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Chapter Text

Tony Stark whistles a cheery rendition of Holly Jolly Christmas as he strolls toward the elevator. He's not sure if he's really feeling the holiday cheer or if he's just glad to be free of what was shaping up to be a quite frankly boring meeting with the Avengers. Some sort of previous mission review for the purpose of analyzing and discussing alternatives and better processes for future ops—like they're military or something.

Tony rolls his eyes. The whole thing is extremely unnecessary, at least in his esteemed opinion. He operates under his own set of rules and regulations in the field anyway, which are essentially: do what you gotta do, figure the rest out later. It's worked well enough for him so far. His blasé attitude often irritates good ol’ by-the-book-unless-it’s-convenient-for-him Captain Rogers, which is always a plus.

When Tony had finally grown tired of sitting in his ergonomic spinny chair—of which he makes great use—with glazed-over eyes while a bunch of pointless yammering went on all around him, he'd decided it was time to take matters into his own hands and wrap up their meeting early.

So he'd hit them with the unbeatable, “If you'll excuse me gentlemen—and lady. Christmas is only a few short weeks away, and I have plans with my wife and kid. Let's call it a day and pick this up again in January, shall we?”

He's pretty sure not even Cap had protested when he ended the call with the boring, rambly officials in D.C.—or wherever the stuffy office they keep themselves holed up in nowadays is located.

Tony steps into the elevator and pauses his whistling for the brief moment it takes to tell FRIDAY to bring him up to the penthouse.

There are some silver bells hanging above his head—Peter’s doing, more than likely—and they jingle as the elevator jolts to begin its journey upward. Tony smiles at the sight. He never saw himself as the kind of guy who considered Christmas to be anything but just another day. He was perfectly happy to let his title remain the Grinch for the rest of his life, but as he's learned quite well over the years, things can change.

In this case, said thing is a teenager. And not just any teenager—Tony and Pepper's teenager.  

It still blows his mind sometimes that they've adopted a kid. Never in a million years would the Tony who existed just a year ago have thought parenthood was an actual possibility for him—or even something he wanted. Now he can't imagine what he would do without Peter. His own personal duckling. Someone who can keep up with him in the lab, who truly, genuinely looks up to him and makes him want to be a better person—very few people have that effect on him, and even less are allowed to touch his lab toys.

But having the opportunity to see the world through a child's eyes—despite Peter’s constant insistence that he's not a kid, which is laughable, especially when he says it all poutily—over the past eleven months has seriously altered Tony's entire outlook on life. As December approached, he found himself surprisingly looking forward to the upcoming holiday season. Hey, the Grinch’s heart grew three sizes in the end, didn't it?

They were able to salvage things enough to give Peter a good Christmas last year—though good is relative when the alternative is freezing to death alone in an alley—but this time around they have the whole month to make things special. And that is exactly what he and Pep are planning to do. They’re going all out this year, fully prepared to make new memories and traditions together as a family.

The elevator lets out a cheery ding to announce the arrival at its destination. The doors slide open to reveal the penthouse, and Tony is greeted with nothing less than a Christmas explosion; classic holiday music plays in the background, and decorations are strewn across the entire room. The tree they'd just picked up a few days ago sits in front of the glass window wall overlooking the city.

Peering through some of the sagging branches—thanks to Peter, who had been fully determined that he could in fact climb the tree—he catches a glimpse of movement, and it only takes him a moment to crane his neck around the side of the tree and realize it's a taller-than-normal Pepper with an armful of silver, glittering ribbon. “What are you doing?”

“I tried to tell her,” Peter says solemnly.

“You should not be up there.”

Pepper sighs as though she anticipated this exact reaction and turns to meet Tony's gaze over her shoulder while she recites her clearly-scripted answer. “I am on a step stool, less than two feet off the ground. Perfectly fine.”

Tony narrows his eyes, and he glances down to analyze the stool his wife is standing on. 

Peter is next to Pepper, wearing a lopsided Santa hat. He has one fuzzy-socked foot pressed against the base of the stool to keep it anchored in place, and his hands are hovering around Pepper as if he expects to have to break a fall at a moment's notice.

Despite the extra security the enhanced teen’s watch provides, Tony still doesn't budge on his original stance. “I repeat: you should not be up there.”

“Who else is going to do it?” Pepper asks, still fiddling with the roll of ribbon. “You? Or our fifteen-year-old?”

“Our fifteen-year-old who has cat-like reflexes and can stick to walls,” Tony amends, poking a finger in Peter's direction. “Yes. Him.”

“Putting ribbon on a Christmas tree is a precise task, and I have to make sure it's evenly spaced. I was not going to put Peter through having to do that, so—”

“So what? He's a big boy, he can handle—”

“—so he gets to supervise instead.”

“Hm. He seems thrilled.” Tony scratches at his jaw. “You hear that, Pete? She doesn't trust you to hang some ribbon.”

The kid, like the unhelpful little monster he is, shrugs nonchalantly.

“No,” Pepper says, “and I wouldn't trust you to do it either. You men don't have an eye for beauty like ladies do.”

“Hey, I married you, didn't I?”

She grins teasingly. “Still don't know how you managed to swing that.”

“Yeah, me either, but they say I've got the touch.”

“Who is they?” Peter finally pipes up, eyes darting between the two adults amidst the banter. 

Pepper snorts.

“Can you please just get off of that thing?” Tony asks, motioning to the stool with a wide gesture in lieu of answering the question. “It looks wobbly. Is it wobbly, Pete?”

“It's wobbly,” the kid agrees.

“See, the kid thinks it's wobbly, too. That's two to one—in a democracy, we'd win.”

Pepper raises her eyebrows, like she thinks they're being dramatic. “Honestly, the two of you act as though I'm as fragile as one of these glass ornaments.”

“You are,” they say in unison.

“Boys. For the millionth time, I'm perfectly fine.” She reaches down with one hand to caress her slightly-distended belly. “And so is the baby. Decorating a Christmas tree was not on my list of restricted activities from Dr. Hatfield.”

“Maybe it should be—remind me to give her a call tomorrow morning.” Tony steps over to the tree and offers a hand up to his wife.

Pepper rolls her eyes but humors him, tucking in the last of the ribbon before accepting assistance getting off the stool.

After both feet are on solid ground once again, she looks up and raises her eyebrows. “There, I'm down. Happy?”

“Overjoyed.” Tony leans in to press a kiss to her lips. “The kid and I will handle any other decorating that needs to happen higher than five feet from the floor.”

Evidently, after five months of enduring this same, never-ending barrage of “overprotective” behavior (“sit down, hon,” and “I can get it for you,” and “you feeling okay? You sure?” ), it seems Pep has finally decided it's not worth arguing back nonstop (“you two are worse than mother hens, I swear”). She smiles and kisses Tony again. “Fine. But no complaining when I make you redo it ten times because it isn't just right.”

Before Tony can open his mouth for a well-placed rebuttal, Peter interrupts. “How was the meeting?”

“Delightful,” Tony deadpans, releasing Pep and reaching over to tug on the white pompom of the kid's Santa hat. “Next time, I'm bringing you with me, Mr. Superhero.”

Peter wrinkles his nose.

“Hey, you wanna play dress up with the big kids, you have to suffer through clean-up time too.”

“Yeah, no—I think I'll stick to being a friendly neighborhood Spider-Man,” the teen says with a dutiful nod. “For now.”

Thank heavens for the good sense that kid has been blessed with—something Tony never quite got as a teenager himself. He thinks of the brutal battles against Loki and the Chitauri, against Ultron, and picturing Peter there fighting alongside the other Avengers is enough to make him sick to his stomach. Yeah, Pete's not going anywhere near that level of threat for a long, long time—aka ever—if Tony can help it.

“Are you gonna help us decorate?” Peter gestures to the boxes behind them.

“We went shopping today and bought some new things,” Peppers adds, as if it's not clear that they've about doubled their modest amount of Christmas decor from last year.

“It looks like Hobby Lobby threw up in here,” Tony remarks, turning to glance around at the genuinely massive amount of Christmas decorations spilling across the tables, couch—any and all counter space. 

He starts poking around in one of the bags, pulling out a hideous elf doll that looks like it was designed by the president of minimalism and holding it up. “What in the world is this thing?”

Peter turns around and gasps, affronted. He races over to pluck the elf out of Tony's hands and hugs it to his chest possessively. “This is Chippy, our Elf on the Shelf.”

Tony blinks. “Our what on the what, now?”

“Elf on the Shelf!” Peter repeats with a sigh, like Tony is exasperating him, the punk. He arches an eyebrow. “Don't you know what that is?”

“If I knew what it was, I wouldn't be asking,” Tony deadpans. “Now that I think about it, I'm not so sure I want to know.”

Peter ignores the second half of that sentence, instead launching into a detailed explanation of the purpose of the poorly-designed elf. Apparently, its job is to keep an eye on the house’s occupants during the Christmas season, report back to Santa during the night on their behavior, and then move to a new spot for the next day.

If it were anyone else, Tony would have mentally checked out the moment the rambling description about the popular toy started. But seeing the kid so outgoing and excited is enough to keep him (mostly) engaged. Because it hasn't always been like this. 

Despite their immediate connection when they'd met last Christmas Eve, the days and weeks following the Starks’ decision to adopt Peter were not all smooth sailing. It took some time to really get him to come out of his shell, his own little safe space where he'd had to hide for so long in order to protect himself. The constant change of bouncing around foster homes and the desperate grabs for survival had forced him to shove aside his grief and severely damaged his trust in adults. Needless to say, there was a lot for the kid to work through once the adrenaline wore off and he finally had the chance to come up for air.

The first few months after they'd taken him in had been full-time work to gain his trust and help him process the whirlwind of the past year or so. Eventually, his old personality slowly came bubbling back to the surface,  anxiety dwindling as comfort and new relationships grew. Now, almost an entire year later, he's a happy, carefree teenager once again—he has his moments here and there, but then again, doesn't everyone?

“That is disturbing,” Tony says flatly when the kid is finished. He squints at the elf. Chippy’s eyes seem to stare into the very depths of his soul, the mischievous smirk on its face creating an additional creep factor. It's extremely disconcerting.

“It's supposed to be fun,” Peter insists, “because he’s mischievous, and you never know where you're gonna find him each day.”

“Oh, no,” Tony says. “I already have one of those around this house. I don't need Thing One and Thing Two causing trouble.”

Peter scowls, but Pepper laughs.

“Even without Chippy, you'll have that anyway by next Christmas,” she says, hand resting on her stomach again.

“Double trouble.”

Pepper smiles sweetly. “You deserve it.”

Tony feigns offense. “I rescind my offer to help with the decorations.”

“Then I suppose I'll just have to keep using the stool to—”

“Nope, nope, nope.” Tony claps his hands together and spins around to size up the tree with an analyzing gaze. “Pete, put that Furby-wannabe away and grab the ornaments and the lights. And find me another Santa hat. Let's get this sucker Christmased.”

***

When Tony and Pepper had first sat Peter down a few months ago and told him they were expecting a baby, his immediate response had been elation, quickly followed by an all-encompassing doubt. He'd attempted to push his fears down—of course he knew they wouldn't just up and get rid of him, but he can't deny that he had been a little…concerned. Got to love abandonment issues.

But his adoptive parents were quick to reassure him of his place in their family.

“This doesn't change a thing, Peter,” Tony says firmly. “Well, okay, it kind of changes a lot of things, because there will be a miniature human in the house. But you—you’re a part of this family. We're just—expanding.”

There must be doubt showing on his face, because Pepper leans over to place her hand on top of his and says, “There's more than enough love to go around, I promise. And I know you'll be the best big brother to this baby.”

Peter tries not to blush, pleased by her confidence in him.

The idea of being a brother has only grown on him since then, excitement expanding with each passing month as they watch Pepper's belly grow bigger and rounder. 

Of course, Peter had always been content with just May and Ben before. Their family was small but tight knit. Still, he can't deny how he often imagined what it would be like to have siblings—a sister or brother, a playmate and confidant. He'll be a lot older than his new sibling, but he hopes they'll still have a connection. Tony and Pepper certainly must think so—he overhears them talking one day about what a great big brother he'll be and how proud they are of him, which boosts his confidence immensely and leaves him feeling light and warm inside. It's nice to be around people who talk positively about him behind his back.

The impending arrival of Baby Stark has also prompted another change. For months now—ever since the adoption was finalized—Peter has been toying with what his brain has dubbed The Title Problem. He refers to Tony and Pepper as his parents at school and stuff, but he’s never called them that directly, though it’s almost slipped out a couple of times.

Part of him wonders if the avoidance is a defense mechanism to keep him distanced in case this situation turns upside down too—in case the Starks maybe do change their minds. Or, the more likely scenario, which is that all parental figures in Peter's life are somehow just destined to be lost. This fear is irrational, he knows, especially since what names he calls his adoptive parents by aren't going to have any impact on whether or not something horrible will happen to them. But he's already lost his biological parents and his aunt and uncle, so he can't help but worry it could happen again. He doesn't think he can handle it a third time.

But if he's truly a part of the Stark family now—which he knows he is—then it would just be weird for the baby to grow up with his or her brother calling their parents by their first names. So he finally makes up his mind about it.

The first time he says it is during a casual afternoon in the lab. It isn't even entirely intentional; just one of those almost slips that he doesn't try to stop. Peter is scribbling away at his homework while Tony works on upgrading one of his Iron Man suits.

There's a series of metallic clanks, followed by an irritated growl. Peter glances up just as Tony rises from his chair, shaking out his hand like he accidentally pricked himself with a wire or something.

“You okay, Dad?” The word is foreign on his tongue but pleasant just the same.

Tony freezes, still clutching his hand, like he isn't sure how he should react to this new development. Peter can practically see the gears turning through his mind, deliberating whether or not to make a big deal out of it.

In the end, the man just crosses the few steps to Peter's desk, pulling him into a tight hug and ruffling his hair. “I’m fine, bud,” he says, voice suspiciously thick. “Perfectly fine.”

Pepper, on the other hand, cries for an hour the first time Peter calls her “Mom.” But in a way that makes it clear she's happy. Peter is happy, too. Things aren't perfect, of course—life never is—but as Christmas approaches, Peter decides they're pretty much as close as they can be. He isn't dreading the upcoming holiday the way he was just last year. There are still spots of grief, days where the Christmas season brings more pain than it does joy, but it isn't overwhelming the way it used to be. Tony and Pepper understand; they know how to be there for him and help him through the tough times.

He misses his aunt and uncle desperately, and they can never be replaced. But the Starks have given him a second chance, an opportunity to have something he never thought he'd have again: a family. They filled the gaping hole that was left in his heart after he lost May and Ben.

And they've made it a priority to create new traditions this year, to do all the fun family Christmas things that Peter missed last year. The past few weeks have been a whirlwind of holiday activities. They’d gone pick out their Christmas tree together. They stopped for gourmet hot chocolate and spent an evening driving around looking at massive holiday light displays. They went ice skating at Rockefeller Center—well, Tony and Peter skated. Pepper had to watch from the outskirts of the rink, since she's well past five months pregnant. But she seemed to thoroughly enjoy taking pictures of them and watching Tony faceplant seventeen times in the course of the hour. They've baked and decorated cookies and watched Christmas movies.

Peter, for his part, has thoroughly been enjoying wreaking havoc with their Elf on Shelf. Some days he just moves the doll to a new place—like in the cabinet where Tony keeps his coffee, positioned to fall out when the door is opened, or on the nightstand so it's the first thing the man sees when he wakes up—but he's come up with plenty of funny escapades for Chippy, too. Like “snow” angels in powdered sugar on the kitchen counter, or his personal favorite—dressing the elf in a miniature Spider-Man mask and using some webbing to create an elaborate setup with Chippy hanging upside down from one of the branches of the Christmas tree. The best part of that one was waiting to see how long it would take Tony to notice it.

Tonight, they're strolling around together at a big Christmas festival event. There are street vendors selling all kinds of holiday decorations, gifts, and treats. There's even a petting zoo—which Peter is delighted by. He pets all the goats and alpacas until Tony literally has to drag him away. Pepper is on them with hand sanitizer the moment they exit the pen, insisting that he use at least half the bottle before they move on. And then Tony proceeds to tell him five times to put his gloves back on before he gets frostbite. They're such helicopter parents. It's exasperating.

It's the best thing ever.

“Hey, Dad?” He aims for Tony, the easier target, sidling up next to him and putting on his best pleading look.

“Yeah?”

“Could I get an alpaca?” he asks.

“No.”

“Aw, but why not? They're so friendly.”

“I can think of a few reasons,” Pepper says, surveying the vendor tents they walk by for anywhere she might want to stop and browse.

“It can stay in my room,” Peter suggests.

Tony snorts, the breath coming out in a cloud of cold night air. “Kid, your sense of smell is not prepared for how badly animals like that reek.”

Peter frowns, not willing to admit he hadn't thought of that. “That's probably because they usually stay outside—”

“Right. Because they're outside pets.”

“Okay, but hear me out. If we—”

“Peter,” Pepper interrupts from his other side, “you are not getting an alpaca. Don't try roping Tony into it; we both know he'll cave eventually.”

“Hey!” Tony says with mock offense. “Are you calling me a pushover?”

“I'm saying you have been known to do stranger things.”

“What about a dog?” Peter asks hopefully, setting his sights on something that seems a smidge more attainable.

Pepper purses her lips in thought. “Maybe next year.”

Well, she didn't outright say no, and she didn't even say it in that voice that means no even if the actual words are more along the lines of “maybe” or “we'll see.” That gives him room to hope for the future.

They pause at one of the tents when Pepper spots some homemade candles and soaps. The strong, concentrated scent of the items is a little too much on Peter's sensitive sinuses, so he and Tony elect to wait nearby while she browses—Peter figures she probably appreciates that, because otherwise, knowing Tony, he'd be picking up every single product and sniffing it to offer his unsolicited opinion on its quality.

“It was a good effort, Roo, I'll give you that.” Tony pats him on the shoulder as they settle on a bench across the street, watching the bustling crowd of people around them.

“Yeah?”

“Seven points for presentation, an extra two for the sad eyes. Where did you learn to pull those off?”

“The streets,” Peter retorts offhandedly.

Something passes over the man's face—it always does when Peter's month-ish of homelessness before he met the Starks is mentioned—but it's gone in an instant. “Nah, I don't believe it for a minute. You were born with that ability. It's magic.”

Peter rolls his eyes.

“Okay, so.” Tony leans back against the snow-dusted bench and stretches his legs out in front of him, crossing his ankles. “Important question. Team boy or girl?”

Peter groans. “You keep asking me that. We'll find out next week.”

This year, all of the Avengers will be in town for the holiday, and Pepper invited everyone over for Christmas Eve dinner followed by a simple gender reveal. Peter is extremely looking forward to it; it's not every day he gets to share an evening with Earth's Mightiest Heroes. Even though he's met the other Avengers before—and his adoptive dad is literally one of them—it's sometimes still surreal that they know his name, much less come over to visit and ask him stuff like how his grades are and what he's been doing for fun.

“Come on, you're telling me your little sixth sense can't detect that?” Tony wiggles his fingers when he says “sixth sense.”

“...That's not how that works.”

“Lame.”

Peter shrugs. If he focuses carefully enough, he can hear the baby's heartbeat, a comforting little thud, thud, thud. Still, that doesn't tell him whether it's a little brother or a sister in there. He doesn't mind; he'll be happy either way.

“Another week,” Tony grumbles. “Maybe I'll call the doctor's office myself and get them to tell me—”

Peter's mouth forms into an “O” shape. “Don't you dare,” he says, smacking Tony on the arm. “Mom will be so mad.”

“Yes, she would be,” a new voice says.

Tony blinks and smiles up at Pepper, trying to appear innocent. “I didn't say anything, dear. Pete and I were just placing final bets.”

“Mhm.” Pepper clearly doesn't fall for it. “I'm sure.”

“What'd you get?” Peter pipes up, eyes drawn to the brown paper bag holding her purchases as he stands to his feet. 

She informs them she managed to find gifts for a couple of friends, which just about wraps up her Christmas shopping for the year.

Recently, Tony and Pepper had asked Peter to make a list of all the things he wanted as presents for Christmas. The next day he’d given the paper back to them blank, informing them that he already had every material item he could possibly desire—and more—and the only thing he really wanted was to spend Christmas together with them. Then Pepper started crying, and Peter felt awful even though she assured him it was just the pregnancy hormones.

He's finally managed to come up with a few things to put on his list, like a new pair of Converse he saw online recently and a couple of Lego sets, but gifts aren't the important thing to him—except for the ones he's planning to give, of course. His and Tony's gift to Pepper is already in progress: finishing the nursery for the new baby. They've spent hours painting and putting together the crib, swing, and changing table. After they find out the gender of the baby on Christmas Eve, Pepper will add her own finishing touches to the room with more specific decor.

For Tony, Peter had settled on a customized multipurpose pocket knife—it has several useful tools and a fancy, engraved wooden handle. Pepper helped him pick it out and order it. No present will ever be enough to convey how much he appreciates the Starks, but he hopes they both like their gifts anyway.

A particularly chilly gust of wind blows down the street, and Peter shudders involuntarily. Without hesitation, Tony tugs off his scarf, shaking it out and beginning to wrap it around Peter instead. His fingers brush against Peter's bare neck as he does. “You're freezing, buddy,” he says, as if Peter isn't wearing thick gloves, a beanie, and several layers underneath the most insulated coat he's ever seen in his life.

Peter just shrugs. “I've been colder.”

Tony pauses mid-movement. “Was that meant to be reassuring?” he asks. “Because it really, really wasn't. The opposite, in fact.”

Peter barks out a laugh and lifts his hands up to help adjust the scarf. “You're dramatic.”

“I'm dramatic for not wanting my kid to freeze to death?”

“I'm not going to freeze to death,” Peter reassures. That might have been a real concern of his last year around this same time, but now? It's the furthest thing from his mind. He knows the Starks would never let it happen, and he has a warm penthouse to call his own.

“Let's get some hot chocolate,” Pepper suggests, pointing out a brightly lit food truck with a big sign advertising cookies, popcorn, and hot cocoa.

Peter cheers.

“You sure a sugar rush this late is a good idea?” Tony asks, glancing at his watch as they move to get in line.

Pepper raises an eyebrow. “Since when have you cared about going to sleep at a decent hour?”

“Oh, I'm not worried about my bedtime.” He turns a pointed gaze at Peter.

“I don't need a bedtime,” Peter complains grumpily, ignoring how his response only helps prove the point. He folds his arms across his chest. “I'm fifteen.”

“Well, excuse me.” Tony raises his hands in surrender. “Didn't realize we had another full-grown adult here.”

Dramatic, Peter thinks, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “I'm going out to patrol after we get home anyway,” he adds. “So I'll be fine.”

“Sleep is still important,” Pepper says. “But since it is winter break, I think it will be all right.”

Tony shrugs. “As long as you don't blame me if he starts bouncing off the walls tonight.”

“I wouldn't dream of it,” Pepper says dryly.

Once they get their steaming, sugary drinks and a bag of kettle corn, they continue on their way.

Walking down the buzzing, festively-lit streets, Tony on one side and Pepper on the other, each with an arm around him, Peter feels complete. There are crowds of people moving and chattering all around them, but Peter is sure his family are the only people in existence right now. His whole world is right here.

He sips at his hot chocolate, glancing up just in time to watch his parents kiss above his head. He scrunches up his nose and makes a fake gagging noise. Tony playfully flicks him in the back of the head. Pepper laughs.

Peter leans back into their embrace, chest warm and heart full.

This is going to be one of the best Christmases ever.

***

Tony yawns widely and throws the covers off of himself, rolling out of bed in a very undignified manner. No matter; no one else is around to see it. Pepper is normally up and gone before he even stirs most mornings, sometimes before he even comes up to bed if he's been holed up in the lab. He's been working on that, but old habits die hard. Besides, he's sure his wife will be grateful for the odd hours he keeps once the baby is born and needs attention in the wee hours of the night.

With another yawn and a groan, Tony grabs a change of clothes and stumbles toward the adjoining master bathroom, mentally running through his schedule for the day. He and Pete are supposed to meet Rhodey for lunch, and he's pretty sure Pep mentioned something about helping her wrap presents tonight—

His internal monologue is cut off the moment he steps through the doorway into the bathroom, staring at the sight before him in disbelief. He blinks a few times, as if that will clear his vision enough to erase what he's currently seeing.

His luxurious, modern shower is filled to the brim—with dozens of red and green balloons. An out of order sign has been slapped across the tall glass door, the words scribbled in familiar handwriting. Chippy sits near the top of the shower door, arms thrown over the top to keep him in place. The elf is “holding” a red balloon and wearing that same stupid smirk—though Tony supposes it would be more concerning if the toy didn't have the same expression as always.

“Peter!”

Chapter Text

Christmas Eve

“Hold it right there—where are you going in such a hurry, mister?”

Peter skids to a stop, the aborted movement so abrupt he nearly takes an unexpected nosedive to the tiled floor. He scrabbles at the kitchen island, managing to save himself and maybe accidentally putting a tiny crack in the granite in the process. Oops.

He guiltily lifts his head to meet Pepper's gaze, offering a lopsided, apologetic smile.

She just shakes her head and sighs before returning to mixing a batch of cookie dough. “You can help Tony fix that later. Now, where were you heading?”

Peter slowly glances down at his spider suit, the mask dangling from his hand, and then back up at his adoptive mom. 

She watches him expectantly.

Not long after the pregnancy announcement, Tony had pulled Peter aside and told him in no uncertain terms, “Listen kid, when it comes to pregnant women—or actually, no, life lesson right here, women in general—just humor them. Especially when they get that look in their eye.” 

Peter thinks this must be one of those times, so he clasps his hands behind his back, clears his throat, and says in his least-duh voice possible, “Um, patrolling.”

She purses her lips. “On Christmas Eve?”

“Criminals don't take holidays off.” He's mostly been going out in the afternoons since winter break started. Tony and Pepper both prefer if he's not out much past dark. He hopes Pepper doesn't try to make him stay home today. They didn't have any plans for this afternoon, and he was looking forward to getting some patrolling in before all the festivities begin.

He clears his throat. “Unless…I mean, that's okay, right?”

Peter has a list of rules and expectations when it comes to his Spider-Man activities, including but not limited to: a strict curfew, a limited number of hours he's allowed to patrol per week during the school year, and a firm warning to stay away from the “big time stuff” as Tony so aptly put it.

It had been a balancing act at first, trying to get used to having adults around who knew about his alter-ego and were imposing their own regulations on it—especially since Peter had been doing this on his own for months before he met the Starks and was accustomed to his own way of doing things. There have been arguments and lots of negotiations, but they've managed to figure it out, and it's working. He's still not a huge fan of all the ridiculous protocols Tony built into his suit, but he can't really complain because his suit is awesome. He got to help design it, but Tony went above and beyond with everything—a heater, an A.I., dozens of web shooter combination options, and so much more. It's more than Peter could have ever dreamed of back when he first put together his spider-emblemed hoodie, sweatpants, and goggles.

“We're having dinner at six-thirty,” Pepper reminds him.

Peter glances at the digital clock on the oven. “It's only three o’clock. I'll be back by six.”

“Make it five-thirty,” she amends. “So you actually have time to shower and make yourself presentable for company.”

“It's just the Avengers,” Peter says with a nonchalant shrug. As if he hasn't idolized all of the heroes for years.

Pepper lets out an amused laugh. “That may be true, but I'd still prefer it if you made the effort. At least try to be back by a quarter ‘til.”

“Okay,” he agrees easily, mainly because he's eager to head out, and an extra fifteen minutes of patrolling is not worth wasting time negotiating over. 

He snags a cookie off the cooling rack and pops the whole thing into his mouth. “I thought we had a batch of cookies from the other day,” he says, cheeks full like a hamster as he chews.

“We did. You and Tony ate them all.”

Oops. “Sorry,” he says sheepishly, though he's not that sorry, because the way the sugary dessert practically melts in his mouth is pure bliss. “They're just too good.”

Pepper smiles. “Tony has taught you well.”

Peter grins back, turning to make a beeline for the door. “Okay, well, I guess I'll see you later—”

“Wait just a minute,” Pepper calls. “Come over here and say goodbye to me.”

Peter lets out an over-dramatic sigh but complies, ducking back around the island counter to wrap his arms around Pepper in a quick hug. “Bye,” he says obligatorily. “Love you.”

“I love you, too.”

He pulls back and leans downward, pressing his hand gently against Pepper's belly. “Bye, munchkin. Tonight we'll know if you're a boy or a girl!”

With that, he spins on his heel—and proceeds to nearly run headfirst into Tony.

“Whoa,” the man says as Peter skirts around him without so much as a word. “Who’s on fire?”

Peter resists the strong urge to roll his eyes. He has no desire to repeat the conversation he just had. “I’m going patrolling,” he answers dutifully instead. He pokes a finger in Pepper's direction. “I already got the okay.”

Tony hums. “All right, well you do remember we're having a very special gender reveal dinner tonight—”

“I know!” Peter says over his shoulder, stepping into the elevator. Sometimes he just leaves straight out of one of the penthouse windows, but he doesn't want to be too obvious when it's still light outside in case somebody sees him coming and going and gets suspicious.

“Don't be late!” Tony calls after him.

“Yeah, yeah.” Peter grins easily, waving him off as the elevator doors slide shut.

He bounces on the balls of his feet while he waits to arrive at the ground floor, pent-up energy ready to be released. A few short hours of patrolling, and then back home to find out if his little sibling is going to be a boy or a girl before spending the rest of his Christmas Eve curled up on the couch with his parents watching movies. The perfect evening. 

Peter can't wait.

***

The afternoon is eventful; just like last year, there are apparently lots of friendly neighborhood things for Spider-Man to do on Christmas Eve. Peter thwarts a robbery at a local grocery store, stops a mugging, and helps direct traffic at an intersection where the traffic light went out until the police arrive. The highlight of his day is when one of those bell-ringers with the big red donation buckets let him ring the bell, and a bunch of people stop to drop their spare change in the bucket and say hello. Several people even ask to take a picture with him. He can't wait to tell his family about that.

Lastly, he stops by a soup kitchen and has a great time helping serve up plates piled high with turkey, mashed potatoes, veggies, and chocolate pie, all while chatting with those who stop by for food and other volunteers about the holiday and some of his favorite Spider-Man adventures. The kids are especially excited to see him, though it makes him sad to think the reason most of them are here is because their families lack the resources to provide for them adequately. He knows how it feels to not have enough, especially during Christmas. It makes him more grateful than ever that the Starks took him in. 

He'll have to ask Tony to make a donation to this soup kitchen and some of the other local homeless shelters next Christmas. They—meaning Stark Industries—hosted a huge toy drive event this year, and Peter showed up as Spidey to help hand out gifts to kids who otherwise may have gotten nothing this Christmas. It was definitely one of the biggest highlights of the month.

Peter is so distracted by his thoughts and the chaos around him, it's not until there's finally a short break in the line that he glances at the clock on the wall and realizes how long he's been here. “Shoot!” he exclaims quietly. He thought he'd set an alarm on his phone.

“I'm so sorry, I've gotta go,” he says, tugging off his plastic apron and food service gloves and tossing them into the trash. “Christmas plans.”

“Thanks for all your help! Enjoy your Christmas, Spidey!” the lead staff member calls after him. Some of the other volunteers and people milling about wave as he scrambles through the building toward the exit.

“Merry Christmas!” he yells back. Internally, he's mentally berating himself for losing track of time.

He knows he won't make it back on time—it’s already half past five, and he's well over several miles from home. Even if he swings as fast as possible, he likely won't be back before six.

Maybe Pepper won't notice. She's probably preoccupied with getting everything—herself included—ready for their evening. Most of the food is being catered, but there are still things to be done, and Pepper is particular about that kind of stuff. The perfect planner. This could work in Peter's favor, so long as he's properly dressed and at the table by six-thirty. He can make that happen.

The cold air hits him as he hurries out the door. Brr. His suit’s heater automatically cranks up, and Peter is grateful. The sun has already set, making a chilly evening downright bitterly cold. It brings back memories of last Christmas Eve, though there's no pretty snow this year—only some slush and ice from last week's precipitation.

He's about halfway back home when he smells smoke. A moment later, he can hear the sound of shouting, as well as sirens in the even further distance. Skidding to a stop on the next rooftop, Peter spins around and squints into the quickly oncoming darkness. He spots the billowing smoke several blocks away.

Sorry, Pep, he thinks wistfully, turning without hesitation and letting a web fly in the direction of the commotion, away from the Tower. 

When Peter arrives on scene, the building—which at a quick glance, looks to be five or six stories tall—is already practically engulfed with flames. People are scattered about on the sidewalk and near the street. There are several fire trucks with lights flashing, firemen pouring out of the vehicles. They must have just arrived.

Peter swings into the midst of the fray. “Is anyone still inside?” he hollers.

A few people nearby shrug or shake their heads in response. However, considering the fire department hasn't even gone in to perform a primary search yet, chances are high there are probably a few stragglers still trying to make their way out of what looks to be an apartment building. 

As if on cue, a middle-aged woman stumbles through the front doors, coughing and gagging from the smoke-filled air. Peter wastes no time in racing to her side and putting his arm around her waist to steady her.

“I've got you ma'am, come on.” He quickly guides her over to where an ambulance has just parked, ensuring that the paramedics are taking care of her before rushing right back toward the fire.

“What can I do?” he asks, eyes darting around for any sign of someone still in the building who needs help.

“Stand down, Spidey!” one of the firemen calls. He must be the chief, if the way he's standing tall in the middle of the sidewalk, hand on his radio, large and in charge, is any indication.

Peter snorts to himself. As if. He's not one of this guy's men; he doesn't take orders.

“I can help,” he insists, pretending like he doesn't have to tilt his head upward to properly see the man's face. “I can search the higher floors—”

“Crowd control,” the chief barks, focused. “Vigilante or not, you're a civilian, and I can't have you hurt on my wa—”

Peter is opening his mouth to argue back when a high-pitched scream reaches his ears over the chaos going on around them. He whips his head around, ears tuned in and eyes searching for the source of the sound.

Another cry for help is unleashed, and Peter locks in on the location. Fifth floor—where the fire is currently raging—second window to the left. There's a flash of movement.

“Truck, I need a ladder up to that fifth floor right now!” the chief commands into his crackling radio.

“We're on it!” comes the answering reply, but Peter is already in motion.

He races across the sidewalk and clings to the side of the building, crawling up the wall as fast as possible. His high-tech mask helps filter the air to an extent, but smoke still fills his line of sight, making him choke a little as he reaches the higher floors where the flames are wildly licking at the walls. The heat against his gloved palms is a stark contrast to the icy cold breeze blowing at his back.

“Help, please! Help us!” the woman's voice exudes terror as she screams again.

Us.  

“I'm coming, I'm coming,” Peter says, knowing she probably can't hear him. He forces his limbs to move faster.

He finally arrives at the window, where a young brunette is flailing her hands wildly. The moment she sees his head pop up above the window, she's speaking.

“Please—my son. Ta—take him first.” She presses a hand to her mouth to stifle a coughing fit.

That's when Peter spots the little boy, maybe about six years old. His eyes are wide with fear as he crowds against the open window, staring down at the long drop to the ground.

“Hey, buddy,” Peter says, slowly moving one hand from the wall to hold out toward the kid. “You want to come with me?”

“Go with Spider-Man,” his mom tells him. “Hurry!”

The urgently-spoken words finally spur the boy into motion, and he reaches forward to wrap his arms around Peter's neck.

“Hold on tight,” Peter says, wrapping his free arm securely around the boy. “It's okay,” he reassures. 

The child buries his face in Peter's shoulder.

“I'll be right back for you, ma'am!” Peter promises.

As carefully yet quickly as possible, he scurries his way back down the wall. Tension is rising in his chest, urgency growing in the face of the out of control fire. He's gotta get back up there for the woman—fast.

He hands the boy off to the firefighters waiting at the base of the building before turning and scaling his way back up the wall.

“Careful, Spider-Man!” one of them calls after him.

“Don't worry, I've totally got this!” Peter shouts down to them, even while he gasps for breath. Something in his gut tells him time is running dangerously short.

By the time he makes it back up to the window, the other firefighters have gotten the truck in position and are working on raising the ladder up to aid in the rescue.

“Told you I'd be right back,” he announces, grinning behind the mask to hide the way his neck is buzzing as he clings to the brick wall. “Your turn, come on—we don't have much time.”

The woman is visibly trembling, loose hair from her ponytail falling into her face. Now that her son is safe, her brave front is giving way to fear—understandably so. “I—I can't.”

“Sure you can.”

“I'm afraid of heights,” she admits, letting out a slightly hysterical laugh.

“It's okay—I won't drop you,” Peter promises. He wiggles his outstretched fingers. “I’m an expert at this kind of thing.”

Something big and heavy crashes in the apartment beyond them, possibly part of the ceiling—who knows. The woman screams, breath hitching fearfully as Peter uses the moment to ease her out onto the windowsill.

“It's okay,” he chants over and over, trying to reassure both of them. “It's okay, it's—”

“Spider-Man, over here!” 

Peter whips his head around. The fire truck ladder is just a few feet away from the window. Two rescue firefighters are clambering up toward the top. He decides that the ladder is probably a better option than trying to climb back down the side of a blazing building with a terrified woman in his arms.

“Don’t worry, we've got you!” the first man on the ladder, who seems to be a seasoned firefighter, if his precise movements and confident commands are any indication, shouts. “We're gonna throw you a rope—get it around her waist and make sure it's secure!”

“Okay!” Peter acquiesces, trying to breathe properly amidst the thick air and the woman's chokehold on him. Her eyes are squeezed shut, like she's trying to tune out everything going on around her. A second later, a harness of sorts is tossed to him, which he catches with ease. With a few rapid instructions, he's able to use it to secure the woman properly.

Planting his feet firmly against the wall of the building, Peter stretches forward and is able to successfully hand the woman off to the firefighters on the ladder. One of them begins carrying her down the rungs, toward safety. The other nods to Peter, beckoning with his hand. “You too, kid—we need to get away from the building!”

“Yeah, I just need to make sure there's no one else up here!” Peter calls back, desperately trying to see through the thick smoke into the apartment. He hoists himself up onto the windowsill again, hands framing the window as he peers inside.

“You can't stay up here!” the fireman shouts. “It's not safe, there could be—”

All of the hair on the back of Peter's neck suddenly stands on end, his spider-sense warning him of the impending danger milliseconds before disaster erupts—literally.

“Get down!” The scream tears from his throat just as the fifth floor of the apartment building explodes into a ball of fire.

A sudden wave of heat encompasses Peter's body, pieces of debris slamming mercilessly into him as he half-lunges, half-tumbles out of the shattered window. His uncoordinated fingers fumble at nothing but air; he tries to get his bearings about him enough to let a web fly to catch himself, but the explosion has left him disoriented. His brain is scrambling to catch up, even while it's obvious there's no time. He's plummeting—

Strong, gloved fingers come out of nowhere and wrap around Peter's wrist, bringing his freefall to a painful, abrupt halt. His body dangles in the air, nothing between him and the sidewalk five stories below.

He hears the crackling of a radio, mostly static, and time speeds back up. A gasp escapes as he jerks his head upward.

“I've got you, kid.” The expression of the firefighter holding him is one of pure grit and determination. 

The man reaches his other arm down, and Peter helps hoist himself up on top of the ladder as best he can, hoping he doesn't look like a fish out of water.

“Lieutenant, report!” 

The fireman fumbles for his radio with one hand. “We're good!” He squints at Peter through the dim light of the flickering flames of the building behind them. “You okay?”

“Fab—fabulous,” Peter puffs out. “Wow. I don't think I could do this every day. You guys are awesome.”

The lieutenant chuckles. “We owe you some thanks; couldn't have made that rescue without you. Come on, let's get down from here.”

Is it a little embarrassing, as Spider-Man, to be helped down a ladder by a firefighter? Yeah, it totally is. But Peter's ears are still ringing, and he feels off-kilter—probably the result of almost going up in flames—so he can't very well complain.

It isn't until both feet are on solid ground again that he realizes something is a lot more wrong than bumps and bruises. When he hops nimbly down from the rig, his left side explodes into a world of white-hot pain. He stumbles to the side, barely catching himself against the side of the firetruck, and presses his free hand against the point of pain.

The lieutenant who'd saved his life immediately puts out a steadying arm. “Whoa, hey, you don't look so good.”

“I'm f—fine,” Peter says, waving him off. He just needs to…shoot, he needs to get home. 

“You took a hard hit. You should let the medics check you out.”

“That sounds great” —it doesn't— “and I really appreciate it, but I've got to get home. I'm late for Christmas Eve dinner. But hey, thanks for—”

The lieutenant must see something that concerns him, because his eyes widen, and he gestures toward Peter's abdomen. “Spidey, your—” 

I am so screwed. Pepper's gonna kill him. And then she's going to make Tony do the same.

“Sorry, I've gotta go. Clean-up’s on you. Merry Christmas!”

He darts away, leaving the still-chaotic fire scene behind him. The lieutenant calls after him again, but Peter is already long gone.

He runs until his vision goes blurry and he can't draw a sufficient amount of air into his lungs anymore. Don't pass out, he chides himself, ducking into an alley. He'll have to climb up this building and take rooftops the rest of the way home; it'll be faster.

Peter blinks, and suddenly he's staring up at the moonlit sky, back against the cold, dirty ground. Huh.

He gingerly lifts his hand up to pull his mask from his face, hoping to get some better air access, and that's when his gaze catches on something red and sticky coating the fingers of his Spider-Man suit.

Reaching back down toward his abdomen, Peter probes gently at the area. Nausea swirls in his gut, and he has to let his head fall back and squeeze his eyes shut to keep from puking. It's dark, so he isn't able to see well—and he can't really move either, so that doesn't help—but it's clear that he is bleeding. Badly. How did that happen? He was at a fire, right? Fires don't generally cause gaping, bleeding wounds in people's sides. 

The memory of the moment the explosion happened rushes back to his slow-moving mind. He must have been hit by a piece of shrapnel or something. Maybe it's even still stuck in him. He can feel the warm, wet patch of blood growing under his fingers. Distantly, his brain recognizes the direness of his situation, though he's not as panicked as he probably should be.

Help. He needs help. He wants—no, needs—Tony.

Peter fumbles for his phone, managing to draw the device out of his suit pocket and bring it up near his face. The bright light has him squinting, and he curses the slick, red smears that prevent him from being able to hit the right buttons to pull up his contact list. Come on, come on.  

His fingers aren't cooperating, and just when he's about to give up, his screen lights up with an incoming call. As if an answer to prayer, the name at the top of the screen is Tony Stark.

Peter could cry with relief. It takes a few tries, but he's finally able to swipe to answer the call before it drops.

“Kid, what's going on?” There's poorly-concealed panic in the man's voice, who doesn't bother to wait for a greeting. Rude. “FRIDAY’s sending me wacky signals from your suit—it’s like it shorted out or something. I don't have a location.”

“Stalker,” Peter mumbles. His brain is reminding him he has something important to say, but the right words seem to elude him.

“Peter,” Tony snaps in a tone that tells Peter he missed something. “Are you hurt?”

“There's…there's a lot of blood.”

“Whose blood, yours?”

“Who else's?” Peter retorts with a borderline hysterical snort. “I don't…steal other people's blood for—for fun. Or at all.”

Tony swears.

“It’s red…like Christmas.” His free hand accidentally brushes against his injured side, and the pain rocks his world again, leaving him gasping even more desperately for breath. A moment passes—maybe several, he isn't sure—and he thinks he hears Tony calling his name.

“I need you to come get me,” Peter says shakily, some clarity returning to him for the time being. “I don't think I can—please. I—I'm scared. I think…it's really bad, Dad.”

There's a sharp inhale on the other end of the line. “It’s okay. I'm coming, kid, I'm on my way. Just stay awake, okay?”

“T—tryin’ to.”

“Good. I'm almost there. Where's the wound?”

“Left—left s—side,” he stutters out between chattering teeth. He's not sure if it's from the cold or the pain. Probably both.

“Keep pressure on it.” Tony's voice is tight, abrupt.

Peter can hear the fear behind it. Suddenly, he regrets blowing Tony off earlier when he'd left for patrol. For not hugging Pepper just a little tighter, a little longer. He wishes he had the chance to do it over again. One would think he learned his lesson after losing his parents and his aunt and uncle. Life's too short to take even the smallest moments for granted. Something warm and wet drips down the side of his face.

Peter blinks, two more tears sliding down his cheeks unbidden, and suddenly there's a figure crouched over him. He jolts with alarm before his mind catches up and he realizes who it is. Relief fills him instead.

“Easy, kid,” Tony says, flying into action as he immediately begins working to get the bleeding under control. He sounds like he's just run a marathon. “Hey—hey. It's just me.”

Peter can barely make out Tony's features in the dark alley, but everything about the man's visible expression screams panic. Never, in the whole year that Peter has lived with the Starks—and even before that, on TV and in magazines—has he seen Tony look so afraid. The man is always confident, always ready with a suave attitude and sarcastic comment.

Peter coughs, the sudden movement sending a wave of pain coursing through his middle. “Hey,” he mumbles—profoundly, watching Tony through half-lidded eyes. “I—I'm sorry I missed...dinner.”

Tony makes a choked sound in the back of his throat, almost like a sob. “It's okay, I'm never on time, either. You know Pep is always getting on me for that.”

Peter wants to laugh, but even the shallow breaths he's forcing himself to take right now feel like they're sending dagger after dagger through his abdomen in rapid succession. He stifles a cry of pain, but a pitiful whimper still escapes. “D—Dad. It hurts. ”

“I know, I know. I know it hurts, buddy. I'm sorry.” Tony has something firm pressed against the wound now, probably trying to stem the flow of blood. That's a good thing, because Peter can't be moved if he's still bleeding out. Blood stains all over the sidewalks aren't good for the city.

“Hey! Open your eyes, Pete.”

“Hm,” Peter groans. He's so tired and cold…

There's a series of short, snapped words at a lower volume, leading Peter to think that Tony must be on the phone with someone—he’s asking where they are?—before the man's attention is back on him. “Tell me what happened.”

“Um.” Peter wracks his slow-moving brain for details. “There was…a fire.”

“Yeah?” Tony sounds a little too eager to keep him talking. “You save anyone?”

“Little kid…and—and his mom.”

“That's my boy,” Tony says, a hint of pride coloring his otherwise raspy voice. His free hand reaches out and brushes over Peter's hair. “Your little sister is real lucky to have a brother like you.”

“Sis...sister?”

“Yeah, bud. It's a girl. FRI told me on the way over.”

“She—she told you b—before Mom?”

“We won't let her live that one down, huh?” Tony's teasing tone is underscored by the uncharacteristic waver in his voice.

There's a momentary lull. Peter vaguely recognizes that he's not so cold anymore, the chill in his bones giving way to something more pleasant. He's pretty sure that's not a good thing, but it feels much nicer than his incessant trembling before.

“Pete?” The voice above him is drifting into unchecked panic. “Stay with me.”

Peter groans. “Dad?”

There's a warm hand on his cheek, the contact heavenly compared to the snowflakes beginning to drift down all around them. “Right here, buddy. I got you. You're gonna be fine, you hear me?”

Footsteps pound in the near distance.

An involuntary shudder wracks Peter's otherwise-still form. “Tell them…I'm sorry.”

And despite the desperate, heart-wrenching sound that follows those words, Peter's eyes slip closed.

Chapter Text

Blood. There's blood, and it's everywhere.

Sticky, crimson red. Red like Christmas, but in the most unwelcome form. His kid's life, flowing out between his fingers.

So much blood.

It squelches between his fingers, the warm liquid a horrifying juxtaposition against the bitter cold chill in the air. 

It won't stop coming. 

All Tony can think is not like this. He can't lose Peter, not today, not ever. He can't go home and tell Pepper that exactly one year after they found their boy, they lost him.

In the past, Tony had heard people say things about parenthood—how it changes a person, how you love your kid so much it physically hurts. Just a year ago, he would have scoffed at those silly reflections. Now, he feels that gaping hole in Peter's gut just as surely as if it were in his own.

Tony has been afraid before. As much as he would deny it to anyone who asked, there are several instances that shook him to the very core of his being, that caused him to look at life a little differently after all was said and done. His time as a captive of the Ten Rings in Afghanistan. Pepper and the Extremis—nearly losing her, thinking he had lost her. Happy almost dying.

But this…

Finding his fifteen-year-old sprawled out in a dark alley, the ground beneath him stained with dark red and his breathing so shallow it's almost non-existent—that wakes up something deep inside Tony that he never even knew existed. Unadulterated fear like he's never felt before; an agony without words clawing at his chest.

They were supposed to make their Christmas wishes together later tonight, but Tony finds himself desperately making his own right now as he tries to stop the blood gushing from the kid's side.  

Let him be okay. Please, please, please.

“Tony?”

The gentle call jolts him back to the present. He feels Pepper's slender fingers curled around his calloused ones, and his gaze refocuses on the still, small figure lying in the hospital bed before them. Deathly still; the slow rise and fall of his chest—and the steadily beeping machines next to the bed—the only things contradicting just how literally that statement could be taken. Tony suppresses a shudder.

“Yeah?”

They had sat in the waiting room for far too long awaiting news on Peter's condition. The other Avengers had joined them, all anxious to know how the kid was doing and doing their best to offer support to Tony and Pepper. Those couple of hours were a blur—somehow condensed and elongated all at once. 

Then finally, finally, the doctor had come out of the operating room, expression exhausted but hopeful.

Everyone lurches to their feet in one unified movement, eyes locked on the woman in bloodstained scrubs standing before them.

She surveys the small crowd and lets out a breath, bobbing her head. “He lost a lot of blood, but he's stable. He's going to be fine.”

“Oh, thank God.” Pepper’s knees buckle, and it's only Rhodey and Tony's quick reflexes on either side of her that keep her upright. 

Tony closes his eyes for a brief moment and swallows. “Can we see him?”

“Of course,” the doctor says, ushering them back down the hall. “Follow me. I'll give you more details as we walk.”

Pepper reaches over with her other arm and begins to gently knead Tony's bicep, her head coming to rest against his shoulder. “Are you okay?” she asks, voice surprisingly level after the whirlwind of the last few hours. Maybe it's the shock—he’s fairly certain he's been stuck in a similar state ever since he'd first gotten that alert from FRIDAY telling him Peter's suit was suddenly offline.

“Pete's not home yet?” he calls over to Pepper as he trails into the kitchen, frowning while he adjusts his tie. Surely she would have wanted him back early enough to prepare for their dinner. Their guests are slated to arrive any minute.

“He should be.” His wife's tone creeps into dangerous territory, the one that makes it clear things could get very bad very quickly if she doesn't like the next answer she gets.

Tony winces, pulling up the tracker for the kid's suit to check where it last pinged.

One phone call later and his world was suddenly torn apart. 

Funny, how that's all it can take sometimes.

He'll never forget the eternity of that three minute flight in the Iron Man suit. Or what it felt like to land in that cold, dark alley and see Peter there on the ground, a rapidly-growing puddle of blood pooling underneath him.

So much blood.

Suddenly, Tony is all too aware of the red stains on his fingers, shirt, and pants. He'd scrubbed his hands semi-clean while Peter was in surgery—enough that he wasn't still dripping blood like some character out of a horror movie—but he'd been far too anxious and keyed up to worry about the state of his outfit when just a few rooms away, his kid was possibly dying.  

Now, the large blotches of crimson seem to taunt him, reminding him just how close they came to losing Peter.

Tony swallows back bile, suppressing the sudden urge to gag. He pulls away from Pepper and gestures half-wildly at himself. “I should—”

Pepper nods, understanding dawning in her eyes immediately. “Go on,” she encourages. 

“What if he—?”

“I'll stay with him. You heard the doctor; it will be a while longer before he wakes up.”

Still, Tony hesitates. Part of him wants to remain right where is, standing vigil over the fifteen-year-old until he opens those big brown eyes and replaces the image of a limp, blood-covered body that's currently burned into the back of Tony's eyelids. He doesn't want to let Peter out of his sight for even a second.

The other part of him knows he can't stay in these stiff, blood-crusted clothes a moment longer. 

So he kisses Pepper's lips and Peter's forehead and shoos a hovering-in-the-hall Rhodey into the room before trudging to the elevator to take him up to the penthouse. He could technically shower down here in the med bay, but his clothes are upstairs—and honestly, he could probably use a few minutes alone anyway.

The moment the elevator doors close behind him, Tony nearly collapses, knees going weak all at once. He catches himself against the side of the elevator, leaning his head against the wall and closing his eyes. 

This—this is why Tony has always distanced himself from people. This is why he is careful to avoid forging connections deeper than acquaintances or surface-level friendships. He lets others assume it's just because he's some sort of narcissistic jerk, or possibly because he has trust issues—and maybe some of that is true to an extent—but the biggest reason of all is this. It's because he's afraid—no, terrified—of the mere thought of losing someone he loves. 

He knows because he's been through it before. He's lost people, he's watched them suffer, he's watched them hurt. And each time, it chips away a little more at his already-fragile heart.

But then he thinks of Peter, who has every right to have that same fear and yet never let that stop him. Despite everything he's been through, he allowed himself to be integrated into a new family and forge a path forward through his grief—to find a way to love again (though Tony is ninety-nine percent sure that ability is built into the kid's DNA along with the spider genes).

As much as he hates all of it—the fear for the kid's well-being, the reality that they could lose him, that they did almost lose him tonight—he knows with absolutely zero doubts that he wouldn't give up his family for the lonely comfort of having no one. They've taught him the importance of love and why the pain is worth it.

Still, this had been too close. Way too close. 

The doctor's earlier words echo in his ears. “All I can say is that Peter must have someone up there looking out for him. A Christmas miracle is what I'd call it.”

When the elevator doors slide open, Tony is greeted with an eerie silence. He steps into the penthouse, the sound of his shoes too loud against the floor.

Everything is exactly the same as it had been just hours ago. The table is set. Covered containers of food sit arranged on the counter, waiting to be dug into. The lights on the Christmas tree shine brightly. It's as if nothing out of the ordinary has happened—as if Tony's kid hadn't almost just died. What was supposed to be a fun Christmas Eve celebration had quickly turned into one of the worst nights of his entire life.

Tony catches another glimpse of his blood-stained hands and makes a beeline for the master bathroom. In thirty seconds flat, he's in the shower, scrubbing with an almost reckless desperation at Peter's blood that clings to his skin, needing to get it off. The water turns a pale rust color as it hits the tiled floor of the shower and washes down the drain. He wrings out his sponge and scrubs some more. 

Truth be told, he could probably continue the same cyclical process for the next several hours, but his need to get back down to the med bay with his family supersedes his brain's irrational urge to scrub himself down to the bone.

Blood, fear, cold.

Tony leans his arm up against the wall and presses his head to it, letting out several deep breaths as the scalding spray from the showerhead pelts him. 

It isn't the first time Peter's ever been injured on patrol. Two months ago he'd come home with a sprained ankle, and a few weeks before that, a concussion. Tony has learned to accept it—and discovered a newfound appreciation for Pepper putting up with his own stubbornness and self-destructive tendencies—but that doesn't mean he likes it, or that it's easy. He'd built every safety measure and protocol possible into the kid's suit, and somehow it still wasn't enough.

Tony shuts off the water with a growl, hurriedly drying off and dressing himself. He throws his dress pants and red button-down shirt in the garbage. No sense in bothering to get the blood-soaked clothing laundered; he has no plans to wear them ever again.

As he heads down the hall from the bedroom to the open living area, his phone buzzes with an incoming text. His heart stutters to a halt when he sees it's from Pepper.

Can you grab the big Christmas blanket from the sofa when you come back down? The one with the candy canes on it.

Tony relaxes. He knows the one. Peter loves that thing—he often drapes it around himself like it's a cape and drags it around the penthouse like he couldn't just ask FRI to turn up the heat if he was cold.

Yep. He texts back an affirmative, pretending his fingers aren't shaking. He follows it up with, How is he?

Same as when you left, Pepper responds. The doctor thinks he'll be awake soon.

Be right there, Tony taps out before shoving his phone in his pocket and resuming his trek to the living room for the requested blanket.

It's as he's reaching for the soft, fluffy piece of fabric that his eyes catch on the end table that sits next to the couch nearest the Christmas tree. He hadn't noticed it earlier—he’d been too busy preparing for guests, and obviously hadn't seen it when he first came upstairs to shower.

It's Chippy, the stupid elf with a dumb name and an even dumber face. Tony resists the urge to roll his eyes—even if it is with slight fondness. But then he catches sight of Chippy's setup today, and his heart cracks like a block of ice that's just been hit by an ax.

There's no goofy mischief, no spilled sprinkles or tinfoil-wrapped shoes or melted crayons—that one had not been a fun clean up, and Chippy may or may not have gotten confiscated for the next three days because of it. Today, the little elf is simply sitting propped up against a picture frame.

Pepper had insisted they get family photos taken for their Christmas cards this year. It was a great idea—in theory. However, Tony is fairly certain they got maybe one “normal” photo; neither he nor Peter took the photoshoot outing seriously enough for the results to be otherwise. 

In this particular picture, the three of them are sitting in the grass in Central Park, the trees a backdrop behind them with sunbeams streaming through the leafless branches. Peter is in the middle, knees slightly bent in front of him. He's flanked by Pepper on his right, who has her legs tucked up under herself, one hand resting on her rounded belly, and Tony, who's stretched out easily on the other side. They're all wearing their matching red sweaters. It would make for a very nice, professional shot, except for the uncooperativeness of two of the photo’s subjects.

Tony, for his part, has one arm slung around the kid's neck in a headlock, while Peter attempts to simultaneously free himself and give the man next to him bunny ears. Pepper is mid-laugh, despite her clear—but fond—exasperation with the whole thing. That woman has the patience of a saint, dealing with their shenanigans. The photo is quite honestly a rather accurate representation of their daily lives, though, and Tony loves it for that.

But it isn't just the picture itself that catches his attention. The frame it's in has the words Our Family printed across the top, and sitting in Chippy's lap is an ultrasound photo of the baby from one of Pep’s doctor appointments. Their baby girl, as he'd learned just hours earlier…

“Boss,” FRIDAY says, interrupting the sound of Peter's labored breathing on the other end of the line as Tony shoots toward his location at top speed. “The baby is a girl.”

Tony barely has the presence of mind to mute the call. “The baby—what?”

FRIDAY’s voice remains calm and level. “Per the information from the doctor's office, Baby Stark is a girl.”

Tony's stomach flips at the news. A girl. He swallows hard. “Not the time, FRI,” he says tightly. Right now, his thoughts are only on his son who is currently bleeding out in an alley. “Quite possibly the worst timing, actually—”

“I thought Peter might like to know, when you get to him.”

Tony can't find it in himself to respond to that. There's a lump in his throat and anger in his chest at what his A.I. is suggesting with those words.

Tony inhales at the memory, refocusing on the picture in front of him. There's a Post-It note haphazardly stuck to the bottom portion of the frame, and though the handwriting is partially-disguised, probably in an attempt to pass as if it's from Chippy, Peter's scrawl is easily identifiable. Merry Christmas to the Starks! it reads, followed by a little smiley face.

Tony blinks and is surprised to feel a warm, wet teardrop trickle down his cheek. He sniffs and brushes it away. Normally one who's able to compartmentalize his emotions, he can't ignore the way his heart currently feels like a sponge that's being squeezed.

He can't imagine how he ever thought he would be just like his dad, sometimes trying yet always failing as a father. In truth, he doesn't know how Howard ignored him, belittled him, and shoved him aside constantly. Tony cannot picture in a million lifetimes ever looking at his kids—kids, the baby isn't even here yet and he already knows there's nothing he wouldn't do for her—and not feeling like his heart is going to explode. There's just no denying it.

If that makes him soft and mushy, then so be it. Since when has he ever cared what others thought about him? There's only three people in the entire world—five, if he's counting Happy and Rhodey—whose opinion Tony is worried about.

His gaze lingers on the photographs for a moment longer before he collects them up along with the requested blanket and heads back down to his kid's hospital room.

***

Awareness comes to Peter slowly, like pouring molasses out of a jar. He helped Pepper make molasses cookies a few weeks ago, so he knows just how sluggish the thick syrup is. His senses begin providing feedback to the brain one at a time—he feels soft sheets beneath him and a dull ache in his side, followed by the overwhelming scent of antiseptic and all things medical. He doesn't even have time to think about opening his eyes before his ears pick up the sound of low voices close by.

“He looks like a little angel, doesn't he?” a very familiar feminine voice speaks, tired but fond.

There’s a snort, and the second person says, “It's a good thing he can't hear you, because he would riot. In fact, I think I'm offended on his behalf—”

Peter manages to wrinkle his nose, the action a mixture of pain and displeasure. “D’you just c—call me an angel?” he mumbles out between dry lips. He feels…floaty.

The voices come to a sudden halt. Peter wonders for a moment if he was imagining them, but the silence only lasts for two seconds. There's the sound of a chair scraping back, followed by the tapping of feet against linoleum floor.

“Peter?”

“Kid? You with us?”

“Stop makin’ fun of me,” he slurs, still stuck on the quite frankly insulting words he'd woken up hearing. This is how they talk about him behind his back? Like he's a—a puppy or something. He manages to pry his eyes open and blinks up to see two pairs of worried eyes staring back at him.

Pepper laughs, but the sound is more relieved than anything else. Her hair is a frazzled mess and there are mascara stains under her eyes. She looks nothing like the put-together hostess she was the last time Peter saw her—not that he's dumb enough to say that out loud. 

“We're not making fun of you, honey. You look adorable when you sleep,” she says.

Peter whines and glances to Tony for help, but the man just puts both hands up in the air. “I can neither confirm nor deny.”

“Mean,” Peter grumbles with a little grunt. How many times does he have to remind them that he's fifteen years old?

“How are you feeling?” Pepper asks gently, leaning to sit against the edge of the bed and brushing his hair out of his face.

Peter leans into the touch while he considers the question. His side hurts, but the concentrated pain there isn't overwhelming. Overall, though, he does sort of feel like he just got hit by a truck. A big one.

“I'm okay,” he finally settles on. Because apparently he's alive, and his family is right here next to him. That's all he could really ask for. “My side hurts a little.” 

He reaches the hand without an IV down toward the lower left of his abdomen, but Tony swoops in and redirects the limb before he can prod at the painful area.

“No touching,” the man scolds. “You just had surgery. Last thing you need is to pop a stitch.”

Peter winces. He has vague memories of blood everywhere, the liquid sticky and strong-smelling. He remembers staring up at the dark sky and thinking he was going to die. If he had a nickel for every time he almost died on Christmas Eve, he'd have two nickels. Which isn't a lot, but it's weird that it’s happened twice. “It was bad?”

Pepper presses her lips together, fingers still combing rhythmically through Peter's curls. “You lost almost two liters of blood.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh.” Tony lowers himself down onto the mattress behind Pepper, placing his hand on Peter's blanket-covered knee—the super soft one with the candy canes—and squeezing. He looks more subdued than Peter has ever seen before, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. “You got lucky, kid.”

“I'm sorry,” Peter offers, though he knows he'd make the same decision to help at that fire if he had to do it over again. Though he'd maybe be a bit more aware of the potential for explosions. Still, he does feel bad for making his family worry—and for ruining their plans for the evening.

His still-bleary gaze catches on the miniature Christmas tree sitting on the table across from his hospital bed. Chippy's there too, with their family photo and the baby's ultrasound picture Peter had put together earlier upstairs. “Did I miss Christmas?”

Pepper shakes her head. “No.”

“Oh. Good.”

“But you know,” Tony says, “if you didn't want to have Christmas Eve dinner with the Avengers, you could have just said so.”

“Nuh-uh,” Peter protests immediately. Of course he wanted to, he'd been looking forward to their party all month. “Mom wouldn't—wouldn’t have let me…skip anyway.”

“Well, you're not wrong about that,” Pepper says with a smile.

The mention of the ruined dinner sparks a memory in Peter's mind. “H—hey!” He blinks a few times in rapid succession, his gaze sliding down to Pepper’s rounded belly. He gasps. “You're—it’s a girl.”

Tony raises his eyebrows. “I’m surprised you remember that. You were half out of it.”

Peter ignores him in favor of continuing to stare at Pepper. “It's a girl,” he says again, his mind processing the implications of the revelation. Shoot, he needs to learn how to braid hair and make jewelry with little plastic beads and—

“Peter, honey, take a breath,” Pepper instructs, running her hand up and down his arm comfortingly. “Yes, you're getting a little sister.”

A grin splits across his face, and he stretches out his arms to hug Pepper tightly. He feels weak, and the movement causes a stab of pain in his side, but this time he's in no hurry to let go. The embrace is warm and safe, a sharp contrast to the way he'd felt lying alone in that alley earlier. He closes his eyes. 

He isn't sure how much time passes, but he's just beginning to think he could doze off again when Pepper shifts and pulls back a bit.

“Are you hungry?” she asks.

Peter considers the question. “A little,” he admits. The last thing he ate was one of Pepper's cookies, and considering it's now around one in the morning according to the clock on the hospital room wall, that was hours ago.

“I'll go see what I can find. And I'll get the doctor, too. I'm sure she'll want to check on you now that you're awake.”

With another hug and a gentle kiss on the temple, Pepper leaves the room.

Once she's gone, Peter shifts a bit to lean back further into the pillows propped up behind his head. Now that he's more aware, the wound in his side is making itself known. He bites his lip and lets his gaze slide over to Tony, who's still sitting on the edge of the bed and staring at the wall as if lost in thought—or maybe just exhausted. The man definitely has dark circles under his eyes that weren't there before. Peter feels bad.

“Santa didn't come?” he asks shyly, hoping to ease some of the tension that seems to be present in the room.

That gets Tony to snort, effectively drawing his attention back toward the patient in the bed. He squeezes Peter's leg again. “He got the wrong delivery address—didn't get the memo that there would be a last-minute change of location from penthouse to med bay.”

“Oh.” Peter winces.

“Don't worry, his elves are on it as we speak. Although,” he hums, his expression playful enough that Peter can tell he's teasing, “I’m thinking maybe some coal is in order instead. How's that sound?”

“If it makes you feel any better, I didn't plan on being late. Or getting impaled by a piece of an exploding building. But you know” —he shrugs— “happens.”

Tony laughs, but the sound is strangled—awkward and abrupt. The man reaches out and catches Peter's face between two warm, slightly-calloused hands, tone turning serious in a split second. “Buddy, please remember that I have an old man heart, and it can't take the kind of stunts like were pulled tonight—however unintentional they may have been.”

Peter's mouth twists downward into a sorrowful frown. He hates the look on Tony's face—and he's the one who put it there. He knows he really scared his parents. “I'm sorry,” he says earnestly, reaching up to curl the hand without an IV around his dad's forearm.

Tony lets out a long, quiet breath and leans forward to press his forehead against Peter's for a brief moment. “I'm just glad you're okay.”

Peter closes his eyes, welcoming the reassurance and allowing it to ground him. He is okay. He's safe. Tony's right here, hugging him close now and running his fingers gently through Peter's hair. Pepper will be back any minute, and she'll bring him the same kind of soup she gave him last year when he first showed up at the Tower, half-frozen and alone. He'll eat it after the doctor has checked him over, and he'll be out like a light once his stomach is full and the next dose of pain meds kick in. Tony and Pepper will curl up on the bed next to him and keep watch as the night wears on, content just holding their boy and watching him breathe.

And when the sun comes up a few hours later, all of the Avengers will show up with dozens of gifts and balloons and get well soon cards. Their Christmas Day will be spent in the med bay, but they'll all be together, and that's the only thing that truly matters.

***

Epilogue

Lieutenant Cameron Sullivan has nearly two decades of experience as a firefighter under his belt. He's seen a lot of things in all those years. Heroic rescues, devastating losses, bizarre circumstances—you name it, he's experienced it. Heck, he was involved with the Battle of New York rescue efforts and saw literal aliens. His kids tell him he could write a book with all the crazy calls he's responded to, and he's been tempted. Of course, some of the stories are wild enough that he isn't sure the average person would believe them.

Needless to say, nothing really surprises him anymore.

At least, not until Spider-Man casually walks into his fire station on New Year's Eve.

The members of the NYFD all have varying opinions about the masked man—the majority are impressed by him, by how he always seems to appear just in the nick of time and make great saves that would put even their finest men to shame. There are others who grumble and complain about him being some stupid, inexperienced thrill-seeker with a penchant for getting himself into sticky—no pun intended—situations and causing more trouble than he eliminates. To each their own.

The kid is reckless, sure, but he's got a knack for what he does and he saves lives, so Cameron isn't going to complain. Plus, his twelve-year-old son, Tristan, is obsessed with Spidey—asked for a bunch of merch with the web-slinger’s face all over it for Christmas. He keeps up with all the latest news on the vigilante and always asks Cameron if he's seen him around lately while on calls.

He's spotted the vigilante several times before, always moving at such high speeds there's no way he isn't enhanced. But he's never had a personal experience with Spider-Man…until last week.

When he'd arrived home after shift on Christmas morning, his whole family had been captivated by the tale of Spider-Man’s desperate leap from a blazing inferno—and Cameron’s quick reflexes that kept the vigilante from what surely would have been a fatal fall. Though Tristan had looked doubtful at the fact that his dad had been the one to save his hero, he'd enjoyed the retelling of the story just the same.

Cameron left out the part about Spider-Man's injury—how he'd noticed the alarming amount of blood seeping through the torn suit and desperately tried to get the kid some medical help, but to no avail. He'd been gone before Cameron could blink. With a wound like that…chances are high he'd bleed out in minutes if he didn't get professional assistance.

Cameron's worry had only grown when Spider-Man didn't pop up again for the next few days. It was clear from their short interaction that the kid is a lot younger than anyone would have probably guessed. He'd wondered that night if the masked vigilante was bleeding out on some rooftop while his mom waited for him to come home.

He shudders to think of it—and all week, he wished he'd done something different, stopped the kid somehow. Wondered if his family was looking for him, worried.

Now the kid is here. In the firehouse.

With Tony Stark.

What?

The billionaire is dressed casually, jeans and a thick plaid jacket, but there's no mistaking that face that's plastered all over news outlets and magazines.

Cameron blinks, wondering if this is some sort of crazy dream from drinking too much eggnog. He watches from across the apparatus floor as the two make their way toward him.

“That's him!” the masked vigilante exclaims to Stark in a loud whisper, pausing in his tracks while he points in Cameron's direction. His already-big white eyes are wide. He's got a plastic container tucked under his other arm and a Santa hat on his head.

Unsure of the proper greeting for one of the richest men on earth and a superhero—two superheroes, technically—Cameron clears his throat. “Can I help you folks?” he asks, going for casual. He really hopes none of the guys inside get a glimpse of their visitors—they’ll be worse than the paparazzi.

Spider-Man hesitates, almost like he's rethinking all of his life decisions up to this point. Stark leans in and says something to him before giving him a gentle nudge. The kid takes a couple of stumbling steps forward, looking for all the world like an awkward baby giraffe rather than a coordinated, enhanced vigilante.

As a dad to two young teenagers himself, Cameron recognizes a parent when he sees one. His eyes narrow imperceptibly in thought as his gaze lingers on Stark for a moment before he turns his attention back to the smaller figure now standing in front of him.

“Hi,” the kid finally says, his voice cracking. He clears his throat. “I—I’m Spider-Man.”

“Lieutenant Cameron Sullivan.” He holds out his hand and adds, “I can't tell you how relieved I am to see you in one piece.”

Spider-Man laughs, the sound short and awkward, and he shakes Cameron's hand. “Yes, sir. I just wanted to, uh, say thank you for saving my life. I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't been there.”

“Just glad I was able to help,” Cameron says with a nod, tucking his hands back into his jacket pockets.

The kid nods back, then cranes his neck slightly to look over his shoulder at the man standing behind him, as if waiting for approval. He and Stark must have some silent conversation between them, because Spider-Man lets out a weary sigh before twisting back around and telling Cameron, “And I'm sorry I ran off afterward and didn't let you help me. I promise I didn't realize it was so bad. And you know…with the whole secret identity thing, it's—gotta be careful.”

No kidding, considering he's now positive there's no way this kid is a day over eighteen—and that's being generous. Cameron huffs out an amused laugh. “I get it. You're really lucky,” he adds, tone growing more serious. “That could have ended very differently.”

He doesn't want to scare the kid, but he wants to punch home the fact that the life or death situations they put themselves in every day are not something to make light of. It's not a game. In this business, you have to recognize the risks and make choices accordingly. Sometimes the tiniest decisions can make all the difference.

“I know,” Spider-Man says soberly. “I am lucky. My da—I was able to get help in time. And I'll try to be more careful.” He says the last words dutifully, like he was lectured on this very topic already.

“I'm surprised you're out and about so soon. You didn't look great when you took off.”

“I heal fast,” the kid answers with a little shrug. He pats his lower left side, and even with the mask, his wince is visible. “Ow. Well, it's getting there.”

He lapses into silence for a total of about five seconds.

“Oh!” Spider-Man says, as if he just remembered something important. “We—I—I made you some cookies.” He thrusts the container forward enthusiastically, the baked goods inside rattling around with the abruptness of the movement. “Just, you know, to say thank you for helping me and—and for everything you guys do.”

“You didn't have to do that,” Cameron says, accepting the proffered cookies, “but thank you. We appreciate you, too. You saved that woman and her son last week.”

The vigilante’s head bobs up and down in an appreciative nod. “Happy to help! I guess—uh, I guess we should be going. Big plans tonight. Making up for Christmas Eve.”

That's right, he'd mentioned something about a dinner when he'd run off after the explosion. Cameron is willing to bet nobody in that household ate much that night. His stomach twists with anxiety even though the kid is standing right in front of him, no worse for the wear—mostly. He's seen enough distraught parents in his day to know just how Spidey’s family must have felt when they found out what happened to him.

“Well, I hope you have a great time,” Cameron says. “You deserve a night off.”

“Oh, I got more than a night off,” the kid says, tone dangerously close to pouty. He's definitely rolling his eyes underneath that mask.

The response reminds him of Tristan, and not for the first time in the past few minutes, Cameron wonders just how young this vigilante is.

Spider-Man straightens and glances over his shoulder again. This time, Stark steps forward, offering his hand out to Cameron.

“Mr. Stark,” Cameron says with a smile, accepting the firm handshake with his free hand, “pleasure to meet you, sir.”

“Likewise. And I appreciate what you did for Spidey. Truly, you don't know how much it means to me.”

I think I do, the firefighter thinks but doesn't say. Instead, he simply nods. “It was my pleasure. It's what we do.”

Stark nods back, something unspoken passing between them. He reaches out and claps Spider-Man on the shoulder. “Ready?”

The kid nods. “Yep. Bye, Lieutenant Sullivan, sir—thanks again!”

Cameron chuckles. “You can call me Cam. Anytime, Spidey. Happy New Year.”

“Happy New Year!” Spider-Man crows back, energy seemingly renewed. He waves as they leave, Stark's hand resting on his back as he guides them toward the door.

Cameron hears Spidey chattering in a loud whisper as they go, though the conversation surely isn't meant for his ears. “How was that? It was good, right? I was polite and everything.”

“You were,” Stark concedes.

“Yes! So can I be ungrounded early? Please?”

Stark's reply isn't clear enough to make out, but apparently it's not what the vigilante wants to hear, because his shoulder sag.

“It’s been a week—I’m fine,” he insists, adding a grumbled, “Mean.”

“And yet, I am unmoved,” Stark deadpans.

And then they're gone around the corner, leaving Cameron to wonder what in the world just happened. He's definitely going to need some time to process this one. He glances down at the cookie tin in his hands, the only physical evidence he holds that Tony Stark and Spider-Man were actually in his firehouse. That's when he notices the little handwritten sticky note taped to the lid.

Thanks for the assist! Happy New Year!

-Your Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man

Cameron chuckles and shakes his head as he tucks the cookies under his arm and heads back inside. His kids are never going to believe this.

End

Credit to @reeneeart