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Chapter Text

Tony Stark's heart was full for the first time when he saw his son.  

By all standards, the boy wasn't too remarkable.  A squished wrinkly little blob of a newborn with a good set of lungs on him. But to Tony Stark who hadn't even wanted to be a father, he was the most perfect thing in the entire world.  

For three years, Peter was the sun Tony's life revolved around. Business meetings were completed during naptimes. Time spent in his workshop included a bouncing baby strapped to his chest, giggling as Tony narrated. The reluctantly hired nanny worked twice a week so any active explosions could be kept far away from Peter. 
  
No one had expected fatherhood to suit him so well.  Rhodey had requested leave as soon as he received Tony's frantic call.   Obi frankly hadn't given one thought to the baby after buying a bottle of good scotch to congratulate him before reminding Tony of the upcoming conference with investors.   A bottle that went untouched since Tony had requested his assistant Pepper put together a list of the best intensive rehab centers as soon as he had heard the news.  

No one had known what to think when new baby-related inventions began to show up on the market.  Compact car-seats easily transferrable between any vehicle from sports car to limo to private jet and back again.  Swings for soothing colicky babies that mimicked the parent's heartbeat.  Cribs meant to contain even the most adventurous of toddlers.   Stark Industries had specialized in weapons for so long.   Having a baby-line seemed unimaginable.    

But when asked about it at a press conference, Tony had merely laughed.  

"My father always wanted our company to be about envisioning and building the future. Protecting the future generation, encouraging them, loving them, and giving them the best we can offer seems right in line with that."  

Anyone who actually knew Howard Stark would have disagreed with that if not for the way the line improved the company's bottom line and public opinion.   It was deemed acceptable if still unorthodox.  Howard Stark hadn't been meant for fatherhood, but his son somehow suited it perfectly.   

It made it all the more tragic when Peter disappeared.   When there was finally a face to match the company’s change in direction as once carefully guarded photos of the Stark Heir hit every news station across the country.   A toddler with light brown curls and big brown eyes had been taken in the middle of the night from one of the most secure buildings in the country. 

"It's always the parent in cases like these" was often whispered commentary.  

"Probably killed him in a drunken haze.  You know what he was like before..." 

"I knew he couldn't do it.  People like that are just bound to fall off the wagon.  Probably just doesn't want to admit it."     

"It won't be long till they find a body."   

The police found ten, but not one of them was Peter's.  

Tony Stark oscillated between a broken man crying on national television and a determined father organizing hunt after hunt for his missing son.  He would go days without sleep, switching back and forth between the physical hunts during daylight hours and the virtual as everyone slept.     

As the days passed, a gentle FBI agent reminded him of the odds, 94 percent of recovered children are found within 72 hours. 1   

"No one's going to stop looking.  We're all doing the best we can Mr. Stark.  I just wanted to prepare you for the worst."   

‘Especially due to the recent weather’ went unsaid.    

Peter was terrified of thunderstorms, always climbing into his daddy's bed as soon as they started.  The thought of his son alone during one, or worse exposed to the elements directly had driven Tony back to the bottle. 

Tony spent Peter's sixth birthday on suicide watch.  The FBI had reached out only days earlier.  There hadn't been any solid leads in six months. The case wasn't closed per se, but it was better to prepare himself for the worst. It was far more likely to bring home a body at this point.   

It wasn't a relief to be stuck in a cave fearing for his own life but he didn't fear death at that point. He hadn't feared it for a long time. 

Did children grow up while in Heaven? He wasn't particularly religious, but still, he wondered, "Would he get to raise his little boy?" It was supposed to be paradise and he couldn't imagine one without Peter in it. But did that mean he got to hold his darling close for eternity listening to him ramble through stories about stuffed animals or watch him grow into the man he was robbed of being? 

But still, Tony didn't want to die not even if there was the smallest chance that Peter was still out there, still paying for the mistakes he made by letting his weapons fall into the wrong hands. 

There had been no body. 

If Peter was still out there somewhere, he deserved only the best world. He was Tony's legacy. Dead or alive, Peter was always going to be the best part of him. 

Tony let himself hope as he requested even more outlandish appliances to scrap for palladium. Nine months was a long time. With his own disappearance, maybe there was a clearer motive or evidence that had been previously overlooked. Tony tried to not let it get too far, but his dreams of Peter's eighth birthday party kept him smiling even as he wanted to cry. He exchanged stories with Yinsen about their children. He didn't realize until later how much they truly have in common. 

He wouldn't be coming home to Peter. 

"You need to stop thinking of Peter as home," his Pepper-mandated therapist told him. "You have other people in your life who love and need you. Relying on them does not disrespect Peter's memory." 

"Being happy without Peter is not wrong” was a lesson repeated endlessly that never quite sunk in the way it was meant to.   

As the palladium slowly killed him, he wondered if this is his penance. Even as he built the arc reactor to save himself, he still only wanted to live in a world with Peter in it. Now as he's finding himself again, as he's becoming someone worthwhile, he won't have to. 

Tony got to live to see his son legally declared dead. He let himself fall off the wagon. Bottles of scotch surrounded him as he has Jarvis project their old home videos and photos. There are thousands but it's not enough. It will never be enough. 

As he flew the nuclear bomb into the portal, he thought about all the little boys and girls that would have died otherwise, all the families that might have been torn apart. He thought his life is more than a fair trade. If things had gone right, maybe Peter's best friend or college roommate would be among those saved. It helped him breathe easier after the nightmares of endless armies and a wormhole that closes around a distraught Pepper.  

There is no point in time where he ever stops looking. 

Jarvis had become the world's top algorithm on abduction and missing child cases. He automatically sent tips to police departments across the country, receiving several complaints about privacy laws along the way, but he can afford the fines, especially when he saw the sheer relief on the parents' faces. He tried to force down the envy scalding his chest. 

The Peter Stark Foundation provided aid to grieving families and catered for as many volunteer search parties as it can. He covered the expenses of too many funerals even though he can't force himself to hold one for Peter. 

He busted trafficking rings with bated breath because he knew that if Peter was alive, the odds are good he won't be safe or healthy. There will never be harsh enough punishment for criminals like these, and never enough therapists either. 

There's a file of hand-drawn cards that made him cry almost as much as Peter's photos do. They're from grateful children, siblings and parents, families that he indirectly managed to save even as he can't save his own. 

When Steve and Natasha drop all the Shield files on the internet, he scoured for anything that could be related to Peter. Finding nothing he moved on to himself, hoping that maybe there's a lead that he's missed in the almost ten years since Peter's been missing. He let that program run even as he sets up another algorithm for child trafficking. He would leave no stone left unturned, 

It's why Jarvis allowed the phone number from a random number and automatically canceled his appointments for the day. If May Parker claimed to have more information on Case SUA-384678, she's got his full attention. 

Chapter Text

When May first went to the storage unit, she didn't want to touch anything. It had always felt so distant from her. 

She hadn't known Mary and Richard very well. They were always too busy with their careers to come to visit her and Ben in New York. She hadn't even met Peter before the weekend they asked them to watch him. A weekend that quickly led to a lifetime. 

"Peter gets his brains from his dad. Richard always had enough for the both of us". Ben would say with a dopey smile whenever Peter reached a new milestone whether it be the first toaster he destroyed or his first science fair. 

The storage unit had been a necessary purchase when they first got the news. Their apartment hadn't been big enough or child-safe yet. And there was no real-time to sort through the Parkers' belongings while caring for a traumatized six-year-old. 

"It'll be nice to have when he's older. He deserves some things to remember them by," she'd huffed as they juggled the end table between them and into the unit. 

Ben had merely nodded, his face the stoic facade it had been since he found out his older brother was dead. 

It was an eclectic mix of things. There hadn't been a crib or mobile or many toys beyond the little lion Peter had when he'd first been dropped off. And Richard's desk had been practically torn apart by the corporation and federal agencies claiming rights to any remaining intellectual property. Certain things had been taken out over the years like the kitchen table after the old one fell victim to the flames of one of Peter's experiments, or the extra bookshelves as their collection grew. But other things went in, like the boxes of art projects and photographs that just couldn't fit in the apartment. 

May had allowed herself to forget about it until she no longer had that luxury. When Ben died, they'd lost over half their income. She was squeezing every last penny out of their budget and any extra was better used on emergency take-out. The storage unit had to go. 

She approached the new problem with the same tenacity she'd approached everything else since Ben died, just a never-ending series of tasks to keep them going and the emotions at bay. She'd swung by Delmar's and a few other local shops asking for extra boxes and found cleaning supplies that she didn't even know they had buried beneath the sink. She'd traded a few shifts with Sheila and Melissa to give her a couple of consecutive days off. She called Mrs. Leeds to make sure it would be alright for Peter to hang out there after school. Even though the process would have been faster with two people, she didn't want him to see her like this, condensing the life of the man she loved into just enough belongings to stuff in their hall closet. 

Cleaning it out was even more of an endeavor than she initially planned. There were photos of course. But there was also evidence from the last time Ben visited. There were several stashes of chocolate chip granola bars. His toolbox was still propped open next to the camera he was working on repairing for Peter's birthday. 

She knew Ben came here on rough days, the ones he tried to hide from her because even if he and Richard hadn't seen each other often, they had tried to talk at least twice a month, typically on Friday afternoons before lighting the candles for Shabbat. Although looking back it was clear that Richard hadn't exactly been honest in their conversations, sticking to teasing and griping about his lab, not even mentioning Peter once. 

(She thinks that they would have come to blows if it hadn't been for the frantic look on Richard's face as he confessed that he was in way over his head. 

"We're talking about this later." Ben had said even as May accepted Peter into her arms. 

Mary gently kissed his forehead. "You're going to be just fine Petey. Nice and safe here with Uncle Ben and Aunt May." 

And at that moment May felt whole even if she hadn't known something was missing. Ben wore an awed little smile that cut through the uncertainty of the moment. 

This was her nephew, her Peter. His little brown curls stuck out funnily from the hood of his blue raincoat, and his fingers were so small as they sleepily clung to her.). 

The plane crash was the second time in as many days that her life had been completely turned on its head. She'd met Peter, and then all too soon after he'd become her Peter, her son in every way that mattered. 

She and Ben had never really talked about kids. They felt too young to handle them right now and too busy with the academy and nursing school. So, kids were a someday thought that went along with someday we'll be financially stable and happy and not worried about making rent. They weren’t opposed per se, but they weren't itching to become parents. If it happened, it happened. If not, well considering there were so many days where they barely felt like adults themselves, that was probably for the best. 

But then there was the broadcast anchor bemoaning the mechanical failure of a plane that was supposed to head from New York to Toronto and Ben's face had turned a sickly white. No word on survivors, but it was unlikely. 

May bounced Peter up and down as she paced because she couldn't force herself to stay still. But his gummy little smile showed he couldn't have minded that much. Ben kept calling the airline but was passed from hold line to hold line since no one had the news he was looking for. Looking back, it was probably just no one wanted to be the one to tell them. You don't want to be the one to tell someone their big brother isn't coming home, especially if you're only being paid minimum wage to do it. 

Clothes were carefully folded with a couple of items left on top of the pile. A truly horrendous fuchsia bridesmaid dress, Richard's first lab coat, and the neon windbreaker featured in several family photos. May didn't feel like she had the right to final say on those items. Looking at Mary's collection of science-themed earrings, from little clay polymer chains to mini planets, made her feel more like a real person than she ever had before. Peter could look at everything if he wanted but May knew he wouldn't want to. Every time they had talked about his parents previously his face had taken on a pinched expression, and he'd shift his weight from side to side until changing the topic as quickly as possible. So, she made sure to keep an eye on anything particularly sentimental or outrageous (since despite his own lackluster fashion sense, Peter had developed opinions regarding the hilarity of certain '80s and '90s trends.). 

Once winter break started next week, he'd be able to look through everything himself. Knowing Peter he'd want to be helpful and get distracted by something, apologize, try to get back on track, then find himself in the cycle all over again.  May let out a laugh.  Yeah, it was probably for the best that she got the majority done now.  

Peter Parker was having a miserable day.  He'd fallen asleep during Spanish twice this week and failed a pop quiz which had left Flash far too smug.    

"Seriously, why does he have to turn everything into a competition?"   

"He's trying to overcompensate for failing to move out of the alternate spot,"  MJ said as she flipped a page in her book at lunch.    

"Flash can have it for all I care. I'll switch.  I just want to be left alone."  

"Yeah, not happening.  there's no way that's happening.  He's incompetent and I'm in charge of this team, so suck it up Loser."   

"Most people would be happy about the team."  

"I just don't need this right now Ned."  

“Do you mean-“ Ned flicked his wrist in such an unsubtle manner that Peter barely contained his groans. He looked at MJ who at least appeared to be wrapped up in her book.    

“Not at school.” He hissed.  

“Sorry,” Ned looked slightly bashful, but his excitement couldn’t be fully contained, “But is it?”  He asked with beseeching eyes.   

“Not today. May’s got plans to finish off the storage unit cleaning.   Apparently, there’s a lot of Ben’s and my parents stuff left.”  

“Do you want me to be there? For like moral support?”  

Peter grimaced.  He already knew he was going to break down today.  He knew Ned would never laugh at him and yet at the same time, the thought of having him nearby was horrific.  

“Nah, one of us deserves to have a good time tonight.”   

“If you’re sure.  But I really wouldn’t mind, I mean this-“  

“I’m sure Ned.   No guy in the chair needed for this.”    

May met him at the front of the storage building right after school.  As she led him back to their unit,  she asked, “Would you rather get a cab and try to squeeze everything in the back or take it bit by bit on public transit?"   

"Are we really going to be the people lugging our sofa through the subway gates?"   He didn’t even know if they had a sofa in their unit, but he couldn’t help but grin at the image.  

"I've sorted through most of what I want already.  George at the front desk said he's got some buddies working with FEAST and he'd be willing to pick up anything in good condition for them."   

"That's good at least. So, no chairs on the subway?"  

"Unless you want any furniture, it'll likely just stay here."   

Peter thought to his room, complete with bookshelves, desk, and bunkbed, something that he'd like to say was a recent addition when Ned started staying over, but really was a holdover from when he had first moved in with May and Ben and they would need to alternate who slept with him since he couldn't stand being completely alone.   

He also tried to compare the two options in his head.  Sure, the cab was more expensive if they could have done it in one subway trip, but five or six trips by public transit would probably be about the same price with a lot less headache.  

"Let's see if we can just condense everything that we want together then we can decide because if it's more than three trips, might as well catch a ride."    

"When I keel over from the weight of all the home videos, you're not allowed to laugh,"  May said it with a smile that let him know she wasn't entirely serious.  

“I could probably handle it.”  

She laughed but directed him to the correct box as soon as she unlocked the door. 

He grabbed it easily and remembered a little too late that the box was supposed to be heavy for him.  

May was staring at him in amazement and he felt his words run away from him as he desperately tried to explain.  

"They're really serious about gym at Midtown.  You should listen to Coach Wilson complain about how we're too stupid to be ignoring our bodies. And you know me, May.” He gave her what he thought was a winning smile.  "If something is worth a grade, I'll only settle for the best."   

"Well, I'm glad your asthma isn't getting the best of you.  Points in our favor for just taking the bus home.”  

He let out a fake whine, “Come on, May.  I’m not strong enough to be your personal pack mule.”  

“And here I thought you offered,” she joked right back.  

"We should have brought the laundry baskets with us, really piled everything in."   

"That would involve you being done with your laundry, Peter." 

He shrugged aware that laundry was one of the few battles he’d given up on already.  He never finished it.  Instead, he’d just leave the clean clothes in the laundry basket, pulling things out as he needed them.  He might have superpowers but only the truly powerful could wash, fold and put away clothes in the same day.   

 Peter looked around the storage room.  May had already done a good job.  The remaining furniture was pushed toward the left side.  It wasn't much, just an old desk that had clearly seen better days, a few end tables, and a set of kitchen chairs.  The right side had an assortment of boxes, mostly cardboard but some clear plastic ones, a few black garbage bags, and a lone desk chair.    

"Did you already empty out the desk?"  

"No, it's your dad's old desk.  I didn't want to throw away something that you might want.  Not sure how much of his work is in there.  His job threw a fit when he died and requested everything, saying he'd signed a contract and it was all theirs. But that didn't include the personal stuff.” 

Peter nodded before starting to go through the pretty standard desk. It seemed like the best place for him to start, even if he couldn’t imagine what would be so sentimental about a desk.   

Peter pulled out the countless paperclips, dry-erase markers, and other knickknacks that had built up over the years from the drawers.  The second drawer on the left was the largest and even had indentations for hanging files. However, any files that might have once been there were now long gone.  Several post-it notes had fallen to the bottom, but they were nonsense in terms of figuring out the contents.   How much help could a crude drawing of a spider or just the number 0 be?    

“May, what was so important about my parents' work that they wanted to keep everything?”   

She hummed as she thought.  “They didn’t talk about it with me.  I assumed it had to do with cancer since Ben always commented on how poorly your Dad dealt with your grandma’s death, but they met working on some project that needed a world-class geneticist and Mary apparently swept him away.  So, I guess what I’m trying to say is I really don’t know, kiddo.”   

“But like, do you know who they worked for?”  He stacked the post-it notes on the desk, slightly reluctant to throw them out entirely.   

“That I definitely know,”  She laughed easily as she opened a new trash bag. “Only Oscorp could have made such a mess of things.”   

Peter’s blood ran cold.  Oscorp.  Suddenly the drawing of the spider didn’t seem so innocent.  Although his parents had worked there ten years ago, so it might be unrelated, but he felt too uneasy to let it go entirely.  As far as he knew, Oscorp had never created any technology inspired by spiders or done research about spiders in general.  Peter didn’t think spiders were model organisms. All the papers he had read for school used fruit flies, mice or even zebrafish for testing drugs or investigating human development.  Did his parents have something to do with the spider that bit him?  Had Oscorp really been researching it for that long?  

Most of the other drawers were similarly empty or contained an odd collection of knickknacks that meant nothing to Peter.  

When he thought he’d gotten everything out and May looked suitably distracted, he gave the desk a gentle shake.  He wasn’t sure why he did it, but he felt like he had to.  Lucky, he did too.   He could hear something rattling around in there even though he could have sworn he’d already gotten everything out.  

Maybe one of the drawers had a hidden bottom or some other way of keeping things extra safe.  Peter started pulling out each drawer and shaking it, listening for the slight rustle of papers that he knew would be lost on someone else.  As he went through each drawer, he got slightly more desperate.  It had been a stupid idea and yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was still missing something.  

Although he thought to himself as he looked at the empty drawers spread in a circle around him next to the piles of their contents,  a hidden bottom on a drawer might just be too obvious.  

He wiggled off the chair so that he was on the ground beneath the desk proper.  Peter wondered if he would have claimed this as his hiding spot in hide and seek if the plane crash hadn't happened and he'd grown up with his parents.  It was slightly too small for him now, but it would have been the perfect little alcove for him when he was younger.  

He pulled his phone out of his back pocket and winced slightly at the cracked screen.  He really needed to do something about that.   But that was a later problem, for now he just flicked on the flashlight so he could look underneath the desk for anything that looked unusual.   He wasn't entirely sure what he was looking for, even if he didn't think it would be National Treasures level complicated.   Maybe it was just an extra hinge or something that looked bigger on the outside than down here.  

Peter ran his hand over the back wall of the desk, tapping his fingers lightly against what he assumed was just connecting piece of wood, except the tapping echoed.  It sounded hollow.  He felt jittery with excitement but kept tapping trying to map out exactly where the hidden compartment was located.  He didn't see a latch or a puzzle of any sort.  He’d pry the wood apart if he had to, but he didn’t want to hurt whatever was inside.  

After a few more minutes searching along the seamless wood, he decided to just use his super strength.  Ever since the change, he had to be careful all the time.  He felt like he had to do calculus before he could trust his grip.  Peter hadn’t really hugged anyone all summer, shying away from the comfort in case he held on a bit too tight.  

Ned had brought an entire carton of eggs to try and demonstrate that Peter had a better handle on his abilities than he thought.  Even when he hadn’t cracked a single egg (including the one he had to jump to catch), Peter still felt out of control.  It wasn’t that he didn’t know how to be gentle, more like every interaction made him conscious of just how fragile the world around him was.   He could break everything without even trying.  

The wood of the desk splintered easily.   He pried it further back and noticed a manila folder tucked safely away.   The folder contained no markings.   

Peter’s heart pounded as he tore the folder open.   It was fuller than he had expected given the hiding space.   The papers were all different thicknesses, some almost cardstock, some just pieces of x-rays with tape at the top which had detached from their proper place.   Notebook paper with lines of scribbled handwriting nearly impossible to read, and at least one napkin with a chemical formula.    There didn't seem to be an order to the papers.  Either because they'd gotten shaken up in the desk or potentially on purpose to make it less likely for a stranger to find what they were looking for or completely accidentally because maybe his parents were like him and when he got in the discovery mood any sense of order completely disappeared.  

Peter didn't know what he was looking at, at least not at first.  He was too distracted by the loop on the ls and the extra tilt on the bs.  He felt like he was dissecting his parents' handwriting looking for any way they were similar.  Maybe it was just that he had copied sentences Ben wrote out for him when he was little, but seeing the papers made him feel more connected to his dad than he had in a long time.   

But then he found a lab report bearing an official watermark.   

"These are definitely Oscorp papers May."   He flicked his hand at the seal at the top.  "Do you think this is what they were looking for?"  

May came up behind him and hugged him with one arm.  "I don't know sweetheart.  They were frantic that night.  We could tell something was wrong, but it's not like we were in any position to really ask them."    

"Because of me."  He looked slightly dejectedly at the floor.  

"Oh Petey-pie, yes you were our priorities then, and we wouldn't have it any other way." 

"Thanks, May, but do you think whatever would have happened if I hadn't been there?"   

"You weren't on that plane Pete.  It was an accident, an untimely one, but I don't think anything here is going to make me believe that's more than what it was. Sometimes these things just happen."  

"Like Ben you mean."   

She pulled him closer to her.  "If I could take this burden away from you sweetheart I would.  No kid should have to see that."  

He nodded into her shoulder, as he finally let himself cry today.  Even if he hated himself a little for seeking comfort from her when he had ruined everything and gotten her husband killed.   

Sometimes it felt like he was inches away from the edge, that there was nothing really holding him together.  But some days it felt like Ben was just in the other room, or at work or anything other than dead really and then suddenly it would hit him all over again.  There was no escaping it in the storage container, with so many things that Ben loved or the little signs that didn't go away.    May had already packed one box before he got there and marked it in sharpie with the label "For Peter's Birthday, Fragile." It was almost a year away and yet Ben had already started preparing.    

"I can't do this May."  He looked first at the array of things still waiting to be packed up and then back at her.   

"I know baby."  She squeezed his hand.  "We don't have to make decisions right this second.   You just need a garbage bag and a box.  Anything you might want to look at but don't have the energy to now just goes in the box.   We'll carry it home and take it at our own pace."   

He wouldn’t leave the spot where he was buried in her side, so May merely leaned forward and pulled the aforementioned things to her.   

"Ben was looking forward to doing this with you. I'm sure he had stories to tell you about everything.  And I know it sucks that I can't do that for you.  I wish I could.  But for now, let's just try to get through this."  

He shuddered but nodded as he laid both the secret papers and some of the post-its in the box.   

"The sooner we get through this, the sooner we can get dinner tonight.  What would you want?" 

He laughed.  "You really have to ask?"  

"I figured I'd give you the chance to change your mind."   She ran a hand through his hair. "I larb you Peter."  

"Larb you too Aunt May."     

Chapter Text

Content Warnings specific to this chapter: Discussions of Human Experimentation, Discussions of dead children, Autopsies, Grief, Discussions of Morality

Peter scrunched his nose as he worked at his desk. There was something vaguely familiar about the polymer sequence of his dad’s work, but he couldn't put his finger on it at the moment. It felt incomplete but he wasn't sure if the molecule was intentionally unstable to start some reaction or if it was merely incomplete.  

He flipped through the stack of papers to look for something else.  Maybe other notes explained what his dad was attempting to do.  

There was what looked like a mostly sequenced human genome, which was admittedly impressive since the human genome project took thirteen years and scientists from all over the world, and had only finished up in 2003. Peter wasn't sure exactly when these notes were from, but he assumed around 2005.  It was an incredibly fast turnaround that suggested a lot of money, the right technology, and a genius. 

Remembering his mother’s area of expertise, he did a quick google search for Mary Parker, kicking himself for never having done it sooner. He supposed it was natural to not feel like he needed outside information about his parents, even if he never knew them. However, since their names were so common, he might as well have not even bothered. Searching Mary Parker gave him results for a social worker, an actress, and someone executed in the Salem Witch Trials. He tried to limit his search by adding “genetics” and “genome” to different searches, but still nothing.  

Peter glanced at one of the pictures hung on the wall. A younger Peter was dressed in an old lab coat with the sleeves rolled up several times and lab goggles gesturing to Ben as he dissembled a toaster. It was a goofy picture that once had made him proud, but now just made him sad.  

May liked to joke that there was no aspect of science that escaped his attention for very long. (Although to be fair, he wasn't a fan of car engines, mainly because as a New Yorker, he didn’t see the point of them, especially now that he could swing everywhere.). He’d always been good at it, understanding complicated problems easily, and it felt nice to have this one connection to his parents. 

So, it wasn’t so surprising that he fixated on understanding his parents' research, even before you got into just how weird everything about it was. 

Peter kept coming back to the papers from the secret compartment, although that might not be because of the fact they were experimental paperwork and more that they were carefully concealed like they were valuable. His parents hadn't wanted them falling into hands that weren't theirs, but why?  

Would he be okay with finding out it was because they'd been up to something illegal?  Probably. It wasn't about to send him into some sort of crisis. He knew from Spider-man that appearances weren't everything. He couldn't tell just by looking at someone if they were innocent, and he didn't think dead people could set off his Spidey-sense. Their deaths were honestly a point in his parents’ favor.  If they were being hunted, it made sense to leave him with Ben.  If they expected someone to come for them, it made sense to hide what they were looking for.  

He hummed. This meant more than just understanding their work then.  If he could figure out who might want them, he could figure out who killed them. 

"No one killed them, Peter," the voice in his head that sounded like Aunt May said. "Sometimes bad things happen and it's no one's fault." 

It felt wrong to think of it as an accident even if it probably was.  A faulty engine was a tragedy, not a conspiracy.  Or just plain "Parker luck more powerful than any force in the universe" as his uncle might say. 

He might have even believed that before he'd seen these papers. Secret compartments in desks were straight out of a spy movie. That was the textbook sign of a conspiracy. 

Peter carefully maneuvered the other completed Lego build off his desk and squished them together on his bookshelf, before using the little bit of extra space to spread out the thick stack of papers in front of him.  

The papers were different thicknesses, some almost cardstock, some just pieces of x-rays with tape at the top indicating they had detached from their proper place.  There was notebook paper with lines of scribbled handwriting nearly impossible to read handwriting and at least one napkin with a chemical formula.  There didn't seem to be an order to the papers. Either because they'd gotten shaken up in the desk or potentially on purpose to make it less likely for a stranger to find what they were looking for or completely accidentally because maybe his parents were like him and when he got in the discovery mood any sense of order completely disappeared. 

He pulled out his first set of post-it notes. He'd number the pages in the order they were now in case there was some order that he was missing. But his priority was trying to figure out what exactly he had here and why everyone had been desperate to get their hands on it.  He was little when he came to live with his aunt and uncle, but he still remembered the late-night conversations in the kitchen when they thought he was in bed as they discussed the will and the fight for research.   

He hadn't thought much of it then, but maybe he should have. Although based on what he'd read so far, it would have given him nightmares for the rest of his life if he’d known what his parents were up to. It still might.  

It would take all of the winter break to really get a handle on everything, but he recognized some of the words that were being tossed around. "Introduced Mutation" and "human subject trial" were the not-so-insidious ones. "Unexpected reaction to injection" leading to "experiment failure" followed by a time of death.  He'd never seen anything related to autopsies outside of crime shows before, but now he had ten of them. At least there were no pictures, just notes.  

"What are you up to baby? You look a little green."  

Peter hadn't even heard May come home, a feat considering he could easily hear everyone on the block when he wasn't trying to tune them out.  

"It's nothing really." He tried to nonchalantly move the papers around so that something less horrifying was on top. "You know how I get right after the semester ends.  My immune system is just calling it quits."  

She laid a gentle hand on his forehead and gave a little hum of approval when she confirmed for herself that he wasn't feverish. "And here I thought you had grown out of extended winter flu season. You haven't caught anything since April." 

May started running her fingers through his hair. It was something that had always calmed him down as a child, but it now felt like a reassurance that he was still here more than anything else.  

"Seems like my body's making up for freaking out so much then."  He joked, even as he leaned into her touch.  

"I'll take it. Considering I would probably scorch our last pot if I tried to make Ben's chicken soup, it's probably for the best."  

He bit his lip. He wasn't sure whether talking about Ben was too much even if it had been months. 

May gave his shoulder a squeeze. “I’ve got the next couple of days off since I’m taking the holiday shift. Why don’t you go lay out the blankets while I order us a pizza?” 

“Sounds like a plan May.” He quickly restacked the papers and psyched himself up to a few hours of acting like his old happy self. 

He couldn’t let May think that he resented her working Christmas.  She was already doing so much to keep them afloat that Peter would do everything he could to make it easier.  

They had never needed to talk about it before, mainly because they’d never celebrated the holidays traditionally. It had always been a given that May would pick up the extra pay from covering the Christmas Eve and Christmas Day shifts. They’d celebrate Hannukah whenever it fell on the calendar and then Christmas on the 27th once May had a chance to recuperate. Ben cooked for both despite joking that as a Jew it was his right to eat Chinese food on Christmas. So why should he have expected anything different? 

Maybe because without Ben, celebrating felt wrong. (Everything felt wrong, but it was harder to admit that a bit of Peter had left him as he rinsed Ben’s blood down the shower drain.) 

Peter had always been bad at keeping track of the lunar calendar, so he hadn’t even remembered it was Hannukah until he’d seen all the hanukkiahs lit in the windows as he swung by.  Even then, he couldn’t bring himself to celebrate. His hands shook even at the idea of lighting the candles himself.  Miss Simcha, an old lady from a few floors down who Ben would help with repairs, had stopped by with a kugel for the fifth night.  She’d taken one look at their empty window and given him a sad smile.  

Since Christmas was bound to be different this year, he selfishly wished they had just leaned into it, talked about it and found some other traditions to follow.  But May needed to work those days, that was non-negotiable. They couldn’t afford to do anything differently.  So, he’d distract himself as much as possible. 

It’s fine. He had his parent’s papers, and some new web ideas and he could go out as Spider-man all day if he wanted to. Lots to do.  As long as he kept his head busy, Peter reassured himself, everything would be fine. 

Peter pulled on another layer of clothing and grabbed their fuzziest blanket before parking himself in front of his desk. 

Why couldn't criminals just stay home when it got cold? Seriously, he didn't think he'd ever be able to feel his toes again if it weren't for the super healing. And yet here they were running around mugging people and causing general mayhem with no regard for how little warmth his super suit could provide. 

At least he hadn't fallen into a snowbank today, Peter thought as he pulled on new dry socks. That had been both embarrassing and excruciating.  

Finally cocooned in enough clothes that he felt like himself instead of a popsicle, Peter restarted the arduous task of decoding his dad’s messy notes in the margins.  

After labeling the page numbers, Peter tried to give the papers some semblance of order. There were certain pages entirely in his parents' handwriting and others like the autopsies were nicely typed out with none of their writing at all, with everything in between. After spending several hours looking at just the third page on the biodegradable polymer vector for gene insertion and taking notes on the different ways he could use it for new web varieties, Peter came up with a system. 

Blue post-it notes on each page listed the main topic, an experiment number if there was one listed, and any additional people who were mentioned. A good number of the notes just had "Unknown diagram" followed by a number.  He figured he could divide them by experiment number and see what they had in common later. 

Peter knew the process was tedious, but it did make it easier to have just a few things he was looking for. Getting lost in the science was fun, but not at all helpful for actually figuring out what this was all about. 
 
He'd already written, "Unknown diagram likely RNA related; 109948S, 92B" when he saw a name that he vaguely recognized. 

His father had written in the margins, "Potential SS variant, need access to Erskine's work to confirm."  

Erskine. Why was that name familiar? 

Peter googled it and felt stupid as soon as the page loaded. He'd walked past a mural of the man's face every day. Dr. Abraham Erskine was a masterful biochemist who was somehow able to manipulate mRNA before it was even officially discovered and used it to create Captain America.  It was something that countless people had tried to recreate and while certain medical advancements had come out of those attempts, they largely ended disastrously like in the form of an uncontrollable Hulk destroying Harlem. 

Is that what all this was? Another attempt at creating Captain America? And what did SS stand for super serum, super soldier, or something else entirely?

Peter's hand twitched as he resisted the urge to call Ned and freak out. It felt like something out of the best sort of sci-fi movie. But he hadn't told Ned about the papers at all, not even as he sat with Ned and his Lola helping roll lumpia yesterday.  So, something like this was definitely off limits. 

Sure, things would move faster with another person, but he wanted this project to be just his. He had been meant to find the papers meant to understand his parent's last work and make everything better. Plus, he still didn't know why the documents were hidden. If his parents were really killed for these documents, and he believed that more by the second as the thought of more super soldiers sunk in, then it was better no one else knew he had them.  

Why would Oscorp be trying to create super soldiers? Were they still trying? 

It sure seemed like they were. Why else would they have the spider that bit him? Peter had compared his powers to all the Avengers as he slowly came to terms with them over the summer. He did have Captain America's superstrength and accelerated healing. It wasn't exactly the same. (Because of course he had to be the one cursed with stickiness which was both a little gross and a nightmare to learn how to control.). But looking at some of the company's work a decade earlier, Peter felt like he couldn't ignore the similarities.  

His thoughts sped through his brain, a million worries building up despite the excitement. Because a serum could change the world!! Parts of the super serum could help people and heal diseases that the smartest minds hadn’t made progress on. His healing had saved his life on more than one occasion. Wouldn't it be incredible if everyone could just walk away from a gunshot wound? It could do so much good. 

But also, so much bad in the wrong hands. He didn't trust Oscorp's morals as far as he could throw them pre-spider-bite, and he doubted they had a good way of preventing collateral damage considering they hadn't even been able to contain one spider.  Who did they mean to sell it to? The US Military? The highest bidder? A black-market trade for the ultimate mercenary? He imagined the worst outcomes in flashes. They all ended with too many innocents dead and too many children growing up without their parents.  

Peter forced himself to stop. He was beginning to sound like a Fox news pundit screaming the dangers of the increased number of children born with enhancements. A company managing to recreate the Super Soldier Serum would be a step into a new world, just like learning aliens existed had been. There would be terrifying bits and exciting ones. Hopefully, the good would outweigh the bad. 

Still, it was beginning to look like a problem that was so much bigger than him. 

“Do you think people are evil?”  The words slipped out as soon as MJ picked up the phone.  

“Those are quite the words to open a conversation with Peter Parker.”  

MJ settled her phone down so that she could continue doodling as they talked. He couldn’t see her sketchbook from this angle, but he was reassured by the way her eyes had lit up despite her relatively stoic face.

He shrugged. “It’s just been on my mind more recently.”

“And here I thought you tuned out my lunch ethic lectures for scribbling in that notebook of yours.”  

“I’m not about to recite Kant back to you, MJ.” He rolled over on his bed, smiling into the video call despite her derision.     

“I’m more of a Rousseau girl myself.”  

Peter thought desperately for a second trying to come up with the difference before deciding that it really didn’t matter.  

“So, what brought this on? I mean typically you’re too optimistic about the world for my tastes.”  

Well, what was he supposed to say to that?  I’ve spent the last week trying to decode secret paperwork for an organization infiltrated by Nazis, paperwork that involves some very illegal and unethical science. But I can’t tell you about it, because even if I don’t know what I’m doing with this yet, I know this information is dangerous. Potentially enough to get you murdered if the right people knew. 

Yeah, that was out of the question.

His life was already filled with half-truths thanks to Spider-man. What was one more?

“I found out some stuff about my parents that I didn’t like.”

“Not the fine upstanding citizens you hoped for.”

“It’s not like I thought about them. It’s always been just me, May and Ben and that’s been enough.”

“So what? You have shitty parents. Join the club.”

“I feel like this might exceed normal standards of shitty.”  

He watched her purse her lips and screenshot their video call. “Hey, what was that for?”

“I need references when we’re on break. And that was a particularly good one, lots of misplaced guilt.”  

“So glad I could be of service.” He snarked back at her. “Now that we confirmed that I am in fact in distress. Can you get back to my question?” 

“About people being evil?”

“Yeah”

“People do a lot of really evil things. Just look at Tony Stark. I mean putting aside the fact, that it’s impossible for anyone to generate that much wealth ethically, he’s responsible for the deaths of thousands of civilians by selling bombs to terrorist groups, and the US military who’s arguably the largest terrorist group given how we’re a fascist police state.”

“Do you have a point or-“

“I’m getting to it, Loser.” She pulled her hair up into a loose bun. “And yet, we’d both be dead without him.”

He knew what she was referring to.  He remembered Ben squeezing him tightly before directing him to the laundry room, of waiting in tense silence only broken by Mr. Ho’s radio and Mrs. O’Malley soothing a fussy infant, of the moment of pure joy when reporters said, “Iron Man has successfully redirected the nuke and closed the portal.” He remembered how the relief from the broadcast was completely eclipsed by Ben limping in with a dented metal baseball bat, who looked harried but very much alive.  

“Sometimes people do some really evil shit, but that doesn’t make them completely evil.” 

He hummed in agreement.

“But let’s say you’re right and your parents are unredeemable, absolutely the worst of the worst. That still doesn’t say anything about you and who you are.”  

It was odd how such a simple statement made him feel like he could breathe again.

“You’re actually really good at this whole comforting thing MJ.”    

“And if you ever tell anyone that, I will kill you.”

He smiled. “Yeah, consider me warned.  Did you listen to the latest episode of Amateur Investigations?”

And at least for a little bit, he thought as he smiled at the girl he liked ramble on about all the ways the police failed on this week’s murder investigation, life didn’t feel so complicated.

Peter couldn't shake the words out of his head. By all accounts, they would have been meaningless to him even five years ago. But now "SHIELD has been compromised" conjured images of those aircraft carrier things falling into the Potomac and Captain America announcing the return of Nazis.  

Peter felt relieved even as he struggled with what to do now. The fact his parents were even concerned meant that they at least were probably not Hydra even if they had been willing to complete genetic experimentation on children.  Peter supposed there was a difference between general mad scientists and Mengele and his parents were at least on the right side of that divide even if they lacked morals. Plus, there was something cool about them having worked for Shield.  He'd have to look into it more later.  

And here Peter had thought he'd be able to use winter break to get through some of this to-do list.  But he hadn't made any progress on a backup set of web-shooters or patching the suit from the road rash incident, instead, he had about a million new topics of interest.

The lines that followed, "Only contact Clint Barton or Barbara Morse" were just as intriguing.

From his superhero-obsessed childhood, one of those names was instantly familiar. However, it didn't do much good. Why didn't Clint Barton have some way to contact him? He seriously couldn't still be in the spying business. He was an Avenger. The entire world knew what Hawkeye looked like, so it wouldn't be very stealthy.  

In contrast, there was very little on anyone named Barbara Morse. A couple of Facebook profiles and obituaries showed up as well as some sketchy websites advertising how they could find people with that name. Peter had no way of knowing who the right Barbara Morse was or if that was even her real name since the released Shield papers had nothing about her. 

Looking into these people had seemed like the natural progression of figuring out how to handle the hidden papers. Peter didn't have the resources or the ability to handle the potential consequences of his parents' research. And trying to improvise some solution would only drive him mad.

Plus, he felt like his parents would have wanted to hand it over to the people mentioned in the file.  May would if she understood everything that was going on.  

The Stark New York office number was much easier to find. Peter planned the conversation in his head for days before the actual call.  He was going to get help no matter how hard it was to ask for it.

Peter’s leg bounced uncontrollably as he dialed the number. His voice shook as he spoke, “I’d like to speak with Mr. Stark please. It’s about something important.”  

“This is an important company and Mr. Stark is a busy man. You don’t just get to ask for Stark. What department can I direct your call to?”  

“Um, the Avengers?” Peter winced at how his voice broke as he said it.

“Seriously, how old are you?”  The gruff voice responded. “Mr. Stark and the Avengers don’t have time to deal with obsessed kids."

“I’m not a kid! Well, I guess technically. But I’m serious about this being important. I mean it has to do with Sh-“

The man on the other end of the phone hung up before he even finished the word.  

Well, it looked like he'd need a different approach to get this information to the Avengers. He thought of May's ability to either sweet talk or scare people into compliance. Yeah, that could work.  

It wasn’t the worst meeting Tony had ever been in. May Parker was an attractive woman who spoke bluntly. There was no over-the-top flattery.  He almost felt like they were just two normal people in a conference room for ten minutes before she left for work. 

Or he would if it wasn’t for the pile of top-secret information in front of him. Parker had so much more information than he had anticipated. She pulled out several folders each labeled on the inside flap with items like “Experimentation Results (General)”, “Experimentation Results (92B)”, “Polymer-development”, “Procedure” and “Miscellaneous”. 

"Where did you get all this?" Tony asked incredulously pulling one of the experimentation folders closer to him.  

After the Shield dump, he thought he'd read everything the agency had- okay Jarvis had read all the files and he'd glanced at the notes for anything important. Super soldier serum and experiments on children subjects would both have easily fallen in that category. This would have been enough to draw his personal attention. 

"My late brother-in-law left them in our care, but we never got around to looking through them too closely until recently." 

"So, you've read them? Your message mentioned the super soldier serum." He flipped through the first couple of pages, complete with orange sticky notes with different notes of formula adjustments. They looked much less faded than the rest of the papers and the handwriting was more angular. 

"No. I looked at them briefly," she shrugged half-heartedly, "but it's all a bunch of mumbo jumbo to me." 

Tony was used to being the smartest person in the room, so he merely nodded. 

"And I don't have the time to actually work through them." 

"Understandable. I imagine New York Presbyterian Hospital would take up a lot of your time." 

"You've done your research." It wasn't a judgment. 

"I needed to make sure your information was legitimate. If you didn't read them, who did?" 

She smiled at that. "My kid's bright. He attends Midtown School of Technology on full scholarship. He seemed to know what they were about immediately." 

It made him pause and reevaluate the sticky notes. If a kid wrote them, they might not be as useful as he initially thought. Still, he knew what it was like to be a kid too smart for their own good. "I'd love to meet him." 

"He'd probably spontaneously combust if he heard that. He dressed up as you three years in a row." 

"Well, superheroes were exciting to me as a kid and I didn't have them flying around New York, so I can understand that." 

She gave him a teasing smile. "I don't think you understand Mr. Stark. He only dressed up as Iron Man one of those years." 

"We need to get your son better heroes." 

"Nephew, actually. His parents are no longer with us. I think that's why Peter's so invested in the research." 

Tony's smile froze as soon as he heard the name. Peter was a common name. He had heard it a million times since the day his entire world shifted on its axis. He doesn't think it gets easier even if he's stopped walking out of conversations when it happened. He's sober and will likely stay that way even if it means calling Pepper in the middle of her meeting. He's trained himself to keep going no matter how he feels, but that doesn't mean he can't feel the persistent ache. 

There was another Peter out there, who's about the same age, who if the cursory look at his notes held true showed so much potential. That shouldn't hurt. He tried to tell himself it doesn't as he says, "I need time to look over these, but you should talk with Friday about scheduling a time for your nephew to come in." 

"Friday, why wasn't this flagged earlier?"  It was a question that had been plaguing him since he’d heard May Parker’s voicemail, but it had been easy enough to ignore while it was still conjecture.  

"I'm afraid I don't know what you mean Sir."  

Tony looked at the report May Parker had given him. Parts of it matched the style of some of the other SHIELD reports he'd examined. And while he didn't put it past someone to be able to fake evidence, conspiracy theorists had done a lot more with less, Parker didn't seem the type. Frankly, the fact she admitted she didn’t understand what she had was points in her favor.

(The nephew was a different story. It was telling that the woman trusted him so easily, considering the seriousness of the topic. But that was still a kid. The idea that he had any idea what components were part of the super serum was laughable.)

"You were my best point of contact, Mr. Stark. My brother-in-law left notes regarding who was allowed to be given this information. I assume the situation is even more critical given recent events." 

Recent events, a nice euphemism for goddamn helicarriers crashing into the Potomac River in broad daylight before weeks of Congressional Hearings. It was a relief to be distant from that, even if the world kept going to shit with the whole Ultron business. 

With Aunt Peggy's funeral right before, he had already been slightly off-kilter.  Sure, she hadn't been fully there mentally for a while now, but since his parents were long gone, and so were Ana and the real Jarvis, it sometimes felt like she was his last real link to his childhood. She told stories about the war without ever making him feel like he was lesser than the participants involved, even Steve Rogers, whereas his father thought the sun shined out of Captain America's ass and his own son would never be able to compare. To learn that everything she had worked for, everything his father had shoved him aside for in order to assist with, had been corrupted was not easy. 

Still, Tony shoved the disappointment aside.  The news didn't completely shift his worldview. Aliens existed, after all. It wasn't like Operation Paperclip was a secret either. The US Government had always been willing to play fast and loose with Nazis if it meant they got access to new technology. 

And then he lost Jarvis.  He knew it probably shouldn’t hurt this much. What right did he have to grieve a machine when he’d nearly destroyed the world with his hubris? 

"Friday?" He prompted the AI again. "Why am I holding paperwork that shows experimentation on unidentified children that wasn't flagged by our search parameters?"

"In Case SUA-384678, Sir?"  

Tony checked the messy scrawl again just to be sure. "Yeah, in SUA-384678."  

"Our current files do not indicate any children involved in SUA-384678."  

He let out a low whistle. "What do we have then?"  

"Retrieving the data now Sir."  

Tony spun his chair around even though he knew he'd be only waiting a few seconds.  "Pull it up for me Fri."  

Several digitalized files floated in the air about his lab counter but nowhere near enough for the stack that May Parker had handed him. Not a waste of time then. The meeting had clearly resulted in new information.  

"Like all cases with an SUA prefix, this case deals with an undercover operation using personnel from SHIELD’s scientific division regarding A-level threats. 384678 refers to an undercover operation in genetic engineering labs from 2006. The labs in question were interested in the treatment and elimination of many common ailments including asthma with a special interest in eventually using the technology to optimize bone marrow regeneration for improved cancer outcomes. I only have one status update from the scientists involved."  

The update flew to the front of the floating documents.  Thankfully, the document did not appear to speak in any code. Or at least the copy he had was already transcribed into plain English. But right there on the last line were the signatures of Richard and Mary Parker. 

Tony laid out several of the papers on the counter, glancing between the looping signatures and the physical writing he held.  Richard’s was the easiest to match. It had the squished almost undecipherable scrawl of a doctor or a Ph.D. student on too much caffeine and not enough sleep.  It was lucky Jarvis had been trained on his own less-than-eloquent handwriting, and Friday had easily integrated that code otherwise he'd have to do much of the transcription by hand. He was able to see the other much neater script of Mary Parker in some of the diagrams. Different enzymes and RNA strands were labeled with rounded perfectly-spaced letters.  

If he had doubted the authenticity of the documents before, he had even less case for it now.  Still, legitimacy did not mean relevancy. 

"Start a new file Friday. Put recordings of May Parker's initial phone call and our meeting in there as well as everything shield has on Case 384678 and Richard and Mary Parker." 

"Initializing task Sir." 

He slid the rolling chair across the lab to the scanner he kept by the coffee machine. "Something is off here. But I've never met a problem that I haven't been able to solve." 

"Sir, may I remind you-" 

"Nope. Now hop to it, you've got a lot of processing to do. And I have to figure out why the manufacturers are throwing a fit over parts of the Stark Phone redesign." 

Chapter Text

The Stark Phone redesign turned into a factory equipment redesign which required a meeting with the Board to assure them that everything really was running on schedule, and they’d have their precious dividends soon enough. It was a week and a half straight of problem-solving and the type of work he thought he’d left to Pepper when he gave her the CEO job.

Tony hadn’t devoted any time to Avengers duties, which he apparently still had even as just an advisor, let alone the more complicated matters of whatever was happening with the casefiles from the Parkers.

What little he’d seen of the files filled him with dread. There were autopsies - notes from actual child autopsies. He wasn’t sure how any parent would have been able to hold themselves together writing notes on wounds failing to close, extended scar tissue, and the seizures that eventually killed the children. He’d only seen one of the autopsy reports before he decided that he was not personally dealing with that today. Friday said there were only four male children autopsy files, and he’d probably look at those later when he could stomach them but for now, they were in a secure file with the other especially cruel aspects of the case.

The fact the reports refused to say children and instead listed experimental numbers made Tony want to rage. It didn’t help that many of the children had similar physical descriptions as his son. They would always be the lowest sort of monsters no matter whose child was on the cutting table, including the Parkers who seemed content enough to just stand by and document everything as it happened. But even with his anger, Tony could never turn off the fear, never truly feel anything but the terror that eclipsed everything else.

As much as he wanted an answer to where his little boy was, he prayed to every god he didn’t believe in that Peter had never been here. If he had to be dead, let it have been a painless death at least, not this, never this.

The orange sticky notes scattered throughout weren’t as useless as he initially thought when he found out a high schooler had written them. They were insightful even, referencing his father’s work and even some of the publicly available information from Erskine’s research. Why the government had let any of it cross into the academic community, Tony still wasn’t sure. (Surely the government knew how dangerous something like that could be in the wrong hands, and since reduplication was a core tenet of scientific research, someone trying to recreate the serum was inevitable.)

But the sticky notes still didn’t give him any real sense for the kid that Happy shepherded into a conference room one afternoon.

Tony knew May had said "her kid" had completed the notes but he wasn't expecting an actual child. Little Parker was absolutely tiny, a beanpole drowning in a baggy sweatshirt and an oversized science pun t-shirt. His curls were in complete disarray when he showed up at the office, looking disheveled but not out of breath.

“It’s so nice to meet you, Mr. Stark.” He blushed and rocked backward on his heels. “I’m very grateful that you wanted to meet with me.’

“I had a few questions regarding the research you found.”

Parker nodded eagerly.

“Namely why me?”

The boy rocked slightly faster, his hands clasped together seemingly to try and keep himself from fidgeting. “Have you gotten to look at any of it yet?”

Tony nodded but didn’t offer more instead letting Parker take the lead.

“Well, there’s a page about halfway down the file, with the note, “Shield has been compromised.”

Tony pulled up the hologram version of the files and swiped to the page in question.

“Oh wow, you’ve digitalized them already. I mean of course you’ve digitalized them already. You’re Tony Stark.” His body practically buzzed with excitement and his speech was rapid. It was endearing, but not particularly helpful.

“Yeah kid. Sure am, still doesn’t explain anything."

Parker looked at him like he was stupid for a second before unsuccessfully trying to appear more professional. He tried to tap the air where the note, “Only contact Clint Barton or Barbara Morse,” was added in Richard’s handwriting but his hand sunk through the image.

“I feel like that’s a pretty clear reason why. Barbara Morse doesn’t exist on the internet, not even in the Shield Drop, which feels suspicious because wasn’t it supposed to be everything.” He gave a pointed look that Tony didn’t really feel was directed at him.

“But everyone knows who Clint Barton is, and it’s not like there’s a direct line to the Avengers, although there probably should be even if it would be awful to try to manage and sort through all the good intel from the bad stuff. I wonder if you could set up a hotline where you have the option of recorded pep talks from the Avengers. Although you could probably skip Cap. He’s got the PSA series on YouTube on practically everything, I think other people have already put together the best ones together”.

He looked like he was just going to keep talking like that forever, so Tony interjected. “Got a point there, Parker?”

The boy’s entire body froze, basically folding in on itself before answering with restraint, “Sorry Sir. You were the most Public of the Avengers Sir, and this seemed like potential Avenger-level business.”

It shouldn’t bother him that Parker’s childlike exuberance faded so quickly at his jab. He has no good reason to, but Tony gave a half smile before offering a compliment.

“Good to recognize that you were in over your head. Now how close did these bastards actually get to recreating the serum?”

And it worked to an extent, Parker is no longer frozen, but he’s stilted as he responds.

“You’ve read the materials just like I have Mr. Stark. I’m sure you already know.”

“But that isn’t what I asked. Your aunt says you’re smart, what can you tell me about it? Just because you aren’t the smartest one in the room doesn’t mean you’ve got nothing of value to add.”

Parker shifted his weight from foot to foot. “Not very close, Sir. They seemed to have the most luck with experiment 92B, although that’s still not saying much since they never were able to cure the asthma or most of the immune system compromising factors that they introduced, but he didn’t die.” Parker shrugged. “At least not while my parents were part of the program. There’s a lot of coverage of 92B, so I feel like it would be notable if he’d died. There’d probably be dissection paperwork too.”

Parker visibly shuddered and Tony didn’t blame him. The child experimentation here was extensive and gruesome, although there did look like there were adult subjects as well.

“Yeah, kid you’re done looking at that sort of stuff.”

Parker pouted but it didn’t seem all that genuine.

“Did you see any location-related data, either for the facility or the individual subjects?”

Parker looked down at his feet. “My parents were headed back to Toronto when their plane crashed, so I assume it was near there.”

The plane crash had been an interesting detail that May Parker had overlooked in her explanation. Some of the files were dated mere days before the crash. The Parkers had still been actively undercover as Shield agents when the plane went down. It felt like another piece in this morbid puzzle.

“Would your aunt know more specifically where they worked?”

“She really didn’t talk to them much, so I don’t think so. My uncle might have known but…” The kid trailed off and Tony was all too aware about how they found the paperwork.

Ben Parker was also dead, although his death was under much less suspicious circumstances.

“Toronto’s still a good place to start looking.”

“You’re going to look for it?” He looked both hopeful and surprised, which seemed odd since he’d been the one to bring it to Tony’s attention.

“It’s been a decade so it’s unclear what’s still there, but any group dubious enough to be willing to conduct human experimentation is not one that should have access to the super soldier serum.”

Tony practically collapsed into one of the seats as he talked, the boy timidly followed suit, sitting across from him at the conference table.

“You think they were able to figure it out?”

“They seem close enough here. There’s no way of knowing how far they’ve gotten to reconstructing it now, especially if they abandoned their current method.”

“If it’s working, why would they abandon it?” The boy's face held such a genuine curiosity even his nervousness and forced politeness couldn't hide it.  

“At some point recreating what was done to Capsicle in the 40s, won’t be enough for them. If it can heal a disabled man, what could it do to someone who’s already healthy?”

“Well, I’m glad they stopped giving the kids asthma, because it really sucks.” Parker shuddered theatrically.

Despite the subject manner, Tony smiled. “Had a lot of experience there?”

“I grew out of it, but definitely not fun.”

Tony’s attention had barely turned back to the research when FRIDAY interrupted.  “Boss, Miss Potts wanted me to remind you that you had dinner plans tonight, so please put all projects on hold by 6:30. This is reminder 2 of 7.”

“Yeah, yeah I got it Fri. Tell her Highness she doesn’t have to worry.”

“Based on the statistical likelihood of you missing dinner without my reminders, I will not.”

Tony smirked. This is what he got for coding sass as a crucial part of his main user interface.

Parker’s already sunny disposition seemed to brighten a few levels, "Is that an AI?"

"FRIDAY's a bit more than AI. Think of her as my personnel secretary and co-pilot."

"One might call me his Handler, Mr. Parker." Despite the robotic sound of the voice, it was very clear that FRIDAY was joking.

Parker’s words began to come out rapidly again as if he had too many thoughts to keep them safely contained in his head.

"I know from your recent paper that you were trying to create more sophisticated ethical guidelines for artificial intelligence so that scientists can better check for bias. Was that all hypothetical or have you already implemented that with Friday? Is it true that you've actually succeeded in modeling AI off existing personalities?"

Tony hadn't thought anyone had read that outside of the industry, and he definitely hadn't expected a teenager to understand it.

"Why don't you ask FRI about herself while I review your notes? All these squishy sciences aren't typically my thing."

The kid let out an honest-to-God squeal before looking for one of Friday's sensors so he could talk directly into it.

"She's all around you kid, integrated into the building. You don't have to do that."

Parker shrugged but kept talking to the sensor above the door. "I know. I just wanted to be polite."

Wanted to be polite to an AI. Well at least one of them would survive if his tech ever decided to revolt against him again.

Tony did try to keep his eyes on the notes, but he kept getting distracted by snippets of Parker's conversation. There was something so undeniably charming about the kid.

"But like do you have a favorite movie?"

"My records suggest that Shawshank Redemption is the correct answer to this question due to its exemplary rating on IMDB."

"No! That's not how favorites work! Like can you form your own opinions on things? Has Mr. Stark managed that yet?"

"If given a statistical framework, I could likely figure out a ranking of a specific sample."

The teenager groaned and Tony used the lull to cut in.

"Why'd you make this modification?"

He waved his hand at the note in question. Most of the notes were related to how the experimentation was grounded in existing literature, which while interesting wasn't exactly revolutionary. This post-it note suggested changes to one of the introduced proteins.

The kid shrugged. "There's too much kainic acid."

Tony looked over the page again. "There's no kainic acid in the formula."

"Well, no but if you work on the assumption that kainic acid is causing the seizures then work backward to see which reactions leave unbonded carbon or hydroxide, then..." Parker trailed off but Tony already saw what he was getting at.

"The seizures are essentially an inevitable side-effect of the chain reactions from radioactive decay once they do the fourth injection."

"And you said the squishy sciences weren't your thing?" Parker snarked at him.

"I'm being outsmarted by a twelve-year-old here.”

"Hey, I'm fourteen!"

"Practically the same thing."

Parker rolled his eyes.

Tony flicked the projection closed. He hadn’t really expected to work on the formula itself. Sure, it was important to know how close others had gotten at recreating Erskine’s formula but even if the serum was his area of expertise, Tony was content to let sleeping dogs lie. They could live without knowing. The world might even be a better place for it. He should probably discuss this with the Avengers before moving forward.

He saw the threat of the serum, even in its botched form, but it paled in comparison to his interest in how SHIELD and the missing children were involved in everything. He’d probably already gotten as much relevant information from Parker as he was going to on that angle. It would have been the perfect place to end the meeting and send Parker on his merry way.

But, if he was honest with himself, Tony didn’t want the kid to leave.

“What do you say we take this show on the road? I’ll show you around.”

“Really?” Parker’s face lit up and Tony couldn’t keep his own smile off his face. “Don’t you have better things that you could be doing?”

“Least I could do for someone helping fight an Avenger threat.”

Parker blushed bright red and ducked his head. Tony thought he heard a muttered, “Ted’s never going to believe this,” but he couldn’t be sure.

Peter wasn't expecting much when Aunt May told him she'd gotten an email response from Stark. He was relieved when January came around and the papers were no longer spread across his desk. They had gotten where they needed to go, and now, he could focus on how to make his Spider-man suit warmer.

But then May met Tony Stark and miraculously convinced him that meeting Peter was necessary for the Avengers investigation. He knew May had a way of getting what she wanted, but he'd always assumed that was limited to free deserts and extensions on the rent, not meetings with billionaire tech geniuses.

"Don't overthink it!" May said as she ran her fingers through his hair when he tried to show her different clothing options for his meeting. "Tony Stark would be lucky to have someone as smart as you in his labs."

It hadn't mattered anyway. He hadn't had time to change into the button-down shirt in his rush to get to Stark Tower after school. Peter had practically run all the way from the subway stop on 42nd. A flustered receptionist called security twice before finally directing him to a grumpy-looking man. She couldn't believe he was meeting Tony Stark any more than he did.

“I’ll be taking the kid directly up to the Boss.”

Peter couldn’t keep himself still as the elevator shot upwards toward the 32^nd floor.

Even the security guard’s muttered “I’m not getting paid enough for this” couldn’t force Peter to stay still. He was in Stark Industries, about to talk to Tony Stark. This was all his childhood fantasies rolled up into one and he planned on savoring it.

At least he did until he was actually standing in front of the man in question.

Tony Stark was shorter than he imagined, even if that was what every internet gossip site said, so really, he shouldn’t have been surprised he still was. It was probably because Tony Stark’s personality was larger than life, more so than his below-average height. He looked suave in a t-shirt and jeans that likely cost more than their whole apartment.

But then the man started talking and Peter couldn’t focus on something as trivial as his appearance anymore. He needed to remember how to breathe. It felt like an impossibility as the Tony Stark talked to him like Peter was smart. He could barely remember what he said, only that he stumbled too much and spoke too fast. Peter basically did everything his teachers had been marking him down on presentations for years. And yet it wasn't the disaster it could have been.

No. Tony Stark had sat down across from him and looked at his notes. He'd taken them seriously and even seemed to check calculations before nodding absentmindedly. Peter felt a glow of pride in his chest. Sure, he had needed about six pirated college textbooks and countless papers, but he'd decoded something that Tony Stark thought was important.

(He should probably stop calling him Tony Stark even if it was just in his head. Peter kept thinking the name like it was one big bold word with a triple underline. But that wasn’t a very polite thing to be doing. May and Ben had raised him better than that.).

Mr. Stark had laughed at his joke. He’d smiled at something Peter had said. Peter knew he was acting like a fanboy but this was the closest he’d been to a revolutionary scientist (if you didn’t count the one time when he was eight and an idiot). If he didn’t do anything stupid, Peter thought he was allowed a little internal screaming.

Plus, Friday was so amazing. He couldn't even begin to fathom what her code looked like. He wasn't Ned, but he could appreciate how complicated Friday was even as he rolled his eyes at some of her more stilted responses. After all, she was still a computer and only implemented six months ago, basically a baby in tech terms.

And then Mr. Stark offered to show him more. Peter hadn't let himself hope for this. He'd looked at the glass walls of the lobby as he came in and imagined what it might be like to work here one day.

Mr. Stark didn’t seem like he knew what this meant to Peter. He walked them to a lower R&D floor only to say, “This isn’t even the good stuff. You won’t believe how much time we need to spend idiot-proofing our products. Necessary but-“ He gave a cocky grin, “a bit of a letdown from my lab.”

Peter let out a snort that made Mr. Stark smile. “Mr. Stark, based on your competitors, most people would consider anything better than this a fantasy.”

“More of a fantasy than gods from other worlds and aliens in times square?”

“And big metal superheroes flying into save the day,” Peter added before smirking, “Is this where you tell me Stark Industry’s job is all about turning what other people say is fantasy into reality?”

“Nope.” Mr. Stark said, popping his p loudly, as he led Peter to a different elevator. “But that’s a good tagline. FRI remind me of that before the next meeting with the idiots in PR.”

Peter’s chest felt light. Sure Mr. Stark had complimented his work on the papers, but everything that had happened after felt different, like Mr. Stark was judging him and not his accomplishments. By some miracle, he even seemed to like him.

Mr. Stark drummed his fingers against the wall and the elevator slowed to a stop.

“Prepare to have your mind blown kid.” Mr. Stark gave a dramatic flourish as the doors slid open. “May I present you to the creme de la creme?”

“Your lab?” Peter practically squeaked the words out. Even with his enhanced metabolism, he felt like he couldn’t breathe.

Mr. Stark nodded. “My lab. Take a look around while I look at this a little longer.”

Peter set his backpack down gently by the lab doors, not wanting to accidentally knock anything over, and then purposely put his hands in his pockets. Everything looked amazing. He didn’t want to get caught up in his excitement and touch something he shouldn’t.

The lab was bigger than his whole apartment. There was a black couch along one of the far walls along with a minifridge and the most complicated coffee maker he’d ever seen. But those were the only ordinary things about the room.

Several half-assembled (or disassembled he couldn’t tell) Iron-Man suits stood near one of the metal tables. That table was piled high with different pieces including one metal leg with its thruster on full display. Nearby was what he thought might be some version of a 3D printer, but it was by far the largest he’d ever seen, and he doubted it just relied on the standard PLA filament.

Other tables including piles of tools and plastic bins of different electronics and parts. At least eight phones littered one’s surface. Each table seemed to have a keyboard that popped out of it when needed for coding and several holographic display screens. Occasionally one would blink on, update a file with a new diagram and then close again.

Watching Mr. Stark work was nearly as entrancing as the lab itself. Mr. Stark paced back and forth in front of a glass wall full of projected versions of the papers. He was able to zoom into different parts of the diagram with barely of flick of his fingers. He moved rapidly from thing to thing, occasionally sketching unrelated diagrams in the air in front of him.

Peter was transfixed, but eventually felt like it would be rude for staring. Plus, he wanted to be able to tell Ned everything about the lab and that would require more exploring.

There were several doors that led to new sections of the lab. Peter wondered if Mr. Stark shared the floor with anyone else, like Bruce Banner or Helen Cho. But he figured that when you got to be as rich as Mr. Stark was, you could take as much space as you liked.

Peter felt a stab of jealousy in the pit of his stomach. He wondered what he could do if he had access to parts that weren’t from out-of-date thrift store finds or the garbage. He wondered how powerful his webs could be if he didn’t have to rely on combining chemicals deemed safe enough for use in teenager’s experiments. As much as he loved the dented blue toolbox Ben had given him when he taught him how to do tasks around the house, Peter still longed for the rack of electric tools, the 3D printer, and the ability to work without a shop teacher looking over his shoulder.

Peter bit his lip, shame already creeping in where the jealousy had been. He was lucky to have this opportunity and he shouldn’t squander it by imagining more. He turned away from Mr. Stark towards the wall to get his emotions in check.

A nearby door had a note in much prettier handwriting than Mr. Stark’s stuck to it with bright red tape. Peter read the note, “Testing involving any potentially hazardous material requires proper safety gear and may only be conducted when Med Bay is fully staffed. I’m serious Tony. Giving the bots a fire extinguisher is not enough.”

Bots.   Probably robots.   Another thrum of excitement shot through Peter.   He knew from the biographies that Mr. Stark had invented a revolutionary one when he was just a little older than Peter was now.  But he hadn’t expected to potentially see it.  

He looked at the lab with new eyes.  If I was a robot, where would I be resting?  He circled the room before he saw it.  What he had thought might have been an extension of the 3D printer was actually a hydraulic arm robot bent over at its main joint.  

“Hello, aren’t you pretty?”   Peter said as he knelt to get a closer look. 

It had to be voice-activated or something because the robot immediately powered up and began to spin its visual sensors around.  

Peter jolted backward and watched in amazement.  “I’m Peter.  It’s nice to meet you.” 

The robot emitted a series of excited squeaks before reaching out to ruffle Peter’s hair. Peter couldn’t stop smiling even if the robot’s touch was just a tad too hard.

“No! Dum-E! Stop! This isn’t how we treat guests.”

“He’s fine!” Peter giggled as Mr. Stark glowered at Dum-E.

“He’s going to take your head off!”

Peter slid out from under Dum-E’s extended arm. “He’s just excited.”

Dum-E moved what seemed like its head in agreement.

Mr. Stark’s scowl only deepened as he shooed the bot away from Peter.   

“He’s going to a city college if he doesn’t get his act together,” Mr. Stark angrily muttered in a tone so low Peter thought he probably wasn’t supposed to be able to hear it.

Once Dum-E was back in his corner of the lab, Mr. Stark turned back to Peter.  

 “I want to look over this more. And I don’t want you getting crushed by one of my idiotic bots in the meantime.”  He gestured to the display wall behind him which was now completely covered in the files. “Come by on Wednesday and I’ll let you know if I have any questions.”

Peter was sure he looked like an idiot, but he couldn’t stop nodding. Yes. Of course, he wanted to come back.  He hadn’t even imagined that opportunity, “I guess, I’ll see you Wednesday then, Mr. Stark.”

There were times Peter regretted becoming Spider-man. Being slammed into concrete hard enough to bruise the entire right side of his body was definitely one of those times.

He hadn't expected the robbers to give him any trouble. Not to toot his own horn, but robberies were fairly run-of-the-mill fare. Sure, there were notably more weapons than standard muggings, but that typically meant relying on his spidey-sense to prepare for gunshots not whatever craziness this is.

The alarms for the pawn store on 67th were particularly piercing. He had been halfway to the migraine to end all migraines when they had suddenly stopped. The abrupt silence was almost more of a sign of suspicious activities than the alarms themselves.

Dropping down across the street, Peter peered at the building. Most of the front windows were completely broken, glass scattered everywhere almost like the windows had been rammed in by a car. There was no car inside, just three men in dingy clothes with black ski masks.

"You're really taking breaking and entering to the next level!" He joked as he went to web the first of the intruders up.

The tallest one looked oddly frozen staring between his buddy and Peter. The middle one -no the rounder one – gave him a shove before throwing the cash register at Peter’s head.

Peter dodged easily and the register dented the alley wall behind him. He used a web to give himself some leverage before kicking the tall guy’s legs out from under him.

Tall guy stumbled backwards, finally tripping and falling in the store’s trash can. Peter giggled despite himself. It reminded him of something out of the old comedies Ned’s Lola like to watch. He mentally renamed tall guy, “Curly” since it had the potential to greatly liven up his in-fight commentary. Epithets could really only get you so far.

Peter should have known that this would be far from a normal arrest when “Moe” (previously guy #1) ripped through the spiderwebs holding his hands to the front counter as if the webs were only a nuisance. That hadn’t happened before.

"Did I miss a knife Mr. Criminal? Sorry, won't let it happen again?" Peter surged forward hoping to kick the pocketknife or piece of glass further away. But there wasn't anything in Moe's hands.

Peter winced. It was almost like Moe had brute-forced his way out of it. He wondered if he’d messed up this batch of webbing somehow.

It seemed like a real possibility. At least it did until “Larry” was able to catch one of his legs mid-kick and swing him by it. Peter flew through the air like a rag doll. That had to take some serious strength, inhuman strength.

And then it hit him. There was nothing wrong with Peter’s webs. It was them. Larry, Moe and Curly weren’t fighting like his typical opponents. They moved just a little too fast, and definitely hit too hard. If he was going to win this fight, he couldn’t hold back his punches like usual.

Once he made that decision, the fight was easier. He flipped and moved between the three men, staying in constant motion. They still landed some good hits, but with the adrenaline, Peter just got back up and kept going.

He had to be more creative with this capture. He couldn’t just rely on one bunch of webbing holding them in place. Thick streams of white latched the three stooges to the alley wall about a foot off the ground. Webs ran across their wrists, elbows, shoulders, waist, knees, and ankles. It might be wasteful, but at least they’d still be there when the police finally responded to the alarm.

Peter had barely finished securing the last man when he heard a siren in the distance. He scampered up the wall and watched as the officers started hauling the first one into the squad car.

His adrenaline was fading fast, making every part of his body hurt. He barely had enough webbing to make it home, but at least he’d caught the guys in the end. Plus, he’d stopped a couple of muggings and found that lost cast. All in all, not a bad day for Spider-man.

“Anyone with the good sense god gave them would know that letting Spider-man run amok would lead to chaos.” J. Jonah Jameson paused to look directly at the camera. “And now the menace officially indisputably has blood on his hands. Reports from the 104^th precinct reveal that two of the three men Spider-man confronted are dead, with the third in critical condition. It is truly a grave day for our city.”

Chapter Text

"Stark, how soon can you track down Spider-man?" 

Tony looked up from the Candy Crush game he'd been playing on his phone.  It had started as just something to do to force himself to stay awake, but it had other benefits, specifically letting others know how important he thought this meeting actually was. 

Fury stood at the front of the room with a frown on his face.  The spy didn’t believe in meeting PowerPoints, so behind him floated the Avengers Logo, the massive A an apparent stand-in for Shield’s now-defunct logo.  For a supposedly dead man, he looked perfectly fine.  

Most of the other Avengers were present at the U-shaped table.  Rhodey was gone because he was more of a government liaison than a core team member while Clint was still on Paternity leave. Although Tony had a feeling that his paternity leave might just turn into early retirement.  The sporadic calls he’d gotten about Nathaniel (and Lila and Cooper, but mostly the new baby and every little smile that was probably just gas) made it clear that Clint was ready to move on to a new chapter in his life.  Something that Tony both understood and heartily approved on. 

"I thought my blatant disregard for privacy law and legal limitations was a problem for you, Eyepatch."  

Fury rolled his one good eye.  "How long Stark?" 

It would honestly depend on how old the CTV systems were in the neighborhood.  Friday could probably plot out known sightings tonight.  If there was a pattern, he'd look at the CTV and hope the kid wasn't careful with his secret identity.  Video analysis was a bitch and could only go so fast if he wanted to cover a large area. 

"A few weeks.” Tony shrugged,  “I've got other priorities at the moment." 

A muscle on Fury’s face twitched.  "What's more important than a rogue Enhanced harming the public?" 

"That is inaccurate.  Spider-man has saved at least three thousand people since his first appearance in July 2015,” Vision cut in with a slight frown on his face, “It is statistically unlikely he will prove to be a threat to the public at large." 

"I don't care about statistics.  I care about public opinion and he’s becoming a problem.” Fury leaned back with his hands on his hips, “The man can't go around causing seizures and expect to get away with it.”    

Tony raised an eyebrow.  "So, we think the kid has spider venom or something now?"  

Sam smirked at that.  "Nothing that extreme, just your average traumatic brain injuries." 

"It does not fit a typical presentation.  Only about 4% of cases of intracerebral hemorrhage led to seizures within the first twenty-four hours of injury.  Three middle-aged men are unlikely to seize within hours of each other without cause.”  

“What did the tox screen say?” Steve drummed his fingers on the table.  “Because I’m inclined to agree that there was something else at play.” 

Fury dismissed him,  “I don’t care what’s causing it. It’s my job to control the problem, preferably by preventing it from becoming a problem in the first place. To do that I need an identity.”

Tony pulled up any news relating to Spider-man on his phone.  It wasn’t particularly impressive: a couple of notable twitter pages, multiple Reddit threads full of speculation, some right-wing anti-Mutant bullshit, and The Daily Bugle. 

 “I don’t see what you’re so worried about.  He’s focused on the little stuff.” Tony flicked through some more images, “The guy gets cats out of trees.  Real world-ending material here.” 

Fury did not seem to see the humor in the situation.  “I repeat Stark.  What could be so important that you can’t make this your priority.” 

“Maybe running a multibillion-dollar company.” 

“Pepper runs the company.”  Natasha gave him an unimpressed stare. 

Tony shrugged.  The number of meetings he’d skipped certainly made that true.  "I received information about a group of scientists playing around with something they have no business messing with." 

"And you didn't think to forward it ahead of time.” Steve's disappointed face was probably meant to make him feel guilty.  Well, the joke was on him, Tony lived with guilt every day of his life.  A little extra from the fossil wouldn't do a whole lot. 

Tony flicked a wrist and Friday exchanged Fury's slides for Peter's documents. 

"It was a personal project." 

Steve's clenched his jaw audibly.  

"And" Tony continued, "My intel is almost a decade old.  I needed to verify it was legitimate." 

Tony kept his gaze focused on Natasha and Fury as he asked his next question, “Are you familiar with the names Richard and Mary Parker?” 

Neither gave a notable tell, which wasn’t surprising given the whole superspy thing. 

“Who were they?” 

“Shield Agents.”  

“Ah,” Maximoff “The good type or the monsters?” 

Tony thought of the months the Parkers sat around and watched children be tortured.  “Still to be determined.  Not Hydra at least.  Didn’t turn in their notes because they somehow found out about the infiltration.” 

“Sure, sounds like they had contact with Hydra if nothing else. Otherwise, how would they know?”

“Someone could have gotten sloppy,” Natasha noted absentmindedly,  “Tried to turn them unsuccessfully.”  Her tone made it clear she wouldn’t have made the same mistake. 

Tony nodded at that.  Being able to stand by when human experimentation happened was basically a Hydra requirement.

"If you or Clint have any contacts who know where Richard and Mary Parker were stationed for their last mission, I can fly out there sometime next week.  Right now, all I've got is somewhere near Toronto."

Steve leaned forward eagerly “I can scan Hydra files to see if there’s any place near Toronto we haven’t searched yet.”  

“Not all evil in the world is Hydra, Steve.”  

Steve had the decency to look admonished, “I know that.  Just thought I’d use what we have.”

“And he’s going through them with a fine-tooth comb anyway, so really you’re doing him a favor by giving him something else to focus on.” Sam added. 

"If you're done Stark, we do have other business."  

Fury's frown was directed straight at him, despite the widespread conversation.  

Tony gave a mock two-finger salute and leaned back in his chair.  He was oddly satisfied with the progress he'd made.  Natasha's eyes on the project would be a benefit, especially if she had known the Parkers personally which seemed likely since Clint clearly had. 

He tried to tune out the rest of the meeting, mentally going through his to-do list of updates for Friday when his attention was grabbed by his friend’s name and annoyed outbursts.  

“Ross is insistent that he be allowed to personally lead a team to search the compound due to Warrants for Banner's arrest after South Africa.”  

"Ross thinks we're hiding Banner?”  

“That’s ridiculous! It wasn’t his fault!" 

"Still? They have our reports from Sokovia." 

“All that paperwork for nothing!”

Fury whacked the table to get some semblance of order.  "Things could be so much worse for this team.  The US signed an extradition treaty with South Africa in 1999.  It’s lucky their government's focus is only on the Hulk and not who caused him to go wild.”  

Wanda sunk into her seat; her eyes trained on the floor.  Her sweatshirt pocket emitted a slight red glow, the only sign of fear breaking through her otherwise composed façade. 

Vision reached over and pulled her hand into his.

Fury continued.  “Ross has the ear of powerful people.  Recent collateral damage by team members has largely gone unprosecuted, but not unnoticed.”

Tony snorted.  That might be an attempt by Fury to make him feel grateful that Ross only wanted to search his property instead of prosecuting him for Ultron. Still, it wasn’t going to work.  He didn’t need a fine to tell him to spend his money on the Sokovia refugees and those harmed by Avenger interventions.  He had charities for that.

"If we have nothing to hide, it would be in our best interest with the requests, to show we are capable of handling oversight.  I do not see the harm.” 

Sam looked genuinely appalled at Vision’s suggestion.  "The harm?  Do you know who this is? Ross has an enhanced grudge a mile wild. He only cares if he can use them as a weapon.”  He shook his head.  “I know how corrupt cops work.  His inspection of the compound is more likely to end with him planting evidence than anything else.”  

As much as Tony was inclined to think of Sam as just “Steve 2.0,” he had to admit the guy made decent points, at least when it came to Ross. 

Bruce hadn’t said much about what had gotten him kicked out of New York, but Tony knew enough from what he’d let slip during late-night tinkering sessions.  He was inclined to hate Ross from that alone.  Considering he’d also had the displeasure of meeting him, keeping Ross away from the compound was truly the least he could do. 

“It’s not happening. Ross isn’t getting shit until he shows up with a search warrant and even then, anything’s negotiable with a good enough lawyer.”  Tony pushed himself up from his chair and started walking toward the door.  “Do you still have lawyers Cogburn, or am I supposed to provide everything around here?” 

He thought it was a decent final word on the situation.  Of course, then Steve had to open his mouth and ruin it. 

“Tony, you can’t just leave. We’re still discussing this.” 

Steve’s lips were drawn in a thin line.  It wasn’t quite disapproval, more exasperation. Tony knew he was also opposed to Ross’s actions, so probably a reaction to his flippancy.  

“4^th Amendment, Capsicle.  I thought you’d be all over it considering you’re a supposed Sentinel of Liberty. Guess I was wrong.” 

This time Tony didn’t let anyone ruin his dramatic exit. 

Tony’s next meeting with Parker snuck up on him.  It wasn’t that he was busy per se.  Or at least not kept busy by some deadline or other outside force.  He just wasn’t having a good week.  

Tony couldn’t read the Parkers’ notes without thinking about his Peter. He kept imagining his little boy tied down and experimented on, cruelly hurt with no father to soothe him.  He was too late to save these kids, statistically likely too late to save his own son. It was no wonder he was having nightmares.  Tony had slept maybe nine hours over the last few days. 

The worst of his nightmares had started like a dream. 

Peter, in all his four-year-old glory, wanted to show him a picture he drew.  Red paint covered his hands with a large splotch on his face where he'd tried to push his curls out of his eyes.  

The painting featured ten children holding hands in a meadow. The people were not quite stick figures since triangles made up the girl's dresses, and rectangles were used for the boy's bodies with small circles added for hands and feet.  Dots of red paint were scattered across the green background likely an approximation of flowers.  It was by all accounts a small child's perfectly average painting. 

It hadn't mattered though, because it was Peter's and to Tony, that meant it was so much more than average.  His father had never shown interest in what he did, so Tony was careful never to make the same mistake.  All of Peter's accomplishments would get praise no matter how small. 

"This looks wonderful, Bambino!  I have quite the artist on my hands." 

Peter bounced up and down at the praise, the paper clutched tightly in his hands.  "Does it get to go on the fridge?"  He asked eagerly. 

Tony lifted Peter up and settled him on his hip. He was careful not to jostle the painting in case it was still wet. "Of Course, it gets to go on the fridge!  I would be silly to let such a masterpiece go anywhere else."

Tony walked over to the fridge. It already had six drawings on it plus some pictures of the two of them.  There weren't enough magnets for the new artwork even with creative placement.  He went over to the drawer to pull out more. Regrettably, this meant he had to set Peter down.  He kept talking as he searched. " So, what inspired you, my little Picasso?"

"My friends!"  Peter said with a giggle. 

Tony froze.  Even in the dream, he felt uneasy because Peter hadn't had friends if you didn't count his stuffed animals. Peter hadn't been completely isolated from other children, but most days were spent with just the two of them.

"Have I met your friends before?" 

"Nope!"  Peter said, popping the p exuberantly

"Why not?" He touched different parts of the painting to double-check that it was dry, trying to maintain the illusion of calm.   

Peter gave him a disappointed look.   "You weren't there". Peter pouted; his little arms crossed in front of him. 

That feeling of dread started to grow in Tony's stomach.   "I'm so sorry Peter.  Can I please meet your friends?"

Peter perked up instantly.  "Now?"

"Well, it doesn't have to be right now," Tony said as he finally found the magnets. 

Peter giggled again. "Too late. They're coming now."

He meant to ask Peter to explain but all thoughts flew out of his head as the ground began to shake.  He distantly heard things breaking.  It had to be an earthquake. He couldn’t think of any other rational reason the floor would be shaking.  He just wanted to grab Peter and get to safety.  Yet he couldn’t get his feet to move.  

But Peter seemed completely unfazed and easily kept his balance even though Tony had seen him trip over air before.  He practically skipped the few feet between the fridge and where Tony stood. 

"I can do it, Daddy." He darted away with the magnets and picture in hand.   Peter ignored how the earthquake had shaken off the other things from the fridge and placed it proudly at eye level.  

Another loud crash echoed through the house.

A black crack started to extend across the hardwood floor.  Tony watched in horror as a bony hand emerged.  It dug its fingertips into the floor leaving long scratches as it dragged itself up from the darkness.  

Tony couldn’t help but hold his breath.  He couldn’t scream.  He needed to stay calm for Peter.  He needed to get to Peter. But he felt like his feet were too heavy to lift. The skeletons just kept coming and yet he was moving in slow motion.  

The first skeleton lurched into a standing position. It was half his size, roughly Peter’s height. The bones were not bleached white, instead, a sickly dull brown that was darker at the joints.  The left leg dragged slightly behind it due to a fibula that was barely stay together as it wobbled toward Peter. 

"No!” He desperately shouted with his voice cracking mid-word.   “Peter get away from them!" 

Peter frowned,  "You left me.  I have new friends now."

Tony choked down a sob.  “No sweetheart!  Never!  I could never leave you!”  

Peter gave a halfhearted shrug like he clearly disagreed but didn’t want to argue. 

He used all his energy to push himself forward, but he seemed no closer than he had been before.  

Several more skeletons lurched forward.  Some were missing fingers or other body parts.  One had a crack down the middle of its skull.   But they were all child-sized and determined in getting to Peter, mainly circling him although two found their way to his side.

“Get away from him!” 

The skeletons on either side of him stepped closer instead.  

"Why don't you like my friends, Daddy?"

"Petey-pie," He tried to soften the blow as much as possible, keeping his voice sweet as if that would somehow transform the scary thing into something palatable.  "they're dead." 

"So am I."  He said it so matter-a-factly like it wouldn’t tear Tony apart from the inside. 

Then Peter held up his hand to take the right skeleton’s hand and Tony realized with horror that what he thought was red paint was a darker slightly brownish substance.  The little hands interlaced with little bony ones were all covered in blood. 

Please no. He tried to grab Peter, hold him close, and never let him go, but one of the skeletons pushed him back.   "Bambino, please, come back."

The skeletons completely encircled him now like a protection guard.   But they didn’t need to do that.  He could never hurt Peter.  

Tony sobbed, barely able to get enough air but unable to stop.  Yet Peter didn't care which was off because Peter couldn't watch certain movies because the characters were too mean in them.  He would never have just stood there swinging his arms back and forth playfully, his little hands in the firm grip of two little bony ones.    

"Why didn't you come Daddy?"

He let out another heaving sob as he sunk to the floor, his legs finally giving up on him, "Oh Bambino, I tried. I wanted to find you more than anything in the world." 

"You didn't try hard enough."  

Tony had woken up gasping for air, his cheeks wet with tears.   It was the accusation that he hadn’t tried hard enough that hit the hardest.  The refrain echoed throughout his head since Peter had disappeared. Peter was gone, because he hadn’t tried hard enough, either to protect him or find him.   It filled him with desperation, to do something, anything to make it better. 

Until he had his son in his arms, there would always be something missing, something broken about him.  But he could harness the anxiety. He could transform the restless energy boiling beneath his skin into work to do. 

The new Stark Phone was mostly settled.   Paperwork was completely out of the question.  He could only focus on the papers for so long without wanting to disappear.  But he needed to do something.  He needed his head to be so full of calculations and algorithms that it couldn’t fit anything else. Not the Avengers. Not Peter.  And certainly not the nightmare conditions in the Parkers' files.  

Tinkering on his suits didn’t have the same appeal it once did.  He had taken a step back from the Avengers and was trying to have a simple life with Pepper. (Or as simple a life they could have with her flying around the world for their company.).

There was always an urge at the back of his mind to keep building, to keep preparing for the army he’d seen in the wormhole.  But that meant working on the suits was tainted with anxiety that could have previously been pushed away.  The suits weren’t purely his salvation anymore.  They were a weapon that could be wielded against him.  Plus, his relationship with Pepper always suffered when he started to go on a suit-building binge.  

Instead of finding his way upstairs to the mostly empty top floors of the tower, Tony kept walking through the lower levels of Stark Tower. He knew that he was annoying his researchers by commandeering his way onto any particularly interesting projects, but he also couldn’t force himself to stop.  

Scraps from the renewable energy labs would have to do far now.

Tony hadn’t bothered to put them away when Friday alerted him that the kid would be up in a few minutes.  

Which she had apparently said a few minutes ago because Peter interrupted his tinkering, “Is that what I think it is?” 

Tony looked up expecting the kid’s eyes to be on some Avenger tech he’d accidentally left out, but instead he was eying what most would assume were thick electrical wires. 

“It’s not like I can read your mind, kid.”  

Parker practically shrunk in front of him as the boy ducked his head and started pulling on the threads of his fraying sweatshirt cuff. 

Still, Parker waited only a few more seconds before words started to pour out of him in an uncontainable gush, “I just mean that I knew Stark Industries was all about clean energy now, but I still didn’t think you’d just have ultra-high-voltage transmission lines just lying around.   Are you working on the electromagnetic environmental pollution problem or the safety concerns?  Wait! Are you working on the end-of-line power delivery capacity?  That would probably work well with the alternator for the arc reactor you proposed on your paper in Applied Energy!” 

For such an apparently shy kid, he could talk just fine when you got him going.  

Tony didn’t entirely know what bit to focus on.   So instead, he asked, “You read my paper in Applied Energy?” 

Parker blushed but nodded. 

“And you’re still in high school?” 

Parker shrugged as if he wasn’t discussing a topic most of the public had no knowledge existed.

Tony let out a low whistle.   “So, what’s the specialty?  After last time, I would have thought biology, but now I’m not so sure.” 

Peter’s face was bright red.  He pulled out a crushed folder from his bag and began taking out his copy of the pages.  He resolutely kept his eyes on them as he finally answered.  “Well, I mean I like biology, but I think I actually like chemistry more.  And I’m pretty good at physics.” 

Tony had a guess that pretty good was likely an understated way of saying Parker could probably be teaching the class himself.  

"Kid, this is some advanced stuff.  What are you still doing in high school?" 

Parker shrugged.  "I mean May says I'm learning how to become a functional member of society." 

Tony huffed.  "I never thought that was something you could teach, but I didn't spend the recommended amount of time there. Probably explains a view things” 

Parker let out a shaky laugh, "My classmates are more likely to win Darwin awards than Nobels. So, you’re probably right.  I do like my friends though.” 

Tony snorted, before pushing the transmission lines and their accompanying AC/DC conductor closer to Peter.  “Why don’t you take a closer look? My team’s running into a problem.  Try to figure out what it is.”  

It wasn’t often Tony ran into people who impressed him.   He knew he made people uncomfortable with his intellect.  In college, Tony practically relished those moments when people stopped seeing him as a little kid.  But the astonishment was always tempered with envy or anger.  At least, for Parker, he could be pleasantly surprised.

Peter nodded absentmindedly as he turned the equipment over in his hands.  “The insulators good, but the ratio’s all wrong. The dielectric material is keeping things cooler, and the charge's contained but it’s breaking down too quickly.  

After he said his piece, Peter looked at him with a slightly pleading look on his face.  

His school must be full of idiots if he needed reassurance so quickly.

“Exactly, kiddo.”  

His heart fluttered slightly at the brilliant smile that overtook Parker’s face. 

“How about I pull up the blueprints and you can make some modifications on them?”  

Parker bounced on the balls of his feet.  “But I thought you had questions about the papers?” 

That had been what he had said last week.  “I was thinking we could make this a weekly thing, a sort of internship.”   

He didn’t have a good reason for offering the kid an internship.  There wasn’t any more he needed from Parker regarding the papers.  After all, he did not want Parker working on them.  It was better for his conscience if the kid did not end up permanently scarred for life. He could have nightmares enough for the two of them.

But he had already known that before he had invited him back last week.  This visit was just supposed to sate his curiosity and let Dummy see his new friend again. 

“Really?” 

Even if he hadn’t been sure before, Parker’s puppy dog eyes filled with amazement and hope would have sealed the deal.  

“I’m Tony Stark, kid.  I don’t have to do anything I don’t want to do.”

The kid looked like he wanted to hug him but was able to contain himself, instead settling for a stream of gratitude, “Thank you, Mr. Stark! Thank you so much!”  

Tony could admit there was joy in having the boy in his lab.  It felt right, even if he couldn’t let himself think too hard because otherwise, he’d unleash something that he had attempted to keep bottled up. 

(Parker was the right age, probably a little taller than his Peter would have ended up because neither him nor Cecelia were particularly tall.  He even looked similar if you just squinted a little.  Note to self, he was no longer allowed to squint in Parker’s presence). 

The first full day in the lab passed and Parker was as insightful as his little sticky notes suggested. But Insightful wasn’t a reason to give up coveted time twice a week for a high schooler. 

Tony wouldn’t be able to explain it to Pepper, but as he looked at Peter’s smile as he said goodbye to Dummy and U, Tony felt like he’d made the right decision.