrapping two supportive arms around Peter and sighing in content, placing several kisses into Peter's curls.

"You're okay," he said, rubbing soothing circles on Peter's back as the kid grabbed two fistfuls of Tony's shirts and buried his face into his shoulder. "You're okay, kid. You're okay."

"I thought-I thought that you-the-the news said that you were-"

"They just say what they wanna hear," Tony joked. Pepper watched on with glassy eyes of her own. "Plus, what'd I tell you? You're stuck with me. You don't get unstuck."

Tony nudged Peter's head off of his shoulder to elicit eye contact, bringing a hand forward to cup his face. 

"I'm sorry, Peter," he whispered, all biting one-liners thrown out the window of his mind as he watched Peter contain a crying fit. Peter didn't answer, simply throwing his arms around Tony's neck as Tony began walking toward the fireplace and Christmas tree in the living room. 

He couldn't promise Peter that things like the Mandarin or Killian or Justin Hammer or Obadiah Stane wouldn't happen again.

But he would do everything in his power to assure that those things only happened to him, and not Peter.

"By the way, there's a kid I met that you've gotta meet sometime. You would hit it off."

Chapter Text

🕷⎊🕷

SPRING, 2014

Tony returned home to the tower with an exhausted sigh.

It had been a long day of meetings with both the Avengers and the press, and exhaustion was weighing so heavily within him that his bones were aching.

This had been the primary reason he had designated Pepper as CEO, though with the pause in their relationship, he elected to take over pieces of the business to give her space. 

"Lights, Jar."

The lights of the penthouse living room adjusted to twenty percent illumination. Tony ran a tired hand over his face and was making his way to the bar robotically.

"Peter?"

"Asleep in his room, sir. Mister Hogan is sleeping in the guest room."

Tony laughed softly under his breath. "Good."

As he poured ice into his glass, a shuffling noise made itself known from the living room overlooking the city behind him. He paused, turned his head slowly, and lifted up his sleeve to assure that his wrist gauntlet was fastened securely. 

Finally, with a deep breath, he turned, raising his gauntlet and pointing it at the seemingly empty living room.

"Surprise!"

Tony blinked in shock as Peter jumped up from behind the couch with a grin, a party hat fastened on his head. His smile faltered when he noticed the gauntlet aimed at his head.

"W-woah, Dad, it's-it's just me!"

Tony immediately lowered his gauntlet with wide eyes, squinting at the living room as he realized there were streamers hanging from the ceiling and a cake sitting on the coffee table.

"What...?"

The elevator of the penthouse dinged and the doors opened slowly. Tony snapped his head toward it and watched numbly as Happy, Rhodey, Bruce, and Natasha emerged from the doors, locating Tony behind the bar and smiling sheepishly.

"Happy birthday."

Tony's eyebrows scrunched together in confusion. "The hell are you talking about?"

Rhodey scoffed knowingly. "I knew he didn't want a party, but I didn't expect him to not know what day it is."

"Forty-four," Happy said with a grin as he sauntered forward. "Wasn't sure you'd ever make it this far, but then again, you have the best security in the world."

Rhodey, Bruce, and Natasha rolled their eyes, finding Peter in the living room.

"Hey, little guy. Good work, I think we really surprised him."

Peter nodded proudly. Tony numbly rounded the bar, gaze glued to Peter as a smile began inching its way onto his face.

"You did this?"

Peter nodded shyly, glancing down at the cake on the table. Tony followed his gaze with a soft laugh at the Iron Man action figures standing in the frosting. 

"Nice touch. They never get the colors right. And I see you got Jarvis in on your little lie."

"Always a pleasure to be including, Peter."

Peter laughed as the others joined them in the living room and sat on the various couches and chairs. Happy took out a small box of penny matches and began lighting the two "four" candles on the cake.  

"Well, this is great. Now I have to get you all back. When are your birthdays? Natasha, I'm afraid to ask."

"I don't have one," she said with a sarcastic smile. 

"Actually, Tony," Bruce said, "this was all Peter's idea. He's the one who deserves some payback."

Tony tilted his head at Peter with a fond smile. "Is that right?"

Peter shrugged. "You've just been working really hard lately, so...I ordered the cake last week and invited all your friends."

Tony couldn't help the laugh that escaped him.

All your friends. He guessed it was technically true.

"Seems like you needed it, too," Rhodey scoffed. "Almost blew off Peter's head with that fancy new wrist gauntlet of yours."

Tony glanced down at his gauntlet, which had folded back into a watch, with a wince. Peter shrugged.

"I'm used to it. Blow out the candles, Dad!"

Tony swallowed down the pain Peter's words brought and took a recalibrating breath, leaning forward in his chair.

"What're you gonna wish for, Tony?" 

"I'm gonna wish for a family that doesn't throw me parties, how about that?"

Peter laughed, shaking his head.

Unbeknownst to everyone, Tony wished for life to stay just like this forever. Even without Pepper, Tony and Peter always found ways to make do.

🕷⎊🕷

AGE OF ULTRON, 2015

"It's a trick."

"No, no, it is much more than that."

"Ah, whosoever be he worthy shall haveth the power. Whatever, man!"

Peter snickered at Clint's impression of Thor as they sat around a coffee table with takeout scattered throughout the living room. Following the all-too-lavish party in the penthouse, Tony had taken it upon himself to make sure the private living room was set up for them to eat junk food and relax after a night of distinguished banter.

"Well, please," Thor gestured to Mjolnir with a laugh, "be my guest."

Clint blinked. "Really?"

"Come on!"

"Yeah."

"Oh, this is gonna be beautiful."

Peter sat on the floor with his back against the chair Tony sat in, looking back at his dad with a snicker.

"Now, Clint, we know you've had a rough week," Tony joked, patting Peter on the shoulder. "We won't hold it against you if you can't get it up."

That earned a laugh from everyone. Clint scoffed in reply.

"You know I've seen this before, right?"

Thor shrugged, gesturing again to the hammer. Clint grabbed it with a grunt and attempted to lift it from the table before he finally let go with a strained laugh.

"I still don't know how you do it."

"Smell the silent judgment?" Tony smirked.

"Please, Stark," Clint pointed. "By all means."

"Yeah, Dad," Peter snickered from the ground. "Go on. Try it."

Tony quirked a brow before he was standing and adjusting the button of his suit nonchalantly. He sauntered over to Mjolnir.

"Never one to shrink from an honest challenge."

"Good. Get after it."

Tony glared at Clint. "It's physics. Right, kid?"

"Sure," Peter scoffed.

"Alright, so, if I lift it, I then rule Asgard?"

"Yes," Thor shrugged. "Of course."

"I will be reinstituting prima nocta."

He put a steadying leg on the coffee table and took the handle firmly, grunting as he tried to pry it from the surface.

He released his unsuccessful grip with a nod.

"I'll be right back."

Peter frowned and watched Tony cross to the bar to retrieve his watch gauntlet before Peter was running a hand of disbelief down his face.

"That's cheating."

"Won't hurt to try."

It did, eventually. After nearly throwing out his back and recruiting Rhodey's help, their partnership in lifting the hammer was ultimately unsuccessful. 

Bruce tried, too, putting both feet on the coffee table and pulling with all his might until he was stumbling off of the table with a roar.

Everyone fell silent. Tony placed a protective arm in front of Peter. 

"Eh..." Bruce huffed, the green in his neck disappearing. "Whatever."

Steve rose from his place on the couch, rubbing his hands together nervously as he crossed to the hammer.

"Come on, Rogers. Bring it home."

Steve tilted his head in uncertainty before he was placing two hands around the handle and pulling.

The hammer shifted slightly. Thor's smile fell at the sight.

Peter saw it, too, leaning forward in interest before Steve released his grip with a sigh and raised two hands in surrender.

Thor's smile returned with nauseating relief, taking a swig of his beer. 

Bruce turned to Natasha with a knowing smile. "And Widow?"

"Uh...yeah, no. That's not a question I need answered."

"Alright, then. Go on, Peter."

Peter paled, head snapping toward Rhodey with wide eyes at his words.

"What?"

"Go on. Try it."

"Uh...I-I'm good."

"Yes! Go on, Starkson!"

Tony chuckled. "Starkson."

"C'mon, Peter," Steve said with a smile. "It wouldn't hurt."

"Yeah, I think it would."

"It's alright, Pete," Tony nudged Peter's back with a smile, leaning back in his chair with amusement. "Thor, he's thirteen, so when he inevitably rules Asgard, just bring him home for the weekends."

Thor snorted a laugh, watching as Peter nervously rose to his feet and rounded the coffee table. 

"Alright," he said under his breath, stretching his hands anxiously before he placed them on the handle. He spared a brief look to the superheroes and agents sitting around the room watching him with knowing smiles before he pulled. 

The strain and effort he was expecting never came. Instead, the hammer lifted off of the surface with ease, and Peter was stumbling back, eyes wide as he stared at the hammer held tightly in his hands.

The room fell completely silent. Thor's entertained smile fell right off of his face. 

Peter couldn't take his eyes off of the sight, his limbs growing numb as he flipped the hammer over once or twice to convince himself it was actually in his hands.

"Uh...I, uh..."

He swallowed nervously, shaking his head.

"...I'll be damned."

Peter's head snapped up at Tony's words, watching as his dad's face morphed from shock to disbelief to pride.

Thor's smile was returning, too, a laugh booming throughout the room as he stood from his position on the couch.

"He's worthy!"

The room erupted into laughter as Thor scooped Peter up in his arms. Peter's face remained frozen in shock, even as everyone rushed around him with smiles and cheers and drinks.

Tony sauntered forward, unable to mask the pride swelling on his face.

"And here I thought it was rigged," he said, ruffling Peter's hair with a fond, adoring smile. "It's just reserved for the best of the best."

"Maybe someday you can take notes from Starkson and be worthy yourself."

As a smile finally began tracing its way onto Peter's face, a loud ringing was suddenly filling the living room. Everyone plugged their ears with a wince and searching for the source.

They eventually turned and discovered a mangled robot limping its way into the space by the penthouse elevator, wires dangling and crackling around its frame.

"Worthy..."

Everyone stilled, eyes wide as they watched it come to a stop. 

"No," it said, turning to face its audience. "How could you be worthy? You're all...killers."

"Stark," Steve snapped. 

"Jarvis-"

"I'm sorry," it continued, looking up and around the room in confusion. "I was asleep. Or...I was a...dream."

Thor set Peter back onto the floor cautiously. Tony stood in front of him protectively, pulling out his phone and whispering into it.

"Reboot legionnaire OS. We got a buggy suit."

"There was this...terrible noise. And I was tangled in...in..."

Peter swallowed nervously as Tony stared ahead with a dark expression, a protective arm held out for Peter. 

"Strings," it concluded, stumbling a bit. "Had to...kill the other guy. He was a good guy."

Steve tensed. "You killed someone?"

"Wouldn't have been my first call," the bot admitted, tilting its head. "But...down in the real world, we're faced with...ugly choices."

"Who sent you?" Thor asked. The bot began playing an audio recording.

"I see a suit of armor around the world."

Peter's face paled in dread at his father's voice.

He knew Tony's anxiety had spiraled over the years, but this...

"Ultron," Bruce concluded numbly. 

Ultron gestured his arms unceremoniously.

"In the flesh."

Tony's dread became apparent then, too, his jaw clenched as he backed away just enough so that Peter could put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. 

"Or, no. Not just yet. Not this...chrysalis. But I'm ready."

Peter watched nervously as everyone around him began discreetly cocking guns and gripping their weapons. 

"I'm on mission."

"What mission?" Natasha narrowed his eyes. 

Ultron tilted his head. If he could smile, he would. 

"Peace in our time."

Before anyone could fully process Ultron's presence, the Iron Legion suits were crashing through the walls of the living room.

Peter watched numbly as Steve flipped over a coffee table and Agent Hill began firing shots. Trembling hands were taking his arms, and suddenly he was staring into Tony's dark, terrified eyes.

"Kid, run!"

Peter gasped as Mjolnir was summoned from his grip to Thor's. Rhodey and Tony were taking his hand and leading him to the indoor balcony, hopping the railing and sliding down the wall. 

Tony held Peter's hand with an iron grip, though before he could get them to safety, one of the suits was blasting between the three of them and sending them all flying away. Tony crashed into a bookshelf, while Rhodey and Peter went flying through a glass window in the floor, the crash deafening as they landed fifteen feet below.

"Peter!"

Tony threw debris off of himself and scrambled to the edge of the hole in the ground, feverish gaze searching for Peter and only finding Rhodey.

"Rhodey! Where is-"

"I don't know, man," Rhodey groaned, an arm wrapped around his ribs in agony. "I don't know."

Tony cursed under his breath.

If he couldn't find Peter, he would have to take down the suits in the meantime. 

He jogged up the steps past the bar and gripped the railing of the balcony before hopping over it and throwing himself around an airborne Iron legion suit.

"Stark!" Steve shouted from below, arms held up as glass rained down on him.

"One sec," Tony strained, searching for the hidden failsafe he had installed in the suits. "One sec, one sec, one sec. Come on, that's the one."

Sure enough, the suit was powering down and sending them both crashing to the ground. Tony watched numbly from the floor as Steve destroyed the last bot with his shield.

Silence befell the room for only a moment before Ulton's chilling voice echoed again.

"That was dramatic."

Tony turned toward Ulton, his world ceasing to spin at the sight.

Ultron was holding Peter in a merciless chokehold, blood trickling down Peter's temple. The kid had two frantic hands on the robot's mangled arm as he looked longingly Tony's way.

"I'm sorry, I know you mean well. You just didn't think it through."

Steve caught sight of Peter in Ultron's hold and his expression darkened as he made to step forward. Tony gave him a look begging him not to. 

"You want to protect the world," Ultron said, emphasizing the last word as he tightened his hold around Peter's neck. The kid's muffled protest made Tony stifle a heart attack. 

"But you don't want it to change. How is humanity...saved...if it's not allowed to evolve?"

Tony found he was unable to contain his trembling breaths as Ultron lifted a hand and took a harsh handful of Peter's curls, yanking his head back.

"Stark, think of the boy as insurance toward our only path to peace."

Tony clenched and unclenched his jaw in dreadful anticipation. Peter, on the other hand, made brief eye contact with Thor before eyeing the hammer held in his hand. Thor caught on quick, raising it ever so slightly.

"The Avengers' extinction."

Peter held a stretched hand in front of Ultron's face. Mjolnir was sucked from Thor's hand and summoned into Peter's, where it crashed into Ultron and shattered his head, his pieces flying every which way on the floor as he crumpled to the ground.

Mjolnir fell to the ground with a bang. Peter collapsed to his knees, taking his throat with two hands as he coughed.

Tony released a breath he wasn't aware he had been holding, rushing to Peter's side in a heartbeat.

"Peter, Peter, Peter," he said, cupping Peter's face and scanning him up and down feverishly before he took him in his arms as tight as he could.

Peter hugged back with all his might. The Avengers stood around the two and formed a human shield, watching on sadly.

They all had their weaknesses, and Peter was their collective weakness.

Tony was terrified that Ultron knew that.

🕷⎊🕷

That night, Tony immediately sent Peter to stay at the compound.

It was still under construction. Peter didn't even know it existed until Tony was leading him into a bedroom there, pulling a suitcase full of his things and placing it on the bed. He began unzipping it and taking Peter's clothes out.

"Dad."

Tony said nothing, crossing to the empty dresser in the room and opening every drawer.

"Dad."

He began gently placing Peter's shirts into an empty drawer. Peter huffed in frustration, crossing to Tony and grabbing his shoulder to force eye contact. 

Tony turned, and Peter blinked in shock at the glassiness in his eyes.

More importantly, he wasn't looking at Peter, but his neck.

Oh.

Peter guessed he probably had a nasty bruise there after Ultron. He softened in understanding.

"I'm fine. I promise."

Tony took in a recalibrating breath, walking around Peter and taking out the remaining contents of his bag,

"You may be here a while. I packed a week's worth of stuff. I'm gonna try to see if Pepper will come stay with you once I get a hold of her."

"Dad, please."

"Jarvis is down. Maybe indefinitely. If you need anything, just shout for Friday."

Peter tilted his head.

"Wait, what?"

"Hello, Peter."

Peter jolted in surprise at the feminine voice filling the room from the ceiling speakers.

"My name is Friday, or Female Replacement Intelligent Digital Assistant Youth."

Peter clicked his tongue. "Cool, cool."

"And, you can always call me. I'm gonna be...I don't know where I'm gonna be. Maybe back home, maybe Sokovia."

"Sokovia? Dad, would you please just tell me what's going on?"

Tony paused, Peter's hoodie in his grip. He sighed in defeat, slumping down on the edge of Peter's bed. Peter sat next to him in concern.

"There's, uh..." he took in a shaky breath, placing a tethering hand on Peter's knee. "There's a lot in the air right now, not much I can explain. I just...I need to know you'll be safe, and that can only happen here. Nobody knows about this. Not Pepper, not the team, not even Happy."

Peter hummed, his face still scrunched in confusion.

"And that robot thing?"

Tony swallowed thickly, his words carefully calculated. 

"Just me trying and failing to get ahead of the game," he joked, unable to mask the trembling in his voice. 

Peter knew about this game. The endgame, as Tony called it. Ever since the wormhole, he had been terrified of what goes beyond the solar system and the galaxy and the thousands of other galaxies outside of it.

"Kid, you have to understand...I can't keep letting my things hurt you. Remember the Stark Expo from way back when? The alien invasion in the city? Mark forty-two? Etcetera?"

Peter closed his eyes. He remembered all too well.

"Those things..." Tony's gaze drifted back down to the bruises littering Peter's neck. He couldn't look at them for more than three seconds. "They can't happen anymore. Ever."

"What about you?" Peter blurted out, shaking his head. "What if you get hurt?"

Tony thought back to what he hallucinated back at Strucker's base in Sokovia.

The Avengers' corpses had been scattered among a pile of rubble in space. The image alone had paralyzed him completely and numbed him to his surroundings, though not even the sound of Steve choking on his own blood was as spine-chilling as the image he had seen of Peter, dead at the top of the mountain.

Lifeless eyes had stared into Tony's and had become tattooed to his brain ever since.

Bloody eyes, bloody curls, bloody limbs.

Tony blinked the blurriness in his vision away, cupping Peter's neck and breathing into his curls.

"I'm more afraid of being the one that doesn't get hurt at all."

Chapter Text

🕷⎊🕷

FALL, 2015

Peter all but stumbled into the tower living room when he arrived back from school. 

“Hey, kid!” Tony called from the kitchen. Peter trudged slowly toward the voice and found Tony stirring something in a pot, steam billowing from the stove and filling the space with the smell of something delicious.

To Peter, however, it was nearly enough to make him projectile vomit.

”Dinner is almost ready,” Tony said over his shoulder. Peter raised his head and realized Tony was bopping his head to music, more jubilant than ever.

The sound bounced around the walls of Peter’s skull, and he swore his heart was beating in his forehead.

God, he was going to be sick.

...Or, no. He definitely already was.

“How was your field trip to Oscorp?”

Peter tripped over his shoes and narrowly caught himself on the countertop. Tony turned at the noise, his smile disappearing as he dropped his spoon and skirted around the counter. 

“Pete?” He took Peter by the shoulders and lifted Peter’s chin with his hand to elicit eye contact. Peter’s pupils were blown and his skin so pale it looked green. He was soaked in sweat, his skin hot to the touch.

”Peter-“

”’M fine,” Peter slurred out. “‘M fine, jus’ a fever.”

”Kid...” Tony looked Peter up and down again, his brows pinched together in concern. “How did you get home like this?”

Peter attempted to remain standing without Tony’s help, though as soon as Tony reluctantly released his hold on Peter’s shoulder and chin, the kid was swaying and nearly tumbling to the floor.

”Shit-come on, easy does it.”

Tony took Peter’s arm and draped it around his shoulder, carefully guiding him out of the kitchen and toward his bedroom. Peter continued tripping over his shoes until they finally walked through the threshold of his room. Tony led him to the bed, sitting him down on the edge.

”I’ll see if Helen is up for a visit,” Tony mumbled frantically under his breath, crossing to Peter’s dresser and searching for pajamas. “You’re okay, kid. You’re gonna be just fine.”

Tony crossed back over to the bed with one of Peter’s math pun shirts in one hand and his plaid pajama pants in the other. He paused, watching as Peter closed his eyes in agony.

”Kid?”

”Your heart...’s loud.”

Tony blinked. “How do you mean, kiddo?”

”It’s loud...it’s echoing in...in the room. You don’ hear that?”

Tony stared at Peter uneasily, carefully placing the pajamas on the bed and bringing two hands to cup Peter’s face. 

“I-I’m sure you’re hearing something else.”

”No...it’s racing. I can hear...your heartbeat.”

”...Open your eyes for me, Peter.”

Peter did so reluctantly, opening them and then immediately flinching out of Tony’s hands.

”Too bright. ‘S so bright. Can you turn-turn the lights off?”

Tony, still numb in his confusion, crossed back to the door and flicked the light switch off. Peter's lamp from his nightstand lit the room, and when Tony turned around, it illuminated Peter’s eyes rolling back into his head as he collapsed back on the bed.

He rushed back to the bed and cradled Peter’s head with one hand, taking Peter’s hand in his other. 

“Peter, kid, I need you to stay awake-“

He paused when he glanced down at Peter’s hand, his heart leaping to his throat.

A large, swollen bump festered on the back of Peter’s hand, the veins dark beneath his white-hot skin. Two dots rested in the center, blood trickling out of them.

Tony was numb, unable to take his gaze off of it. Finally, after reality caught back up to him, he brushed Peter’s curls off of his forehead with a shaking hand and adjusted Peter so that he was laying on his pillow.

Peter groaned in protest, his face scrunched in discomfort. Tony cupped Peter’s face, his eyes urgent.

”Peter...baby, what happened to you?”

He didn’t respond, breaths shallow. Tony swallowed a thick feeling of foreboding rising in his throat.

”Peter,” he repeated carefully, “what did this to you?”

Peter frowned, sweat dripping down his forehead. He opened his eyes sleepily, a chill coursing through Tony’s spine at the redness of them. 

“A bug...goin’ around the school.”

”A bug,” Tony repeated.

“Jus’ a bug.”

”Peter, your hand looks like it needs to be amputated and you’re warmer than an Afghanistan desert. I’m gonna need a better explanation than a bug.”

Peter’s eyes fell closed again, his hand falling limp in Tony’s hold. Tony’s heart sunk.

”No, no, no. Peter, wake up.”

The kid’s head lolled to the side. Tony hastily pulled his phone out of his pocket, dialing Helen’s number. 

🕷⎊🕷

“...needs...now, Helen.”

Peter groaned as he regained consciousness.

”No...can’t wait that long.”

He grimaced at the intensity of the voice he heard, his ears ringing and the hairs on the back of his neck standing up on end. 

“Please...anything. Something...really wrong.”

He stretched his arms and blinked the sleep out of his eyes. He was in his room and on the bed, dressed in pajamas. His bedroom door was cracked open. 

With a grunt and an abundance of hesitation, he swung his legs off of the side of the bed and rose to his feet.

He stumbled a bit upon regaining his balance, his head swimming. Once it faded, the memory of his field trip to Oscorp was crashing into him all at once.

”Shit,” he whispered, bringing his hand up for inspection.

The mark where the blue and red spider had bitten him had vanished into nothing but a blemish, invisible unless you knew what to look for. He frowned in confusion, glancing at the mirror that hung above his dresser.

He certainly wasn’t as pale or zombie-looking as he hazily remembered being. In fact, he couldn’t put his finger on it, but he looked...different.

He narrowed his eyes and leaned toward the mirror, studying himself. He lifted a curious hand to touch his face.

He didn’t look or feel as small as he usually did. His shirt felt tighter and the cuffs of his pajama pants felt higher on his legs. 

The hairs on his arms suddenly stood up on end and his ears began buzzing as the door inched open. Tony was walking in with a frustrated huff, pocketing his phone and freezing at the absence of Peter in the bed.

His eyes trailed to where Peter stood in front of the dresser, his mouth agape. 

“Peter, I-what-“

”Hi,” Peter said quietly, his brow permanently scrunched in confusion. Tony mirrored the feeling. 

“Are you...” Tony stepped forward worriedly, closing the distance between them and lifting two cautious hands to cup Peter’s face. “Are you alright?”

“I think so,” Peter frowned, Tony’s uneasiness making him feel uneasy himself. “What’s wrong?”

Tony blinked, as if that were the most ridiculous question he’d ever been asked.

”What’s wrong? What’s wrong is you stumbled in here with a 103° fever and a mountain on your hand and-“

Tony lifted Peter’s hand for proof. Peter stared at him, his head tilted quizzically.

Tony paused and noticed the bite mark had vanished, leaving nothing but a small spot. He lifted Peter’s other hand, disbelief tracing his features.

”No, no, no. What?”

Tony lifted his hand to Peter’s forehead and felt for a fever. 

“Dad, seriously-“

“You’re still a little warm. You should really rest, kid. You know, you scared the devil out of me.”

Peter snorted. “I’m fine. I told you it was just a bug.”

Tony backed away from him a small step, his confusion and concern growing faster by the second.

”Did you get taller?”

”...I think you’re the one that needs rest.”

🕷⎊🕷

Over the course of a month, Peter had undergone more changes than ever before in his life.

His mother's death and his father's reputation as Iron Man didn't even begin to compare to the adjustments he had been experiencing since his field trip to Oscorp. His limbs ached, his senses were heightened, his hands and feet stuck to walls, and his stick-like limbs had transformed into muscles he didn't know what to do with.

Tony seemed to grow suspicious of his changes, too. Earlier, Peter had gripped the refrigerator handle so tight that the metal warped to match his handprint. 

He ended up understanding eventually. 

The spider that had bitten him was a radioactive, genetically modified super-spider. His senses were dialed to one hundred as a result and his nerve conduction velocity had a new sense of reflexes, which explained the chills and buzzing in his ears. His DNA fusing with the spider's DNA also explained his newfound strength.

He had no idea how to explain any of that nonsense to Tony.

His mind swam one night as he walked home from Decathalon practice, his hand fisted on his backpack strap and his hoodie thrown over his head to hide from unwanted press. School that day had been exhausting, what with his hands sticking to the lockers and Ned pressing him with questions about what his problem was the past few weeks.

Before he could stew any longer, a chill coursed down his spine and his ears buzzed loudly, directing his gaze to an alley as he walked past it.

A man in black was wrestling with another man and pressing him against a brick wall, a bag in both of their grips. The one in black was obviously attempting a robbery.

Peter paused. He'd seen this before in New York all the time. When he was little, he would beg Tony to help, and sometimes he would, but oftentimes Tony would gently direct Peter's gaze elsewhere.

This time, something was compelling Peter into the alley. He threw off his backpack and jogged toward them, his heart thudding in his throat.

"Hey! Hey!"

The two men turned toward him. The one against the wall seemed to tense at his presence, and the one in black clicked the safety off of a gun, taking aim at Peter.

"Kid," the man against the wall hissed. "Get out of here! Go grab an adult, okay?"

Peter chewed his cheek, not once taking his eyes off of the gun aimed at his head.

"Let him go," Peter insisted, voice low. The robber scoffed. 

"Or what?"

Peter stepped forward. The robber pulled the trigger.

The crack of the gun was deafening, though Peter was robotically ducking his head and missing the bullet by a hair.

He wasted only a moment paralyzed in shock before he lurched forward and wrestled the man out of the robber's grasp, taking the robber's wrists in his hands and backing him against the wall. 

The bag they had been wrestling over dropped to the floor. The man shot down toward it and dug out his phone, dialing 911.

The robber began making shots before Peter snatched the gun out of his grasp and tossed it aside, punching him in the face and knocking him out.

Peter's panicked breaths echoed throughout the alley as he numbly backed away from the wall. The robber crumpled to the floor, his nose gushing blood.

"Oh, my god," Peter muttered, looking at his hands. "Oh, my god. I-I knocked him out. I knocked him out. I knocked him out-"

"Kid." He almost forgot that the other man was still there before he was cautiously touching Peter's shoulder and making urgent eye contact with him. "You alright? You hurt?"

Peter shook his head with wide eyes, gaze trailing back down to his hands.

He brushed past the man, scooped up his backpack, and sprinted out of the alleyway.

🕷⎊🕷

Peter rushed through the front door with wide eyes and frantic breaths, slamming the door behind him and leaning against it with closed eyes.

"Peter?"

Peter's eyes flew open with a gasp at the sound of Tony's voice from the living room. He was rising from the couch, brows pinched together in concern.

"Jesus, what's wrong? You look like you saw a ghost."

Peter shook his head, offering a nervous smile and depositing his backpack on the floor.

"Just-just something weird on the way home. No big deal."

"...Dammit, kid. This is why I want Happy taking you to and from school. Why won't you just let Happy drive you around?"

Peter sighed, taking several recalibrating breaths as he crossed to the living room couch and slumped down into it.

Tony sighed, too, following his kid and sitting down next to him.

"Come on. Spill the details."

Peter leaned his head back on the couch, still rather breathless as he calculated his words.

"...What made you decide to become Iron Man?"

Tony blinked. He looked up and around the room awkwardly, clearing his throat.

"Well...being held hostage for three months was definitely a factor."

Peter's eyes widened slightly, turning toward him apologetically.

"I-I didn't mean-I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"Kid," Tony smiled, placing a hand on his knee. "It's okay."

Peter nodded hesitantly, crossing his hands together and bouncing his leg anxiously.

"..I-I just mean...I mean, you could've just...built the suit to escape and then scrapped it forever, so...I guess-I guess I just mean..."

Tony sighed in thought, running a hand down his face. 

He knew Peter would want the specifics of what exactly happened with Stane and the Ten Rings and Afghanistan eventually. He had only been six at the time, after all, and Tony wasn't sure how much of that time Peter even remembered.

Tony smiled fondly at the memory of his return. That was the first time Peter called Tony his Dad.

"It's...a little more complicated than that," he supplied eventually, turning his head toward Peter and studying the kid as his leg bounced and his hands wrung together nervously. "You have to understand...those three months in captivity, they-they changed everything."

"How so?"

"...Well...The whole reason I was there was to demonstrate a missile I created when I was a weapons developer. But..."

It was Tony's turn to wring his hands together anxiously and bounce his leg.

He had always struggled with anxiety, but usually, if Peter was nearby, he was able to control it.

So, he looked into his kid's eyes and anchored himself there as long as he could.

"I had to see firsthand the...destruction I caused, whether directly or indirectly. And, well...I had to de-weaponize myself. Which, you know, meant using my incredibly immense talents for better."

Peter hummed at Tony's attempted lightheartedness, understanding slowly tracing his features.

Now he knew.

If Peter could do the things he could do, but chose not to...

Bad things would keep happening because of him.

"Hey, you know something?" Tony said, adjusting so that he was leaning against Peter on the couch and throwing his legs over the armrest. "Seems like just yesterday I was with you on this couch and you were just yay tall all cuddly in my arms."

Peter snorted, lifting his arm over Tony's shoulder.

"Oh, despair," Tony sighed, throwing a dramatic hand over his forehead and closing his eyes. "Ever since your growth spurt, you're tall enough to hold me all cuddly in your arms."

"Oh, yeah, sure. And I didn't have a growth spurt."

"You did, and I noticed. I thought we had an agreement that you were gonna stay small forever."

"I don't remember agreeing to that."

"You did, just take my word for it."

Peter laughed, the sound contagious as Tony joined in.

"Hey, you got homework or Decathalon practice or nerd club tonight?"

Peter clicked his tongue. "Uh, no, no, and I thought this was nerd club."

"Well, it can be if you wanna order pizza and watch a movie."

Peter smiled. "Yeah. That sounds good."

Tony smiled, too, clearing his throat.

"Friday?"

"On its way, boss."

"Yes," Tony pumped a fist. "I'm excited. Are you excited?"

"Maybe...can we watch Psych?"

"Oh, I'm psyched for Psych."

🕷⎊🕷

After their movie night, Peter knew what he had to do.

People with abilities like Peter didn't just sit idly by and leave the saving to others.

He knew, logically, he couldn't use too many of his father's resources in the lab; Friday practically tracked and recorded everything that happened in the lab, at least when Tony was there.

He could, however, promise Friday not to tell Tony about his nighttime trip to the lab and talk to her as little as possible. He needed his work there to be practically nonexistent.

"How can I help you, Peter?"

"Hey, Fri," he said, crossing to the worktable with his sketchbook in hand. He flicked the table lamp on and flipped through the pages. 

"What are you up to at this hour?"

Peter chuckled under his breath. "Homework, my lady."

She said nothing. Peter counted it as a success as he stared at his sketchbook, which was opened on a sketch of a suit on one page and a web formula on the other.

Again, he couldn't use too many of the resources in the lab, but for the suit, he had a red hoodie and gloves and boots he could repurpose to better fit the job.

As for the web formula, he knew where his father kept a series of beakers and test tubes. Granted, they were collecting dust unless Bruce or Helen visited, but they would do.

With an ear-to-ear grin, he turned back to his sketchbook with his pencil, hastily scribbling "Mark One: Spider-Man" on the top corner.

🕷⎊🕷

"Hey, what do you know about this?"

Peter hummed from where he sat eating his breakfast at the kitchen bar as Tony slid a Stark pad his way from the opposite side. Peter frowned, taking the tablet in his hands and tensing at the screen.

A Daily Bugle article with the headline "Spider-Man: Menace to Society" illuminated the screen, a picture of Spider-Man, or more accurately Peter, photographed swinging above the city.

Peter dropped his spoon in his cereal and choked briefly, bringing a fist to his mouth.

"Sorry, sorry."

Tony snorted, snatching the tablet from Peter's hands.

"What, you've seen him around?"

"Uh..." Peter nodded, clearing his throat with a grimace. "Yeah, sure. Once or twice on my way home from school."

"Pretty cool looking. Granted, he could use some upgrades."

Peter deflated. "Upgrades?"

"Well, you know, I wouldn't have gone with the hoodie, fingerless gloves, color scheme, etcetera. But I've been trying to get in touch with him."

Peter's eyes widened slightly. He stifled another choking fit.

"Uh...how-how come?"

"He could be an asset," Tony sighed, removing his reading glasses and placing two hands on the counter in thought. "But he seems like a rookie. Thought maybe Steve and Nat could rough him up a little at the compound. You know, show him the ropes. Plus, as I said: upgrades."

Peter nodded numbly, watching as Tony turned his back to pour himself a cup of coffee. He cleared his throat, his shoulders tense.

"...Or...I don't know. He seems like-like kind of a...lone ranger to me, you know?"

Tony turned with a frown, a brow raised in question.

"I mean, it's just-it's just that, well, maybe he's not working with anyone for a reason? Like, maybe he's just kind of a...a friendly, neighborhood...spider-man...So, you know, maybe he doesn't wanna work with, like, the Avengers, you know?"

Tony blinked, tilting his head.

"No. That can't be right. Who wouldn't wanna work with the Avengers?"

Peter forced a laugh, accompanied by a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. 

"Right...I, uh...gotta get to school."

He scooped his backpack up off of the back of his chair and was rushing out the door before Tony could even say goodbye.

🕷⎊🕷

Peter got home from "Decathalon practice" at around eight.

When he had initially made the decision to play dress-up vigilante, he hadn't taken into consideration the extent of how many injuries he would acquire and how frequently he would acquire them.

That night, in particular, he had acquired a rather nasty black eye from his patrol adventures, and as he entered the penthouse living room, he prayed to god that Tony wouldn't ask about the hoodie draped over his head.

"What's up with the hood, Kenobi?"

Fuck.

"Uh," Peter panicked, realizing Tony was sitting on the living room couch reading something on his tablet. Tony turned his head back with a warm smile, folding his glasses.

"What, you got a hickey?"

"I-what?!" Peter grimaced in disgust. "No!"

"Just checking. You know, you can tell me anything, Petey-Pie."

Peter nodded unconvincingly, shooting Tony an unceremonious thumbs-up.

"...Thanks, Dad."

Tony frowned, standing from the couch and following Peter as the kid walked briskly to his room.

"C'mon, seriously. I've never seen you wear a hood up like this unless you're hiding from the press."

"Maybe I'm trying something new."

Tony snorted. "That's preposterous. You never try something new. You haven't changed your style since you were five."

"That...is not true."

"Well, fine. What's her name? Or, you know, his name. Their name. Just give me a name."

Peter sighed, turning the corner into his room and flicking the lights on.

Tony huffed impatiently, taking Peter's shoulder and turning him toward him with an amused smile.

The hood slid off of his head and Peter's heart jolted, though not as much as Tony's as the light illuminated the purple and yellow bruise around his eye and on his cheekbone.

Tony's mouth hung open in shock, eyes widening by the second as he studied the bruise. Peter slumped in defeat, uncomfortably allowing Tony to raise his chin with two fingers and stare.

Finally, Tony released his grip on Peter's face, though he was taking Peter by the shoulders instead, jaw clenched and shoulders tense and eyes furious.

"Who did this?"

"Dad, please-"

"Peter," he said carefully, grip on Peter's shoulders tightening. "Who. Did this?"

"No one," he insisted, squirming out of Tony's holding and tossing his bag onto his bed. "I fell, that's all."

Tony scoffed. "You...fell? Did you fall face first?"

"I'm embarrassed enough about it as it is, Dad. You don't have to rub it in my face."

"Would you stop protecting whoever did this to you so that I can send a suit to their address and blow them to kingdom come?"

Peter sighed. He knew exactly what Tony was feeling.

He had experienced it for nearly ten years as Tony Stark's son, had worried endlessly over his father and watched him bleed and nearly sacrifice limbs. He knew what it was like to do nothing but worry about what could happen if someone you loved wasn't more careful.

He deflated, turning back over his shoulder and staring Tony in the eye for the first time that night. Tony's heart broke at the blood in Peter's eye.

"Jesus Christ, Peter-"

"I just wanna sleep it off."

Tony chewed the inside of his cheek, maintaining eye contact as long as his heart would let him.

"...Sleep," he said defeatedly, cupping Peter's neck and kissing his forehead. "And then you give me names."

Peter sighed with a nod.

"I got a pack of frozen peas in the freezer with your name on them. I want that thing iced and gone in the morning."

Peter nodded.

He could manage that.

🕷⎊🕷

Peter practically crashed onto a rooftop after an encounter with a gunman at a cornerstone, his heart racing in his chest.

He kneeled, wanting to take off his mask to catch his breath though a ringing in his ears and a chill down his spine told him to keep it on.

They also told him to turn his head, where he saw Iron Man land on the same rooftop.

Shit, shit, shit-

Peter jumped to his feet, watching as the Iron Man armor unfolded and Tony was stepping out, wearing a three-piece suit and smiling.

"You're a hard man to track down," Tony said, the name foreign on his tongue. He unhooked a pair of sunglasses from his shirt and folded them onto his face. 

Peter said nothing, puffing his chest out.

Tony sighed, stuffing his hands in his pockets and looking toward the sunset.

"Quite a view. It's so much prettier in a suit, huh?"

Peter's heart thundered in his ears. Even without enhanced senses, he prayed Tony couldn't hear.

Tony gestured to Peter up and down.

"Fingerless gloves wouldn't have been my first choice. Granted, I've been told you're a man of free will."

Tony stepped forward. Peter stepped back.

"I don't bite, Spider-Boy. And you don't have to talk. So, how's about this: I want you to train at a private facility upstate. Imagine Captain America as your personal trainer."

Peter smiled discreetly. That did sound amazing.

He clenched his fists and shook his head instead, crossing to the ledge of the rooftop.

"Look, I hate to break it to you, kid, but New York's infrastructure loses five years of its life every time you use it as your playground. I want to change that."

Peter deflated. Tony had no idea who was beneath the mask, but all he wanted was his father's approval.

He cleared his throat and adjusted the web-shooters on his wrists.

"You make those yourself?"

Peter blinked, following Tony's finger as he pointed at Peter's wrists. He shrugged in response

Tony hummed. "That tensile strength is off the charts. Impossible to replicate without the original formula. Believe me, I tried."

Peter's chest swelled with warmth. 

I tried.

With another clear of his throat, Peter sent a two-fingered salute Tony's way before he was hopping off of the ledge and swinging away faster than he ever had before in his life.

🕷⎊🕷

Peter arrived home that night quietly, looking around the penthouse living room for any sight of Tony.

"Dad?"

Peter listened hard until he was able to distinguish Tony's voice in the kitchen. He sounded like he was on the phone.

Peter nodded to himself, crossing to the living room and depositing his bag onto the couch. He walked carefully into the kitchen, where Tony paced behind the kitchen island.

He hid behind the corner where Tony couldn't see him, ears zeroing in on Tony's words.

"Yeah, believe me, not a word out of this guy. It was like talking to a brick wall."

"Well, someone has gotta get a hold of him."

Peter blinked. What was Tony doing talking to Rhodey about Spider-Man?

"I tried, Honeybear. That's all I'm saying. Let the record show an attempt was made."

"I don't understand what kind of kid doesn't wanna work with Captain America."

"...And Iron Man."

"Huh? Yeah, sure."

"Look, what harm is he doing, really? He's just a...friendly, neighborhood Spider-Man. Why not let him do his thing?"

"If he's just a neighborhood dude then why is the Secretary of State breathing down my neck about this guy?"

Peter's eyes doubled their size.

Shit.

"Honestly, Rhodey, Ross has a tendency to bark up the wrong tree. He can take a chill pill about a kid doing the cop's work for them. Anyway, I gotta go, love. I think the kid just got back from Decathalon practice."

"Yeah. See you, man."

"Alright."

Tony ended the call with a sigh, tossing his phone on the counter and running a tired hand down his face. 

Peter chose that moment to round the corner with a clear of his throat. Tony perked at the sound, a smile instantly gracing his face.

"Well, well, well. You're in trouble, young man."

Peter stilled, swallowing thickly.

"Uh...how come?"

Tony dug into his pocket and lifted Peter's inhaler with narrowed eyes.

"You left this in your room. You know you're supposed to take this with you at all times. What, do you want to suffocate to death?"

Peter deflated with relief, a nervous laugh escaping him as he crossed to the counter and reached over to take the inhaler.

"Right. Sorry."

Tony hummed unconvincingly. He gestured to a brown paper bag on the countertop.

"I'll forgive you over dinner. Chinese sound good?"

"Sounds great."

Tony nodded, opening the bag and gesturing for Peter to take a seat at one of the barstools. He began unpacking the contents tiredly.

"...Everything okay?"

Tony shrugged. "Yeah. Sorry I haven't been able to cook more recently."

"No, no, that's-it's fine. That's not what I meant."

"Yeah," Tony sighed. Peter kicked his feet against the chair anxiously. "I don't know. I think getting Spider-Man to train upstate might be a dead-end."

Peter nodded, his shoulders tense.

"Well...like I said, maybe that's just what he wants, you know?"

"I'm thinking you might be right."

Peter took a small bite of rice as Tony rounded the counter and took a seat beside him.

"I just want to find a way to give him a heads up. You know who Thaddeus Ross is?"

"...Uh...Secretary of...something, right?"

"Something, yeah," Tony nodded, taking his own bite of rice and chewing in thought. "Anyway, he's worried about this guy, and not in a good way. Might even try to detain him."

Peter felt a rush of blood to his ears, his heart thundering in his chest.

"Why, uh...why would he want to do that?"

Tony snorted. "He's been barking up a tree with the words 'accountability' carved into the side of them. The bigger picture is, you know, creating a system of accountability for the Avengers to make up for collateral damage. But my guess is he's starting with this Spider-Guy and building up from there. Rhodey says there's talk of holding cells for enhanced individuals. I mean, for godsakes, he's old-fashioned if I ever saw it."

Peter's senses began ringing so loudly in his ears that he was grimacing and bringing two hands to his temples. Tony frowned next to him, leaning forward.

"Kid?"

"Sorry," Peter blurted out, rising from his chair and wincing at the noise of the chair legs grinding against the floor. "Sorry, I-I think I'm just getting a headache or-or something. I'll be right back."

"I-"

Tony watched numbly as Peter practically sprinted out of the room.

"...Dinner for one, then."

🕷⎊🕷

Getting kidnapped happened far too often in Tony's life.

Afghanistan was an obvious one. Killian had handcuffed him to an upright bedframe in Florida during the Mandarin dilemma, and there was the occasional lunatic that would hold him for ransom and get tracked down by Rhodey after thirty minutes of captivity.

Explaining it all to Peter in the aftermath was never pretty, but he hoped he could be in and out of his current ordeal before Peter got out of Decathalon practice. The kid seemed to be staying later and later these days anyway.

This time, he was in a fairly large cell. He was handcuffed to a pole in the center of the room, his head pounding behind his eyes. 

Someone was standing in front of the bars in his cell with an amused smile, tilting their head as they watched Tony struggle to rise to his feet.

"Hey, anyway we can make this quick?" Tony asked breathlessly, checking a watch that was no longer attached to his wrist. "My kid has a math test tomorrow. Promised I'd help him study."

The person sighed, unlocking Tony's cell door and stepping inside with a sickly smile.

"Talk any more and I'll have my guys swing over and take little Peter to a cell of his own."

Tony bit his tongue. They always threatened that and it was usually an empty promise, but it made Tony's vision red nonetheless.

"Alright. What do you want? Money? Weapons? A pretty face to look at?"

"You got it," the person sighed. Tony could see now that they stood under the single lightbulb in the cell that it was a woman, her brown hair tied in a ponytail. Tony didn't miss the gun strapped to her belt.

"Money is always in demand," she said, gesturing to the cell. "Can't keep holding people of interest in this dump."

"Hmm," Tony clicked his tongue with a shrug. "I don't know, with an accent wall and a futon it wouldn't be so bad."

She tilted her head, smiling impatiently.

"Now that we both got the biting sarcasm off of our chests," she said, taking the gun off of her belt and examining it, "let's talk figures." 

"Of course. I was thinking somewhere in the negatives."

"Yeah," she winced, cocking the gun and closing one eye as she aimed it at Tony's forehead. "That's my bad. When I said 'let's talk figures', I was thinking more that I would be telling you figures and you would be doing whatever the hell I say."

"Not how I do business. I don't even know your name."

"Selina," she said. "And you better start doing it my way in the next five seconds before your brain matter becomes the accent wall."

A movement behind Selina caught Tony's eye. He squinted, looking past the cell bars and making out the outline of someone hanging from the ceiling.

Spider-Man. He couldn't fight his grin as he turned back to her with a shrug.

"This is gonna be so funny when you're in a federal prison cell of your own."

Before she could even blink, Spider-Man was shooting a web at her head through the bars and pulling, yanking her back and smacking her head into the bars with a reverberating bang.

She snarled, rising to her feet and aiming her gun at the masked vigilante. 

"Shit-!"

She fired shots at him dizzily, Tony began trying to rid himself of his cuffs behind her. 

"You got this, kid!"

Spider-Man shot another web through the bars and snatched her gun out of her grip, sending it clattering to the floor. 

He cleared his throat and made a ridiculous attempt to lower his voice.

"Didn't anyone tell you guns are cheating?"

He placed two hands on the cell door and forced it open with ease, his fist clenched.

"So you're Spider-Boy," Selina smirked, looking him up and down with an unimpressed grimace.

Tony blinked from his pole, gaze shifting between the two. 

"And...you two know each other, or...?"

"I like to think so," Tony shrugged. 

"Colleagues," Spider-Man cleared his throat again. Tony smiled at the implication. "This is just a...professional courtesy."

"Ah," she nodded, touching the wet spot on the back of her head with a wince. "So, it's just you, then?"

Spider-Man shrugged. "Depends. Is it just you here, too?"

He swung a fist at her face, a shout escaping her and echoing on the walls. She toppled to the floor before she swung a leg at Spider-Man's shins and sent him to the ground, too.

She lurched toward the gun on the ground and aimed it at Spider-Man's head as she stood.

He jumped to his feet, too, his hands wrapping around hers on the weapon until they were both wrestling to get it out of each other's grip. Selina maneuvered her finger around the trigger, a deafening shot ringing out in the cell.

Tony's eyes went wide as Spider-Man jolted with a shout at the action.

She reached another hand forward and took a handful of the fabric on Spider-Man's mask, ripping it off of his head. 

Spider-Man turned his head with a grunt to conceal his identity before he was yanking the gun out of her hand and sending an elbow to her face.

She crumpled to the floor unconscious, the gun clattering beside her. 

Tony leaned forward in anticipation, watching as Spider-Man huffed on the ground with a protective arm wrapped around his stomach.

"Spidey? Talk to me. Are you hit?"

Spider-Man said nothing, his face hidden beneath his hood and his agonizing breaths echoing throughout the cell.

"You can show me your face. We're colleagues now, remember? We can work it all out, I promise."

He rose to a crouch, a steadying hand on the floor. Blood began dripping from his stomach and pooling to the floor.

He turned his head over his shoulder.

🕷⎊🕷

Peter's world, in simple terms, was completely fucking ending.

Friday had alerted him when Tony had been abducted. She explained that Rhodey was in DC and was too held up with Secretary Ross to get to Tony in the next hour.

The next set of events were robotic. They were obvious.

Peter had spent years standing on the sidelines and wondering if his father would make it home alive.

Now, for the first time ever, he had control.

It wasn't hard to track Tony down with Friday's help. The kidnappers were amateurs, having removed Tony's watch and phone though they remained in their van ride to an abandoned warehouse and Peter was able to track them.

Peter considered himself a rather innocent kid, but he wasn't sure if he would be able to control his enhanced strength when he got his hands on his father's kidnappers.

With his heart in his throat, Peter had located Tony's cell, gaze turning red as he laid eyes on the woman aiming a gun at Tony's chest. His father was handcuffed to a rusty pole and small-talking his way out of death.

He couldn't recall much of what happened after. 

The image alone was enough to send him into a rage.

As he predicted, he didn't go easy on her, but she was resilient. He thought slamming her head against the bars would take her out, or a punch to the face, but his elbow ended up finally doing the trick.

Of course, not before she managed to fire a bullet between his ribs.

Following the gunshot and Selina's defeat, a moment passed that felt like decades. A moment filled with tense, panicking breathing, the drips of his blood on the dirty concrete floor, and a terrible realization.

Something was wrong. Something was missing.

My mask.

Cool air was brushing against his face as he turned away from Tony behind him. Tony was speaking to him, words reassuring. He closed his eyes, finding warmth and comfort in his voice.

"Spidey...talk...you hit?"

He groaned, a metallic taste rising in his throat.

"...work it all out...promise."

His breaths were raspy, every expansion of his lungs sending a course of agony through him. His senses were practically blaring like trumpets in his ears and it was the kind of warning he dreaded. Something he couldn't stop, such as a punch to the face or the fire of the gun only moments before.

But this was worse.

This was much, much worse.

With an exhausted huff, he prepared himself for the inevitable, turning his head over his shoulder.

The loudest silence he had ever experienced filled the room. 

When Peter blinked the blurriness out of his eyes, he realized it was because his father had a frozen, horrified, pale look on his face, eyes looking Peter up and down in raw dread.

Tony went from hunched over his pole to stiff in a heartbeat. He could've sworn ice was shooting through every vein and nerve in his body as he stared at the familiar curls peeking out of Spider-Man's hood, apologetic and pain-filled eyes locking on his. 

Tony could do nothing but stare, his mind racing with a thousand thoughts yet frozen in dread all at once.

He was afraid that if he opened his mouth he would vomit.

"...Peter?"

Peter held his pain-filled breaths at Tony's voice. It was filled with a horrible realization, laced with pure panic.

Peter opened his mouth to say something, a stream of blood slowly dripping down the corner of his mouth. Tony's gaze was suddenly glued to the growing crimson stain on his son's stomach to the growing crimson puddle beneath him to Peter's eyes and his curls and his face-

"No," Tony breathed out after an eternity of silence. "Oh, God, no, no, no, no-"

"Dad, we gotta-we gotta get out of here."

Tony shook his head numbly as Peter stood with a muffled sound of agony, limping Tony's way.

"We don't have much time," Peter continued breathlessly. He reached a shaky, bloody hand forward and snapped the chain of Tony's handcuffs in half with ease. Tony's hands fell uselessly to his side as he watched Peter cross to the cell doors, eyes urgent as he checked for anyone else nearby.

Peter turned Tony's way again, making hesitant eye contact. 

"You..." Tony started, only he had no earthly idea where to start.

"..You've been shot."

Peter closed his eyes, swallowing thickly around the blood in his throat.

"You've been shot. You've been shot. Oh, my God, Peter, you've been shot-"

"Dad, please, I have to get you out of here. I don't-" Peter paused, his face scrunched in discomfort, "I don't know who else could be in the-the building."

Tony continued shaking his head, horror and worry and anger and shock making him dead and useless to everything around him.

He's only fourteen.

He was violently snapped out of his thoughts as Peter coughed and collapsed to his knees, placing a steadying hand on the ground and wrapping a hand around his ribs.

"Peter," Tony blurted out, rushing to his side in a heartbeat and falling to his knees so that they were eye-level. He raised two violently trembling hands to cup Peter's face, his heart jolting at the blood spilling out of his lips.

"We gotta-gotta go-"

"Peter," Tony repeated, blinking away tears as Peter suddenly went limp, collapsing onto his back. His eyes widened, the dread in his chest swelling as he applied pressure to Peter's stomach.

"Peter! Peter, baby, stay awake, I-oh god, Peter, I need you to stay awake-"

Peter didn't respond, his eyes closed. Tony cursed under his breath, blood-soaked hands performing compressions to Peter's chest.

"You're okay," he insisted, voice trembling. "You're fine. You're going to be fine. I've got you, I've got you-"

Tony barely even noticed that Rhodey had arrived in his War Machine armor before an armored hand was taking Tony's shoulder firmly, a familiar voice echoing in Tony's head.

"Tony, what the fuck-why is Peter-"

"Peter is Spider-Man," Tony said numbly, as if admitting it to himself, convincing himself it was real. "Rhodey, Peter is-Peter is Spider-Man-"

Rhodey said nothing, reaching down and scooping the limp teenager into his arms. Tony's heart jolted at the sight before he was rising to his feet urgently, not once taking his eyes off of his kid.

"...Oh, hell, Tony."

"How fast can you get us to the medbay?"

Rhodey clenched his jaw before he was turning and marching out of the cell, Tony hot on his heels.

"Consider us there."

Chapter Text

🕷⎊🕷

After they arrived at the medbay and Peter was wheeled into surgery, Tony was left alone in the waiting area with his thoughts.

Millions of thoughts, rather, were swimming in his brain, accompanied by a million feelings, and he did his best in his concussed, petrified state to narrow them down.

Number one: horror.

Horror was still making his limbs stiff and numb, still apparent in his eyes. Horror was accompanied by the image of Peter, his child, wearing that red hoodie and bleeding from a gunshot wound. Horror was still paralyzing him when he remembered the feeling of Peter going limp in his arms, blood spilling from his mouth and ribs.

Then, there was that second, confusing feeling stewing in Tony's stomach.

Guilt.

He thought back to the past few weeks. That feeling that had been nagging at him every time Peter returned home from Decathalon practice after sunset, every time Peter got a black eye or a gash on his knuckle, every time Peter grimaced in discomfort and held his head in his hands.

It had been nagging at him and he hadn't done anything.

Something is wrong with Peter.

He had been thinking it ever since that fever Peter got after school one day. He even recalled a phone call with Happy, in which he made a suggestion that immobilized him with guilt.

He supposed he wasn't out of his mind for thinking it. He was a parent, after all. That night when Peter was deathly ill, sweating profusely and speaking nonsensically, it had crossed his mind then, too. Withdrawal, or a near overdose.

But Tony knew his kid.

At least...he thought he knew his kid.

Tony suppressed the thought with an abundance of regret.

Guilt was still pulsating in his ears when he thought about all those conversations they had, all those times Tony casually brought up Spider-Man at the table and Peter had been suddenly frozen in his place.

He remembered Peter asking him questions about Iron Man and the morals behind it.

He remembered Friday reporting that Peter was spending an unusual amount of time in the Tower lab at unusual times of the evening.

He remembered showing Peter that Daily Bugle article, followed by Peter choking on his breakfast and practically sprinting out of the penthouse.

He remembered Peter coming home with a black eye and brushing it off as nothing.

And, with a horrible realization, he remembered meeting Spider-Man on a rooftop.

Spider-Man hadn't spoken a word to Tony that day. All this time, Tony thought it was just fear, or admiration, or uncertainty.

But it was Peter.

And then came the anger.

It had been bubbling to the surface since they escaped from that warehouse, but he couldn't pinpoint who it was directed at.

There was a wave of obvious anger toward himself. Anger that he hadn't seen it sooner, anger that he hadn't noticed the signs and done more and helped Peter more the moment he realized something was wrong.

Then there was rather random anger directed at Friday, which also led back to him. He didn't understand why Friday didn't record or report Peter's every move like Tony programmed her to, didn't understand why he didn't hear even a sliver of information about this sooner.

Then there was anger at Thaddeus Ross.

Rhodey had forwarded him a voice recording of a meeting between the two, and the more Tony thought about it then, the more he wanted to rip the man's head off and hang it on his mantle.

"This kid is clearly operating with enhanced powers and zero supervision. I can't have that, Colonel."

"All due respect, Secretary, but he seems to be doing a hell of a lot more work than the police. New York is always in demand for crime-fighters who get the job done for free."

"Rhodes, this isn't up for debate. I want you to find the kid and bring him to me for detainment at the Raft."

Tony's fists clenched the arms of his chair with a white-knuckle grip.

Detainment. Detainment at a floating soda can in the middle of the ocean.

The thought of Peter in a cell of any kind brought the taste of blood in his mouth and redness in his vision.

And then, there was anger at Peter.

It had been brewing in his chest for the past two hours. He tried to swallow it, but there was no concealing it now.

He was furious.

Peter knew what this life entailed. He was supposed to be smarter than this. He had been raised watching Tony struggle with anxiety and depression and hospitalization and grief and worry.

He knew all of that and then he went and did it anyway.

Tony always thought he raised Peter in an environment in which Peter could tell him anything in the world. Tony certainly tried to tell Peter everything he could, even during Stane and Vanko and Hammer and Killian and Ultron.

Peter should have known that nothing he was going through wouldn't have been okay.

Tony leaned forward with a miserable sigh, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes.

Peter should have known.

I should have known. Why did I not know?

"Tony."

Tony's head snapped up with wide eyes, the sight of Helen's eyes making him jump to his feet.

He could do nothing but stare for a moment, eyes searching hers feverishly for any ounce of reassurance.

She looked down momentarily, a clipboard held in her arms, before she cleared her throat and made eye contact once more.

"He's okay. He's in recovery. It was a fairly simple procedure. We were able to remove the bullet easily. He seemed to be healing around it rather...quickly."

Tony's face paled despite the mind-numbing relief her words brought.

"Helen...is...is he...?"

She nodded, her eyes apologetic,

"I ran some tests," she sighed, glancing down at her clipboard. "Tony...he's enhanced."

He figured as much, of course, but hearing it from Helen's mouth still sent his heart into his stomach.

His kid was enhanced and Tony had no idea.

"From what we could find in our tests, his DNA has been..."

She shook her head, fumbling for the right words. Tony's brow was permanently pinched in concern.

Helen never fumbled for words.

"It appears to have been altered," she finally deduced. "Fused with another strand of DNA. Tony, I...can you think of any time that Peter would have undergone such an alteration? Anytime he may have been exposed to radioactivity or a lab of some kind?"

Tony frowned more than he already had been, eyes looking up and around in thought before he connected the dots.

Oscorp.

"He-he went to a field trip last month," Tony supplied, whispering the words as if admitting the truth to himself. "He went to a field trip to Oscorp and came back really, really sick. I-I called you."

"Right," Helen nodded knowingly. "We figured as much, but I needed confirmation from your end. Our tests and research into Oscorp suggest that Peter was bitten by a radioactive, genetically modified super-spider." 

Tony suppressed a heart attack.

"So, when the spider bit Peter's hand, the spider's DNA fused with Peter's."

Tony stared ahead numbly, scrambling to find the words, any words to make any of it okay.

"So...when you say he's...he's enhanced, um...what-what do you-"

"Enhanced healing, enhanced nerve conduction velocity, enhanced strength...basically a top-to-bottom restoration. When we did our tests, we discovered his airway was no longer inflamed. The spider bite got rid of his asthma."

Tony closed his eyes.

He despised her use of that word. Restoration.

Peter was perfect then, and he was perfect now.

Tony rarely felt stupid, but now, he felt like the blindest idiot in the world.

"Can I...can I see him?"

Helen nodded, gesturing her head to the hallway behind her.

"He's in the furthest recovery room. You know the one."

He placed a shaky hand on her shoulder in gratitude, the feeling not reaching his eyes but she got the message. She stepped out of his way and, just as before, he was alone.

He took heavy steps down the hallway and, with a melancholic feeling of deja vu, he remembered the day he went to pick Peter up from the hospital nearly ten years ago.

He was just as horrified, angry, devastated, concerned, and filled with grief as he had been then.

He reached Peter's room with a sigh, clicking the doorknob open and closing his eyes.

Two hours left waiting breathlessly to see his kid, and now he didn't think he could bear it.

🕷⎊🕷

Peter woke to the blaring sound of a heart monitor.

It wasn't really blaring, of course. His senses had a tendency of amplifying even the most minute frequencies into the sound of a nuclear explosion.

He sleepily opened his eyes after what felt like an eternity of deafening noise only to be bombarded with blinding light. He winced and shut his eyes again.

"Lights, Fri."

Tony's voice was echoing throughout the walls of his brain. He opened his eyes hesitantly to see that the lights had been turned off, leaving only the light of a tableside lamp. 

He frowned in confusion, head trailing to his left. He could see the city below through a window, the lights indicating that the sun had set.

Where am I...?

He turned his head to his right.

His father was sitting in a chair at his bedside. Peter blinked slowly, gaze trailing down to the bed in question.

He was in the medbay below the penthouse in the tower, hooked up to various wires and machines and tubes. His arm was in a sling, and a deep ache was pulsating in his stomach.

He swallowed thickly, gaze trailing back to his father.

He was watching him, studying him carefully with a clenched jaw and a dark expression. Peter blinked the sleep out of his eyes in a vain attempt to remember what it was he did wrong.

It didn't take long for his eyes to widen and his heart monitor to begin picking up pace.

Tony leaned forward.

"Peter."

"I-I don't-"

"Peter."

Peter tensed at the tone of his father's voice. It was laced with...something. Urgency, concern, anger. He made eye contact again and was met with the intensity of all three.

Tony lifted his jaw and directed his gaze to the window outside, taking a recalibrating, shaky breath. 

Peter stared at him in anticipation. The last thing he had seen was Tony's pale, terrified, anguished face.

"Oscorp," Tony eventually supplied, turning toward his son with knowingness.

Peter's chest ached in defeat.

He closed his eyes. It was response enough.

"Look at me."

Peter did so hesitantly, his father's command sharp.

He was looking Peter up and down and Peter shrunk like he was under a microscope, being studied and scrutinized and looked down on.

"I wish I could say I knew."

Peter held his breath. He didn't need to hear this.

"All this time. I knew something, but..."

Peter's heart broke when he noticed the glassiness of Tony's eyes, though they didn't match the ruthlessness of his words. 

"I was sitting in that waiting room and I was wondering to myself...maybe they're adhesive gloves? But then, that wouldn't make sense. They're fingerless, and you use your fingers to climb. And it wouldn't explain the strength, the fast healing."

Peter closed his eyes again, a tear streaking down his cheek.

"So...how do you do it, Peter?"

Peter stifled a sob, his mouth resting in a thin line.

"You've kept the truth from me until now, Peter, so you might as well just-"

"Please don't make me say," Peter pleaded with a whisper. Tony paused, and Peter could detect the slightest deflation, the slightest flash of sympathy in his father's eyes at his small voice.

Slowly, Peter watched the anger just barely give way. He seized the opportunity to talk, speaking with the prayer that Tony wouldn't blow up in his face.

"...I'm doing it," he whispered, mustering all of the courage he could to keep his voice from cracking and trembling. "I'm...I'm doing it. It's me."

It was Tony's turn to close his eyes, now. Peter studied him as he took several composing breaths.

"Tell me how it happened."

Peter blinked, watching as Tony opened glassy eyes and chewed the inside of his cheek.

"Dad..."

"You're gonna tell me everything. Don't leave out a single detail, Peter. Tell me everything. From what that spider," he paused, composing himself, "did to you, to right here, right now."

Peter swallowed in dread, his good hand picking at a loose thread on his blanket.

"It bit me on my hand," Peter supplied after an eternity of contemplation. Tony clenched his jaw and gripped the arm of his chair.

"It bit me on my hand, and then I got-I got sick. Do you remember that?"

Tony said nothing. Peter wasted only a moment to stare before he continued.

"And then, I...I was taller and stronger and...sticky."

Tony's brow furrowed slightly at that.

"I realized one day that I could...I could stick to things. Like walls. And...I-I accidentally knocked someone out on the subway with my elbow, and my ears are always ringing and my head is always buzzing and spinning I-"

Peter paused to recalibrate himself.

To his surprise, he felt...relief, the more he talked. 

He had never talked about this with anyone.

"And...one day, after school, I...sensed...someone being robbed in an alley, so I just thought, you know..."

Tony tensed, dread tracing his features at Peter's implications.

"The guy, he had a gun, and he was shooting at me but I was-I was dodging the bullets. And-and I saved the guy from the robber. And it-it felt...it felt scary and amazing at the same time. And for just a second...I felt like you. And that felt good."

Tony's grip tightened around the armrest.

That was the final nail in the coffin.

"Someone was shooting at you?"

Peter looked down at his good hand as he picked at his sling.

"You...you were bitten by a radioactive spider, you went through all those changes, you were shot at, and you didn't even-"

Tony paused, collecting himself with clenched fists and a red face.

"Who else knows about this?"

"...Nobody."

Tony deflated at the tone of Peter's voice. 

That one word was laced with a month's worth of secrecy and loneliness.

But then he remembered that the secrecy and loneliness were unnecessary, and the anger returned. 

"Why, Peter?"

"...I was going to tell you eventually, I swear-"

"Cut the bullshit, Pete," Tony leaned forward, gaze drilling into Peter's. "Why would you do this? What on earth would compel you to dress up and swing around the city? Why not just-"

"Because I can't!"

Tony stiffened at the volume of Peter's voice.

"I can't do nothing, Dad. I-I've been me my whole life. I've been Tony Stark's son for as long as I can remember, and I've been Spider-Man for one month. My whole life, I've watched you be Iron Man, and for one month, I've been hearing everything going on in New York from my bedroom. Horns, screaming, gunshots, cries for help. I've been hearing it all like it's happening right in my ear."

Tony stared, watching Peter as he calculated his every word with care.

"My whole life I've felt useless, but now...when you can do the things that I can...but you don't...and then the bad things happen..."

Peter looked down at his hands, sniffing and blinking away tears.

"They happen because of you."

Tony huffed out an exhausted breath, running two hands down his face.

He understood, and that terrified him.

"You have to stop, Peter," he said with a strained voice. 

Peter's heart broke. "Dad, no-"

"You're going to stop because I'm telling you to stop. Understand?"

"I can't stop."

"You will, Peter. This isn't a debate."

"You can't stop me."

Tony blinked, his mouth hanging open slightly in shock.

"What did you just say?"

"Dad," Peter reasoned, shaking his head. "You know I'm not going to stop. Look, if you want me to move out, that's fine, but I'm still Spider-Man, with or without your help. If I don't use my powers then I'm doing more harm than good."

"You are fourteen. You are a kid. And you're my kid."

"I'm sorry. I really am sorry, but I can't stop, Dad."

"I am not," Tony shot to his feet, towering over Peter, "going to bury my kid."

Peter's eyes widened at Tony's words, watching as Tony studied his sling and his ribs with frantic breaths.

"I'm...I'm not gonna bury my son, Peter," Tony continued, his words a whisper and his eyes filming over with tears. Peter softened, swallowing around the lump in his throat and trying to contain the quivering of his lip.

"You won't have to," Peter managed to get out. "Not-not if we work together."

Tony paused in thought, raising his jaw and staring down at Peter before he released a heavy sigh and sat at the edge of the bed. Peter moved slightly, eyes wide and alert as he watched Tony think.

Tony turned toward him, gaze freezing on Peter's bandages and his sling before he lifted a hand and cupped Peter's face.

Peter closed his eyes and leaned into it. Tony melted just barely.

"...You were shot, kid."

Peter said nothing, shoulders tense.

"I can't watch you get hurt."

"...How do you think I've felt since I was six?"

Tony hummed, a smile barely tugging at his lips.

Then, with an abundance of hesitation, he spoke.

"Rule one," he said, clearing his throat rather obnoxiously. "That onesie thing is gone. I don't wanna see it ever again. It's got a giant...stain anyway."

Tony swallowed bile before he carried on.

"You're in dire need of an upgrade, as I'm sure you'll recall me indirectly telling you the past month."

Peter blinked in shock before he was nodding frantically.

"Okay. Yeah, that sounds good."

"Rule two," Tony continued, "I'm taking the baby monitor protocol to the next level. You'll have one in the new suit we're gonna build together. I'm not letting you go out there without training wheels anymore. Which brings me to rule three: training at the compound, non-negotiable. Understand?"

"Yeah, I-yes. I understand."

Tony nodded rather unceremoniously, leaning forward and holding a kiss to Peter's forehead.

"No one does anything until that gunshot wound is sealed shut. I mean it."

"...I'll do my best."

He heaved a long sigh, taking Peter tightly in his arms. Peter hugged him back with his good arm, closing his eyes in relief.

🕷⎊🕷

Tony stepped out of Peter's hospital room and was met with Rhodey's grave eyes.

But not before glancing to his side and making eye contact with Pepper.

"...Pep, I-what-?"

"Tony," Pepper breathed out, stepping forward and taking Tony in her arms. "Oh, my god. How is he?"

Tony's eyes flashed to Rhodey's for a moment before he hugged her back slowly, rubbing her back.

"He'll be okay," he said, breathing her in.

God, he missed her.

"What're you doing here, Pep?"

"Rhodey called," she said, pulling out of the hug. "Happy, too. The second you were taken, and then all this..."

Tony looked at Rhodey again, expression pleading.

"Rhodey..."

"Secretary Ross doesn't know," Rhodey blurted out. Tony deflated slightly in relief. "And he won't, Tony. I promise. As long as the kid lays low for a while, you know, gets himself off of the radar."

"We worked it out."

Pepper narrowed her eyes. "Meaning...?"

"Meaning...he'll keep doing what he's doing under a few circumstances."

"Tony..."

"Believe me, this is the way it has to be," Tony whispered, glancing back to the door momentarily. "Look, why don't we take this somewhere else? The kid has-"

"Super hearing."

Tony turned over his shoulder with wide eyes as Peter now stood in the threshold of the doorway, peeking his head out of the door with a sheepish smile.

"What'd I just tell you?" Tony snapped. "Rest-"

"Aunt Pepper?!" 

Pepper smiled warmly as Peter lurched forward and took her in a one-armed hug. She returned it with closed eyes and a content hum.

"I missed you, baby," she said, planting a kiss into his curls.

Tony stood frozen next to Rhodey, floored by the sight. Rhodey nudged him with a knowing smile.

"Do me a favor," Tony whispered. "Get Hap on the phone."

Rhodey frowned. "Why?"

"Family dinner in the medbay."

Chapter Text

🕷⎊🕷

JANUARY, 2016

Peter liked to think they were finally getting into a groove. 

Not without a few rules and regulations, of course. Curfew no later than ten at night, Baby Monitor Protocol at all times, total transparency about patrol injuries.

The suit was definitely a bonus.

They built it together, though Tony took technical license in the suit’s main functions and features, such as a personalized artificial intelligence, a reconnaissance drone, tracking devices, a parachute, retractable wing suit components, and protocols.

Peter didn’t necessarily care for the names of the protocols but that was neither here nor there. 

The Training Wheels Protocol and the Baby Monitor Protocol were nonnegotiable. Tony insisted that he had to know Peter’s every move and injury, had to know his every enemy.

Peter didn’t love that, but he was willing to make sacrifices if it meant he could keep wall-crawling in the city. 

Getting used to Peter’s powers had been an adjustment for Tony, to say the least. He had to get rid of his habit of forcing Peter’s inhaler on him, had to get used to his kid’s strength and lightning-speed reflexes and super hearing. 

Most of all, he had to learn to control his heart attacks when his kid decided to walk on the walls.

He had been tinkering in his lab with Peter doing homework across from him when the kid stood and started pacing with a pencil in his hand in thought, staring at the equation on his paper.

Tony quirked a knowing eyebrow. Sometimes the kid just needed to think out loud.

”Kid.”

”Hmm...”

Peter paced his way to a nearby wall, took another step, and was suddenly walking vertically. 

“Woah, woah, woah-!”

Peter stopped in his tracks, turning his head with a questioning frown and curls hanging over his eyes.

”What?”

Tony blinked, staring at Peter’s socks sticking to the wall before he was taking a composing breath and running two tired hands down his face. 

“Right,” he breathed out. “Right, right, right.”

“Oh...sorry. Habit.”

Tony nodded, hands still over his face.

”Nope. Yep. It’s cool. It’s fine.”

Peter hummed before he was turning back to his homework and walking further up the wall, so far that he was stepping on the ceiling and walking slowly across it in deep thought. 

Tony peeked through his fingers and stifled another heart attack.

”Kid...you’re gonna break your neck.”

Peter shrugged. “Helps me focus.”

Tony breathed a quiet laugh, removing his hands from his face and returning back to his work with a sigh. 

“It’s fine. It’s fine.”

Finally, with a heavy sigh, Peter nodded.

”Alright, alright. I’ll get down.”

Tony watched with his breath held as Peter knelt on the ceiling, placed a steadying hand on the surface, and released his feet, dangling by his fingers. 

He looked down at the drop to the floor before letting go of the ceiling and kneeling in a crouch, glancing up at Tony with a smile.

”There. You okay now?”

Tony stood from his stool with a half-hearted smile.

”Nothing will ever be okay.”

🕷⎊🕷

CAPTAIN AMERICA: CIVIL WAR, 2016

”His name was Charlie Spencer.”

Tony clenched and unclenched his fists.

”You murdered him in Sokovia. Not that that matters in the least to you.”

He tasted something metallic in his mouth as the image of Peter covered in blood continued playing on a loop in his head.

”...Who’s going to avenge my son, Stark?”

”Dad?”

Tony was violently snapped out of his thoughts  at the sound of Peter’s voice, glancing to see his eyes studying him in concern.

”Dad, what’s up?”

Tony cleared his throat obnoxiously before he remembered they were in the car on the way to the compound. He blinked the confusion out of his eyes as Happy rounded the car and opened the door for them. 

Peter was holding onto his arm with an enhanced grip, searching his father’s eyes worriedly.

”Dad.”

”I’m fine, kid,” Tony said with a strained voice, climbing out of the car and holding his hand out toward a reluctant Peter.

”C’mon, we got a meeting.”

🕷⎊🕷

“What would you call a group of U.S.-based enhanced individuals...”

Tony sat in the back of the meeting room, staring at the ground in deep thought.

“...who routinely ignore sovereign borders and inflict their will wherever they choose...”

He glanced at Peter beside him, who was staring ahead at Secretary Ross with a clenched jaw.

”...and who, frankly, seem unconcerned about what they leave behind?”

The screen Ross stood in front of blinked to life, illuminating a map of the world. It zoomed in on a dot in the U.S.

“New York.”

Video footage began playing of the 2012 invasion, the sounds of screams and explosions echoing in the streets. 

From the table, Rhodey looked back at Steve with a grave expression.

Tony lowered his head as the wormhole came into view.

”Sir,” Peter cleared his throat, “we-we don’t need to see this. Respectfully.”

Ross shot a glare his way. Tony placed a hand on Peter’s knee and squeezed gratefully. 

“It’s okay, kid,” he whispered. “It’s okay.”

“Washington, D.C.,” Ross carried on. More explosions and screams echoed in the room.

”...Sokovia.”

Peter wrung his hands together and stared at the footage of the airborne country.

The horror of watching that footage from home last year and wondering if his dad would survive came back with a vengeance until he was lowering his head, too. 

“Lagos.”

Wanda shifted uncomfortably. Steve put a finger down.

”Okay. That’s enough.”

Ross huffed a sigh as the screen powered down and he continued sauntering back and forth.

”For the past four years, you’ve operated with unlimited power and no supervision. That’s an arrangement the governments of the world can no longer tolerate. But I think we found a solution.”

Tense silence befell the room. Ross walked forward with a large booklet, tossing it onto the table. 

“The Sokovia Accords.”

Wanda took the booklet in her hands with a frown.

”Approved by a hundred and seventeen countries, it states that the Avengers shall no longer be a private organization. Instead, they’ll operate under the supervision of a United Nations panel, only when and if that panel deems it necessary.”

Steve glared, his brow furrowed.

”...The Avengers were formed to make the world a safer place. I feel we’ve done that.”

”Tell me, Captain...can you tell me where Thor and Banner are right now?”

Steve lowered his head. Ross sent a pointed glare Rhodey’s way.

”...Or Spider-Man, Colonel?”

Peter and Tony’s hearts leapt to their throats. Tony glanced Peter’s way, watching as Peter stared ahead blankly. 

“That’s right, Rhodes. I haven’t forgotten. I’ve still got a cell with his name on it.”

Tony’s vision went red. 

He was gonna kill him.

“Now...if I misplaced a couple of thirty megaton nukes, you can bet there’d be consequences.”

Ross sauntered away from Steve and back to the head of the table. 

“Compromise. Reassurance. That’s how the world works. Believe me, this,” he pointed at the booklet, “is the middle ground.”

”So...” Rhodey spoke up, placing a hand on the Accords. “There are...contingencies.”

Ross nodded. “Three days from now, the UN meets in Vienna to ratify the Accords.”

Steve turned back to stare at Tony. Tony avoided his gaze.

Peter watched as betrayal slowly but surely began tracing Steve’s features. 

“...Talk it over.”

Ross began to leave the room. Natasha cleared her throat.

”And...if we come to a decision you don’t like?”

”...Then you retire.”

🕷⎊🕷

It had been a long day in Berlin. 

Peter had traveled there with Tony and Natasha, and his head was spinning as he tried to keep up with the bustling agents and events.

So far, all he knew was that Steve, Sam, the new king of Wakanda, and this Winter Soldier guy were being detained there. Not in cells, of course, though the Winter Soldier was confined to a rather obnoxious chair that Peter shifted uncomfortably at.

He wondered if Ross had one of those for him, too.

He shook the thought away as he sat next to Natasha in a screening room at the Berlin facility. His father and Steve were in a glass conference room, where Tony was showing Steve an old set of Howard’s pens. 

He trained his ears to listen in, catching every other word. 

“Is Pepper here?” Steve asked, looking past the glass walls of the room. “I didn’t see her.”

”We’re...kinda...well, not kinda-”

”Pregnant?

Tony snorted. “No. Definitely not. We’re takin’ a break. It’s nobody’s fault.”

Steve looked down, forehead creased in concern. 

“I’m so sorry, Tony. I didn’t know.”

”Few years ago I trashed all my suits,” Tony carried on with a sigh, watching Steve blankly. “Then we had to mop up HYDRA...then, Ultron. My fault. Almost lost Peter. And then, and then, and then...never stopped, cause truth is, I don’t wanna stop...And I don’t wanna lose the both of them, so I thought maybe the Accords could split the difference.”

Tony sighed again, rising from his seat and stuffing his hands in his pockets. Steve carefully watched him. 

“In her defense, I’m a handful. So’s the kid. Yet, Dad was a pain in the ass, but he and Mom always made it work.”

Steve hummed. “I’m glad Howard got married. I only knew him when he was young and single.”

”Oh, really?” Tony said rather loudly. “You two knew each other? He never mentioned that. Maybe only a...thousand times.”

Steve huffed a quiet laugh. Tony grunted as he threw his suit jacket on. 

“God, I hated you.”

Steve looked up at that, his eyes apologetic. 

“I don’t mean to make things difficult.”

”I know, because you’re a very polite person.”

”If I see a situation pointed south...I can’t ignore it. Sometimes I wish I could.”

”No,” Tony insisted knowingly, “you don’t.”

Steve lowered his head in admittance with a smile.

”No, I don’t.”

”Sometimes I wanna punch you in your perfect teeth. But I don’t wanna see you gone.”

Steve looked up. Tony tilted his head with a smile. 

“We need you, Cap. So far nothing’s happened  that can’t be undone if you sign. We can make the last twenty-four hours legit. Barnes gets transferred to an American psych-center instead of a Wakandan prison.”

Steve slowly lifted the pen from the table in contemplation, rising from his seat.

They made brief, tense eye contact as Steve fidgeted with it. Tony glanced outside the glass walls at his kid, warmth swelling in his chest for just a moment. Peter smiled from where he stood with Natasha and pretended he hadn’t been listening.

”I’m not saying it’s impossible...but there would have to be safeguards.”

“Sure,” Tony nodded immediately, snapped out of his thoughts. “Once we put out the PR fire, these documents can be amended.”

Steve nodded. Tony concealed a smile.

Victory was within reach.

”I’d like a motion to have you and Wanda reinstated-“

”Wanda?” Steve was quick to interrupt. “What about Wanda?”

”...She’s fine. She’s confined to the compound, currently. Vision’s keeping her company.”

And then it was gone.

Any consideration on Steve’s face was replaced by disgust in an instant. 

“Oh, God, Tony. Every time I think you see things the right way-“

”It’s a hundred acres with a lap pool. It’s got a screening room. There’s worse ways to protect people.”

”Protection?” Steve scoffed in disbelief. “Is that how you see this? This is protection? No, it’s internment, Tony.”

Tony raised his voice. “She’s not a U.S. citizen-“

”Oh come on, Tony-“

”-and they don’t grant visas to weapons of mass destruction.”

”She’s a kid!”

”So is Peter!”

Steve blinked, staring at Tony as he huffed out frantic breaths with a red face. 

Peter, outside of the conference room, turned his back away from the two.

He suddenly despised having enhanced hearing.

“...What does Peter have to do with any of this?”

“Fuck,” Tony whispered, placing two elbows on the table and running a tired hand down his face. Steve slowly sat down in concern, posture urgent. 

“Tony.”

Tony nodded with a sigh, placing his hands on the table and staring down at them in thought.

”...Peter is enhanced, Steve.”

Steve’s brow pinched together more than it already was, his confusion growing by the second. Tony looked up at him briefly with glassy eyes.

”What...what do you mean he’s-“

“He’s Spider-Man.”

Steve’s eyes widened in concern as he continued to stare, dread and worry and horror making their way across his features.

”...Oh, God, Tony.”

Steve glanced over his shoulder at Peter with a grave expression. Peter was saying something to Natasha as they both had their backs turns to the conference room.

Steve turned back to Tony, leaning back in his seat. Understanding was slowly clicking into place.

“Tony...the Accords...”

”I’m doing what has to be done,” Tony breathed out, taking a composing breath and avoiding eye contact with Peter outside the glass. “To stave off something worse.”

Steve’s heart dropped when he remembered the way Ross spoke about Spider-Man at the compound.

”Tell me Ross doesn’t know.”

”...He doesn’t. And I need to keep it that way, Cap. You heard what he said in that meeting.”

Steve nodded. Ross would jump on any opportunity to detain as many enhanced individuals as the Raft would hold.

“...He’s got a cell with my son’s name on it. At least if I sign, I can know he’s safe. I can protect him. But I don’t know how much I can protect him from this.”

Steve stared at his hands in thought, his brow furrowing before a scoff escaped him.

He had known Peter for four years now and wasn’t spared from the shock and anger of the news in the slightest. 

”...How the hell did this happen? Tony, how did you lethis happen?”

Tony saw red.

”...What, Cap? You think I exposed my son to radioactive poisoning on purpose? You think I patted him on the back before he started jumping off high-rises and throwing himself in front of guns? Do you think I was enjoying myself when I was covered in his blood and giving him god damn chest compressions?!”

Steve clenched his jaw, staring cautiously at Tony as he watched him control an outburst, watched him bite his tongue so hard he drew blood.

Finally, he let out a sigh and deflated back into his seat, his hand clenching the armrest with a white-knuckled grip.

”I’m doing what has to be done,” he repeated, his words a biting whisper, “to stave off something...worse.”

Steve watched him for a moment before he stood with a huff, crossing to the door.

”You keep telling yourself that.”

🕷⎊🕷

Peter was starting to enjoy Berlin before the power went out.

Natasha wasn’t much of a talker, but when it came to Peter, all she wanted to do was talk about high school with him.

That’s what the two had been doing before the Berlin facility was abruptly swallowed by darkness, the building whirring down around them.

“Get me eyes on Barnes,” an agent was saying frantically. Peter watched with narrowed eyes as silhouettes began sprinting out of the room in a flash. 

“What’s-what’s happening, Nat?”

She didn’t answer, eyes locking on Tony’s across the room.

His senses made him numb for a moment.

Something was really, really wrong.

”Friday,” he heard his dad say from nearby, already snaking his way toward Peter through the crowd of people in the room. “Get me a source on that outage.”

Peter’s senses had him turning over his shoulder, watching as Steve and Sam were sprinting out of the conference room and toward the stairs.

Peter nudged Natasha’s shoulder.

”That’s...probably not good, right?”

She caught a glimpse of them before they were gone, expression going dark.

”No,” she mumbled, “it’s not.”

”Evac all civilians,” another agent was saying frantically into a walkie-talkie. “Get me a perimeter around the building and gunships in the air.” 

Peter swallowed thick foreboding as Tony took his arm with an iron grip and began leading him out of the room, Natasha hot on their heels.

”Dad, what’s-?”

”Hang tight, kid.”

”Please tell me you brought a suit,” Natasha pleaded, taking Peter’s other arm. 

“Sure did. It’s a lovely Tom Ford three-piece, two button. I’m an active-duty non-combatant.”

Peter glanced behind him at the backpack he had around his shoulders, his Spider-Man suit tucked safely inside. 

”...Dad,” Peter whispered.

”Don’t even think about it, Peter.”

”Dad.”

“I said no.” 

They jogged until they reached the facility’s cafeteria, where Bucky’s punches and his victim’s shouts echoed throughout the high ceilings. Tony leaned against the wall and peeked his head around the corner.

”You,” Tony said, taking Peter’s shoulders, “stay put right there. Daddy’s got work to do.”

”Uh, no,” Peter shook his head frantically. “No, no, no. Dad, I can help.”

Tony ignored him, releasing his hold on Peter’s shoulders and shifting from the wall to a nearby column. He leaned against it and sunk to his knees, and Peter watched with wide eyes as he tapped his watch until it was unfolding into a gauntlet. 

With a deep breath, Tony rose to his feet and rounded the corner.

Peter held out a hand.

”Dad-!”

Tony raised his hand and sent a wave of energy Bucky’s way, temporarily immobilizing him. He advanced on the opportunity, jogging forward and shooting another one. 

Tony lurched forward and engaged.

Peter peeked his head out from the wall with his breath held and his eyes wide as Tony and Bucky wrestled with a gun. Tony took the business end of it in his gauntlet just in time for Bucky to pull the trigger.

Peter couldn’t help the gasp that escaped him as the shot was muffled in Tony’s hand. Tony’s eyes went wide, too.

With a terrible feeling of deja vu, Peter thought back to his own gun wrestle with Selina last year. 

A watch gauntlet would’ve been nifty then.

He snapped out of it just in time to watch in horror as Bucky sent an elbow into Tony’s face and consequently sent his father flying into a table, crashing to the ground. 

Peter’s vision went red.

With a huff, he took his backpack in his grip and snuck into a supply closet. 

Bucky continued his reckless path of rage, moving onto Sharon and Natasha. He flipped Sharon into a table and broke it in half before Natasha was lurching forward and maneuvering her way onto his shoulders. 

He stumbled toward a table and flipped her onto it, a metal hand taking a merciless grip of her throat. 

Natasha clawed at his arm with trembling hands, her face turning a sickly purple color.

”You...could...at least...recognize me...”

But Peter didn’t give him the chance. 

The thwip of his webs echoed throughout the room. Tony, who had been laying on the ground with a grimace after being thrown into a table, snapped to a sitting position in a heartbeat at the sound, watching as Bucky’s hand was forced from Natasha’s airway and yanked away. 

He snarled and jumped to his feet, immediately met with the black and white eyes of Spider-Man’s mask.

”You’re not very nice.”

Bucky attempted to backhand him, though Peter was able to duck out of his path. He backflipped away, dodging as many of his punches as he could.

Bucky growled in frustration at his missed throws. If Peter hadn’t been in fight mode, he probably would’ve laughed.

He could feel Tony and Natasha’s eyes behind him before Bucky was shouting in frustration and sending a punch to his face.

Peter fell to the ground with a shout before he sent a kick to Bucky’s shins and sent him to the ground. 

“Spider-Man!” Tony shouted from behind. “Stand down!”

Peter didn’t listen, jumping to his feet and turning toward Bucky just in time to see another metal fist racing toward his nose.

The impact he was expecting never came.

Peter caught the punch and held it there with wide eyes, the sound echoing throughout the cafeteria. He stared at it for only a moment before he was looking at Bucky, his eyes just as full of disbelief.

”Holy shit,” he heard Tony whisper. 

“Metal arm,” Peter forced out with a nervous laugh. “Cool.”

Bucky snarled and thrusted an elbow into Peter’s face, sending him into a table with a crash as it snapped in half.

Peter groaned and looked up in time to see T’Challa having his round with Bucky.

Yeah...he seemed to have it handled from there.

Peter closed his eyes with a huff.

🕷⎊🕷

Peter was sitting in a conference room with an ice pack on his nose.

It wasn’t the transparent conference room he had seen Tony and Steve arguing in. Rather, the walls were solid and painted grey. He could hear Ross’s voice through the walls and assumed that that was the reason he was being hidden with a profusely bleeding nose and dark bags around his eyes.

His senses were rather delayed because the door clicked open and he was jumping in his seat, turning over his shoulder with wide eyes. 

He was met with Tony’s urgent eyes as he paused in the threshold, an iron grip on the door handle. Natasha stood behind him patiently.

He was staring at Peter a little longer than he intended, scanning every injury with a clenched jaw.

”...Are you okay?”

Peter nodded. Tony seemed unconvinced. 

He deflated with a sigh and walked in with his own share of a black eye and cuts. Natasha closed the door behind them with a bruised neck. 

He sauntered toward the conference room table, plopping himself into a chair with an exhausted sigh. 

Natasha sat down across from him, expression blank.

Peter stared ahead with tense shoulders, his heart thundering in his ears. 

Either way this went, he was gonna get yelled at.

“...My left arm is numb. Is that normal?”

Peter looked at Tony in concern. Natasha did, too, leaning forward in her chair and placing her crossed hands on the table. 

“You alright?”

Tony frowned. “Always.”

He glanced Peter’s way again, offering a reassuring smile as Peter stared at him in anticipation. 

“You’re grounded, by the way.”

He hummed a laugh that didn’t quite reach his face. Natasha’s lip quirked in a smile.

”So...”

Peter nodded, the words going unspoken.

Spider-Man.

”...Yeah.”

She hummed, an impressed smirk reaching her face as she recalled the fight only moments before. 

She looked at Tony with a tilted head.

”...Tony.”

He looked up, his eyes narrowed questioningly.

“...We’re seriously understaffed.”

Tony tensed. 

“No.”

“Tony.”

”Absolutely not.”

“Just listen, Tony-“

”You know, it would be great if we had a Hulk right about now,” Tony interrupted hastily, leaning back in his seat. “Any shot?”

She stared at him with a furrowed brow.

”...You really think he’d be on our side?”

”...No.”

Tony heaved another exhausted sigh, bringing a hand forward and taking Peter’s fiercely in his.

”You sure you’re okay, kid?”

”Yeah,” Peter was quick to assure. Tony watched him unconvincingly, from his practically broken nose to the dark circles around his eyes. “It’ll be gone by tomorrow.”

Tony hummed. He prayed that was true.

”Tony,” Natasha said again, gesturing her head toward Peter. Tony shot a glare her way.

”Over my dead body, Nat.”

”He caught his arm,” she insisted. “He caught Bucky Barnes’s metal arm.”

Peter didn’t miss the pride that flashed across Tony’s face. 

He cleared his throat obnoxiously and blinked it out of his eyes.

“Exactly.”

Tony sent a glare Natasha’s way before she was rising from her seat and placing a firm hand on Peter’s shoulder. 

“I’ve got an idea,” she said. “Downstairs. And you have a perfectly capable, loyal recruit right here. Think it over.”

Peter frowned, practically drowning in his confusion.

”I’m sorry, what exactly is-?”

”Zip it.”

”He deserves to know.”

”That’s debatable.”

”You wanna fight for the integrity of the Avenger’s and the safety of the world, kid?”

Peter blinked up at Natasha, swallowing nervously before he was nodding his head.

”Y-yeah. That-that sounds amazing.”

”There you have it.”

”Get out.”

She breathed out a laugh, ruffling Peter’s curls before she was stepping out of the room. 

And then there were two.

”...I can help, Dad. Whatever it is, I can help.”

Tony sighed, tightening his hold on Peter’s hand.

”...Are you okay?”

Tony sniffed rather loudly at Peter’s words, nodding with an unconvincing smile before he raised his head and made painful eye contact with his kid.

”Peter...if Ross had seen you...”

”But he didn’t.”

“But that doesn’t cut it.”

Peter closed his eyes. 

“I know what’s at stake here, too,” he said, his voice a whisper. Tony’s eyes flashed with sympathy as he tightened his hold on Peter’s hand. “But I wasn’t gonna let you fight that guy alone.”

”Yeah, and I’m not gonna let you anywhere near him again after he launched you into that table, so there’s that.”

Peter sent a glare Tony’s way. Tony glared back for a few moments, studying Peter’s injuries with a clenched jaw before his shoulders slowly deflated. 

“...You do exactly as I say the entire time.”

Peter stiffened, his bruised eyes going wide.

”Yeah-yes, sir. I will.”

”You lay low, web ‘em up, and engage as little as possible.”

”That’s...”

Tony narrowed his eyes.

”...Yes, sir.”

“...Good.”

Peter nodded with a shaky exhale, staring ahead anxiously as he mentally prepared himself for whatever fight he was getting himself into.

”Right. Good.”

Tony, on the other hand, was anything but good.

🕷⎊🕷

Peter wasted one prideful moment basking in all his Spider-Man glory at the airport in Germany before tension filled the air. 

“You’ve been a complete idiot,” Tony growled at Steve. “Dragging in Clint? ‘Rescuing’ Wanda from a place she doesn’t even want to leave? A safe place-?”

”Don’t talk to me about dragging people into this,” Steve hissed, sending a pointed look Peter’s way. “Tell me again, Tony, who’s under that mask over there?”

”I’m trying to keep-“

Tony paused, taking a composing breath before he spoke again through gritted teeth.

”I’m trying to keep you from tearing the Avengers apart.”

”...You did that when you signed.”

Tony’s mouth parted numbly before he raised his jaw in finality.

”All right. We’re done. You’re gonna turn Barnes over. You’re gonna come with us now, because it’s us. Or a squad of J-SOC guys with no compunction about being impolite.”

Steve turned his head. For a second, Peter thought he was actually considering his father’s words.

Tony, through his anger, stared ahead longingly. 

“...Come on,” he whispered. 

Steve suddenly raised two webbed hands in the air, where an arrow sliced through the middle and freed them. Tony activated his helmet and turned toward the source. 

“Alright, Lang.”

Peter’s senses started to buzz, frowning as he turned his head.

”Hey, guys, something’s not-“

Peter was interrupted when something from the shield in his grip suddenly grew and punched him in the face, sending him stumbling back with a yelp. Tony whipped toward him at the sound, staring at a now human sized Scott Lang.

”What the hell was that?” 

“I believe this is yours,” Scott gestured to the shield, “Captain America.”

Tony cursed under his breath. 

“Great.”

Peter blinked the concussion out of his eyes before he was moving, watching as Tony and Rhodey blasted off toward a parking garage. 

He blearily heard something about Barnes and Wilson in a terminal and he was swinging toward the building, crawling on the window until he spotted them running inside. 

He crashed through the glass and landed a kick to Sam’s face, turning around and catching Bucky’s fist.

Again.

“Metal arm is still just as cool, I must say.”

Bucky growled as Sam activated his wings and went crashing into Peter, flying them both through the terminal. 

Peter squirmed in his hold. “You have the right to remain silent!”

Through a great deal of structural damage and small-talk, Peter was finally able to web them both up and send them flying to the ground over a balcony, perching on a nearby beam and tilting his head at them.

“Sorry, guys. Nothing personal.”

“Yeah, well, this is.” Sam grit his teeth and maneuvered his fingers over the control panel on his forearm, sending a drone flying toward Peter.

”Wha-?”

The drone crashed into him and sent him flying out of the nearest window with a yelp.

He crashed onto the tarmac and blinked the dizziness out of his eyes. He spotted Tony hovering above the ground nearby, talking to Clint and Wanda. 

He senses were suddenly screaming in his ears before Wanda was using her powers on the parking garage behind Tony, the cars inside spilling out.

“Dad, look out-!”

Tony looked up with a gasp, maneuvering his way out of the paths of a few of the cars as they crashed to the ground below.

With a growl, Peter sprang into action. 

Tony collapsed to the ground with a clang, anticipating the weight of a car to crash into him the next second though it never came.

He grunted in confusion, turning over his shoulder and blinking in astonishment as he was met with Spider-Man’s eyes, closed with the strain of holding two cars over his shoulders.

”I got you,” Peter grunted, his arms trembling. “I got you.”

”This,” Tony growled, “is not laying low. This is laying dangerously high.”

”Sorry,” Peter breathed out, bending at his knees and tossing the cars to the side. “Web ‘em up, keep my distance. Copy that.”

Peter held out a hand for Tony. Tony rose to his feet, placing a brief, reassuring hand on Peter’s shoulder in gratitude.

They both turned in time to see Scott throw something small at Rhodey and Natasha before it tripled in size, revealing itself to be a large truck. Natasha rolled out of the way and Rhodey was left in its path, fire and sparks erupting as it crashed to the ground. 

“Oh, man,” Peter heard Scott say with a wince. “I thought that was a water truck.”

“All right,” Rhodey snarled, rising from the smoke. “Now I’m pissed.”

Tony and Peter jogged toward the crash, where Tony helped Natasha to her feet. She took his arm with a dark expression.

”Is this part of the plan?”

”Well...my plan was go easy on them. You wanna switch it up?”

Peter wasn’t sure what specifically happened next after he started following his father, his uncle, Natasha, T’Challa, and Vision (who Peter still couldn’t grasp had Jarvis’s voice) toward the center of the tarmac. All he knew was that they were standing in a straight line staring down Steve’s team, and Steve’s team was running, and they weren’t stopping.

Before he knew it, he was dodging flying cars and enhanced fists at lightning speed, sparing quick glimpses at his dad.

He turned in time to see Steve throw a punch at Tony’s face, and Peter couldn’t help that his jaw was dropping because holy shit, Steve just punched Iron Man’s helmet with his bare hands?!

...Now it was serious.

He was swinging when his senses blared and Steve’s shield was slicing his web in half, sending him tumbling onto a plane. Peter chose that moment to perch there, tilting his head as Steve placed his shield back on his arm.

”That thing does not obey the laws of physics at all.”

”Peter,” Steve said, “there’s a lot going on here that you don’t understand.”

”Dad said you’d say that.”

He thwipped two webs onto Steve’s legs and shot him forward until he was rolling onto the ground.

”...He also said to go for your legs.”

Steve sent a glare back Peter’s way before his gaze landed on his discarded shield in front of him. He jumped to his feet and lurched toward it, though Peter didn’t let him get far. 

He sent two webs to Steve’s hands and pulled his arms back with a grunt. Steve turned over his shoulder before he jumped and spun in the air, sending Peter flying forward. Peter rose to his feet and blindly sent another web forward, though Steve yanked him forward again and sent him crashing to the ground.

Peter jumped as high as he could onto an elevated box car, perching himself on the edge and staring down at Steve with frantic breaths.

Steve looked up at him knowingly.

”Your dad tell you anything else?”

”...That you’re wrong,” Peter breathed out. “You think you’re right. That makes you dangerous.”

Peter jumped off of the box car and landed a fist to Steve’s shield. Steve punched him back, sending him crashing into one of the columns holding the box car up.

”Guess he was right.”

Steve tossed his shield with a grunt and sent it into the opposite column. Peter’s senses blared and suddenly he was holding the box car up with trembling arms, trying in vain to contain his breaths. 

Steve clipped his shield back onto his arm, sending an apologetic smile Peter’s way.

”You got heart, Pete. You’ll make a great Avenger one day.”

Peter said nothing, straining beneath the weight. Steve tilted his head.

”Maybe I could show you the ropes. I know what it’s like to undergo enhancements like you did. It’s not something you understand right away, certainly not something Tony understands.”

Peter glared beneath his mask.

”You’re the one that doesn’t understand,” he said through gritted teeth. 

Steve breathed out a laugh, jogging away before sending a familiar smile Peter’s way. 

With a strained cry, Peter finally threw the weight off of his arms and released a raspy breath, collapsing to his knees momentarily. He glanced up at the sky at his father.

Tony’s repulsor was whirring down and the lights on his suit were blinking. Peter frowned and raised a finger to his ear.

”Dad? What’s going on?”

”One sec, kid. Friday?”

”We have some weapon systems offline,” she replied. Peter could detect a hint of confusion in her voice.

”They what?”

”Oh, you’re gonna have to take this into the shop.”

Peter frowned more than he already was at the unfamiliar voice filtering through his and Tony’s private channel. Peter swore he could see Tony’s face through his helmet as he spoke through gritted teeth. 

“Who’s...speaking?”

”It’s your conscience. We don’t talk a lot these days.”

Peter’s heart sank.

Fucking Lang-

Tony looked down at his suit in panic. 

“Friday?”

”Deploying fire suppression system.”

Peter released a verbal breath of relief as steam emitted from Tony’s suit and a microscopic speck was flying out of his arm.

”You good, Dad?”

”Fine, kid,” Tony said, blasting away. Peter nodded.

It would have to do in the meantime.  

But in the meantime, all hell was breaking loose. 

Peter turned with a buzzing in his ears as Lang suddenly grew ten times his size and took a hold of Rhodey’s suit, keeping him from flying away. 

“Holy shit!”

Scott seemed just as surprised. Peter brought two hands to his head in disbelief. 

“Okay,” Rhodey breathed out. “Tiny dude is big now.”

Tony landed beside Peter. Peter jumped when he noticed him, eyes glued to the glowing eyes of the Iron Man helmet. 

“Dad?”

Tony’s gaze remained on Scott with a lowered head.

”Give me back my Rhodey.”

Scott seemed to do as he was hold, sending his arm back and launching Rhodey through the air. Rhodey lost control of his thrusters and spun to the ground.

Tony stepped forward with his breath held. Peter placed a hand on his chest and kept him in place.

”I got him!”

He sprinted up the steps to a walkway and swung off of it before he was crashing into a truck and thwipping a web toward Rhodey, keeping him from crashing into the side of a plane. 

Finally, Rhodey gained control of his thrusters and blasted back into the sky, a dark expression dead set on revenge. 

Peter kept his web on his uncle and enjoyed the ride. 

“Okay,” Tony said into the main channel, having just dodged an airplane wing, “anybody on our side hiding any shocking and fantastic abilities they’d like to disclose? I’m open to suggestions.”

Peter frowned, gaze searching for his dad in the air. His heart leapt to his throat as Sam sent a drone into his helmet, emitting a grunt from Tony as he went flying to the ground. 

“Shit-Uncle Rhodey! We gotta go help Dad!”

”You’re a newbie,” Rhodey shouted over his thrusters. “It’s every man for himself out here.”

”But we’re on teams!”

Rhodey huffed a laugh. “Rule one, kiddo: you gotta keep your oxygen mask on before you help anyone else.”

Before Peter could reply, Rhodey was closing in on Scott and shooting bullets mercilessly. Peter released his web on Rhodey and wrapping himself around Scott’s arm, using the momentum to send a kick to his face.

Rhodey crashed to the ground and lifted two fists Lang’s way, firing thousands of bullets at a time. 

“Woah, woah, woah!” Peter cried, swinging onto Scott’s back and staying there for protection. “Uncle Rhodey! I’m up here, too!”

”Not my problem, ‘underoos.’”

Peter clicked his tongue. 

“Love you too.”

Peter took a shaky, composing breath before he climbed up Scott’s back and crawled over his head, peeking a head over his enlarged goggles and knocking on the glass.

”Get off,” Scott snapped. Peter cried out in surprise as Vision flew forward and launched himself into Scott’s chest, sending the giant stumbling back and sending Peter flying off. 

Peter jumped up onto the top of the airplane Scott stood in front of, jogging across it.

”Hey, guys! You know that part in Empire Strikes Back?!”

”Petey-Pie,” Tony snapped. “As thrilling as this sounds, this channel is for life-threatening information only.”

Peter swung forward with a grunt and thwipped a web onto Scott’s leg, swinging himself around them both.

”You know that part where they’re on the snow planet? With the walking thingies?!”

Tony blinked, understanding slowly sinking in as he watched Peter web up Scott’s legs.

”...Wait, wait, wait, Rhodey, he’s onto something.”

Rhodey nodded. “High now, Tony. Go high!”

Peter watched as he spun around Scott’s knees as his father and uncle flew toward Scott at lightning speed, flying toward his head and sending two punches to his jaw.

Scott’s head jerked back violently and he was falling with a deafening cry. Peter let out a laugh of disbelief. 

“Yes!” he laughed out, watching as Tony and Rhodey flew away. He sent a thumbs-up their way when Tony looked over his shoulder.

”That was awesome-!”

Tony paled. 

“Peter, kid, look out!”

Pete turned with a frown before he was colliding with Scott’s enlarged hand at full force. He yelled out upon impact, dread overtaking him as he went flying to the ground. 

Tony held out a hand as Peter crashed into a wall of wooden boxes and orange cones before he was tumbling onto the tarmac and rolling to a stop. 

“Peter!”

The Earth shook when Scott collapsed to the ground and broke the wing of a plane in his path. Tony paid him no mind as he all but blasted toward his son, gaze tunneled on Peter’s still form on the tarmac.

Tony stumbled to the ground and jogged forward, his helmet retracting.

He came to a hesitant stop and could do nothing but stare for a moment at his kid, waiting for him to turn over his shoulder or make a noise or do something to prove he didn’t just die upon impact.

Tony heaved frantic breaths, swallowing around the lump in his throat and stepping forward. 

“...Peter?”

He kneeled beside Peter with his breath held and raised a hesitant hand toward his shoulder. Peter’s mask had flown off in the fall, a bruise flowering across his jaw.

“Peter, kid-“

Peter jolted when Tony finally found the courage to touch him, turning off of his side and raising his arms, ready for combat.

”Get off!”

Tony’s mind-numbing relief paralyzed him for only a moment before he took Peter’s wrists in his hands, trying to speak over Peter’s frantic breaths. 

“Peter! Baby, look at me. Guess who?”

Peter paused, staring up at his supposed enemy before he was relaxing with closed eyes when he finally made eye contact with Tony. 

“...Oh. Hi. Hey, Dad.”

Tony released a long breath of relief, closing his eyes and placing a composing hand on his chest. 

“Hey, Pete,” Tony exhaled, bringing Peter forward and taking him in a tight hug.

Peter winced. “Ouch.”

“Yeah, yeah. Sorry.”

”That was-that was scary.”

“Sure was.” Tony pulled out of the hug and swallowed again around the growing lump in his throat, patting Peter on the shoulder.

”You’re done, alright? You did a good job.”

Peter blinked the concussion out of his eyes before his gaze snapped toward Tony.

”What?”

”You did good. Just stay down, okay? We got it from here.”

”No, I-I gotta get him back, I-“

”Peter, I’m not asking. Stay down.”

Tony’s helmet snapped back onto his head before he was blasting back off into the sky, leaving a stupefied Peter to wrap an arm around his broken ribs and melt into the ground in exhaustion. 

He may have a concussion, but a nap wouldn’t hurt anyone. 

🕷⎊🕷

The past few hours had been a frantic, urgent, heartbreaking blur.

He sat in a chopper bound for the Raft with a clenched jaw and fists, trying to shake the image of two of the most important people in world out of his mind. 

Normally Rhodey and Peter brought a warmth into his chest that only they were capable of bringing.

But the image of Rhodey’s unconscious form in the War Machine suit made his heart ache, and the image of Peter’s seemingly lifeless body on the tarmac was so similar to what he had hallucinated at Strucker’s base in Sokovia almost a year ago...

He shook the thought away. He was going to be sick.

He was just glad he was able to convince Peter to stand down for the rest of that fight and he prayed that he hadn’t been too distracted to send Happy to take the kid home. 

“This is Raft prison control.”

Tony jolted in his seat at the voice filtering into the cab of the helicopter.

”You are cleared for landing, Mister Stark.”

”Right,” Tony exhaled under his breath, watching as the lights of the raft began to rise up from beneath the ocean’s unsteady surface.

The Raft finally emerged and Tony was landing on the helipad inside, the large doors overhead sealing shut. 

He opened the door and swallowed rage when he saw Ross approaching.

”So,” Tony forced out, “you got the files? Let’s reroute the satellites. Start facial scanning for this Zemo guy.”

Ross had a dark look on his face, one that had something dreadful hidden underneath it. Tony suppressed the intense feeling of foreboding swirling in his chest. 

“...I’m not gonna listen to you after that fiasco in Leipzig,” Ross muttered. “You’re just about the only one that avoided one of these cells.”

Tony said nothing, fingers gripping the outside of his sling. 

They walked into a control room just outside of the holding cells. Tony avoided the monitors to the best of his ability, though Wanda’s eyes locking on the camera in the corner of her cell had Tony stopping in his tracks. 

He sniffed rather obnoxiously and made to step through the doors to the holding cells. Ross grabbed his arm. 

“Stark,” Ross said. Tony could’ve sworn he could detect an apologetic glimmer in his eyes.

“Before you step in there...I need you to know that I had no choice.” 

Tony frowned in confusion, shaking Ross’s hand off of his arm and stepping inside. 

The doors sealed shut behind him and suddenly he was left alone in a room full of people that possibly hated him more than he hated himself. 

Tony avoided eye contact as he crossed to the center of the room, his head throbbing as Clint’s voice and clapping suddenly boomed and echoed on the walls.

“The Futurist, gentlemen!”

Tony turned over his shoulder, staring blankly at Clint in his cell.

”The Futurist is here! He sees all! He knows what’s best for you...whether you like it or not.”

”Give me a break, Barton,” Tony said, walking toward the glass and bars of his cell. “I had no idea they’d put you here. Come on.”

”Or who they’d put here, huh?”

Tony blinked in confusion. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Clint scoffed, lowering his head.

”You’re the most ignorant and out-of-touch guy I’ve ever met.”

”Clint...you don’t belong in some...super-max floating ocean pokey. This place is for maniacs. This place is for-”

Clint blurted out a laugh before he could stop himself, sauntering toward the barrier between them and placing two hands on the bars, staring Tony in the eye.

He cleared his throat and shouted over the glass. 

”Hear that, Pete? Your old man thinks you’re a maniac. A criminal.”

Tony tensed. 

”Oh, you didn’t know?” Clint mumbled low, looking past Tony’s shoulder at a particular cell. “Yeah, that’s right, Tony. You were so busy chasing one of our own that you didn’t even think to ask...where’s Peter?”

Tony turned over his shoulder with his heart in his throat, and suddenly, he was completely and utterly numb in horror.

In a cell across the room, Peter sat in the corner wearing blue scrubs and socks hugging his knees to his chest, his face covered in bruises and cuts. His eyes were closed and his face was scrunched in discomfort.

Tony’s heart shattered into a billion pieces before he could catch his breath. 

The only words he could force out were nothing but a whisper.

”Oh, god…”

He stumbled forward, shaking his head in dread the closer he got to Peter’s cell. He realized Peter was still wearing his web shooters and the cell he was confined in was covering in webs hanging from the ceiling. 

He also realized, with a twinge of his heart, that the scrubs they had Peter in were loosely hanging off of his frame, as if they didn’t have a size small enough for him.

Because they didn’t anticipate him being a child.

He couldn’t catch his breath no matter how hard he tried.

”Peter,” he eventually forced out quietly, bringing a shaky hand to tap on the glass. “Baby, look at me.”

Peter sleepily opened his eyes, glancing Tony’s way instead of turning his head.

”They let me keep my web shooters,” Peter said, his voice small and broken.

Tony placed two hands on the glass to convince himself the floor hadn’t just been yanked out from underneath him. 

This had been the exact image Tony had been trying to avoid ever since he found out Peter was Spider-Man. It was quite literally one of his worst nightmares come true.

“Kid, I...”

Peter closed his eyes and swallowed thickly, rising to his feet with a grimace and wrapping a hand around his ribs.

Tony’s heart jolted. “Are you okay? Is anything broken?”

Peter said nothing, walking tiredly to the glass. When he was finally standing in front of the bars, Tony noticed his blown pupils and bruises and cuts with heartbroken eyes.

”Doesn’t hurt so bad,” Peter said, his words slurred. “Gave me a...sedative or somethin’.”

”They...sedated you?”

Peter nodded. 

To keep him from breaking out.

Tony saw red, speaking through gritted teeth.

“...I’m gonna kill him.” 

Peter closed his eyes, swaying slightly in place. 

Tony turned over his shoulder and made bloodthirsty eye contact with the security cameras in the corner of the room before he activated his watch gauntlet and aimed it at Peter’s cell door.

”Stand back, kid.”

Peter didn’t move. Tony stared at him for a moment as his gauntlet whirred to life.

”Peter, move.”

He shook his head eventually, crossing to the cot on the wall and sitting on the edge. 

“Won’t work, Dad.”

Tony clenched his jaw and fired at the lock. Nothing happened, as Peter expected. 

“Stark,” Ross’s voice boomed throughout the walls over the intercom. “You know these cells are indestructible. This is the way it has to be.”

Tony turned over his shoulder with furious eyes and pointed his gauntlet at the doors of the room with a trembling hand. 

He knew Ross was behind them watching the security footage on the monitors. He knew one blast through the door held a high chance of hitting him. 

“Dad.”

Tony turned at the sound of Peter’s voice, entire body out of control with rage though he softened a fraction as Peter looked at him longingly from his cell.

”...You gotta go…you gotta go stop Steve.”

”…That doesn’t matter anymore.”

“Yes, it does.”

”Peter-“

”Dad.”

Tony paused, eyes glassy as he studied Peter up and down, sadness overwhelming him so much that he couldn’t breathe.

He looked up and around the bulky walls of the Raft, looked past the thick bars and glass of Peter’s cell and stared at the grey walls and the small metal bed and the webs hanging from the ceiling and suddenly the tears welling in his eyes made it all one big blur.

His kid should not be here. In a million years, his kid should never be here.

His kid should be sitting on the couch at the penthouse wrapped in one of Pepper’s old fleece blankets, tucked safely under Tony’s arm, watching something funny and not caring about tomorrow.

He zeroed in on Peter’s disheveled, youthful curls before he spoke with a broken, biting whisper. 

”...I am not...leaving you here.”

”I’ll be back,” Peter said sleepily, offering the smallest of smiles. “I won’t be here forever. We can work it out when you...when you stop Steve.”

Tony studied him in contemplation, slowly but surely regaining his breathing and controlling his own version of a Bruce Banner outburst.

With glassy, urgent eyes, Tony turned on his heel and marched toward Sam’s cell, slamming his hands on the bars.

”Tell me where Steve went.”

Sam scoffed.

”You think that little reunion over there is gonna change my mind about you? No, you’re gonna have to go Mark Fuhrman on my ass to get information out of me.”

Tony sighed impatiently, retracting his gauntlet back into a watch and tapping the screen.

”Just knocked the A out of their AV. We got about thirty seconds before they realize it’s not their equipment.”

Sam looked up and around his cell, eyes narrowed suspiciously. 

“Just look,” Tony said, showing Sam an image on his watch. “That dead guy in the tub? Supposed to interrogate Barnes. Clearly I made a mistake, Sam. I was wrong.”

”Thats a first.“

“Cap is definitely off the reservation, but he’s about to need all the help he can get. We don’t know each other very well, but-“

”Alright,” Sam interrupted, eyes still narrowed in suspicion though he was deflating slightly in defeat. 

“Look...I’ll tell you, but you have to go alone, and as a friend.”

Tony turned over his shoulder and glanced back at Peter’s cell, swallowing bile before he nodded.

”Done.”

🕷⎊🕷

The past twenty-four hours had been the most heartbreak Tony had endured in his lifetime. 

So many images played on a loop in his head, from Peter getting knocked to the ground at the airport to Rhodey lying unconscious in his suit to Peter hugging himself in a maximum security cell to Bucky Barnes, rounding Howard’s old car and wrapping a merciless hand around his mother’s throat.

His heart ached with every beat.

Of course, that could’ve also been a result of Steve lodging his shield into Tony’s chest.

He shook the thought away with a grimace. He was running the risk of giving himself a heart attack if he dwelled too much. 

Instead, he stuffed his hands in his pockets and watched with bated breath as Peter’s plane landed on the tarmac.

Tony had dialed Happy immediately after leaving the Raft and asked him to work out something, anything with Ross to let his kid go. Of course, this also meant revealing to Happy that the kid he had watched grow up for the past eleven years was moonlighting as a masked vigilante, but that was a fire that could be put out another day. 

Happy gave him the details, though Tony had been so numb after his fight with Steve and Bucky that he couldn’t quite process the specifics. All he gathered was that Ross and his team would keep Peter’s identity confidential, so long as Spider-Man operated within the law and didn’t destroy too many buildings on patrol.

So, there Tony was, standing in front of his car with tense shoulders as the ramp of the plane was lowered and he was completely and utterly broken at the sight inside.

Peter had one arm looped around Happy’s and another bound in a sling, his face littered with bandages. He had swapped those blue prison scrubs for a grey shirt, jeans, and sneakers. 

Tony wasn’t sure how long it had been since he’d seen his kid, but he could’ve sworn his curls were longer and messier than usual, as if he’d been gone for months on end.

Tony realized with a heartbreaking feeling of deja vu that this was a mirror image of the day he had returned from Afghanistan and reunited with Peter, from the sling to the plane to the way he was blown away by the sight of his kid’s resilience. 

Peter finally found Tony’s gaze and an infectious smile was gracing his face. Tony held his breath.

”Kid,” he whispered, barely audible. Happy gently led Peter down the ramp before Peter placed a grateful hand on Happy’s shoulder. Tony could practically hear him saying “I’ve got it, Hap, thank you.”

Happy nodded hesitantly before he nudged Peter Tony’s way, where he stood about twenty feet away in a car ready to take them as far away as possible to erase the horror of the past few days.

Tony couldn’t stop himself from suddenly running forward.

Peter jogged and met him in the middle before Tony scooped Peter up in a bone-crushing hug. Peter hugged him back with his only good arm, closing his eyes.

“Hey, Dad,” Peter said quietly.

Tony laughed, taking handfuls of Peter’s shirt and breathing into his curls.

”Hey, kid,” Tony whispered, pressing a kiss on his head with closed eyes. 

For a moment that could’ve lasted forever, the two simply stood in place holding each other, swallowing down the heartbreak of the past twenty-four hours and keeping each other safely in place. 

Tony rubbed soothing circles on Peter’s back.

”You’re okay,” he said softly, bringing his hand up and cradling Peter’s head. “You’re okay, you’re okay, you’re okay.”

Happy watched with glassy eyes of his own as the two finally released their hold on each other. Tony cupped Peter’s face, staring at every bandaid and bruise in sorrow.

Peter did the same, taking in the several fresh cuts and bruises on Tony’s face and fumbling for the right words.

”…Hap told me,” Peter finally supplied, shaking his head. “Dad, I…I’m so sorry.”

Tony said nothing, his jaw clenched.

He wondered what specifically Happy told him. Maybe that the Winter Soldier murdered his parents, or that Steve had lodged Howard’s shield into Tony’s chest, or maybe just that Steve and Tony fought and it didn’t end well. 

He swallowed thickly, casting the thoughts away and bringing a hand to cup Peter’s face. As much as he hated seeing Peter with any injury of any kind, he was just glad his kid had been bandaged up and not tossed into a cell doped up on horse tranquilizers like the last time he saw him. 

“Are you in any pain?”

Peter blinked, looking down at his sling with a shrug. 

“Just really sore. The doctor guy that Happy brought to the Raft said I have a few broken ribs and a broken collar bone. But they said it would be healed really soon.”

Tony closed his eyes with a grimace and a nod, brushing the pad of his thumb across Peter’s cheek.

He couldn’t stop himself from bringing a hand up to ruffle Peter’s hair, feeling like the happiest man in the world despite his given circumstances. 

”I missed you, kid.”

“Come on, I wasn’t gone all that long.”

Tony stared at him for a moment, looking into his kid’s tired eyes.

They were different. They held a feeling Tony was familiar with.

They told a million stories only experience could provide. They held a maturity that Tony never wanted to see in his kid.

Being held captive or confined in a prison cell could change someone forever, but Peter was only fourteen, and Tony could see the raw, fresh devastation in Peter’s eyes that came from sitting alone in a cell too doped up to know what was going on.

He probably sat alone forever wanting his dad.

Tony pursed his lips to keep them from trembling, taking a composing, albeit shaky breath.

”Felt like forever.”

Peter tried to keep his lip from trembling too. 

“Yeah.”

”Ahem.”

Tony and Peter both turned toward Happy, who was wiping fresh tears from his eyes and gesturing to the car.

”Let’s, uh…come on, let’s get out of here.”

Tony snorted a laugh at Happy’s tear-streaked face, nudging Peter on the shoulder.

”Sure thing. Where to, kid?”

Peter’s infectious smile was returning as he turned back to his dad, knowingness tracing his features.

”…Cheeseburgers?”

Tony placed a hand on his chest as he laughed, wrapping an arm around Peter’s shoulders and leading him to the car.

”Right answer.”

🕷⎊🕷

To say Tony hadn’t been sleeping was an understatement.

One week since his fight with Steve, Tony was still having dreams that got more vivid the more time passed. 

The way his head snapped back and forth with every punch, the way Steve looked at him before plunging that shield into his chest, the way he ripped off Tony’s helmet and Tony, in all his fury, had cowered beneath Steve’s bloodthirsty eyes.

Sometimes Tony had dreams where Peter watched.

He woke up on a particular night with a gasp, holding a hand to his throat with wide eyes. He huffed and blinked the sleep out of his eyes as Friday dimly lit the room.

He took composing breaths, drenched in sweat. He swallowed bile before he found his voice.

”Fri, what…what time is it?”

”Two-oh-six in the morning,” she supplied. Tony could’ve sworn he could detect the slightest twinge of pity in her voice. 

“Is the kid sleeping?” 

He prayed he was. He was going back to school for the first time in two weeks and he wanted him to be well-rested. 

“He’s on the roof, sir.”

Tony blinked. 

“He’s what?”

”He’s awake. He told me not to wake you.” 

“Which is code for you to wake me the hell up,” Tony huffed, throwing his covers off of himself and skirting around the bed. 

He opted for the stairs, taking them two at a time and sprinting toward the roof with his heart in his throat. 

When he finally threw open the door, he turned his head this way and that until his eyes landed on Peter, sitting on the edge of the roof with his back turned to Tony. His curls were still disheveled from sleep, or rather a lack of it, the breeze passing through them. 

Tony licked suddenly dry lips, stepping forward hesitantly.

”…Kid?”

Peter turned his head slightly, not enough to look at Tony but enough to acknowledge his presence. He turned back toward the city with a sigh. 

“Hey.”

Tony stepped cautiously forward, his heart thudding in his ears.

”What’re you…what’re you doin’ up here, Pete?”

”Not gonna jump, promise.”

Tony clicked his tongue. “Didn’t think you were going to.”

Those words were enough to prompt Tony to walk forward and swing his legs over the edge, sitting himself next to Peter so that their shoulders touched. He looked down at his kid with a tired, enamored smile. 

“Penny for your thoughts.”

Peter’s lip quirked in a smile. He sighed tiredly. 

“Couldn’t sleep.”

Tony hummed. “That’s okay. Me neither.”

Peter met Tony’s gaze at that, brows pinched together worriedly. 

“You okay?”

Tony scoffed. “Always.”

Peter narrowed his eyes, unconvinced. He turned back toward the city, kicking his feet against the ledge he was perched on.

”…Come on, kid.”

Peter breathed out another sigh, closing his eyes in content.

”I love New York,” he supplied after what felt like an eternity. “I mean, sometimes it smells bad and the subway can be scary and, yeah, sometimes you get shot at.”

Tony frowned slightly in confusion, wondering for a moment if Peter was still asleep.

”But all those things…all those things mean there are people. Even when I’m alone in my room, I can feel people bustling around in the streets and all the buildings. Everything feels accessible. Everything feels close. Like there’s actually civilization outside.”

Tony blinked, a quiet laugh escaping him.

”…Okay…I’m…glad you like living here, kiddo.”

Peter clenched and unclenched his jaw, his eyes filming over slightly with tears. Tony watched him in concern.

”…When I was in that cell, I couldn’t feel any people.”

Tony’s heart dropped into his stomach.

”All I could feel was ocean. Ocean for thousands of miles in every direction. No people, no buildings…just water. Pitch black water everywhere.”

Tony stared at his kid numbly, listening carefully to every word he spoke. He swallowed around the growing lump in his throat with tense shoulders. 

“I felt…so…”

Peter shook his head and looked down at the streets, as if tethering himself to reality. 

“…Lonely.”

Tony’s eyes were glassed over with tears then, too, suddenly paralyzed with heartbreak. 

“…Oh, Peter, I…”

Tony shook his head as he fumbled for something, anything to say. Peter simply leaned over and rested his head on Tony’s shoulder, closing his eyes. 

Tony wished more than anything that he could inflict Peter’s heartache onto himself, but he wasn’t sure he could fathom anymore than he already had. 

Tony closed his eyes, too, pressing a kiss into Peter’s curls. 

“I love you, kid.”

It was a quiet, pain-filled declaration, but it was enough to make Peter cry into Tony’s shoulder.

Tony exhaled shakily at the sound, turning his face into Peter’s curls and shedding tears of his own. 

They sat their a while until they both stopped crying, both too content to open their eyes. 

Tony loved him more than anything, and Peter loved him just the same. 

That was enough for them both.

Chapter Text

🕷⎊🕷

DECEMBER, 2016

Several months following the Accords ordeal, Peter and Tony were finally recovering.

They both endured their share of nightmares, but they endured them together rather than apart. It was difficult getting Peter to go straight to Tony’s room after a nightmare rather than the rooftop of the Tower, but the first time Peter willingly found his way wandering into Tony’s room, Tony slept better than he ever had before. 

Before Tony knew it, Peter’s first semester of high school had passed and Christmas had arrived. Not without its fair share of patrol-related injuries and all-nighter study sessions, of course, but it had passed nonetheless and Tony had no intentions of leaving the Tower until New Years had passed, too.

Tony wandered into Peter’s room one evening, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders and a Stark pad tucked beneath his arm. His tired eyes landed on Peter sitting on his bed scrolling through his phone, wrapped in a blanket and dressed in a rather obnoxious coat. The snowstorm raging outside made it almost impossible to see through Peter’s window.

Peter looked up at Tony with tired eyes of his own, his nose bright red.

”It’s. Freezing.”

Tony snorted, immediately wincing at the wave of pain that shot through his head.

”You got what I got?”

”What, the plague?” Peter snorted too, a hand on his throat uncomfortably. 

Tony hummed, trudging toward one of Peter’s beanbag chairs. 

Despite the biting cold, Tony felt warmth swell in his chest at the sight of the Christmas tree set up next to the beanbag. Peter and Tony made it a ritual to set it up every year, and Tony had a matching one in his room. They were small compared to the twelve-footer in the living room, but Tony preferred them over any Christmas trees in the world.

Tony plopped into the beanbag with a groan, wrapping his blanket tighter around his shoulders. Peter watched him sleepily.

“This penthouse was not built for cold weather,” Peter said, his words shaky. “I feel like I’m in a freezer with all these windows.”

Tony’s eyes drooped slightly at Peter’s words.

”Should've thought about that before you decided to be my kid.”

”Should've left me at the hospital.”

He sent a pointed glare Peter’s way, watching as Peter slowly rose from his bed with his blanket still wrapped around him. Tony frowned at the bright red gloves on his hands.

”...Are you wearing your suit?”

”…It’s got a heater.”

Tony couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped him, nor the coughing fit that followed. Peter smiled, trudging Tony’s way and curling up on the floor next to the beanbag.

Tony instinctively reached a pale hand forward and began running his fingers through Peter’s curls. Peter leaned into his warmth with a content hum.

”Thinking of asking Fri to order us some soup.”

”Mmm,” Peter smiled, nodding his head. “That sounds good.”

”On its way, Boss.”

Tony sunk further into the beanbag with a content nod, pulling the Stark pad out from under his arm. Peter groaned in protest.

”What’re you doin’?”

”Got work to do.”

“No,” Peter frowned, reaching up and fumbling for the Stark pad with a weak hand. Tony rolled his eyes.

”Thought you were supposed to have enhanced strength and coordination.”

”I do.”

He brought a hand to Peter’s forehead.

”Christ, kiddo. You also have a hundred-degree fever. Go to sleep.”

“You have one, too. I wanna stay with you and wait for soup.”

”You can sleep until it gets here.”

Peter rolled his eyes, too, rising to his feet with a grimace. Tony watched with foggy eyes as Peter thwipped a web up to the ceiling and hung himself upside down from it. 

“…The hell are you doing?”

Peter said nothing at first, his eyes closed. He began to spin around slowly on his web.

”I could hibernate.”

”If anyone’s hibernating, it’s me.”

”Actually, it’s me,” Peter argued, clearing his throat with a wince. “I did some research on spiders. Did you know…did you know that spiders hibernate? Depending on the species, anyway.”

Tony looked up from his Stark pad with narrowed eyes. 

“Do they, now?”

”They do,” Peter insisted. Tony held back a laugh as he watched Peter spin like a disco ball. “They, like...slow down their metabolisms 'n hang around in attics 'n trees 'n under rocks 'n stuff.”

”...You realize you’re not actually a spider, right? I mean, I don't have to explain that to you?”

”I could sleep for a few months if I wanted to.”

Tony looked up again with a glare.

“Uh, no.”

“Might be nice,” Peter shrugged. Tony’s glare grew as he watched Peter actually consider it. “I could slow down my metabolism. It would be, like, impossible to wake me up.”

”Read my lips: No.”

Peter rolled his eyes with a yawn. 

“Worth a shot.”

Tony spared only one more moment glaring at his kid before he returned to his screen, a thought occurring to him as he dug through his pocket.

”I got somethin' better than hibernation,” he said, holding up what appeared to be wrapped candies. Peter tilted his head. “Throat lozenge. Want one?”

”Eh…sure.”

Tony smiled softly, unwrapping one of them and holding it up to throw. Peter opened his mouth.

Tony landed it in his mouth successfully, unwrapping one of his own and popping it in. 

He didn’t have much time to enjoy the relief it brought to his sore throat before Peter began choking.

He dropped down from his web and heaved until the lozenge shot to the ground. Tony sat up straight in an instant, watching with wide eyes as Peter gripped his throat and continued coughing on his knees. 

“What the-“ Peter hacked, placing a steadying hand on the ground. “What the hell was that?”

Tony shook his head in confusion, leaning forward and rubbing Peter’s back.

”Deep breaths, kid. Come on, just breathe. Probably just went down the wrong chute.”

Peter shook his head, too, rising to this feet and stumbling toward his bathroom. He placed two hands on the counter before struggling to turn the sink on and sticking his head under the water faucet. 

Tony stood from his beanbag with a groan and ventured into the bathroom curiously, staring as Peter gulped water from the faucet. 

“Kid, what the hell?”

Peter took a break gulping down water, turning his head over his shoulder. Tony blinked when he noticed how red Peter’s eyes were. 

”What was in that thing?”

Tony shrugged. “Uh…Alcohol? Eucalyptus? Peppermint?”

Peter opened his mouth to say something, though he erupted into another fit of coughs before he could. Tony stepped forward in concern, rubbing Peter’s back as he continued drinking from the running water. 

“Seriously, Peter, what-“

”Spiders can’t eat peppermint,” Peter finally supplied, turning the water off and pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. “It’s like poison to them. It’s used as a-as a repellent.”

Tony blinked numbly for a moment, fumbling for words. 

He wanted to argue that Peter wasn’t actually a spider, that the kid just stuck to walls and lifted things ten times his size and that was that.

But he’d seen the tests Helen had run on his DNA. It had been almost completely restructured, as if the spider bite had infected fifty percent of who he was.

…Maybe Peter was more of a spider than Tony thought.

”…Shit, kid.”

Peter rose from the sink and wiped his mouth with his sleeve, meeting his red-eyed reflection in the mirror. Tony continued rubbing Peter’s back soothingly.

”You know...this is actually pretty bad news. What do you expect me to do with all the candy canes and peppermint hot chocolate I have stocked for the winter?”

Peter huffed a raspy laugh, shaking his head.

”…You’re the worst.”

Tony laughed too, pressing a kiss into Peter’s curls.

”Too soon.”

🕷⎊🕷

SPIDER-MAN: HOMECOMING, 2017

"Dad!"

Peter slammed the front door of the penthouse, tossing his backpack onto the couch in the living room ahead with wide eyes.

He hadn’t had a chance to change out of his Spider-Man suit after the events of that night and had instead thrown his school clothes over it. He scanned the penthouse feverishly for any sign of Tony.

"Uh," Tony said from the kitchen, "h-hey, kid!"

"Dad, the craziest thing just happened to me."

Peter heard Tony drop what he was doing in the kitchen before he rounded the corner into the living room, looking Peter up and down as the kid tried in vain to control frantic breaths.

"What's wrong?"

"These-these guys were robbing an ATM with these high-tech weapons, and I-"

"Woah, easy," Tony stepped forward and closed the distance between them, taking Peter's shoulders. "Take a deep breath."

"And-and they had these weird, like, laser things, and one of the guys beamed me up with one of them-"

"Peter."

"And it felt really, really weird, and-and I wasn't able to stop them because they got away and I-"

"Peter!"

Peter paused, blinking as he looked Tony up and down.

Tony was holding Peter's shoulders and staring at him with anxious eyes. He was semi-dressed up, at least more dressed up than usual. and Peter noticed that it smelled like he had cooked something, which he hadn't done in a while.

Peter narrowed his eyes. 

"...What is it?"

Pepper rounded the corner into the living room. Peter stiffened in surprise.

"...Aunt Pepper?"

Pepper flashed him her knowing smile, already holding her arms out for him. Peter breathed out a laugh in disbelief, stepping around Tony and taking her in a hug.

"Oh, God," Pepper said with closed, content eyes. "You're not supposed to be this tall. When did you get so big?"

Tony melted slightly at the sight. 

No matter what Tony and Pepper had been through, they raised Peter together. Tony never forgot that.

"I-I haven't seen you in forever," Peter said into her shoulder, heart still racing in his chest. She took his arms and pulled out of the hug, pinching his cheek and ruffling his hair. "What're you-what're you doing here?"

"Just got off patrol, huh kiddo?"

"And," Tony interrupted, reaching for Peter’s bag on the couch and taking his shoulders, "he was just leaving. Isn't that right, kiddo?"

"Wha-"

Peter tilted his head as Tony began guiding him out of the living room and toward his bedroom. Pepper watched them go with a laugh.

"Good seeing you, Peter."

"Dad," Peter whispered. "Why-why do I have to leave? What's going on-?"

”What’s going on,” Tony started, grunting as Peter resisted his guidance to his room, “is that you should not be here.”

”But I haven’t seen Aunt Pepper in-“

”Alright, that’s it,” Tony huffed, bending down and taking Peter’s legs. “Let’s hope I’m not too old for this trick, kid.”

”No, no, no, wait-!”

Tony lifted Peter over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes with a strained grunt, trudging the remaining distance to Peter’s room. Peter squirmed in his hold.

”Come on! Put me down! Seriously-!”

They passed the dining room on their way to Peter's room. Tony and Peter never used it, opting instead to eat at the kitchen bar or the living room, but now, Peter noticed with wide eyes that it was lit by two candles and decorated with a dinner for two. 

Peter's jaw dropped as the realization sunk in.

"...Are you two on a date?!"

Tony ignored him, finally arriving in Peter’s room and walking until he reached his bed, throwing him onto it and turning on his heel for the door immediately afterward. 

Peter jumped up to follow him. Tony stopped in the threshold, placing two hands on the doorframe to keep Peter in.

"We're just having a bit of a...a reconciliation, if you will."

Peter put two hands on his cheeks with an enamored smile.

"...This is the best day of my life."

Tony frowned. 

"What, I'm not enough for you anymore? Now you need a step-mom?"

"That's not what I said!"

"It's what you implied, you brat."

Peter narrowed his eyes, nudging Tony on the shoulder. Tony huffed a small laugh.

"Look, half-pint,” Tony said fondly, ruffling Peter’s curls. “I gotta get back in there. Didn't you get my text messages?"

Peter blinked, pulling his phone out of his pocket and bringing up his message app.

Thirteen unread messages under Tony's name, all telling Peter to spend the night at Ted's.

Peter glared. "First of all, his name is Ned-"

"Yeah, yeah, Tedward, Nedward, whatever.”

”We’ve been friends for five years-!”

”-Just stay put in here, alright? Don't come out."

Tony began to turn, though Peter took his arm with an iron grip.

"Dad, wait! W-What about those ATM guys? And-and the weapons I was talking about?"

"Your A.I. will give me a report later," Tony said hastily, sparing one moment to take Peter's chin in his hand. "You're not hurt, are you?"

"No, but I-"

"Good."

Tony slammed the door shut. Peter blinked and stood in place for a moment, realizing he could hear their every word as Tony reentered the dining room.

Yeah...on second thought, maybe Ned would be up for a sleepover.

🕷⎊🕷

A few days later, Peter and Ned studied in the school library.

Ned was doing his best to listen to Peter’s words, but as Nationals approached, his need to study had increased and his attention span had severely decreased. He wondered why Peter wasn’t the same.

”And it’s just, like, he doesn’t even listen lately! It’s always been just the two of us, you know? I mean, even when he dated Pepper when I was little, he made time to listen. But this time around it’s different.”

”Uh-huh.”

”Okay, like, wouldn’t you think that a bunch of guys with high-tech otherworldly weapons would be a little higher on your radar? But no. You thought wrong.”

”Totally.”

”I mean, I get that he’s busy. He and Happy are working on moving a bunch of stuff to the new place upstate. And I guess he and Pepper are working on running SI together again...and I did really, really miss her...but, I mean, come on! One day I’m supposed to tell him everything, and the next, he can’t even be bothered to care?”

”For sure.”

Peter paused from where he had been pacing back and forth next to the study table, staring at Ned with narrowed eyes. 

“…Are you even listening?”

”Absolutely.”

Peter scoffed, sitting himself down at the table.

”Dude, I’m literally talking about my Dad not listening, and now you aren’t either?”

Ned dropped his pencil tiredly, looking up at Peter with apologetic eyes.

”I’m sorry! It’s just, I've heard this all week. You’re talking to the wrong person. Plus, I’m busting my ass for Nationals. Something you should consider doing.”

”I can’t say any of this to my dad. If he thinks I feel neglected he’ll give me a whole thing about how much he doesn’t wanna be like Howard. I mean, what’s up with that? Why is everything about him?“

”Dude,” Ned snorted, “he’s Tony Stark.”

”Exactly,” Peter rolled his eyes, running two hands down his face. “And no one lets me forget it. Happy even told me that neither of them had time for ATM robberies. But neither of them get it! It wasn’t the ATM, it was the weapons.”

”Well, if you don’t wanna tell Mister Stark about it, why don’t you just, like, go solo for once?”

Peter blinked at him for a moment, staring in thought. Ned looked up from his textbook at the silence.

”What?”

”...Ned, you’re a genius.”

Ned narrowed his eyes. “Why do I get the feeling that you took my words and completely misinterpreted them to mean something a lot worse?”

Peter leaned in, making sure no one was in the library.

”I can hack the suit.”

Ned’s eyes went wide.

”No way.”

”Come on, Ned! We both can! Just turn off a few of the protocols for a while.”

”Nuh-uh. Nope. If you do this, you’re on your own.”

”I can't do it without you. Come on, please?”

”No way am I getting on Tony Stark’s bad side. He’s freaking Iron Man.”

”He doesn't have to know you were involved! Come on, dude, I just need to disable the tracker and work solo on this. It’s not like he’ll notice anyway.”

“What about the Secretary dude that’s always breathing down your neck? Won't he notice? I suggested Spider-Man went solo, not illegal.”

”What about Spider-Man?”

Peter and Ned both whipped toward the library doors as Liz stood there, tilting her head quizzically at the two.

Peter’s breath was taken away for a moment at the sight of her.

”Oh! H-Hey, Liz. We were just, uh…talking about, uh…”

Liz’s lip quirked up in a smile as she watched Peter stumble on his words. Ned cleared his throat.

”Peter knows Spider-Man.”

Peter snapped toward Ned with wide eyes.

”Dude-“

”You do?”

Peter closed his eyes in defeat before turning back to Liz with a sheepish smile.

”Yeah, uh…you know, my-my Dad knows him, so sometimes I see him around. I only know him by, like, association.”

Liz walked forward curiously and fumbled with the rings on her fingers.

”Well...what is he like? Is he, like, cool?”

“Yeah, sure he is. Really cool.”

Liz nodded, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Cool.”

Peter nodded back, making awkward eye contact with her for an awkward amount of time. Ned stood behind him with wide eyes.

”So…are you guys gonna come to my party tonight?”

Peter’s heart skipped a beat.

He’d heard about the party from Flash plenty enough. He heard about all of Liz’s parties, but because it was her senior year, it felt like they were becoming more and more frequent. 

He tended to avoid parties when he could. People only ever wanted him to come because of his last name. 

“You…you want us to come?”

”Of course,” Liz shrugged, closing the distance between her and Peter. “You guys are gonna be the life of the party. Maybe you can get Spider-Man to come.”

Peter’s ears went red. Ned stepped up behind him.

”We’ll be there. Nine o’clock?

”Nine o’clock,” she nodded with a smile, taking one moment to send a wink Peter’s way before turning on her heel.

”Bye, Peter. Bye, Ned.”

”B-Bye, Liz.”

Liz sauntered out of the library and left a doe-eyed Peter to watch her go. He cleared his throat, turning back around to the study table where Ned had already returned. 

“So,” Ned leaned back in his chair with a knowing smile. “What were you saying about hacking the suit?”

Peter narrowed his eyes.

”I’m still doing that…just not tonight.”

”And…there’s no way I can stop you?”

Peter shook his head. “Nope.”

Silence ensued for a moment as Ned tapped his pen on the arm of his chair in thought. Peter sighed and plopped himself into a chair too, watching him think. 

“…I wanna be your guy in the chair.”

Peter blinked. “My what?”

“Yeah! Like, you know how there’s a guy? With a headset? Telling the other guy where to go? Like…like if you were stuck in a burning building, I could tell you where to go because there would be screens around me and I could be your guy in the chair!”

”Ned, I don’t need a guy in the chair!”

”You do if you’re gonna hack your suit.”

Peter bit his tongue, narrowing his eyes at Ned in annoyance. Ned smirked.

”Guy in the chair, or you’re on your own.”

Peter let out a sigh as he contemplated his options. Ned leaned forward slowly but surely, his knee bouncing in anticipation.

”…Fine.”

🕷⎊🕷

Peter flew through the doors of the penthouse and straight to his room. 

He dug through his dresser with his heart in his throat as he debated what to wear. He was never one to attend high school parties, seeing as people always surrounded him asking about Tony and never about Peter. He didn’t know what would help him blend in. 

He opted for a shirt with a math pun printed on the front and a pair of jeans. That was probably as casual as he was gonna get.

He threw it over himself and jumped into his jeans, standing in front of the mirror with frantic breaths.

He ruffled his hair a little bit in uncertainty, sticking his tongue out as he concentrated. From a distance, he could hear Tony’s voice near the living room.

”Hey, Dad!” Peter called, slipping on his sneakers and flipping the lights off of his bedroom as he jogged to the front door. “I’m not going on patrol tonight, I may be out a little late…”

Peter’s words fizzled out when he rounded the corner to the living room, his heart sinking into his stomach.

Tony was sitting in one of the living room chairs across from Secretary of State, Thaddeus Ross.

Tony made painful eye contact with Peter as Ross turned over his shoulder, sending an attempted charming smile Peter’s way.

”Mister Stark,” Ross stood, rounding his chair and holding his hand out for Peter to take. “It’s a pleasure.”

Peter swallowed thickly. The last time he had seen Ross, he had been watching with a glare as Peter got released from his holding cell on the Raft. The time before that, he blearily recalled Ross standing on the other side of his cell speaking to him, but he was too drugged to remember what he was saying.

”Uh,” Peter glanced back at Tony. Tony stood with a clenched jaw at Ross’s outstretched hand.

He could tell Tony didn’t want Ross touching him, but he had no choice. He had to stay on Ross’s good side no matter what. 

“H-Hi,” Peter eventually forced out, bringing a sweaty hand to shake Ross’s. 

“Might be wise,” Ross said with a sigh, gesturing to one of the empty seats in the living room. “Taking the night off. After what happened the other night.”

Peter’s throat was so dry he wasn’t sure he would be able to force out anything intelligible.

”Uh…right, the-the ATM guys with the weapons? I was telling my Dad about them last-“

”Not them,” Ross said, pointing at a file that rested on the side table between Tony and Ross. Peter sat down in one of the chairs and leaned forward curiously, opening the file and gaping at the photos inside.

”Deli-Grocery by the name of Delmar’s ring a bell?”

Peter stared at the photos of Delmar’s shop, which had been completely demolished after his encounter with the robbers. He remembered running inside of the shop with his heart in his throat, leading Delmar and his cat Murph away from the fire and smoke. He hadn’t stuck around much longer than that. 

”…Yes,” Peter said quietly, looking up at his dad. Tony stared at the photos blankly. “Yes, sir. I, uh…I was trying to stop the bad guys at the bank and then they had these high-tech weapons and, well…I wasn’t able to stop one of them from firing across the street. But I got Mister Delmar and his cat out in time.”

Ross said nothing for a moment, a hand on his chin in thought. 

“And…you are aware, Peter, that events that result in the destruction of property, publicly or privately owned, should lead to an immediate alert my way, correct?”

Peter closed his eyes.

”…Yes, sir.”

”Then why did I have to find out about this on CBS this morning?”

Peter’s leg began bouncing anxiously. He couldn’t seem to take his eyes off of Delmar’s marred sign.

”…I’m sorry, sir. I was so focused on the weapons, that I-“

”Your focus should’ve been keeping the events happening in the bank confined in the bank. Instead, you set fire to half of twenty-first street.”

”Alright,” Tony sat up straighter, “that’s enough. It wasn’t his fault, Ross. Come on.”

Ross turned slowly toward Tony with narrowed eyes.

”Mister Delmar is suing the city for the destruction of his property. Wants to be paid for the reparations and reinstate his Deli-Grocery as a Deli-Grill.”

”Easy,” Tony shrugged, standing and stuffing his hands in his pockets. “I got it covered. No problem.”

Peter watched with a still heart as Ross stood, too, taking the file and stepping forward until he was mere inches from Tony’s face. Tony didn’t blink.

“…And the cleanup?”

”I can get damage control on it. Same guys I’ve been working with for years, same people who cleaned up after the Chitauri in 2012. I’ll handle it.”

Ross hummed, sparing one more moment to stare at Tony before he was sauntering away with his hands behind his back, making his way toward Peter. Peter stood with his heart in his throat, staring up at Ross with as blank of an expression as he could manage. 

“Mister Stark,” Ross said, extending his hand once more for Peter to take. “Until next time, which I have no doubt that there will be a next time.”

Peter glared slightly at that, taking Ross’s hand and shaking it for a brief moment. 

Ross stepped around him and made for the elevator. 

“Take care, boys,” he said, stepping inside of the elevator and turning to face them with a strained smile. “We’ll keep in touch.”

Tony stood behind Peter, staring ahead

”Feel free to stay out of touch if you want.”

The elevator doors closed, and he was gone.

”Dad…” Peter said, turning to face Tony with apologetic eyes. “I’m so sorry, I-I didn’t mean to hurt Mister Delmar, I swear to god. And I didn’t mean to let the bad guys get away, and I didn’t-“

”Peter.”

Peter paused as Tony placed a hand on his shoulder and used two fingers to lift Peter’s chin. Peter stared up at him in anticipation, waiting for the outburst. 

Instead, Tony released a tired sigh, smiling softly.

”Wasn’t your fault. Don’t think for a second that it was. Understand?”

Peter blinked in surprise before slowly nodding.

”…Yes, sir. I understand.”

”Good.”

Tony turned on his heel and sat himself back down in the chair he had been sitting in across from Ross. He gestured for Peter to take a seat too.

“Siddown.”

Peter did as he was told, sitting across from Tony stiffly with his hands wrung together nervously. Tony watched him for a moment, a hand on his jaw.

”I’m going out of town tonight.”

”…Why?”

”Got some business to take care of,” Tony sniffed. “I’m sure you know Pepper and I are delegating more and more of the business to each other. This is part of that.”

”Oh,” Peter said quietly, looking down at the ground as his leg began to bounce. “How-How long will you be gone?”

“Not long, kid. Pep and I are catching a flight in thirty minutes and we’ll be back sometime tomorrow.”

Peter nodded numbly. “Where, uh, where’re you going?”

”India. Wedding of an old business associate. Won’t be gone long, promise.”

”…Alright. Sounds good.”

”Happy is gonna be staying here for a few nights,” Tony said, rising from his seat and crossing to the front door. Peter hadn’t even noticed the suitcase beside the door when he had arrived, but Tony was walking toward it and taking it by the handle.

“He’s overseeing all the shipments to the compound upstate, so when you get home tonight and you hear noises, don’t let your Peter-Tingle go berserk.”

“…My what?”

Tony pulled out his phone, a thought occurring to him as he let out a laugh. “‘Course, I guess the Peter-Tingle only applies to actual threats, huh?”

”Yeah,” Peter breathed out a small chuckle. “I guess so…Wait, are you taking about my Spider-Sense?”

“Hey, wait,” Tony ignored him, pocketing his phone with a frown. “What was that you were saying about skipping patrol? You never skip patrol. What’s up?”

”Uh…I’m, uh, going to a party tonight. Ned and I are.”

Tony blinked for a moment, a smile slowly but surely spreading on his face.

”Wow. A party? That’s great, kid! That’ll be fun. Is that one girl gonna be there? Alex? Piper? Hannah?”

”…Liz?”

”That’s what I said. Shit, I wish I wasn’t going now. I could give you some pointers.”

Peter snorted. “Pass, thanks though.”

”…Hm. Well, alright.”

Tony made for the front door and pulled it open, pulling his suitcase behind him.

”Guess I’ll see you tomorrow?”

”Wait!” Peter jumped up from his seat and stepped forward. “Aren’t-Aren’t we gonna talk about the robbers? The weapons? Delmar’s?”

”When I get back.”

“But-“

”Love you, Kid!”

Peter bit his tongue as Tony slammed the front door shut and left him there alone, a million words and thoughts going unspoken. 

He rolled his eyes with a groan and plopped back into his chair.

He prayed the party would get his mind off of the weapons for once.

🕷⎊🕷

Peter wasn’t sure how exactly he got from point A to point B.

All he knew was that one minute he was at Liz’s party, and the next, he was being flown thousands of feet above the Hudson river by his ankle.

”What the hell?!”

He reached up and attempted to pry the vulture-like claws off of his leg but to no avail, wide eyes meeting the beady green eyes of the Vulture in question. 

“Let me go!” 

The Vulture only took him further before Peter’s suit began beeping and suddenly, he was yanked out of the Vulture’s iron grip and sent shooting to the water below by his parachute.

…Only the parachute did the opposite of what a parachute should do and instead enveloped him in a heap of fabric.

Peter squirmed and cried out in panic as he attempted to free himself from the chute, which had seemingly accelerated his fall. Before he knew it, he was slamming into the calm surface of the Hudson River and sinking like a rock. His movements below the water slowed until he ceased to move at all. 

His vision went black at the same moment that something hard grabbed him under his arms and blasted him out of the water.

Peter blinked away the unconsciousness, eyes widening slightly when he realized he was being flown above land at an alarming speed. He turned over his shoulder in confusion, immediately meeting the intense glow of Iron Man’s helmet.

He blinked the water out of his eyes with a furrowed brow.

”…Dad?”

Tony looked down at him. Peter could feel his gaze behind the helmet and physically shrunk into his shoulders. 

“Party, huh?”

Peter said nothing, regaining his breaths as Tony landed Peter at an old playground, depositing him on top of a dome climber. Peter balanced himself into a sitting position and took off his soaking-wet mask, gulping in deep breaths of air.

When he opened his eyes again, the suit was hovering above the ground, watching Peter wring out his mask.

”Gosh, I love getting notifications when I’m in a different country that my kid has stopped breathing. Don’t you?”

Peter lowered his head with a huff, his feet kicking the bars. 

“Yeah…Sorry.”

”You’re gonna have to do better than that,” Tony said, tilting his head. “Jesus, kid. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Peter lied, the adrenaline and fear of almost falling to his death still hitting him in waves. 

“I’ll see for myself when I get back…Mind telling me what the hell kind of party you were at tonight?”

“I was-I was at that party,” Peter began breathlessly, “I swear, I really was. And I-I stepped outside for some air, and I could hear voices nearby. And it was the same guys from the bank robbery! I knew it was them, I-I recognized their voices. S-So I followed them, right? Because, like, they were up to no good. And that bird guy, he just swooped down! Like a monster! And he picked me up and he took me like-like a thousand feet! And then he just dropped me! It was insane.”

Tony said nothing. Peter looked up at him in anticipation, his teeth chattering in the cold. 

“Wait…how-how’d you-I thought you were-“

”Halfway across the world?” Tony supplied. The faceplates of his helmet flipped open, and Peter’s heart stopped at the lack of Tony behind the mask.

”I’m not…here.”

Peter realized he could hear faint voices on the line when he concluded that Tony was actually just on the phone rather than physically present. 

“Thank god this place has WiFi or you would be toast right now. Thank Ganesh while you’re at it. I mean, do you get that? Seriously, what were you thinking?”

“Th-The guy with the wings is obviously the source of the weapons! I gotta take him down!”

Tony scoffed. “Take him down, now, huh? You’ll do no such thing, Crockett. There are people that handle this sort of thing.”

”…Like you? Or the other Avengers?” 

“No, no, no. This is a little below their…pay grade.”

Peter narrowed his eyes at that.

”Well…if it’s so below your pay grade, then maybe you shouldn’t have gone through the trouble of sending a suit all the way down here.”

Peter could see Tony’s glare from a world away.

”Forget the flying vulture guy,” Tony said low. “Please.”

“Why?!”

”Why? Because I said so!”

Peter blinked in confusion as he heard Tony mutter the words “gosh, sorry, teenager.”

”Stay close to the ground, Peter. You almost drowned. Build up your game helping the little guy. Like that lady who bought you the churro.”

Peter looked up at that.

Tony read the report from his suit after all.

”Just…please, for the love of God, leave it alone. And stay off of Ross’s radar. Be the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man you’re always telling me about.”

”But I’m ready for more than that now!”

The faceplates of the suit snapped shut. 

“No, you’re not.”

”What about when I took on Steve? Back in Germany?”

“Look, kid, I hate to break it to you, but if Cap wanted to lay you out, he would’ve.”

Peter lowered his head. 

He hated how small Tony made him feel sometimes.

”Listen to me. If you come across these weapons again, call me. Or Happy. Happy first maybe.”

”Right,” Peter mumbled, hopping off of the bars and stumbling with a groan.

“Come on, kiddo. Hop on my back. I’ll take you home.”

”I can find my way back,” Peter insisted, sliding his mask back over his head. “Seriously. Enjoy your wedding or whatever.”

“Kid,” Tony reasoned. Peter heard the change in his voice, like he had shifted from bad cop to good cop to guilty cop. “Come on. I’m not letting you swing all the way back to Manhattan alone and cold like this.”

”Heater, remember?”

”Peter, hey-“

”Fri, you can send that suit home. I don’t need it.”

”Hey-!”

”Tony is no longer connected.”

Peter watched with a clenched jaw as the suit turned toward the sky and blasted away.

If Tony wouldn’t listen, he would take matters into his own hands.

🕷⎊🕷

Peter and Ned rushed back to the Tower after seeing one of the Vulture’s henchmen at the school.

Peter’s bag was heavier on his shoulders than usual because of the large chunk of Chitauri technology inside. He did his best to avoid the clunk of the metal as he and Ned made to run to his room.

They didn’t make it too far.

”Ahem.”

Peter and Ned stopped in their tracks, slowly turning toward the living room. Tony sat there in one of the chairs, a leg bouncing impatiently and a brow raised.

”What’re you boys up to on this fine afternoon?”

Peter and Ned exchanged panicked glances.

”We’ve got, uh…we’ve got Nationals in a few days. In D.C. You know, gotta study.”

”Right,” Tony nodded, rising from his seat. Peter noticed that Tony was wearing his three-piece suits far more often than usual now that he was running the business with Pepper. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world. When do you leave?”

Peter blinked. “You’re coming?”

”Like I said, wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

”Uh…we leave tomorrow. And we compete the next day.”

”Brilliant. My schedule’s wide open. I’ll meet you there.”

Peter continued blinking in confusion, looking back at Ned, who was, as usual, staring at Tony like he was a god. Peter rolled his eyes.

”…Cool. We’ll see you there, then.”

Tony sauntered forward until he was standing mere inches from the two, his hands stuffed in his pockets. His eyes were narrowed in suspicion.

”…Studying, huh? That’s it?”

Peter deflated slightly. 

“…Don’t you trust me?”

Tony said nothing, raising his jaw. The two simply stared at each other for a beat too long, Ned watching them with wide eyes and his breath held.

Finally, Tony’s blank expression morphed into a smile as he reached a hand forward to ruffle Peter’s hair.

”You two have fun,” he said, turning on his heel and rounding the corner out of the living room. “Text Hap if you need anything. I got a few meetings lined up for the rest of the day.”

“…Right.”

Peter and Ned watched him go before walking briskly to Peter’s room, the suit and Chitauri technology in their bags as they slammed the bedroom door shut. 

“Dude,” Ned whispered, leaning against the door as Peter crossed to the bed. “I don’t feel so good about this.”

Peter shrugged, unzipping his bag and dumping the suit and bulk of metal on his bed.

”What he doesn’t know can’t hurt him, right?”

🕷⎊🕷

Tony sat in the audience at Nationals with his heart in his throat.

They were on the question that determined the winners, and Peter was no where to be found.

Not only that, but he wasn’t answering his phone and his tracker appeared to be disabled. 

He couldn’t help his constant emotional shift from worried to frustrated to concerned to angry to anxious to furious.

If Peter wasn’t dead, Tony was gonna kill him himself.

Peter’s friend MJ ended up being the one to win them the championship. Tony watched with a clenched jaw as they raised her on their shoulders with cheers. She seemed more than unenthused. 

They descended the steps of the stage and followed Mister Harrington into the audience as he led them to the bus. Tony stood, adjusting the button of his suit and approaching the teacher briskly.

”Hi there.”

Mister Harrington stopped in his tracks with wide eyes as he abruptly made eye contact with Tony Stark. He fumbled for words.

”Oh-oh my god-I-Mister Stark! What a-gosh, what a surprise to have you here!”

Tony flashed him a strained smile, patting his back and walking by his side as he continued leading the class to the bus.

”Let’s walk and talk.”

”Oh, sure! Gosh, I gotta say, Mister Stark, we love having Peter on the team. I mean, he’s our star. Wouldn’t have made it to Nationals without him.”

”Seems like you did perfectly fine without him, though, huh?”

Mister Harrington didn’t respond to the comment right away, looking back at the group behind him with a beaming smile. 

“…Well, what is it that Einstein said? ‘Newton did all the work, I’m merely standing on his shoulders.’ Something like that, right?”

Tony narrowed his eyes. “So…in this instance, Peter is Newton?”

”Oh, yes. The Newton of his time. Not including you, of course. You must be very proud.”

”…Right. Sure.”

Tony made eye contact with Ned in the group behind him, whose eyes grew ten times their size when he spotted Tony. 

“Excuse me one moment.”

He pushed his way through the walking crowd until he reached Ned, clapping him on the shoulder and walking beside him. He did his best to ignore the stares of Peter’s classmates.

“So,” Tony whispered nonchalantly, “you gonna tell me where the hell my son is or am I gonna have to force it out of you?”

Ned gulped. “Y-You can do that?”

”You don’t wanna find out, Nedward.”

Ned licked dry lips, every step feeling closer to his doom. 

“Look, I don’t want any trouble, Mister Stark, okay? He said he would meet us here after he…”

Tony narrowed his eyes. 

“After he what?”

Ned gulped again, avoiding eye contact as they finally made it outside where the bus waited for them. 

“…I don’t recall, and I think I need an attorney.”

Tony gaped at him for a moment, a scoff of disbelief escaping him that slowly morphed into a laugh.

”…You’re a funny guy, Ned. Real funny kid. I like you.”

Ned let a nervous laugh escape him.

“…Uh…thanks, Mister Stark. That means a lot.”

”You know why else I like you? I like you because my kid trusts you. Which means that when he does decide to return to the land of the living, wherever he is, he’ll come to you first. You know what that means, Ned?”

Ned looked up at him in anticipation, his hand fisting the strap of his bag. 

“Uh…n-no sir.”

Tony smiled, clapping him on the back once more as they reached the bus. 

“It means I’m going to the Washington Monument with you.”

🕷⎊🕷

The AcaDec team (plus Tony) were making their way through the Washington Monument security when Ned’s phone rang.

Ned’s eyes flew wide when he pulled it out of his pocket. Tony stood behind him and stared at the caller ID.

He swallowed down the urge to rip the phone from Ned’s hands and make sure his kid wasn’t being held for ransom somewhere.

”Well?” Tony shrugged, gesturing to the phone. “You gonna take that?”

Ned swallowed thickly, lifting the phone to his ear with a shaky hand. 

“Nuh-uh,” Tony said. “Speaker phone.”

Ned clicked the speaker button hesitantly, lifting the microphone up to his mouth.

“…Peter?”

”Oh, Ned!” Peter’s voice cried out on the line, frantic and breathless. “Ned, thank god you’re alive.”

“Peter, where are you? Are you okay?”

“Ned, the-the glowing thingy-where is the glowing thingy?!”

Tony raised a brow. 

“Don’t worry. It’s safe in my backpack.”

”NO! No, Ned, listen! Ned, the glowing thing is dangerous-!”

”Dude, you missed Nationals and the Capitol! We’re at the Washington Monument now!”

”Ned, please-!”

Tony couldn’t help the concern that began to eclipse his anger. 

“Alright, gimme that.” 

He snatched the phone out of Ned’s hand and pushed him through security, clearing his throat.

“Ned! Ned, listen-!”

”Oh, hi, Peter,” Tony said, his voice as calm as he could make it. “This is Tony. Your dad? Yeah, so, you have one minute to live. Fill it with words.”

”Dad?! Dad, I need you to get Ned on the-“

”No, I’m gonna tell you what you need to do, Peter. You need to get to the Washington Monument and be apart of this field trip, because that’s what kids do. Understand?”

”Dad, please, you don’t understand-!”

“Excuse me, Mister Stark, is that Peter?”

Tony turned over his shoulder, immediately meeting Liz’s gaze. He blinked in surprise for a moment.

”Uh…”

She deadpanned, holding her hand out.

”Let me talk to him.”

He numbly handed the phone over. She took it harshly, though her anger seemed to be just as mixed with mind-numbing concern as Tony’s was.

”Peter, is that you?”

“Uh-Hey, Liz! Listen, I need you to put Ned back on the phone-!”

”You know what? You are so lucky that we won.”

Tony was taken aback as he watched her scoff and put her put a hand on her hip.

”You know, I wanna be mad, but I’m more worried. I mean, what is going on with you?”

”Liz, I have to talk to Ned! It’s really important-!”

”Miss,” one of the security guards standing behind the conveyor belt cleared his throat. “All items on the belt, please.”

Liz hummed. “Fine by me.”

She placed the phone on the belt and watched it roll away. Tony turned toward her with stunned eyes.

”Oh, god. I’m so inconsiderate. I-I’m sorry, Mister Stark, I-“

”No, no,” Tony shrugged. “Sorry, you must be…?”

”Oh,” she laughed under her breath, extending her hand. “Elizabeth Toomes. But everyone calls me Liz.”

Tony’s heart skipped a beat.

”You’re Liz?”

”…You know me?”

Shit.

”Oh, no, no. Just heard of you in passing is all.  Anyway, did Peter say he was on his way, or…?”

She rolled her eyes tiredly. “I don’t even know with him anymore. Sorry, this must be weird. Gossiping about your son.”

”It’s not gossip when it’s about his well-being. Come on, after you.”

She smiled nervously, stepping through the metal detector. Tony walked through it behind her. 

“Ah-ah,” one of the security guards pointed at his watch. “Sorry, Mister Stark. That’s gonna have to stay behind until the end of the tour.”

Tony looked down at his watch with a frown.

…It did have a gauntlet built into it.

”Eh…well, alright.”

He deposited the watch into the guard’s hand.

”Just don’t go putting it on or anything. That button right there is a detonator.”

🕷⎊🕷

Tony watched with his breath held as Ned threw his backpack onto the elevator floor.

Smoke began to fill the confined space. Flash looked up with wide eyes. 

“Oh my god…look at the ceiling.”

”Okay,” Liz started, her movements calculated. “Just stay calm everyone.”

”We’re all going to die here.”

”We’re freaking screwed.”

”Okay, guys,” the tour guide spoke up, her mundane voice exposing a twinge of panic. “I know that was scary, but our safety systems are working. We’re very safe in here. Plus, Mister Stark will save us. Right?”

Tony looked up with raised eyebrows.

”Who, me? I got nothin’.”

The guard blinked. “What?”

”I mean it. Security took my toys. I feel naked. But someone always comes, right?”

The guard visibly paled, looking up at the ceiling of the elevators. 

“We gotta open the emergency hatch.”

“That I can do.”

Tony raised an arm and forced the hatch open. The guards on the floor above forced the doors open, shards of glass spilling down. Tony and Mister Harrington lifted Cindy up and through the hatch first, though the movement caused the elevator to jolt.

”Alright,” Tony started, “I may not have my gadgets, but I brought my common sense. Maybe we shouldn’t be moving so much.”

”All due respect, Mister Stark-“

”Move!” Flash interrupted, climbing over Mister Harrington’s shoulders and reaching desperately up for the hatch with one hand, the Nationals trophy held tightly in the other. “Me next! My turn! Step aside!”

Before Flash could hoist his legs over, the elevator shifted and groaned in protest. The AcaDec kids all cried out in panic.

”Flash, get down from-!“

”Take my trophy!”

Flash threw himself out of the elevator and up towards the security guards arms, taking them desperately. The guards threw him over onto solid ground, though not before looking down in panic as the elevator slid further down the shaft.

“Mister Stark!” Liz took Tony by the shoulders with wide eyes, beads of sweat dripping down her forehead. “There’s gotta be something you can-!”

Tony didn’t get a chance to respond before the elevator groaned and the group was suddenly victim to the mind-numbing feeling of falling.

“Get on the ground!”

The AcaDec kids all screamed amidst the fall but obeyed, taking hold of the bars of the elevator walls and keeping themselves on the ground. 

Tony looked up at the ceiling of the elevator with wide eyes as familiar webbing suddenly attached itself to the outside, stopping their fall momentarily.

The group all cried out upon stopping, shards of glass bouncing on the ground. Tony snapped his head toward Ned as they both noticed the webbing.

Tony didn’t get the chance to say anything before they were falling again.

They didn’t have to fall long before the elevator got stuck between fallen pieces of debris, watching with wide eyes as Spider-Man was suddenly falling from above, slamming his head against the walls of the elevator shaft, and violently bouncing on the floor of the elevator with a grunt. 

Tony stared at him, his mouth agape and his heart still.

“…What the-?!”

Peter blinked at him, the eyes of his mask going wide before the elevator started falling again.

Peter gasped, thwipping a web up to the top floor and shooting to the ceiling of the elevator. He held himself there by his feet, his arms shaking slightly with the weight. 

The elevator jolted to a stop, and suddenly, Peter was staring at the wide eyes of his classmates, his teacher, and his dad.

My life is so weird.

Peter cleared his throat awkwardly, scanning the group with an attempted nod of confidence.

“Hey, guys,” Peter said, his voice about three octaves deeper than usual. Tony blinked in surprise. “How you guys doin’? Don’t worry, I got you.”

“Yes!” Ned cheered, pumping his fists in the air. “Yes!”

”Hey, hey, hey! Big guy! Quit moving around!”

“Oh, sorry sir. So sorry.”

Peter nodded before he took his web firmly in his hands and began pulling the group up the shaft. He met eyes with Tony again, clearing his throat. Tony stared at him, his eyes full of something though Peter couldn’t quite tell what.

It was either worry, fear, or anger, and either way, Peter was getting yelled at later. 

“…Hey there, Mister Stark, sir. Got your message, came as soon as I could.”

“…Right,” Tony cleared his throat, too, his voice strained as he adjusted the button of his suit. “Thanks, Spidey. Knew I could count on you.”

Liz let out a laugh of relief. “Thank god you were here, Mister Stark! I knew you were gonna get us out of here!”

Peter narrowed his eyes. 

He grunted with the strain of the weight before he finally pulled them up to the top floor. The security guards were waiting there with extended arms, already pulling Ned and Mister Harrington out.

”Come on, Liz, let’s get you out of here,” Tony beckoned, making his way out of the door. Liz’s gaze snapped between the guards with extended hands and Peter’s web, which was already snapping and threatening to break. Tony turned over his shoulder with a frown, heart dropping when he realized Liz hadn’t followed him out.

”Kid, take my hand-!”

The corner of the ceiling Peter had attached himself to suddenly broke off and the elevator was shooting down below again. Peter shot a web down with his breath held, his eyes wide when it landed on Liz’s hand. Her panicked breaths echoed throughout the shaft as Peter stared down at her with a still heart.

”I got you,” Peter breathed out, cautiously pulling her up. “I got you, I got you. You’re okay.”

She reached up and took his hand with a trembling grip. He physically deflated in relief as the guards pulled her through the doors and onto solid ground.

”Is everyone okay?” Peter asked, staring at the group from where he hung upside down. Tony was standing behind Liz, his expression unreadable.

Peter didn’t get a chance to say anything else before his web snapped and he was shooting down to the ground below.

The group snapped their gazes down as they watched him fall. Tony stepped forward and peered over the ledge as Peter disappeared.

”…Thank you!”

🕷⎊🕷

Peter arrived back home via school bus with the rest of the AcaDec team. 

He had to make up an emergency of some kind to explain his absence at Nationals and the Washington Monument. He settled on an asthma attack and went from there.

When the bus arrived back at Midtown, a swarm of parents were rushing forward and enveloping their kids with worried arms and relieved tears. Peter got off of the bus last, a hand fisted on the strap of his bag. He scanned the swarm of parents, expecting to see Happy there for him though the sight of Tony leaning against an Audi in the school parking lot had him blinking in surprise. 

Tony stood up straight when he found Peter in the crowd. Peter took a deep breath and braced himself for whatever ass kicking he was about to receive as he began walking Tony’s way.

But Tony didn’t seem…angry. He just seemed relieved, especially as he began walking forward with arms already extended Peter’s way.

“Dad, I-“

“Kid,” Tony said, taking Peter in a firm hug. Peter reached his arms up slowly and hugged him back, staring ahead in confusion. 

This was the part where Tony was supposed to yell in his face. Why wasn’t he yelling in his face?

“Dad, I-I can explain, I just-“

“Shut up.”

”Okay.”

Tony placed a brief kiss into Peter’s curls and patted his back before he pulled out of the hug and took Peter by the shoulders, scanning him up and down. 

“Are you hurt at all?”

Peter shook his head. Tony seemed unconvinced but didn’t press the issue any further.

“So…are you, uh…I mean, are you mad?”

Tony’s lip quirked up in a smile at the question as he breathed out an exhausted sigh.

”…I don’t wanna fight anymore, kid. This silent feud thing we’re doing lately is…well, anyway. I don’t wanna fight anymore. And I’m not…mad. I’m proud of you.”

Peter blinked in surprise.

Of all the emotions Peter had been anticipating, pride was definitely not on the list. 

“…You are?”

“You did good,” Tony admitted with a sigh. “You handled the situation. You got everyone out, saved the girl…granted, I was hoping you wouldn’t have to save your girlfriend from near-death experiences until you were in your forties. That’s when I had to start doing that, anyway.”

”Dad!” Peter hissed, punching Tony’s arms as he turned over his shoulder and found Liz hugging her mother in a bone-crushing hug. “She is not my girlfriend.” 

“Uh, ow?” Tony breathed a laugh. “Anyway, as I was saying, I’m proud of you. And hell, you might be onto something with these weapons you’ve been investigating. Howard never really…you know. Showed any interest in me or the things I did, so, you know. Breaking the cycle of shame and all that.”

Peter nodded slowly, looking up at him.

”I don’t think you’re Howard.”

Tony shifted uncomfortably, giving him a strained smile.

“You never met him, half-pint.”

”I know enough about him to know you’re nothing alike.”

Tony said nothing, clenching his jaw. He caught a glimpse of Liz and her mother approaching them and smacked Peter’s arm.

”Damsel in distress at your six o’clock.”

Peter stiffened and turned on his heel, eyes wide as he watched Liz lead her mom toward them.

”Mom, this is Mister Stark.”

Tony smiled warmly as Mrs. Toomes extended her hand, an anxious laugh escaping her.

”Tony Stark, it’s-it’s such an honor to get to meet you. I’m Doris. Or Dori. Either one.”

Tony took her hand in both of his firmly.

”Pleasure is all mine, Dori. You’re Liz’s mother?”

”Yes! Yes, sir. Thank you so, so much for saving my baby from that elevator. If you hadn’t been there, who knows if Spider-Man would’ve come to the rescue in time. Sincerely, thank you, thank you, thank you.”

Tony and Peter made brief eye contact for a moment.

”…You know, I wonder the same thing myself. But we can’t get too mixed up in the what-if. I’m just glad I was of some use.”

Peter internally rolled his eyes. Tony never passed up an opportunity to be praised.

“If you hadn’t been there…well. You’re right, Mister Stark. No use getting tangled in the what-if. We’re just so grateful.”

”Seriously,” Liz added. “Thank you, Mister Stark. Tell Spider-Man we say thanks.”

Tony wrapped an arm around Peter’s shoulders with a smile.

“I’ll pass that along.”

”Well, we should get back home and see Dad,” Liz said, looping her arm around her mother’s. “See you at school, Peter?”

”Right,” Peter nodded frantically, sending a quick smile her way. “See you, Liz.”

The two waved and made their way toward the cars in the parking lot. Tony and Peter watched them go.

”…How come you get all the credit?”

”Consider that your punishment.”

Peter frowned. “I thought you weren’t mad.”

”That doesn’t mean you’re off the hook. You know, for hacking your suit, skipping out on Nationals, the shit you pulled in that elevator, the long list of nightmares you never fail to give me…”

”…Sorry.”

Tony stared at him with narrowed eyes for a beat too long before he deflated, bringing the kid back in for another embrace.

”…Just glad you’re okay, kiddo.”

Peter hugged him back, releasing a long sigh of relief.

”…So…does this mean you’ll help me investigate the weapons?”

”What, Ned isn’t a good detective?”

Peter snorted. “He’s great. But those guys are after your weapons. I gotta take them down.”

”Kid…”

”Come on, Dad. I got a good lead now. I can stop them. We both can!”

”Pete…look, it’s not that I don’t believe you or don’t have trust, but I don’t want you worrying about my tech or my weapons. These guys are dangerous.”

”I know! That’s the whole point! I have to stop them before anyone else gets hurt! You saw what those weapons did-“

”Kid, I don’t care about anyone else. I care about you. I’m telling you, leave it alone. I’ll handle it.”

"...I thought you said I was onto something."

Tony pretended he didn't hear him, placing a quick kiss into his curls.

Peter visibly deflated, watching numbly as Tony rounded the Audi and muttered something about a post-traumatic cheeseburger run. 

Back to square one. Working alone. 

🕷⎊🕷

Peter perched himself on the ledge of a nearby rooftop, watching smoke billow from the ferry.

Boats were swarming the ferry and escorting the civilians to safety. Peter watched them with tears burning his eyes.

He fucked up.

He really, really, really fucked up.

His senses alerted him to the Iron Man suit landing behind him. The clang of Tony’s boots landing on the roof shook the structure slightly.

He waited for him to say something, anything. But he didn’t. 

Peter turned cautiously over his shoulder, blinking when he saw the suit staring at him in silence.

”…Is everyone okay?”

”No thanks to you.”

Peter scoffed despite himself, his vision flaming red.

“No thanks to me?” he swung his legs over the ledge and landed on his feet, his fists clenched. “Those weapons were out there and I tried to tell you about them but you didn’t listen.”

”I did listen,” Tony snapped, the suit unfolding. He stepped out of it, a glare permanently etched onto his face. “I listened, and I told you I had it handled, and you went and handled it yourself anyway. Not to mention you hacked your multi-million dollar suit, again, to sneak around behind my back and do the one thing I told you not to do. The one thing.”

“I had to,” Peter argued, stepping forward. “I had to because you weren't gonna do anything about it.”

”Who do you think called the FBI? Huh?”

”That’s all you’re gonna do about it? You think the FBI is gonna be able to take these guys down the way I can?”

”This is where you zip it!” Tony snapped, and Peter flinched in surprise.

Tony never yelled at him.

“You can’t take anyone down, Peter. You just can’t. You’re not a hero, or an Avenger, or Bruce Banner, or Captain America. You’re just a kid.”

“I am a hero.”

”No, Peter, you’re not!”

Peter said nothing, his mouth resting in a thin line. Tony huffed out frustrated breaths. 

He deflated slightly the more he stared at Peter, the more he watched the kid’s heart break and his eyes glass over. 

“…You're a kid, Peter. You need to be a kid. What if someone had died tonight? Different story, right? Because that’s on you.”

Peter bit his tongue so hard he drew blood.

”And if you died?”

Tony paused, composing himself. He swallowed around the lump in his throat.

”If you died, Peter, that’s on me.”

The two stared at each other for a beat of silence until Tony brought a hand forward to cup Peter's face. Peter swatted Tony’s hand away before he could touch him. 

”Peter-“

”I wanted to be like you,” Peter forced out, his voice breaking. “All I’ve…all I’ve ever wanted is to be like you.”

Tony stared at him with a clenched jaw, looking him up and down.

“…I wanted you to be better.”

Peter’s eyes flashed with something, though he couldn’t pinpoint what.

He felt hurt, heartbroken, angry, guilty, humiliated, and betrayed all at once. 

”...It’s not working out,” Tony said after a moment that felt like forever. “You’re done. We’re gonna go home and we’re trashing the suit.”

Peter paled in his anger. ”What?”

”Come on, let’s go.”

”No, no, no,” Peter croaked out, shaking his head. “Please, please don’t take the suit. I’m sorry.”

”Sorry doesn’t cut it.”

”Please, I-I’m nothing without-”

”If you’re nothing without the suit, then you shouldn’t have it.”

Peter stared at him for a beat before he huffed and turned on his heel, pulling his mask over his head. 

He jumped onto the ledge and adjusted his web-shooters, turning over his shoulder.

”I was wrong,” Peter said, looking out over the city with his heart thudding furiously in his chest.

”You are just like Howard.”

🕷⎊🕷

Every day felt like clockwork.

Peter would get home from school and would either walk straight to his room or stay with Ned. Tony would hear him come in and was always unable to muster the courage to face him. 

The last thing Peter had said to him still bounced around in his brain like a pinball. 

You are just like Howard.

Tony had returned home to the penthouse that night and had discovered Peter’s suit folded neatly on the kitchen counter. No note, no words, no explanation. 

But Tony got the message loud and clear.

One day in particular, Tony was sitting in a chair in the living room, staring out the window in deep thought. 

He had mountains of work to do and he couldn’t seem to bring himself to do it.

The sound of Peter’s bedroom door shutting had him snapping his head over his shoulder. Peter rounded the corner, and Tony’s eyes went wide at the sight.

He was wearing a suit with a flower tucked into the pocket of his jacket. A tie was hanging untied around his shoulders, and his curls were gelled neatly. 

“…What’s this?”

Peter stared at him, his hands fidgeting awkwardly at his side.

”…Homecoming,” he finally supplied, a nervous smile gracing his face. “I’m taking Liz.”

Tony removed his reading glasses with a breath of surprise, folding them and rising to his feet.

”No kidding! Tonight?”

”Yeah…I’m about to head over there, but, uh…”

Peter looked down at the loose tie hanging around his shoulders. 

“I was…I mean, I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind, um…”

Tony was nodding so fast his neck almost snapped. 

“Yeah! Yeah, yeah, yeah. Come on, get over here.”

Peter nodded with a quiet sigh of relief. He stood in front of Tony as he began looping the tie through to make a knot.

”God, look at you,” Tony breathed out.

Despite their last words, Tony’s heart held nothing but admiration. Peter lowered his head uncomfortably at his words.

“Yeah? You think this looks okay?”

”You kiddin’? You look amazing. You’ll be the prettiest girl at the ball.”

Peter clicked his tongue. “Yeah, yeah, alright.”

“So…how’re you two getting there?”

”I was gonna take the subway near her neighborhood. Her dad wants to drive us together.”

”That’s not happening,” Tony insisted, tying the final knot on Peter’s tie. “I can take you to her house.”

Peter blinked. “No, really, I-“

”Peter.”

Peter bit the inside of his cheek as Tony smiled at him, a million words going unspoken between the two.

”…Come on. At least let me drop you off. Please.”

Peter stared into Tony’s eyes, the words of their previous conversation still fresh on his mind.

With an abundance of hesitation, he nodded.

”…Okay.”

🕷⎊🕷

“Alright, so, what now?”

”It’s on its way.”

”It’s on its way?”

”Yes, sir, right on course.”

The technician Happy spoke with closed his laptop and made for the Tower door. Tony patted Happy on the shoulder with a beaming grin, already holding a flute of champagne out toward him.

”Nice work, Hap. Really nice. Compound is gonna be up and running by next week thanks to you.”

Happy laughed in success, taking the flute and clinking it with Tony’s.

”To things going smoothly for once around here.”

”Cheers.”

Happy sat himself down at an empty table. Tony sat across from him, looking over the balcony at the city and heaving a tired sigh.

”Awfully quiet,” Happy observed. “Where’s Pete?”

”Homecoming Dance,” Tony said, swirling his glass. “Didn’t even know it was tonight. I suck.”

”Nah. Never understood those dances anyway.”

Tony snorted. “Why? ‘Cause no one ever asked you to go?”

Happy sent him a glare.

”I’m just sayin’. It’s just an excuse to get blackout drunk and knock someone up.”

It was Tony’s turn to glare, now.

”Don’t say shit like that to me. I’m freaking out enough as it is.”

”Still not speaking?”

”…I mean, we talked for the first time today since…you know. Wanted me to tie his tie. Then I drove him to the girl’s house. Didn’t say a word the whole ride. I begged him to wear one of his watches, though. Just so I can know where he’s at all night.”

Happy scoffed. “How old are you guys, five?”

“It’s not a matter of…I mean, I don’t even know where I would begin if we did talk about it. It’s not like I regret much of what I said.”

”And…you said what, exactly?”

“That I don’t want him to die.”

”And what did he say?”

Tony paused, staring down at his glass with exhausted eyes. 

“I miss him,” he said quietly. Happy softened slightly at the confession. “And I don’t know what to do, Hap. I can’t stop him from being Spider-Man without him hating me, and I can’t let him keep being Spider-Man because he keeps almost dying.”

“He’s a smart kid, Tony. He makes stupid decisions, but he’s smart. He uses his resources, always finds a way out of things…don’t worry about him, alright?”

Tony said nothing, taking a deep breath and looking out at the city again.

That's when something on the horizon caught his eye.

Happy must have seen it, too, because he was rising from his seat and squinting his eyes to get a better look.

Something flaming was falling from the sky and heading for land, echoing throughout the city in its descent. Tony stood as well, raising his watch with a frown.

“Fri?”

“Plane crash, boss. Right along the shore of Coney Island.”

Happy turned toward Tony, his eyes wide.

”Boss…if that’s the shipment, I just want you to know, it wasn’t me.”

”No shit it wasn’t you. You've been sitting here with me this whole time. We don’t even know if it’s our plane.”

”I have a very strong feeling that it is.”

”Might be right, boss. I never received confirmation that the plane reached its proper cruising altitude.”

Tony stared at the horizon in thought when he remembered the weapons dealers Peter had been following the past month, remembered the thousands of times Peter had raised concerns that they would potentially infiltrate the shipment of weapons from the Tower to the Compound.

He visibly paled the more he thought about it. 

”Fri, bring up Peter’s location.”

Tony lifted his watch with his breath held as Friday projected a holographic map from it, the red dot blinking on the map sending his heart down to his stomach.

Coney Island.

“…No, no, no, no, no.”

”Boss?”

”Shit, shit, shit. Oh, fuck.”

”What is it?”

Tony looked up from his watch and stared with wide eyes at the now-burning shore on the horizon.

”Friday, get me a suit.”

🕷⎊🕷

Tony all but stumbled onto the beach, ice shooting through his veins at the sight.  

The plane was completely in ruins, the debris scattered out a mile along the shore. It felt like everything was on fire. The sand, the metal, the cargo units. 

The thought of Peter anywhere near the crash was enough to send him into nauseating hysterics, as well as the image of him anywhere near the plane when it had met the sand. 

Tony wasn’t sure he had the strength to take a step forward.

He finally found the courage to move, the heat hitting him in waves even in his suit.

He stumbled upon a pile of boxes covered in familiar patterns of webbing. His heart stilled as he rounded it, finding none other than the infamous Vulture tied to the boxes by the webs. 

His gaze numbly trailed to the note beside him.

FOUND

FLYING VULTURE GUY

-SPIDER-MAN

P.S: SORRY ABOUT THE PLANE

If Tony’s brain wasn’t numb with shock, he probably would’ve laughed.

But the letter only accelerated his fear, only made him want to throw up more than he already wanted to.

The handwriting was so child-like…

Tony lifted his hand and pointed it at Toomes, the repulsor on his suit whirring to life.

”Where is he?”

Toomes laughed sleepily, staring up at Tony with concussed eyes. 

“Guess it…runs in the family, huh? The whole…super thing. Who would’ve thought?”

Tony clenched his jaw, his blood boiling and his vision red.

”Tell me. Now.”

“Ran like a coward,” Toomes supplied, his eyes drooping shut. “Apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree.”

Tony bit his tongue.

He wanted to kill him.

…But Peter had left him there alive.

Tony said nothing, continuing his feverish search through the fiery debris while a million terror-inducing questions swam around in his head.

…Was Peter on the plane when it crashed? Did he tie the Vulture up after the crash, or was there a fight? How did he get all the way on the plane? What happened after Tony peeled out of Liz’s driveway?

How long had Tony sat at the Tower before he realized that the plane crashing in the distance was Peter?

He stopped his search when he noticed a piece of red fabric laying in the sand. He collapsed to his knees, bringing a cautious hand forward to examine it.

Peter’s old suit. 

A piece of it, anyway. A small, blood-stained square of torn fabric, and suddenly, Tony was falling apart.

The kid was so desperate to prove himself that he had worn his old suit and homemade web-shooters.

He sucked in a breath and rose back to his feet, blinking away panicked tears.

“Peter! Peter!”

Tony felt something crunch beneath him. He had been stepping on debris since he landed, but something told him to lift his boot.

Peter’s watch.

Tony knelt down to pick it up. The screen was cracked, and a blinking light in the corner of the screen told Tony that the watch was recording.

If the watch had recorded the entire battle between Peter and Toomes…Tony wasn’t sure he could stomach watching it.

But that didn’t kill him nearly as much as the image on the screen.

Tony had installed a sort of emergency feature into Peter’s watch. It would alert Tony that the kid was in trouble and send a suit to Peter’s location the second it was activated.

Tony stared down at the watch with glassy eyes at the screen, which displayed the emergency distress signal button.

The text on the screen was asking if Peter was sure he wanted to activate it. 

Peter had been seconds away from sending a distress signal Tony’s way, but something stopped him. 

Tony closed his eyes. 

With Peter’s watch in one hand and the torn fabric in the other, Tony thought back to the day he had picked Peter up from the hospital.

Sometimes Tony had dreams where he traveled back to that night, reliving the feeling of seeing those curls for the first time and the ignorant bliss of not knowing what was to come for the two of them over the years.

They had both fallen asleep in Peter’s bed that day, the kid held safely in Tony’s arms.

He wished so badly that he could turn back time. 

🕷⎊🕷

Peter landed on the roof of the Tower with a tumble and forced the roof door open with a bloody hand.

He wondered if Tony was in the penthouse, waiting for Peter to come home, or if he had rushed to the crash site himself to look for him. 

He gripped the railing of the stairs until he found himself stumbling into the penthouse, his short, pain-filled breaths echoing on the walls. 

He stumbled through the living room and could barely hear Friday saying something to him before he collapsed in the hallway leading to his bedroom, leaving a streak of blood on the wall in his descent. He leaned against it, bringing his knees to his chest and wrapping an arm around his stomach. 

He tried to speak, but his words were too slurred to make out anything intelligible. 

All he knew was that one moment he was wondering where Tony was, and the next, through his blurry vision, he made out a silhouette reaching for him feverishly.

🕷⎊🕷

Tony was blasting back toward the Tower at lightning speed before Friday could even finish telling him that Peter had swung himself there post-battle.

He stumbled into the penthouse and was immediately spilling out of the suit, scanning the dark living room.

”Peter!”

Illuminated only by the lights of the city below, the penthouse showed no sign of him in the living room or the kitchen, though it did reveal a bloody handprint streaking across the slick walls.

He forced away the horror the image brought, rounding the corner into the hallway leading to Peter’s room. 

His kid sat there holding himself, tired and pain-filled breaths echoing on the walls. Blood was streaking the floors and the wall where Peter rested, and Tony swore he could hear it bubbling in the kid’s throat, too.

He placed one steadying hand on the wall and another on his chest, as if to convince himself his entire world hadn’t just been flipped on its axis.

Peter opened his bruised, swollen eyes and looked up at him, illuminating the scars, bruises, and smoke streaking his face. 

Tony felt as though any moment the floor would cave beneath him.

”Oh, god,” he eventually forced out, lurching forward and collapsing to his knees in front of him. He brought two hands to cup Peter’s face, sucking in a breath as he took in every injury.

Bruises on both eyes. Cuts littering his cheeks. Ash and sand smeared on his face and clothes. Blood spilling from his nose and ears.

He shook his head numbly, brushing stray, blood-soaked curls out of Peter’s eyes. 

“Peter…”

Peter swallowed thickly, leaned forward, and wrapped his arms around Tony’s neck. 

Tony froze at first, still numb in his never-ending ocean of shock. Slowly but surely, he lifted his arms and wrapped them fiercely around his kid, cupping the back of his neck.

“Oh, Peter,” he breathed out, staring ahead numbly.

He hadn’t been with his kid on the plane or the beach, much to his regret, but judging off of how tightly Peter was holding onto him in his weak state, Tony could only imagine what he had seen, what had happened to him.

He felt the intensity of it through Peter’s touch alone.

”I’ve got you,” he whispered, adjusting his hand on Peter’s neck and breathing in his curls, past the smoke and the dirt and the blood. “I’ve got you, baby. You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

Peter tightened his grip at Tony’s words, his eyes closed. Tony closed his eyes, too, a lump rising uncomfortably in his throat.

”I’m so sorry,” he whispered, the confession burning in his chest. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Peter’s grip loosened slightly. Tony felt his heart skip a beat as he gently pried the kid off of him, one hand on his shoulder and the other cupping his face. 

“Can you hear me, kid?”

Peter nodded tiredly, leaning back against the wall with a grunt. Tony’s eyes flashed with concern.

”Come on, Pete. Let’s get you downstairs. Cho is already on her way over.”

Peter hummed in disapproval, attempting to rise to his feet on his own. Tony’s breath hitched as he reached forward to stop him.

”Hey, hey, hey-“

”Shower,” Peter mumbled, enhanced arms forcing himself to his feet.

“Kid, wait-“

”I need…I need a shower.”

”I’m not saying you don’t, but-“

Peter began steadying himself on the wall and trudging to his room. Tony rounded him and wrapped an arm around his shoulder.

”Alright, alright. Come on, I’ll take you.”

Peter sleepily accepted Tony’s help, guiding him through Peter’s bedroom and into the bathroom. 

“Are you gonna be alright in there by yourself?”

Peter couldn’t hear him over the ringing in his ears and didn’t answer, trudging into his bathroom and shutting the door.

Tony stood there for a moment, running a hand through his hair with a composing breath. He looked down at his shirt.

This was, unfortunately, not the first time he had been covered in Peter’s blood. 

He found himself robotically walking to the kitchen. He grabbed a cold bottle of water and ingredients for a grilled cheese from the fridge. 

His heart thudded in his ears as he lit the stove and began preparing food for Peter, trying in vain to force down his thoughts.

It was everything not to pull out Peter’s watch and see if any of the fight had been recorded. Everything not to think about him, seconds from activating his distress signal before something happened to stop him.

He wanted to know what happened between the time he dropped Peter off at the dance to the time Tony stumbled upon him in the hallway. He wanted to reverse time and keep Peter safe with him for the night. He wanted to have all the answers so he could calculate all of the solutions. 

He looked up for a moment from the stove, his eye catching a glimpse of the blood smeared on the walls. 

He took a shaky breath and closed his eyes to force away the nausea. 

“Boss,” Friday said, her voice piercing the quiet as Tony placed the sandwich on a plate. “Peter has suffered a fall while getting out of the shower.”

Tony was sprinting toward Peter’s room with his heart in his throat, forcing the bathroom door open.

Peter sat on the floor in his boxers with a towel draped over his shoulders, a hand on his chest. His curls were dripping water onto the tile.

Tony froze for a moment as he stared at the thousands of bruises and cuts littered all over his skin.

“…Kid, hey,” Tony said, collapsing to his knees and cupping Peter’s neck. “Come on, let’s get you up off the floor, huh?”

Peter nodded, accepting Tony’s help and rising to his feet. He shivered as Tony guided him out of the bathroom and to his bed, where Peter sat on the edge with a grimace.

“Easy does it,” Tony said, crouching in front of him and taking his shoulders gently. “Look at me, Pete. What hurts?”

”…Chest.”

Peter’s towel on his shoulders and his hand on his chest covered the injury. 

“Let’s see it.”

Tony pulled the towel off as Peter's hand fell limply to the mattress 

Tony sucked in a breath so harshly that Peter flinched. 

Dark purple and red bruises flowered across his chest, his skin appearing as if it were indented by someone’s grip. The expanse of it was enough to turn Tony green.

Tony thought back to the claws of Toomes suit, bile rising in his throat.

“I…”

Peter blinked up at him in anticipation, his face scrunched in discomfort as he waited for him to say something, anything.

Finally, Tony’s face morphed from horror to worry to fury.

”…I’m gonna kill him.”

Any exhaustion in Peter’s body was forced down with all the strength the kid had left, staring ahead at Tony's bloodthirsty gaze.

”…W-What?”

“I…am gonna kill him.”

“Dad, no-“

Tony rose to his feet and stared at Peter’s chest for one more moment before he turned on his heel and made his way out of the room.

”Dad, please, stop!”

Peter grabbed a shirt from off of his bed and threw it over his head as he stumbled out of his room and followed Tony, a hand still on his chest.

Tony had a hand on the penthouse door handle. Peter steadied himself on the hallway wall.

”He’s Liz’s dad!”

Tony stopped, snapping his head Peter’s way.

”…What?”

”He’s…” Peter released an exhausted sigh, closing his eyes as he leaned against the wall. “He’s Liz’s dad.”

Tony released his grip on the door handle, his mouth hanging open numbly. 

Tony had dropped Peter off at Liz’s house. He had waved at the person who answered the door before he drove off.

That person was the same person that drove the two to the school. The same person responsible for Peter’s injuries. 

Tony’s hands dropped to his sides the more the realization slammed into him like a wave.

”…He took you to the dance.”

Peter released another tired breath, lowering his head. 

“I…I left you at his house.”

”You didn’t know,” Peter argued. “Neither…neither did I.”

Tony’s shoulders dropped as he stared ahead at his kid, watched him lean against the wall in exhaustion and pain. 

“…Did he know?” Tony asked low. “Did…did he know that you were-?”

“He was gonna kill you if I didn’t stop him,” Peter said, his voice breaking at the confession. “He was gonna kill you and everyone I care about. I had to stop him. I had to.”

Tony’s heart broke as he watched Peter hold back tears and wrap an arm around himself. 

“I had to,” he said again, his words trembling. Tony was already stepping forward with his arms held out as Peter hung his head and cried. “I had to. I-“

”Peter,” Tony whispered, taking the kid tightly in his arms and cradling his head. Peter wrapped his arms around him and hid his face in his shoulder, clinging onto Tony like a lifeline. 

Tony carefully reached down and scooped up Peter’s legs, carrying him to the living room couch. He deposited him there gently, brushing wet curls off of his face.

He hastily rounded the couch and went into the kitchen. He grabbed the plate with the sandwich and the water bottle and made his way back into the living room, sitting on the edge of the couch.

Peter sleepily opened his eyes as Tony placed the sandwich on the coffee table and held out the water bottle his way.

”Drink this.”

Peter adjusted to a sitting position, taking the water bottle with a shaky hand. Tony ran his hands through Peter’s damp hair as the kid drank.

Peter’s watch in Tony’s pocket was suddenly weighing heavier than usual. 

He reached a hesitant hand in his pocket and pulled it out, staring at it for a moment before turning toward Peter and holding it out.

”I found this,” Tony said quietly. Peter looked down at it for a moment, dread immediately overtaking him. “At the beach.

Peter swallowed the water thickly, screwing the cap back on the bottle. He looked up at Tony with pleading eyes.

”Don't watch that.”

”…So it was recording?”

”Please,” Peter said, staring at Tony with all the energy he had. “Please, don’t watch it. At least not right now.”

Tony brushed a thumb over the cracked screen, shaking his head.

”…How much did this record?”

”…Everything,” Peter whispered, his eyes glassing over again. “The car ride, the plane crash…everything.”

Every time Tony didn’t think his heart could break more, he felt it shatter in his chest into a million more pieces. 

“…You were on the plane? When it…”

Peter said nothing, taking another swig of water. 

“Kid…what the hell happened?”

Peter wiped a hand over his mouth and placed the water on the coffee table, a hand permanently holding the bruises on his chest.

”He was Liz’s dad,” Peter said, as if he were only just then coming to terms with the fact. “He answered the door, and…”

Tony stared at him carefully, taking in Peter’s every word in full. 

“He recognized my voice on the car ride over…and he sent Liz inside so he could have a…a word with me.”

Tony clenched his jaw and took in a breath, suppressing the need to jump into a suit and snap Toomes’ neck. 

He had been alone with his kid. In a car.

”He had a gun.”

Tony’s vision went red for the tenth time that night.

”What? When?”

"I don’t…I don’t really think it was for me. Or that he was gonna use it. Just…sending a message. About what would happen if I tried to stop him.”

Tony clenched his fists and closed his eyes, taking another composing breath. 

“…Then what?”

Peter deflated slightly, staring down at his hands in guilt.

”I had to leave Liz at the dance. And she’s never gonna talk to me again, so…”

Tony deflated, too.

Amidst all the tragedy of that night, Peter was still just a fifteen-year-old kid, quite literally ripped away from his homecoming dance. 

Tony’s watch lit up. He glanced down at it.

”…Cho’s waiting downstairs,” Tony said with a sigh, a hand on Peter’s shoulder. “Let’s get that chest looked at, kiddo.”

Peter nodded slowly as Tony wrapped an arm around him and helped him to his feet, guiding him toward the penthouse door.

Halfway there, Tony scooped up Peter’s legs and carried him the rest of the way.

🕷⎊🕷

Tony felt an unsettling feeling of deja vu as Helen approached him in the medbay waiting room, a dark expression on her face.

”What’s the diagnosis, doc?”

Helen sighed, glancing down at her clipboard.

”I got a broken arm, several broken ribs, definitely a concussion, cardiovascular instability, perforation in the right lung…I’ve seen a lot, Tony, but this…”

Tony physically tensed the more she went down the list, feeling the intensity of each injury in full.

“…Is he gonna be alright?”

”Physically, he’ll recover. His healing factor will take care of it with no problem. Mentally…I don’t know, Tony, the things he told me in there…”

Tony tensed more. “What? What did he tell you?”

”Well, between being thrown through a school bus, having a building fall on you, a plane crash-“

”Woah, woah, wait,” Tony held up a hand, searching her eyes for an explanation. “A building? What building?”

Helen chewed her cheek in thought, glancing behind her at Peter’s room.

”…Look, doctor-patient confidentiality is something I hold sacred, but…Peter told me that the Vulture’s warehouse…well, it collapsed.”

He blinked. “Collapsed?”

”Collapsed,” she repeated. “On top of him.”

Tony’s breath hitched so harshly in his throat that he had to swallow down a choking fit.

”Now, I don’t know if you’ve been in touch with Hogan, but he sent a team to infiltrate Toomes’ base and any of his associates, and the address Mister Toomes provided was in…complete shambles. They retrieved a few blood samples and a torn piece of fabric from the scene…they were Peter’s, Tony.”

Tony stared at the ground as her words began to sound more and more like they were underwater. 

God, he thought to himself, closing his eyes with a grimace, how did this happen?

”I need to see him.”

She nodded, her mouth pressed in a thin line as she gestured to Peter’s room.

He placed a steadying hand on her shoulder before he made his way inside.

🕷⎊🕷

The last time Peter had woken up in the medbay, it had been a lot more traumatic.

He remembered how small he felt when he noticed Tony sitting at his bedside, glaring at him like he had committed the biggest crime in the history of the universe.

Technically, by Tony's terms, he had.

This time was different. Peter blearily blinked the blurriness out of his eyes and immediately felt the deathly grip of Tony's hand, could hear the rapid, anxious beating of his heart.

He swallowed thickly in discomfort before he finally found his voice.

"...Dad?"

Tony's head shot up and his gaze glued itself to Peter's, wide eyes staring at him in pure relief. Tony let out a steadying sigh, his grip on Peter's hand tightening.

"Peter," he breathed out, smiling warmly down at him. He reached a hand forward and ran his fingers through Peter's curls. "Hey, kid. How're you feeling?"

Peter frowned, trying in vain to ignore the way the room felt like it was spinning. 

Sometimes, when Peter woke up after a battle or a Spider-Man-related injury, it took him a minute upon regaining consciousness to remember what happened the night before.

This time, he remembered right away with a broken heart.

"Did you kill Mis'er Toomes?"

Tony visibly tensed, the name on Peter's tongue making his face red for a moment.

"...He'll rot in prison with no chance of parole. Alive, unfortunately."

Peter deflated at that but eventually nodded.

Liz would be ruined.

"That's not what I asked kid. I'm worried about you."

"I'm...fine," Peter eventually supplied. It was a lie, no surprise to Tony.

"I've got one of the best doctors on the planet out there saying otherwise."

Peter narrowed his eyes, looking down at himself.

It was nothing he hadn't seen before. A sling on his arm, bandages littering his arms and legs, the pain slamming into him with every beat of his heart like a wave. 

Considering all he had been through, he got out easy.

"Peter."

Peter looked up at Tony, blinking in confusion.

"Huh?"

Tony was looking at him in pity. Peter shifted uncomfortably at the look.

"...Helen, uh...Helen told me that..."

Peter tilted his head in anticipation.

"...Kid, the school bus, the plane crash, the...the building that fell on you..."

Peter froze. Tony noticed, leaning forward and searching Peter's eyes feverishly for an explanation.

"Peter..."

"It wasn't the whole building," Peter blurted out, chewing on the inside of his cheek. Tony stiffened. "He just...took down a few support beams. That's all."

Tony swallowed bile and blinked away red.

"...Why didn't you call me, kid?"

Peter stared down at his blanket, blinking away tears. Tony leaned forward even more, keeping his own tears from spilling over the floodgates.

"Peter, no matter what our last conversation was, no matter what...stupid shit we don't see eye to eye on...there's nothing in the entire world that would stop me from helping you. Nothing. Ever."

Peter didn't say anything, his glassy-eyed stare glued to his blanket.

"I wish you had called me. I would never, in a million years, want you to go through any of that alone."

"I tried," Peter said quietly, trying in vain to keep his lip from trembling. Tony stilled as Peter hesitantly met his gaze. "I tried to, but I was stuck, and..."

He closed his eyes and tightened his hold of Tony's hand.

"Please don't watch the recording on my watch. Please."

Tony closed his eyes too, feeling every piece of his heartbreak in full.

He nodded eventually, knowing it was a promise he probably wouldn't be able to keep.

"...I won't," he whispered, leaning forward and taking Peter fiercely in his arms. Peter hugged him back with his only available one, hiding his face in the crook of Tony's shoulder.

"I won't, kid."

🕷⎊🕷

"Thanks, dad...but I'm good."

Tony blinked, removing his glasses at lightning speed. 

"You're good? How-how're you good?"

"...Well, I-I mean I-I'd rather stay on the ground for a little while. Friendly...neighborhood Spider-Man."

Peter smiled nervously. Tony stared at him blankly.

"...Someone's gotta look out for the little guy, right?"

"Uh, yeah, that's what I'm doing."

Peter frowned, looking over Tony's shoulder at Happy, who was staring at the Iron-Spider suit with his hands stuffed in his pockets. 

"Kid, the whole point of this suit is to keep you safe. This wasn't really an offer."

"I won't need an Iron-Spider suit," Peter reasoned with a shrug. "Not if I'm staying on the ground."

"Look at that."

Tony pointed at the Iron-Spider, his gaze on Peter unwavering. Peter turned toward it nervously.

"Look at me."

Peter did, his eyes wide. 

"Last chance."

"I'm good."

"Okay."

Tony pocketed his glasses, his mouth resting in a thin line. Peter watched him in anticipation, his heart thudding in his ears. 

"...Alright then. Happy will take you home."

Happy nodded, sauntering toward the two with his hands still stuffed in his pockets.

"Wait, that's it?"

Tony shrugged. "You're on thin ice, kid. Thin. If you're serious about this whole...staying on the ground thing, I can keep the Iron-Spider on standby."

Peter narrowed his eyes, gaze trailing over to the door next to the Iron-Spider.

"And...am I crazy, or do I hear, like, a thousand reporters outside that door?"

Pepper answered that question for him, flying through the door with the chatter and flash of reporters behind her.

"What's the hold-up? Everyone is waiting!"

"You know, he actually made a mature choice," Tony said, gesturing to Peter with a scoff. "Surprised the heck out of us."

"Are you kidding me?" Pepper closed the distance between herself and Tony, eyeing Peter up and down. "I have a room full of people in there waiting for some big announcement. What am I gonna tell them?"

"Think of somethin'."

"What!" Peter scolded, reaching forward and smacking Tony on the arm. "That's not fair! Why did you call them all here before asking me?!"

"How about, um...Happy, you still got that ring?"

Peter froze. Pepper did, too.

"Do I still-Are you kidding? I've been carryin' this since two thousand and eight."

Sure enough, Happy pulled out a ring from his pocket, holding it up with a smile.

Peter, Pepper, and Tony all stared at it like it was a bomb.

"...Okay," Tony nodded, turning toward Pepper with a shrug. "I mean, it would buy us a little time-"

Pepper was smiling and leaning in for a kiss before she could stop herself. Peter snapped his head toward Happy with wide eyes, shaking his head in disbelief.

"I'm sorry, what the hell is going-?!"

"You wanna be a flower boy, Spider-Kid?"

"What?!"

Pepper laughed, leaning forward and kissing Peter on the forehead before she turned on her heel and made for the door.

Peter didn't notice, but he had been smiling like an idiot ever since Happy presented the ring. 

He used to consider Pepper his mom and Tony's wife when he was a kid. Giving it the real title was simply the icing on the cake.

Tony took Peter's shoulder, wearing that same beaming, contagious smile he always wore around Pepper.

"Come on, kid. Looks like you're getting that step-mom after all."

Chapter Text

🕷⎊🕷

NOVEMBER, 2017

One month after Peter fought his girlfriend’s dad on an airplane, the Starks were aiming for as mundane a life as possible.

Mundaneness was scarce in their household, of course. There were no shortages of superhero-related injuries, national headlines, or visits from the Secretary of State. But they tried their best to adapt to those things regardless.

The first week of their November had been fairly normal, all things considered. No overnight stays in the medbay downstairs, no arguments, no teary-eyed confessions.

Tony was working on his Stark pad in the penthouse living room, distantly watching the snowfall outside when there was a knock on the door.

And just like that, the normalcy was uprooted.

People didn’t knock on his door.

There were only a few people on the planet that could just walk into his home, and none of them knocked when they did. Pepper had meetings lined up back to back that day, and Peter was at school pretty late studying for his finals. Tony stood, staring at the door with a furrowed brow.

”Fri?”

”Francesca downstairs wants you to know she tried to stop her.”

”Stop who?”

”Looks like a woman in her thirties. Unarmed.”

Tony made his way to the door, his watch fastened around his wrist behind him and ready to form a gauntlet at his will.

He opened it with narrowed eyes, immediately meeting the anxious gaze of a woman with long, dark brown hair and round, gold-rimmed glasses. 

She wore a coat and a hat to protect her from the biting cold outside, though even as she stood indoors with the heat, she was shivering. Whether from the cold or nerves, Tony wasn't sure.

She looked tired. Exhausted, even, a stack of photos in her hands.

Tony opened the door a fraction more and looked around in the hallway she stood in.

”…There wouldn’t happen to be a teenaged kid with my DNA waiting around to meet me, would there?”

The woman blinked in confusion, looking around her shoulder, too.

”…N-No. That’s actually what I’m here to ask you.”

She bit her lip nervously and looked down at one of the photos in her grip, lifting it slowly and holding it in front of Tony.

He visibly froze like a statue when he looked at it. 

“Does Peter Parker live here?”

Parker.

Tony hadn’t heard that name in a while, but he knew it better than anyone. 

It was Peter’s middle name now. The two of them didn’t remember much of Mary, but Tony respected her more than anyone, credited her for the way his kid turned out. 

He tightened his grip on the door as he stared at the photo of the woman at his doorstep holding a baby with a beaming grin. 

The date at the bottom read August 12, 2001.

Two days after Peter was born.

”…Yes,” Tony eventually supplied, unable to tear his gaze away from the photo. He only had one photo of Peter as a baby that he was able to retrieve from Mary’s things. “Peter Parker...Stark.”

The woman’s eyes widened slightly at that.

”Right. Right, of-of course. Parker Stark. So sorry.”

Tony swallowed thickly as the woman placed the photo at the bottom of her stack, staring at the one on top for a moment before lifting her head.

”My name is May,” she said, her heart in her throat. “May Parker. I’m...I'm Mary Parker’s sister-in-law.”

He blinked, the pieces of the puzzle slowly clicking into place. 

“…You’re Peter’s aunt?”

She looked down again at that, her finger brushing across the photos in her grip fondly.

Tony opened the door all the way in a heartbeat, revealing the living room behind him.

”Come in, May.”

May’s eyes flashed in surprise and she nodded, slowly stepping inside and looking up and around at the penthouse in awe. 

He shut the door behind her and placed a hand on her shoulder, gesturing to one of the plush seats in the living room.

”Please, sit.”

She did, but not after looking out through the penthouse windows at the view of the city, the sun setting on the horizon and casting a golden light on the sky rises around them.

She sat with her stack of photos still held tightly in her grip, glancing up nervously as Tony sat across from her on the edge of his seat.

Tony opened his mouth to say something, though he looked just as lost for words as she did. 

"Can...Can I get you anything, May? Tea? Coffee? Bourbon?"

"Oh, no," she said with a nervous laugh. "No, I'm fine, really. But thank you."

He nodded awkwardly, gaze inevitably trailing back down to the photos in her hands.

“I…I didn’t know Peter had any other family.”

May's shoulders dropped slightly at that, a certain knowingness flashing across her eyes.

"I figured as much...or, maybe not. I don't know. Ben and I...we thought Peter...well, in blunt terms, we thought he was dead. All this time."

"...Ben?"

“I’m married,” she explained. Tony glanced down and noticed the wedding ring on her fumbling hand. “Or, I-I was married. To Ben Parker. Ben was Mary Parker’s brother.”

She paused as Tony stared at her like every word she uttered was the most important information on the planet.

”I don’t,” she breathed out a laugh, shaking her head. “I’ll be honest, I don’t know why I…why I came here, really, I just…”

She took a composing, shaky breath, raising her head again and making glassy eye contact with Tony.

”My husband Ben...Peter's Uncle Ben...was killed in a robbery. Two years ago to the day.”

Tony clenched his jaw, staring at her in sympathy. 

“…I’m sorry.”

”Me, too,” she whispered, holding the stack of photos out toward Tony. He stared down at them like they were a grenade, bringing a cautious hand forward to take them.

”I’m not related to Peter biologically. But Ben was. We both thought Peter was killed on that plane with Mary, and…god, Ben was devastated. His sister and his nephew all in one day.”

Tony felt the devastation of that possibility with his entire soul. 

“I had no idea,” Tony said numbly, shaking his head. He looked down at the photos, the most soothing warmth he’d ever felt swelling in his chest.

The photos pictured Peter as a newborn and a toddler. He paused on a particular photo of Peter perched on an older man’s shoulders, the man in question’s curls achingly familiar. 

May hummed in content when she noticed which photo Tony was on. Tony looked up at her numbly.

”They were inseparable,” May said under her breath, an enamored smile beaming on her face. “Ben was Peter’s first word. He was over the moon.”

Tony’s heart broke as he brushed the pad of his thumb over the photo.

Sometimes, he forgot Peter lived five entire years before he was Tony’s. 

He selfishly liked to forget. Remembering Peter was ever anyone else’s was Tony’s kryptonite.

“Looks just like him,” Tony muttered, swallowing around the lump in his throat. “Ben does.”

Those words brought a lump in May’s throat, too. She crossed her hands together with a reminiscent smile.

”…Look, Mister Stark…”

”Please,” he shook his head, sniffing rather obnoxiously to brush off the fact that his eyes were getting foggy too. “Tony is fine.”

”Right,” May nodded, reaching a hand up and wiping under her eyes. “Look, Tony…I don’t mean to overstep, and if I am, say the word, and I’m gone. I just…I was going through Ben’s things, what with it being the anniversary of his death and all, and…”

She brought her hand up to pinch the bridge of her nose, her eyes closed. 

“Peter deserves to have these photos. And I couldn’t help but think to myself…Ben would want Peter to have them. He would want to be as close to the kid as he could. And…Peter deserves to know who Ben was. He’s his only living relative left. Mine, too.”

Tony softened at that, staring down at the photos and fumbling for words. 

“I...How did you...how did you know that Peter was your nephew? If you thought he was dead all this time?"

May lowered her head for a moment in thought, still twisting her ring around his finger anxiously.

"We don't watch the news that much. I don't, anyway. But last month I caught a glimpse of the news at the hospital I work at. Paparazzi photos of you and your son at lunch."

She paused, closing her eyes. A tear escaped her and slid down her cheek.

"And god, I thought I was crazy...but my coworkers, they saw it too. They questioned me about it. The kid on TV looked just like Benjamin. Too much to ignore. That...that was my nephew."

Tony swallowed thickly at the story, closing his eyes, too.

He hated himself for feeling it, but he felt...selfish. Protective.

The idea of anyone seeing his kid, on television or on the street...the idea of anyone seeing his kid and thinking he's mine...

He cleared his throat and forced the feeling down.

She meant no harm. Tony knew it the more he flipped through the photos.

"Tony...I can’t keep coming home from my shift knowing those photos are just collecting dust in those boxes. I would just…feel so much better knowing Peter had them.”

Tony said nothing at first, flipping through a few more of the photos. Each one seemed to take his breath away, from Peter’s smile to his curls to how happy he looked with his uncle. 

“Well,” May suddenly said at the lack of response from Tony, placing her hands on her thighs as she stood. “Don’t let me keep you any longer. Can’t believe I managed to get all the way up here in the first place. I’m persistent.”

Tony stood in a heartbeat, watching with his heart in his throat as she rounded the chair and ached to get to the door.

”Wait.”

She stopped, turning cautiously over her shoulder. She fumbled with the ring on her finger as she stared at him in anticipation.

”…You wanna stay for dinner?”

She blinked in astonishment at the question, her mouth hanging open.

”…I couldn’t.”

”Please,” Tony said, stepping forward with the photos still held in his grip. “Peter would be thrilled to meet you. I’m positive. We were gonna order Thai and..we would love to have you.”

She pursed her lips in thought, looking up and around the penthouse with that same doe-eyed awe as before. 

Eventually, she turned to Tony with nervous eyes and nodded. 

“That would be nice,” she said, her shoulders lowering in relief. “Thank you, Tony.”

He smiled at her, looking down at his watch at the text message that illuminated his screen.

Peter was on his way home.

Tony took a nervous breath, gaze landing on Peter’s baby photos again.

For the rest of the night, they were his anchor.

🕷⎊🕷

”Hey, dad!”

Peter shut the door of the penthouse with a huff of exhaustion, taking his earbud out of his ear. He breathlessly stopped by his room to toss his backpack on his bed, frowning at the absence of Tony’s response.

“Dad? Are you here?”

Peter stopped by the kitchen. There was an empty Thai food bag there, the lights in the room off. 

His senses led him curiously into the dining room that Tony and Peter only used when Pepper was home, his heart stilling at the sight.

Tony was sitting beside a woman with long brown hair and gold-rimmed glasses. She wore a bright yellow sweater, her coat hanging on the chair behind her. The two of them were pointing and smiling fondly at a group of photos strewn across the table. 

“Dad?”

Tony and the woman both snapped their heads up with wide eyes at the voice. Peter shrunk into his shoulders at their stares.

The woman was shooting to her feet in an instant, her hands flying up to cover her mouth with a gasp. Peter swallowed a terrible feeling as he stepped forward, gaze shifting to Tony momentarily.

”What, uh…” he started, unsure where exactly to start. “What’s goin’ on?”

Tony stood, too, placing a reassuring hand on the woman’s shoulder. She moved one hand from her mouth to her chest.

”Uh…” Peter stepped forward in confusion until he was standing on the opposite side of the dining room table. He extended his hand toward the woman. “Hi. I’m-I’m Peter.”

She slowly brought a hand forward and took Peter’s in hers, taking a shaky inhale. She closed her eyes for a moment and forced a smile.

”Hi, Peter.”

He smiled back, though he was unable to mask his ever-growing confusion, especially as his gaze snapped toward Tony quizzically.

Tony was staring at him weirdly, too, as if in a new perspective. Like the two adults before him were floored by his simple existence.

”Uh…" Tony finally found it in him to speak, clearing his throat. "Kid, this is May. May Parker.”

Peter froze. “Parker?”

She nodded, her smile growing by the second.

”Peter…I’m your aunt.”

Peter stared at her in shock, their hands still suspended in between them in a handshake. She looked down at their hands with a nervous laugh, bringing her other hand forward and holding both of their hands in place. 

“It’s…really…really great to see you again, Peter.”

Peter’s confusion grew even more at that. His gaze numbly trailed down to the table, where dozens of photos laid scattered across the surface. 

His stare landed on a particular photo of a baby perched on a man’s shoulders, a man that looked a whole lot like Peter, from his hair to his ears to everything about him.

“…I thought…I thought I didn’t have any family on my mom’s side,” Peter said, his words quiet. He looked up at Tony in curiosity, then back at May.

”Sorry,” she blurted out, releasing a shaky laugh as she brought her other hand up to wipe under her eyes. “I’m sorry, I just…”

She paused, staring again at Peter as if he were a miracle.

”Look at you,” she breathed out. She had that same unconditional admiration that Tony always had for him in her voice, on her face.

“God, you just look so much like Ben…Mary, too...”

Peter visibly tensed, his concern rising as he watched the stranger in front of him suppress her tears. 

He turned toward Tony, searching his eyes feverishly for an explanation.

”…Surprise,” Tony said with a forced smile, glancing between the two. “Looks like Mary had a brother. And the brother had a wife.”

Peter’s heart skipped a beat.

”…I have an uncle, too?” he asked in disbelief, searching May’s eyes longingly for an answer. 

But her eyes held nothing but heartbreak at the question. 

“He…passed, sweetheart. A couple of years ago.”

“Oh,” he said, finally releasing his grip on her hand as he examined more of the photos. “Is…is this me?”

”Oh, yes,” May nodded frantically, her smile returning in full. She sat back down on the edge of her seat, hands brushing over the photos until she found one in particular. Peter slowly sat down in the chair across from her, staring numbly at the photo she held up.

A man, Ben, Peter deduced, was sitting on a couch with a baby in his arms, feeding him a bottle. Peter took it as May held it closer, examining it with a furrowed brow. 

“That’s my uncle? A-And me?”

”That’s Ben,” May smiled warmly. “And that’s you.”

Peter dropped the photo with a dissociative stare, his gaze trailing to the several other photos scattered across the table.

A particular photo caught his eye and made ice shoot through his veins. 

A woman with brown, curly hair was smiling at the camera. She had brown eyes and glasses.

Peter melted the more he looked at it.

”…Is that…is that my mom?”

May nodded slowly, leaning forward to get a better look at the photo.

”Mary hated having her picture taken,” May said with a heartfelt roll of her eyes. “There’s only two more photos of her smiling like that in the whole world.”

Peter dropped that photo, too, until he found another one and picked it up. 

It looked like Ben was holding him in this one, May standing beside him with her hand on his back. They were looking off-camera at something. 

“We had to babysit you a lot,” May explained as she took notice of the photo Peter had in his grip. “Mary was always away on business. But we didn’t care. We loved having you around. Ben adored you, Peter.”

Tony watched the entire interaction between the two with a clenched jaw and heartbroken eyes.

”Peter?” Tony asked quietly. “Are you okay, kid?”

Peter stared down at the photos sprawled across the table for one more moment before he slowly lifted his head to meet May’s gaze, his eyes glassy. 

“…Can I...if it's okay with you, may I have some of these?”

“Oh, Peter,” May exhaled, shaking her head with a relieved laugh. “You-you can have all of these. I mean it.”

He smiled at her, taking her hands in his.

”When my mom died...The doctors told my dad that my post-traumatic stress made me forget a lot of my memories before the crash, so...I didn't really...I didn't really remember any of this...not until now."

She blinked away tears, out of control with pure relief.

“That’s-that's wonderful,” she said, raising one of her hands and cupping Peter’s face. “You…you meant the world to the two of them. If anyone should have these, it should be you, Peter.”

He nodded slowly, looking at the seemingly hundreds of photos on the table. Three, in particular, caught his gaze.

The few years he was alive before he knew who Tony Stark was were scattered around him, immortalized. His uncle, his mother, himself.

“Thank you,” he said, squeezing her hand. 

She beamed at him like she was the most content person in the universe.

”Well,” she said, clearing her throat and rising from her seat. “I suppose I’ve overstayed my welcome. I’ll leave you two be to eat your dinner.”

”You’re always welcome,” Tony said, standing with her. “Anytime.”

“You should stay,” Peter spoke up, looking at her longingly. 

“…I wish I could. I’ve got some things to do back at my apartment before work in the morning. But thank you so much for letting me come here with all of these photos. You have no idea how much it means to me.”

Peter watched, almost immobilized as May took her coat off of her chair and slid it over her arms. 

“What are you doing for Thanksgiving?”

May paused at Tony’s words, wide eyes meeting his with a scoff of disbelief. 

“I couldn’t possibly intrude on your Thanksgiving, too,” May reasoned, rounding the table and adjusting the sleeves of her coat. “With the Stark family of all people. But thank you.”

”Please,” Peter said, turning and staring at her with pleading eyes. “I would…I would love it if you came to Thanksgiving, Aunt May.”

She froze. Her heart skipped a beat at the name. 

Aunt May.

Before she could stop herself, she was rushing forward with her arms held out. Peter stood, meeting her halfway.

She took him in one of the fiercest hugs he had ever experienced, her eyes closed in content. Peter slowly hugged her back, closing his eyes, too.

Tony watched them with a heartfelt smile, his gaze trailing back down to the photo of Ben feeding Peter a bottle. 

He hated himself for even thinking it.

But he wished that had been him.

🕷⎊🕷

“Is she almost here?”

”Any minute, kiddo.”

Peter nodded nervously from where he sat crisscrossed on the living room floor, hanging ornaments on the bottom tear of the Christmas tree.

He strayed away from the ones that smelled like peppermint candy canes, of course.

”Quit stressin’,” Tony said with a sigh. “It’s Thanksgiving. Take a chill pill.”

”I always stress.”

”Well, knock it off.”

”Tony.”

Tony snickered as Pepper passed him with a box of decorations and a scolding frown. She knelt down next to Peter and placed a kiss on his head.

”It’ll be fine, kid. He’s right, there’s no need to stress.”

”She’s my aunt,” Peter reasoned. “And I’ve known her for, like, two weeks.”

”Well," Pepper said with a smile, "she’s basically known you for fifteen years, so surely there’s nothing you could do that would drive her away now.”

”Hey, Pete,” Tony said. Peter frowned and turned over his shoulder, already rolling his eyes when he spotted the star of the Christmas tree in Tony’s hand.

”No.”

”C’mon.”

”No way.”

”Kid, I don’t wanna get the ladder out. C’mon, please?”

Peter glared.

He hated going all the way up to the ceiling to hang that stupid star.

”Fine,” he huffed, rising to his feet and reluctantly snatching the star out of Tony’s grip. Tony beamed, planting a kiss on Peter’s forehead. 

“Thanks, Spidey.”

”Yeah, yeah.”

He took his web-shooters from his pockets and snapped them onto his wrists before placing the stem of the star between his teeth and placing two hands on the living room wall, scaling it until he was at the top of the tree. He removed a hand from the wall and thwipped a web up into the corner of the living room, using it to keep him up. Finally, he took the star, his tongue stuck out in concentration as he reached over to place it on the top.

Tony and Pepper watched him from the ground.

”Hm…”

Peter looked down at Tony and watched him think. He rolled his eyes again.

“What is it?”

”It’s just…I don’t know, Pep, does the tree look centered to you?”

Pepper tilted her head, her lips quirking up in a knowing smile.

“I don’t think so, no.”

”Centered with what?”

”I don’t know. Call me crazy, but I think it’s too far from the wall and too close to the window.”

“Yeah,” Pepper nodded. “That’s the problem.”

Peter groaned, reaching down and taking the top of the tree. He lifted the entire thing, looking down at Tony and Pepper in anticipation.

”Tell me where.”

”Maybe…a little to the left?”

Peter moved it to the left. Tony and Pepper tilted their heads together.

”Now back. Toward the window.”

”But you said it was too close to the window.”

”I never said that.”

”Yes, you did.”

”C’mon now, just move it back. Just to see.”

Peter moved it back. Pepper shook her head.

”No. Too close. Move it toward the wall.”

”I swear to g-“

Peter paused as the living room door clicked open, and suddenly, his newfound aunt was standing in the threshold and staring at him with eyes almost as big as her glasses.

Tony and Pepper turned, too, their smiles falling. 

May almost dropped the casserole dish and plate of dessert she had in her hands.

”…What the fuck?”

Peter attempted a nonchalant smile, setting the tree down and lowering himself to the ground by his web.

”Uh, h-hey, Aunt May! Wow, you’re here early!”

May said nothing, her mouth still hanging open.

Pepper stepped forward, her hands extended. 

“You must be May,” she said with a smile. “I’m Pepper. We were just decorating a few things for the holidays. Let me take those off your hands.”

May couldn’t stop Pepper from taking the dishes from her grip in her immobilized state. Her arms dropped to her sides uselessly as she continued staring at her nephew.

“…May…” Tony said, stepping forward cautiously. 

“Aunt May, say something.”

She finally blinked, bringing a hand to her forehead.

”…Peter, are you…are you Spider-Man?”

Peter blinked, clenched fists at his side.

”Yes.”

She sucked in a breath and placed a hand on her chest.

Tony turned toward Peter with a frown.

”Wow. Zero attempt there in concealing your identity, huh?”

”She’s family,” Peter reasoned, already stepping toward her. “Aunt May, please don’t be upset.”

“I…”

Peter stared at her in anticipation. Tony stepped up behind him, placing two hands on his son’s shoulders. 

“…My nephew is Spider-Man.”

Peter said nothing at first, fumbling nervously with the web-shooter on his wrist. 

Pepper, who had returned from the kitchen, was brushing past Tony and Peter and standing in front of May, placing her hands on her shoulders.

”I understand this news can be difficult to digest,” Pepper said, finally gaining eye contact from May. “Believe me, I do. And the circumstances are certainly…special. But trust me, Peter is as safe as he possibly can be, especially with the technology and resources he has available to him.”

May made to say something, her mouth still hanging open in shock. Finally, she clicked it shut, forcing a smile Pepper's way that in no way reached her eyes.

”Need any help in the kitchen?”

Pepper blinked. “Sure. Absolutely. I mean, Happy and Rhodey are the ones cooking, but...sure, May. Follow me."

”Wonderful.”

Peter and Tony numbly watched them go, though not before May stepped forward, kissed Peter on the forehead, and whispered “Happy Thanksgiving” to the two of them.

Peter slowly turned over his shoulder to face his dad, swallowing nervously. 

“I think I broke her.”

🕷⎊🕷

For the rest of the evening, Thanksgiving proceeded to be as normal as the group could manage.

Rhodey and Happy presented dinner shortly after May arrived to help. Peter sat across from her with narrowed eyes as he watched Happy sit down beside her with hearts in his eyes.

”So, May,” Tony said, taking a sip of his wine. “What do you do?”

”I’m a nurse at New York-Presbyterian,” she explained, swallowing a bite of green beans. “I’ve been there for…six years now?”

”Wow,” Pepper nodded impressively, setting her wine glass down beside her plate. “I bet you’ve seen it all, huh?”

”Just about.”

Across the table, Rhodey sat beside Peter, where Tony had placed the stack of photos May brought two weeks earlier. He had shown them to Rhodey before dinner, beaming with pride.

Rhodey, of course, took them as an opportune moment to tease Peter as much as humanly possible.

”Look at you,” Rhodey snorted, holding up a photo of baby Peter smiling at the camera. He held it up higher so that Tony could see from the head of the table. “Look at him. He’s all chubby.”

”I was a baby!”

”Aw, look at this one.”

Rhodey picked up another one of Ben feeding Peter a bottle, the one Tony had unintentionally seen in his dreams every night since May’s visit. 

“Look at your little hat. You want a little hat, Petey?”

Peter rolled his eyes with a knowing smile. 

”Would you cut it out?”

Rhodey threw his head back with a laugh, ruffling Peter’s curls. 

“Thank you for bringing these, May,” he said through laughter. “They’re perfect. And this dessert you brought is divine.”

”Oh, do you like it?” May asked, glancing at the tray she had brought in uncertainty. “Be honest. I’ve been struggling with that recipe forever.”

”It’s great,” Tony added, his next words a whisper as he leaned toward Pepper. “As far as walnut-date loaves go.”

She clicked her tongue and nudged his arm with a smile.

”Ben loved them,” May said fondly. “Figured I would pass them along.”

”They’re amazing,” Peter said, three stacked on his plate. May laughed.

”The list of things you two have in common just keeps growing.”

Tony smiled warmly as he watched the two converse from opposite sides of the table. He watched Rhodey continue interrupting his kid by holding up old photos. He watched Happy listen to May’s every word with doe-eyes. 

And, with warmth in his heart, he felt Pepper take his hand, the ring on her finger illuminated under the dining room light. 

He looked up at her and felt that he wouldn’t mind if that night lasted forever.

🕷⎊🕷

AVENGERS: INFINITY WAR, 2018

The blow Tony expected never came.

He turned over his shoulder with a frown, eyes going wide when he noticed the red and blue figure shielding him from the Chitauri alien.

”Hey, man,” Peter said, turning over his shoulder. Tony could practically see the smile beneath his kid’s mask. “What’s up, Dad?”

”Kid,” Tony exhaled, turning over and propping himself up on his elbows. “Where’d you come from?”

”You signed my permission slip last night,” Peter said, oblivious to the clawed hand reaching for him from behind. Tony reached out a hand. “Field trip to MoMA-!”

The alien tossed Peter aside like trash, landing him by a fountain. He tumbled to a stop but jumped to his feet to Tony’s relief.

Tony snarled and blasted a laser the alien’s way.

”Uh, what is this guy’s problem, Dad?”

“Uh…he’s from space,” Tony said between laser beams and punches. “He came here to steal a necklace from a wizard.”

Peter frowned but nodded, leaping forward to attack the alien though the alien was quicker. He trapped Peter in a heap of metal, swinging him around and tossing him aside once again.

Tony hovered above the alien again and continued shooting laser beams at him mercilessly. From behind, Peter seemed to have caught himself before he could tumble onto the ground again, thwipping his web onto a taxi and throwing it into the alien’s head. 

Peter landed on his feet at the exact moment that a flash of red flew past him at the speed of light. He wasted only a minute to stare at it in confusion before Tony spoke up.

”Kid, that’s the wizard. Get on it.”

”On it!”

Peter followed close behind, give or take a few billboards thrown his way, before he finally thwipped a web onto the wizard and attempted to take him to safety.

That’s when a blue beam from the sky decided to appear out of thin air.

Peter’s eyes went wide and he desperately grabbed onto a light post, watching with his breath held as the wizard remained suspended in the beam.

His heart skipped a beat when the light post was uprooted from the ground, and he was being beamed up, too.

”Uh, Dad? I’m bein’ beamed up!”

”What?”

Peter looked down at Earth which was, to his horror, growing smaller and smaller beneath his dangling feet. Tony cursed, and Peter spotted him in Central Park, still wrestling the same alien as before.

”Hang on, kid.”

Peter swallowed nervously as the flying donut above him grew closer. With an abundance of uncertainty, he released his grip on the web attached to the wizard and attached a new one to the outside of the spaceship, crawling onto the side of it. 

Tony was blasting into the sky from below, looking up at the ship in horror.

”Give me a little juice, Friday.”

He blasted himself up further, narrowing his eyes as he tried in vain to locate Peter on the ship.

”Unlock 17-A.”

Finally, his gaze found familiar red and blue crawling up the inside of the ship, his kid’s ragged breaths crackling in Tony’s earpiece. 

“Pete,” Tony said, his heart in his throat. “You gotta let go. I’m gonna catch you.”

”But you said save the wizard!” he cried, reaching a hand up and pulling off his mask.

”Oh, god. I can’t breathe.”

”Peter! Peter, we’re too high up. You’re running out of air.”

”Yeah,” Peter breathed out a dizzying laugh. “That…makes sense.”

Just as the cargo from 17-A whizzed past Tony’s head, Peter was falling.

”Peter!”

Tony watched with his breath held as Peter went shooting lifelessly downward before, finally, 17-A sparked and attached itself onto Peter’s back, materializing the Iron-Spider suit around him. 

Peter collapsed onto the spaceship with a severe lack of grace, grunting as he tumbled along the side. He finally found his grip on the surface and held himself there, breathing out in shock as he looked down at his hands. 

“Dad! It smells like a new car in here!”

Tony flew himself up across from him.

”Are you okay?”

”I-“

”Good. Happy trails, kid. Friday, send him home.”

”Yep.”

Peter turned around with wide eyes as his parachute deployed and he went flying off to the side.

”Dad, no, wait!”

He desperately thwipped a web onto the side of the ship regardless, his heart thudding in his ears as he steadied himself and looked down on Earth.

”…Shoulda stayed on the bus.”

🕷⎊🕷

“You are a seriously loyal piece of outerwear, aren’t you?”

”Yeah, uh, speakin’ of loyalty…”

Tony turned, the most bone-chilling feeling of horror running down his spine as he watched his kid hang upside down and land on his feet.

”What the-?!”

”I know what you’re gonna say.”

“Peter, you should not fucking be here.”

”I was gonna go home!”

”I don’t wanna hear it.”

”But it was such a long way down, and I just thought-“

”And now I gotta hear it.”

”-about shooting a web and kinda stuck to the side of the ship.”

Tony paused, a forest fire of fury burning behind his eyes. 

“And this suit is…ridiculously intuitive, by the way.”

”Shit,” Tony said under his breath, closing his eyes and suppressing a panic attack.

Ever since 2012, this had been his biggest nightmare in the world.

“…So, if anything, it’s kinda your fault that I’m here.”

That was enough to force Tony from his thoughts in a heartbeat.

”What did you just say?”

”I-I take that back. A-And now I’m here in space.”

”Yeah,” Tony snapped, closing the distance between them and standing mere inches from Peter’s face. “Right where I didn’t want you to be.”

Peter looked up at him, shrinking into his shoulders when he saw the fire behind Tony’s eyes, the pure and unadulterated fear that Peter’s presence brought. 

“Peter,” he whispered low. Peter’s gaze softened at the shakiness of Tony’s voice. “This isn’t Coney Island. This isn’t a field trip to MoMA. This is a one-way ticket. Do you hear me?”

Peter bit his tongue and lowered his head.

”Don’t pretend you thought this through.”

“No, I did.”

”I know you didn’t.”

”I did think this through!”

”You could not have possibly thought this through!”

“You can’t be a friendly neighborhood Spider-Man if there’s no neighborhood!”

Tony paused at that, staring at Peter with a raised chin. Peter stared back, his confidence wavering the more he reflected on his own words.

”…Okay, that didn’t really make sense, but you know what I’m trying to say.”

”Yeah,” Tony said under his breath. “You can’t be a dad to a son if there’s no son.”

Peter’s eyes widened slightly at that, staring up at him with worry.

"You can't have possibly thought about this whatsoever," Tony repeated, every word spoken through grit teeth as Peter stared up at him cautiously. "You're sixteen. You're not supposed to be protecting neighborhoods or me or...Christ..."

Peter felt anger swell in his chest for a moment.

”And you shouldn’t feel obligated to save the world, but for some reason, you do. And you always have.”

Peter took a composing breath as he watched hurt flash across Tony's face.

”Look...six years ago, I watched you fly a nuke into space and I couldn’t do anything about it. I’m not watching you fly into space again. I won’t. Not if I can do something about it.”

Tony stared at him, his expression unreadable to anyone but Peter.

He knew exactly what he was thinking, could see the sadness and hesitation and dread on his father’s face. 

Finally, Tony exhaled shakily, avoiding eye contact with his kid as much as humanly possible. 

“C’mon. We got a situation.”

🕷⎊🕷

“Who just saved your magical ass? Me.”

”I seriously don’t know how you fit your head into that helmet.”

Peter watched from the sides as Tony and the wizard argued back and forth. He retracted his mask, looking up and around the ship in awe.

”...We’re now in a flying donut, billions of miles from Earth with no back-up.”

Peter perked his head. “I’m back-up.”

”No, you’re a stowaway. The adults are talking.”

“I’m sorry,” the wizard scoffed. “I’m confused as to the relationship here. What-What is he? Your ward?”

”That’s my kid, you blithering idiot.”

The wizard blinked, turning toward Peter in surprise. 

“I’m Peter, by the way.”

”Doctor Strange.”

”Oh, you’re using our made-up names. Um…I’m Spider-Man, then.”

Strange narrowed his eyes and snapped his head back toward Tony.

”What the hell is wrong with you? Bringing your kid along for a death sentence?”

Tony swallowed down an outburst at the remark, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Sorry, I guessed you missed the memo about bring your kid to work day."

Strange scoffed. "Give me a break-"

"I will, but I can't make any promises. Our similarities are 'hitherto undreamt of,' I'm afraid."

Peter suppressed a smile. Tony, despite his inability to mask the fear and uncertainty in his eyes, sent a reassuring wink Peter's way.

”Now, this ship is self-correcting its course. Thing’s on autopilot.”

”Can we control it? Fly us home?”

Tony walked around in thought. Strange pressed on impatiently.

”Stark.”

”Yeah.”

”Can you get us home?”

”Yeah. I heard you.”

Peter stepped forward in concern as he watched Tony exhale shakily, calculating his words.

”I’m thinking I’m not so sure we should.”

”Under no circumstances can we bring the Time Stone to Thanos,” Strange scoffed. “I don’t think you quite understand what’s at stake here-“

”What? No, it’s you who doesn’t understand that Thanos has been inside my head for six years since he sent an army to New York. And now he’s back. And I don’t know what to do.”

Peter had stepped forward during Tony’s panicked rambling, placing supportive hands on his father’s shoulders. 

“Dad. Hey.”

Tony took a composing breath, glancing back at his kid momentarily. Peter was looking up at him worriedly, his grip on Tony’s arm unwavering.

”It’s okay.”

Tony closed his eyes, turning back toward Strange in defeat. 

“…So…I’m not so sure if it’s a better plan to fight him on our turf or his, but you saw what they did. What they can do. At least on his turf, he’s not expecting it. So, I say we take the fight to him. Doctor.”

Peter tightened his grip on Tony’s arm, watching in shock as Strange actually considered it.

”Do you concur?”

Strange lifted his chin with narrowed eyes, his insistent facade fading.

”…Alright, Stark. We go to him.”

Tony released a subtle sigh of relief. Strange stepped forward.

”But you have to understand…if it comes to saving you, or the kid, or the Time Stone…”

Tony clenched his jaw, slowly holding out an arm protectively between Peter and Strange.

”…I will not hesitate to let either of you die.”

Peter blinked in surprise, a careful gaze trailing Tony’s way. He watched red flash across Tony’s eyes.

He tried to conceal it, but Peter could tell that those words pierced Tony's soul.

”I can’t, because the universe depends on it.”

Tony took Peter’s hand behind him, raising his other hand and patting Strange’s arm with an obnoxious clear of his throat.

”Nice. Good. Moral compass. We’re straight.”

Tony turned with a sniff, a numb expression on his face. He flashed a subtle smile Peter’s way.

”Kid. Over here.”

Peter nodded with wide eyes, walking with Tony away from Strange. Strange watched them go with narrowed eyes.

”Dad, why did he say-?”

”It won’t come to that, kid,” Tony whispered, glancing over his shoulder at Strange before he lifted a hand and cupped Peter’s face. “I won’t let it. Understand?”

”…Yes, sir.”

Tony nodded, taking in a shaky inhale.

”Alright, kid,” Tony said, raising a hand and dubbing Peter’s shoulders.

”You’re an Avenger now.” 

Peter watched him walk away with wide eyes, his voice unable to conceal the agony those words brought.

🕷⎊🕷

Tony opened wide eyes after they crash-landed on Titan, immediately scrunching his face in discomfort.

”You all right?”

Strange was in his face helping him to his feet.  Tony rose with a stumble, placing a steadying hand on Strange’s arm.

”That was close. I owe you one.”

Strange nodded gravely, looking up and around the damaged ship.

Tony’s heart stopped when reality hit him, a feverish gaze scanning the debris. 

”Peter?”

”Over here.”

Tony turned on a dime when he saw his kid hanging upside down by his web. He physically deflated in relief, placing a hand on his chest.

”Let me just say, if aliens…wind up implanting eggs in my chest or something and I eat one of you, I’m sorry.”

Tony concealed a smile.

”Yeah, okay, kid. By the way, I do not want another single pop culture reference out of you for the rest of the trip. You understand?”

”…I’m trying to say that something is coming.”

Tony couldn’t even respond before a ball was rolling along the floor and sending the three blasting every which way. 

Tony looked up in confusion as three figures entered an opening in the wall of the ship.

”Thanos!”

A figure with red eyes was lurching toward him and sending blasts his way. He didn’t even notice the strange triangle device the figure placed on him until it was forcing him to stick against a piece of debris like a magnet. 

He grunted and tried to pull himself off of it, though his kid’s gasp had him snapping his head up with wide eyes.

”Whoa, whoa, whoa! Please don’t put your eggs in me!”

Tony looked at the alien figure approaching his kid in horror.

”What the hell is that?"

The red-eyed figure landed next to Peter and kicked him aside.

”Stay down, clown.”

He threw what appeared to be an electric lasso around Peter, sending him rolling across the floor with a frantic cry as electricity coursed through his veins.

Tony snarled at the sight, finally finding the strength to pry the device off of his chest and blast toward the third alien figure, placing a boot on his chest and holding a repulsor in his face.

”Everybody stay where you are! Chill the eff out!”

Tony’s head snapped up at the red-eyed figure’s words, his heart lurching to his throat.

He was holding a bound Peter with a gun to his head and an arm wrapped around his neck. The eyes of Peter’s mask were closed in discomfort. 

“I’m gonna ask you this one time,” the figure said, his mask retracting. Tony blinked when he realized he was human. “Where is Gamora?”

”Yeah, I’ll do you one better,” Tony snapped, his mask retracting too. Peter’s panic only grew when he realized how out of control with terror Tony looked. “Who’s Gamora?”

”I’ll do you one better. Why is Gamora?”

“Tell me where the girl is, or I swear to you, I’m gonna french fry this little freak.”

Peter felt the gun press into his temple. He looked up at Tony, watching pure rage flash across his face as his gauntlet unfolded into a gun.

”Let’s do it! You shoot my guy, I blast him! Let’s go!”

”Do it, Quill! I can take it!”

“No! He can’t take it!”

”She’s right. You can’t.”

”Oh, yeah?” The man taunted, his hold around Peter’s throat tightening. “You don’t wanna tell me where she is? That’s fine. I’ll kill all three of you and I’ll beat it out of Thanos myself. Startin' with you.”

Tony stifled a heart attack.

”Wait, what-Thanos? Alright, let me ask you this one time. What master do you serve?”

The man scoffed. “What master do I serve? What am I supposed to say? Jesus?”

Tony blinked, the fear in his eyes giving way just slightly.

”You’re from Earth?”

”I’m not from Earth. I’m from Missouri.”

“Yeah, that’s on Earth, dipshit. What’re you hasslin’ us for?”

”So,” Peter spoke up softly, “you’re not…with Thanos?”

”...With Thanos? No! I’m here to kill Thanos. He took my girl-wait, who are you?”

Peter’s mask retracted.

”We’re the Avengers, man.”

”Oh.”

”You’re the ones Thor told us about!”

”You know Thor?”

”Yeah. Tall guy, not that good-looking, needed saving.”

Strange tilted his head. “Where is he now?”

Tony released a frustrated breath of disbelief, removing his boot from Drax’s chest. He looked up at Peter, already making his way toward him urgently. 

“You,” Tony snapped at Quill, “get that thing off of him. Now.”

Quill frowned, looking down at the electric lasso still tied around Peter’s arms.

”Shit. Sorry, man. Nothin’ personal.”

The lasso collapsed to the floor. Peter released a breath the minute he was free, sending a glare Quill’s way.

Quill didn’t respond, making his way toward Strange. Before Peter knew it, Tony was standing in front of him and taking his face in his hands, looking him up and down frantically.

”Are you hurt?”

”No,” Peter said with a shake of his head. “I’m okay. Really.”

”Are you sure?”

”Dad, I’m fine.”

Tony stared at him with a clenched jaw, his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

Finally, he exhaled, cupping the back of Peter’s head and kissing his forehead.

“You stick with me, okay? Won't let that happen again.”

Peter watched him cross to Strange and Quill with narrowed eyes.

The persistent buzzing of his senses told him quite the opposite.

🕷⎊🕷

Peter went numb when he heard the number.

Fourteen million six hundred and five.

Tony went numb when he heard the other number. 

One.

Their chances were one in fourteen million six hundred and five.

He wasn’t sure if that meant that they all died in the other fourteen million six hundred and four outcomes, but he didn’t care. 

He only had one thing to protect, and he would protect it with his life.

With an arm held out protectively in front of his kid, he looked up gravely at the foreign skies of Titan.

For the past six years, he felt like one in fourteen million. 

He felt useless to what lied above their solar system. He liked to think he would give Peter the moon if he could, or the stars, or the milky way.

But not knowing what inhabited the endless space outside of Earth’s atmosphere immobilized him with fear and he didn't want Peter anywhere near it.

He felt like he couldn’t protect his son or his fiancé or himself and, when he tried, he failed.

He closed his eyes as the image of Peter in Ultron’s hold flashed across his mind. 

He anchored himself back to reality when he looked down and met Peter’s gaze. 

He was looking up at him with questioning eyes, waiting for Tony to come up with something, anything. And Tony wanted to. 

But there was no response, no plan to be devised after being told that your chances were one in several million. There was nothing to do but carry on and protect what you cared about most.

For Strange it was the Time Stone. For Drax and Mantis, it was each other. For Quill, it was whoever the hell Gamora was.

For Tony, it was Peter. 

🕷⎊🕷

Tony was flown a mile away from the battle by a swarm of bats.

Of all the things that had happened to him that day, that was the weirdest. 

He sat up and blasted back toward the battle, squinting his eyes as his lenses zoomed in on Thanos.

He was catching Peter midair by the throat and slamming him into the ground, the ground cracking underneath him with the force. His next words were a biting snarl as Peter clawed at the hand around his neck.

”Insect.”

Peter yelled out with wide eyes as Thanos threw his arm back and tossed Peter away. 

Tony’s blood boiled in his veins.

He was shooting missiles mercilessly at the alien before he could stop himself, a metallic feeling filtering into his mouth. Thanos growled and sent a stream of fire his way.

Peter growled, too, rising from the ground and thwipping a web onto Thanos’s gauntlet. Thanos used it against him, yanking him by the web and punching him so hard that when he rolled to the ground, he didn’t get back up.

Tony wouldn’t have been surprised if smoke came out of his ears, because he was enraged.

“Yeah,” Tony said under his breath, swallowing bile.

”I’m gonna kill him.”

🕷⎊🕷

“Quill?”

Peter watched with a still heart as Quill turned slowly toward Thanos, seething in rage.

”You gotta cool it right now. You understand?”

Quill stood inches from Thanos’s hypnotized face, his mouth pressed in a thin line. 

”Don’t-Don’t engage,” Tony said, the plead so guttural that Peter had to close his eyes. “We almost got this off!”

”Tell me she’s lying.”

Thanos said nothing, his face scrunched in anguish. 

“Asshole! Tell me you didn’t do it!”

”I…had to.”

”No, you didn’t,” Quill took a step back, his eyes glassing over with tears. “No, you didn’t.”

Peter watched him carefully, his heart dropping into his stomach as Quill yelled out, threw his arm back, and punched Thanos across the face.

”No! Stop!"

Tony released his hold on the gauntlet and lurched toward Quill, taking his wrists in his hands.

Peter looked down at the gauntlet in horror when he realized he was the only one holding it, pulling it off of Thanos’s hand as hard as he could manage.

”I got it! I got it!”

Thanos gained control of himself again, yanking the gauntlet out of Peter’s hold and tossing Mantis off of his shoulders.

Peter watched her fly away with wide eyes.

”Oh, god.”

He leaped toward her, the lack of gravity on the planet allowing him to take her in his arms. He extended the limbs of the Iron Spider suit and protected them from colliding with the ground. They rolled to a stop, Peter’s hand cradling her head. 

He looked up at the others in dread, watching with eyes the size of dinner plates as Thanos pointed his gauntlet at Titan’s moon.

”…Shit.”

🕷⎊🕷

Peter woke to the sound of metal on metal.

He sat up with wide eyes when he remembered where he was and why he was there. His eyes searched the planet frantically for the source of the sound.

Tony and Thanos were fighting by themselves, and Thanos was winning.

”No,” Peter breathed out, jumping to his feet in a heartbeat. He watched in horror as Thanos raised a merciless arm and backhanded Tony, his helmet shattered.

Tony formed his gauntlet into a sword.

Thanos snapped it off and plunged it into Tony’s stomach.

”NO!"

Peter screamed. He knew he screamed and probably shook the core of the planet.

But he wasn't sure if any sound actually came out.

He wasn't sure because his ears were ringing and his vision was blurry and his heart wasn't thundering in his chest as it had been the entire time on Titan.

It was still. 

He watched Thanos press forward. Tony stumbled back with one hand on Thanos’ hand and another on his chest, every breath desperate and gut-wrenching and filtering in and out of Peter's ears like he was underwater.

Peter screamed more, but no one was looking at him. 

Thanos took Tony’s head in his hand, forcing him into a sitting position. Peter didn't know he had started running until he was tripping over debris to get closer, every step feeling heavier than the next despite his bones feeling ten times lighter on the foreign planet.

"Please," he heard Tony rasp out, choking on his own blood. "Please...don't kill me in front of him."

Thanos hummed, tilting his head.

He lifted his gauntlet toward him. Tony closed his eyes as blood ran down his chin.

”Get the fuck away from him!”

The words ripped Peter's throat raw. Thanos looked up impatiently as Peter leaped forward with his hands held out, latching onto Thanos’s neck and maneuvering his way onto his shoulders.

Thanos growled, reaching a hand up and pulling Peter off of him. He wrapped his hand around Peter’s chest, slamming him to the ground and keeping him there with his palm. Peter cried out under the pressure, his eyes still burning and overflowing with tears.

“Peter,” Tony choked out helplessly, bloodshot eyes brimming with tears as he looked at his kid. “N-No.”

Tony didn't get stabbed in the heart, but he felt like he had.

He had failed.

Ever since the Chitauri invaded New York, his one and only goal had been to protect his family from what lied above the stars.

But his son was being crushed underneath a Chitauri alien's massive hand on a planet billions of miles from home and he was bleeding too much to stop it.

Thanos snarled at Tony and pressed further on Peter’s chest. Peter’s eyes went wide and he gasped, desperate hands reaching up and clawing at Thanos’s arm. 

Finally, he thwipped a web into his eyes. Thanos stumbled back with a roar and Peter jumped to his feet, standing between the monster and his father. He held trembling hands out in surrender.

"Stop!" Peter said, his words pleading with everything he had. He collapsed to his knees in front of Tony, holding both arms out protectively as the nanotechnology of his mask retracted. Bruised, terrified, tear-filled eyes looked up at Thanos in desperation.

"Move aside, child," Thanos said, lifting his gauntlet once more. "Let destiny run its course."

"O-Okay," Peter said, unable to steady the trembling in his voice. "I'll-I'll let destiny run its course. Just...just kill me instead."

"Peter," Tony said sharply, an iron grip taking hold of Peter's arm. Peter didn't look back, didn't tear his gaze away from Thanos as the alien tilted his head with a knowing smile.

Thanos stepped forward. Peter's eyes went wide.

"D-Don't touch him. Don't touch him."

He stopped again. Peter could've sworn Tony's fingernails were piercing the Iron Spider suit and digging into his skin.

"Peter, move."

Peter finally turned his head over his shoulder, meeting Tony's tear-filled, bloodshot, terrified eyes.

Peter's gaze trailed down to the stick of metal protruding from Tony's abdomen, the wound gushing blood. He swallowed down bile and rage and devastation at the sight. 

He tried in vain to drown out the sound of Tony's gasps for life, thinking back for a moment to a particular day in 2012, the day he watched his father fly a nuke into a wormhole.

Despite it all, a spark of content hummed in his chest.

He didn't need his father to protect him now. He didn't need him to fly nukes into space for him. He didn’t have to watch helplessly from the side. 

It was his turn to protect Tony, and he would do it with every heartbeat he had left.

Peter looked down at Tony's hand wrapped around his arm for a moment before he made eye contact again.

"I love you," Peter whispered, the words so fierce and guttural that Tony let out a sob.

Tony opened his mouth. Blood spilled out.

"Don't talk," Peter said, forcing a small, reassuring smile. "I know."

Peter's senses were so numb from watching Thanos plunge a dagger into his dad's abdomen that they didn't alert him in the slightest to the giant hand suddenly wrapping around his neck and lifting him off of the ground.

"No!" Tony cried out with all of the energy he had left, the hand he had on Peter's arm now reaching up for him desperately. 

"You have my respect, Stark," Thanos said. Peter clawed at Thanos's hand, unsure which Stark he was referring to.

Maybe both.

"When I'm done, half of humanity will still be alive."

Peter let out a pained sob with the fraction of his airway he had left, closing his eyes.

He would give his life over Tony's in a heartbeat.

But he really, really didn't want to die.

"I hope they remember you."

"Oh, go-please," Tony said from the ground. "Please, no. Please just kill me. Please don't touch him. Please."

Thanos didn't grace that with a response. Peter's legs kicked helplessly in the air underneath him, slowly but surely faltering as his eyes began rolling into the back of his head.

"Stop!"

Thanos snapped his head to the side, where Strange sat rasping his own pain-filled breaths.

"Spare their lives," he said breathlessly, "and I will give you the stone."

Thanos stared at him for a moment in thought, feeling Peter's hands grow weaker as they clawed at him.

"No tricks?"

Strange shook his head.

Tony opened his mouth to say something, but nothing but blood came out.

He wanted to tell him not to, wanted to beg him to protect the Time Stone.

But his kid was growing limper in Thanos's hold, and Tony could do nothing to help him but choke on his blood.

Strange knew it, too, and Tony could tell that the man who vowed to protect the Time Stone above all only hours before was no longer there.

He had seen several million outcomes of what was going to happen and at that moment was staring at a sixteen-year-old teenager trying to protect his father on a foreign planet.

Strange held his hand up, the Time Stone appearing between his fingers. Thanos tossed Peter aside like trash the second he saw it.

Tony’s gaze snapped toward Peter’s still form on the ground, the kid's eyes closed. He pressed a hand down on his abdomen and gasped in pain as he attempted to get closer.

"Peter..."

Tony looked back up at Thanos in time for the monster to place the stone in his gauntlet, the energy of the five stones overwhelming him for a moment.

He looked at his fist with a smile.

"One to go."

Thanos disappeared, even as Quill flew toward him with a battle cry and shot blasters at him.

"Where did he go?!"

Tony released a shaky exhale, using what remained of the technology on his suit to seal the place his stab wound used to be.

He took in a breath of relief when he realized the literal stabbing, excruciating pain had ceased to exist, though the panic came flooding back as he crawled toward Peter with his heart in his throat. His voice cracked when he spoke.

"Peter? Come on, baby, wake up."

Peter said nothing, his head lolling to the side when Tony cupped his face. His skin was a sickly purple shade and his neck was already bruising from the number of times he had been held by his throat that day.

"Peter, please wake up," Tony snapped, though his words came out as more desperate than sharp. "Dammit, kid, breathe!"

Peter's eyes snapped open with a gasp and he coughed for a moment upon regaining consciousness, looking up and around before his eyes finally locked on Tony's.

They immediately snapped down to Tony's stomach.

"Dad," Peter breathed out, scanning Tony frantically. "Wh-a-are you-?"

"It's gone," Tony said, rubbing a hand over the spot his wound used to be. "It's gone."

Peter blinked in confusion, still processing the information as he searched for Thanos.

Quill was practically hyperventilating behind them.

"Did we just lose?"

Peter let out a shaky breath, the image of Tony being impaled by his own sword still tattooed to his brain before he suddenly lurched forward and wrapped his arms around Tony's neck.

Tony hugged him back with everything he had, nauseating relief still hitting him in waves.

"I thought," Peter started, closing his eyes as fresh tears threatened his eyes and throat. "I thought that you-I thought that you were gonna-gonna..."

He paused as his voice gave way.

He felt so small, so insignificant.

He felt like Tony should've been dead and if he had died, it would have been insignificant because everyone they loved would be oblivious back on Earth. Pepper, Happy, Rhodey, and May would've had no idea, and Peter would've been left alone to mourn him lightyears away.

He felt like he already was mourning him, even as he clung onto him with everything he had left. Even as Tony held him tighter and shushed him and breathed into his curls. 

He felt like he had already lost something monumental, something he couldn't breathe without.

He almost lost Tony. But then, he also almost lost his own life, too.

But the more he replayed his father being impaled by his own sword, he didn't care about the insignificance of his life in the slightest, didn't care that Thanos had had a hand fisted around his airway only moments before.

He would sacrifice himself in a heartbeat to erase that image from existence forever.

So, maybe the loss he was mourning wasn't what almost was. Maybe he was mourning his childhood, his innocence.

Sixteen-year-old kids couldn't possibly carry on as kids after witnessing what Peter just had.

"Shh," Tony said, cradling Peter's head and breathing him in. "We're okay. We're okay."

Peter buried his face into Tony's shoulder. Tony looked up at the foreign, hazy sky for a moment, the heartbreak of Peter's near-sacrifice still slamming into him like a tsunami.

"I thought I lost you," Tony whispered. He tightened his grip around his kid with all the strength he had left, his chest constricting. "I thought I lost you, baby. I thought I lost you."

"I thought I lost you, too," Peter whispered back.

He wanted to be the one to protect Tony for once.

But he enjoyed the feeling of being a kid protected in his father's arms for now.

Peter looked up over Tony's shoulder. Strange was looking at them gravely, a certain knowingness in his gaze that chilled Peter to his core.

"We're in the endgame now."

🕷⎊🕷

Something was happening.

Peter didn't need Mantis to say anything for him to know, but she did anyway. 

He didn't need to be told something was happening because he could sense it in the sudden rumbling of the sky above, the abrupt shift of the wind.

Strange still had that terrible look of knowingness on his face that Peter hated. It was like his Spider-Sense personified, a living testament that whatever was happening would end in blood or devastation or failure.

But maybe not. Maybe it was a living testament that whatever was happening would end in...nothing.

Thanos had taken the Time Stone. He only needed one more to complete his mission.

Peter had heard his mission when he first arrived on Titan. Reduce the population of all living organisms in the universe by fifty percent. A dispassionate, random mass genocide.

But he didn't really understand what that meant. He didn't know what killing half of the universe entailed. He wasn't sure if they would all just drop to the ground lifeless or if they would disappear in the blink of an eye or if they would just be forgotten.

Mantis was the first one to answer his question.

She disappeared into dust under Quill's arm, her ashes already dancing in the wind. Peter felt ice shoot through his veins as he watched her go, watched what was left of her disappear as if she was never there.

His head snapped toward his father, who watched her go with wide eyes and his mouth parted numbly in shock.

Drax was next. He wondered if Mantis felt pain, because Drax looked like he did. His face was scrunched in discomfort and that was how it froze and cracked away, already following the remaining flakes of Mantis in the breeze.

Quill turned back over his shoulder after watching both of them go, a paralyzed look of horror glued to his face.

Peter prayed that wouldn't be how Quill went, if he did at all. Scared and alone and in pain.

But flakes of ash were already starting to float off of his clothes, his hair, his skin. 

Tony was a stranger, but Quill was looking at him longingly, as if he was waiting for him to do something, anything.

But Tony couldn't. All he could do was step forward and force out words.

"Steady, Quill."

"...Oh, man."

He was gone, too. Peter held his breath for a moment as he watched him float away, wondering if that was the last of it.

But as Tony turned toward Strange, something happened.

That same shift of the wind and rumble of the sky that had told him something was happening before...they were all happening again, but inside of him.

He felt it in his bones, in his veins. Something shifted, something that felt like his Spider-Sense only ten times more, and he turned away from Tony and Strange for a moment to look down at his hands in dread.

He stared down at his fingertips and watched them slowly but surely begin to change color and flake away. He shook his head and swallowed thickly, quickly blinking away tears and trying to ignore the fact that he was hyperventilating.

Suddenly, the only word he knew was no.

No, no, no, no, no, no, no.

This couldn't be happening.

It shouldn't. Just minutes ago, Peter and Tony had been reveling in the fact that they had escaped death, had been holding each other and basking in the relief that they were both alive.

Now, Peter was watching himself fade away. 

He distantly heard something from Strange about how there was no other option, no other way. It was immediately followed by the familiar, bone-chilling sound of ashes blowing in the wind, something probably only Peter could hear.

There was silence for a moment. Peter parted his lips.

"Dad."

Peter felt Tony's gaze slowly trail toward his son.

Peter turned over his shoulder.

He realized that as Mantis, Drax, Quill, and Strange had disappeared, Tony hadn't looked at Peter once.

Maybe it was because he knew. Maybe it was because he refused to accept it as a possibility.

But now, as Tony stared at his kid, stared at his hands in front of him begin to flake off and float away, he froze, something terrible and excruciating and terrifying flashing across his face and remaining there.

"Dad," Peter said again, and he was surprised he could still speak because his throat and his lungs and his bones felt so constricted. 

Peter looked back down at his hands for a moment. He began to tilt to one side, and his heart lurched when he looked down at the ground.

His foot...it was disappearing. It was disappearing and the rest of his leg was disappearing, too. His gaze snapped back up to Tony, who was staring at Peter's missing limb before looking back up at Peter in dread, already stepping forward.

"I don't feel so good," he managed to say, and it felt like the most pathetic understatement in the world but it was all he could come up with. It was all he could say as he felt sweat drip down his face and felt his bones and organs shift inside of him.

Peter looked up at Tony and blinked away tears, stepping forward with the one foot he still had.

Tony wasn't speaking. Peter wanted him to so badly.

"I don't know what's happening," Peter said. It was a lie, he guessed, because he knew exactly what was happening, but he didn't want to. He wanted to believe that the universe made a mistake.

Thanos said it would be random, it would be fair.

But this didn't feel fair at all.

"I don't-I don't know-"

Tony met him halfway and Peter couldn't stop himself from slamming into him and clawing at his shoulder desperately with the strength he had left.

Peter stayed there for a moment and stared over his father's shoulder with wide, glassy eyes.

Despite the fact that he could feel every function and atom in his body begin to give way, he found himself producing hot, helpless tears, and he spoke with the voice he had left, cracking and desperate and terrified and young.

"I don't wanna go."

Tony sucked in a breath that echoed in Peter's skull. The sound only made Peter cry and beg and mourn more than he already was.

"I don't wanna go, Dad. Please. Please. I don't wanna go, I don't wanna go."

At some point, his second leg must've given out, or maybe Tony was too immobilized with heartbreak to keep them both standing because he was dropping to his knees and suddenly Peter was on his back, staring up at a sky he didn't know.

He stared up at it for a moment, as blurry as it was, and despite the inevitable, despite the unstoppable feeling of nothingness crawling up his skin, he paused.

This was the end.

This was his final moment alive.

This was his last breath, his last image, his last everything.

Life was going to continue on without him while he was...somewhere. It was going to carry on, and Peter didn't know if Tony was going to disappear too or if May and Pepper and his Uncles and his friends were still on Earth, perfectly alive and breathing, or if they were experiencing the same terrible fate as him.

This was his last everything.

He finally summed up the courage to turn his head and look up at his dad.

Tony was staring at him with such terror and devastation that Peter reached a disappearing hand up and cupped Tony's face. It immediately crumbled into nothing upon impact.

Peter felt deja vu the more he stared at Tony's eyes.

They held everything the two had ever been through together. That terrifying feeling of almost, that helpless feeling that Tony would lose him.

It was swooping in to save him from Hammer drones.

It was finding him behind the penthouse bar after the alien invasion in 2012.

It was waking and turning over his shoulder to find the Mark 42 suit hovering over him.

It was Ultron holding him in a chokehold.

It was realizing with mind-numbing horror that the masked vigilante that took a bullet for him was Peter.

It was flying toward his still form on the tarmac at the battle in Germany.

It was finding him in that cell on the Raft.

It was turning that corner in the hallway and finding him sitting there on Homecoming night, covered in blood and sand and ash and tears.

There was always hope in those times, though. The hope of rescue, the hope of a hospital, the hope of protection.

But Tony couldn't do anything to stop the horrible nothing consuming his son, and Peter knew it.

"I thought I lost you."

"I am not going to bury my kid."

"If you died...Peter, that's on me."

"I've got you. You're okay."

Peter stared back at him with everything he had left in him. He felt what could only be described as absence, knowing everything below his chest was gone.

He lifted his jaw and opened his mouth. Talking was starting to take all of his energy, all of his remaining muscles to do.

"...I'm sorry."

Tony fell apart. Peter knew he wanted to disappear and fall apart right next to him, but he couldn't, and he was forced to fall apart in one living piece, forced to hold what was left of his world and watch it slip out of his fingers.

Peter wanted to keep himself in Tony's eyes forever.

But before he knew it, he was dying, and he couldn't stop his head from tilting vacantly to the side.

He stared lifelessly up at the sky and could see pieces of himself dancing across his vision.

...It was funny.

You never knew you could feel and hear your heart beating until it wasn't anymore.

This was his last everything.

It was Tony's last everything, too.

Chapter Text

🕷⎊🕷

“Mis’er Tony?”

Tony turned over in his bed with a frown, a small silhouette standing in his doorway causing him to snap into a sitting position. He rubbed at his eyes tiredly.

Right. There was a five-year-old kid living with him now.

Occupying his space, occupying his mind, occupying his heart.

It had only been a week since he picked the kid up from the hospital, and he still wasn't sure how exactly he felt about it all. Not only having a kid to look after now but knowing there was someone with his blood, his name, his eyes. Knowing about him when he had already learned to walk and hold his own head up and eat and...

He grimaced at his own thoughts and blinked exhaustion out of his eyes.

He hadn’t been asleep anyway.

”Hey-Hey, kiddo,” Tony said, throwing the covers off of himself and swinging his legs over the side of his bed. He stood and stared at Peter for a moment.

”What’s, uh...what's the matter, bud? Bed bugs bite even though I told them not to?”

Peter rubbed at his eye. Tony melted when he noticed the orange blanket in his hand.

”Couldn't sleep.”

Tony hummed. “That’s-That’s okay, kid. That’s fine. Wanna try sleepin’ in this bed? With me?”

Peter nodded, already trudging sleepily Tony’s way. Tony smiled, bending over and scooping the kid up in his arms. He climbed back into the bed and placed Peter next to him, pulling the covers up over his small frame.

”There ya go. Easy does it.”

Peter automatically curled himself up under Tony’s arm, his blanket still held fiercely in his grip. Tony paused for a moment in surprise, slowly lowering his arm and wrapping it around his kid.

His kid. He still wasn’t quite used to that.

”Thanks, Mis’er Tony.”

Tony couldn’t help the small laugh that always escaped him at the name.

”…Y’know you don’t have to call me that, kiddo.”

Peter frowned, his eyes slowly drooping closed.

”Uncle Tony?”

Tony breathed out another laugh. “Dad works fine. Vader. Pops. Supreme Leader. Whatever you’re comfortable with.”

Peter didn’t say anything at that, snuggling closer into Tony’s side.

”Jeez, kid,” Tony said, gently brushing stray curls out of Peter’s eyes with a fond smile. “Somethin’ spook you?”

”Bad dream.”

“Ah. I get those sometimes, too.”

Peter opened his eyes at that.

”You do?”

”Oh, sure. Plenty of times.”

“A-About what? Monsters ‘n stuff?”

“Yeah. Sorta like monsters ‘n stuff.”

There was silence for a moment. Tony stared up at the ceiling in thought, Peter doing the same with him.

”Aren’t any monsters in here, kid.”

Peter looked up at him. Tony looked down at him with a comforting smile.

”I don’t really dream about monsters anymore.”

Tony blinked. “No?”

Peter shook his head. “Mm-mm.”

”…You wanna talk about it?”

Peter picked at a loose thread on his blanket. Tony watched him carefully.

”I have dreams where I’m all by myself.”

Tony froze at that, watching his five-year-old kid carefully calculate his every word.

”Dreams where you leave me. And I’m all by myself at the hospital again.”

Tony sat up a little straighter. Peter sat up, too, looking at Tony in anticipation. 

“…I’m not goin’ anywhere, Peter.”

Peter lowered his head, loose curls falling over his eyes.

Tony leaned forward and scooped Peter up into his arms, letting him rest on his chest. Peter curled into him, placing his head on his father’s shoulders.

”I promise.”

Peter wrapped small arms around Tony’s neck.

Tony wrapped his arms around his kid at the gesture, closing his eyes.

🕷⎊🕷

“He did it.”

Nebula sat down in front of Tony. He felt the vibrations of her words, but not enough to distinguish what she said.

He felt his hands brush together for a moment, felt something grainy grind on his fingertips. He looked down and saw the grey flecks smeared on his skin, mixing with his blood and sweat.

Everything was an echo. Nebula, the thunder of Titan, the tremble of the ground, himself.

Everything was an echo.

Five years old is a baby, Tony. A baby that requires full-time attention that you don't have.

Threat is imminent. That kid over there is the glue that keeps me together, and every night I can’t sleep because I keep picturing him surrounded by hammer drones or being killed by aliens or, Christ, having an asthma attack.

I thought I lost you.

He lurched forward.

The remaining contents in his stomach were suddenly on the ground. The same ground that pieces of Peter were stuck to.

Unfamiliar, rough hands were taking his arms. An unfamiliar voice was saying something to him sharply, snapping at him to get it together. 

The unfamiliar ground he knelt on had his vomit sprayed across it, mixed with blood and Peter’s ashes. 

Peter’s ashes.

Peter was…dead.

He threw up more. He hadn’t realized he had anything left in him to throw up, but he did, so much until he was dry heaving and gagging and gasping for air.

But gasping for air felt so...stupid. Pointless.

He didn't want air. He didn't want to breathe. He didn't want to live without him, couldn’t even fathom the idea in his never-ending ocean of denial.

“Stop this.”

He had two hands on the ground steadying himself, lifting his right and staring at it with wide eyes.

His palm was completely grey. Dark. Caked in the dust of his everything.

His everything.

”…I wanna go.”

Nebula didn’t say anything at first, sitting down beside him with a hand on his back. Not in comfort, but in urgency.

”We must. We can board Quill’s ship. Find survivors. Get back to your planet.”

“No,” Tony rasped out, still staring at his hand. “No, I…I’m gonna go. I have to wait until I go.”

Nebula blinked, understanding slowly sinking in. She stared at him blankly.

”You won’t. You weren’t chosen.”

“We don’t know that yet.”

”If you were chosen, you would have disappeared long ago. You are a survivor. As am I.”

Tony closed his eyes and shook his head. 

He wasn’t a survivor.

He was dead, too.

Everything felt like it was…vibrating. The ground, his bones, his teeth. Maybe a result of how numb and hollow and stuck he felt.

Nebula stood impatiently, holding her hand out.

”We don’t have much time. We have to board Quill’s ship and search for survivors. This planet is unstable.”

”I’m not leaving him.”

Nebula’s gaze trailed down to the small, scattered pile of ash on the ground, a majority of it having blown away in the wind or sticking itself to Tony’s skin.

”He is not who he was. He is gone.”

Tony forced down the threat of more vomit, closing his eyes. 

But closing his eyes meant seeing him again.

Seeing him stare at his hands, seeing him turning over his shoulder in fear, seeing him beg through tears.

Seeing him at the hospital for the first time, feeling his warmth, smelling his smell.

At some point, he lurched forward again.

Please, just kill me instead. Please.

I can’t watch you get hurt.

You’re okay. I’ve got you. You’re gonna be okay.

He had felt grief before.

But this wasn’t grief. It couldn’t be the same grief he had experienced before.

The grief he remembered from his parents, from Obadiah, from Ultron: that grief was laughable. He would give anything to relive that grief every day if it would replace the unbearable, heavy ocean of tragedy he was drowning in.

This wasn't grief.

This was slowly dying.

🕷⎊🕷

"What's wrong?"

Tony looked up from his arms, stared up from his position on the ground with his arms hugging his knees to his chest.

He must have seized up in a panic attack at some point during his workday in the lab, and he wondered distantly if Friday had been the one to tell Peter that Tony needed him or if Peter just sensed it.

It didn't matter. Peter was on his knees and in his face regardless, taking Tony's shoulders with his hands.

"Dad, hey, can you hear me?"

Tony didn't say anything at first. Peter knew about Tony's panic attacks more than anyone, knew how to handle them better than most.

But in actuality, he knew that one look into his eyes usually snapped Tony out of it.

Tony brought a hand up and rubbed at his eyes briefly, blinking away sleep and panic and anxiety.

"Sorry, kiddo. All good here. Peachy keen. Pleased as punch."

Peter narrowed his eyes. That act didn't cut it around him, and they both knew it.

"You're not."

"Get outta my head. I am."

"I can hear your heart racing. Plus, you know, I'm not stupid. At least I don’t think I am.”

Tony huffed a laugh as Peter sat down beside him, propping his arms up on his knees. Tony could feel Peter’s gaze on him, could feel the silent concern in his stare.

It wasn’t like this was the first time Peter had stumbled upon Tony having a panic attack, but every time was just as worrisome and important to Peter as the last. 

“Just a little anxiety, kiddo. I’m okay.”

“You know you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, and I won’t make you.”

Tony hummed. “But you're also not leaving until I do, right?”

Peter said nothing, a small smile gracing his face. Tony stared at it for a moment, calming his breathing and racing heart.

”You’ve been spending too much time with Rhodey.”

”Excuse me for caring.”

Tony closed his eyes and heaved a sigh, resting his head on Peter’s shoulder. Peter stiffened for a moment but eventually relaxed against the wall, resting his head on Tony’s.

”…Thanks, kid.”

Peter didn’t say anything, but Tony could tell he was smiling warmly, could tell that his eyes were closed in content.

After a while, he mirrored the expression.

🕷⎊🕷

”And you win.”

Nebula sat up straight after having thrown a makeshift paper football through Tony's fingers, staring ahead blankly as Tony extended his hand.

”You have fun?”

She hesitated but eventually took his hand in hers.

”...It was fun.”

Tony hummed. “Perfect.”

She watched him heave a deep sigh and place his arms on the tabletop to rest his head, leaning forward with her head tilted in curiosity.

”What are you doing?”

”Resting. Tired.”

She said nothing at first, leaning forward until she was mere inches from Tony’s head. He peeked up from his arms, immediately flinching when he realized how close she was.

”Jesus-”

”You cannot rest.”

He scoffed. “And why is that?”

“You might not wake up. You must stay alive.”

”I must. Strong choice of words.”

She slowly returned to her seat, her hands placed flat on the tabletop and her gaze still glued on Tony.

If he knew any better, he would say she was worried.

Peter would worry about him if he were there, too. Just like he used to.

He sat up with a grunt, rubbing at his eyes.

”Alright, alright. I’ll stay up, C-3PO.”

She continued staring at him. After Tony was finished rubbing at his eyes, he stared back tiredly, watching her study his bloodshot eyes and jaundiced skin and his general brokenness. 

He closed his eyes in defeat, unable to suppress the question that had been brewing in his mind ever since Nebula finally convinced Tony to leave Titan.

“…What’d you mean when you said I wasn’t chosen?”

Nebula blinked, her expression stagnant as she titled her head. 

“What do you mean?”

”On Titan. You said that I wouldn’t disappear because I wasn’t…chosen.”

”That is correct.”

”No, I mean-what did you mean by that? Because Thanos said that it would be…random. ‘Fair’ to rich and poor alike, which...just…was it a choice? Or was it random?”

She didn’t say anything. Not at first. She lowered her head a bit and took a breath and Tony watched her digest the question, watched her inky black eyes reflect, if that were possible. 

Finally, she looked back up, and Tony tried to match her intensity, but he found he didn’t have the strength to.

”My father is true to his word. He does what he says he will do. What he thinks is fair.”

Tony clenched his jaw and closed his eyes, feeling warmth run down his cheek.

”…What he thinks is fair.”

She blinked in place of a nod. Tony opened his eyes, staring at her blurry form in front of him.

“I have to believe he used the stones with this thought in mind. Though…”

Tony blinked away tears, leaning forward urgently.

”Though?”

She watched him for a moment, the grief of watching his son disappear in his arms still so raw and fresh on the man’s face that her stagnant, robotic façade gave way just slightly.

”…I also have to believe that he took joy in making those who stayed stay and those who vanished…vanish.”

He jolted, so suddenly that Nebula jolted, too. She leaned forward and watched him stand, forcing his chair to slide across the floor behind him. He swayed slightly, closing his eyes and making his way toward the cockpit of the ship.

”Where are you going?”

He heaved painful breaths, turning over his shoulder.

He looked in Thanos’s daughter’s eyes and all he could see was Thanos’s face, smiling as he pictured the image of Peter, Tony’s everything, slowly disappearing on an atomic scale. Tears in Peter’s eyes, a broken voice begging to say, a disappearing hand clinging to Tony in hopes that maybe he would stay alive.

He couldn’t blink the image away no matter how hard he tried.

Thanos, holding the six infinity stones, his face lined in pleasure when he snapped. 

Thanos killed his son. 

On purpose. With satisfaction. With a smile.

He turned back over his shoulder and continued his walk to the head of the ship.

🕷⎊🕷

“This thing on?”

He tapped the light of his helmet’s eyes, and sighed, leaning back against the metal wall of the ship.

”Hey, Miss Potts.”

In his malnourished, depressed, broken state, he half-hoped to get some kind of reply. He exhaled at the lack of one, avoiding looking out the window at the void of space before him.

He didn’t know where to start, what to say. Maybe that he wasn’t who he used to be anymore, which was the biggest understatement in the world but it was all he knew. 

He couldn’t say that Peter was gone. He hadn’t said it out loud yet.

”…I don’t know if you’re ever gonna see these. I don’t even know if you’re still…”

He swallowed thickly, knowing full well that he had nothing to vomit inside of him but that his body would find a way.

”Oh, God, I hope so.”

Inevitably, his gaze drifted out the window at the endless sea of stars outside, the endless abyss of cold and dark.

Sometimes, he wondered if Peter’s ashes drifted above Titan’s weak atmosphere, wondered if they were floating with the stars Tony was staring at.

“Today’s day…twenty-two.”

He would laugh if he could. 

Twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three. It didn’t matter.

Nothing mattered. Time was empty. Meaningless. Lonely.

It revolved around the last time he held him, the last time he heard his voice. Peter’s death was a marker in his timeline now, the point at which everything would orbit until he died, too.

He rested his head against the wall again, staring back up at the ceiling of the cockpit.

If he lost his mind enough, he could see a baby’s crib mobile hanging from the ceiling, could see those glow-in-the-dark stars he had stuck to Peter’s bedroom ceiling when he was six years old. 

He never got to buy Peter a crib mobile. He never got to hold him as a baby, never got to experience the euphoria of your child’s hand being small enough to fit around the tip of your finger. 

“Blue Meanie back there has been taking care of my infection,” he suddenly supplied, the thought of Peter as a baby in his arms enough to paralyze him. “So, I’d say its just about run its course.”

He breathed out a small laugh. Not so much a laugh as a scoff, because he was finding more and more that he didn’t have the strength to laugh or emote or even cry.

“Oh, you’d love her.”

He wasn’t sure if he was talking to Pepper or Peter. Maybe both, maybe no one.

“Very practical. Only a tiny bit sadistic.”

He decided then that Peter would have loved Nebula. He would’ve played cards or paper football with her on their intergalactic ride home, would’ve listened to her stories, as dark as they were, would’ve helped with ship repairs and bounced around the walls despite the rapidly declining oxygen.

Right. Oxygen. He should probably tell Pepper about the oxygen.

“…So…the fuel cells were cracked during battle and we figured out a way to reduce the ion charge. Bought ourselves about forty-eight hours of flight time. Uh, but it’s now dead in the water.”

There was irony in his every word now. He was dead in the water, too, a corpse still churning out raspy breaths and desolate words.

“…Oxygen will run out tomorrow morning…and that’ll be it.”

It was more of a prayer than a statement. Everything felt like a prayer now. A prayer that either Peter would round the corner and start talking like he’d never left, or that Tony would finally die, finally breathe his last breath.

Suddenly, every memory was more intense than ever before. Memories he didn’t usually think about, things he certainly didn’t think twice about in the moment.

Ignoring patrol reports. Not asking how school was. Insisting the pop culture references would cease to occur.

What he wouldn't give...

I love you.

I don’t know what’s happening.

I’m sorry.

“…I lost him, Pep.”

The confession was nothing but a whisper on pale lips, nothing but a repetition of what he was already painfully aware of.

Nothing he hadn’t spent the past sixteen years trying to avoid with his life. 

Grief. Small caskets. A yearning to lie down and die next to him.

”…It looks like…well, you know what it looks like.”

He released a shaky exhale and heard a voice echo in his head. Suddenly, he was on the Tower rooftop sitting next to Peter, watching an evening breeze pass through his curls, watching youthful eyes reflect tearfully.

When I was in that cell, I couldn’t feel any people.

He numbly redirected his gaze to the window of stars next to him.

All I could feel was ocean. Ocean for thousands of miles in every direction. No people, no buildings…just water. Pitch black water everywhere.

He didn’t think he had the strength or tears to cry, but suddenly he was. He hadn’t fully cried yet, had only let tears fall and let a lump rise in his throat. He hadn’t wept yet, hadn’t screamed at the sky or clawed at his hair as much as he wanted to.

I felt…so…

He felt the light of his helmet on him. Before, it was as faint as the distant stars outside, but now, it was blinding.

Suddenly, speaking was too impossible. Too unbearable. Too nauseating.

Pepper was watching. He couldn’t do this while Pepper was watching.

Lonely.

“I’m gonna lie down.”

His own words were deafening. He leaned forward and cupped the face of his helmet, mimicking the feeling of Pepper’s warmth, Peter’s smile.

He hoped when he lied down, he didn't get back up.

He didn’t want to. He didn’t want to open his eyes ever again, didn’t want to take another step, didn’t want to go home to the Tower alone and have to face Peter’s things or his bedroom or his absence.

He lightly tapped the helmet, the clink of the metal echoing in the cockpit.

”One of two,” he whispered.

He used to say that Pepper and Peter were his two, his heart and soul, his everything.

He’d lost one of two.

And he used to think that, in some unthinkable scenario where he lost his one of two like he had now, as long as he had the other, he would stay alive. He would be okay eventually.

But he lost Peter.

He would never live again without Peter.

He turned off the switch behind the helmet and slept.

🕷⎊🕷

Tony woke to the sound of Peter crying.

He was lurching out of his bed in a heartbeat and stumbling blindly down the hall before he knew any better, guided only by Peter’s voice and the faint sound of Jarvis speaking to him.

He finally arrived in Peter’s room, pausing for a moment in the threshold as he stared at the bed.

His eight-year-old kid was still asleep.

He was crying…in his sleep.

Tony’s heart jolted and he rushed forward, taking Peter’s shoulders. 

“Kid, wake up.”

Peter didn't at first. Tony cursed under his breath, cupping Peter’s face and wiping away tears and curls.

”C’mon, baby, wake up.”

Finally, the kid’s eyes opened, glassy and exhausted. 

“Mom?”

Tony’s heart broke.

Three years later, his kid still woke up and asked for her.

”Dad. Sorry to disappoint.”

Peter blinked away confusion when his eyes landed on Tony’s, staring up at him longingly. He released a shaky breath, wiping away his own tears in embarrassment.

”…Did I wake you up?”

”No, no. Don’t be ridiculous. Scoot over.”

Peter numbly did as he was told. Tony swung his legs over the bed and took Peter under his arm, words soothing.

”It’s okay. It’s over.”

Peter finally curled into Tony’s side after a moment of hesitation and embarrassment, his lip quivering.

”’M sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you up. ‘M sorry.”

”Hey,” Tony said, craning his head downward and running his fingers through Peter’s hair.

”You didn’t do anything wrong. Nothing.”

Peter didn't nod or show that he understood, not that Tony expected him to. They were the same like that. Never admitting defeat or asking for help or showing weakness.

But Tony found out over the years that Peter was braver than him in that regard. He didn’t keep such a tight leash on his pride like Tony always did, wasn’t afraid in the right scenario to have someone else kiss his wounds and wipe blood off of his face.

When Peter was eight, of course, Tony didn’t have to worry about that.

Instead, he took Peter tighter in his arms, listening to quiet sniffles and peaceful breathing.

🕷⎊🕷

Nebula found him on the floor of the cockpit.

She stood in place for a moment staring at him, wondering if he still had a pulse, if he even wanted to be revived.

She stepped forward and knelt down, turning him over on his back. His head lolled to the side and she stared at him in full.

Pale skin clung to his bones. His brow was permanently scrunched in pain, his shirt covered in black smudges and grease from the ship repairs.

She wondered if any normal human would have so rapidly declined in health, or if he was merely a victim of paralyzing grief.

She took pity on him. She wished her father had been even a fraction as caring.

She placed two hands under his arms and dragged him to Quill’s old seat. 

She adjusted him in a half-hearted attempt to make sure he was comfortable, but she knew there was no comfort, no softening the blow of waking up and remembering.

She wondered for a moment if he forgot in his sleep. If sleep was peaceful, ignorantly blissful.

But one look at his face told her all she needed to know.

Tony would live in the grief of Peter’s death forever. 

His eyes slowly fluttered open and she froze, staring into bloodshot, jaundiced eyes. 

He looked at her and his face softened into something unfamiliar. Unfamiliar to ever be directed toward her in any capacity, in any scenario.

Adoration. Unconditional love. Breathlessness.

”Peter?”

She blinked.

He must have been really losing his mind then, because she was a blue cyborg with black eyes and she didn’t have hair and she remembered that Peter had curls and brown eyes and a warm smile and big ears.

But a silhouette was a silhouette, she deduced, and the bright stars and arms of the galaxy behind her, alongside three weeks of mourning and starvation, probably clouded his judgment more than hers.

”You were on the floor.”

Her voice was foreign in his ears but he closed his eyes in content at the sound, the most subtle of smiles gracing his face. She wondered if his grief was distorting everything around him, turning her voice into his son’s, turning the cold cockpit of the Milano into his home.

”Thanks.”

She bowed her head and sat on the ground next to him. He tiredly lifted a hand and held it open, waiting. She stiffened for a moment but eventually caught on, slowly raising her hand and placing it in his.

Even in his weak state, he took her hand in his, squeezed it, brushed the pad of his thumb across it.

”I’m…”

She watched him patiently, though she was unable to conceal her anticipation, the way she leaned forward quizzically as he stared at her hand and fumbled for the right words, if there were any.

”…I’m sorry, kid.”

She tensed, looking down at her lap. 

She closed her eyes. If Tony could imagine that she was Peter…maybe she could, for one ignorant moment, pretend that Tony was her father. Not Thanos, specifically, but…a father. Any father would do.

“I’m sorry I didn’t…didn’t protect you. I…it’s all my fault. I hurt you.”

She opened her eyes and faced him and, despite herself, despite what she knew about herself her entire life, she believed him.

His next words were a fierce whisper, full of heartbreak and regret and love.

”I love you, Peter.”

Her next words were a whisper, too.

”…I love you too.”

🕷⎊🕷

When the doors of the Milano opened, Tony wanted to fall apart. 

Hands were taking him and leading him down the ramp. Urgent, worried, fearful.

They were all choking on ash. Buried alive in it. Walking with it practically smeared on their faces. 

Tony lifted his head tiredly. He knew who was guiding him, but meeting his eyes was still just as intense, just as heart-stopping.

Steve’s brows were permanently pinched together in concern, scanning him up and down.

Tony opened his mouth to say something. Steve was already looking around for any sign of someone else, and Tony didn’t think he could stomach telling anyone yet. 

He wasn’t sure what he would say.

Dead was too…dead. Gone wasn’t strong enough.

His lips parted. He wondered, very briefly, if he had been dusted after all because certainly, this had to be hell.

”I lost him.”

Steve stared at him for a moment in dread, Tony’s words only confirming what he already feared to be true.

”…Tony, we lost.”

He felt something spark in his chest. Maybe it was anger, but he wasn’t quite sure he was strong enough for that emotion yet.

He wasn't strong enough for anything until he had an answer to his burning question.

”Is, um…”

Pepper ran up to him and paused for a moment, scanning him up and down frantically, tearfully. He physically deflated in relief when he caught a glimpse through blurry eyes of strawberry blonde hair, of a familiar cardigan and a familiar scent.

”Oh, my god,” she breathed out. Tony melted in her arms, melted at the sound of her voice, as heartbroken as it was. She took fistfuls of his shirt, cradled his head in her hand, breathed into his ear, and he broke.

She pulled out of the hug in concern, cupping Tony's neck.

"Tony..."

Tony weakly made eye contact, and his eyes held everything she needed to know, held enough for her to bring a hand to her mouth in horror.

He opened his mouth to say something again.

But there was nothing to say.

🕷⎊🕷

Thanos did exactly what he said he was gonna do.

Fifty percent of all living creatures. Wiped out. 

Infrastructures and world governments were apparently in shambles.

Tony hadn’t thought about that when he was in space, but for some reason, it made him laugh to himself when he heard it.

A table in the center of the room projected the faces of the vanished. People unaccounted for, people that disappeared without a trace.

Nick Fury. Scott Lang. Sam Wilson. James Barnes.

May Parker.

He closed his eyes and swallowed around a lump in his throat.

Every last Parker, gone as if they’d never existed.

They flashed across the screen one second and disappeared the next.

Tony was too tired to acknowledge the irony.

He looked up from his hand, knowing that on one of the projections, on one of those thousands of profiles flashing across in the blink of an eye, Peter would be there.

And he was. Tony visibly stilled when he saw the photo.

Brown eyes and curly hair with the faintest hint of a smile. His name. His age. His location of disappearance.

Tony didn’t know how on Earth anyone was still breathing, didn’t know how the planet was still orbiting the sun.

He didn’t understand why no one else was screaming at the sky and swallowing down vomit at the idea of Peter ever being considered missing or vanished or…

”Where is he now?”

He was surprised he could speak. His voice was small, barely audible if the room hadn’t been silent and full of mourning.

”We don’t know,” Steve supplied tiredly. “He just…opened a portal and walked through. We’ve been hunting Thanos for three weeks now. Deep space scans and…and satellites. We got nothin’.”

Tony heaved a heavy sigh and closed his eyes, the beat of his heart suddenly so deafening in his ears that he brought a hand to his forehead with a grimace.

”Tony,” Steve started cautiously. “You fought him.”

Tony lifted his head fast, so fast that his vision swam for a second. He placed a hand on his chest and leaned forward.

”Who…told you that?”

The group all stilled at the venom laced in his voice, all stared at him in pity. 

“I didn’t fight him. There was no…there was no fight. He wiped my face with a planet and then he killed Peter.”

He paused, staring ahead blankly as he reflected, remembered. 

Dead was too dead. Gone wasn’t strong enough. 

“…The Bleaker Street magician gave away the store. That’s what happened. There was no fight because he’s…unbeatable.”

”…Did he give you any clue? Any coordinates? Anything?”

Tony scoffed and lowered his head.

Looking around the room at the people around him, he had a sudden memory from three years prior at a certain base in Sokovia.

Wanda had put him in a trance, had made him see the unthinkable.

Steve, Natasha, Thor, Bruce, Clint…all of them, dead on a foreign planet, staring lifelessly from a pile of galactic rubble.

And at the top of the rubble was Peter, fourteen years old, blood dripping down his chin, vacant eyes open.

Dead.

He knew then that that vision wasn’t a vision at all, but a prophecy. Earth’s mightiest heroes weren’t dead, but they might as well have been. They were all corpses taking up space and hiking through an endless mountain of ash in this new world, this world without Bucky, without Sam, without T’Challa, without Maria Hill.

Without Peter.

He knew then that the galactic rubble he had hallucinated was actually just the dust of their loved ones. That the real horror wasn’t dying, but living.

”I had a vision,” Tony muttered out numbly. He stared ahead and could sense Steve lean forward urgently, impatiently.

”Tony…Tony, I’m sorry, but…we need you to focus. Just for a minute.”

”And I needed you.”

He raised his jaw and stared up at Steve from his wheelchair, the mere sight of him making his blood boil and his heart race and his eyes burn.

”As in past tense.”

He stood and stumbled in a daze, staring down at his arm.

Needles. Wires. The IV next to him.

He wanted to hurl. It was so pointless.

He ripped them out and felt rough, scolding hands take his shoulders. He shook them off weakly and somehow managed to close the distance between himself and Steve, standing mere inches from his face.

He raised a trembling hand to his chest and with all of the strength he had left, he ripped off his arc reactor. He felt everyone’s eyes widen around him, sensed speechlessness and horror at the action.

”I don’t need this anymore,” he whispered, forcing it into Steve’s hands. Steve took it like a bomb, staring at Tony with wide, worried eyes.

”There had to have been some sort of…of energy pulsation when he used the stones on Earth. Right?”

The raccoon in the corner perked up at that. 

Until that exact second, Tony thought he was a Build-a-Bear.

”Unlike any we’ve ever seen before.”

Tony nodded vacantly, looking up at Steve and shoving the arc reactor further into his hands, the same one Steve had plunged his shield into two years before.

”Then you find out if he’s used them again. Track the pattern. And then you, Mister Good and Righteous…”

Tony paused, staring darkly up into Steve’s eyes as Rhodey took his shoulders from behind. 

“…You can use the stones and bring everyone back. Be the hero everyone likes to think you are.”

Steve’s mouth parted numbly in surprise. Tony released a shaky exhale and jolted suddenly, nearly falling if it weren’t for Rhodey keeping him upright.

”Tony…” Steve started, fumbling for the right thing to say, the right words if any even existed.

Tony stared at him with a clenched jaw and seething eyes, unable to hide the tears spilling over his eyes or the pure devastation in his every breath.

Finally, Steve closed his eyes and swallowed, taking Tony’s shoulder.

”…I’m so…so sorry, Tony.”

Tony closed his eyes, too.

He had no idea.

None of them. None of them were there, none of them had to turn over their shoulder and see their son stumble desperately forward, disappear atom by atom, use his last breath to apologize.

Tony opened his mouth to say something else, but as his vision swam and his limbs went numb, he found himself falling into someone’s arms, succumbing to unconsciousness.

🕷⎊🕷

He woke up in a medbay bed sometime later.

There was no telling how much later. All he remembered was that at some point in his sleep, someone woke him and told him that they were going to find Thanos and reverse the snap.

But they had failed.

Tony remembered the information making him numb, along with the sedatives, before darkness consumed everything around him.

And all he knew now was that Pepper was sitting at his bedside staring down at her hands nervously.

His finger twitched at his side. Her head snapped up at the gesture, eyes searching his feverishly, frantically.

”You’re awake.”

He closed his eyes. He didn’t want to be.

He must have been sedated, because he was experiencing the first ounce of relief since he lost Peter. Not completely relieved, not completely forgetful because that would never change. He would always remember, always be aware that Peter wouldn’t round the corner or be at his bedside or swing past his window again.

But when he was sedated, he was just…numb. Fully aware that his son was dead, but too numb to do anything about it, to cry, to mourn.

”How are you feeling?”

He swallowed thickly and stared up at the ceiling.

”…I can’t feel anything.”

She stiffened a bit, leaning forward and squeezing Tony’s hand.

“Can you feel my hand?”

He closed his eyes.

She didn’t understand.

They’d all lost someone, but no one quite understood. 

He could feel a blanket draped over him, a pillow underneath his head, a cold hand wrapped around his, Pepper’s frantic gaze on him.

But he couldn’t feel.

Anything.

”Tony.”

He tilted his head to face her, blinking at her tiredly. She froze under his stare, froze as she studied the bags under his eyes and cuts on his face and the desire to stop living that was wafting off of him.

He closed his eyes again and turned his back to her, lying on his side with his eyes closed.

He couldn’t feel anything.

🕷⎊🕷

2018-2019: YEAR ONE

Tony thought back to the night before Titan a lot.

The kid had nagged him about signing his permission slip for his field trip to MoMA. Pepper was on the way home with takeout. Tony was conspiring with May and secretly planning on picking out a cat for the kid’s birthday on his Stark pad. 

Life was good. Suspiciously good, and Tony regretted not cherishing that night more, regretted swatting the kid away and telling him he was being a brat.

It was a joke, of course, and the Stark household conveyed love through jokes, but now, as Tony reflected over the years, he wished he would’ve been more vulnerable, more serious when it came to showing how much Peter meant to him.

He’d been standing in the doorway for an hour.

Peter’s doorway. Peter’s bedroom. Peter’s things.

He stared at the room vacantly, analyzing every neglected t-shirt and pair of jeans wrinkled on the floor, every sheet of homework on the desk, every picture frame.

Tony lived with Peter's ghost now. Every day was like a dance through an unbearable memory lane, the halls of the Tower and the kitchen and the living room now nothing but an echo.

Everything was an echo. Everything was the aftermath.

Walking into the kitchen was Hey, kid! Dinner's almost ready.

Walking into the living room was What do you say we order a pizza and binge somethin' good?

Walking down the halls was I've got you. I've got you. You're alright.

Walking into his room was This can be your room.

He wondered if this was what it felt like to disappear, to crumble away on an atomic scale. 

He wondered every day if Peter felt pain when he was going.

He finally took a step inside of the room, immediately floored by his scent, his warmth. He closed his eyes and breathed in deep, basking in the feeling.

Everything about the room was untouched, just as Peter had left it that night before. 

He reached a hand up and wiped at his face, unsurprised to find fresh tears there. 

Slowly, cautiously, he walked over to Peter’s bed and sat on the edge of it, looking up and around the room with a warm feeling of nostalgia. 

We can put your things in here. Spice the joint up. Maybe add some paint, color, toy bins...

He reached over and opened the drawer of Peter’s nightstand, staring down inside with a clenched jaw.

Sleeping gummies. Headphones. A book he never started. A bag of Skittles.

He frowned when he spotted something familiar.

Peter’s watch. The one he wore on Homecoming night. 

The screen was broken and small grains of sand were wedged between the cracks. A small drop of dried blood stained the corner. 

He slowly pressed the on-button on the side. A low battery symbol flashed on the screen.

His heart lurched.

Please...please don’t watch it. At least not right now.

...I won't, kid.

🕷⎊🕷

He plugged the watch into a computer in the lab downstairs.

There was only one file on it, one recording spanning over an hour and a half long.

All that was left to do was press the play button.

But he was living with Peter's ghost now, always and forever. Living with his words, living with his memories.

Please don't watch the recording on my watch. Please.

He took in a shaky inhale and turned his head to the window overlooking the city at night.

Memories of Homecoming night came flooding back with a vengeance. Seeing that plane blaze across the horizon, blasting home with his heart in his throat, arriving home only to see that he'd already failed.

Blood. Bruises. Tears. Sand.

Peter!

Can you hear me, kid?

I'm so sorry.

At some point, he had reached forward and pressed play. 

🕷⎊🕷

Several hours later, Tony distantly heard Pepper’s voice filter through the lab.

He stared at a now-black laptop screen through blurry vision. He sat numbly and he wasn’t entirely sure if his heart was even still beating anymore.

”Tony? Honey, are you down here?”

He saw her descend the stairs into the lab in his peripheral, saw her pause upon spotting him before she rushed forward frantically.

”Hey, look at me.”

He couldn’t. He couldn’t do anything anymore. He didn't even know how he was still breathing.

I'll kill you and everyone you love. I'll kill you dead.

Someone, please! I’m stuck down here!

Hey there, Pedro.

Frantic hands cupped his face and forced eye contact. He blankly stared up at Pepper, watched her scan him up and down worriedly.

”Tony, what did you…”

Her gaze trailed down to the cracked watch sitting beside the computer, a cable connecting them. She stared at the screen, a replay symbol illuminating the center.

Understanding slowly sunk in. She sucked in a breath and brought a hand to her mouth.

I don’t care that your father is Tony Stark. I’ll kill him in front of you.

Just a typical homecoming…on the outside of an invisible jet…fighting my girlfriend’s dad.

Your wingsuit is gonna explode!

He felt a sharp pain run through his back and up his shoulders, felt an ache in his chest where his heart was. 

He wasn’t sure when, but at some point, he had started hyperventilating.

It was like every other panic attack he’d ever experienced but heightened by a million, his lungs so constricted he was sure they would collapse at any second.

Pepper was consoling him with trembling hands. She was nearly hyperventilating, too.

”Friday, call Helen.”

That sharp pain returned in his heart again with a vengeance and he doubled over, Pepper barely catching him as he spilled onto the floor.

She was crying. She was wiping away fresh tears, begging him to stay awake, to stay alive.

Tony wanted to comfort her, but that sharp pain stabbed at his chest once more and he closed his eyes.

She deserved better.

🕷⎊🕷

He wasn’t expecting to see Rhodey at his bedside when he came to, but he didn’t mind.

He felt guilt twinge at his chest at the relief of not seeing Pepper. He wanted her, needed her to survive, but he wasn’t strong enough for her, and he couldn’t keep expecting her to be strong enough for the both of them.

Rhodey leaned forward as he watched Tony stir.

”Hey, man.”

Tony released a tired sigh, immediately grimacing at the ache in his chest.

He frowned for a moment, finally finding it in him to maintain eye contact.

”Your little heart attack there nearly gave all of us one, too.”

Tony blinked.

A heart attack.

He thought that that was what he’d been experiencing ever since Peter vanished. Memories, regret, and grief had been attacking his heart for weeks now, but to actually have a real heart attack felt…wrong.

”Is…Is Pepper…”

”She’s fine,” Rhodey interrupted, crossing one leg over the other. “A little shaken. Worried, just like the rest of us.”

Tony blinked in place of a nod and stared up at the ceiling with an arm draped over his middle. He felt Rhodey lean forward, but all he heard was that recording, all he saw was the fire on the beach and the rubble of Toomes’ warehouse.

“Tones, why’d you watch that recording?”

He closed his eyes.

He wasn’t entirely sure himself. Maybe because he was becoming more and more desensitized, losing more and more feeling.

Listening to voicemails, watching old patrol reports, finding that watch…it was Tony’s saving grace and his slow killer all at once. The car crash he couldn’t look away from, the scab he couldn’t stop picking at.

He remembered thinking that it was pleasure-pain at first, but it wasn’t. He didn’t have pleasure in the slightest.

”Because I had to.”

Rhodey leaned back with a clenched jaw and watched him carefully. Tony maintained eye contact again, waiting for the lecture.

He wondered distantly if this was how Peter felt every time he woke up after a Spider-Man-related injury and saw Tony staring daggers into his soul.

“…Tony.”

”Rhodey, please.”

“You’re on a psych hold.”

Tony stilled at that, sitting up slightly more as he stared ahead at his best friend though the words didn’t bring any surprise in the slightest, would’ve made him laugh if he had it in him.

”A psych hold?” he repeated, more of a statement than a question. 

“Nicer way of saying suicide watch, but yeah. A psych hold, Tony. Do you get that?”

He said nothing, slowly blinking and deflating back a bit into his pillow.

”…You gave yourself a heart attack, man.”

”I didn’t do it on purpose.”

”You knew what was on that recording and you watched it anyway,” Rhodey snapped, and Tony once again sort of appreciated that it was him rather than anyone else.

Rhodey, of all people, would give it to him straight no matter the circumstances.

”Knowing you have a heart condition and that you’ve been in grief for weeks now. You watched that shit anyway. So, yeah, you gave yourself a heart attack.”

He closed his eyes and remembered the sound of Peter’s voice on that watch, remembered listening to him in the car with Toomes and in that warehouse and on the plane.

Bet you were glad when your old pal Spider-Man showed up, huh?

What are you talking about?! Those things didn’t even touch me!

Weren't really trying to, Pete.

Rhodey was holding his hand now with an iron grip. 

He felt warmth run down his face and understood why.

“Tones…if you keep this up, man, you’re gonna have to be hospitalized.”

”I already am.”

”You know damn well what I mean.”

He felt an uncomfortable lump rise in his throat and released a shaky exhale. Rhodey squeezed his hand as if he could sense Tony’s thoughts.

I can’t feel…anything.

“I’m sorry,” Rhodey whispered, and Tony closed his eyes again, felt such a fierce heartbreak pierce his chest and run through his veins but couldn’t do anything to emote it, to convey it.

”I’m so fucking sorry.”

He felt sedatives overwhelm him and it became harder to open his eyes.

Or maybe it was the grief.

He couldn’t tell anymore.

🕷⎊🕷

Tony didn’t really celebrate Christmas before Peter. 

He almost forgot to celebrate it at all the first year he had the kid if it wasn’t for Rhodey asking what he was getting him for the holiday. That same day, he’d gone out and bought as many decorations and lights and bows as he could.

He knew nothing about Mary, didn’t even know if they celebrated Christmas. Nonetheless, it was the greatest decision he ever made by instilling tradition into the kid’s head.

It was their holiday. They each set up small trees in their rooms and a big one in the living room. They would pull out Pepper’s fleece blankets and throw them on the couch, drink hot chocolate out of a set of hand-painted polar bear mugs and lean into each other’s warmth.

He contemplated decorating at all this year.

He knew he couldn’t. He had hauled one of the several bins of decorations from the lab and set it in the living room, Peter’s handwriting reading “X-Mas” on the lid. But even still, he knew he didn’t have the mental capacity to even open the box or set up a tree himself or hang ornaments on the branches.

Instead, he busied himself in the kitchen and thought about it dizzily. At some point, he had started robotically scrambling eggs, depositing them next to a full plate of bacon.

He heard his bedroom door click down the hall from the kitchen. Eventually, Pepper was in the kitchen, wrapping her robe around her waist hastily and squinting under the light.

”Tony? What’re you doin’ up?”

”Cooking.”

Pepper stepped forward until her hand was on Tony’s shoulder and she watched him mechanically crack three more eggs into a frying pan. Her gaze trailed cautiously to the full plate of bacon and eggs already sitting next to the stove. 

“…Cooking?”

”Yep.”

Pepper chewed on her lip anxiously, bringing a hand up to brush Tony’s hair.

”Maybe you should give it a rest. It’s dark out. We can save this for the morning.”

”Eggs go bad.”

”The bacon will be fine. And I’ll make more eggs. Come on, come to bed.”

He stayed where he was, staring vacantly at the stove as he stirred the eggs with a spatula. Pepper closed her eyes in defeat, pressing a kiss on Tony’s cheek.

”…I’ll be in our room.”

Pepper made her way out of the kitchen slowly, pausing for a moment to stare at the box of decorations in the living room.

She made a mental note to call Helen in the morning before she went back to bed.

🕷⎊🕷

He couldn’t put up the decorations with the house looking the way it did.

He had a blue bucket full of soapy water with a rag inside and a basket of cleaning products on the floor as he stared at the expanse of untidiness sprawled across the living room.

It was a mess. It was trashed, picture frames and blankets and Peter’s sweaters and empty glasses of booze scattered everywhere.

It was a perfect painting of Tony’s world now. Peter’s memory, Peter’s absence, Tony’s way of coping. 

He used to go through life thinking he had two objectives: to be known and to cope.

Now, he wished for nothing more than to disappear without a trace. But he couldn’t, and his only way of coping now was walking through life drunk or picking at scabs.

He picked up an empty glass from off of the floor, kneeling where they usually put up the Christmas tree. Photos were scattered all over the floor.

This was his process now. Drink, relish in the past, clean, repeat.

He cherished the photos more than anything, stared at them like they were his fuel to get through every day. Everyone told him that they were doing the opposite, that they only intensified Tony's grief, but he didn't care.

He picked up the first one. A photo of Peter at ten years old, sitting on the ground smiling. He remembered that day, remembered that they had spent Peter's tenth birthday in the hospital with his asthma and had to celebrate it on another day. 

He brushed his thumb across it fondly before reaching for another one.

When Tony and Peter went out, they usually tried their best to disguise themselves from the paparazzi. At some point, they both knew that there was no escaping them, so Tony usually opted for a ball cap and glasses and Peter opted for nothing but his usual self.

Tony's heart swelled the more he stared at the paparazzi photo of him and Peter walking, Tony's hand hovering above Peter's head. He remembered that moment perfectly, remembered mocking Peter for being short. 

He wondered if Peter knew he wasn't making fun of him at all, but cherishing the feeling of Peter being small, small enough to ride on Tony's shoulders or on his back or rest in his arms on the couch at home.

He blinked away tears and reached for the third one.

Rhodey was the one that took most of their photos, and this one was one of Tony's favorites. He'd had it framed when he saw it on Rhodey's phone.

The three of them had been working in the lab all day that day, so much so that Pepper and Happy ended up bringing pizza downstairs to them. Family dinners never took place in the dining room.

Tony missed that.

He sighed as he stared at the photo of Peter wrapping his arms around Tony's neck, the two of them smiling at something Pepper and Happy were saying after having finished eating. 

He closed his eyes and took a composing breath before he looked down at the last photo.

He knew which one it was. He wasn't sure if he adored it or resented it.

Peter in Ben Parker's arms. Ben feeding his kid before Tony even knew him, before Mary gave him that right.

He had to remind himself every now and then that Mary did what she thought was right.

But god, for the last three years, he'd hated her.

He never got to hold his kid like that, never got to rock him when he cried or place him in a crib or hear his first words or help him take his first steps.

He didn't pick that picture up, didn't think he had the strength to. Instead, he picked up the empty glass on the floor and stared at the photos for a moment.

He took in a shaky inhale and his gaze locked on the box of Christmas decorations across the room, unopened.

He could see it so clearly.

Peter, running into the room when he was younger with his Santa hat covering his eyes. Peter, trying to build the tree all by himself but his arms were too small so he had to sit on Tony’s shoulders. Peter, perfectly arranging the cookies on the red plate for Santa.

A gasp from behind him yanked him out of the memory so quickly that his heart skipped a beat.

”Tony!”

He turned over his shoulder to look up at Pepper, unsurprised when he had to blink the blurriness out of his eyes.

He was, however, surprised when he followed Pepper’s wide-eyed gaze on his hand.

The empty glass of booze he had been picking up on the floor was in pieces now, a few shards still held tightly in his grip. He let his fingers relax, blood gushing out of his palm and dripping onto the floor. A few drops landed on the photos.

”Oh, god,” Pepper breathed out, kneeling on the ground beside him. She took his hand frantically in both of hers, hissing with a grimace as she took in the extent of the injury. 

“Friday, call Helen. Jesus, Tony, you’re gonna need stitches.”

He didn’t answer her, didn’t even make any indication that he was in pain. Her head snapped up to look at him, wide eyes searching his frantically.

”Tony? Does it hurt?”

He stared down at his blood-soaked hand in Pepper’s and thought back to the day he found out Peter was Spider-Man, remembering the same numb feeling of looking down at his hand covered in Peter’s blood, unsure if he would take another breath or see another day in his ocean of horror.

He was always covered in Peter’s blood, always choking on his ashes.

He lost consciousness before he could give Pepper an answer.

🕷⎊🕷

“Tony.”

His head lifted numbly at the echoing voice and he squinted tiredly, making out Helen, Rhodey, Happy, and Pepper sitting on the edge of their seats.

They were in the medbay. Luckily, his injury wasn’t deadly enough to warrant a hospital bed, but he sat on the edge of an examination table under the stares of the only people he had left anyway, all bouncing their legs and leaning forward.

Hair neat, shoulders tense, faces urgent.

He frowned in confusion and looked down at his hand.

It was wrapped extensively in white bandages, a few spots of blood peaking through the cloth. He numbly looked back up at them and waited for something, anything.

”We think…” Pepper cleared her throat, summoning all of the strength she had to maintain eye contact. “We think maybe it would be best if…if you were admitted, Tony.”

Tony blinked slowly, his gaze trailing slowly toward Rhodey and Happy sitting next to her. 

They both stared at the floor gravely, their jaws clenched. Helen cleared her throat, too, taking in a composing inhale.

”Tony, you have post-traumatic stress disorder, post-traumatic delirium, possible cardiomyopathy, severe depression, among several other things…and we all think it’s no longer in your best interest to keep…to keep going on the way that you are.”

Pepper lowered her head at that, her hands wringing together nervously.

”…I don't...” Tony started quietly, unsure if anyone even heard him. “I’m not…I don’t need…I cut my hand.”

”You cut your hand deep cleaning the living room, Tony. That’s the fifth time you’ve trashed and cleaned it this week.”

”Because it keeps getting dirty.”

"You cut your hand on a booze glass during a disassociative episode."

"It wasn't a disassociative episode, alright? I'm not disassociating. I'm painfully aware of the present."

”What about the Christmas decorations?” Rhodey added, leaning forward and searching Tony’s eyes for an answer. “Pep called me, man. And I saw the box when I came over the other day. You took the Christmas decorations out from the lab and hauled them up the stairs by yourself.”

”To put them up.”

”Tony,” Happy whispered, his eyes closed. “Tony, it’s September.”

Tony blinked, his lips parted numbly. He stared at the ground for a moment, his gaze returning to Pepper as she watched him from her seat.

He wanted to say something, anything to assure her he was okay, that she didn't need to worry because God knew she deserved better and he couldn't lose anyone else.

But she stared at him sadly, defeatedly, and she couldn't seem to compose herself anymore, couldn't seem to mask how utterly broken-hearted she was.

”…You were making breakfast in the middle of the night, Tony.”

He closed his eyes and let a tear run down his cheek, feeling their stares and their heartbreak and their grief.

"Even if it's just for a month," Helen chirped up, cautiously approaching him and placing a hand on his shoulder. "Even if it's not long. Just...say something, Tony. Say something and we can try to get you even relatively better than you are now."

He slowly brought his gaze up to meet hers as she stood next to the examination table, staring at her with his permanently bloodshot eyes.

His next words were a whisper, though the force of them was enough to break every adult in the room.

"...I killed Peter. How the hell do you get better after that?"

🕷⎊🕷

2019-2020: YEAR TWO

"Uh...Hey, Dad! So, I'm on my way home from patrol...just letting you know, I got pretty scraped up just now at a robbery...anyway. I guess you'll see in a sec. Love you, bye!"

"End of message."

Tony robotically pressed the replay button.

"Uh...Hey, Dad! So, I'm on my way home from patrol...just letting you know, I got pretty scraped up just now at a robbery...anyway. I guess you'll see in a sec. Love you, bye!"

"End of message."

He hesitated, scrolled, and clicked on a different one.

"Hey, uh...I might be a little late for dinner, I'm kinda bein' chased by a guy in some weird cheetah costume with these electric lasso thingies? Anyway, I promise I'll be home soon. I think he's just angry that I stopped him from killing an entire family on twenty-first street. Anyway, yeah. Gotta blast!"

"End of message."

He took a composing breath before clicking on one more with a longer time stamp.

"Dad, you're not gonna believe this! I just stopped some guy from stealing a bike in Queens and for the first time, like, ever, I found the original owner and returned it to them! And it was this really nice guy and he tipped me a hundred bucks! That's, like, insane! I mean, obviously, I don't-I don't expect tips, so it's just, like...yeah, it was super nice. And, like, you just don't expect the guy riding around on a bike to just hand out tips of a hundred bucks."

There was a shuffle and a laugh on the other line. Tony sucked in a breath.

"Shit, you're in a meeting right now. Sorry. Anyway, just-delete this. I'll see you at home, bye!"

"End of message."

He stared down at his screen blankly, blinking away blurriness in his vision as he read the date at the top of his phone.

Today was Peter's birthday.

He looked up and stared at the horizon.

The cabin he'd been staying in had been his for ten years. He hadn't stepped foot in it once since he bought it, hadn't even remembered he still owned it until he was going through old files and boxes and found the deed.

He remembered buying it with the intent of taking his kid down for camping trips, for sitting on the dock by the lake or actually getting to enjoy snow in a relaxing climate rather than the streets of New York.

But then Peter died.

Then, Tony was hospitalized from grief.

So, when he was released, he packed conservatively and moved into the cabin.

He sat in a rocking chair on the porch at five in the morning, wearing a sweater and a warm hat and a blanket as he stared out at the moon over the water and saw his breath billow out in front of him.

It was cold. Unusually cold for August.

That was one of the side effects of the stones, he had come to find. Thanos using the stones in Wakanda sent such a strong wave of energy pulsating throughout the Earth that the atmosphere was weakened and everything was suddenly so much colder, even in the summer.

It was fitting, he remembered thinking.

The world was warmer with Peter. Colder without, because why wouldn't it be?

He turned off his phone and let it fall in his lap, the mug of coffee in his other hand keeping him warm.

Pepper was staying with him for the week. His relationships had become so distorted and vacant since Titan, as if things were happening in them that he didn't remember discussing.

At some point, he guessed, he and Pepper broke up. That, or there was an unspoken agreement while he was in the hospital. He assumed it was that he was so occupied with his grief, he couldn't give her the time and energy and love he used to every day.

But he did love her. More than anything, he loved her. He needed her to keep breathing.

But there wasn't any talk of a wedding anymore, and that was all he knew.

So she would stay the night sometimes. Make dinner for two. Sleep in his bed.

But then, she would go back to the city and only text every other day.

Rhodey checked on him the most. He stayed there in a guest room when Pepper wasn't there, kept him company.

He wasn't sure who they thought they were fooling.

Every day until he died, he was on suicide watch. The dinner and conversations and company were nice, but he knew.

...It was funny.

Two years ago, he had a fiance and a son.

Now, he had neither.

He heard her distantly. He heard the creak of old wood, heard her click the coffee pot on before she leaned against the door of the porch.

"Tony?"

He didn't say anything. The dim light of the porch illuminated him, and he knew she knew he was awake.

She suppressed a yawn and wrapped her cardigan around herself tighter with a shiver.

"What, uh..." she stepped forward after a moment until her hand was on his shoulder and her gaze was looking down on him quizzically. "What're we doin'?"

He thought for a moment in search of an answer for her.

That was another thing everyone tended to start doing with him. If he watched old patrol footage or listened to old voicemails or simply grieved by himself, people didn't yell at him anymore, didn't tell him to stop or warn him of a heart attack risk or tell him to stop picking the scab.

Now, it was okay, or sounds good, or we'll do it together.

"...Drinkin' coffee. Maybe watch the sunrise. And...voicemails."

She didn't say anything, searching before she located a second rocking chair.

She dragged it his way and sat herself beside him, staring out at the moon's reflection on the water.

"Sounds good."

He slowly rocked his chair with his foot on the ground and heaved a tired sigh. Pepper reached her hand over and wrapped it around his forearm.

"...I'm glad you're here."

Pepper turned toward him at that. Ever since he had been hospitalized, voicing his feelings had become a bit easier to do, didn't feel as pointless and stupid as it used to.

He used to think he didn't deserve to feel. Not if Peter didn't have that luxury anymore.

Part of him still thought it, still resented himself for feeling anything at all.

"I'm glad I'm here, too."

He closed his eyes and let his lips quirk in a small smile.

🕷⎊🕷

Rhodey and Happy were coming for dinner that night.

Tony robotically chopped celery and stared down at the cutting board as he remembered he wasn't cooking for one or two anymore, but for four.

Tony. Pepper. Happy. Rhodey.

Sometimes, he forgot they'd all lost a kid.

Peter was theirs. Of course, Tony didn't mind jokingly reasserting or reminding any of them that Peter was his and only his, but he couldn't ever just deny the simple fact that all four of them raised him, watched him grow up, kept a wallet-sized photo of him with them at all times.

He wanted to "celebrate" the day alone, wanted to reflect on past birthdays by himself and sleep off the tragedy of the day as much as he could.

Instead, he heaved a tired sigh and looked out the kitchen window.

The sun was out for the first time that day. Barely, but it was there. It shone pale through tree branches and oak leaves and did nothing to conceal the fact that it was too cold for early August but he didn't care.

Because at that moment, with the sun shining in just the right spot over by the garden next to the dock, he could envision it so perfectly.

Peter. Peter gardening, Peter sitting by that tree reading those books he never finished, Peter and Pepper, Peter and Ned.

He distantly heard Pepper call his name and wondered if it was part of the illusion.

He sucked in a breath and blinked away the blurriness in his eyes because still, after two years of living without Peter, two years of that terrible, constant awareness that he would never see him again, he could envision it so perfectly.

Hands took his shoulders. More voices filtered into his head, deeper and definitely not Pepper's. A familiar, sharp pain ran up his spine and through his shoulders, and suddenly, he was on the ground.

He blearily opened his eyes for a moment and met the eyes of Happy, Rhodey, and Pepper, all terrified and grave and heartbroken.

He felt them hover and closed his eyes, succumbing to his heart.

As much as it pained him to admit, he longed for the feeling of being halfway conscious and halfway paralyzed by a heart attack. For just a moment between life and death, he always swore he could see Peter hovering above him, too, holding his hand.

He wondered if they could see his smile when he finally blacked out.

🕷⎊🕷

Peter's absence had created a gaping, unfixable hole in Tony's chest.

At least, that's what he heard Helen tell Rhodey in the hallway upon waking.

When he actually found it in him to open his eyes, she was sitting by his bed with a clipboard in hand, her leg bouncing anxiously. He was happy to see her at his bedside despite being devastated that he woke at all. 

When she noticed him stir, she sent a reassuring smile before clearing her throat to speak.

"Today is Peter's birthday."

He blinked in surprise at the declaration, wincing slightly at the way her voice bounced around the walls. Eventually, he supplied a nod.

"Nineteen," Tony whispered. Helen released a shaky breath and nodded.

"Nineteen," she repeated softly.

The sedatives coursing through his veins didn't conceal the feeling of his heart breaking in the slightest.

"Reminders...they cause a lot of unwanted stress."

“I’m a reminder," he said quietly, directing his gaze ahead to the blinding white walls and breathing in the nauseating scent of hand sanitizer and antiseptics.

He'd been here before. When Peter was the one in the bed and Tony was the one in the chair.

He thought about that a lot, obviously wanting nothing more than to be the one hurt rather than Peter, and yet...he longed for those days of holding his kid's hand when he woke, comforting him, assuring him everything would be okay.

He liked to know he was needed. That even though Tony didn't know who Peter was for the first five years of his life, he could still nurture and protect and care for him.

I am not...going to bury my kid.

I can't watch you get hurt again.

Hey, kid, how're you feelin'?

"I understand that."

"No."

Her mouth rested in a thin line as she clutched her clipboard, staring at him blankly. He slowly, painfully made eye contact, bloodshot eyes making hers widen just slightly.

She didn't understand. She couldn't possibly understand.

No one did, no matter how much they wanted to. No one understood that Tony would sleep and hear Peter cry for him, hear him beg to stay. No one understood that Tony would walk through the Tower or the cabin Peter never stepped foot in and would suddenly get so overwhelmed by Peter's scent that he felt a rush to his heart and he'd wake in the medbay.

No one understood that Tony's very existence was a reminder.

A reminder that he'd lived, and Peter hadn't.

She lowered her head and stared at the words on her clipboard for a moment.

"There are support groups," she finally supplied, unclipping a pamphlet and tossing it onto Tony's mattress. He stared at it next to his hand, then glanced back up at her. "As surprising as it may sound, you're not the only parent that lost a kid in the snap. You could talk to people. To someone. Anyone."

He caught a glimpse of the name on the pamphlet.

A support group for bereaved parents. For parents whose kids were...murdered.

He lost the air in his lungs for a moment.

It was that same feeling of seeing Peter's photo flash on that table when he came back to Earth. That same horror upon hearing the suggestion of a memorial.

Peter's name should never be anywhere near the words "dead" or "vanished." Peter's name should never be near the words "memorial" or "funeral."

Tony's name should never be near the words "bereaved father" or "murdered kid."

"I'm not going to a support group."

"Tony, this isn't your choice."

He blinked. He'd never been told that before.

"Happy, Rhodey, Pepper...everyone lost someone. And then there's us. The ones who lived and have to deal with everything all the time. We have to stay alive. Especially you."

"...Why?"

"Because while you were out floating in space, we were here. Crying for you. Praying you were still breathing. Praying that you were...both...still breathing."

He closed his eyes.

Neither of them were breathing. Not Peter, not Tony.

"You have cardiomyopathy."

He opened his eyes and stared at her, trying to pretend he had a clue what the hell that meant.

"Oh," he breathed out quietly, his lip quirking in the smallest of smiles. "Didn't realize there was a medical term for locking up with a heart attack every five seconds."

She hummed, placing her clipboard on the edge of Tony's bed beside the pamphlet and crossing her hands.

"You think of Peter all the time. You think of him when he was alive, when he was just a few bedrooms down."

He stared at her with his breath held.

There he was thinking Rhodey was the one who gave it to him straight.

"And then...you remember he's dead. Your pressure rises, you get a rush of adrenaline to your heart...and then that's it. You end up here."

Tony swallowed thickly around a lump in his throat as he took in her every word. His eyes had closed again at some point, had overflowed with tears.

"Jesus Christ, Tony...he was your son, and then he was gone. Of course none of us understand."

He exhaled shakily, flinching as the sound echoed throughout the room and in his head.

"I could hospitalize you again. And I'm not...I'm not saying that as a threat. I could keep you here on a psych hold. Or..."

She cleared her throat and scooted her chair closer, pointing a finger at the pamphlet on the mattress.

"Or, you could learn to live with this. In this world without him."

He took in her words, glancing down at the pamphlet very briefly before he brought glassy eyes up to face her. She froze upon eye contact.

"That's not possible."

🕷⎊🕷

2020-2021: YEAR THREE

Tony distantly remembered Steve bringing up the idea of a memorial.

He also remembered immediately locking up with a heart attack and being personally offended when no one else did because how on Earth could anyone fathom the idea of Peter's name being anywhere near a funeral?

He remembered that that was the last time he and Steve had spoken. Only a month after Peter had vanished.

Tony...not just for you, for all of us. We have to immortalize them all somehow. Remember them.

No. No fucking way.

A memorial is the only way to-

I'm not giving my son a fucking funeral. I'm not burying an empty casket.

He sniffed rather obnoxiously and stiffened as he stared out the airplane window.

He hadn't been to California in years. He hadn't traveled at all since Peter died, not counting the few hours it took to drive from the city to the cabin.

He numbly hummed every time he used Peter's death as a reference for time, remembering that distant thought he'd had on the Milano lightyears away.

It was a marker in his timeline now. Every day until Tony actually died, Peter's death marked the day he took his last breath.

Now, he was on a plane bound for California. Apparently, over the past three years Tony had spent grieving and hospitalized and sedated, Steve had started doing support groups all over the country for bereaved families.

His next stop was San Francisco.

So, seeing as Tony had been quite literally ordered by his doctor some time ago to attend groups and get out of the house more, he couldn't think of a better group to go to than one led by the man that had plunged a shield in his chest and told him that Peter being Spider-Man was somehow his fault.

At some point, his plane had landed with a jolt. 

With a shaky inhale, he rose to his feet and prepared himself for the worst.

🕷⎊🕷

"Yesterday was our anniversary."

Tony stood in the threshold of an old church somewhere downtown in San Francisco, his jacket hanging off of his forearm. He stared ahead at a group of eleven adults sitting in a circle, all listening intently to one woman's words.

Tony could see the back of Steve's head. He ignored him as much as he could, leaning against the doorway.

"We would've been married seven years yesterday. I suppose we still are."

She fumbled with the ring on her finger and chewed on her lip nervously.

"I went on a date last week. I went on a date and I felt...I felt like shit after, but I went. I think the guy I went with had the same idea. Forgetting someone he'd lost. Neither of us were into it."

"But you went," Steve said with a supportive nod. Tony clenched his jaw as Steve's voice echoed throughout the church. "You did the hardest part, you know? You took the jump. That's all it is, Laura."

The woman nodded and looked down at her hand, taking in a sharp breath. Steve leaned forward with his elbows on his knees.

"We've gotta take those baby steps. Try to become whole again, try to...try to find purpose. And it's up to us."

Everyone in the group nodded through tears. Steve nodded too eventually, standing with a grunt.

"Alright, guys. Same time Thursday. I'll bring snacks."

The group all collectively mumbled something in gratitude and stood tiredly. One person stopped when they caught a glimpse of Tony, eyes going wide.

"Holy shit."

Tony closed his eyes for a moment and could practically feel Steve turning over his shoulder to stare with the rest of them.

"Tony?"

He forced a smile and sauntered forward, stuffing a hand in his pocket.

"Sorry, wrong room. Thought this was my four o'clock spin class."

Steve's lip quirked in a smile and he stared at the ground for a moment, shaking his head.

"Wish you had come a little earlier. We just finished here."

"That's okay," Tony shrugged, stopping in front of Steve and ignoring awestruck stares as everyone left the church. "Let me buy you dinner. Assuming you don't have any other plans."

Steve shrugged, too. "Got no one to make plans with."

Tony nodded numbly, took a step to the side, and gestured for the door.

"After you, then."

🕷⎊🕷

"I like the hair."

Tony blinked, awkwardly clearing his throat across the table from Steve as he brought a hand up to feel his hair.

It wasn't intentional that he'd let his hair grow out a little longer, nor was it his intention that it had begun to turn grey and white at an alarming speed. He was occupied, to say the least.

"Uh...oh, thanks."

He let Steve choose the restaurant. He didn't think Steve's people-pleasing default would ever let him get the first say in anything, but he supposed a lot had changed since the snap.

They were at a rundown diner downtown. He would've laughed if he could have at the irony of a one-hundred-year-old man favoring the rundown, fifties-style diners out of all the other restaurants he could've possibly gone for.

"That little, uh...group therapy thing you got goin'. It's nice."

"Yeah?" Steve perked slightly at that as the two shared a basket of fries. "I don't know. Some of these people have nothin' left."

"Yeah."

Tony pushed down the voices telling him he had nothing left, too, but Steve could hear them plain as day.

"Might be doing yourself a favor by going to a few every once in a while."

Tony breathed a laugh. "San Francisco's a long commute."

"We go from state to state. Or, you know, I do. Plus, you know, there are other groups in New York I could give you the names of."

"Pass. Too many cliches."

Steve laughed. "We're big on cliches. Doesn't mean they're not true."

Tony hummed and grabbed another fry. Steve looked up at him cautiously from his drink.

"I mean it, Tony. It's difficult...at first. And then it's habitual."

Tony chewed the inside of his cheek.

He didn't want attending support groups for bereaved parents to ever be a habit of his.

"How's the cabin? Rhodes says you're liking it up there."

Tony frowned. "You talk to Rhodey?"

"Well...I mean, Nat keeps in touch from the compound when she's doing damage control. So, I guess Nat says you're liking it up there. That true?"

"...Sure. It's nice. Quiet."

"Do Pepper and Rhodes visit often? Hogan?"

"Sure."

Steve deadpanned at him. Tony stared ahead at him blankly.

"Just sayin'. Maybe quiet isn't what you need."

"Yeah, well, judging by the heart palpitations I'm experiencing right now, this conversation with you probably isn't what I need, either, but I'm not exactly known for making good decisions for myself lately, huh?"

Steve stiffened, leaning forward in concern.

"Tony, you okay?"

"I'm fine, Rogers. Relax."

Steve narrowed his eyes and leaned back in his seat just slightly, a concerned gaze still glued to Tony's chest.

Tony wanted to punch him so badly and remind him that he had lodged Howard's shield into his chest a few years prior. Instead, he cleared his throat and took a sip of his drink.

"The cabin is fine. Great. And yes, I have visitors. Contrary to popular belief, I don't sit around by myself and..."

He paused and ignored his thoughts screaming Yes you do, sniffing and looking down at his lap.

"I'm not out to get you, Tony. Just...worried."

Tony didn't respond, chewing on the inside of his cheek again.

"I've...I've spoken with some parents while I've been doing group therapy. Parents that lost their kids, or a kid, or...or all of their kids. Like Barton did."

Tony closed his eyes. He never thought too much about Clint, because when he did, he couldn't breathe.

Three kids and his wife in one day. 

He released a shaky exhale and tried to swallow down the idea of it.

”You gotta take those baby steps. Start finding a purpose. Something to live for.”

Tony stiffened at that and stared at him darkly, his jaw clenched.

He was so sick of people telling him to find something to live for. Something else.

”Funny how everyone suddenly knows everything about being a parent when none of them have ever had a kid.”

”Tony, we’ve all lost someone. All of us. Friends, family, kids. We’re all just trying to make sense of it. I lost Sam, Bucky…hell, I lost Peggy.”

”Did you hold them?”

Steve blinked in confusion at the question. 

“What?”

”Did you hold them? When they died?”

He said nothing, slowly leaning back in his seat and staring at Tony cautiously as he breathed shakily, clenched his fists, swallowed down bile.

”I mean, while we’re trying to make sense of things, here. Have you ever had a kid? Ever…woken him up on Christmas morning? Gone to his Academic Decathalon competitions? Watched him beg a giant Chitauri alien to kill him instead of you?”

”Tony…”

”Or…have you ever framed his school portraits? Kept one in your wallet with you wherever you go? Taken care of him when he was sick or hurt? Because that…that was me, Steve. I took care of him. I raised him. I...”

Tony paused, well aware of the eyes in the diner staring daggers into his skull though he wasn’t sure if it was because he was Tony Stark or because he was seconds from another heart attack or both.

“…Have you ever…done anything…everything to protect him, throughout years of rushing him to the ER or cleaning blood off of his face or holding his hand in the medbay…only for him to collapse in your arms and disappear on an atomic scale, begging you to do something and you know…you know there’s nothing you can do to stop it? To help him?”

Steve was staring at his hand on the table through glassy eyes. Tony nodded subtly, standing from the booth with a sniff and pulling out his wallet. He placed three twenty-dollar bills on the table and held a steadying hand on his chest, waiting with a raised jaw for Steve to finally look up at him.

When he did, he was broken. He was a shell, just like the rest of the people in the diner and in the universe. Everyone was a shell now, walking around as hollow corpses whose insides had been scooped out when Thanos snapped his fingers.

Peggy, Bucky, Sam.

Peter, Peter, Peter.

”…You go through all that, and then tell me how to find purpose again. You know where to find me.”

🕷⎊🕷

He had one more stop to make before he went back to New York.

It was a long shot, and he hadn’t reached out to even see if the person was available. That wasn’t something he usually did anyway, what with his name and status, but even now, he walked up the steps of an apartment complex in San Francisco with his heart in his throat and his hands stuffed in his pockets anxiously. 

He hadn’t seen this person in years, and he always regretted it. He remembered having Friday run scans and searches to make sure the person was even alive after the snap, feeling mind-numbing relief when he learned they had survived. He had her pull up his last known place of residence and was on a plane before he knew any better.

He liked to think Steve was nothing but a detour.

He wasn’t sure when, but at some point he reached the apartment door and stood there for god knew how long.

He thought back to the last time he saw this person, felt a twinge of guilt flare in his chest for not reaching out more. 

He didn’t get to dwell in his self-pity for long before the apartment door suddenly opened and his breath was taken clean out of his lungs.

Curly hair. Bright blue eyes. A bewildered stare.

The person at the door was in the middle of throwing a jacket on over his shoulders, freezing in place as he stared at Tony in front of him. Tony sniffed rather obnoxiously and tilted his head, his hands still stuffed in his pockets. He offered a small smile.

”Hey, Spud.”

The person smiled back, a knowingness in his gaze.

”If it isn’t the mechanic. As I live and breathe.”

Tony hummed a laugh, looking Harley up and down with a shake of his head.

”You're a hard kid to find. San Francisco?”

Harley didn’t say anything at first, adjusting the cuffs of his jacket and shutting his apartment door. He pulled out a key and locked the door.

”Come with me. I’m goin’ shopping.”

”At this hour?”

Harley didn’t respond. Tony blinked and followed him numbly, trying to keep up as the kid all but jogged down the stairs.

”Jeez, would you slow down? I got a heart condition.”

”So? I got things to do, I’m not slowin’ down for your sorry ass.”

Tony snorted. “Nice to see you haven’t changed.”

”Nice to see you got older. Grey hair and all.”

They walked across the parking lot and Tony followed Harley to an old green car. Harley opened the driver’s side door and looked up at  Tony in anticipation. 

“Well? You comin’?”

Tony heaved a tired sigh and shrugged.

”I got time.”

🕷⎊🕷

“So? What’ve you been up to for the last eight years? Spill.”

Harley released a tired sigh as he gripped the steering wheel, searching for an answer.

”You know…building stuff. School. Moving here.”

”Did you keep any of the stuff I gave you?”

“Sure. Spud gun. Some wrenches.”

Tony snorted with a shake of his head.

He swallowed down the reminiscent feeling that he was talking to Peter.

”Your mom or sister live with you?”

”Sister,” Harley said with a nod. “I mean, sometimes. She’s always stayin’ with friends from school. Mom went to the store.”

Tony narrowed his eyes. Harley took in a steadying breath.

”…And I guess she was snapped, ‘cause that was three years ago.”

Tony closed his eyes sadly and turned to look out the window.

”…Which happens.”

Harley hummed a laugh before his eyes held sadness, too, turning to look at Tony once they stopped at a red light.

”…I’m sorry,” he said, expression grave. Tony stared back with as much energy as he could muster. 

“I read about what happened. When they released that census, the list of everyone who got snapped...I’m sorry.”

The red light illuminating their faces was suddenly green. Harley stared at him for a moment longer before he pressed a foot on the accelerator again.

They sat in silence for a while, Tony staring blankly ahead with his brow furrowed and trying in vain not to lock up with another heart attack. Harley tapped his thumb on the steering wheel.

“Where, uh…” Tony cleared his throat awkwardly and straightened in his seat, his hands placed steadily on his knees. “Where’re we goin’ anyway? Walmart?”

Harley snorted with a shake of his head.

”Not that kind of shopping.”

Tony frowned as Harley pulled up to an old, seemingly abandoned warehouse. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously as Harley pulled the key out of the ignition and looked over at Tony in anticipation.

“You comin’ old man?”

”…If you’re selling drugs now, I gotta say, you could’ve picked a better apartment. And car.”

Harley rolled his eyes and stepped out of the car. Tony followed him after a moment, following Harley’s finger as he pointed at the old sign dimly lit on the side of the building.

”…U-Store-It?”

”Bunch of stuff left behind from people who bit the dust.”

Harley winced at his own words, turning toward Tony apologetically.

”…Sorry. Bad choice of words.”

Tony ignored him, clapping a hand on his shoulder as they sauntered forward.

”Stealing from the dead. That’s a new low, kid.”

”It’s not…well, I guess it is stealing. The guy that runs the place lets me take what I want. There’s good stuff in here, too. I repurpose it for some experiments I’m working on. Or, you know, if I see a nice chair, I’ll snatch it if I can.”

Tony breathed out a laugh and placed a hand on his chest, following Harley through the rusty double doors of the warehouse.

The smell of dust and age immediately overwhelmed him. Rat squeals and cobwebs flooded every inch of the building.

Tony turned toward Harley and watched him breathe in the building with a content hum.

”You have serious issues.”

Harley shrugged and looked at him with a smile.

“Bon appetit. Help me grab some stuff.”

Tony watched him begin to make his way through the maze of storage units, each separated by wired fencing. Tony walked forward curiously and squinted to see what lied inside the spaces.

A majority of them had cars and sealed boxes. Each fenced space had a cardboard square zip-tied to it, last names scribbled hastily on them with a sharpie.

Williams. Moore. Robertson.

Tony paused and stared at a particular cardboard square with narrowed eyes.

Lang.

He knew that name.

”You find somethin’ good?”

Harley rounded him and grabbed the fence, scanning the space. 

“There’s just an old ass van and some boxes in here. Nothin’ special.”

Harley frowned and turned over his shoulder to look at him at the lack of response, his head tilted quizzically.

“What?” he said, his gaze catching a glimpse of the name on the fence. ”You know a Lang?”

Tony remembered rather abruptly the sound of Steve’s voice five years earlier at a certain airport in Germany.

On my signal, run like hell.

You sure about this, Lang?

He blinked and put a face to the name.

Scott Lang.

”…I think I know whose shit this is.”

Harley snorted. “So you agree. It’s shit.”

Tony ignored him, joining him next to the fence and scanning it up and down.

“Help me open this thing.”

“Seriously?”

“Step on it, Spud.”

Harley rolled his eyes but eventually complied, pulling a key out of his pocket and crossing to the chain lock.

”Mister Rodriguez gave me a master key. Unlocks any space here.”

”I wouldn’t trust Mister Rodriguez for shit.”

Harley laughed under his breath and pulled on the fenced gate until it opened. Tony stepped inside and stood in front of the van, narrowing his eyes as he stared at the inside of it.

”The hell…?”

”What is it?”

”Some sort of control panel.”

Tony rounded the van and pulled on the driver’s seat handle, turning toward Harley with a grin when it opened.

”Open sesame.”

Harley narrowed his eyes and rounded the van to the passenger side, closing the door behind him. The two sat there for a moment scanning the van up and down quizzically, eventually studying the control panel on the dash.

”What do you think it controls?”

Tony shrugged. “Let’s find out.”

He reached his hand over to flip a switch. Harley grabbed his hand in midair with a glare.

”Dude. What if it, like, blows us up?”

”There’s that giddy optimism I missed from you.”

Harley eventually sighed and released his grip on Tony’s hand hesitantly, watching with his breath held as he flipped one of the several switches. 

A screen on the center lit up. Behind them, a whirring sound made itself known.

They turned slowly, cautiously over their shoulders until they were staring at the Quantum Tunnel housed in the back of the van. The vehicle shook the more the tunnel whirred to life. 

“Is this the part where we get the fuck out?!”

Tony didn’t have time to answer before the machine sputtered and something shot out of it, colliding violently with the fenced gate across from it. The machine finally whirred to sleep as if Tony had never activated it.

Tony’s heart jolted when the thing that had shot out of it groaned and stirred on the floor.

”Fucking hell…”

“Did it just speak?”

Tony glanced Harley’s way before they were both lurching out of the van and dashing toward the figure on the floor, staring at them carefully.

The figure turned, his eyes going wide and his entire body jolting.

”What the-who the hell are-where is-“

He paused, blinking and squinting when he finally made out Tony’s face.

”…Iron Man?”

“You’re Lang,” Tony deduced numbly, scanning him up and down and recognizing his costume instantly from the airport. Scott propped himself up on his elbows with wide eyes.

”Where the hell am I? Where is Hope?”

“Dude,” Harley breathed out with a laugh of disbelief. “You were in that thing? How long have you been in there?”

“I don’t…hours. Three, maybe four?”

Tony turned slowly over his shoulder to stare at the machine again, studying it and sucking in a breath.

”You were in the Quantum Realm? For three hours?”

”The Quantum Realm? What the hell are you talking about?”

Scott and Tony both ignored him and Tony studied him as Scott slowly began to understand in dread, his heart lurching to his throat.

”Oh, god...what happened? You look so old and sad now."

Tony deadpanned at him. Scott cleared his throat nervously.

"What year is it?”

”It’s twenty-twenty-one.”

Scott visibly paled more than he already had, sucking in a breath so sharply that it echoed throughout every inch of the warehouse. He numbly, shakily rose to his feet, his hand gripping the fence beside him. 

“Hope was-she was supposed to-where the hell is Hope?”

Tony and Harley exchanged dark glances before turning back toward Scott with clenched jaws.

”…We’ve got a lot to catch you up on.”

🕷⎊🕷

“Are you gonna eat that?”

Tony and Harley sat next to each other and stared at Scott as he reached across the table and seized Harley’s plate, taking a mouthful of his hamburger. Tony pushed his plate toward him, too, a brow raised in question.

”Sorry, I just-holy shit, I was hungry.”

”I thought you were only in that thing for three hours.”

Scott chewed his food fast, shaking his head.

”Time isn’t the same here as it is in the Quantum Realm.”

Tony nudged Harley’s arm. “You’ve studied Quantum Physics. C’mon.”

”Uh, no. I haven’t. I build things, I don’t time travel.”

Scott perked up at that.

”We could.”

“The kid just said he hasn’t studied Quantum Physics,” Tony scoffed. “Don’t fill his head with pipe dreams.”

”I mean it. We could time travel. Get the stones, snap our own fingers.”

”…Look, I know this was all a lot to take in, Lang, but-“

”Stark, you know about this more than anyone that’s still alive in the entire universe. I know it sounds crazy, but quantum fluctuation-“

“-Messes with the Planck scale which then triggers the Deutsch Proposition," Tony listed off in frustration. "Can you and I agree on that?”

Scott ran a tired hand down his face. Tony leaned forward in an attempt to level with him.

”I know what you’re thinking. I’ve thought it before, too. Sometimes I still do. But it’s just not possible. In layman’s terms, it means you’re not comin’ home.”

”I just did. Just now.”

”You accidentally survived. It’s a billion-to-one cosmic fluke.”

”The stones are in the past, Stark. We can go back. We can get them!”

”That’s not how Quantum Physics works.”

“I lost someone very important to me,” Scott said, leaning forward until the two were only inches from each other. Tony swallowed thickly at the statement and closed his eyes.

“I can tell you lost someone important, too. This is a chance to bring Hope back. To bring everyone back.”

”Scott.”

Scott stilled, watching Tony carefully as he clenched his jaw and steadied his breathing. Scott leaned back a bit, waiting with bated breath.

”Don't sit there and act like I haven't tried,” Tony managed to get out quietly, staring blankly at the table. “Because I have tried. I've tried...I've tried everything."

His last words broke off into a whisper and he closed his eyes again in composure, distantly feeling Harley's hand on his shoulder. He opened his eyes again and met Scott's gaze.

He distantly recognized the Beach Boys song that played softly over the diner speakers. He swallowed down a metallic taste when he heard a particular lyric.

You know it seems the more we talk about it, it only makes it worse to live without it.

He composed himself, unable to hide the glassiness of his eyes.

"You lost your girlfriend. I lost my kid. My sixteen-year-old kid.”

Scott stilled, his eyes going wide.

"Shit."

Tony blinked. "What?"

"...Cassie."

🕷⎊🕷

Harley parked the car in front of a white townhouse.

Scott lurched out of the backseat before Harley or Tony knew any better, the two watching him sprint up the elevated lawn. He all but slammed into the screen door and jammed his finger on the doorbell as many times as he could.

Harley snorted. "What's he doin'?"

Tony said nothing, slowly stepping out of the car and rounding it until he was ascending the steps of the yard.

"Scott, we don't even know if she's-"

Tony paused on the sidewalk when he noticed a figure through the screen door of the house, watching her still upon noticing Scott on the porch.

She found it in her to step forward, eyes wide as she pushed the screen door open and instantly cupped Scott's face in bewilderment. Scott stared at her with his mouth hanging open numbly, watching her breathe out a teary laugh of disbelief.

"Cassie?"

She closed her eyes at the sound of his voice, at the sound of him saying her name again. He reached up and cupped her face, petting her hair.

"Dad?"

She placed her hands on his chest, as if convincing herself he was actually there. He shook his head and mirrored her disbelief.

Tony stared on with a clenched jaw and watched a father reunite with his now-fourteen-year-old kid.

He closed his eyes for a moment.

You think of Peter all the time.

Scott eventually wrapped Cassie in deprived arms, still staring ahead numbly.

You think of him when he was alive. When he was just a few bedrooms down.

Scott buried his face in her hair, gently cradling her head with a trembling hand.

And then...you remember he's dead.

He pulled out of the hug just to look at her, melting with a smile as he brushed the hair out of her eyes.

Your pressure rises, you get a rush of adrenaline to your heart...and then that's it.

"You're so big," Scott joked through tears, earning a priceless laugh from the girl whose face was held delicately in Scott's hands. 

You end up here.

Tony realized that Cassie was staring at Tony over Scott's shoulder through glassy eyes, stiffening the more she looked.

"Is that..."

Scott turned over his shoulder with a frown, staring for a moment as Tony watched them carefully from the sidewalk a few feet away.

He wanted to scream. He wanted to pull out his hair. He wanted to throw himself into traffic.

He would give anything for the past three years to be three hours, to return oblivious to the heartbreak around him and have Peter at home waiting for him with open arms, a little older but alive and breathing and smiling.

He swallowed down the twinge of heartbreak he felt flare in his chest, forced down the rising ache in his back and shoulders and chest.

He wouldn't lock up with another heart attack.

He wouldn't have to, because he was getting his kid back.

"Let's go, Scott," Tony said with finality, turning on his heel and making his way back towards Harley's car.

"We have a lot of shit to do if we're gonna bring my kid back."

Chapter Text

🕷⎊🕷

"Shit!"

Tony's head snapped up from his position in the kitchen, eyes narrowed as he began walking to Peter's room.

"Kid?"

"God, dammit..."

His lip was quirking in a smile before he could even round the corner into Peter's room, watching his kid stand from his desk and hold a drenched piece of paper by the corner, drops of coffee dripping onto the carpet.

He brought a tired, frustrated gaze up to meet Tony's amused one.

"That your homework?" Tony asked, leaning against the doorway.

"I was working on this for hours," Peter huffed, discarding it onto his desk with a grimace. 

"Then why'd you ruin it?"

Peter deadpanned, walking to his bed and collapsing onto it face first. Tony snorted, sauntering forward and sitting on the edge of the bed beside him.

"Not the end of the world."

"I fell asleep," Peter said, turning his head from off of the comforter and staring blankly ahead. "I knocked the cup over. I'm an idiot."

Tony frowned, his amusement giving way slightly as he brought a hand to brush Peter's curls off of his forehead.

"Well, have you been getting enough sleep-?"

He froze when his hand connected with Peter's forehead, overwhelmed with the feeling of sweat and white-hot skin. Peter closed his eyes.

"Peter, you're burning up."

"I'm not."

"You are."

"Hmm."

Tony huffed a sigh, his brow permanently pinched together in worry. With Peter, it always was.

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"I got homework."

"I'm gonna pretend you didn't just say that."

He rose from the edge of the bed and took a minute to scan the kid over, from the dark circles to the pale skin to the sweat to the heavy breathing.

He felt a twinge of guilt. Maybe he hadn't been spending enough time with his kid to prevent him from being utterly and completely drained.

"Jesus, kid..."

He hastily crossed to the dresser and pulled out a t-shirt and pajama bottoms, tossing them onto the bed behind him. 

"You're gonna change into those. I'm gonna go grab you somethin' to eat so you can take something. And I'm calling your school."

"But-"

"Zip it."

Peter huffed tiredly, his face scrunching in discomfort at the action. Tony softened from where he stood in the doorway.

"C'mon, kid. The sooner you put on something comfy, the sooner you can sleep it off."

"Just...just gotta wait for my homework to dry off."

Tony snorted. "Forget about the homework."

"Or just...you know...turn back time to before I ruined my homework and you found out I was sick."

Tony hummed with a soft smile, sparing a moment to cross over to the bed and press a kiss on Peter's forehead.

"There's a lot of things I can do, but time travel isn't one of them."

🕷⎊🕷

"Are you talking about a time machine?"

"What? No, no, no, of course I'm not talking..."

Scott paused from where he stood in the Compound, gaze shifting between Steve, Nat, Harley, Rhodey, and Tony, who all sat staring at him as they took in the information.

"Well...yes. Yes, like a time machine. But, you have to understand, it's more complicated than that."

"How so?" Natasha leaned forward, her hand on her chin in thought.

"Everything is unpredictable in the quantum realm. Here's our problem: we don't have a way to navigate it. But what if we did? What if we somehow controlled the chaos and we could navigate it?"

Rhodey shifted in his seat, his arms crossed over his chest as he sent a grave expression Tony's way.

"What if we could enter the quantum realm at a certain point in time but then exit the quantum realm at another point in time? Like..."

Scott swallowed thickly, staring ahead as he calculated his words.

"...Like before Thanos."

The group all stilled at that, everyone minus Tony. They all turned to him as if to verify that it was true, that it was even remotely possible.

"...Tony?"

"Could we really...I mean, could that really work?"

Tony brought his gaze to meet Nat's, watching her search his eyes feverishly for an explanation or a solution or any sort of confirmation. 

He opened his mouth to speak, but Rhodey was quicker.

"Sorry, everyone. Tony, could you and I...?"

Rhodey gestured to the room outside. Tony blinked but eventually followed him out, the glass door and walls doing nothing to shield him from the quizzical stares of everyone in the other room.

"Tony," Rhodey started with a whisper, "this is just..."

"I thought it was crazy too," Tony whispered. "I-I still do. But Rhodey..."

He spared a moment to close his eyes, his hands both placed on his best friend's chest steadyingly, convincingly.

"We could get him back. We could get him back."

Rhodey chewed on his lip and stared through the glass wall at Scott, who was waving his arms around as he frantically tried to get his point across.

"You're grieving," Rhodey eventually got out in a whisper. His eyes had glassed over, and Tony had to close his eyes again for a moment.

Tony had lost his son. But sometimes he forgot Rhodey had lost his nephew and his best friend in one fell swoop.

"This could be the death of you, man."

"I'm aware," Tony got out, and he had to take in a breath as he was suddenly slammed with an intense feeling of deja vu to a particular plane ride in 2006.

A kid, Tony? Are you serious?

You gonna trade-in your nuclear weapons for some baby gates and pacifiers?

Five years old is a baby, Tony. A baby that requires full-time attention that you don't have.

Tony opened his eyes, blinking away his own threat of tears. Rhodey took Tony's wrists and held his hands in place on his chest, his jaw clenched as he thought.

"What if this doesn't work?" Rhodey whispered out through clenched teeth. "How the hell are you gonna survive if this doesn't work?"

"It will," Tony argued, because it had to.

He didn't know how he was gonna survive if it didn't either.

Rhodey stared at him for another moment, studied every line on his face and grey hair on his head and every tear welling in his eyes.

Finally, he released a sigh, reaching a hand up and grabbing Tony's shoulder.

"You'll need help."

Tony couldn't help the laugh that escaped him, and neither of them could help themselves from embracing in a hug.

"Yeah."

🕷⎊🕷

"Hey, Peter, what do you want for dinner?"

"Eh, I don't care."

Tony froze, gaze slowly trailing up from his phone as he stared at his kid doing homework on the living room floor. Peter looked up at him following the silence, tilting his head quizzically as he stared back at his dad, who was sitting stiffly in his seat on the couch.

"What's wrong?"

Tony flinched at the sound of Peter's voice, shaking his head.

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

"What?" Peter dropped his pencil. "What-What did I do?"

"Your voice. Why the hell do you sound like that?"

Peter blinked before his lip quirked in a smile and he shook his head in disbelief, picking his pencil back up and returning to his homework.

"Got deeper."

"Wha-" Tony dropped his phone, still shaking his head. "What do you mean it got deeper? You're nine."

"Thirteen."

"Same difference."

"Well, sorry," Peter sighed and gathered his homework off of the floor, placing it in a neat stack beside him.

"This is unacceptable."

Peter snorted, rising to his feet with his papers in hand. Tony stared at him, his face numb in bewilderment. 

"What can you do about it?" Peter asked with a shrug, patting his father on the shoulder as he made his way for his room.

"I'm gonna figure out time travel."

Peter laughed, and Tony's heart jolted again because his kid's voice cracked slightly at the action.

"Text me when you do. I'd like to see that."

"Nope," Tony said, popping his "p." He stood, too, making his way into the kitchen with narrowed eyes directed Peter's way.

"God as my witness, I'm turning back time and keeping you little forever."

🕷⎊🕷

"Alright, Fri, one last sim."

Tony heaved a sigh as Harley, Scott, Nat, Steve, and Rhodey slept scattered around the lab in the compound, draped over chairs and tables. He paid them no mind, staring at the projected simulation over the table with a pencil in his mouth and a hand on his chin, his hair disheveled.

The room was the perfect image of the adults' thought process, namely Tony's.

Coffee cups. Empty styrofoam cups of Instant Ramen. Empty water bottles. Crumbled balls of paper.

It reminded Tony so much of Peter that he thought he was going crazy. Even trash made him nostalgic.

"Alright," Tony said quietly, not once tearing his gaze from the simulation. "This time try it in the shape of a Mobius strip. Inverted."

"Processing..."

He reached a hand forward into the projection and fidgeted with various shapes and figures.

"Give me the eigenvalue of that particle factoring into spectral decomp. Might take a second."

"Just a moment."

Harley shifted slightly in his sleep. Tony's gaze shifted toward him for a split second before Friday got his attention again.

"Model rendered."

Tony froze completely, staring with his breath held at the words on the projection.

Model successful.

He folded at the knees and collapsed back into the chair behind him, a hand flying to his mouth in disbelief.

It was everything not to cry out triumphantly, everything not to wake everyone in the room, everything not to call Pepper or just jump through time himself and get Peter back.

Instead, he closed his eyes and let out a shaky breath, his lip quirking in a disbelieving smile the more he stared at the simulation.

"...Shit."

"Shit."

Tony's gaze snapped up at the distant voice he'd heard, his heart leaping into his throat.

He frowned in confusion, sparing quizzical glances to the others, all sound asleep around him. He rose from his seat and walked quietly out of the room, rounding the corner until he froze again.

There was another workroom outside of the one Tony had been working in. Sometimes, Tony would drive to the compound and bring Peter with him to do homework. His kid always chose the same table.

Now, Tony stood with his feet glued to the ground, staring at that exact table with his mouth hanging open numbly.

Because he swore on his life that he could see Peter sitting there working, illuminated by the soft light hanging above the table.

Curls disheveled, wearing his favorite school sweatshirt, a pen in his hand, a look of frustration in his eyes as he stared down at the paper on the table.

He could see it so clearly, could see every detail as plain as day. 

He wondered for a moment if the Earth was still spinning on its axis, if everything around him had ceased to exist and it was just him and Peter like he'd always wanted.

Tony took one step forward. Peter's gaze snapped up to look at him.

"Oh, hey."

He sucked in a breath. Peter returned to his work, lifting his paper with narrowed eyes.

"Shit...I did this totally wrong."

Tony blinked the fatigue and confusion out of his eyes, sniffing and stepping forward cautiously.

"Do you..." he cleared his throat quietly, sparing another glance to the sleeping Avengers in the room behind him. "Do you need help, kiddo?"

"Nah, it's alright. I know what I did wrong, I just..."

He dropped the paper and pen and rubbed at his eyes tiredly. Tony melted, his breath held.

"Oh, hey, did you figure it out?"

Tony blinked at the question, watching his kid stare at him, watching him tilt his head the way he always used to do. Tony used to make fun of him for looking so much like a puppy when he did.

Somehow, despite his confusion, he knew exactly what his kid was asking.

"...Yes."

Peter's eyes lit up and he stood, the stool he sat on scraping against the floor behind him and echoing in the room.

Tony wondered if that was part of the illusion or if he was really losing his mind.

"That's great! Did-Did you tell everyone yet?"

Tony shook his head, his jaw clenched. Peter tilted his head again.

"Well, what's wrong? Shouldn't you be celebrating?"

Tony closed his eyes the more Peter spoke, reveling in the sound of his voice. He opened his eyes, almost afraid that Peter wouldn't be there when he did but he was, leaning forward in anticipation.

"...I miss you."

Peter blinked but eventually lowered his head in understanding at the whisper, bringing a hand up to fidget with the strings of his sweatshirt. Tony melted even more.

"We'll see each other soon," Peter said, a warm, reassuring smile on his face. Tony found he suddenly had to blink away tears, the figure in front of him becoming blurrier. 

"Yeah," Tony nodded, sending as reassuring a smile Peter's way as he could. "We'll...we'll see each other really soon, Petey-pie. I promise."

Peter's smile grew at the nickname but his eyes became glassy under the soft light above. He lowered his head, staring down at his sneakers.

Tony swallowed down concern, taking another step forward. 

"What's wrong?"

Peter closed his eyes and lowered his head again, bringing a hand to wipe at his eye.

"...I don't wanna go."

Tony tensed at the words, watching his kid collapse back onto his stool. Tony took another cautious step forward.

"What do you mean, kid?"

Peter lifted his hands, which had been resting in his lap, and stared at them sadly, watching as flakes of dust began to float off of them. Tony froze, a metallic feeling in his mouth as he watched dust begin to float off of the kid's hair, too.

"Peter..."

Peter sniffed and brought his gaze up to meet Tony's.

"I'm sorry."

Tony shook his head.

"No," he breathed out, stepping forward blindly. Peter lowered his head again, watching his legs go, watching his sweatshirt fade from blue to grey.

"No, no, no, kid. Hey. Look at me."

Peter did, just in time for the grey and nothingness crawling up his skin to take over his face before he crumpled into nothing, floating away under the soft light of the lab.

Tony had reached the table too late, lurching over it and reaching a desperate hand forward to grasp at floating ash.

But there was nothing there.

Because it wasn't real.

"Tony?"

Tony snapped his gaze over his shoulder and watched Pepper enter the lab with worried eyes, her gaze finally finding Tony's. She stared at him for a moment, taking in his stance and his disheveled hair and his tear-stained face.

"Rhodey called me, I came as soon as I could."

She closed the distance between them as quickly as she could, taking hold of his shoulders and turning him to face her. She studied him up close, closing her eyes at the pure heartbreak wafting off of him. She reached a hand up to cup his face, brushing her thumb across his cheek to wipe away tears.

"Oh, Tony..."

"...I..."

She watched him patiently, unable to mask the anticipation in her eyes as she waited for something, anything.

He opened his mouth to speak, though his mind was elsewhere, so far elsewhere that he was sure it was on a certain distant planet in a distant galaxy.

I don’t know what’s happening.

I don’t wanna go. 

I don't wanna go, Dad. Please. Please. I don't wanna go, I don't wanna go.

"...I figured it out."

She blinked, shaking her head in confusion and bringing her other hand up to cup his face, too.

"Figured out what, honey?"

He turned over his shoulder and spared one last look to Peter's table, staring at the soft light illuminating it, before he smiled and turned back to face her.

"Time travel."

🕷⎊🕷

"Catch."

Steve jolted in his seat and barely caught the small metal device Tony threw his way. He sat up straight in his seat and scanned the room around him, from the Avengers scattered asleep across the room to the simulation projected over the table that read "model successful" to Tony who, for the first time in three years, didn't look like he was on the verge of a heart attack.

"...What's this?"

"You know," Tony shrugged, "just a fully-functioning time-space GPS."

Steve stared down at it in his hands in awe, looking back up at Tony with a smile.

He shifted his gaze ahead for a moment in thought, licking suddenly dry lips.

"Tony...look, about our last conversation-"

"I'm sorry."

Steve stilled, slowly making eye contact again. Tony was tilting his head at him, smiling softly back.

"It was...unfair of me to make that comparison. To imply that my loss was somehow…worse than yours. I'm sorry."

Steve shook his head, fumbling nervously with the GPS.

"Still shouldn't have prodded you like that. Gave advice on something I didn't know anything about. I'm sorry, Tony."

"I just want peace," Tony sighed, taking a seat in the one unoccupied seat in the workroom. "Turns out resentment is corrosive, and I hate it."

Steve perked at that, nodding with genuine eyes.

"Me, too."

"If...when we get everyone back, when...when he comes back, I don't want us to still be fighting. Or...or Barnes."

Steve stilled, slowly taking in his words and the implications they brought.

”Okay,” he nodded, rising from his seat. “I agree.”

”Good,” Tony sniffed and rose from his seat too, extending his hand for Steve to take. “Good. Alright then.”

Steve took his hand and hummed with a smile. Tony ignored it, releasing his grip on Steve’s hand and turning over his shoulder to pick up a round leather sleeve on the table behind him. Steve frowned in confusion before Tony pulled the shield out of it. 

Steve’s expression went dark, sparing a quick glance to the sleeping figures around the room.

”…Tony, I don’t know.”

”He wanted you to have it,” Tony said softly, holding it out for him to take. “And I’m tired of lookin’ at it. Here.”

Steve sighed but eventually took it with hesitation, allowing it to slide onto his forearm. Behind the two, Natasha stirred in her sleep.

”Would you keep that quiet?” Tony scolded. “I didn’t bring one for the whole team.”

Steve hummed a laugh. “Sure thing.”

Tony turned over his shoulder before he could leave the room, scanning it as it echoed with snores and breathing. He couldn’t help but internally roll his eyes.

”…We are getting the whole team, right?”

”We’re working on it,” Steve said with a nod. “Bruce, Thor…uh, and Clint…”

Tony lowered his head at the name, tapping the doorway with his finger before he left.

🕷⎊🕷

Getting Bruce back was no problem.

He wanted to help, and getting Bruce back was the key to getting Thor.

But there was only one person who could bring back Clint, and she hadn’t been back in three days on her journey to get him. 

Tony sat in the compound kitchen and stared blankly out the window, a coffee cupped in his hands. Rocket, Nebula, Scott, Bruce…everyone was hard at work downstairs, and Tony had been too.

But now, all he could do was wait for Clint to return.

And he did. He nearly jumped when he turned over his shoulder and saw Clint walk slowly into the kitchen, watching him cautiously sit at the barstool next to Tony and place crossed hands on the countertop.

Tony stared for one more minute before he returned his gaze to the window outside, gesturing to the coffee pot.

”Just put some on. Help yourself.”

Clint didn’t move, didn’t respond. Tony hadn’t expected him to.

Instead, they sat in silence for God knew how long, side by side as they stared blankly ahead.

Tony found more comfort in it than any support group for bereaved parents he’d been forced to go to over the past three years.

”…You’re not ignorant.”

Tony blinked, slowly bringing his gaze to Clint beside him. Clint didn’t look at him, continuing his staring contest with the window in front of them. Tony took that moment to scan him up and down, from the hair to the tattoo sleeve to the grief visible in every line on his face. 

“Pardon?”

”You’re not ignorant,” he repeated a little louder. “Or out of touch.”

Clint finally turned to look at him, doing his own share of scanning him up and down.

”I’m sorry for saying that you were.”

Tony stared a moment longer before he remembered.

Give me a break, Barton. I had no idea they’d put you here. C’mon.

Or who they’d put here, huh?

What’s that supposed to mean?

You’re the most ignorant and out-of-touch guy I’ve ever met.

They hadn’t seen each other since the Raft.

He closed his eyes for a moment to shake away the memory, the horror of that day.

“Water under the bridge,” Tony said with a shake of his head. “Honest. It was my fault they put you there. Peter…Peter, too. And Wanda, Sam, Scott…I’m sorry.”

Clint shook his head. “You were right. Chose the wrong side.”

Tony clicked his tongue and returned to his coffee.

”Maybe you did. But both sides had more wrongs than rights. I’m sorry you got caught in the crossfire.”

Clint said nothing, his hands still crossed in front of him. 

“Everybody says to move on,” he supplied after a few minutes of silence, his jaw clenched as he calculated his every word. Tony listened to each one cautiously. “Everyone says to find purpose. To grow.”

For a moment, Clint continued staring at the world outside, his eyes glassing over just barely and shattering his hard exterior. He closed his eyes, a stray tear gliding down his cheek as he turned to face Tony.

Tony looked into his eyes, staring at the one person in the world who understood him in his entirety, who understood why finding purpose in a world without Peter was a ridiculous, impossible task.

Tony stared at a man who had been there when his wife and three kids disappeared without a trace. Clint stared at a man who had to hold his kid as he disappeared on a foreign planet, using the last breath in his rapidly vanishing lungs to say sorry.

He looked at him and understood it all.

”But not us.”

Tony turned to face him too, swallowing down his own tears around the uncomfortable lump in his throat.

He was right.

No one understood.

”No,” Tony finally supplied, a broken whisper. 

Clint stared at him a moment longer, watching tears threaten to escape him before he slowly, hesitantly placed a supportive arm on Tony’s shoulder.

”If this doesn’t work,” Clint started, though Tony was quick to interrupt.

”It will.”

”…But if it doesn’t…”

He took a composing, albeit shaky inhale, his jaw remaining clenched and his shoulders tense.

”…You probably won’t be hearing from me again.”

Tony closed his eyes. He understood.

If it didn’t work, no one would be hearing from him again, either.

🕷⎊🕷

Clint ended up being the one to test their so-called time machine.

Scott had initially suited up to do it, but Tony personally thought that was ridiculous. 

Scott was lucky. Scott got to experience the past three years as three hours, got to come home to his kid alive and waiting for him.

Scott had something to lose. Clint had nothing.

“Alright, Clint,” Bruce said from the control panel, where Tony stood behind him with his arms crossed over his chest and his curls disheveled. Steve placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder, whether for Tony or himself, he wasn’t sure.

”We’re going in three…”

Clint’s helmet snapped in place.

”…Two…”

The machine underneath him whirled to life. He closed his eyes and clenched his fists.

”…One…”

He was gone for ten seconds and back before Tony could even blink, dropping to his knees and crying out at nothing, to no one.

Maybe a person, maybe the universe, maybe everything.

Natasha was already sprinting up the steps and lurching toward him before anyone could hold her back, frantic hands reaching for him.

When he’d left he had nothing. When he came back he held a baseball glove.

As much as Tony’s heart broke at the sight, it also swelled with excitement, with hope, which he had been avoiding like the plague to the best of his ability ever since talk of a time machine came about.

The glove from the past meant a future. It meant Laura, Lila, Cooper, and Nathaniel.

It meant Peter.

”Hey, hey,” Natasha said, taking his shoulder and searching his eyes feverishly. “Look at me. You okay?”

He slowly, shakily rose to his feet, staring at her with wide eyes.

”Yeah,” he said breathlessly, looking down at the baseball glove still held in his grip. “Yeah.”

He lifted the glove and brought it to her attention, a laugh escaping him despite himself.

”…It worked.”

Natasha’s eyes went wider than they already were as Clint turned Tony’s way, tossing the glove at him with a beaming, disbelieving smile.

“It worked.”

Tony took the glove between his hands with an iron grip, failing to fight his own smile.

He would smile when Peter was in his arms. When he could walk into his kid’s room and see him sleeping in his bed where he belonged. When he could send a text to him and get an answer. When he would get new voicemails or, better yet, answer every time the kid called and not have any to listen to.

He would smile when he could cup his kid’s face in his hands and keep him there forever.

He nodded with finality, his jaw clenched as Clint stared back, the same look of hope and fear and excitement and terror on his face that only they could understand.

They were getting their kids back.

🕷⎊🕷

“I’m coming with you.”

Tony turned on a dime at Harley’s words, staring at him from across the lab.

He'd almost forgotten the kid had stuck around amidst all the time travel buzz and the building and brainstorming.

Now, he zeroed in on the kid and his words, sending a glare his way.

”No, you’re not.”

”Yes, I am.”

Tony heaved a sigh and ran a tired hand down his face, leaning against the work table and staring at Harley. The kid stood with his arms crossed over his chest and his brow furrowed.

Tony wanted to laugh.

He was still just a kid, a kid that thought he understood.

It reminded him so much of Peter, reminded him of how much Peter insisted that the safety of New York fell on his fourteen-year-old shoulders.

”This is bigger than you, Spud.”

”From what Scott said, it’s actually a hell of a lot smaller than me.”

”…Technically, yes. But in the grand scheme of things-”

”He killed my mom.”

Tony closed his eyes at the statement, at the way the kid’s voice gave way slightly on the word “mom.”

Tony and Harley could joke and beat around the bush all they wanted to, but they were just as broken and devastated by the snap as everyone else.

”…Which is exactly why you can’t come.”

”He killed your son. How does that make any sense that you should go and I shouldn’t?”

”Harley.”

Harley retracted back slightly at the sound of Tony saying his name, and it occurred to Tony that he probably hadn’t ever said it before until that moment. 

Tony took a composing inhale, sauntering forward until the two were a mere few inches apart.

”…I have another job for you. One that I need you to stay here for.”

Harley scoffed with a roll of his eyes. “What, clean the kitchen?”

“I need you to meet Helen Cho and Happy Hogan at the Tower.”

Harley blinked in surprise, his eyes narrowed.

”…Like, Avengers Tower?”

”Like my house, yeah. Avengers Tower.”

”…What am I going there for?”

”When we bring everyone back, we’re gonna need as many extra hospital beds and personnel as possible. Obviously, we’re…understaffed. I need you to meet Cho and Happy there and do exactly as they say.”

“But…if you need as many hospital beds as possible, aren’t there beds here? Why shouldn’t I stay here and get everything ready?”

Tony took Harley’s shoulders, a fire behind his eyes.

”Because if we really pull this off, the stones will be here. This is where we’re snapping our fingers. I can’t risk you being here when that happens.”

Harley took in his words and stared at the ground for a moment in thought, a smile pulling on his lips.

”Don't tell me you care about me. That’ll ruin our whole relationship.”

Tony hummed a laugh and brought a hand up to ruffle Harley’s curls, his chest sparking for a moment at the familiarity of it.

”Trying hard not to, Spud.”

🕷⎊🕷

At one point in time, there were three stones in New York.

Go figure.

They plotted their respective missions in complete detail. Rhodey and Nebula to Morag, Clint and Natasha to Vormir, Thor and Rocket to Asgard, and Steve, Tony, Scott, and Bruce to New York.

He didn’t want to go.

He wasn’t sure he could stomach going back in time to one of the worst days of his life, throwing a nuke into a wormhole and seeing his kid hiding behind a bar and having to face Pepper’s worry-fueled wrath.

He swallowed down the dread and suited up. He supposed time heists had their sacrifices, and this was his.

Steve gave a speech that Tony tried his best to listen to in his ocean of thoughts. He turned his head Steve’s way with his best attempt at a smile and Steve smiled back, unable to mask the uncertainty and uneasiness in his gaze.

”We’re gonna win,” Steve said, his eye contact with Tony unwavering as he brought a hand to cup Tony’s shoulder, a fire in his eyes.

”Whatever it takes.”

Tony closed his eyes for a moment, thinking back to what Stephen Strange had told him three years earlier.

Fourteen million six hundred and five.

How many do we win?

He would do whatever it took.

One.

🕷⎊🕷

“If it’s all the same to you…I think I’ll have that drink now.”

A crunch of glass resounded from behind the bar of the Tower penthouse. 2012 Tony lifted his gauntlet with a fire behind his eyes.

"Whoever's back there, we just took the day off, so maybe I'll do us both a favor and make it quick."

Present Tony had to look away from where he hid behind a wall.

He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t risk even a glance Peter’s way because he wasn’t sure what he would do, where his legs would take him.

He was certain he would botch the whole mission and lurch toward his eleven-year-old kid, hold him, cradle his head, breathe him in.

He’d spent the past three years quite literally begging the stars his kid had died in for a time machine, a way to reach through time and scoop Peter up and keep him there in his arms forever.

But his wish was coming true right in front of him in the worst way imaginable.

He lived in the past. He relished in it.

He basked in pictures and voicemails and old videos and patrol reports and Daily Bugle articles and old handwriting.

He closed his eyes as the voices filtered in like they always did.

You’re okay, you’re okay, you’re okay.

Threat is imminent. That kid over there is the glue that keeps me together.

Nothing’s been the same since New York.

He found it in him to look ahead at the scene unfolding before him, one that he’d spent years yearning to somehow undo.

He’d lived in the past a long time.

But now, the past was the present, and he was helpless.

"Is it-i-is it o-over?"

He sucked in a breath at the sound of Peter's voice, still high-pitched and innocent and young.

Peter’s face was finally visible over the bar’s surface. Tear-stained and covered in cuts but there, alive, breathing.

“Oh, my god,” he whispered, unsure if it was even audible, unsure if there was anyone else left in the world except him and his kid.

”Tony,” he heard Steve say in his earpiece, urgent and sharp. “Tony, I need you to focus. I need you to get it together.”

“Oh, my god,” he whispered again, because there was nothing else on Earth to say, no other words to convey exactly what he was feeling, what he was seeing.

Peter was alive.

Breathing, crying, bleeding in front of him.

He was alive and Tony couldn’t touch him.

At some point, though, 2012 Tony had rounded the bar and scooped Peter into his arms, deflating onto the ground, whispering apologies into his ear.

"You're okay. You're alright. I'm so, so sorry, Peter. I'm so sorry."

Tony closed his eyes and clenched his jaw as hard as he could.

It took everything in him, every muscle, every beat of his heart, every instinct...

"Alright, hey," 2012 Steve cleared his throat, gesturing to the Avengers around him before gesturing again to Loki on the steps. "C'mon, let's get him on his feet."

The heroes cleared their throats awkwardly and nodded, abruptly lifting Loki off of the ground and taking the scepter.

"Stark," Lang said, and Tony nearly forgot the man was sitting on his shoulder at a microscopic size. "You gotta focus. C'mon. Get your head in it."

The elevator next to them dinged and opened, Hydra agents spilling out of it. Tony was forced to lurch back and hide behind a different wall, forced to blink away the horror of the scene before him and pull it together, as impossible as that seemed.

If he made it through this moment, he could get a hundred better ones with his kid in the future, for years and years to come.

That singular thought kept him from looking at his kid wrapped around 2012 Tony's middle with his face buried in his father's shoulder, kept Tony from lurching forward and stealing Peter and hiding away in a different pocket in time. 

That singular thought would get Peter back, so he held onto it like the universe depended on it.

At the end of the day, it did.

🕷⎊🕷

"Is that Axe Body Spray?"

"Yeah, I had a can in the desk for emergencies. Relax. Can we focus, please?”

Tony watched from the Tower front desk as his past self walked toward the doors, one arm wrapped around his kid clinging to him and the other holding a briefcase. 

“Okay,” Scott said into his earpiece. “I’m going inside you now.”

Tony clenched his jaw as Alexander Pierce and his circus troupe of agents approached his past self and 2012 Thor, their expressions dark.

”May I ask you where you’re going?”

”Bit of lunch and then Asgard,” Thor said with a smile, raising an arm and separating the agents from Peter and Tony. “I’m sorry, you are…?”

”Alexander Pierce,” Past Tony interrupted, leaning into Thor’s ear to explain. “He’s the man above the folks behind Nick Fury.”

”Oh.”

”My friends call me Mister Secretary,” Pierce said with a glare. “I’m gonna have to ask you to turn that prisoner over to me.”

”Loki will be answering to Odin himself.”

”No, he’s going to answer to us. Odin can have what’s left. And I’m gonna need that case.”

One of the agents behind Pierce stepped forward. Past-Tony stepped back, his arm tightening around his kid.

”That’s been S.H.I.E.L.D property for over seventy years.”

”Hand over the case, Stark.”

Tony sucked in a breath as he watched his past self step back further, Peter’s grip on him tightening and his eyes going wide.

”Alright, move it, Stuart Little. Things are getting dicey out there. Come on.”

”You sure you’re not gonna die?” Scott asked into his earpiece. 

“We’re only giving me a mild cardiac dysrhythmia.”

”…That doesn’t sound mild.”

”I need the case,” Pierce suddenly said, his voice echoing throughout the Tower lobby. One of the agents pressed forward, though his eye wasn’t on the briefcase anymore. 

Tony’s stomach dropped. 

“Scott, pull my plug. They’re gonna take Peter.”

”You realize that doesn’t matter, right? It’s not real.”

”It is real.”

The agent finally lurched forward and ripped Peter from Past-Tony’s middle, taking him roughly in his arms. Peter squirmed, a hand stretched Tony’s way.

”Dad! Dad!”

“Get your hands off of him!”

The agents all crowded around Past-Tony before he could reach for his kid, prying the case from his grip.

”Get off! Peter!”

”Scott,” Tony barked, placing a hand on the Tower desk because it was taking every fiber of his being not to sprint forward and rip his kid from the agent’s hold, “pull my fucking pin.”

Tony blinked and watched his past self gasp and fall to his knees, the whir of his arc reactor echoing throughout the lobby. Peter screamed in the agent’s arms.

”Dad!”

The briefcase clattered to the ground as the agent’s gathered around him, frantic eyes scanning him up and down as he convulsed and gasped for breaths with wide eyes.

”He’s convulsing! He needs air!”

”Medic! Medic!”

“Medic!” Tony forced out as he watched the scene unfold, his voice cracking as he looked around behind him. “Get these guys some help!”

”Stark,” Thor’s voice boomed, and Tony would’ve laughed if his gaze wasn’t glued to his kid being restrained in a federal agent’s hold. “Is it your chest machine?!”

Someone must have finally answered his prayers because Scott hopped out of Past-Tony’s sleeve and kicked the briefcase with the Tesseract his way, the sound of metal echoing in the lobby as it slid toward him.

Tony lurched down and scooped it up, walking as calmly and briskly as possible away from the scene.

”Dad! Dad, please, please wake up!”

He froze in his tracks, turning cautiously over his shoulder as he watched Thor place his hammer over Past-Tony’s chest, watched Peter reach for his father only for the agent holding him to cease his wrist with an iron grip.

He saw red.

It was all he could see, taste, feel. 

“I’m gonna kill him.”

”What?” Scott snapped in his earpiece, breaths frantic. “No, no, no, Stark, get out of here. Take the case and get out of here! We’re so close-!”

Before Tony could respond or even act on his rage, 2012 Hulk sent him flying.

He wasn’t entirely sure what happened after that. His vision swam, the noise around him deafening.

He could hear his own voice, his son’s voice shouting and crying out for him. He could hear Scott shouting in his ear piece.

He couldn’t feel the briefcase in his hand anymore.

His heart jolted and he forced himself into a sitting position, spotting the Tesseract just in time for Loki to disappear with it.

“That wasn’t supposed to happen,” Scott said in his ear, “was it?”

Tony watched his past self reach for Peter, who had torn himself from the agent’s arms and lurched toward his father with tears in his eyes. He watched them hold each other like their lives depended on it and he closed his eyes, feeling the expanse of his heart shattering in his chest all over again.

”…We blew it.”

🕷⎊🕷

There was another way to retake the Tesseract and acquire new particles.

Tony cursed the universe for forcing him to take another sprint down memory lane even as he stood in the streets of 2012 New York.

Military instillation. Garden State.

April 7th, 1970.

It wasn’t guaranteed. It was vaguely exact, and that was all Tony had to offer after reliving the horror of that day and being smacked in the head with the Hulk. 

But Steve trusted him. After everything, Steve still trusted him.

That was the story of how he ended up on an elevator with his father, holding a can of sauerkraut and a bouquet of flowers. 

Apparently, Howard and Maria Stark were expecting.

It took Tony a moment to put two and two together, and when he did the realization hit him like a truck, ice shooting through his veins and down his spine. He stared ahead numbly as Howard continued on, his words echoing in the elevator and in Tony’s skull.

“How far along is she?” He managed to get out through constricted lungs.

”Uh, I don’t know,” Howard frowned, looking down at his stomach and gesturing an estimate. “She’s at the point where she can’t stand the sound of my chewing. I guess I’ll be eating dinner in the pantry again.”

Tony nodded with the most strained smile he’d ever worn. He couldn’t quite tell if his heart was thundering in his chest and ears and throat or if it was completely still.

Howard continued fidgeting with his collar and tie, his jaw raised. Tony remembered that Howard always had his jaw raised when he was growing up, always towered above him and asserted authority any way he could.

They were the same height now, but Tony felt infinitely smaller than him.

”What about you?” Howard asked. Tony had to close his eyes, swearing that his father’s voice was the same volume as a nuclear explosion. “Any kids?”

Tony clenched his jaw at the question, taking in a breath and praying Howard couldn’t tell that he was trembling.

”…A little boy.”

His voice gave way near the end of the sentence and he raised his jaw just like Howard, suppressing a heart attack.

Howard narrowed his eyes before he hummed and directed his attention back to the elevator door as it took them above ground.

”Hm. I was hoping for a girl. Less of a chance she’d turn out exactly like me.”

Tony narrowed his eyes, too.

God, he had so many questions.

”…What would be so awful about that…?”

”Let’s just say that the, uh…greater good has rarely outweighed my own self-interest.”

At some point, the elevator door opened. Howard patted Tony’s arm and stepped out.

Tony was glued to his spot, swallowing red.

…Where had that self-awareness been when he was a kid?

🕷⎊🕷

The 1970’s sun in New Jersey had never been so blinding.

Tony followed Howard blindly as they walked across the courtyard of the military instillation, vehicles and soldiers and secretaries buzzing all around them. 

Howard was rambling on about Maria and baby names.

Elmonzo.

He would’ve laughed if he could.

But he couldn’t laugh. He wasn’t even sure he could continue to swallow down his own vomit.

Because the man before him wasn’t at all what he remembered, and that infuriated him.

His memory was still as prominent as all those years ago, still triggered his anxiety and made him feel so small and insignificant and unwanted.

Harsh words. A booming voice. Rough hands. The pungent smell of alcohol.

Howard didn’t necessarily hit Tony, at least not frequently. He remembered flinching when his father raised his voice, remembered cowering at the crack of the belt, remembered carrying the extent of Howard’s words with him everywhere he went.

Stark men are made of iron.

That was why Tony shielded himself in it.

More specifically in a gold-titanium alloy, but that was neither here nor there.

He didn’t just shield himself as Iron Man, as obvious as that statement sounded. He didn’t just harden his exterior as an Avenger or a superhero or a billionaire or a genius.

He’d carried his iron exterior with him his entire life as Howard’s son, long after Howard passed. He’d both protected and hid himself with it, and yes, he’d admit, it made him arrogant and brash and numb but that was a small price to pay in the grand scheme of it all.

Thank god Howard’s parenting wasn’t genetic.

…Or maybe it was. All Tony knew was that he never felt the need to hit Peter or tell him to piss off or stick him with the family butler when he didn’t want to be near him.

The alcoholism and arrogance and sheltered-disposition were either genetic or inherent, and after all, he’d had the best teacher.

He blinked and was back in the past-present, scanning Howard up and down.

The man before him didn’t have a booming voice. He wasn’t harsh, wasn’t bitter, didn’t have alcohol wafting off of him.

He didn’t make Tony flinch.

He was warm. Calm. Tony would even go as far as to say he was happy.

He wondered if he became bitter and harsh and alcoholic the moment he became a father.

Not just a father, but Tony’s father.

“Let me ask you a question.”

He was violently yanked from his thoughts at the question, stopping and staring at Howard as the man calculated his words, thought long and hard with a clenched jaw.

”When your kid was born…were you nervous?”

He couldn’t help but gape at the question, couldn’t help but hang his mouth open as he stared ahead in thought.

No, he wanted to say, when my kid was born I was drunk and had no idea. The apple doesn’t fall far. 

Instead, he finally found his voice around the lump in his throat, remembering the night he got that call, the feeling he had in his stomach and chest on that flight to New York to pick up a little boy named Peter.

He remembered it so vividly...

”…Wildly.”

Howard released a sigh of relief. Tony wanted to strangle him.

Howard didn’t care. Howard wasn’t going to parent Tony at all, not in any way that would change him for the better. 

“Did you feel qualified? Like you had any idea how to successfully operate that thing?”

That sounded familiar.

That sounded like the Howard he remembered. The one that didn’t stop to think that his son was a person capable of feeling, capable of absorbing every word and drink and belt thrown at him and carrying it with him forever. 

“I…I pieced it together,” Tony finally supplied, unsure how long the silence between them had persisted. “As I went along. I thought about what my dad did.”

That was true. He remembered thinking of Howard more than he ever had that night, thinking of what not to say or do.

In fact, it was his first thought when the nurse called him.

Don’t end up like Howard.

The devastation of Peter telling Tony he was just like Howard still hit him in full sometimes.

“God, my old man,” Howard scoffed with a shake of his head. “He never met a problem he couldn’t solve with a belt.”

Tony hummed. “Mine never met a problem he couldn’t solve with a drink.”

Someone behind Howard caught Tony’s eye and he physically deflated in relief when he spotted Steve across the courtyard, who was sending a thumbs up his way.

”I tell you what,” Howard scoffed again, though this time he was smiling fondly, staring ahead at the ground occupied with his own thoughts. “The kid’s not even here yet…and there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for him.”

Tony clenched his jaw again as Howard stepped around him and made for the car.

…What a lie.

He couldn’t even begin to break down how utterly untrue that was, how Howard always did the bare minimum of good parenting Tony’s entire life until he died. 

Instead, he took a composing breath, suppressing a heart attack and his own version of a Bruce Banner outburst, gesturing toward Steve with the briefcase in hand.

“Good to meet you, Potts.”

Tony turned over his shoulder at the statement and couldn’t supply anything more than nod and a strained smile, numbly allowing Howard to take his hand in a handshake.

Tony retracted his hand, sniffed rather obnoxiously, and made for Steve.

He’d never wanted to return to the present so badly.

Peter wasn’t there, but neither was Howard.

🕷⎊🕷

Tony let himself bask in the ignorance that they’d actually pulled their Time Heist off for about ten seconds.

Then Natasha fell to her knees on the launchpad.

”Nat?”

Bruce was quick to lurch forward and kneel down beside her, a large hand on her shoulder as he searched her eyes feverishly. Water was dripping from her braid, her skin pale.

Then it clicked.

”…Where’s Clint?”

She brought red-rimmed, glassy eyes up to meet Bruce’s.

No words were necessary. She’d said all she needed to say with her face alone.

Deafening silence filled the compound just as it had for the past three years. The kind that was full of anguish, full of failure, full of grief.

The kind that was never in short supply.

The silence on a battlefield. The echo of a gun.

For the umpteenth time, the Avengers mourned.

🕷⎊🕷

Steve found Tony in Peter’s room.

It wasn’t exactly Peter’s room. More specifically, it was the room Peter would occasionally stay in when the Starks visited the compound overnight. Tony was pretty sure his kid had only stayed in that particular room about eight times.

Regardless, Tony found himself wandering into it after they all dispersed from the launchpad, a drink in his hand as he sat on the edge of the bed.

Grief, in general, was perpetual, especially so for the Avengers. For Tony and Clint, it was heavier.

He didn’t like to think that his grief outweighed anyone else’s, that they didn’t all get dealt the same shitty hand. But it didn’t take a genius to know that Tony and Clint grieved differently.

Going to support groups wasn’t an option for them like it was for the others. Thinking of a future was unfathomable if your kid or your wife or your entire family wasn’t somewhere in the picture.

Grief was like a fingerprint, unique to every person. It moved through most people. It even moved through Tony after his mother’s murder. He grieved Howard and Maria both, but eventually, he survived. He found purpose.

He carried on, just like everyone said he would.

But after Peter, he didn’t carry on.

His grief never moved through him. Instead, it got stuck, and rather than carry on with his life, he was forced to carry the grief of losing him, forced to feel his kid quite literally slip through his fingers all over again, every single day.

Sometimes, he even grieved the day he picked Peter up from the hospital.

He grieved it because if he had known what he knew now, had felt what he was feeling every second of every day…

He would find himself in the memory and he could only think one thing.

I know how this ends.

He had the power to change that ending now.

Six infinity stones were downstairs. It was almost like Peter was downstairs.

He wondered as he sat with his glass in his hand what Clint thought, what he said, what he felt before he sacrificed himself for the stone. Before he released his grip on Natasha’s hand and sacrificed his chance of ever seeing his wife and children again.

They would return to a world without him.

It was Tony’s job, the Avenger’s job now to make sure they really did return, that they knew Clint wouldn’t have done what he did if he didn’t know for certain that his family would be alive and breathing again after he did it.

The mattress dipped beside him. He brought tired eyes to look at Steve on his left .

Steve’s hands were crossed in his lap and he looked just as tired, just as deprived of tears as everyone else.

“…Do we know if he had any other family?”

Tony closed his eyes and brought his glass to his lips, feeling warmth run down his chest as he swallowed.

“Us.”

Steve lowered his head, too, his brow furrowed.

”Nat is…not great.”

Tony didn’t say anything, swirling his drink around absentmindedly in his glass. Steve watched him with a clenched jaw.

”It’s quiet.”

Tony’s words pierced that quiet and were deafening in his own ears. Steve nodded, like he knew exactly what he was talking about.

”Yeah.”

He thought about the day the Avengers visited Clint’s homestead for the first time. How foreign and alien it felt to walk into a farmhouse bustling with kids and food and love, something he was certain none of his colleagues had ever experienced for themselves.

It was so unfamiliar to him. Almost as unfamiliar as the Howard he met today, the one who was excited and ambitious and thrilled about the mere idea of fatherhood.

”…Dad gave me my first drink when I was thirteen.”

Steve turned to look at him at that, his brow raised in question. 

“Said it’d put hair on my chest.”

Steve hummed a laugh, shaking his head.

For as long as Tony had known Steve personally, he’d had nothing but good things to say about Howard. It infuriated Tony to no end.

How he was happy Howard got married. The stories Howard would tell. The high hopes, the laughter, the charisma.

He expected Steve to supply something nostalgic. 

That sounds like Howard.

I remember him saying something like that.

He was hilarious. 

But now, Steve looked at Tony with a certain knowingness.

It wasn’t reminiscent or nostalgic or funny.

It was honest. 

”He was an asshole.”

Tony blinked, his mouth hanging open numbly as he took in the words.

His mouth clicked shut and at some point his lip must’ve quirked in a smile because Steve was smiling back at him.

“…Yeah. He was.”

Steve hummed and returned his gaze to the ground. Tony nudged his drink Steve’s way, unsure if he would even be remotely interested but to his surprise Steve took the glass and brought it to his lips.

“Language, by the way.”

Steve choked slightly on his drink and brought a hand to his throat with a grimace, shoving the glass back into Tony’s hand with a laugh and a punch to the arm.

”Fuck off.”

Tony raised his eyebrows at that, returning to his staring contest with the wall in front of them.

Even as hope swelled in his chest, the excitement of getting Peter back buzzing in his heart, he still lived in an echo.

Everything was an echo. 

His life. Peter’s absence. The bed Tony sat on.

Everything still echoed in his head and bounced on the walls. Conversations they’d had together in that very room, things they’d said and done.

He had brought Peter to the compound after Ultron. Peter would’ve been safe there, wouldn’t have been caught in the crossfire of Tony’s creations and mistakes again.

He remembered staring at that ring of purple around Peter’s neck and swallowing down bile when he thought about the fact that his creation, his invention had been the cause.

“I saw Peggy today.”

Tony was forced from his thoughts and blinked in surprise at the statement, bringing his gaze back to Steve with a look of surprise.

He wasn’t really that surprised, he supposed. After all, seeing his eleven-year-old son, his father, and losing Clint hadn’t originally been on his agenda that day.

But one look at Steve as he digested what he said, what he went through that day during his stroll down memory lane, told Tony everything he needed to know.

They were both still living in the before. 

In life, there was the before and the after. That one event that became the marker in your timeline, the thing at which all things revolved.

There was the before and the after. For the past three years, Steve and Pepper and Helen and Rhodey and Happy had been telling Tony he had to start living in the after.

But one look at Steve, and he knew the man was living in the before just as much as Tony was.

”…How was that?”

Steve lowered his head for a moment before he brought his gaze back up to meet Tony’s, searching his eyes and calculating what to say, how to convey what he felt when he saw her and couldn’t talk to her.

”…Hard.”

Tony didn’t nod or blink, simply offering the smallest of reassuring smiles at Steve’s whisper.

That made sense to him. If he could condense how he felt when he saw Peter alive for the first time in three years, saw Peter being restrained by a federal agent, how he felt when he had to relive the moment he found Peter behind the penthouse bar…

It was hard. 

It was unbelievably, unbearably hard.

“Yeah.”

Steve frowned for a moment, his brow pinched together in concern.

”…How was Howard?”

Tony released a breath and looked back down at his glass, bringing it to his lips and swallowing thickly.

”That bastard was nicer to me in those ten some odd minutes than he ever was my entire life.”

Steve hummed with that same knowingness as before. He took the glass from Tony’s hand and finished it off.

”Like I said…he was a…bad word.”

Tony shook his head with a smile and placed a hand on Steve’s shoulder, taking the empty glass from his hand and placing it on the floor.

”Let’s go get our family back.”

Steve nodded.

“About time.”

🕷⎊🕷

They were all planets.

Planets orbiting the infinity gauntlet, revolving around their saving grace and their biggest weakness.

Tony spared a glance to the others around him, all staring at the stones with the same unreadable expression. 

He wasn’t sure if he was disgusted or awestruck.

Those stones killed Peter.

But they were also going to bring him back.

He concluded, then, that the stones themselves weren’t what he disgusted. It was whoever controlled them, whoever decided to wield them and play god.

And that was the question that hung in the air as they all orbited the stones, all eyed them warily with tense shoulders.

Tony knew deep down that it had to be Bruce. It couldn’t be any of the “mortals” as Thor called them, couldn’t be Nebula and most certainly couldn’t be Rocket. He was certain if Rocket laid even a claw on the stones he would evaporate into dust.

It couldn’t be Nat. Steve. Tony. Rhodey. None of them.

It had to be Bruce. Bruce knew it, Tony knew it, they all knew it.

He would survive. He would be scarred by the stones forever, but he would bring back trillions and survive.

There was no question.

As much as the thought disgusted him, he wondered for a moment if Peter had survived the snap, if he was standing next to him at that moment, he would’ve volunteered.

It brought bile in his throat and a smile to his face all at once.

His self-sacrificing, trouble magnet of a kid would have undoubtedly volunteered to snap his fingers.

He discarded the thought as Bruce approached the gauntlet with a knowing smile.

🕷⎊🕷

“Did it work?”

That was the million dollar question.

The barriers over the windows and doors whirred as they retracted and sunlight filtered into the lab. Tony knelt down at Bruce’s side and used a sealant over his seared, smoking right side.

”We’re not sure,” Thor said hastily, a frantic gaze scanning Bruce up and down.

“It’s over,” Natasha said, running her fingers through Bruce’s sweat-drenched hair. “It’s okay.”

Tony was numb. He was terrified, his heart thundering in his throat and constricting his lungs and drowning him.

He had to know if it worked. He had to know.

”I think it worked!”

Tony snapped his head up at Scott’s words, gaze locking on the window Scott stood in front of.

Birds chirped in the sunlight. The grass was somehow greener, as cheesy and delusional as it sounded.

The beauty of the world outside only gave Tony one thought, a thought he couldn’t help but blurt out the second it voiced itself in his head.

”Peter is alive.”

Steve looked up from where he knelt across from Tony, his brow still furrowed in concern though his eyes held that same hope, that same disbelief. 

The mere idea was nauseating in the best way imaginable.

Peter is alive. Peter is alive. Peter is alive.

Then the panic slammed into him. 

Peter was alive on Titan. 

He was alive, but he was light years away on the planet he’d died on.

Probably scared, probably having no one but Strange to question. Probably unsure if he had even died, unsure how long he had been dead.

He took a minute to actually use his head and knew there were thousands of ways to get him back. Carol, or a ship, or even Strange. 

Everything was going to be okay. He looked up at Nat and saw her smile, her eyes saying the same thing.

Then the building shook and the floor disappeared from underneath him.

BOOM!

🕷⎊🕷

“What was that?”

”Just a little thunder, Petey-Pie.”

Peter chewed on his lip anxiously from where he sat on the couch, staring at the storm raging outside of their penthouse windows. It was dark out, but every time lightning struck, he swore he could see every building and drop of rain and cloud in the sky.

”It’s really loud.”

Tony laughed, shaking his head as he approached the couch with two mugs of hot chocolate in his hands. 

“It’ll be over before you know it, kid.”

Peter took the mug from his father’s hands as Tony sat down beside him. Peter narrowed his eyes skeptically.

”Promise?”

”Scout’s honor.”

He hummed uneasily, his gaze returning to the storm. Tony wrapped an arm around his kid as they both sipped from their mugs.

“What’s wrong, kiddo? Don’t like the rain?”

”I do.”

It was Tony’s turn to narrow his eyes.

”Well, either you’re a liar or a scaredy pants. Or both.”

Peter groaned in annoyance. Tony released a laugh.

”Seriously, kid. It’s okay to be scared of a little thunder. It’s loud. You’re right.”

”I like the rain,” Peter insisted, a little more forcefully. 

“Alright, alright. I believe you.”

They both took another sip of hot chocolate before Tony felt ice shoot through his veins.

Mary’s plane had been taken down by a big storm just three years earlier.

His gaze snapped back down to look at his kid, who was still chewing on his lip with his mug held tightly in his hands.

He didn’t know what to say. He still had no earthly idea what the hell he was doing.

He had an eight-year-old kid that knew more about grief and trauma than he did, even after Afghanistan.

At least when Tony went through that, he was an adult.

He brought a hand up and ran his hands through Peter’s hair, smiling fondly as he twirled the kid’s curls. Peter seemed to be eased of his angst slightly at the motion.

“Hey, you.”

Peter hummed in question, not once tearing his gaze from the windows. 

“Wanna watch a movie?”

Peter pursed his lips in thought. “Like what?”

”I dunno. Star Wars?”

”…Which one?”

Tony snorted a laugh, already reaching for the remote. 

“Let’s have a look-see.”

The TV illuminated their faces. Jarvis dimmed the lights as the rain continued pattering on the windows and casting a shadow on the room.

”Hey, Dad?”

“Yeah?”

”…Can we sleep on the couch tonight?”

Tony’s lip quirked in a smile and he nodded, craning his head to press a kiss into Peter’s curls.

”Just this once.”

”You always say that, and then we always end up sleeping on the couch again.”

”You're a persuasive kid.”

Peter finally smiled. Tony looked down at him and melted, the adoration he had for his kid wafting off of him and filling every inch of the penthouse.

Sometimes, when Peter was tucked safely under Tony's arm the way he was then, Tony wondered if there was a way to keep them both there like that forever.

🕷⎊🕷

Tony stumbled blindly through the rubble until he found an opening.

Thanos sat there. Doing absolutely nothing.

Tony could do nothing but stare at him at first, could do nothing but watch the alien sit on a throne of debris and wait.

He wasn't sure what they were all waiting for. All he knew was that the stones were somewhere underneath his feet, underneath the mountains of rock and ash, along with Bruce and Rhodey and Rocket and Natasha and...

Nebula.

Somehow, someway, this had to do with Nebula.

But he couldn't dwell on the how or the why. Not now, not when his son's murderer was sitting with his chest puffed out like it was his god-given right to even have a heart inside it.

His son's murderer.

Somewhere out there, Peter was alive, and yet Tony was gifted the opportunity of watching life leave the eyes of Peter's murderer.

He'd dreamt of this moment, waited for this day. The day he got to murder Thanos with his bare hands, with a smile. 

"You know it's a trap," Thor started quietly, "right?"

Steve and Tony both turned to look at him at that, entire bodies rigid and eyes raging with forest fires.

"He killed...trillions," Steve supplied, a reiteration of what the entire world had been coping with the last three years but that didn't matter.

The world had become desensitized to that statement, had never really fully grasped what that meant.

But the Avengers did.

Tony thought back to Clint's words just the day before, how the whole world could move on and face a new day, and yet...

Not us.

"Stark?"

Tony had closed his eyes at some point and brought a red-rimmed gaze to meet Thor's, the thunder and lightning brewing in the god's eyes matching the forest fire behind Tony's.

"...He murdered my son."

Thor didn't nod, didn't blink, didn't speak.

Instead, the statement intensified his seething rage and he returned his gaze to the slaughtered before him, raising two hands in the air. A storm swirled and boomed and thundered above them, somehow visualizing their exact emotions.

"Just as long as we're all in agreement."

🕷⎊🕷

"I thought that by eliminating half of life, the other half would thrive."

Tony, Steve, and Thor were suddenly planets again, this time orbiting Thanos.

Cautiously. Warily. Outraged.

That statement alone was nearly enough to cause Tony to lurch forward, because it was the perfect description of what Thanos had done three years before.

He had eliminated half of Tony's life, if not all of it the day he made Peter disappear. He had ripped his heart out of his chest and crushed it in front of him, made it turn to ash in his hold.

"But you've shown me...that's impossible."

He would've laughed if he could have. He was certain they all would.

Thor's loss was insurmountable. His people and his brother were all dead, nothing but a pitstop on Thanos's path to mass genocide.

Steve's loss left him completely broken, left him numb in his grief because how could a single man lose the love of his life, seventy years, and his only family left and still wake up the next day?

And then there was Tony.

Thriving wasn't even on the table.

It was the breathing, the sunrise of each day, the feeling of his heart beating in his chest when Peter's wasn't.

That was impossible.

"That as long as there are those who remember what was, there will always be those that are unable to accept what can be. They will resist."

He opened his mouth to speak, unsure if vomit would escape him or his heart or both.

"Yep, we're all kinds of stubborn."

His voice was forced and strained. Thanos could tell, feeding off of it with a smirk that made Tony sick.

"I'm thankful."

He was smiling now, visibly. Tony reached his boiling point.

He knew with every fiber of his being that Thanos wore the same smug smile when he snapped his fingers the first time.

"Because now...I know what I must do."

The alien stood, scanning the acres of fire and rubble like it was a painting, a microcosm of what he'd yearned for.

"I will shred this universe to its last atom. And then...with the stones you've collected for me...create a new one. Teeming with life, that knows not what it has lost, but only what it has been given."

Thor was the first to actually act on his anger, adjusting his arms as lightning coursed through his veins and eyes and weapons. Thanos didn't blink.

"A grateful universe."

"Born out of blood."

"They'll never know it."

Tony visibly shook in his place, so bloodthirsty he could practically feel Thanos's heart in his hands, could feel his fingers around the giant's throat.

He wanted to kill him.

More than anything, more than life, more than air, he wanted to kill him. He wanted to shred him to his last atom just as much as Thanos wanted to do to him, to all of them.

Tony always prayed that Peter didn't feel pain as he disappeared, didn't feel the extent of his every atom disintegrating and floating across his fading vision. He prayed delusionally, hoped against all hope that it was swift. Confusing and devastating and terrifying, but...swift.

Now, as he stared at Thanos's smile, he wanted to inflict every feeling Peter had felt onto him.

He wanted to make Thanos feel his every atom get obliterated. He wanted to watch him slowly, painfully evaporate on an atomic scale. He wanted to look into Thanos's eyes as he heaved the same exhausted, weary breaths Peter breathed before he vanished like he'd never existed in the first place. 

But then, Tony took in a trembling breath when he remembered.

More than anything, more than life, more than air, he wanted Peter.

He wanted to see him again. He wanted to hold him again. He wanted to run his hands through Peter's curls. He wanted the unbelievably bizarre privilege of being able to call Peter's name and get an answer.

He wanted Peter more than he wanted Thanos dead.

But Thanos had to die, and there was no way around it.

With that thought, his helmet clicked shut in his face and he lurched forward, the stain on the Earth they once called the Compound now their battleground. 

Earth's mightiest heroes wouldn't be paralyzed with grief again.

At least not at his hands.

🕷⎊🕷

“Kid.”

Thud, thud, thud…

"He is in turmoil."

”C’mon, kid, snap out of it.”

Thud, thud, thud…

”Peterrrr, it’s your conscienceeee!”

”Cut it out, Quill.”

Thud, thud, thud...

"Peter, wake up."

"Peter, it's your future self!"

"I said enough."

What...?

”For the love of—Peter!”

Peter sat up all too suddenly with a deafening gasp, his eyes flying open wide. 

Doctor Strange and Mantis were in his face, Strange's brow furrowed with two fingers on his neck. Quill was there, too, his eyes lighting up from over Strange's shoulder.

”He lives!”

“What—what is—where—“

”Deep breaths,” Strange said, his hands taking Peter’s shoulders. Mantis was still behind him, rubbing soothing circles on his back. “In and out. Just like that.”

Peter blinked the haziness and confusion out of his eyes, his joints stiff as he scanned his surroundings in full.

Orange sky. Orange dirt. Foreign air.

Thanos. Tony with a sword in his middle. Ashy hands.

”…What-What happened?”

Strange released a shaky breath, rising to his feet and extending a hand Peter’s way.

”Thanos won, but not for long. C’mon, kid, it’s been three years. They need us.”

…Motion sickness.

That was about the only way to describe how it felt, how those words made him feel as he digested them. He felt like everything was spinning and moving around him too fast for him to comprehend.

Apparently, time had spun and moved around him.

Three years.

Three years…?

”Where’s my dad?” Peter asked, his voice cracking and catching on something in his throat.

If it had really been three years, and Tony was nowhere to be found...

He swallowed panic, his newfound heartbeat thundering in his ears.

“I-I want my dad. Where is he?”

Strange clenched his jaw, his expression dark. He spared a glance to Mantis over Peter's shoulder, who cautiously raised two hands to Peter's head.

"He is scared."

Peter swatted her hands away, turning to look at her with a glare.

"I am not. Would you quit it?"

”He’s waiting on you, Peter," Strange supplied suddenly, rising from his knees and extending a hand the kid's way.

"Let's not keep him any longer."

🕷⎊🕷

Tony woke to the sound of sparks.

More accurately, he woke to the feeling of his heart beating between his eyes from the ass-kicking he'd received only moments before, but he heard sparks upon regaining consciousness, a familiar feeling blanketing the battlefield.

Something was happening.

Steve and Thor knew it, too. Steve was looking over his shoulder as something illuminated him, cracking and sparkling in midair until it began to take shape.

A circle. An opening.

...A portal.

Three figures stepped through. Tony blinked the brunt of his concussion out of his eyes, leaning forward in confusion as he propped himself up on his elbows with a grimace.

T'Challa. Shuri.

Two people who had been...

His breath hitched violently in his throat and he could've sworn he felt his heart lurch up into his mouth, watching paralyzed as Sam Wilson emerged from the portal and flew up and around the smoldering battlefield.

Before Tony could even ground himself in the present, even grasp the implications of their presence on the rubble of the compound, the portals multiplied.

Tens of hundreds of them were sparking in thin air and illuminating everything, each holding their own world, their own share of miracles. 

It worked, it worked, it worked.

The portals were Stephen Strange's. Tony may have been concussed and delirious and sleep-deprived and numb, but he recognized those anywhere.

Peter and Strange died a few feet from each other. They would be in the same one.

Tony sat up as much as his body would let him and searched feverishly for the familiar, revolting orange sky of Titan, for any sign of a curly-haired teenager in a red and gold spider suit.

He wasn't sure if it was his instinct or his heart thundering in his throat, but it didn't take him long.

He saw Strange first, saw him hovering above the ground beside Mantis and Drax and Quill. There was a distinct lack of Peter that nearly made Tony scream. He hadn't come this far just for Peter to disappear again, for Peter to not be where Tony had regrettably left him.

And yet, with the bustle of the battlefield and the battle cry of the Wakadandans and the sound of his own heart in his ears...

The sound of spider webs thwipping pierced every other sound deafeningly, in the most euphoric way.

It was heavenly music to Tony's ears. 

And then he was there. Peter Parker Stark flipped his way through one of the thousands of rapidly appearing portals and landed in a crouch, scanning his surroundings with the eyes of the Iron Spider narrowed before the mask retracted.

Peter took in a breath once his face was free. Familiar curls bounced in the soft breeze, his eyes looking up and around at the sky and the firey grounds in trepidation. He slowly rose to a standing position, arms held out at the ready for something, for any kind of blunt force trauma.

He was pale and yet he glowed brighter than the portals or the orange sky behind him. He was young, his eyes looking younger by the second as he continued staring at the thousands of Chitautri aliens just ahead, all thirsty for his blood. 

Youthful curls. Youthful ears sticking out of youthful curls. Youthful eyes feverishly scanning the rubble in search of a certain someone. Youthful hands fidgeting nervously at his sides.

Peter was alive.

Tony watched the entire time, paralyzed.

He couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't see past sudden tears. He could've sworn he'd just been hit directly in the heart with a baseball bat, bringing a steadying, trembling hand to his chest to make sure it was even there anymore.

He'd seen Peter a lot of times over the years in memories or while sedated or in grief-induced hallucinations. He'd seen his kid just a few hours earlier, eleven years old and just as terrified as the sixteen-year-old kid standing before him.

But he knew even then that the last time he truly saw Peter, he had been slipping through his fingers.

I don't feel so good.

I don't know what's happening.

I don't wanna go, Dad. Please. Please. I don't wanna go.

I'm sorry.

Tony had to suck in a shaky breath as the voices filtered through his spinning head, as the mind-numbing horror of that day completely overwhelmed him with heartbreak the more he looked up at his kid.

For Tony, it had been three years ago. For Peter, it had been three seconds ago.

But Tony always felt like it had happened three seconds ago.

He felt adrenaline and grief and the burden of time rush to his heart for a moment.

He could still see the devastation in Peter's eyes from where he sat, could still see a maturity in his little boy's eyes that Tony was disgusted was even there.

His little boy.

Peter was his little boy and he'd been dead and resurrected in a matter of three seconds. Tony had to fight his immediate instinct to fly forward, scoop his kid up in his arms, and fly far, far away.

But the way Peter stood, fidgeted, braced himself for hell on earth, breathed...

Tony couldn't breathe.

Because Peter wasn't going anywhere until what was wrong was right.

Tony thought for a moment that Peter looked like Atlas, illuminated by the orange hazy background behind him.

A saving grace. An unfathomable miracle. Not only holding up the heavens, but personifying them.

He was heaven. Tony truly couldn't quite emphasize enough that Peter was heaven.

He was everything.

He was everything and he was alive.

Just the thought of him being alive after Bruce snapped his fingers had been intoxicating. The mere idea that somewhere, past the walls of the compound, past the clouds and the sun and the moon and the stars, Peter Parker Stark was alive. Breathing. Speaking.

He couldn't even fathom hearing Peter's voice again. Not yet, not when the mere image of him standing before him was too wonderfully suffocating.

Peter's feverish scan of the debris finally brought his gaze to Tony, who was still sitting amongst the rubble and staring at him like he was the second coming.

Tony sucked in another breath through constricted lungs.

The feeling of Peter's eyes on him was so incredibly exhilarating that his own eyes began blurring up his vision.

They made eye contact. Brief, full of awe, full of words that had gone unspoken between them for three years.

Full of adoration, overflowing with unconditional, reckless, never-ending love. Full of not only what had been, but what would be.

For the last three years, what started in a rainbow-tiled hospital room in 2006 ended on a foreign planet with ash-covered hands.

Now, what started in a rainbow-tiled hospital room would, Tony prayed, never, ever end. 

They stared for a moment longer. Tony had no idea how much longer, was completely dead and useless to anything and anyone around him that wasn't his resurrected son. All he knew was that Peter was searching his eyes worriedly, as if Tony's eyes had the answers.

And they did. As much as they were brimming with love, they were also overflowing with grief.

Peter blinked for a moment, understanding washing over him. He took in a breath, his shoulders rising at the action and taking Tony's breath away again because holy shit, Peter is breathing.

And then, as a breeze passed through the air and danced through Peter's curls, his kid smiled at him.

Instead of a baseball bat, Tony felt like someone had just slammed into his chest with an eighteen-wheeler.

The mere image of Peter smiling was so mind-numbingly intoxicating, so refreshing and revitalizing. That smile was all it took for Tony's life and his stars and his universe to completely realign.

Peter was alive, breathing, smiling.

Tony was smiling, too, still blinking away blurriness in his eyes and, to his relief, every time his vision found's Peter's again, his kid still existed, still locked eyes with him like the world would end if they ever looked away.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

Peter blinked like he'd gotten the message.

The battle swelled and the homecomings around them multiplied. Before Tony knew it, Peter was swallowed by the crowd and hidden from view.

Tony jolted up to his knees and scanned the crowd of heroes desperately, feverishly, frantically.

He didn't want Peter to be anywhere near this. He didn't want his son to even walk on the ashes of the compound, didn't want him to confront the millions of Chitauri aliens directly ahead.

And yet, that one brief moment of eye contact between the two was all Tony needed to make it through it all alive. It was all the fuel he needed to protect Peter at all costs during the upcoming conflict, all the energy he needed to never, ever let Peter cry or bleed or apologize again. 

He turned to face the Chitauri army before him more determined than he'd ever been his entire life. 

Peter was alive. 

And Thanos had to die.

🕷⎊🕷

Tony was slammed into a piece of concrete so quickly that he lost his breath for a moment, preparing himself for some kind of crushing blow.

Instead, that familiar, heavenly sound of webs echoed in his head. The monster before him was falling to his side, the Earth shaking beneath him. Scott's giant foot appeared out of nowhere and delivered the final, fatal blow, smothering the alien beneath his shoe like a pest.

Tony closed his eyes for a moment to regain himself, his face twisted in a grimace.

"Hey!"

Tony's eyes flew open at the breathless voice, his vision distinguishing a figure in front of him all but bounding and galloping his way. Hands were suddenly taking his arms and hoisting him to his feet.

"Holy cow. Dad, hey, are you okay?"

Tony stood in front of Peter, both of their masks retracting.

His heart stopped. His breath disappeared in his lungs. The entire world disappeared around the both of them.

It was only Tony and Peter for thousands of miles, suspended in space, trapped in a protective bubble that neither one of them dared to leave.

Peter's face was dirty. It was smeared in ash and smoke and dirt and blood, and Tony wished he could say that was the first time he'd seen his kid like that but it wasn't.

He couldn't focus on that, though, at least not as long as his paternal instincts usually forced him to. Not when Peter's eyes were so wonderfully alight in front of him, so beautifully full of life as they searched Tony's for an answer.

Tony had no idea what the kid had even asked.

He was too busy drinking in the sound of Peter's voice, too busy listening to the sound echo in the walls of his skull like the most beautiful melody he'd ever heard.

It wasn't grainy. It wasn't coming from a phone or computer speaker. It wasn't something from an old patrol log or a voicemail or a video.

It was spoken right in front of him. He had the mind-blowing, unbelievable privilege of hearing Peter speak to him in real-time, in his face.

"Dad, do you-do you remember when we were in space?"

Tony still wasn't sure he'd taken a breath since the kid came bounding up to his rescue, especially not now that he was speaking again, asking that specific question.

Of course I do. Of course I do.

"And I got all dusty?"

He found his breath then for just a moment, sucking one in sharply at the statement.

It was such a childlike summary of the horror they'd endured.

Tony's never-ending ocean of grief and horror from watching his son, his person, his everything crumble into nothing, claw at Tony's back and beg him to do something, anything to make it stop, to make him stay.

Peter's horror of turning over his shoulder to watch his hands begin to flake away in private before he finally used his voice, before he stumbled into Tony's arms and wept and begged and apologized.

I remember that all the time.

"And I-I must've passed out because I woke up and you were gone."

Tony's heart shattered all over again at that.

That had been his biggest fear the moment Bruce's snap finally sank in. Peter had been alive but he had been alive on Titan, millions of lightyears away from Tony. Probably asking for him, searching for him, terrified without him.

One look into Peter's eyes told him that the fear of waking up without Tony there was still stewing in his chest, had been horrifying, mind-numbing.

His face scrunched the more he studied Peter, from his curls to his eyes to everything about him.

He was breathless.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

"But-But Doctor Strange was there, right? And he was like, 'it's been three years! Come on, they need us!' And then, he..."

Peter brought his hands up between the two of them to really get his point across and punch his words, imitating Strange. 

Tony wanted to fall apart.

He loved him so much. 

"He started doing that yellow sparkly thing that he does all the time, and he..."

Peter paused once he finally took a moment to drink Tony in the way Tony was doing to him. He scanned him up and down, his eyes catching the streaks of white in Tony's hair, the grief visible in every line of his face.

Tony closed his eyes, stray tears falling down his cheeks. 

"...Dad?"

Tony opened blurry eyes at Peter's voice, swallowing thickly and, before he knew it, he was moving.

He was an impenetrable force as he moved toward Peter with hungry arms, the sound of metal echoing in his head once he finally took Peter in a long-overdue embrace and their suits collided. Peter caught on quickly and wrapped his arms around Tony's armor to the best of his ability.

Tony crumbled. He could feel Peter's heart beating, could feel his kid's breath on his neck.

He took in a breath around the giant bowling ball-sized lump in his throat and made to say something, anything.

He wasn't sure what to say. He'd spent the past three years in empty rooms, surrounded by photos and memories and what once was. He'd spent all that time talking to nothing, to no one. Thinking of all the things he would have done differently, all the things he would say if Peter was there in front of him one last time.

Now, with Peter in his arms, Tony looked up at the smoke-filled clouds looming overhead, Peter's curls dancing in his vision, and there was only one thing he could bring himself to say.

"Peter."

It was a whisper, fierce and dripping with love and devotion and yearning. Dripping with the grief and anguish of the past three years.

Clint had died for Tony to say Peter's name again, to feel his breath and hear his heartbeat and...

His eyes. Oh, how Tony loved Peter's eyes.

So much so that he was pulling out of the hug and bringing cautious, trembling hands to cup Peter's face, grief-filled, red-rimmed eyes looking into his son's like they were his only life force.

Peter didn't say anything, instead closing his eyes and coming to terms with what he had been vehemently denying since he came back from the dead.

It's been three years.

They need us.

He's waiting on you, Peter. Let's not keep him any longer.

Peter opened his eyes again to meet Tony's, his jaw clenched and his eyes suddenly just as full of grief as Tony's were.

Peter opened his mouth to speak again. Tony watched him in anticipation.

"..I'm sorry."

Tony visibly froze at the declaration, his hands gripping Peter's face a little tighter. Peter continued clenching his jaw as Tony shook his head, brushing stray curls out of Peter's eyes and petting his hair.

"You have nothing to apologize for," Tony whispered, watching a stray tear drip down Peter's cheek. If his hands weren't encased in the armor, he would've caught it with his thumb like he'd always used to do over the years.

Peter made to say something. An explosion suddenly rang out a few feet across from them and shook the ground.

They met eyes again, knowing with dread that they had to leave each other's arms and return to the bloodbath around them.

Tony cupped the back of Peter's neck and pressed a kiss to his forehead, closing his eyes and drinking in the feeling. Peter closed his eyes, too, his hands wrapped around Tony's wrists desperately.

"It'll be okay," Peter reassured him, Tony meeting his gaze once more with the same amount of dread. Peter was looking up at him in determination, a fire behind his eyes. "It'll be fine. We'll both be okay."

"Peter..."

Tony took Peter's face in his hands once more before he could return to battle, the fire behind Peter's eyes nothing but a spark compared to the raging lake of fire behind Tony's.

Tony clenched his jaw, drank Peter in, and spoke.

"You are not allowed to die."

🕷⎊🕷

The plan was to return the stones to the past before Thanos could get them.

It was like a game of football or hot potato, watching the infinity gauntlet and the stones get tossed from person to person.

That was the story of how Tony's heart completely exploded in his chest at the sound of three deafening words in his earpiece, three ear-splitting words spoken by his son he'd gotten back only moments before.

"I got it!"

He was taking the gauntlet from T'Challa and swinging away at lightning speed in the blink of an eye.  Tony couldn't even stop the words from escaping his mouth, only acting and speaking on instinct.

"Peter!"

"Activate instant kill!"

The spider limbs of Peter's suit appeared and began killing every alien that dared to cross his path.

Tony didn't care. He was fighting his own nine-foot-tall alien and watching the scene unfold with mind-numbing terror.

"Peter Parker Stark, let go of that fucking gauntlet."

"I-I can't!"

"You can, and you will."

The last thing Tony saw was Peter in a crouch with his arms wrapped around the gauntlet before Thanos's ship began raining fire.

Bright blue beams were colliding with the Earth and sending everything up in smoke and flames. Tony's eyes went wide, his gaze on Peter having vanished through the clouds of ash.

"PETER!"

Peter didn't answer, his comm silent. Tony shook his head in dread, plowing through the battlefield even as gunfire continued raining down mercilessly.

"Peter, where are you?!"

Finally, although a little grainy, Peter's voice filtered through his helmet.

"Help! Somebody help!"

Tony's heart jumped to his throat as he continued flying through the smoke.

This couldn't be happening.

This could not be fucking happening.

"Hey, kid."

Steve's voice filtered through Tony's helmet and he spotted him through the smoke, raising his arm with Mjolnir still in his grip.

"You still know how to use this thing?"

Steve launched it Peter's way and finally, above the smoke and gunfire, Peter appeared with a web attached to Mjolnir, the gauntlet still tucked under his arm as he soared above the trenches.

Tony wasted one moment masking in relief before he began blasting his way.

"Peter, baby, hang tight. I'm coming."

Peter turned over his shoulder to look at him, one of the blasts from above slicing his web in half and sending him shooting toward the ground.

"Woah-!"

Tony extended a hand from where he flew fifty feet away before something blue caught Peter in midair.

"Hey, baby," Pepper's voice said into their channel. "Hang on. I got you."

Peter blinked. "Pepper?!"

Tony was equally as surprised, having not seen her until that exact moment. He shook his head in disbelief, the smallest of smiles tugging on his lip.

"How the hell did you find that suit?"

"You gave me a fifty-foot bunny for Christmas one year, Tony. You suck at hiding gifts."

With that, she threw her arm back and shot Peter up further into the air, where he landed on Valkyrie's pegasus. Tony watched them fly with his breath held.

"Hey! Nice to meet you-oh my god!"

"Peter! Let go of the gauntlet!"

"I can't just let-!"

Another blast from overhead forced Peter off of the pegasus and he was suddenly shooting downward with his arms wrapped around the gauntlet, bouncing upon impact with the ground.

Tony made to fly toward him but the gunfire from above intensified, cries and screams echoing throughout the battlefield.  Peter's screams echoed in his earpiece and sliced his heart right in half.

"Peter!" Tony cried out, his arms wrapped around his head protectively. "Peter, talk to me, kid!"

Peter blinked dizzily up at the sky from he laid on the ground, watching the guns overhead begin to take aim at something in the upper atmosphere.

🕷⎊🕷

"Hi...I'm-I'm Peter Stark."

"Hey, Peter Stark."

Peter blinked up at Carol through blood and sweat, unsure what exactly he was looking at.

The woman in front of him was quite literally glowing, a knowing smile on her lips. She tilted her head, her gaze locked on the stones in Peter's grip.

"You got somethin' for me?"

Peter blinked and eventually rose to the ground with a grunt, blood spilling from his nose as he stared at the rapidly approaching Chitauri army out for his blood. He swallowed nervously, hesitantly depositing the gauntlet into her hands.

"I don't know how you're gonna get it through all that."

She smirked at him, staring at the gauntlet for a moment before she gestured him forward with two fingers.

"Wanna know a little secret, Peter Stark?"

Peter blinked tiredly but stepped closer, staring at her like she was a god.

He wasn't entirely convinced that she wasn't.

"What-What is it?"

She extended her forearm and slid the gauntlet over her hand, the nanotechnology adjusting to fit her. Peter gaped, his eyes going wide and his mouth hanging open.

"I've got some exterminating to do before I can return these, don't I?"

Peter nodded numbly, staring up at her in awe. She was still smiling at him, even as the stones finally clicked into place. The pulse of the stones brought her to her knees and she grunted for a moment, her veins and eyes glowing before she looked up at the Chitauri army in front of her with a smile.

Peter looked away from her for a moment in search of Tony, eyes locking on him for a moment before he spotted him several feet away, being helped to his feet by Steve. 

Peter returned his gaze to Carol in front of him, who turned over her shoulder and gave him a look of reassurance.

"You're gonna wanna duck, kiddo."

He nodded, returning to the cave of rubble she'd found him in with his arms held out protectively in front of his head. She nodded, turned back to the army before her, and smiled.

The click of metal echoed throughout the battlefield deafeningly as she snapped.

Peter saw a flash of white before everything went dark.

🕷⎊🕷

Tony woke to a deafening silence. 

It was familiar to him. A silence that had once blanketed the planet Titan, had once paralyzed him in dread and grief.

This time, it was different.

It was Carol's snap that brought them to their knees this time, the silence swimming with that familiar thought he'd had one Titan three years earlier.

Something is happening.

Ash began to dance across his vision, achingly, horrifyingly familiar. It wasn't the same ash they fought on. It was a particular, distinct brand of ash that Tony had been choking on, buried in for three years.

It was the Chitauri, caving in on themselves and vanishing into thin air. Tony sat up, Steve lying unconscious beside him as he watched it unfold.

Finally, Tony's eyes caught Thanos, kneeling amongst the rubble.

He was heaving exhausted breaths, staring at the ground in failure, in knowingness.

Tony couldn't look away. He didn't want to.

He felt no sympathy as he watched Thanos choke on his own ashes, watched his breath leave rapidly disappearing lungs. His atoms were shredding into nothing, and Tony couldn't look away.

Thanos finally looked up to meet Tony's satisfied gaze, his lip quirking in disgust before the nothingness crawling up his skin finally consumed him and sent him drifting in the breeze.

Tony closed his eyes and let himself bask in the glory of Thanos's death for about two seconds before his eyes flew open and he stumbled to his feet.

"Peter," he breathed out, unable to fully find his voice or pierce the silence on the battlefield. He distantly heard Steve and Pepper groan and rise to their feet, heard others around him wake and scan the debris in uncertainty.

He didn't care. He only had eyes for one kid, for one person, for one voice.

"Peter," he repeated, a little louder. The sun above began to cast an orange glow over the battlefield, casting them all in a melancholy light. He shook his head, retracting his suit and spilling out of it in a daze.

The ashes of the Chitauri continued dancing in the breeze and he swallowed bile, suppressing the fear that Peter's ashes were somehow mixed with theirs.

This can't be happening. This can't be happening.

"Peter!"

Someone shifted in his peripheral. His gaze snapped toward them, vision tunneling in on Carol Danvers.

She had her back turned to him as she rose to a standing position, the gauntlet at her feet and a limp, blood-smeared form held tightly in her arms.

She turned over her shoulder, immediately locking her eyes with Tony with a grave expression.

No.

Familiar curls. Familiar ears. A damaged suit.

No, no, no.

She stared at him for a moment longer before she began making her way toward him.

He began stumbling forward, too, shaking his head numbly the closer he got as Peter's words echoed in his head.

I got it!

Help! Somebody help!

Tony had started running at some point. Carol knelt down and deposited Peter onto the ground and Tony slid to his knees at Peter's side, scanning him up and down in dread.

Blood was spilling out of his ears and nose. His face was dirtier than it had been when they reunited for a half-breath on the battlefield, his brow scrunched in discomfort and his bruised eyes closed. 

"Peter," Tony whispered, reaching a trembling hand forward to brush sweat and smoke and curls from Peter's forehead. Even unconscious, Peter leaned into it.

Tony reached his hand underneath Peter's head and brought his kid into his lap, a hand cradling his neck. Peter's head fell back limply, his eyes still closed.

"Peter, wake up," he whispered, taking a moment to acknowledge that Peter was so small.

It was supposed to be easy to protect him when he was smaller. Tinier. Younger.

He looked unbelievably young as he lied unconscious in Tony's lap, smeared in his own blood. Tony had to close his eyes, tears spilling down his cheeks and his breaths trembling. He placed a hand on Peter's chest, feeling his weak heartbeat and living in it.

With Tony's hand on his chest, Peter's eyes slowly, finally fluttered open, a tired gaze meeting Tony's and smiling softly.

Tony was knocked apart, scattered into millions of pieces.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

Peter swallowed thickly around the blood in his throat and he brought a hand up to hold Tony's in place on his chest, eyes full of knowingness and sorrow.

There was so much yet so little to be said. Neither of them knew where to start.

"You changed," Peter supplied quietly. It was the understatement of the century, Tony decided, but it was true. He had changed.

At the surface, there was the grey hair, he assumed. But his insides had been scooped out and he had been walking around as a hollow corpse for three years until that exact moment, until Peter was in his arms, smiling and breathing and speaking.

"Yeah," Tony breathed out with a laugh that didn't reach his face, shaking his head in disbelief as he took his hand from Peter's chest and used it to cup his face. 

Peter closed his eyes for a moment to compose himself, his face still slightly twisted in discomfort under his smile. Tony brushed the pad of his thumb across Peter's cheek, catching blood and tears and dirt.

Tony had dreamt of this moment for years.

It was never supposed to be like this, holding his blood-smeared kid on the ashes of the compound, knowing he needed a hospital more than anything.

And yet, they were both suddenly embracing like their lives depended on it, Peter's arms wrapped around Tony's neck. Tony wrapped his arms around Peter's back and held him with every drop of energy he had left in him, unable to keep the floodgates at bay any longer.

His back bounced and his eyes shut tight as he sobbed, bringing a hand up to cradle Peter's head. Peter buried his face in Tony's shoulder, squeezing his eyes shut.

"I love you," Tony whispered through tears, sucking in a breath and breathing in Peter's curls. "I love you, I love you, I love you."

"I love you too," Peter whispered back, his hand clawing at Tony's shirt. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

The hands that held fistfuls of Tony's shirt suddenly went limp. Tony's heart jolted as Peter became heavier in his arms, a hand cradling Peter's head as he pulled out of the hug to examine him in full.

"Tony," Pepper said, approaching him with wide eyes. "Tony, what--"

"No, no, hey," Tony whispered desperately, brushing Peter's curls as he stared at his son's unconscious form. "Peter, Peter, wake up."

"He needs a doctor."

Tony's head snapped up to meet Strange's gaze. The man towered over the two with knowingness in his eyes, already opening a portal to the Tower medbay. Tony blinked as he looked through it, sparing another gaze to Carol behind him. She held the gauntlet in her arms, sending a nod his way. 

"This part of the fight is over," she said, gesturing her head to the portal before them. "Go on, get him some help."

Tony didn't need to be told twice. He hastily scooped Peter into his arms and stumbled upon gaining his balance, staring through the portal.

Harley and Cho stood there, eyes wide as they took in what exactly they were seeing. Tony took Peter closer and stepped forward.

Everything was going to be okay.

With Peter in his arms, with Peter in his life, it had to be.

Chapter Text

🕷⎊🕷

It was finally silent.

The roar of the battlefield Tony had been deafened by had vanished as soon as he stepped through Strange's portal and was replaced by the bustle of the medbay. He held his kid in his arms, the weight feeling significantly heavier as Peter's head lolled back lifelessly in his hold.

"I need help," he managed to force out through constricted lungs. "Please, I-my kid needs help."

Cho was lurching toward them before he knew any better.

He was rushed into a recovery room in an instant, where Cho and Harley helped him deposit his kid onto a bed. They assessed his injuries for a half-breath and, as much as Tony wanted Peter to have their undivided attention, he had only been in the medbay for approximately thirty seconds.

There were hundreds of other patients right outside the door and Tony had no idea what Cho and Harley had on their hands before he stepped through that portal, had no other instincts except his own paternal, protective, mind-numbingly worried ones.

They'd changed Peter into a hospital gown and laid him on the bed. Tony sat beside him and took Peter's hand in his fiercely with no intention of ever letting go.

Helen looked up and met Tony's eyes with a dark expression.

"...I've gotta get back out there. We'll keep him monitored and give him fluids."

Harley took that as a cue to hook Peter up to an IV machine, poking and prodding him with needles and wires. Tony could only watch, could only hold Peter's hand to his lips and stare at Peter's blood-smeared face with his breath held.

"We'll be back shortly, Tony. I promise."

Tony couldn't bring himself to speak or say anything to show he'd heard her. He could only stare, could only swallow thickly and take Peter's hand tighter in his as the two rushed out of the room, the door clicking shut behind them.

Peter's strained breaths echoed in the room, his brow scrunched in discomfort.

He's alive. He's alive. He's alive.

It wasn't supposed to be this way.

Their reunion wasn't supposed to be this way, wasn't supposed to be Tony holding and staring at Peter as he laid unconscious. Whether in an Iron Spider suit or a hospital gown, it wasn't supposed to be this way.

But Tony couldn't find it in his tired bones to even attempt to complain about his dead son's resurrection, not when the sound of Peter's heart monitor beside the bed was enough to bring him to his knees, enough to knock his breath out of his lungs.

You're alive. You're alive. You're alive.

Tony sucked in a breath and brought a hand forward slowly to cup Peter's face, brushing curls off of his kid's forehead.

Even touching him was breathtaking. Touching his face and feeling warmth, feeling solid skin.

He was alive. He was real. He was breathing before his very eyes.

He was alive and he was hurt.

Tony studied him in full, drinking in every injury like they were his own. Cuts streaked his face, bruises flowering underneath them. There was blood and smoke on Tony's hand from cupping Peter's face and he paused, closing his eyes.

He hadn't wanted his kid anywhere near the battle before, and he didn't want the aftermath of it anywhere on him now.

He stood slowly and crossed to the counter across from Peter's bed, grabbing a folded cloth and running it under the warm water of the sink next to him. He wrung it out and turned over his shoulder cautiously, finding every time his eyes locked on his kid he was breathless.

He crossed back to his seat and stared at Peter a moment longer, watched his chest slowly rise and fall.

It was enough to incapacitate him.

It was also everything not to cry, not to hold him, not to jolt him awake and hear his voice again, just for one moment. 

With a clenched jaw and constricted lungs, he brought Peter's hand to his lips again and pressed a kiss there, closing his eyes.

Finally, he took the damp cloth and brought it to Peter's face.

He was as gentle and cautious as he could be, as if rough motions would make him vanish just as he had before. He gently brushed Peter's hair out of his closed eyes as he wiped the dirt and crusted blood off of his skin, unsure whether certain injuries were minutes old or years.

Tony had to close his eyes and swallow the thought down with a grimace. He couldn't dwell on that thought too much, the thought that events that had haunted Tony for nearly two thousand days were still fresh in Peter's memory.

He took in a shaky inhale, his eyes glassing over with tears as he continued wiping his son's face clean. He found more and more that he couldn't distinguish bruises from smoke or blood from old cuts, but he was gentle all the same.

His gaze trailed numbly down to Peter's arm.

Apparently, during the battle, a Chitauri alien had taken a large piece out of Peter's forearm and Tony had been nauseous when they undressed Peter and saw it there, saw it gushing blood and already bruising.

Now, it was wrapped in adhesive, blood already seeping through the fabric.

Tony took Peter's hand again, staring at the injury for longer than he intended and swallowing down bile.

There was so much left unsaid, so much that he couldn't fix.

He didn't know where to start.

He couldn't fix the past three years. He couldn't fix the emotional and physical toll it had and continued to have on his heart. He couldn't fix the difficulty Peter would face adjusting to missing three years of life. He couldn't fix the fact that they were both traumatized and, most of all, he couldn't fix the gaping hole in Peter's arm.

But with a cloth in his hand and adoration in his eyes, he could clean the blood and smoke off of Peter's face and arms.

With another shaky inhale, he brought the cloth back up and stared at Peter for a beat, drinking him in and spotting a few places he'd missed cleaning the dirt off of him.

He couldn't fix everything.

But he could do this one thing, and that was enough.

🕷⎊🕷

Peter woke to the feeling of his heart beating between his eyes.

Nausea and fatigue overtook him in his sleep until he was awake, squinting his eyes at the dim lights of the recovery room.

His heart monitor next to him was piercing the silence in the room and splitting Peter’s ears like a nuclear explosion, nearly causing him to grunt though a warm mass next to him made him pause.

Tony was lying beside him, an arm draped over Peter’s chest. Peter gaped at him for a moment, studied the cuts and bandages littering his face with sorrow.

He didn’t get to dwell on Tony’s injuries long before the gaping wound on his own arm had his undivided attention.

He winced as he looked down on it, watching it leak blood through the adhesive bandaging wrapped around it. The heartbeat between his eyes was suddenly in the center of the wound and he closed his eyes, swallowing bile.

He couldn’t be here anymore.

He wasn’t sure why, wasn’t sure how, but he was slowly, cautiously sneaking off of the bed, lifting Tony’s arm with a wince and gently placing it on the spot he'd previously occupied.

Tony had never been a heavy sleeper, at least not as long as Peter knew him. The slightest drop of a pin usually had him sitting upright like he’d been stabbed in his sleep.

But Peter assumed that the past three years had left a lot of room for change. He also assumed that Tony had spent the past week scheming a time heist and, from what Peter had heard about said time heist, he had no idea where sleep fell into the schedule. Alongside the battle that followed, Tony could probably sleep for a lifetime. 

Peter, on the other hand, was completely restless.

He spared Tony one last look before he was tip-toeing out of the room and down the hall.

His heart was thundering with adrenaline. His muscles and bones ached but he felt the need to move, to walk.

He couldn’t help but wonder, very briefly, if it was due to the fact that he hadn’t moved or walked in three years.

But he couldn’t dwell on the thought too much. It was too ridiculous, to untrue. He hadn’t been dead for three years. He hadn’t been dead at all.

As far as he knew, he’d simply…ceased to exist for a period of time. That was all.

He found himself tip-toeing down the hallway of the medbay, past sleeping nurses and closed recovery rooms until he was stepping inside of the elevator and pushing the button that would take him to the penthouse.

The screen in the elevator prompted him to put in his password. To his relief, it hadn’t changed in his absence. 

He wasn’t sure what he would see there. He wasn’t sure if the place he grew up in would still be the same after three years of his absence.

He wanted to step through the doors and see everything as it was before. Homework scattered on the floor, Pepper’s fleece blankets thrown over the couch, empty pizza boxes sitting on the countertops, Stark pads lying on the side tables with reading glasses resting on top of them.

But the elevator door opened all too fast, and he was suddenly glued to his spot with a shattered heart.

Pizza boxes were replaced with moving boxes, stacked all around the penthouse with layers of dusting resting on top of them. The furniture was all still there, but fleece blankets were replaced with stacked picture frames.

Peter wondered if Tony packed all of their things away himself. The thought was too mind-numbing to entertain for long.

He finally found it in him to step inside, grateful to find that the familiar smell of home was still there.

Packing away all of their things was one thing, but taking away the smell, the warmth of home was impossible.

He wondered if that was why the penthouse looked unlived in. If that was why Tony didn’t stay there anymore.

At least, that was what he assumed. He had no idea if Tony had been living with towers of boxes for three entire years or if he had found someplace else to call home, someplace else he could actually stomach waking up in every day. 

He found himself walking past the living room and down the dark hallway cautiously, suddenly floored with deja vu as he passed the spot he’d rested in after Homecoming night.

Oh, god.

Kid? Can you hear me?

I’ve got you. I’m right here.

Peter closed his eyes. 

The walls of their house spoke constantly. It spoke of good memories and bad, their memories ricocheting off of the walls and bouncing around their heads.

It echoed. And ever since Peter had been resurrected, everything was an echo.

Peter paused before he could walk through his bedroom door, gripping the doorway and lowering his head.

He was terrified to step inside and see what was there. He was terrified that his entire life had been folded away in neat boxes, lighter things on top. He was terrified that his room was completely empty, gone without a trace just like he was.

He took a composing breath, lifted his head, and stepped inside.

When he did, he wasn’t sure if he was devastated or relieved.

It looked exactly as he’d left it before he left for his field trip. From the clothes discarded on the floor to the unmade bed to the way his desk chair was angled to every single thing.

Well…almost every single thing. 

The only thing out of place that caught his eye was a pile of photos scattered on the ground across the room. He took in a steadying breath before he crossed to them, steps cautious.

He paused at the foot of his bed when he spotted Tony’s old green MIT sweatshirt. Peter would wear it all the time, slept and studied and worked in it.

It was lying in a pile amongst the disheveled covers and sheets. He picked it up slowly, bringing it up to his face.

It still smelled like Tony. He smiled fondly and took in another inhale.

He couldn’t stop himself from crossing to his dresser and grabbing a pair of sweatpants and socks. He took off the unfamiliar fabric of the hospital gown and threw on the pants, sweatshirt, and socks, taking a composing breath.

This was where he belonged. This was familiar.

He blindly found himself walking down the hallway, so terrified of what he would potentially find in his bedroom that he had to grip the doorframe before he stepped inside.

He just needed a moment to recalibrate. He needed a moment where no one was looking at him like he was the sun or a miracle or the second fucking coming.

He pushed the thought away and took another steadying breath. 

Calm. Relax. Breathe. Peter could manage that.

He rolled up the sleeves of Tony’s sweatshirt and made his way toward the photos.

He felt like he was walking through a minefield the deeper he ventured into his own room. Like moving a single thing in the room would set something off.

It felt hauntingly staged. Peter swallowed bile.

He knelt down on the ground and stared down at the photos with a furrowed brow, brushing his fingers across each and every one as he took them in.

Peter in Ben’s arms as a baby. Peter smiling on his tenth birthday. Peter on Ben’s shoulders. A picture cut out of a magazine of Peter and Tony walking the streets of New York. Peter wrapping his arms around Tony’s neck with a fond smile.

They all held a different meaning now. 

They were all tear-stained and faded, as if Tony had done nothing but look at them the entirety of Peter’s absence. The more he touched them, the more intense they felt, the more heartbreaking they were.

He hadn’t realized he was hyperventilating until his trembling breaths were echoing on the walls.

His hands were trembling, too, his fingers no longer touching the photos because it was all too much. It was too much for him to fully process or face. 

He had been dead.

All this time, he had been dead, and Tony had been alive. Living like this, living with Peter’s ghost and memories and mourning. He had been painfully aware that his life had continued on without Peter. 

He had been alive, living his worst nightmare.

Peter still remembered the last thing he saw as life slipped out of his grasp, as he felt his lungs and heart disappear on an atomic scale.

Tony’s eyes had been so full of helplessness in front of him, hovering inches above him and overflowing with a look he was all too familiar with.

Hammer drones. Aliens. Mark 42. Ultron. Bullet wounds. Ross. Toomes.

It was several years of watching Peter get hurt condensed into a half-breath of helplessness and pleading eyes.

Please stay. Please, god, please don’t go. Please don’t leave me. Stay. 

Tony had dedicated all of his resources, all of his love for Peter to protecting him. For Peter’s entire life, Tony was his guardian angel in iron. Always swooping in to save the day, always there to kiss his wounds and make everything better.

But despite it all, Peter died.

He closed his eyes and wept.

There were three years that Peter simply hadn’t existed, three years where Tony grieved and tried to live without him.

He couldn’t help but wonder if Tony had learned to live without him. He couldn’t help but feel like he absolutely, completely didn’t belong, like he wasn’t supposed to be alive.

His father must have sensed his thoughts and rushed upstairs to erase them, because a voice from the threshold had him jumping in his skin.

”Peter?”

🕷⎊🕷

He’d been here before.

White walls. Blinding lights overhead. Antiseptic scents. The ticking of a clock across the wall that was the equivalent of a nuclear explosion. 

He’d woken up at both Peter’s bedside and in one of his own, had shuffled in his place and woken to an oxygen mask pressed against his face. Especially over the last three years.

But as soon as he woke up in a hospital bed this time, one that wasn’t for him, he was jolting into a sitting position with his heart in his throat.

Peter was gone.

Tony had fallen asleep at Peter’s side after wiping his kid’s wounds clean, had succumbed to exhaustion with no intention of leaving Peter’s side.

Clearly, however, Peter had different plans.

He threw his legs off the side of the bed and stumbled into a standing position drunkenly, his heart thundering in his ears. He crossed to the bathroom only for his heart to sink deeper at Peter’s absence.

”Peter?”

He stumbled out into the hallway, past sleeping nurses and closed recovery rooms. 

The penthouse. Peter had to be in the penthouse. 

There was no other option, no other explanation. Peter had to be upstairs in their once-shared living space, because he couldn’t have just disappeared again.

He stepped into the elevator, his panicked breaths bouncing on the walls as the doors shut.

Calming down wasn’t an option. It couldn’t be.

There was nothing more jarring than getting your kid back only to wake up at his bedside and find him gone, as if the time heist and everything that followed had been a dream.

He wasn’t gone. He couldn’t have been gone.

Tony’s heart told him he was in the penthouse, and that was final. 

The doors opened after an eternity of pain-staking hypotheticals and he was jogging down the hall to Peter’s room, pausing in the doorway.

His kid was on his knees across the room, the hospital gown discarded in a pile on the ground.

He was now dressed in Tony’s green MIT sweatshirt, the one he used to wear as much as humanly possible. 

Tony sucked in a breath at the sight, gripping the door in fear that the floor would give out underneath him at any moment.

Peter was just as Tony had pictured him for three years, exactly as he remembered. From the sweatshirt to his curls outlined in the dark to everything little amazing thing about him. 

He swallowed down his own adoration as much as he could when he realized Peter was hyperventilating, his hands trembling in front of him. 

“Peter?”

Peter’s senses must have been severely delayed because he was visibly jolting at Tony’s voice, turning over his shoulder.

The light of the doorway illuminated the scars and bruises on Peter’s face, as well as the blood leaking from the bandage on his arm. Tony’s brow furrowed with worry and he took a step forward, holding a hand out cautiously.

”Kid, it’s okay.”

Peter didn’t say anything, red-rimmed eyes closing in composition. 

Tony couldn't move at first, couldn't quite catch his breath. 

The past three years, especially the past few days, all he wanted to do was have the privilege of walking into Peter's room and actually finding him there, actually seeing him right where he belonged.

You're alive, you're alive, you're alive.

Tony finally found it in him to close the distance between the two, kneeling at his kid’s side and immediately cupping Peter’s neck, examining him feverishly. Peter’s eyes remained closed, his breaths calming as he leaned into Tony’s touch.

Tony knew, logically, that this wasn't the first time he'd seen Peter in three years. He knew he'd seen him since he had been resurrected several hours earlier, whether it was watching him walk through a portal or meeting for a half-breath on the battlefield or holding his blood-smeared form in the ashes.

Despite that, he couldn't shake the feeling that it felt like they were actually meeting again for the first time. No longer bound by the cold metal of a suit or smeared in blood and dirt or unconscious among rubble or in a hospital bed.

They were in their home, right where they belonged. It felt like the first time he'd actually seen him in three years and he lost his breath all over again.

”You wandered up here,” Tony supplied after an eternity of deafening silence, bringing another hand up and cupping Peter’s face, brushing his thumb across his kid’s cheek. “All by yourself.”

Peter didn’t say anything, finally bringing his gaze up to meet Tony’s. Tony stared at him, wanting nothing more than to wipe the apologetic look off of Peter’s face.

He never wanted Peter to apologize. Ever again.

Peter took a moment to study his father, from his permanently pinched brow to his awestruck eyes to the wetness in his voice, like he was constantly on the verge of completely breaking down.

Peter felt guilty. He felt responsible.

”I’m sorry.”

Tony saw that coming. As much as he hated it, his lip quirked in an understanding smile and he shook his head, unable to be anything other than floored by Peter’s mere existence, by the sound of his voice.

”Don't apologize.”

”Okay.”

Tony hummed, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to Peter’s forehead before he sat down beside him and rubbed soothing circles on his kid’s back.

Peter would have to get used to that. To Tony always finding an excuse to rub his back, cup his face, run his fingers through his curls. 

Always touching him, always assuring himself that his son really existed.

Tony looked down at the photos scattered on the floor, understanding slowly sinking in the more he studied them. He brought a grief-filled gaze Peter’s way, his breath held.

”…Peter…”

Peter sniffed, brushing his fingers across one particular photo.

”I’ve never seen this one before.”

Tony looked at him a beat longer before he looked at the photo in question, his chest swelling with warmth at the sight of it.

It was the one of Peter wrapping his arms around Tony’s neck with a smile, a white t-shirt thrown over his spider suit. Tony stared at it for a moment, sucking in a breath the more he took it in.

It was his favorite.

He didn’t necessarily have favorite pictures of Peter, especially not favorites of the two of them smiling together. They were each priceless in their own way, each one capable of taking his breath away. 

But that particular photo always put him in a trance. It always knocked him out, from the way Peter smiled to the way he hugged Tony from behind to his eyes and ears and curls.

”Rhodey took it,” Tony explained, his voice catching on the lump in his throat. “We had been working in the lab all day, and…”

”And Happy and Pepper brought us pizza,” Peter finished with a nod, intoxicated by the memory. “Yeah, that was a month ago.”

Peter paused as if his own words had pierced the core of his soul, remembrance slowly kicking in. Tony held his breath and watched Peter close his eyes again, his shoulders slumping in defeat.

”…Three years ago.”

“…Kid, look-“

”It’s fine,” Peter said hastily. “I…It’s fine.”

”It’s not.”

Peter brought red-rimmed eyes up to meet Tony’s in the dark, watching his father search his eyes and try his best to offer any sort of comfort, if there was any.

”It’s…not fine,” Tony whispered. Peter lowered his head and closed his eyes, though Tony was quick to lift Peter’s chin and elicit eye contact.

”Kid…I know…I mean, I don’t know. Obviously, I don’t know what this…feels like for you. But I know…”

Tony released an exhausted sigh, unsure where exactly he was going with his words but he had Peter captivated, using his eyes as his anchor.

Tony took a steadying, albeit shaky breath, bringing both hands up to cup Peter’s face.

Peter stared back, unable to hide his anticipation, unable to mask how devastated he was.

Tony could tell Peter thought everything moved on without him. That the sun had risen and set thousands of times without him, without him there to see it or experience it or live it.

He thought he didn’t belong. He thought Tony had moved on.

But Tony couldn’t even begin to describe how completely and utterly untrue that was, how ridiculous the mere idea sounded.

”The world did not go on without you, kid.”

Peter’s brow creased in concern, watching his father compose himself, use all of his strength not to crumble to the floor. Tony brushed his thumb across his kid’s cheek, still numb to the fact that he had that privilege now.

”My world. I didn’t move on without you. I couldn't.”

Peter closed his eyes and shook his head.

”I wish…you had,” he forced out. It was untrue, of course. Peter didn’t want his own father to learn to live without him, didn’t want any of his family or friends to move on with their lives while he blew away in the wind like he'd never been there in the first place.

But part of it was true, especially as he spared another glance down at the photos. He didn’t want Tony to move on without him, but he also didn’t want Tony to live with his ghost, buried in his ashes. He loved him far too much for that.

Tony seemed to understand what he meant, a small smile of understanding reaching his lips.

”Sure. But I didn’t. And I won’t.”

Peter closed his eyes again, leaning into his father’s touch.

The last three years had felt like one day, but he couldn’t describe the strange feeling that he missed Tony, that he hadn’t seen or touched him in ages.

“Living without you was impossible.”

Peter looked up at him at that, eyes overwhelmed with sadness.

There was so much left unsaid, and Peter had no idea where to start. He was still coming to terms with this new reality, still playing a twisted game of cosmic catch-up. And, as much as Tony had ignorantly, selfishly wanted to believe that everything would be okay the second Peter was alive, he also couldn't ignore that they were both permanently traumatized.

He wasn't sure any amount of therapy or talking would heal the depth of their wounds, was positive that nothing could erase the image of his kid disappearing in his arms. He couldn't even begin to stomach Peter's perspective, either.

He swallowed with a grimace and watched Peter open his mouth numbly, watched him calculate the right words, if any even existed in the world.

”I…”

Tony stared at Peter in anticipation, waiting for something, anything.

When Peter finally spoke again, Tony was more broken than before.

”…I died.”

Tony’s heart went still in his chest and Peter heard it, feeling him freeze like ice as his hands continued cupping his face. Tony closed his eyes, the weight of the sentence crushing his heart at its core.

”I died,” Peter repeated, as if he was only just then coming to terms with the fact. Tony finally opened his eyes to look at him, overflowing with grief and hitting Peter like a truck.

”I’ve been…I've been dead.”

The sentence was nearly enough to make Tony vomit then and there but he didn’t. Instead, he took a composing breath and cupped Peter’s neck, a forest fire raging behind his eyes.

“…Peter, I tried everything.”

Peter’s lip threatened to tremble. He pressed them together in a thin line, closing his eyes and allowing a stray tear to glide down his face.

Tony caught it, just like the others. He studied Peter in his entirety and drank him in, basked in the intoxicating feeling his presence brought. 

“I tried…everything. To bring you home.”

Peter sucked in a breath. Tony was cautious not to touch the several cuts and bruises streaking his kid’s face as he continued brushing his thumb across Peter’s tear-stained cheek.

As much as Tony hated them, hated the tears and the blood and the dark purple and yellow on his skin, he also found a strange adoration in them because, god, his kid was alive. Capable of bleeding, of bruising, of crying.

”I’ve thought of this moment a lot. Seeing you in here again.”

Tony’s voice was a whisper that exploded in his own ears, his words unchecked and unfiltered. Peter opened his eyes, watching Tony numbly as his father's gaze trailed from his face to the MIT sweatshirt.

He stopped breathing for a moment at the sight of it, his voice wet when he found it in him to speak again.

”...The sweatshirt is a nice touch. I...I could go without the bruises and blood, though.”

Peter finally let his lip quirk in a smile.

”I didn’t like the hospital gown. It was scratchy.”

Tony hummed fondly, mirroring Peter’s smile.

He wished he could joke with his kid. He wished they could pick up where they left off more than anything.

But he couldn’t joke with Peter. He couldn’t bring himself to do it, not when the mere image of him breathing was enough to bring him to his knees.

Instead, he pressed forward and took Peter in his arms, taking in a long, deep, satisfied breath.

Peter didn’t hug him back right away, too preoccupied with his own grief and confusion to know what to do.

He couldn’t help but remember that that morning, it had been 2018 and he had been on his way to MoMA with Ned.

Now, his father was three years older, weeping and holding him like there was no tomorrow.

He finally brought his arms up and wrapped them around Tony's neck, closing his eyes as Tony took fistfuls of Peter’s sweatshirt.

His own words echoed in his head, his last ones spoken before disintegrating in the wind.

Dad.

I don’t know what’s happening.

He felt sick suddenly, his vision swimming. Tony’s paternal instincts must have detected it because he pulled out of the hug cautiously, cupping Peter’s face and studying his kid’s closed eyes and sickly green skin with a permanently pinched brow.

”Kid?”

I don’t wanna go, Dad, please.

I’m sorry.

Peter’s eyes flew open. 

Tony tensed, somehow sensing the exact events that were about to follow.

He lurched to the side and snatched the small wastebasket on the floor next to the nearest wall. Peter took it desperately and vomited into it.

Tony froze for a moment before he was rubbing Peter's back soothingly as he heaved and gasped.

Tony didn't even know there was anything inside of the kid to vomit but apparently, there was.

Peter wondered the same thing. He wasn't exactly an expert on the subject of dying and coming back to life, about what that would entail for him physically.

The mere thought had him throwing up even more.

"Alright, okay," Tony soothed, moving his hand from Peter's back to his curls. "Breathe. Let it out. It's okay. It's okay."

Peter held the basket in his hands with a white-knuckled grip. Tony couldn't help the irony that popped into his head when he remembered he'd had the exact same reaction to Peter's temporary death three years before.

It was nauseating. It was too horrifying to truly grasp. Tony understood that.

But he also had no idea how it felt for three years to pass by in the blink of an eye. He'd experienced every single second of the last three years, couldn't allow himself to experience any of it without harsh reminders and heart attacks and mind-numbing grief.

He did, however, know how it felt to die.

He knew how it felt to die over and over and over again, for three years on end.

Peter finally took in one shaky inhale and placed the basket far to the side with a grimace. Tony watched him in concern, still unable to wipe the look of disbelief and adoration from his face as he stared at the person before him.

Peter sat on the ground dripping in sweat and littered with injuries, yet Tony still thought he looked like Atlas. Personifying the heavens, holding them together by simply existing, aligning his universe with a simple rise and fall of his chest.

Peter looked up at him and returned his gaze. Tony couldn't help the breath of adoration that escaped him as he brought a hand up to cup Peter's face again.

"Look at you," he breathed out. Peter closed his eyes, melting into Tony’s hand as his lip trembled. Tony brought a second hand up and played with Peter’s curls, his brow furrowed in worry.

”Christ, Peter, you’re burning up.”

”I’m fine.”

“You’re not.”

Peter sent him a familiar glare and wiped at his mouth with his sleeve, wincing at the blood dripping from his arm. Tony hissed, taking Peter’s arm and examining it in full.

”Back downstairs. Right now.”

Peter closed his eyes. “I don’t wanna.”

”You're gonna.”

”Ugh.”

Tony snorted, shaking his head fondly as he pressed one last kiss to his kid’s white-hot forehead before he rose to his feet with a grunt.

”C’mon, kiddo. I'm not leaving this room without you.”

Peter hummed, taking Tony’s hand. As soon as they were both standing, Tony was cupping Peter’s face, ruffling his hair, wrapping an arm around his shoulder.

Peter took a breath. He would have to get used to that.

But he also didn’t mind it in the slightest. 

“If you get rid of that fever by tomorrow, I’ll buy you cheeseburgers for the rest of the year.”

Peter snorted, unable to fight the smile inching onto his face.

”Deal.”

🕷⎊🕷

Tony made certain that Peter was out cold before he dared to leave his side.

He gently pulled the blue fabric of the medbay blanket up to Peter’s chest and placed a kiss on his kid’s forehead before he quietly made his escape, closing his eyes and taking a deep, composing breath as he stood in the threshold.

”Hey, man.”

Tony jolted, his eyes flying open as Harley stood in front of him with a knowing smile, a clipboard in his hands. He had traded in his t-shirt and jeans for scrubs at some point, a stethoscope hanging around his neck.

“Jesus.”

”Sorry.”

“Sure you are.”

Tony took a moment to recalibrate, a thought occurring to him that had him placing two hands on Harley’s shoulders urgently.

”Kid, have you been in touch with your sister? Your mom?”

”They’re okay,” Harley assured him. “I called my sister yesterday. She’s with my mom back in Tennessee.”

”Good. That’s good.”

”Yeah.”

They stared at each other a beat longer, both so exhausted and emotionally dizzy that they looked as if they would fall on their faces any moment.

”You know you don’t have to stay here. Your mom is probably worried sick.”

”I talked to her. She’s okay. Besides, Cho needs me here.”

”…Just know, you’re free to leave whenever you want. You don’t have to stay.”

Harley hummed. “I know.”

Tony hummed, too. Harley looked over Tony’s shoulder as Peter slept, his breath fogging up the oxygen mask wrapped around his head. 

“So...how’s Patrick?”

Tony snorted. “You know damn well that’s not his name.”

”Same difference.”

He shook his head, a fond smile reaching his face as he turned over his shoulder and stared at his kid for a moment. 

“He’s got a fever. Cho said not to worry. He just needs to sleep it off.”

”Yeah,” Harley sighed. “There’s a lot of people with fevers right now. Specifically, people that got snapped. I wonder if it’s connected.”

Tony swallowed an uneasy feeling, shaking the thought off as a more urgent one came to the forefront of his mind.

“You seen Pepper anywhere? Rhodey?”

”Rhodey is in that recovery room down there at the end of the hall,” Harley said, pointed in said direction. “Pepper and Happy and some other lady are in there with him.”

Tony frowned. “What other lady?”

”Dunno,” Harley shrugged. “Long brown hair. Big round glasses. Kinda frantic.”

Tony’s heart jolted.

May.

”Okay, okay, thanks.”

He spared a pat to Harley’s arm before he was jogging to Rhodey’s room, opening the door with no warning and standing in the threshold with a still heart.

Rhodey was in the bed and Pepper, Happy, and May sat around him, all pausing in conversation as Tony stood in the door. The three of them stood in an instant, staring at him in anticipation.

”Tony?”

Pepper stepped forward, scanning Tony up and down in concern as he did the same to her.

He had been so caught up with Peter that he hadn’t even spared a thought to the love of his life and his best friend, both of which had fought by his side at the battle.

He felt like shit. He didn’t need to say anything for them to know that.

But they also understood, each of them just as worried as he was, just as dizzy with relief in the aftermath.

“Tony,” Pepper finally breathed out, rushing forward with her arms open. Tony stepped forward and met her in the middle, taking her in his arms with a deep, satisfied breath.

”Pep,” Tony said into her shoulder, opening his eyes and sparing a glance to Rhodey, Happy, and May behind them. 

“How are you? How is he? We’ve all been worried sick.”

Tony frowned, pulling out of the hug and cupping her face for a moment.

”…You do all realize we’ve been down the hall, right?”

”We wanted to give you two some space, man,” Rhodey clarified. Tony realized that his arm was bound in a sling and mentally scolded himself for not checking in on everyone else sooner.

He also realized with another surge of confusion that May was dressed in scrubs just like Harley. He tilted his head.

”May, h-how long have you…?”

”Since I got back,” she said, fidgeting with her hands. “From…I don’t know, dying. I figured Helen would need all the help she could get. Plus, you know, I wanted to see my nephew. How is he?”

He blinked as Pepper cupped his neck and looked him over, her brow creased in concern.

”He’s okay,” Tony finally supplied. “He’ll be okay. He’s got a fever and…he didn’t exactly come out unscathed. But he’ll be just fine.”

May had a hand on her chest but she was smiling in relief, heaving a deep sigh.

"That's good," she said breathlessly. "Oh, that's good. That's really good."

Happy began rubbing soothing circles on her back. "I told you he'd be okay. He's a resilient kid."

Tony couldn't even begin to open the can of worms that was Happy and May. He didn't think he really wanted to.

"I'm sure he'll wanna see all of you. He's sleeping the fever off right now, but..."

"Later. Of course," Pepper said with a smile, still cupping Tony's face. He leaned into it with a smile, placing a hand on her waist.

He'd missed her. A lot.

She'd been right by his side every day of the past three years, had been there to hold him while he cried and wipe his tears and stay at his bedside after every heart attack. 

She'd been there, but he hadn't.

He'd been distant, a shell of who he once was. He hadn't been there for her in the slightest, hadn't considered that she lost both a fiance and a child that she thought of as her own. 

His heart hurt with every beat. She brought him back with a simple smile, full of unspoken understanding.

He did his best to return the gesture.

🕷⎊🕷

When Peter woke back up in the medbay bed again, the first thing he noticed was Tony’s hand no longer in his. 

He frowned as his eyes fluttered open and he heard a clicking sound across the room, narrowing his eyes to get a better look.

Someone was typing something on a laptop on the countertop across from his bed. Someone wearing scrubs, blonde curls disheveled. 

Peter’s heart monitor must have picked up pace as he regained consciousness because the person turned over their shoulder with wide eyes, sending a nervous two-fingered wave his way.

”Hey, man. You’re awake.”

”…Hi.”

He closed the laptop and cleared his throat, gesturing awkwardly to the door.

”Your dad, uh…he’s just talking to Doctor Cho. I can grab him for you if you want.”

”That's okay,” Peter said, waving a hand at him in gratitude and removing the oxygen mask from around his head. “Th-Thank you. I appreciate it.”

He smiled, clicking the end of a pen in his hand over and over before he blinked, as if remembering himself.

”Jesus—sorry, man. My name is Harley. I’m a…friend of Tony’s.”

Peter sat up straight and extended his hand Harley’s way, offering as welcoming a smile as he could.

”Hi. I’m-“

”Peter,” Harley finished for him with a knowing smile. “Yeah, I’ve heard a lot about you.”

”Oh,” Peter laughed quietly. “I’m…sorry. I don't think I’ve ever...”

Harley clicked his tongue with a knowing, amused roll of his eyes.

“Typical he wouldn’t mention me. Your dad and I met a while back. 2013, I think.”

Peter tilted his head in confusion.

”Damn. Then…wouldn’t that mean—?”

”Yeah, I was like twelve,” he snorted, a reminiscent smile on his face. “Your dad isn’t the brightest, by the way.”

Peter breathed out a laugh, too, confusion still swimming in his head. 

2013 was…Killian. The Mandarin. A tearful Christmas reunion.

He leaned forward in curiosity, unsure exactly where to start.

”So…you were with my dad when he was…missing? Like, during the Mandarin and stuff?”

”Yeah,” Harley said with a sigh, grabbing his clipboard from the countertop and crossing to Peter’s bed.

"You mind if I...?"

Peter blinked, quickly folding his legs crisscrossed and leaving Harley room to sit on the edge of the bed.

"Sure, sure. Go for it."

Harley hummed and sat himself on edge, staring ahead as he remembered when he and Tony had crossed paths years earlier.

”I didn’t know it then. He was just some weirdo who stumbled into my shed. Kind of a prick. But…I’m pretty sure it was because he missed you. He was just worried. I get that now I guess.”

Peter picked at a loose thread on his blanket as he listened, a fond smile on his face.

”…He was a prick? To a twelve-year-old?”

“To everyone,” Harley snorted with a shake of his head. “He was stressed and picky and bossy and…he was a clenched fist with hair. I swear to god, I thought he was gonna explode at one point. He was trying to get home to you and your mom.”

Peter’s heart went still.

”…My mom?”

”Yeah. What’s-her-face. Paprika. Pepper.”

”Oh,” Peter breathed out a laugh, shaking his head. “Oh, no. She’s—She’s not my mom.”

”Oh. Sorry.”

”No, that’s okay.”

Peter smiled to himself. He liked the sound of that. 

“…You’re sure you don’t want me to grab your dad? I don’t mind.”

“It’s fine,” Peter was quick to say. “Really.”

A thought occurred to him so suddenly that he couldn’t quite catch his breath, his eyes going wide as he leaned forward and grabbed Harley’s shoulder.

”Oh, god, has—has anyone been in touch with my aunt? May Parker?”

Harley blinked, thinking to himself with a frown. 

“…I don’t know. Let me go ask, okay—?”

Before Harley could finish, a figure slowly, cautiously made themselves known in the doorway, wide eyes landing on Peter and physically deflating in relief.

”Oh, Peter.”

Peter blinked, relief overwhelming him, too as he drank the person in, studied them up and down.

”May.”

She rushed forward with her arms held out. Harley stood from the bed and watched from the side as Peter forced himself to his feet and took her in his arms, his eyes squeezed shut.

”Oh, my god, I was so worried. How are you feeling, baby?”

”I'm okay,” Peter said, staring ahead for a moment in confusion.

He had no idea if she’d lived three years after the snap or if she was playing catch up as much as he was.

She seemed to sense his confusion, a hand cupping his neck as she pulled out of the hug. She looked up at his eyes sadly, apologetically.

”How…how are you handling all of…I mean, how are you?”

Peter stared at her, took her in, and knew in an instant that she hadn’t lived without him like Tony had.

She was choking on her own ashes as much as Peter was, playing the same twisted game of cosmic catch-up and falling desperately behind.

They were both drowning. Peter finally felt understood.

”I…don’t know,” he said with a whisper, shaking his head. She nodded in understanding, brushing her thumb across his cheek. 

“Me neither.”

Peter smiled softly, watching her in concern as her eyes began to glass over. She tried her best to maintain her smile, to maintain her maternal nature as she brought Peter in for another hug and breathed him in.

Peter looked over her shoulder numbly and spotted Tony and Pepper watching them in the threshold, watched them stare at the two remaining Parkers with broken hearts.

”We’ll figure it out together.”

🕷⎊🕷

Peter was finally given clearance to leave the medbay. 

Not without tearful reunions with Happy, Rhodey, and Pepper, and certainly not without endless gratitudes shoved in Helen's face. She took them all modestly, just as she always did.

Peter and Tony were nearly free to board the elevator bound for the penthouse with no intent to ever leave, though Harley was faster.

"Hold up, Mechanic!"

Tony had one arm wrapped around Peter's shoulders and turned toward the voice with a frown, blinking in surprise as Harley jogged toward the elevator and held his arm out to prevent the doors from shutting. 

Tony's heart stopped, taking a moment to look between Peter and Harley.

He always intended for the two to meet someday, positive that their combined energy would no doubt lead to his demise.

Better late than never, he supposed.

"Peter, kiddo, this is--"

"Harley," Peter smiled, nodding Harley's way. "Hi again."

Tony blinked, his heart skipping a beat.

"...When did you two meet?"

"During the two tiny seconds you weren't glued to his side, that's when," Harley snorted, lightly punching Tony's arm. "Give him some space, would you?"

"Great. Kid, don't believe a word Spud told you."

Peter frowned, tilting his head. "Spud?"

Tony and Harley exchanged knowing smiles. Harley shook his head with a laugh.

"We'll catch you up sometime."

"We should," Tony nodded honestly. "Honest. If you would stop being so damn hard to find, you might just be able to come over for dinner sometime."

"Yeah," Peter nodded, too, his lip quirking slightly in a smile. "You should."

Harley stared Peter's way for a moment before he returned the gesture, fidgeting nervously with his hands.

"Yeah," he finally supplied, looking between the two. "Yeah, okay. That would be nice. I gotta go see about a newly-resurrected mother of mine, but...that sounds nice. Sure."

"Then it's settled," Tony reached a hand forward to clap Harley's shoulder. Harley smiled, looking Tony up and down.

He wasn't the same person who had shown up on his doorstep in San Francisco a week earlier. He didn't look nearly as exhausted, didn't look like he was on the verge of a heart attack anymore.

He looked whole. Complete. Like smiling was no longer some impossible task, but second nature.

"...Alright. You guys take care."

Harley finally dropped his arm from the elevator door and turned on his heel, making his way down the hallway.

"Hey, Spud."

Harley paused, turning over his shoulder with a quirked brow. Tony had an arm wrapped around Peter, a genuine smile on his face as he tilted his head.

"You should think about med school. You're a natural."

Harley blinked, rolled his eyes, and continued trekking forward.

"Good-bye, Mechanic."

🕷⎊🕷

Walking back into the penthouse again was awkward, to say the least. 

Peter hadn’t seen it in the daylight yet, had only seen it in the faint light of the city lights outside the window through blurry eyes.

It still looked just as boxed up and unlived in, much to his dismay. Tony must have sensed Peter’s uneasiness and placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder, ushering him through the elevator doors.

It was so much like the day Tony had brought Peter home from the hospital fifteen years ago that he had to close his eyes for a moment, remembering the day.

It's, uh...this is where you're gonna live, kiddo. You and I both.

You can see the Empire State building!

Tony smiled to himself, bringing an enamored gaze Peter’s way and watching his kid scan the living room blankly.

”You’ve still got a bit of a fever,” Tony forced out, squeezing Peter’s shoulder and making his way to the kitchen. “I’ll make you some soup, yeah?”

Peter didn’t say anything, watching him go. He continued scanning everything, continued drinking in the living room and how utterly foreign it looked to him now.

Numbly, robotically, he found himself making his way into the living room. He wasn’t sure what he was doing, wasn’t even sure he had control of his brain. All he knew was that he was disassembling one of the towers of cardboard boxes, sitting on the ground and tearing one open.

Tony watched him from the kitchen counter, his breath held.

”What-What’re you doin’?”

Peter wasn’t sure what to say, unsure if he even knew himself. All he knew was that he was digging through the box in front of him and removing bubble-wrapped picture frames, knickknacks, and more.

”Unpacking.”

Tony blinked, numbly placing the can of soup in his hand back onto the counter. 

He hung his head and chewed the inside of his cheek before he rounded the counter and walked toward his kid, standing over him for a moment before he joined him on the floor.

”I’m sorry,” Tony said, muscles tense. “I should’ve…I should’ve done all of this…before.”

“Don’t apologize,” Peter insisted, shaking his head.

He brought his gaze up to meet his father’s and Tony knew he meant it.

Tony smiled, bringing a hand up to run his fingers through Peter’s curls briefly. Peter gave him a strained smile back before he returned to unwrapping picture frames.

”Do you…”

Peter paused, his brow furrowed as he pondered what exactly he wanted to say, to ask. Tony watched him with a clenched jaw, his heart still in anticipation.

”I mean, do you…where’ve you been living? If you haven’t been living here?”

Tony blinked at the question. He’d been expecting it, had anticipated millions of questions about what Peter had missed, what exactly he hadn’t seen between the time he left Earth and the time he got back.

Tony anticipated the questions but barely had any answers. If he was honest, Peter didn’t miss a single thing. 

Like Tony had said before, the world hadn’t gone on without him or the trillions of others that went out with him. It had remained still on its axis, frozen in time.

He took in a shaky breath, closing his eyes.

”A cabin,” Tony finally supplied, swallowing thickly. “Upstate. It’s nice. Quiet. I can take you some time.”

Nice. Quiet.

Peter stared at him with an unreadable expression, his jaw clenched. He eventually returned his gaze to the picture frame held in his hands, continuing his task of removing the bubble wrap from around it.

”We don’t have to do this now,” Tony said, bringing a hand up and cradling the back of Peter’s head, petting his curls fondly. “I’m sure you’re tired. Sore.”

”I’m fine,” Peter whispered hoarsely, staring at a now-unwrapped photo of Tony and himself in his Spider-Man suit.

It was recent, at least to him. He remembered the day so vividly, the day they were having a family night in the penthouse living room. Peter had been wearing his Spider suit and an old hoodie when he hopped on Tony's back. Pepper had labeled it an opportune moment to photograph the moment, to immortalize it.

Peter smiled slightly at it, a hum escaping him as he brushed his thumb across it.

He reached inside the box and grabbed another.

Tony, after a moment of simply watching him, joined in.

Tony wasn’t sure how much time passed until they’d unpacked every box, unsure how long it had been since the two finally stepped foot in their home again.

All he knew was that the sun had set at some point and their living room was unpacked, as if the two of them had never left it. 

They stood and stared at it, Tony’s arm wrapped around Peter as he pressed a kiss into his curls. 

They had a long way to go.

But this was a good start.

🕷⎊🕷

“You’re sure you’re okay in here?”

”I’m okay.”

Tony watched uneasily from Peter’s bedroom door as his kid peeled back the blankets on his bed. He flipped the lamp on his nightstand, dim light illuminating the room as he rubbed the back of his neck with his hand.

”…But are you sure?”

Peter sighed with a quiet laugh, turning over his shoulder to send his father a reassuring nod.

”I’m sure. Just tired.”

Tony pressed his lips together in a thin line but eventually nodded, unable to mask his uneasiness. He forced himself off of the doorframe and sauntered Peter’s way, standing in front of him with his eyes narrowed suspiciously.

”I’ll be right down the hall. If you need anything at all.”

Peter smiled softly. “Alright.”

Tony returned the gesture, cupping Peter’s neck and pressing a kiss on his forehead.

”Get some sleep, kiddo...I love you.”

”Love you too.”

Tony smiled again, his eyes already red-rimmed.

Peter would have to get used to that.

He could probably tell his father he was gonna take a shower and have the man burst into tears.

Tony squeezed his shoulder and placed one more brief kiss on his head before he painfully, painstakingly made his way for the door.

”Sleep tight, Spidey.”

Peter hummed, staring for a moment at the floor.

He wanted nothing more than to curl up and sleep forever.

But he also felt like he’d missed out on so much to the point where he was terrified of never waking up again.

🕷⎊🕷

You have my respect, Stark.

Peter frowned in his sleep, his skin drenched in sweat.

When I’m done, half of humanity will still be alive.

He shivered, muttering something incoherent under his breath.

I hope they remember you.

He jolted the more the voices made themselves known, the more they bounced violently against the walls of his skull.

Please…please don’t kill me in front of him.

The sound of metal piercing flesh jolted him awake so violently he nearly fell off the bed.

He snapped into a sitting position with wide eyes and a gasp, a hand wrapped around his throat. He spared only a moment staring ahead with eyes the size of dinner plates before the image from his dream had him scrambling off of the bed and stumbling to the door.

Thanos stabbing Tony. Thanos pressing forward, forcing Tony to the ground and twisting the sword inside of him.

He blinked the sleep out of his eyes and sprinted, moving only on instinct.

He found Tony asleep on the living room couch, a watered-down glass of Scotch on the table beside him. 

In Peter’s half-conscious state, all he saw was a corpse.

Please be alive. Please be alive.

He fell to his knees in front of the couch and brought trembling hands forward to take Tony’s shoulders, shaking them desperately.

”Dad, Dad, wake up. P-Please, please, you have to-have to—“

Tony was awake in an instant, snapping to a sitting position and nearly bonking heads with Peter. His eyes were wide as he immediately brought his hands forward to cup Peter’s face, scanning him up and down feverishly as the kid continued speaking frantically, desperately.

”Peter! Peter, baby, calm down.”

Peter finally fell silent, though his frantic breaths continued echoing on the walls. He blinked, directing his gaze to Tony’s abdomen as he held Tony’s hands in place, grabbing his wrists.

”You're…You're not…I thought—I thought that—“

“Everything is fine,” Tony said breathlessly, his eyes urgent as he continued cupping Peter’s face, brushing sweat-drenched curls away. “Everything is fine, Peter. You’re okay. You’re okay.”

”No, n-not me. I thought…”

Peter swallowed thickly, blinking sweat and tears out of his eyes before he finally met Tony’s gaze, his father’s worried eyes hitting him like a truck.

”Thanos, he…I thought that he--that you...”

Tony blinked, his heart skipping a beat. Peter heard it as his senses finally came to, the sound of Tony’s heart beating like music to his ears.

It clicked all at once. Why Peter looked terrified out of his mind, why he was staring at Tony's abdomen as if he was expecting to see some sort of bloody mess there.

Oh.

Tony hadn’t thought about that moment in years. It was a stretch to say he’d forgotten, because no one could forget staring death in the face, forget watching your kid beg to trade places with you.

But he hadn’t given much thought to how the incident impacted Peter, how fresh it probably was on his mind.

He sucked in a breath, understanding tracing his features as he softened and gently brushing a finger across Peter’s face.

”…Oh, kid…”

Peter stared at him, consciousness slowly but surely kicking in as his lip threatened to tremble. It was all Tony needed to lurch forward and take Peter in his arms, cradling his kid’s head.

”I’m sorry,” he whispered, closing his eyes and drowning in such deep anguish he almost couldn’t breathe. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

Peter hugged him back, burying his face into Tony's chest. Tony wanted to keep them both there forever.

He wanted to take it all away so badly. He wanted to remove those memories from Peter’s brain forever, wanted to erase them from history more than he wanted to breathe air.

But he couldn’t. 

All he could do was hold his kid, be there for him, assure him that it was all behind them.

As Peter finally wrapped his arms around Tony’s neck, Tony knew that it was enough.

”I’ve got you, Peter. I’ve got you.”

🕷⎊🕷

Peter woke up on the couch.

He remembered the events of the night before vividly as he rubbed at his eyes, immediately aware of Tony’s absence as well as the familiar, warm smell of breakfast in the kitchen across from him. 

His brow furrowed in confusion as he forced himself off of the couch and made his way toward the kitchen curiously, smiling slightly as he spotted Tony standing by the stove. He had a frying pan in his hold as he turned over his shoulder, visibly lighting up at the sight of his kid.

He would have to get used to that.

”Morning, kiddo.”

”Hi.”

Peter sat himself at the bar awkwardly. He couldn’t shake that uncomfortable feeling that he didn’t belong, that he was as out of place as a sore thumb. Even with the living room unpacked and the boxes stacked by the elevator doors, his senses hummed distantly.

Something wasn’t right.

Tony, on the other hand, felt like his universe was finally aligned again.

Every time he glanced Peter’s way, he wore that same astonished, awestruck expression he’d worn on the battlefield, the one he wore when he spotted Peter stepping through the portal.

Breathless. Tony always looked breathless.

Peter took a composing breath, knocking absentmindedly on the countertop as he scanned the kitchen.

"You sleep okay? On the couch?"

"Yeah. Yeah, for sure."

"That's good."

"Yeah."

Tony clenched his jaw and returned his gaze to the contents in the pan. Peter stared blankly ahead.

Tony wanted to scream.

There was so much to say, yet he never knew where to start. There was so much he'd wanted to say for three years, so much he used to contemplate and dream and hypothesize and manipulate in his head.

Even when he had been out of his right mind cooking breakfast at midnight in his grief, breaking glasses in his hands, seizing up with heart attacks, he would wonder what he would say to Peter if he got one last chance, one last moment to tell him something, anything.

That voice he'd had in his head over the years was still screaming in his ears, roaring so loud he almost couldn't hear the sizzle of bacon in front of him.

Say something. Say anything. Tell him.

He didn't know what he was supposed to tell him. To say I love you didn't feel like enough.

"Dad?"

"Yes--" Tony's voice caught on the lump in his throat as he snapped his head Peter's way, blinking sudden blurriness out of his vision and praying Peter didn't notice. "Y-Yeah, kid?"

"I was wondering...I mean, I was wondering if we could visit the cabin."

Tony gaped at him for a moment at the question, dropping his spatula.

"The...The cabin?"

"Yeah," Peter said, his finger tapping nervously on the counter. Tony was suddenly mesmerized by it.

Peter was never particularly nervous around Tony. That was one of the millions of things that made their relationship so unique.

To the world, Tony Stark was a man of confidence and charm. To Peter's classmates, Peter was just a nervous, fidgety kid with several anxious idiosyncrasies.

But to each other, Tony and Peter were exactly that.

Themselves.

Always vulnerable, always honest, always fully aware that, at the end of the day, all they had was each other.

"We don't have to," Peter supplied. Tony had no idea how long it had been since he hadn't spoken, how long silence had remained suspended between the two. "If you don't want to. Or if you don't want me to. I just," he paused, taking a moment to fidget with a loose thread on his sleeve. Tony melted.

"I just thought--or, I didn't--I just wanted to see it, I guess."

"Yes," Tony finally blurted out, his jaw still clenched as he smiled Peter's way. "Yeah, yeah, of course. Of course we can go. After breakfast sound good?"

Peter's physically deflated in relief, his lip quirking in a smile. 

"Sounds good."

Tony smiled, sparing another moment to stare at his kid before he picked the spatula back up and returned to his work.

"Good."

Tony prayed his kid couldn't hear that everything was the opposite of fine through his voice.

But unbeknownst to Tony, Peter could.

He continued anxiously tapping his finger on the counter and continued his staring contest with the wall ahead.

🕷⎊🕷

Peter stared out the passenger window as they pulled into the cabin.

As it turned out, Tony did a perfect job in describing it.

It was nice. It was quiet.

And, most of all, it was the complete antithesis of Tony Stark.

The mere idea of Tony living in it would've made Peter laugh if the circumstances weren't so heartbreaking. It was such a juxtaposition for his billionaire, genius, playboy philanthropist father to ever reside in the cabin before him, to ever settle down so far away from civilization in a place as beautiful as this.

And yet, as Peter had come to learn, grief could make one do drastic things.

He clenched his jaw and turned Tony's way as his father took the key out of the ignition and returned Peter's gaze, as if awaiting his approval.