Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

555-7735 ˜Michelle J.

Any word on Peter yet?

555-4510

Nope  

    555-4510

    Tbh Tony looks like he’s about to eat his own suit

555-7735 ˜Michelle J.

Figures. Billionaire dads and their theatrics

    555-4510

    I don’t like it either, the more time passes the worst

    555-4510

    You don't seem very worried. Heart of steel or just playing it cool?

555-7735 ˜Michelle J.

Cool as ice. Told you drama's not my scene. What about you?

    555-4510

    Drama's my middle name actually, but I'd prefer a different one

555-7735 ˜Michelle J.

Funny

555-7735 ˜Michelle J.

You and Peter close?

    555-4510

    Getting there. Dude's got layers.

555-7735 ˜Michelle J.

Layers? Like an onion?

    555-4510

    Yeah…

    555-4510

    Well

      555-4510

    It’s complicated 

    555-4510

    More like a really confusing burrito. But I can handle it

555-7735 ˜Michelle J.

Good luck with that, Drama King. Keep me posted

    555-4510

    Don’t worry, I wont leave you hanging

555-7735 ˜Michelle J.

I’m curious, not concerned

    555-4510

    Curiosity killed the cat

555-7735 ˜Michelle J.

It actually survived bc it had a black belt in minding its own business. You should try it some time keener

…

The air is electric with anticipation as the red and blue teams gather in the woods for the highly anticipated game of capture the flag - or, as Peter always preferred to call it: ‘a bunch of kids running after a pole and a piece of fabric as an excuse to try and maim each other’.

Okay, sure, who’s he to judge? He may also be the littlest bit excited.

There must be something in the air, something that affects those of half godly ascendence, because even he can't help but drum his fingers over his dual blades’ handles- an ancient, primal urge to bring victory home boiling in his blood.

So, Peter stands among his fellow campers from the Athena cabin, along with their fellow team cabins, which include not only but also Hermes, Apollo and Demeter. He's clad in a pair of shorts and upper body armor over his usual bright orange camp t-shirt: so everyone can see him easily among the vegetation, especially his adversaries (one day he’ll get to ask Chiron what exactly he’d been thinking back then, upon camp’s creation. Why bright orange? Maybe monsters and creatures are colourblind, so it wouldn’t matter either way, that would make for a solid hypothesis… Wait, would that mean Chiron’s colourblind?-

What if he actually only saw in greyscale? That would be so cool-)

Focus, Peter.

Either way, there he is. His armor’s painted with a bright blue streak across the torso, signaling which team he's on. There’s a mix of excitement and nerves coursing through him. And there would’ve been even more, hadn’t his cabin unsurprisingly sidelined him. Well, perhaps the word would be backlined instead… Much like his usual superhero escapades in a team,- aka the Avengers,- he isn’t on the offensive this time either, like some of the other blue players are: he’s positioned well farther back, right at a corner of the game’s playable area of forest. And he's not even really that near the blue flag either... Y’know- the one thing he's supposedly tasked with defending.

So, yeah… backlined…

Despite that big pile of unspoken bullshit, which Peter pointedly decides to ignore since, well, it's not like he wanted to take part in the game either way, and it's not like he can fault his siblings for taking into consideration his reputation as the best unlucky charm alive, Peter takes his position once the horn blows, attentively scanning the area for any signs of the opposing team.

For a while it’s quiet, with only the distant sounds of battle echoing far far off across the field as the two teams clash on probably middle ground. His partner’s a grumpy looking daughter of Apollo, about a year or two older than him. He can't tell if she’s mad at the fact that she, too, was denied the thrill of the chase, or if her foul mood is owed entirely to being in his company. He’d like to say the latter to be the least likely, but given the seven beads on her necklace he would likely be lying.

That's actually when his spider-sense goes off out of the blue. His keen ears catch the sound of leaves crunching and of feet thuding quickly against the compact dirt ground. Instantly, he raises his weapon and shield. Sunshine, a few feet away from him, obviously remains as blessedly unaware as a rock, given her lack of enhanced hearing.

The red team must have been making their move, sneaking in from behind.

But then… how would they have had the time to go all the way around by now?

Peter spins on his heels, tensing up as he watches the red-clad campers approach, their determined expressions sending a shiver down his spine before he forces himself to remember he’s faced much worse countless times before. He knows he’ll have to hold his ground, especially if his fellow blue decides to conveniently be the one to duck and run to warn the rest of their team of the attack, but the odds are honestly a little stacked against him. The red players are three helpfully buff teens, no doubt Ares kids again because he’s that lucky, notorious for their strength and aggression, and Peter is just one demigod against many- a regular demigod with absolutely no other set of handy powers other than his wisdom-filled brain. If only he had some special powers, say agility and super-strength granted by a radioactive spider bite... Those would be nice to use.

"Awww, look at that. Looks like we've got a little fly caught in our web," one of them jokes, the joke unknowingly hitting just a little too close to home to Peter's great annoyance.

As the Ares campers close in, Peter braces himself for the onslaught. They surround him, though, taunting and jeering instead of moving towards the flag. His sense flares again and Peter turns to his unwilling teammate, watching as Gru the Despicable unsheathes her sword- and points it right at him.

“I don't think that's how this game is supposed to be played,” he dryly observes.

She spits at his feet.

The Ares kids move to grab him.

“Oh, we’re not really playing that any more, are we?”

Their hands are like iron vices as they drag him across the forest, out into the vicinity of the cabins, towards the nearest bathroom. Peter struggles against them, seriously debating just how important keeping his identity safe from a brunch of pre-Paleolithic kids who don’t even have cellphones might be, but once more he can’t bring himself to put his secret at risk. That mask is just too important. So, Peter finds himself being shoved into a stall and onto his knees, their cruel laughter ringing in his ears.

"It's initiation time, newbie," the apparent leader of the four is evidently grinning, fingers lacing between locks of hair at the back of Peter's head as she begins to push it down towards the toilet.

Peter grimaces, resisting her efforts, “hey, come on! I'm not even new here and you know it," he protests weakly, eyeing the toilet water with disgust.

Gru the Despicable scoffs. "Doesn't matter. Quitters and cowards deserve it too," she sneers, hand joining the Ares girl’s and forcing his head further down, attempting to dunk it into the toilet bowl once and for all, “and you’ve had it a long time coming, Parker! Some of us have been waiting for this for years!”

To their surprise, Peter's neck remains steadfast, resisting their efforts. "Years? You’be been waiting all this time? Wow, I don't know if I should be flattered or slightly concerned about your slight stalker tendencies…” He drawls, pushing their hands and weight back with his neck muscles alone, thus gaining a much more comfortable distance from the fateful toilet bowl, thank you very much.

All around him, sounds of confusion and surprise echo inside the bathroom, the two girls pushing his head down clearly taken back by the ease with which the son of Athena has just countered their strength.

“What the Hades?!”

“What the... how are you so strong?" One of the boys watching remarks, bewildered.

Peter chuckles nervously. “Been listening to too much heavy metal?” He tries.

But the campers are undeterred, and they push harder, their frustration and confusion mounting as Peter remains defiant. Still, he can't stop the realization from dawning on him: he can stall for as long as he wants and he can even get away from their revenge-induced cruelty this time, but the truth is they won’t ever let him go until they’ve had their way, now or after. It’s a common factor both here and in the mortal world: bullies are annoyingly determined when they want to.

Peter sighs in resignation.

With a tired shrug, he leans forward and dunks his own head into the toilet before they can start trying to do it for him again.

After a moment, he straights up, water dripping from his hair, face and onto his bright orange shirt, and meets their surprised stares with a weary gaze.

"Happy now?"

Without waiting for an answer, he pushes past them and leaves the stall. The four half-bloods who are staring at him like he's grown a second head blink and step aside so he can freely make his way out of the bathroom and out into the refreshing sunny air, his shoulders slumped with exhaustion. Another day at camp, another day of his past coming to whoop his ass.
Clothes damp and pride wounded he hurries his steps, going in a random direction, just wanting to get as much distance from the bathroom and its occupants as possible. He feels a bit like a mouse scurrying away from a giant imposing predator with its talons out to get him. The thought assaults his mind with a vivacity that's hard to comprehend and Peter is left reeling, the vision forcing him to come to a stop somewhere by the intercross from the cabins to the arena and the dining pavilion.
The forest stares him down from the near horizon. The sound of screaming and battling echoes across the entire camp, letting him know the war game is likely still far from finished.

A feather flutters to the ground, landing right before his feet.

Peter freezes entirely, dirty water still dripping from his hair, down his face, from his chin, onto the floor- inches from the thing. It’s pretty: long and white with specks of silver and gold.
He slowly looks up. Above, perched on the direction sign stacked before him, is an owl- not just any owl, though, the owl. The one that’d been watching him at the Tower years ago, the one that had brought its friends to watch him train or, as of late, to keep him company while he'd been bedridden after the Python incident with Kate.

The animal’s fluorescent large golden eyes blink slowly, still staring intently at him. It looks like the owl knows something Peter doesn’t. It looks like it is precisely expecting him to figure that out, expecting him to do something about it too.

“Hi…” He mumbles, staring up at the bird, “need something?” The owl cocks its head to one side, questioning him right back.

“No no, sorry. I asked first,” he tells it.

The owl cocks its head to the other side. ‘I asked second.’

Peter rolls his eyes, not even taking a second to notice that, perhaps, standing in the middle of an intersection while arguing with a bird of prey wouldn't look very normal to anyone watching, even to half-blood standards. Thankfully, most of camp’s residents are out in the forest, trying to maim friends and frienemies alike just to get a flag.

Oh, shit! Capture the flag!

Peter curses, staring off into the treeline again, where the trees grow less sparse, more dense. He doesn't think being taken against his will outside the game borders in order to have his face pushed into a toilet counts as a valid disqualification, so technically, he can still return. But then again, what good would he do? At this point both teams will have reached each other’s flag and will be locked in battle, trying to be the first ones to get it. Clearly nobody wants him around, not even his own cabin, who had surely been winning games for years without him there.

The owl hoots, eyes blinking again before it turns its head around, facing 180° away from Peter. ‘Chicken.’

Peter scowls.

“Hey, listen here Ms. Owl! Out of the two of us, the one that's more likely to end up inside a pot over the stove is definitely NOT me,” he tells it, index pointing accusingly up at the bird, who doesn't react at all. Peter squeezes his fists.

“You know what?! Fine! I’ll go! But just so I don't have to keep looking at you!”

Straightening up and brushing himself off, he makes his way back to the battlefield.

The owl watches.

…

They’re losing.

Holy shits. The blue team is actually losing.

Peter runs towards the blue flag, trying his best to be stealthy, which, to be fair, isn’t exactly easy among the chaos that’s reigning supreme- and the freaking bright orange shirt. The part of the blue team on the defensive is in disarray, their defenses crumbling under the relentless assault of the red team. They’re outnumbered- by a lot.

But Peter has one of those plans Kate and Tony hate so much- one of those probably only a donkey on LSD would have.

Probably…

What would even happen to a donkey if it took-

He sneaks up behind battling groups, ducking and parring when a player notices him. The camper ends up knocked to the side, slumped against a tree. Peter almost feels bad, but he's mostly busy feeling competitive. The effects of capture the flag on godly blood… they have returned. He races towards the flag, taking the opening his teammates are struggling to unknowingly give him. Grabbing it is easy, and so is latching on to and climbing the closest tree he can find, though he has to actually pretend like he's climbing instead of just being his sticky self because no one should be able to climb that tree that easily. The blue flag clutched tightly in his hand, Peter reaches a ridiculous height with practiced ease, his nimble fingers finding purchase on the rough bark as he feels for a place to stick the flag pole into, its bright blue fabric waving defiantly in the breeze. There. Safe from the red team’s claws, at least for a while. Enough time to get them their victory.
Below, the other campers don't even seem to notice him right away and Peter takes that without complaining, quickly getting down and scurrying away before anyone can pay too much attention to him. His heart is pounding with exhilaration and he lets out a delighted adrenaline-fuelled sound as he races across the forest, over rocks and roots, towards the red flag, where no doubt most of his team is fighting to get a grasp on it.

He'd forgotten just how much fun camp could be.

The red team’s putting up a fierce resistance, their ranks bolstered by the formidable Ares cabin and the often underrated Aphrodite one. A deadly combo, he’s always found. Besides, everyone should know better than to stand between the children of the goddess of love and two weeks of no kitchen chores. Nope. Victory, isn’t about to come easy.
As he approaches the front lines, he can see the absolute mayhem that's unfolding before him with ease. Campers clash with each other, weapons flashing in the sunlight as they fight tooth and nail for control of the flag. Peter pauses for a moment, assessing the situation. He spots a group of red campers, standing in a crescent moon, guarding the flag, their defenses solid and their determination clear. No blue player has so much as breached their outer defenses. Those demigods haven’t parried a blow yet, which means their stamina is still up high with the treetops.

Funny. That’s exactly where Peter’s gonna be, too.

Again.

With a mischievous grin, he darts through the chaos, slipping past the red campers unnoticed. But just as he thinks he’s in the clear to proceed, disaster strikes. A group of red campers spot him and give chase, their shouts echoing in his ears as they pursue him across the field. Thinking quickly, Peter veers off course, ducking behind trees and dodging obstacles as he tries to shake off his pursuers. Still, they’re relentless, their determination matched only by Peter's own. As he reaches the edge of the battlefield, annoyingly away from the red flag, Peter knows he has to make a move. With a burst of speed, he gains a fair distance and ducks from their eyesight, leaping back up into the nearest tree, his Spider-Man powers giving him the advantage as he climbs higher and higher into the treetops for hiding. From his vantage point, Peter has to hold in a giggle as watches the confusion unfold down below. The red campers search frantically for him, their shouts growing more desperate by the second as they engage in a heated argument of who let him escape and who didn’t.

With no one watching, save perhaps a driad or two, he is free to jump from tree to tree. It's a feeling he's missed the time he's been at camp half-blood: flying and falling through the air as he swings from building to building, from skyscraper to skyscraper. He can't swing here, can't even make use of his web-shooters, so this is the next great thing and he's grateful for the little bit he gets until he approaches the red flag once again and settles at the top of the nearest tree, unseen and biding his time.
And then, just as the red leader announces the defeat of all the blue players on the offensive and the red players are overtaken by confidence and early celebrations, Peter sees his opportunity. With a smirk, he quietly descends the tree, alert to the players still standing in a half-moon, their backs to him. He jumps, landing right behind them and clears his throat.

Grabbing the flag pole, Peter pulls it back and aims down low, just as everyone turns to see who made the sound. The defenders of the red flag can only yelp when he swings the pole down by their shins with force, effectively throwing all to the ground and down the slight slope they’re standing on.
The battlefield falls silent as the other campers look at him, their expressions a mix of shock and disbelief. But Peter simply grins, a bit sheepishly, perhaps, but he's not that used to so much attention, nor a fan, in truth. Nonetheless, he can't stop his eyes from sparkling with triumph.

He takes off running, the blue players snapping out of their stupor before the red ones, and they follow him as he sprints back towards the safety of the blue team's territory. By the time the red team has made some sense of what had just happened, the red flag has entered enemy territory.

Team blue erupts into cheers and Peter is surrounded by a whole crowd of ecstatic teammates, their screams and celebrations too loud for his sensitive ears.

But Peter doesn't care.

He's just declared victory for the blue team.

So much for a living bad luck charm, huh?

…

The dining pavilion buzzes with excitement as the blue team celebrates their victory over dinner.

“Can you believe we actually won?" Jake exclames, his voice carrying above the clatter of plates and utensils. The son of Hermes raises his goblet, “I knew we had it in us!"

“Shut up, you didn’t do shit! Did you even see Peter out there or were you too busy pickpocketing again? He was like a demigod on a mission!" Sarah replies, a wide grin spreading across the daughter of Apollo’s face.

Peter ducks his head, feeling his cheeks grow warm.

At the same time, on the opposite side of the pavilion, the red team sulks in the corner, shooting death glares at the victorious blue team, particularly at the son of Athena who had taken  their victory. He tries to focus on his teammates, cheerfully recounting the highs of Capture the flag. Still, his enhanced ears have always ensured Peter hears everything, including what he doesn’t want to.

"This is ridiculous," mutters a son of Aphrodite off in one of the tables at the corner. Through the corner of his eye, Peter can see the way his fists clench in frustration, “we should have won that game."

Their frustration is palpable, their defeat weighing heavily on their shoulders as they nurse their heavily wounded pride. "I can't believe we lost to them- to him," grumbles the girl in front of him, her gaze fixed on the blue team's tables. "It's humiliating."

Chiron's booming voice cuts through the place as if on purpose, announcing the consequences of the game and further spoling their mood: the losers would be responsible for kitchen chores for the winners team for the next two weeks. Murmurs of discontent ripple through the red team, but there is nothing they can do to change their fate. As the blue team members exchange smug glances and whisper snide remarks about the red team's performance, the atmosphere becomes tenser.

"Looks like those losers will finally learn their place," Rachel, a daughter of Demeter who happens to be sitting right in front of Peter says, casting a disdainful glance at the dejected red team. “They’ve always enjoyed stepping on my daffodils. Karma’s a bitch!”

Max approaches him, looking down at Peter with his bright grey eyes, “you really showed them out there, Peter!” Athena’s cabin counselor says, a hint of admiration in his voice as he pats Peter on the shoulder. “Good job. If I’d known, I’d have suggested for you to be positioned on one of our attack teams!”

“Thanks,” Peter manages to answer, opting to drink from his cup instead of letting his tongue run wild. He’s not Spider-Man, he keeps having to remind himself. He’s Peter Parker. And the sad truth is: Peter Parker isn’t meant for freedom, he’s meant for surviving. That means he can’t say everything he wants whenever he wants, not if his intention is laying as low as possible, which had been precisely the opposite he’d done by getting carried away and winning capture the flag.

"I have to admit, you were pretty impressive. Didn’t know you had it in you,” little Sofia is standing beside Max, nearly covered entirely by his height. Her usually stern expression has softened slightly.

“Wow, thanks you too,” he deadpans, poking his tongue out in her direction. The girl rolls her eyes, pulling Max away towards some other kids.

Peters is left by his own, again, despite being surrounded by hoards of siblings and kids his own age. Focusing on the conversations and congratulations before him is hard. There’s so many voices all at once. He would’ve expected ADHD-fueled kids to have a social battery much smaller, but then again he’s the one with the even more sensitive senses. Always an outsider among outsiders.

"I don't trust him. He's got that 'troublemaker' vibe all over him."

“Yeah, they say he’s the one who disappeared for years without a word? Talk about unreliable."

“Gotta admit, he's got some serious skills on the battlefield."

“Why does Chiron even let him stay here? He's nothing but trouble-“

“He knows how to think on his feet. I don’t get how this is the same kid from that summer.”

“Say what you will, he really stepped up today.”

“I’m telling you! There was cheating! I know it!”

“You weren’t here like I was. Parker’s always been a loner. The way he got the flag? Yeah, he clearly still can't handle being part of a team. Just didn’t take him for a show-off.”

Damn, he misses Kate.

“Hey, congrats.”

Peter looks up.

“Cheers?” She motions forward with her cup.

“Callie, your cabin’s plotting my murder with graphic details this very second and you want to toast to your defeat?”

Callie shrugs, forcing space on the picnic bench so she can sit next to him, legs facing the opposite way of the table. Peter’s neighbor, one of his brothers, complains, but she doesn’t even blink his way.

“So?”

Peter sighs, finding he can’t stop the corner of his lips from curling up. He knocks his cup with hers, “is this your way to convince me to talk about you know what?”

She raises her hands in the air, the liquid sloshing inside her cup, “can’t a girl just congratulate her friend? Come on, leave the plotting to you owl heads.”

Friend.

“Deceive me more, please, it’s a delight,” he snickers.

The girl’s face falls dramatically.

“Okay, okay. So maybe I could’ve been about to ask you if there were any, er… developments… regarding you know what- but I swear, not anymore! Tonight’s all about the king of capture the flag!”

“I think I’ve heard enough about myself for tonight, thanks…”

Callie’s mouth becomes an ‘o’ and she backtracks, “right… Well, congratulations on your ears, they work. Though I guess my siblings aren’t exactly discreet when it comes to talking about revenge, so you’d have to be pretty def not to hear them… or, the entire camp, in truth.”

He eyes her quizzically.

Callie claps once, having set her cup on the table in the middle of her monologue, “right! Changing the subject! Oh, I know! Wanna spar tomorrow? Please say yes, I’m so tired of having to go easy on everyone…” The girl goes on then, rambling on and on about whichever topic comes to her mind first. Peter smiles, finding himself finally being able to block out the other voices. He wonders if that’s what he sounds like to Tony and Ned when he starts talking and doesn’t bother with shutting up.

Maybe Callie wouldn’t mind it if he let his mind and mouth wander either.

Peter smiles.

“Thanks, Callie.”

Maybe there really is a second chance for him at camp.

…

3.141 Farm Road, Montauk.

The sun is nearly setting over the sprawling landscape of Long Island Sound.

Tony and Pepper find themselves in the woods, surrounded by towering trees and the gentle rustle of leaves in the summer breeze. Tony's brow furrows in concentration as he studies the data streaming across the hologram emitted from his StarkWatch, the blue glow of the it is emitting casting eerie shadows on his face, pronouncing the deep bags under the man’s eyes and the white speckles of gray taking over his goatee. Pepper watches warily, brow furrowed with a hint of worry for her husband and a pained sense of hope that, almost as deliriously as Tony, refuses to go away.

"Okay, so here's the situation," he begins, his voice tinged with a hint of frustration he tries fruitlessly to hide behind a veil of positivity. Pepper knows him better than that, though. "The new location Peter's suit just pinged is right here, in the middle of nowhere. Which is fine. Totally not bananas at all. So, he must have been through here somehow- we just have to find him- clues, that too. Those are acceptable too.”

Pepper glances up from her own device, concern etched in her features. "But why would Peter be out here?" she asks, feeling like her genius husband should be asking that of all questions. It doesn’t feel right. What if it's a trap, or-

Tony lets out a sigh, running a hand through his tousled hair. "Your guess is as good as mine," he replies, his tone tinged with exasperation. "But knowing Peter, it doesn't have to make sense."

Pepper rolls her eyes, a fond smile playing at the corners of her lips. God, how can she blame Tony for going balistic at the mere chance of a new senseless clue? She misses Peter badly. Peter and his weird little genuine way of being. Tony’s right. The boy is sticky. In just a year, he'd worn his way into Pepper’s heart, latched onto it and never let go. Even now, with him gone… Pepper's sure he won't either. She doesn’t even want him to.

"He does have a knack for getting himself into peculiar situations," she admits, her voice soft with affection.

Tony chuckles weakly, a sad glint in his eyes. "That's the understatement of the century."

Together, they continue to trek through the forest, the trees casting long shadows in the fading light. The air is thick with anticipation as they follow the signal from the Spider-Man suit, each step bringing them closer to the red dot blinking on both of their holo maps.

"Tony-” Pepper begins after what must have been 5 minutes of walking in circles.

"It's the last lead we have. We can't afford to miss anything!” Tony interrupts her, kneeling on the ground to scan the surrounding boulders and pebbles and trees and bushes. They're advancing through a strange man-made track in between the vegetation, yet Tony seems determined to make sure nothing to either side of the path remains unchecked since ‘with FRIDAY running diagnostics, the GPS might have a bigger margin of error’ and finding the exact spot marked by the blinking red dot isn't as linear as it seems.

“No. That's not it,” she sighs, trying to keep her voice levelled and calm. “Look here, at this.”

Sure enough, when Tony turns he sees it too. There's an inconspicuous sign straight ahead, half-hidden behind a bush and a tree. It's about a hundred or more feet from a slightly steep hill. It reads: Delphi Strawberry Service.

Pepper squints at it. "This doesn't make sense. Why would there be a strawberry farm in the middle of nowhere?"

Tony is already checking the sign. Pepper can see the gears turn inside his head as well.

“Where exactly is it coming from…?” She hopefully asks, glancing from the lonely sign to the red dot on the map. There's a shift in Tony's demeanor. His eyes widen, his breath hitches. The faintest whisper escapes his lips and his brows and lower lids crinkle the way they always do when his heart gets too big for his chest. "Tony, what's wrong?" Pepper grasps his arm, her concern escalating. She's not sure whether that expression is a good or a bad sign in this situation.

The genius billionaire takes a step back, the holographic screen flickering, “this... this is where he is. It's gotta be!”

"But why would Peter be in the middle of nowhere, on a strawberry farm?" Pepper questions, her brows furrowing.

"I don't give a shit about the why’s, not anymore. He's here. Pepper, he's here,” and her husband propels himself forward, past the sign and starting up the hill. Pepper calls out his name, wanting him to slow down, but is ultimately forced to hurry her way up to his side in order to catch up. They start their way up the hill until the whole farm comes into view, strawberry fields as far as the eye can see, surrounded by the rest of the forest. Up close, there's a particularly large pine tree, still some feet away from them, before the hill starts its descent down towards the farm in the distance. Some warehouses take up space in a corner of the farm and a lonely big blue house stands a bit away from the fields, lights already on inside. It snaps something within Pepper too, just like it seems to have done with Tony.

They’ve never been closer, have they?

Where are they going?

Tony and Pepper turn back around.

They go down the hill again, back towards the dirt path they’d been walking through. There's a sign, reading Strawberry something, but they both dismiss it. There's no time to indulge in fleeting curiosities. Tony leads the way, his mind more and more consumed by a haunting dread each minute that passes and they fail to find any evidence of Peter's suit or Peter himself or anywhere in the middle of all those trees… The signal keeps leasing them nowhere except for that area of the woods they’re in, but they’ve already combed through it all several times and came up empty handed. The clue is but another dead end it seems,- perhaps a malfunction of Tony’s code. Pepper doesn’t dare even suggest it. Tony doesn't make mistakes. Not like this.
Suddenly, Pepper's husband falters in his step. He’s been eerily silent the past minutes. Pepper stops by his side. Tony's hand comes up to his chest and she realizes a bit later than she should have what's happening. His heart, already burdened by the teen’s disappearance, is rebelling. His breathing has become erratic.

Pepper catches him as he stumbles backwards, his face entirely drained of color.

Panic attack.

"Tony, your heart,” she says, helping him to sit down on the ground. It's easy to forget his heart’s not as healthy as it should be after everything they've survived, but every once in a while there is a reminder, as certain as the future, bound to happen. Especially when Tony is more tired or stressed. With Peter gone as he is, Pepper's actually surprised this hasn’t happened sooner.

She settles a hand over his chest, allowing her to feel his heartbeat and to help ground him better. Tony's pulse is pounding harder than Thor’s hammer, the rhythm out of sync. She can see little beads of sweat grow on his pale face. He squeezes his eyes shut painfully, the woods around him no doubt blurred, and heaves in big gulps of the air that's growing too thin for his lungs, all while trying to form and utter words. He clutches harder at his chest, feeling for her hand.

"No... no, not again," Tony mutters to himself, attempting to regain control. Pepper's eyes sting, her other hand reaching out to steady him over his back. She kneels beside him, knees on the dirt, letting him rest sideways against her body. The sensation of losing control, it all rushing back, it's an overwhelming tide. She knows exactly what PTSD and panic and anxiety disorders harbor.

She may not have been there, but she also knows exactly just what he's reliving. She's lost Tony too many times not to recognize the pain.

"Tony, you need to breathe. This is different from Titan. We'll find him, he’s not gone," Pepper urges. Her voice echoes in his ears, distant and distorted. "Tony, please, breathe. Breathe with me.”

He forces himself to inhale, breath staggering as though the air burns in his lungs. Pepper guides his chest with her hand.

"Pepper, I think... I think I'm losing him again.”

Pepper stares down at her husband, watching as he shakily moves to lean his elbows on his knees, heels of his hands coming to dig into his eyes. He's trembling like a house during a tornado.

It's incredible, thinking back to the cocky, broken, train wreck of a billionaire CEO she'd met all those years ago and comparing him to the man she's married to today, the father of her daughter. Tony had grown from a cold, unreachable, self-sabotaging person to someone who felt warm to the touch, who's loveable and soft and openly caring about those he loves. No- he’d always been like that, he just never let anyone in, never let himself care for anyone other than Rhodey and Happy and, at some point, her. He’d been too afraid of getting hurt to risk it.
Then, Peter came along. And then Morgan, thanks to him.

Looking at the Tony who had become brave enough to risk it, Pepper is sure that the universe really doesn't pick favorites. It picks playthings.

"No, Tony, you're not. We will find him. He’ll come back, again. You know that. Wherever he is, he's no doubt trying to get back to you. He's strong. And stubborn. Too stubborn," Pepper reassures, her grip now on his arm, unwavering, “he’s far too much like you in that department…”

“I can't lose him again," Tony whispers, "I love him.”

She smiles at the admittance.

“Love, look at me. We'll find him. Together." She pulls his face from his hands, forcing him to meet her eyes. His are red and clouded, “we need to keep searching, so we will. And if we have to fight for him, we will too. In this family, we don't lose fights.” Her tone is resolute, and it finally seems to get through to Tony, "now, let's get back out there and find our boy. Okay?"

As Pepper's words envelop him, Tony nods, clearing his throat and shakily trying to get back up, to anchor himself to the present. The panic attack loosens its grip and, although Pepper wants him to take it slow, she knows it's the break she needs to get him back on the move- else the onslaught of dread and panic comes back again, before it’s even fully gone.

After all, the only way out is through. And she's getting him through, no matter what.

…

    555-7735

    Gm. Still nothing?

555-4510 ˜Harley Keener

Nope

555-4510 ˜Harley Keener

This is getting ridiculous. Starting to think Peter's on an extended vacation in FUCKING NOWHERE

    555-7735

    Maybe he is

    555-7735

    He does deserve a break

555-4510 ˜Harley Keener

Yeah, well, Tony doesn't do breaks very well,,,

    555-7735

    Tell him to take a chill pill

555-4510 ˜Harley Keener

You clearly don't know Tony Stark

…

MJ can’t shake off the worry that has settled deep in her stomach ever since Peter’s disappeared. It gnaws at her, making it nearly impossible to focus on anything else.

She can’t help herself: Peter is a puzzle she can’t solve, and it drives her mad not knowing where he is, the reason of his disappearance…

If he’s safe…

As night falls, she lays in her room, unable to sleep. The city lights outside her window cast a dim glow on the walls, and the silence presses in on her. She turns over her covers, eyes stinging as she stares at her and Harley’s exchange from that morning. She’s almost longing for school, for something to fill her brain other than that stupid weirdo- only, it’d be a lie to say that watching his empty seat every day would go easier on her stupid heart, much like it does to endure whole volunteering shifts alone with Ned and his overbearing worry for his best friend.

The hypocrisy…

She licks her lips, huffing. It’s easy to write a new text to Harley:

‘I can't stop thinking about Peter. I hope he's okay.’

It’s even easier to press down on delete and watch it fade from existence.

The seconds tick by as MJ stares at her phone, waiting for a response that won’t come to a confession she hasn’t even shared.

Sometimes the world feels even bigger than it seems to be. And she is small. And Peter is smaller- innocent, fragile, smart but unprepared. With the same soft round eyes of a deer caught by headlights, of Bambi hearing the gunshots.
With a heavy heart, MJ turns off her phone and lays back on her bed, staring up at the ceiling. It’s impossible not to think of Peter, not to wonder where Peter is, what Peter’s going through- again… Hasn’t the boy suffered enough? Does he so much as begin to imagine just how worried she is about him? How much she’s worried for him ever since they came back from the dust, but his soft round eyes looked shinier than they did before? Hasn’t she worried enough? She’d like her thoughts to come back, to be hers again, not his.

What would he even think, if she let him know about all that?
Would she ever?

In the solitude of her room, the weight of her feelings sympathy for him presses down on her. MJ sighs, before picking up the book she’d been reading before her thoughts grew wild.

"Love is a sharp-clawed monster with blade-like teeth and a hunger the size of the Earth."

That’s why she doesn’t do it.

…

The sign that I couldn't read, Or a light that I couldn't see, Some things you have to believe, But others are puzzles, puzzling me...

"Hey, Peter," one of Peter’s siblings approaches his bunk, stopping to look up at where he sits on his bed, one leg tucked underneath his body and the other hanging down, swinging as he focuses on his notebook- exploring improvements for his web formula. He pauses the song playing on his camp provided MP3 and removes his earbuds. Her voice is tinged with some uncertainty. "Someone's asking for you at the beach… They said to meet them there at sunset."

Peter's brow furrows in confusion, prompting him to lean forward and look down, “the beach? Who's asking for me?" he asks, trying to make sense of the sudden invitation.

His sibling shrugs. "I don't know. They didn't say. Just thought you should know."

“You don’t know who called me?”

“Paul asked me to deliver the message. Said he couldn’t reveal who. Hermes honor code for mail or something like that,” the camper rolls their eyes, finger quoting the last part.

Despite the mystery surrounding the request, Peter can't ignore the curiosity stirring inside him. He hopes it's not another ‘initiation’ aka a trap. He’d like to avoid being waterboarded again- even if the sea does sound much more appealing than the common toilette, he’s not plunging his face in again. "Okay… Thanks for letting me know," he replies, offering a small smile before turning back towards his notebook- and closing it with a sigh. He’d been planning on trying to get some shut eye before dinner to make up for the blank nights plagued with guilt and insomnia (the usual, then)- but the curiosity immediately gets the best of him.

He can almost hear MJ’s voice in his head, calling him what he is: an idiot.

As he makes his way to the shore the sound of crashing waves grows louder, mingling with the cries of seagulls gliding overhead. The sun hangs low in the sky as Peter arrives at the actual beach. He scans the area, searching for any sign of the person but sees no one.
The sand feels warm beneath his feet when he takes off his shoes, trying not to get on Max’s bad side when he inevitably brings back tons of sand inside their cabin if he doesn’t. A gentle breeze ruffles his hair as he scans the horizon, searching for any sign of his secret summoner. One thing does reassure him, though: his spider sense, it's not going off. With the way his life has been going lately, he’ll take it.

“Alright, I'm here. Now what?”

He stands there a while, no doubt looking like and absolute fool. His caution suggests it could all actually be a prank, another attempt at messing with him by bitter campers. Still, something else suggests he stays and waits it out a bit more. The sky is beautiful, the air is light and the sand is comfy under his feet. He might as well enjoy it. Dinner isn’t for another half an hour, after all.

He sits down, facing the horizon.

A flock of seabirds crosses the fading blue in the distance.

Man, he wishes Ned could be there. He'd lay down after geeking out over any and everything at camp and promptly fall asleep while announcing the next great thing they should do.
MJ would probably sketch the view, trying her best not to show how much she liked it. It's a good thing she’s not because Peter doesn't think his heart could handle seeing her under such beautiful lighting.
Morgan would giggle and race across the sand, skipping waves and begging him to play with her. Pepper would sit cuddled up to Tony, enjoying the moment before either one of them would splash water their way and start a water fight.

He never even got to go to the beach with them.

That's something families do, isn’t it? If they-

Just then, a person walks out from beneath the water.

Literally.

Peter has to do a double take to make sure he’s not seeing things. But no, he's not: right in front of him is a guy in his late twenties, with unkept jet black hair and piercing eyes that seem to take the sea within them, the color so clear that Peter can easily see it from the distance; and, a nonchalant grin on his face as if he hadn't just emerged from the water fully dry. His face is set on a content relaxed smile, but there’s a clearly unavoidable undertone of dangerousness there- or maybe an aura. Powerful.
If a skater, a surfer, the hottest substitute teacher you ever had and a model had a baby, that had to be what he’d look like.

If that's not what Poseidon looks like, Peter will be gravely disappointed.

He looks like a god.

Percy Freaking Jackson.

Holy crap mother of a jiggling h-

“Hey, sorry I'm late,” Percy chuckles softly, the corners of his eyes crinkling with amusement. "A little guy started calling for help," he gestures to the water, where a group of dolphins casually swim by far off from the shore, back fins cutting through the water surface- Peter can gear their chirps of glee, "decided to explore some forbidden waters. I’d warned him about it, but you know how curious sea creatures can be."

Peter doesn’t, actually- but he slowly nods either way, eyes a bit wider than would be normal. Not too wide, he has the sense to hope.

"But then he got himself into a bit of a predicament," Percy continues, his tone tinged with fond exasperation. "Found himself tangled in a fisherman's net while chasing after some bait. So, I had to go in and set him free before things got too messy. The man was already trying to pull him up, thought he could profit.”

Peter fidgets where he sits, watching the man make his way closer. The sight of the son of Poseidon’s calm demeanor contrasting with the intense glint in his eyes has him feeling on edge, his danger sense itching at the back of his mind, like the permanent buzzing of electricity. And holy shits, has he mentioned the dude’s eyes? It’s as if the sea itself is shimmering in there, restrained yet still as powerful. It's nerve-wracking to stare at too long. Moreover, and despite his soft tone and smile, there's an unsettling undercurrent of unbridled anger in the hero’s voice, one that sends a shiver down Peter's spine.

Percy joins him on the sand, sitting right next to him.

“Is, uh, is he okay…?” Peter warily asks.

“Yeah, he’s fine. Probably getting into some more trouble as we speak.”

“I meant the fisherman…”

The other half-blood pauses, staring at Peter as though he can’t quite make sense of his words at first. “Oh,” Percy chuckles, “yeah, him too. I mean, the boat isn't, but the dude can swim so he should hang in there just fine until the coast guard arrives.”

“Right…” Peter agrees, silently thankfull the son of Poseidon hadn't just admitted to a murder right there and then. Not that Peter thinks Percy Jackson’s some sort of stone cold killer, it’s just… has he mentioned the aura???  “So… what's up? You wanted to talk to me?” He hesitantly asks.

A mischievous glint covers the ever present warning in Percy’s eyes. He shrugs, though, acting casual, “a little bird told me you've been through the demigod wringer lately and that you could use some advice."

Peter blinks in surprise, taken aback by the unexpected statement.. After all, this is Percy Jackson, the legendary hero of Olympus, probably the strongest demigod alive. What could he possibly want with someone like Peter?

"Advice? From you?" he replies, his tone a mixture of confusion and skepticism.

“Wow, don't sound so excited. I’m not that great,” Percy dryly declares. He notices the weird frown still painted on Peter's face, probably taking the confusion for real doubt, "hey, I've been around the block a few times, too, you know? Figured I might have something useful to share."

The mention of "a little bird", however, has triggered something in Peter's mind. 

"Annabeth?" Peter deadpans.

”No, it’s Percy, actually,” he jokes, though it’s clear Peter doesn’t find it half as funny. The hero falls backwards with a sigh, laying next to Peter and crossing his hands over his stomach, feet crossed as well, as though he's a patient being listened to by his psychologist. Percy hums in affirmation, a knowing smile playing at the corners of his lips. "You got it."

A sudden burst of anger surges up from within Peter. Why the Hades had Annabeth talked about him and his problems to Percy Jackson, half-blood of two great prophecies, hero of Olympus- the dude’s a living legend!!!??? Plus, they're his problems and he'd talked with her in what he'd assumed to have been an unspoken mutually agreed upon confidence.

“You guys share everything, uh?” He spits, hoping it sounds as acidic as he wants it to be.

But Percy fully grins at that, like the words have completely flown over his head- which they must have, come on! He raises a single hand, the left one, and shows it off, a simple glowing ring on his finger, “yeah, I mean, I said yes- and sharing is kinda part of that deal.”

Peter blinks.

Oh that man is so gone it’s ridiculous.

(He can imagine himself being the same if MJ ever popped him the question.)

“Congrats,” Peter genuinely offers, taken aback- before shaking his head. He is quite sure how much he wants to share with the legendary demigod, especially when it comes to his personal struggles and fears: zero. "And I appreciate the offer," Peter begins tentatively, "but I think I'll pass on the advice for now."

Percy raises an eyebrow, his expression one of mild disappointment. "Suit yourself," he replies with a shrug. "But just so you know, I already have a pretty good idea of what's been going on with you."

Peter's eyes narrow, a sudden wave of vulnerability washing over him. "You do?"

Percy nods, his gaze steady and unwavering. "Yeah.”

As Percy and Peter lounge on the shore, the gentle lapping of the waves provides a soothing backdrop. "I get it," Percy says, his gaze fixed on the horizon. "The feeling of being different, of not quite fitting in. That’s something all demigods are forced to deal with. But some… for some it's worse. Sometimes I felt, and still do, jealous that they don’t have to deal with being a forbidden child like I am. Or, that they don't have to juggle as many responsabilities as us, with the pressure of knowing that every decision you make could change everything, not just for you, but for everyone around you, even people that have nothing to with you."

Peter studies Percy's profile, noting the lines of determination etched into his features, the quiet yet churning waves of strength that radiate from him. There is familiarity in Percy's words, a shared experience that resonates deep within Peter's soul- and he’s not sure whether he can force himself to hate it. "Yeah," he replies softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "It's like... no matter how hard you try, you never quite measure up. Like you're constantly on the verge of letting everyone down…"

"I’ve let down hundreds of people.”

As the sun dipps lower on the horizon, casting long shadows across the sand, the mood changes too- dropping with the light.

"I've made choices that put people I love in danger," Percy confesses, his voice tinged with regret. "And I’ve endangered people I love just by being me. Like my mom. She married a guy who… let’s just say wasn't good for her- or anyone ever- just so she could keep me safe. Keep my scent hidden." Peter watches him pick up a handful of sand and slowly let it fall again, like a broken hourglass spilling out. “Annabeth told me you've done… a lot, to keep your family safe. And that you’ve failed, too.”

“Did you fail…?” Peter can't help but ask. But he's the son of Poseidon, stories about him are told arond the campfire. He did everything right-

Percy’s gaze softens but the bitter smile remains, “many times. Maybe not the way you've decided you've failed. But...” He clears his throat, “Like when I first got to camp, the minotaur was chasin’ after my protector and I. My mom sacrificed herself for us. Even when I knew she wasn’t actually dead- man, the guilt was bigger than my tiny scrawny body could take. I thought I’d be swallowed whole. Even now, I have nightmares that I’ll lose her, or that I lost her and this is all a dream. It was years ago.

“She’s clear sighted too, y’know? She always knew the things I faced, which somehow makes it so much worse. She's always been much braver than I am. Some mortals, they go crazy from being able to see these things. Things that she sees all the time because of me.”

“May too…” Peter whispers. “My aunt, I mean- she… she was my mom. She was like a hurricane. She saw things she shouldn't and she looked them dead in the eye because of me. She was so much braver than me.”

Percy tilts his head, “I have a feeling they would’ve gotten along really well, then.”

“Yeah,” Peter laughs, the sound a bit wet, “May was… something else. No one could mess with her, but she was still the sweetest. She kept insisting on me to give camp another try, and if only I had-”

Percy doesn’t let him develop his depressing thought. “Well, my mom kinda hated camp,” he tells him, “every time I came here I almost died, somehow.” He crosses his arms behind his head, using them as a pillow to shield his hair from the sand getting stuck in between dark strands. “And let me tell you- all the fear and stress and pain she suffered knowing we would never live safe and at peace- that I would never- pales in comparison to the time we spent months apart. That did horrors to her.”

Peter knows that story too. Back when Camp Half-Blood learned of Camp Jupiter and the roman demigods’ existence. The war with Gaea.

“She could have moved on and just lived her life with my stepdad. Maybe my sister could have been born earlier. But she didn’t. And I think, if I’d never returned, she never would.

“Do you get what I’m trying to say?”

Yes.

Yes, but I’ve made a decision- a decision I hate- and I’m too afraid to take it back. Stop making me want to take it back. This is the right thing to do.

Before Peter can sink further into his own self-doubt, Percy's voice breaks through the darkness.

"I remember seeing you back at camp some years ago, y’know?"

Peter's eyebrows shoot up in surprise, disbelief written across his features. "Me?" he echoes incredulously. “Are you sure you don’t just remember the, uh- the reason why I left…?

Percy shakes his head, throwing sand over Peter’s leg . "No, really," he insists. "I remember this one time and I know for sure it was you- you kinda looked like a chipmunk with those round glasses and tiny size. There was this camper who was having a rough time, it was one of your first days because you were gonna choose your weapon. And you, you were just this little guy who’d been thrown into this shitty world before even hitting the double digits, but you went out of your way to make them feel better. We were outside the weaponry and I was waiting for a friend who’d gone inside to show the ropes to another camper. I heard you tell them jokes, make them laugh, and then you did something that was even braver to me. You gave them your action figure to play with and let them keep it. It may have seemed like a small gesture, but to them, I’m sure it meant the world because you gave them a bit of normal. Kids don't carry toys here and they sure as hell don't go showing them around or giving them to other kids, not unless they want to be seen as weak and childish."

Peter's cheeks flush with embarrassment at the memory, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. "Superman… My uncle gave it to me. I thought I lost it," he murmurs, his voice filled with genuine surprise. "I... I don't even remember doing any of that.”

"Exactly," the half-blood goes on, undeterred, his gaze locking with Peter's. "That's the thing about you, Peter. You may not see it, but I do. You have this innate sense of compassion, this unwavering determination to do what's right, even if you don’t know what the hell is going to happen if you do or even if you know and really don't like it."

The sun is quickly dipping below the horizon, casting long shadows across the sand and a deep blinding glow over them, setting their hairs and skin alight.

"Do you know what your fatal flaw is?" Percy asks with a casual tone.

Peter shrugs, “my astounding ability to get into trouble?”

Percy laughs, a genuine sound that echoes across the water, “no, that’s mine. Get your own." Then, he shuffles back to a sitting position, strands of sand dropping from his hair and clothes. "But seriously, Peter.

"Your fatal flaw is duty- your sense of duty; your need to protect others; to save the day, no matter the cost. It's what makes you a hero, but it's also what holds you back. It's what drove you away from camp. It’s also what's keeping you here now."

Peter swallows hard, the weight of Percy's words settling heavily on his shoulders. He frowns, “I’m not a hero.” Not here anyway.

Percy opens his mouth to retaliate.

Peter doesn’t let him, “I’m not a hero. I’m not you. I’m a disappointment to my cabin and I’m a hindrance to my family, who are not even mine, they just took me in because they're good like that and the only thing I give them is troubles. The only good I can do is when I’m S-” He huffs through his nose, crossing his arms over his knees and burying his mouth in them. “Doesn’t matter,” he mutters, words muffled.

“No, no. Go on. Don’t leave me hanging now- I hate hanging…”

Peter scowls. He groans, rolling his eyes, but ultimately relents. The words burn as they leave his lips, “it’s just… when you can do the things I can, and you don’t, and then the bad things happen… they happen because of you.”

"That's why Spider-Man doesn't let the bad things happen, and why Peter Parker can't ever be a hero- because he's let some bad things happen in the past, right?"

Peter's neck nearly snaps as he turns to look at Percy, wide eyed. The man is smiling, "don't look at me like that. Who do you think found you bleeding to death on that rooftop?” 
His whole body is frozen and Peter can’t even begin to process a coherent thought. Percy puts him out of his misery, “yeah, you’re lucky I promised Blackjack some donuts from the best shop in New York, which just moved to Queens. But don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me.”

It’s hard to answer to all of that. First, the only reason Peter’s alive is because Percy Jackson had promised his flying horse donuts- which is a piece of information that does absolute wonders to Peter’s already decrepit self-esteem. Second, another person has found out his super important secret because he apparently absolutely sucks at keeping it just that: a secret. And the other half-blood even dares to suggest his fatal flaw to be duty… Yeah. More like massive L at fulfilling duties.

Percy copies his pose, crossing his arms over his knees. He sighs, eyes darkening at the same pace as the water, “look, kid, we demigods all have fatal flaws. Not just you. No one can be perfect all the time, no one can always win, no one can always live up to promises and expectations and the needs of others. We can’t save everyone. Sometimes people need to save themselves.”

Peter remains quiet, brooding.

Percy looks off into the water.

“Trust me, it’s something I’ve had to learn the hard way, and, in truth? I’m still learning it now. My flaw is excessive loyalty – I'd do anything for my friends, even if it means putting myself in harm's way. It’s not something we can control entirely, but it’s also something we can’t let define us entirely either. You've got a duty to protect, sure, but don't let it become a shackle."

Peter’s eyebrow rises. "What do you mean?"

Percy smirks, feeling like he’s won Peter’s attention again, "responsibility is admirable, but not at the cost of your own happiness. Sometimes, you've got to choose what's right for you, that’s your core duty.”

"Choosing what's right for me..." Peter mutters, more to himself than to Percy. "Sounds easy when you say it like that."

Percy leans forward, studying Peter intently, “hey, life as a demigod is never easy. But sometimes, it's about making the tough calls and figuring out what you can live with."

Peter meets Percy's gaze, uncertainty evident in his eyes. "What if my choices hurt people? What if I mess it all up?"

Percy's expression softens, "we all mess up, Peter. That's part of being human—or half-god. It’s why our human side is so important. You can’t cut off that part of your life entirely. I’ve seen what that does to us. It’s not the sensible choice your fatal flaw is making you think it is.”

"But what if I can't protect them?” Peter's voice wavers, “again.”

The son of Poseidon is speaking in a low tone, voice grim, “sometimes, you've got to trust others to take care of themselves. And trust that they'll be there for you too. Not everything nor everyone is your responsibility. It’s okay to be someone else’s too.”

Peter nods slowly, absorbing Percy's words. He's just glad the son of Poseidon didn't try to convince him May' death wasn't his fault like everyone always does. It gets tiring, hearing the same words ever and ever again. And they hurt the more he hears them, because they make him think of all the milliseconds he'd made the wrong choices that led to it. It's like Percy knows how that's like too. He understands.

“Being a demigod means navigating a messy web of relationships. But family, mortal or otherwise, is worth fighting for. Think about it."

Peter stares off into the distance, “you know, you’re actually nice to talk to. Chiron keeps insisting I see this psychologist at camp..." He scoffs, voice tinged with frustration.

Percy's eyebrows shoot up in surprise, his lips twitching with amusement. "Wow, Chiron really doesn't hold back, does he?" he chuckles, shaking his head.

Peter throws his hands in the air, “right?! Like, can you believe that?! Like, I get letting off some steam with a friend or someone else at times. But as if talking to some stupid shrink is going to solve all my problems!"

Percy's eyes twinkle with that troublesome mirth, a chuckle escaping his lips. "Ouch, you wound me," he jokes, his tone light but his words still mocking anyway. "I didn't realize I was that bad."

Peter blinks.

His eyes widen as the realization dawns on him, “wait... you mean...?" He stammers, cheeks flushing with embarrassment, “oh my gods…”

Percy grins, his gaze meeting Peter's with an even brighter twinkle. "Yep, guilty as charged. I'm the camp psychologist," he admits, shrugging casually. "Ta-da! Surprise!”

“Oh my god, I just complained about the camp psychologist to the camp psychologist!” He pulls down at his cheeks under his eyes. How MJ would love to sketch him right now… “I called you stupid!”

"Well, I'm not the brightest tool in the shed..." But as Peter's expression turns that horrified, Percy's laughter fades, replaced by a look of genuine concern. "Hey, hey, it's okay," he reassures, reaching out to place a comforting hand on Peter's shoulder. "I'm not offended, really. Besides, who would guess a mess of a son of Poseidon like me would want to be a camp psychologist, right? I get it doesn’t really sound like the best career choice. But hey, it wasn't so bad talking to me, was it?" He smiles, a bit lopsided.

Despite his embarrassment, Peter can’t help but smile back, “well, no, it actually wasn't," he admits, his voice barely above a whisper.

Percy chuckles, giving Peter's shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "Good," he says, rising to his feet. "Well, I should probably let you go before you miss dinner. Just remember to listen to yourself, okay? And maybe even to what I told you during our little chat, if you feel like it."

By now the sun has dipped below the horizon, casting the beach in a warm glow of twilight. Peter is sure it is doing next to nothing to hide the huge flush taking over his entire face and neck. "Well, yeah… I guess this is goodbye for now," Peter mumbles, up on his feet and shuffling them awkwardly in the sand. "Thanks for... you know, not psychoanalyzing me too much."

Percy is all amusement, which should honestly have Peter the slightest bit mad at the son of Poseidon. Still, just like Annabeth said, he can’t help but see a bit of himself in Percy Jackson. There’s no real judgment there. "Anytime, and remember, sometimes it's okay to talk to the camp psychologist. He doesn’t bite.” He pauses,” “well, not always.”

Peter shoots Percy a playful glare over his shoulder, his embarrassment fading into a faint sense of camaraderie. "Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, doc," he retorts.
With one last wave, Peter disappears off into the dark treeline, leaving Percy alone on the beach. As he makes his way towards the dining pavilion, the sound of laughter and chatter starts filling the air again, mingling with the gentle rustle of leaves and the distant crash of waves against the shore. Glancing back over his shoulder, Peter catches one last glimpse of Percy standing by the water's edge, his silhouette framed against the moonlit sky.

With a wistful smile, Peter keeps on, his heart perhaps a bit lighter than it had been in days. Still, the little monster in his chest feels more restless than ever at the demigod’s words: hope.

Could he return to Tony?

He shakes his head, eyeing the other campers as he enters the dining pavilion and tries to get to his table without rousing much attention.

No, a decision is a decision. Percy’s right, but not the way he thinks.

This is what Peter wants: to keep his family safe, no matter the cost. That can’t be a shackle because it’s a voluntary vow. Right? Right.

It isn’t a shackle- it’s love.

…

555-7735 ˜Michelle J.

Update?

    555-4510

    Still a ghost.

    555-4510

    You holding up?

555-7735 ˜Michelle J.

Uhuh

555-7735 ˜Michelle J.

You?

    555-4510

    Idk

…

    555-4510

    Hey

    555-4510

    Just to say, still nothing.

555-7735 ˜Michelle J.

How the fuck can a nerd be that hard for stark to find, where tf could he be?

    555-4510

    That’s the billion dollar question isn’t it?

    555-4510

    Tony's going ballistic. He’s in full genius mode, but even his tech is struggling with this

555-7735 ˜Michelle J.

And Stark Industries has some impressive resources

    555-4510

    You have no idea. His AI’s working overtime. It’s gonna fry soon

555-7735 ˜Michelle J.

How are Pepper and Morgan holding up?

    555-4510

    Trying to be strong, but it's taking a toll. Morgan's scared. She misses him, we all do 

    555-4510

    They don't deserve this

555-7735 ˜Michelle J.

Life rarely hands out what people deserve

    555-4510

    That's a rather pessimistic view

555-7735 ˜Michelle J.

Just speaking from experience

    555-4510

    Doesn't mean it has to be a universal truth

555-7735 ˜Michelle J.

Yeah, well, the universe has its own agenda

    555-4510

    Still, gotta hope for the best

555-7735 ˜Michelle J.

Hope's a tricky thing

    555-4510

    Yeah, well. It's better than the alternative

…

Pepper's voice raises in frustration, her eyes pleading with Tony to see reason. "Tony, you can't seriously be considering this!“

Tony's hands are clenched into fists at his sides, his jaw tight with tension. "We've tried everything else, Pepper! Nothing's worked so far. My tech… my tech’s not enough! We can't just sit around and wait while he’s is out there, who knows where!"

Tony's suggestion hangs in the air like a dark cloud, casting a pall over the room. "Think about it! There’s security cameras all around the world," he proposes, his tone tense with urgency. "Every feed, every angle. If Peter's out there, we'll find him! All it would take's breaching into some slightly out-of-limits sattelites and redirectioning as we nee-"

Pepper's eyes widen in alarm, her voice rising with incredulity. "Tony, that's absurd! Do you realize the implications of what you're suggesting? We'd be breaching countless laws, not to mention risking international conflict!”

Harley's expression shifts from concern to disbelief. "You're talking about a global surveillance network, Tony! That's insane! What if it backfires? What if other countries see it as an act of aggression? Hell, what if ours does?!"

"They're forgiven worse-"

Harley waves his hands in the air, trying to convey the urgency of his words, “Tony, we're all really worried about Peter, but that’s nuts! Just because you’ve saved the world doesn’t mean you’d get away with something like this! It’s impossible hacking into something like that without getting detected!"

“Harley’s right, Tony. This is more serious than all the hacking you’ve done-“

Tony rounds on them, frustration boiling over. "This isn't about the law, Pepper! This is about finding my kid! Do you even care about him anymore?!"

“That’s a low blow. He’s my kid too,” Pepper scowls. "Tony, of course we care about Peter. But we have to be smart about this. We can't risk everything for one desperate move!”

As the tension inside the lake house reaches its peak, Morgan's voice suddenly pierces through the heated debate like a bolt of lightning.

“Mommy?! Daddy?!” She points frantically, her small finger trembling as she stares wide eyed through the windows. “Th-there's something outside!"

Tony's brow furrows as he keeps staring at the other two, “Morgan, not now. We're a bit busy," he says, his voice tinged with impatience but trying to keep it at bay. This isn't her fault. She doesn't know better.

Harley nods in agreement, his arms crossed over his chest. "Yeah, we're trying to figure out what to do next," he adds, shooting Tony a meaningful look, “without getting arrested, preferably.”

But Morgan is undeterred. "No, you have to look!" She insists, voice beginning to seriously squeak at the end. She jumps from the couch, hurrying across the room to Pepper who has no choice but to pick her up from beneath the armpits and settles the little girl on her lap.

“It's a monster!”

“Morgan, baby, there's no monsters outside. You must’ve seen and animal, that's all. You like animals, remember?” Pepper shushes, passing a hand through her hair.

But Morgan begins to shake her head, round brown eyes watering up as her lower lip trembles, "it’s a monster! I swear!” She hiccups, tugging at her mother’s blouse with all her might. “I’m scares! It saw me, Mommy!”

Tony opens his mouth to complain once again that they really have no time, but then he pauses, watching the pure fear etched onto his daughter’s little face. It's easy to forget Morgan's been living through the same nightmare as them, except with the added factor that she does not comprehend why her brother is simply not home yet. Tony sighs, torn between his desire to appease his daughter and his need to focus on the task at hand. But as he looks again into Morgan's earnest eyes, he knows he can’t ignore her plea.

"Alright, Maguna, show daddy what you saw," he says, his tone gentle yet firm.

With a look of relief, Morgan bravely jumps from Pepper’s lap, brow furrowed deep in concentration. She leads Tony to the window, her small hand gripping his tightly. She vaguely points in the direction of what she'd seen, before whimpering and quickly hiding behind his legs.

“It’s there! It’s right there, Daddy!!!”

It's not there. He sees nothing, as expected. Tony frowns, scanning the area, his eyes searching for any sign of danger. At first, all he sees is the tranquil scenery of the lake behind layers of trees, bathed in the soft glow of the setting summer sun, branches swaying, leaves rustling. "I don't see anything, baby," he admits, his voice tinged with frustration. "Are you really really sure you saw something-?”

But then, out of the corner of his eye, he catches a glimpse of movement in the closer distance.

A sudden chill runs down his spine.

There’s something writhing just out of the treeline. A tall shape, lean and nimble. A woman, her form flickering. Except, the next minute, Tony can only see a tall pile of slithering serpents the size of a human, twisted around each other like and amalgamation of his nightmares, like ants crawling over a cracker covered in honey- right on the spot she’d stood before. The figure steps forward after he blinks again. It's eyes are red dots.

“Wait here.”

Morgan whimpers, rushing back to her mom. Pepper can only frown, picking her up as she stands from the couch, and handing her off to Harley, who can accept the scared child and blink in confusion as he watches her step towards the window, where Tony has stood. The man has opened the sliding doors of the living room and stepped outside into the porch now, hesitantly climbing down the stairs onto the lawn.

“Tony?” Pepper calls.

But Tony is far too tired of weird sightings and scares. There’s something going on, something that’s not right. Truthfully? It hasn’t been right for years and the rational part of him, the one that is still functioning among the fear and the questions and the raging instinct screaming inside to do something (what, he doesn’t know), can’t help but ponder that it has to be related to Peter. All of the things that happen can’t be a coincidence.

Tony cautiously approaches the figure, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Alright, who are you and what do you want?" he demands, his voice tinged with a hint of frustration-born sarcasm. When he gets no answer, he stops, huffing, "lost in the middle of nowhere, are we?"

The woman remains silent a moment more. Then, her slithery voice slashes through the air, drilling into Tony's mind. "Hand him over," she hisses, her words sending shivers down Tony's spine.

Tony's brow furrows in confusion. "Hand who over?" he asks, his patience wearing thin. "And what's with the creepy voice, lady?"

However, before he can get any answers, a weight drops in his stomach. Morgan’s words of a monster don’t make sense- she’d never been scared of strangers before, despite being a bit wary of getting to know them at times and despite their... oddness, like this one's. Also, how had She deemed this woman a monster from so far away?

A loud crunch echoes through the property.

Tony’s eyes widen. He looks up, a bit to the side and behind him, his heart skipping a beat as he sees the pair of giant robots towering over the lake house. Their arms are raised in the air, poised to strike. One of them swings towards him with terrifying speed, its metal limbs gleaming in the sunlight.

“Want half-blood!"

He only has time to turn around and find Pepper’s eyes by the door.

"Watch out!" he screams, heart pounding in his chest, his voice drowned out by the sound of tearing metal and crumbling earth. The robot's massive arm collides with the side of the roof over the south bedrooms and living room before punching down the ground inches from Tony, but still sending him hurtling through the air. The world seems to explode as he crashes into the ground some feet away, the force of the impact knocking the wind out of him. He struggles to catch his breath, his body aching from head to toe, and curses, trying to regain his bearings.He coughs horribly, spitting out blood and wiping it with the back of his hand. His tongue throbs where he’d accidentally bitten it. There are sirens going off in his entire being, down to every fiber.

Morgan. Pepper. Harley.

He struggles to get to his knees, heart in his throat as he watches wreckeed pieces of his house on the ground alongside him.

His family.

Where?! How-?!

He’s brought out of his misery when a pair of firm hands grab at his shoulders, Pepper’s voice sounding as she grunts with the effort to help him get somewhat upright.

“Tony! Are you okay?!”

Tony shakes his head, hurriedly turning to look at his wife. She’s got dirt smudged on her face and her hair is askew, but despite a split lip, she looks alright. He sighs, nodding.

“The kids-?”

“They’re alright. I got them out,” that’s when he notes her outfit change, the blouse and pants she’d been wearing seconds ago having been exchanged for her gold and blue Rescue armor. Tony feels kind of silly for not having been fast enough to done his. “Harley’s got Morgan. What are these things?!”

Together, they watch in horror as the towering figures advance, their metallic forms gleaming in the dim light. The air crackles with tension as the robot-like entities unleash a devastating laser beam, tearing through the ground with ruthless precision, tearing another part of their house down. Pepper ducks, covering his body with hers as more dust and ash rains down on them, her armor keeping him safe from the biggest pieces of debris and rocks.

Tony blinks, trying to get his eyes clean again. They sting with the particles in the air.

“I don’t know, but they’re about to find out who we are.”

As he dones his Iron Man armor and he and Pepper dive into battle, Tony can’t shake off the feeling that, in spite of the two giants destroying their home, the woman watching from the ground is even more trouble. But they can't fight everyone at once. Right now she's not the priority.

The battle erupts in a frenzy of violence and chaos. Pepper’s movements are fluid and precise, perhaps a bit more than his after the bumps his old body has already acquired, and they fight together like they did the last time they had to, nearly a year ago: back to back. But the odds soon seem overwhelming as their blows simply bounce off the robots' impenetrable armor without doing any evident damage. Amidst the chaos, the woman is creeping closer to where Tony’d spotted Harley and Morgan to be hiding by the llama’s pen. Tony's head spins as he struggles to find a breach in the fight, trying to get to the kids. He warns Pepper to hold her own for a bit, and takes off towards his daughter and Harley- or, more specifically, the spot between them and the approaching stranger.

Suddenly, he’s on ground.

Again.

It's starting to become a very annoying habit it of his it seems.

His armor is dented and battered and his helmet has been yanked off the rest of the armor from the sheer strength of the blow one of the robots has managed to deliver him when his back was turned. As he groans in pain, his vision blurs and his head throbs from the impact. He turns from his back to his side, cells coiling and pulling and pulsing with pain.

He blinks dizzily and his gaze falls upon the twisted figure before him.

The snakes writhe and twist, forming the shape of a woman's leg, then her body. Tony wheezes, a primal instinctive fear he can’t comprehend taking over his battered body. The smile in her voice sends shivers down his spine, it’s dripping with malice.

"Where's the son of Athena, where's that half-blood runt?"

Her words hang in the air, chilling Tony to the core as he struggles to make sense of them, as well as to try and make sense of his limbs. He coughs, still at her feet.

“Wh-a-t…?”

“Don’t make a fool of me, mortal. This place reeks of wisdom godling. You reek even more.” One of the snakes that are suddenly in the place of her feet snaps back at his face, Tony’s wide eyes watching helplessly as it nearly gets his eyes before coiling back.

“So I’ll ask once more: where. is. he?”

But Tony can only groan, eyes rolling back for a second before he’s shaking his head and blinking them open again. There’s a trail of blood trickling down from his agape lips as he keeps on staring in shock and confusion at the pile of snakes a couple inches from his face. He can’t understand it. It’s beyond his mind. He can’t move. His body refuses.

The woman sighs loudly, like she’s being forced to play the most boring game of her life. Her feet are back, the snakes Tony was staring at having been suddenly replaced for pointy dark green stilettos. He heaves and blinks again. What…?

She takes a step forward, closer.

“Look me in the eyes, mortal,” she commands.

And Tony chooses to do the absolutely worst thing he could choose to do then: he looks right up.

…

Peter and Callie’s moves are fluid and precise as they fight each other in the arena.

How the girl had managed to actually rope him into it is beyond Peter, but he would be lying if he said he wasn’t actually enjoying this- much like he had with capture the flag. Turns out Callie really isn’t that bad (when she isn’t obsessing over his private life or yammering on and on about the prophecy at least.)

Moreover, despite the curious glances and occasional glares from other campers, and the animosity he's sure will last forever no matter how many capture the flags he wins, Peter can't help but feel a bit more at ease at camp than he had about a week ago. Though he would also be lying if he said the homesickness isn’t permanently eating up at his insides. Because it is. Like sharp teeth bathed in vinegar and lemon juice dragging at a raw wound.
He should be used to it but now, but then again he's always been a bit slow for a son of Athena: whenever he manages to actually feel at home somewhere, he's forced out of it. Case in point: Ben, after adapting to his parent’s absence; May, after growing somehow used to Ben’s; Tony, after May. He wonders what will happen next. What reason will have him abandoning camp for a second time now that he’s decided to stay against all odds?
So, he’s trying to be smarter this time. Getting comfortable without getting too comfortable. It’s easier said than done, still: he’s always missed camp and that's the hard truth. Getting back has been somewhat of a blessing at the same time as it has been the curse he thought it to be all those years since leaving. Plus, with Kate gone, he has to admit having Callie as a friend of sorts does feel nice and it’s perhaps contributing more than he would ever give the girl credit for at having him slowly lowering the shields he doesn’t want to lower- well, not completely…

"You're looking a little slow there, Parker. Need to advice on your footwork?" Callie teases, her stance confident as she dodges Peter's strikes with ease. He's a bit rusty, he’ll give her that. But it’s not like he practices as much as she does. The gods know what Tony even sees when he pulls out his blades for some practice maintenance or monster-that-got-too-close-for-comfort cleaning. He's more used to fighting bare handed and with his web shooters, anyway.

Doesn’t mean he'll let her win. Ohh, she so has it coming.

Peter grins, his competitive spirit igniting as he matches her movements. "Just giving you a chance to catch your breath, Callie. Wouldn't want to embarrass you too quickly in front of your siblings.”

The training arena is buzzing with activity as demigods from various cabins hone their combat skills under the watchful eye of mentors or simply make use of the space to let out some steam, the arena alive with the sounds of clashing weapons and boisterous chatter, screams and laughter and raging youth. The air hums with energy, each clash of metal echoing through the air like a battle cry. The scent of sweat and leather mingle with the crisp scent of pine trees.
Groups of campers are gathered in clusters, sparring with one another or practicing their techniques with different weapons. Ares children, who Peter honestly thinks should just move to the arena already (going to their cabin to sleep seems a waste of time when they spend most of theirs throwing axes and comparing swords…), are of the greatest numbers, scattered and in intense bouts of combat, their generally muscular frames pulsing with raw energy as they clash swords, shields and foreheads. Other campers are also scattered across the place, from Aphrodite kids going absolutely rogue on training dummies to Hermes children scurrying away from a Demeter group, a potted plant being carried away on one of their arms as the angry group chase after the thieves.

Amidst it all, some half-bloods unashamedly steal dirty glances or outright watch Peter with irk and annoyance, Callie’s siblings marking their unquestionable presence, but several others cabins as well. Peter guesses he's become popular and well loved like that. Their expressions range from a mixture of curiosity and skepticism to pure disdain as they observe the son of Athena in action. Peter pretends he hasn’t noticed them, instead giving all his attention to Callie. The two have been exchanging playful jabs and banter as they spar. 

"You may be quick, but your form needs work," Callie retorts, deflecting one of Peter’s strikes with a swift motion, “what have you been doing out there all these years? Slacking off? It's a wonder how you managed to actually win Capture the flag- or to stay alive at all!”

“Says the one who can't seem to land a hit!” Peter chuckles, rolling his eyes playfully as he attempts a low strike at her legs, "besides, you’re just mad you have kitchen duty and I don’t for two weeks!”

Callie huffs, her less patient side shining through in her next blow. Peter has to pretend he's not strong enough to completely parry it and so falls back a few steps before rolling to the side, her sword sinking heavily onto the sandy spot of floor he'd been at milliseconds prior.

“You remind me of my brother,” she admits and Peter quirks a brow. She's never spoken about her life before, “he’s always loved to underestimate me!”

Peter’s head leans to the side. He sees an opening and takes it, only to be blocked by the girl, “you have a brother?”

She seems to hesitate- and then try and cover up that same hesitation with an unbothered shrug.

“Yeah, older brother.”

“But, like- same mom? Same…”

Callie chuckles, “look who’s into gossip now. You looking like a son of Aphrodite, Parker,” she shakes her head, pausing the sparring and wiping her brow with the edge of her orange shirt. Peter thinks of doing the same, but the exertion hadn’t been exactly enough to have him sweating and- as he's been told time and time again-, lying is not exactly his forte.

“Yeah, Ares hit up my mom twice,” Peter's cheeks catch fire at that, “which is a wonder, really, since last I checked it’s not like she's won a black belt or like a wrestling competition in her entire life. She's not much of an athlete either. But she is a huge spitfire, which probably explains why my brother and I were both a bit of black sheep in our cabin. Or, at least, out sibs have tried to make us so, didn't really succeed. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m a bit of a leech. Y’all can’t shake me off that easy.”

Peter sticks his training sword in the sand, “your brother… he’s not around, is he?”

“Gods, Parker. You’re really screwed with trauma, aren’t you?” Callie snorts, which is a bit annoying, since Peter doesn't find it half as funny, “he's not dead. Just aged out of Camp Half-Blood- he’s at college. New Rome. Which, yeah, it’s kinda the same thing.” The girl rolls her own sword around, curling and uncurling her wrist with practice and a natural ease, “I hope he suffers, serves as payback for leaving me here alone.”

At that, it’s Peter's turn to smile. He doesn't understand much about sibling dynamics, since he was an only child for most of his life, but he can imagine a grown up Morgan complaining to him for leaving her for college.

If he ever goes, that is.

"You ever miss home?" Peter asks, his tone a bit more serious. He hopes he's not crossing any invisibly defined limits. Though, he does seem to catch Callie a bit off guard with the question, hopefully not in a bad way. Thankfully, her expression softens, a wistful look crossing her features. "Sometimes. But camp feels like home too, in its own way. Especially when I'm absolutely demolishing L’s like you!”

He smiles, a warmth spreading through him despite that last part. He snickers, readying a sweet comeback at the tip of his tongue. Suddenly, however, Peter freezes.

His hairs rise.

His eyes widen.

And he freezes.

And exhales tensely.

And slowly looks around.

And remains frozen.

“Uhh, you just gonna stand there…?” Callie jokes, lowering her sword, which had been poised back at the ready, and settling a hand on her hip with an amused air to her.

“Ssshhh!” He sharply whispers. Callie’s cheeks fill with air and she narrows her eyes.

“What?!”

He glares at her, but can't ultimately fault the girl. It's not like she has a biological alarm system that’s programmed to warn her of danger that's still momentos from occurring like he does. What’s is weird is that it's going off now: they’re at camp, inside magical borders created to protect then. How can there be danger? It's happened before, sure, monsters managing to get in, brought inside by demigods with a grudge and traitors. Maybe Ptolema’s coming to pick up on him again, or someone’s decided they should be the ones to stuff his head in a toilet again? His sense went off then…

No, this is some thing different. Worse.

Peter's spider-sense keeps kicking in, in and out, sending onslaughts of shivers down his spine. His movements falter as he turns and slowly scans the area, searching for the source of the impending danger. Callie notices his weary stance and the look of unease that crosses his face.

"What's the matter, Peter?" Callie inquires, her brow furrowing in concern as she lowers her sword, this time taking him seriously.

Peter shakes his head, his senses on high alert. "I'm not sure," he replies in a hushed tone, his gaze still darting around the training ground, “something’s happening… but… I-”

Just then, the air crackles to their right.

Peter jumps in front of Callie, practice sword pointed straight at the spot of nothing. Callie yelps, struggling to regain her footing after being so rudely pushed back.

“Hey!” She yells, pushing him right back. Peter doesn't even budge. Callie blinks, looking down at his feet, probably wondering if they’re glued to the ground.
At the same time, there are sparks being born and dying in the air before them. Demigods from all over the arena collectively gasp, some taking more time to notice them than others. Peter too is far too on edge, otherwise he would’ve recognized the swirling vortex of orange that appears right in front of him.

No one other than Doctor Strange steps through, his cloak billowing dramatically behind him.

The sudden appearance of the freaking ex? Sorcerer Supreme catches everyone off guard, and the demigods stop in their tracks, their eyes widening in astonishment. Callie grabs Peter's shoulders from behind, precipitating forward. He can pratically feel her eyes rounding to the point of nearly popping.

The entre arena is quiet.

“HOLY MOTHER OF A PARTY PO-”

Peter slaps a hand over her mouth, sword still pointed right at the wizard’s chest. His cheeks are bright red, a bubble of heat engulfing him. His heart took off running and forgot to warn his brain and his body that they should follow.

What in the actual Hades?!

“Holy shit!” He accidentally blurts out too.

“Not quite,” the wizard ponders, a sardonic smile begging to tug at his lips, “though I suspect you would know better than me about holy shits. How are you, Parker? Took me a good while to find you.”

Peter yammers, head swiveling around, looking at the arena, at the other kids and at the man in front of him, back and forth. They're still at Camp Half-Blood, right? Or did he hit his head and is now hallucinating? Maybe Callie struck him too hard and is now watching him twitch and drool on the floor, dead to the world.

"Doctor Strange? Wha-t… what are you doing here?" he asks, his voice a bit too squeaky.

Doctor Strange offers a small, knowing smile. "The question is, what are you doing here?" He counters, his tone laced with an amused sort of intrigue.

Callie, still processing the whole thing, stares at Doctor Strange in disbelief, her mouth hanging open. She takes a hesitant step forward, her eyes darting between Peter and the sorcerer. Before Callie can voice her astonishment, Peter quickly moves to cover her mouth again with his hand, shooting her a look. "Not now, Callie," he whispers urgently, his heart pounding with apprehension.

“Yes, not now, Callie,” Doctor Strange mocks before focusing back on Peter, “and you, lower the pointy stick, sound good?”

Peter blinks, slowly looking down at the weapon still pointed at the Avenger. He yelps, hurriedly lowering the sword and throwing it onto the ground. Then, he pauses, shooting it an accusing look and kicking it away for good measure, “this is not what it looks like!”

“What it looks like?” Strange tilts his head, “is it supposed to look like anything? What? A military summer camp? Yes, kid, very believable. Sounds like something Stark would absolutely send you off to. Oh wait, he wouldn’t- he’s beyond himself worrying about you.”

Callie jumps in her place. Peter tries to hold her but she licks his palm in a low blow and he yelps, letting go of her face.

“Stark?! As in, TONY STARK? You know the fucking Avengers?!?!?!”

Peter curses, slamming his hand back on top of her mouth, “be surprised louder, will you?” He grumbles, shoulders to his chin and teeth gritted. Then, he turns to fulminating the wizard instead, “really? Couldn’t we have this talk in private?”

Doctor Strange's expression turns serious at that, “depends. Your little friends have found their way to your family," he informs him, his tone grave. "Thought you’d like to know, since they're not exactly equipped to deal with them, now, are they?”

Peter's stomach churns at the words.

The rug of the world is pulled from under his feet.

“What?” He asks quietly.

Doctor Strange seems to take pity on him, at last.

“Don’t give me that look, kid. I’ll take you right there. There’s still time.”

But Peter is paling at and alarming pace. He shakes his head feverently, “no, I- I can't… they don’t know. I chose that. They can't know, they can't because-”

“Because?” The wizard raises and eyebrow.

“My scent…” Peter finishes lamely.

“Yeah, read about that ten minutes ago. Do you really think Tony gives a damn? That man is a control freak, I can tell you he'd much rather choose whether or not to be involved.” The former? sorcerer supreme sighs, like he's explaining something to a child- which, technically, he is, ”besides, it's a bit late for that now. It seems to me your absolutely genius masterplan has backfired. Scent or no scent, they got to them anyway.”

Callie licks his palm again, angrily mouthing something nobody understands. Peter keeps it over her mouth.

Strange waves his hands in the air, performing the funny sort of circle he always does when opening up a portal. Immediately, more sparks surge out of thin air and half-bloods from all over the arena gasp again. Through it Peter can see the lake from the lake house off in the distance- and hear the decidedly not good sound of more than one hungry cyclops.

“Enough dilly dally,” the wizard says, “we both know you’re coming either way.” And he steps through the portal.

Peter squares his shoulders. Doctor Strange is right. Tony and Pepper and Morgan need him. This isn’t just about what he wants- it’s not even about responsibility: it’s what any person would do, saving their family. Staying at camp to keep Tony, Pepper and Morgan safe doesn’t matter if they’re dead. Hell, it doesn’t even really matter anymore at all. He’d decided on staying away to keep them safe, but it seems that hadn’t been enough. He’s not sure how, but perhaps his scent lingered back when he said his goodbyes the night he decided to stay at camp- which is weird, because he’s not a forbidden child and only one that powerful should have such a strong scent that it remains for days after them being gone.

It also doesn’t matter what either of them will say- what Tony might say. Even if the man never wants to look Peter in the eye again for breaking his promise, he has to go and face him.

Peter is not letting what happened with aunt May repeat itself.

He yanks his hand off Callie’s face, instinctively reaching for the keychain on the belt loops of his shorts. Without hesitation, he nods to Doctor Strange, who’s waiting for him on the other side of the portal, his resolve firm. With a determined glance at Callie, he braces himself and leaps through it as well, dual blades springing to existence in either of his hands.

“I’ll explain later,” he tells the dumbfounded daughter of Ares- and then he turns, disappearing from view.

Doctor Strange clicks his tongue, staring at her with a taunting glint in his eyes, “cheerio.”

Left behind Callie and the other demigods exchange bewildered glances. As they watch the portal close behind Peter, a tense silence settles over the training grounds. 

Suddenly, Callie blinks.

“Wait, but he said… does that mean- TONY STARK’S YOUR FUCKING DAD?!”

…

Tony's thoughts swirl in a muddled haze as he struggles to make sense of everything. His gaze glides over the grotesque visage of the woman, the snakes, the woman- the muted colors of her dress; noting the sickly green tinge of her lips; the way her forked tongue swiftly licks at them, before the corners of her mouth twist up and stretch abhorrently, in an unnatural way, revealing a set of shark-like teeth; noting the sharp pointy angle of her nose, and the brown-yellow little spots that mar her face where eye bags would be; noting the way her lower lashes seem to move with a life of their own; noting her ey-

His vision is interrupted by a sudden blur of motion that leaves him even more disoriented and off-balance.

The woman is pushed back, flying a couple feet before landing on the dirt ground away from him with a shrill scream. Tony can’t see her anymore, but he can listen to the sibilating curses and grunts that follow.

It takes a moment for Tony to register the figure that has materialized before him, his mind struggling to reconcile the sight with the reality of the situation. And then, with a jolt of recognition, he realizes who it is- because how could he not have right away?

Peter is standing right before him. 

The boy’s- his boy- urgent voice cuts through the confusion, his words- his boy- a frantic plea for Tony to pay attention to him- his boy.

Tony's gaze wanders a bit feverishly, roaming over his face, the healthy tone of his light skin, the fluffiness of his hair, the soft sweetest brown of his eyes. Then, his gaze can only dart down to the boy's attire, taking in the orange shirt with a sort of horse drawn in black and some words around it on a circle he doesn’t really take the time to read; khaki shorts; a colorful necklace adorning his neck, three beads of different colors presenting some honest-to-god awful sketches, resting snuggly against the hollow of his throat. He barely has time to process all that, much less to register the way Peter’s face falls when Tony doesn’t get himself to answer any of the things the kid’s been babbling on about, before he's thrusting something into Tony's hands,- something mangled and twisted but still bearing traces of its former shine.

“Don’t look, Mr. Stark, her eyes will turn you to stone!" Peter urges, his voice tinged with urgency as he hands Tony the mangled part of the Iron suit's helmet. Tony blinks, looking down at the thing being thrusted into his hands. The helmet’s faceplate, dirty at places and still clear at others, stares back up at him. He’s still lying sideways on the ground, using an elbow to get his face away from the dirt. He feels the opposite of what Peter looks like: sure of himself, enough in control amidst the craziest mess Tony’s seen in a while.

“Use the reflection to steer clear of her!”

Tony's mind races as he processes Peter's words, the reality of the situation crashing down on him with renewed force. He opens his mouth to respond, to ask where Peter has been and how he has come to be here, but before he can form the words, Peter’s already moving- a shiny pair of detailed golden blades flashing in his hands for a moment, before they turn to otherwise ordinary kitchen knives(?),- pushing the charging pile of snakes back once more.

“Get back!" Peter shouts, his voice cutting through the roar of one of the robots and the destruction still happening in the background as he faces off against the woman.

She recoils, her wild greenish dreadlocks writhing and twisting with the movement, and if Tony’s vision wasn’t still a bit muddled, he’d say it looked like they were hissing in fury alongside their owner. The thought brings forth his kid’s warning and Tony ducks his head- he twists, looking over his shoulder. Harley is watching him with a pale face, arms encircled around Tony’s little daughter, who is looking ahead at the giant robots with terrified eyes, before she looks down in the direction of her brother and the strange woman with an even more horrified look.

“Don’t look at them!!!” He screams, making sure Harley hears it loud and clear. The boy is shaking but immediately looks down, covering Morgan’s eyes with his hand.Tony straightens up, pushing to his knees. He latches onto the Iron-Man face plate, maneuvering it so he can catch sight of the duo in front of him.

The woman’s circling Peter, the boy holding his eyes shut tightly. His fighting stance is familiar to every time Tony's seen him in action, though a bit adapted to fighting with a short-range weapon instead of his webs.

Tony can hear her twisted grin. "Well, well, well, if it isn't Peter Parker, the reluctant little hero. I must admit, I've been looking forward to this little rendezvous."

Tony knows his kid well enough to be able to tell, just by the shaky reflection, that Peter's lips have curled into one of those annoying smirks he wears whenever he wins at chess, or that he always wears beneath the Spider-Man mask- though there is an edge of apprehension in his voice when he answers, “oh really? And here I thought you'd be too busy tending to your garden gnomes, Aunty Em."

Her laugher is chilling, and she swings to his other side ominously, unnaturaly- almost gliding over the land.

"Such wit, dear boy. It's a shame you won't live long enough for your wonderful Mother to watch you waste it."

Peter inhales sharply, but keeps his ground.

"Oh, I don't know about that. I think I'm gonna win this. You know, I've got a knack for beating monsters with bad hair."

Her laughter echoes through the air, again, the sound chilling to the bone. "You may jest now, son of Athena, but you won't be laughing for long. You see, someone has taken a keen interest in your demise, and they're not resting until they’ve seen it through. Even if it is not by my eyes."

Peter's smirk falters, a flicker of unease crossing his stance. He hesitates a bit at the beginning of his next comeback, “is that so? Well, tell your mysterious benefactor they'll have to try harder than sending a has-been like you to do their dirty work."

The woman walks up far too close to him for Tony’s comfort, and Peter’s danger sense, no doubt, has him turning around like a whip in response, knives swinging close but not enough to her body. She leans in next to his ear, and Tony’s heart squeezes when she runs a hand through Peter’s curls, a bony sharp digit slowly pulling on the lock harshly. Peter inhales, trying not to open his eyes. Her voice drips with venom, “careful, boy. Insolence will get you nowhere but closer to death's door even quicker… And who will be left here save your mortal family then?”

Peter's bravado wavers nearly completely at her words, his brow furrowing painfully, “Whoever sent you can't scare me. And if they lay a finger on my family, they'll regret it! As will you!”

"Ah, your precious family. So that’s what ticks you off?” She slithers to his front, fingers dancing over his cheeks, nails digging into the skin near his eyes, unashamedly trying to pull them open, “but you should have told me that sooner, little owl. I would have properly introduced myself to them. Oh, wait- it’s little spider, now, isn’t it? We wouldn't want to upset her, now, woul-"

"Enough of evil monologues.."

Peter’s body tenses, like an electrorheological fluid. Without another word, he lunges forward, with a speed that surprises even Tony- his knives slashing through the air with deadly precision. The woman's levelled voice turns to animalistic screams as she tries to back off in time, but it’s an impossible feat. He’s just too fast. And she’d clearly underrated his enhanced senses.
Peter's movements are fluid and precise, his strikes hitting their mark with deadly accuracy, each slash cutting clean cuts into the woman's skin. Tony's breath catches in his throat as he witnesses the boy slashing through the pile of writhing snakes, each blow bringing one or two to a sudden stillness on the ground. Then, with a swift and decisive motion, Peter crosses both blades from opposite sides at once, they meet in the middle, and the woman is decapitated, just like that, in one clean strike. The image flickers, and suddenly there is nothing but a pile of dust and a single snake lying motionless on the floor.

Tony feels like puking his guts out right there.

He’s seen a lot of violence, too much for a lifetime, sure. But he’s never seen an execution like that first-hand: especially not one carried out by his freaking child.

Peter kicks the lone snake aside, hiding it behind a patch of tall grass before turning his attention to Tony. Peter is panting heavily, cautiously opening his eyes and scanning the area for any remaining threats, checking in the thing is really out of sight. The genius lowers the faceplate, face crunching up as he watches the boy again instead of just his reflection. He drops the faceplate on the ground, forgotten.

“Tony!”

Rushing to his side, Peter helps Tony to his knees, his words tumbling out in a rush of apologies and concern. Tony feels a surge of emotion welling up inside him as he looks at the boy who has caused him so much worry and fear. There’s fear on Peter’s face too- but it’s a fear he’s seen far too many times in those brown bambi eyes to not recognize. Fear of rejection. He’s not afraid of any of those monsters. He’s afraid of Tony- of his reaction, more precisely. And Tony is mad, and confused- and hurt, and scared too. But that fear is one he’s worked too hard to chase away from Peter’s face the whole of the past year. He won’t have it again. It has to go. Like, yesterday.

He nearly misses the fact that the boy has just called out his actual name- which, in hindsight, is actually a good thing. He’d probably start bawling like a baby right there and then if he had had more time to think about it.

Grasping Peter's hands tightly, Tony stills his rambling with a firm gaze before pulling him into a tight embrace. In the middle of all the destruction and the battle that’s not yet over, Tony holds his kid close, feeling the weight of days of fear and anguish melting away with each passing moment, with each inhale of the familiar scent and warmth that reaches his overwhelmed senses.

“I thought I lost you again.”

The words leave his chest with a crack.
Suddenly, the iron armor between him and Peter is too much, and Tony wiggles a hand between them, not willing to let go of him at all, and double taps the spot on his chest that will have it retracting away. The suit is mangled and battered but it still works, if with a bit of extra difficulty. Once he’s free of it, Tony only cradles his boy even tighter against him again.

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh.” There’s a mix of relief and exasperation evident in his voice. Tony sighs, burrying a hand in the hair at back of Peter’s head, “you really had me worried there, kid."

Peter burries his nose further into the crook of Tony’s neck, eyes squeezing shut tightly, “I’m so sorry… I’m so so so sorry, but I- It wasn't exactly… voluntary! I- I swear! I just…”

Tony's brow furrows in confusion as he listens to Peter’s apology, eyeing the side of his kid’s head. His voice is gentle as he responds,"hey, hey. Kiddo, calm down. I never thought it was. I know whatever happened it wasn’t you. You didn’t mean it. It’s not your fault, it’s never your fault. We’re going to have a talk, buddy, sure, but right now I'm just glad you're back where you belong."

Peter exhales, relieved that Tony seems to understand, "it wasn't on purpose this time, I swear." He repeats, even after all the reassurances.

Tony lets out an even bigger sigh, his gaze softening as he moves away from the hug to look at Peter. His eyes are wide and twinkling, just as Tony remembers. The face he’s been seeing etched into every shadow, every wall, every reflection- that’s haunted his sleepless nights and rare moments of sleep. He cups the teen’s face in his hands, not even stopping to give a shit on how soft he has become over the years, how mushy and fatherly he feels. Tony from ten years ago can kiss his ass.
His thumb wipes away the furrow in between Peter’s brows, and he feels like a puddle of love and peace as he places several kisses on the very top of the kid’s forehead, all while the sound of explosions and repulsors firing keep sounding in the distance.

“God, you’re such a hazard to my blood pressure, Underoos.”

A small smile tugs at Peter's lips as he looks up at Tony, eyes crinkling as he pulls Tony’s wrists gently away. He looks back, over his shoulder, at Rescue and Strange, still keeping the robots at bay. Though Tony has the feeling those may not really be giant robots at all… Pepper’s shots bounce off the things, almost harmlessly. Only Strange seems to be fairing a bit better, somehow having dispatched one of the enemies through a portal. That smells an awful lot like magic to him. He hates magic- it makes no sense.

Peter clears his throat, getting bak up to his feet. Tony eyes the dangling beads around his neck. “I promise I’ll explain everything.” He says, “just got some ugly one-eyed brutes to take care of first. Stay here, okay?”

Tony doesn’t even bother arguing, or trying to make sense of what the kid has just said.  Apparently some mysteries can’t be solved, you have to let them reveal themselves. So, he nods, “you got it, kiddo. As long as you stay well within my sight."

Peter grins, “well, better hurry ‘cause that area is decreasing exponentially." With that, he turns and heads back into the fray, only stopping by the bush he’d kicked the curled up snake into first. Tony, letting the fact that the teen had just technically called him an old man go (but only this time), watches as his kid sticks his hand inside and clearly feels about the vegetation, before he’s pulling the thing out of it. He wants to look, to see the thing in Peter’s hand and to understand why and just how dangerous it might be. He’d seen a woman and then a snake falling. Everything is unbelievable and nothing makes sense and Tony is a man of action: he has to see, to touch, to experience to believe. But the way Peter had nearly begged him not to look…

He trusts his kid more than anything.

He could be blind and lost, but if Peter told him to jump, Tony would.

So Tony makes sure Morgan and Harley aren’t looking either and then resumes using the faceplate of his mask to watch as Peter scrambles up onto the shattered remnants of the lake house’s roof. The teen spots Pepper and Strange battling the robots (they’re not really robots, are they? He’s more and more sure they’re not-), their efforts seeming futile against the towering monsters that, for some obviously strange reason, don’t seem to be much vulnerable to their attacks.
Without hesitation, Peter balances on the edge of the roof, his khaki shorts and glaringly bright orange shirt a stark contrast to the red suit he should be wearing in such a situation. The teen calls out to the two, his voice cutting through the cacophony of battle.

“Pepper! Doctor Strange! Move away and cover your eyes!" Peter shouts, his tone as urgent as it’d been upon warning Tony.

Pepper's surprised voice cuts through the chaos, calling out his name. Tony sees his wife falter, RESCUE snuffing out one of the next blasts she was about to shoot. Her faceplate shoots up, the woman hovering mid-air as she turns her head to look at Peter, face frozen in a twisted kind of disbelief.

One of the robots swings an arm her way. Tony prepares to shout her name.

Peter’s stance stiffens too, a few milliseconds before, but before either of them can react, Strange acts quickly, pushing her out of harm's way just as a massive fist hurtles toward her. The two fall through a portal, showing up just by Tony’s side. With a clear path Peter raises his arm and Tony can see the reflection of the coiled snake hanging from his hand, “hey, ugly! Looking for a snack? Well, how about a taste of this!"

The robots, instantly enticed by Peter's taunts, turn toward him, their massive forms looming closer. One of them growls menacingly, its hunger evident in its eyes. (Yep, not a robot. Robots don’t eat.) That’s also when Tony suddenly puts two and two together: the snake/head is not the snack.

Peter is.

The creatures lounge, faster than his brain can register, faster than his panic can show signs of life. But before he’s forced to watch his kid get swallowed whole, the giant things grow suddenly still, clawed hands and huge mouths inches from Peter’s tiny form on the golden metal faceplate. When Tony blinks again, he has two new giant statues decorating his completely totaled garden.

The sudden stillness is deafening, and everyone takes a moment to catch their breath, gazes sweeping over the battlefield garden.

Tony is up on his feet by now, Pepper leaning against him as they both watch the aftermath, the giant stone sculptures adorning the demolished roof and living room and bedrooms of their house. Strange is standing right beside them, not so unusually quiet- though his brow bears a quizzical angle and he seems to be watching the scene with both mirth and interest. Tony hates it when that man knows something he doesn’t.

When Peter spots Pepper on the ground, he jumps down from the roof without hesitation, hurriedly making his way toward her. Tony feels his wife stiffen beside him, watches her eyes roam Peter with a certain shine to them and a question growing on the tip of her tongue. This would be the time after a fight where the kid would stop before them, rip out his red mask and let those honest expressions show his feelings: worry for their wellbeing, relief for them being okay, adrenaline fueled glee at the awesome so cool successful fight. This time, there's no mask to remove. Peter is clad in nothing but a simple orange shirt and shorts, which- in case it hasn't been mentioned enough,- is really throwing Tony off. And, apparently but non surprisingly, Pepper too, it seems.

Camp Half-Blood.

It reads. There's also a black horse with wings inside the circle surrounded by those words. Tony's only now able to properly read them.
Peter cautiously approaches Pepper, his face painted with a mix of relief and apprehension. That fear is there again, "Pepper, I'm so sorry," he begins, his words tumbling out in a rush. "I didn't mean to put you in danger, I swear, I just—"

“Don’t.”

Before he can finish his apologies, Pepper is rushing towards him, her eyes shining with tears as she envelops him in a tight hug, cutting off his words. Peter's breath catches in his throat as he returns the embrace, feeling the weight of the chronic guilt Tony knows the kid always wears lift from his shoulders in her arms. The boy looks at Tony with wide eyes, as wide as the eyes of a deer caught in the headlights. Tony snorts at the expression and all he can do is step forward and run a hand over his askew hair. Peter smiles, eyes crinkling. He shudders, nestling his nose deep against the crook of Pepper’s neck, seeking her warmth instead of the cool iron suit. She smiles, closing her eyes as she drops several kisses onto the top of his hair, “oh, sweetheart. We were so worried. Are you okay?”

Peter nods as they pull apart, Pepper’s hands sliding down to gently settled over his shoulders. His gaze is warm as he looks at her, “yeah, I think I am,” he rasps.

“You think?” Tony asks, warily eyeing his kid up and down again. It's really him, whole and looking healthy, it's really him.

Before Peter can respond, there's a shrill screech cutting across the yard and the surrounding woods. Morgan breaks free from Harley's grasp, her small form darting across the battlefield towards Peter with such an incredible amount of speed for her age it makes Tony think he might have a future Olympic champion for a daughter. With yet another joyful cry, she throws herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and burying her face against his chest. Peter laughs, his heart swelling with love for his little sister as he kneels and holds her close.

“Petey! You’re back!” Morgan sings, “I miss you so much because I love you! I miss you!”

If Peter looks a bit more misty eyed than he did before, no one mentions it. His smile must hurt from how big it is, on the contraire. “I love you too, Mo. So so much,” he admits, before a big kiss is being placed on her cheek.
Morgan giggles loudly at that. Peter gathers her fully in his arms, easily picking her up with his strength and setting her on his hip so he can better see her face and tuck a stray hair behind her little ear. Tony's heart melts at the slight. His babies are together again, as they should be.

Meanwhile, Strange turns to Tony, a snarky eyebrow raised at the display. There's that sense of compassion the doctor often tries to keep under wraps too, even if  his voice holds a slightly more serious warning amidst the amusement when he speaks, "I sense you have much to discuss.”

Tony looks from his tiny family, not wanting to miss a minute of the reunion for any thing on the world, but still doing so in order to shoot a wry grin at Strange, his tone laced with sarcasm, “yeah, really? Thanks for the heads-up, Doc.”

Strange rolls his eyes, but the hint of amusement in his gaze remains as he circles his hands in the air, orange sparks being born before they’ve formed a neat sparkling portal.

“Your necklace is so funny!” Morgan chirps.

Tony looks back towards his family, smile widening, stretching the deep eye bags underneath his eyes. He turns to Strange again, who's already on the other end of the portal, standing in the mystical sanctum of New York.

“Thanks,” he nods.

Strange nods back at him, “you’re in for a handful with that one, Stark.” Then, the portal closes.

As Strange disappears, leaving the family to their reunion, Tony and Peter exchange a meaningful glance, knowing that there are many questions to be answered. The kid’s expression grows weary, worried, almost let down, exhausted. He leans in further against Pepper and Morgan, but the weight of the air has changed.

Tony glances back at Harley, who has been watching everything from afar. His arms are crossed and he seems torn between letting the three have their moment a bit longer or advancing towards Peter as well. Then he looks at his destroyed house and sighs.    
There’ll be time for answers in a bit. He's lived without them for years, he can last a couple more minutes or hours. For now, they are all together, and that's all that matters. He becons Harley towards his family and the boy happily moves forward to clap Peter's shoulder, welcoming him back.

“Nice outfit, Spidey,” the blonde boy jokes, “you look like you’ve been to a summer camp.”

Peter snorts, “yeah, actually. Just like summer camp, but with a bit more madness and fewer marshmallows.”

Tony shakes his head, deciding not to indulge further in on the oddness. He clears his throat, closing the gap between his family and himself.

“Hey, don't leave the ‘old man’ out, okay? Elderly abandonment is a serious crime.”

When he joins the hug, the literal hole in his chest feels so much fuller. Peter automatically leans against him then and Tony has so many things he wants to say to those adoring brown eyes he feared he'd never see again, that all he can do is place a kiss on top of his head and smile against Peter's curls, hoping that to convey the message well enough.

…

The aftermath settles like a heavy fog inside the shattered remains of the lake house. Tony, Pepper, Morgan, Peter, and Harley sit amidst the wreckage, their expressions etched with exhaustion and tension. The adrenaline rush has faded, leaving behind a palpable sense of unease. Part of the ceiling and roof of the living room and the kid's bedrooms is gone, allowing the darkening sky to peek in and look down at them. Somewhere by the kitchen, a pipe has burst in the adjacent wall. There are windows missing and the floor has turned into a strange amalgamation of craters smashed together.

Peter's gaze flickers nervously across his family and Harley, his hands trembling slightly as he braces himself for the inevitable conversation. He knows he can't avoid it any longer—not after everything they've been through, not after the truth has been laid bare by the mess that’s just taken place not an hour ago. Tony's eyes bore into Peter's, a mixture of concern and apprehension swirling inside. "Kid," he begins, his voice rough, "we need to know what happened out there. We need to understand."

Pepper's hand finds Tony's, offering silent support as she turns her attention to Peter. She’s sitting right next to her husband on one of the couches that had survived the attack, covered in pieces of debris and a thick coat of white dust. "Sweetheart, whatever it is, you can tell us," she urges gently, her voice tinged with worry.

Morgan sits quietly beside her parents, her wide eyes fixed on Peter, her small hand clutching Pepper’s sleeve. Her little face still has a tiny smudge of dirt on the cheek and it only serves to violently fuel Peter’s violent guilt complex further. She doesn't fully grasp the gravity of the situation, but she senses the tension in the air. And she’s still twitchy, as are they all, jumpy. Harley shifts uncomfortably in his seat, a chair from the kitchen he’d dragged a couple feet away from the family- his gaze darting between Peter and the others. He's probably wondering what mess he's made himself land in the middle of when all he wanted was to get to know campuses and school programmes. In just a couple weeks of staying and the boy had managed to get thrown with Peter's two messy big big secrets, (all rather life threatning, too, by the way...)

Peter takes a deep breath, steeling himself for what he's about to reveal. There's no turning back now—not after tonight. "I... I'm not exactly who you think I am," he begins haltingly, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm... different."

“Well, yeah, kid,” Tony's brow furrows in confusion, Peter can see his mind racing. The man's hard-to-tame impatience is brewing and bubbling right under the surface-, but Peter can only be grateful for the effort he's done all this time to keep it at bay. “I think everyone here already knew that-”

“Tony…” Pepper interjects, "different how, sweetheart?" She asks, gentle tone laced with concern.

Peter shakes his head, filled to the brim with anxiety. There’s a bitter taste crawling up his throat and he faintly realizes it’s bile and swallows it down thickly. As the weight of his secret presses down on him like a suffocating blanket, Peter feels the familiar pang of fear clawing at his chest. His heart races with the anticipation of what's to come, each beat echoing loudly in his ears. He can feel the weight of their gazes bearing down on him, their silent expectations hanging heavy in the air. With each passing moment, the fear intensifies, threatening to overwhelm him completely. His palms grow clammy, his breaths coming in short, shallow gasps. The room feels stifling despite the forced 'openings', the air thick with tension as he struggles to find the courage to speak. He feels like a trapped animal, with nowhere to turn, to run, to just go.

Images flash through his mind like a whirlwind, memories of ugly days and encounters, of camp and May, of sharp teeth, amalgamation of members and red eyes or vacant orbs, poison, blood- each one a reminder of the danger he's tried so hard to shield them from. But now, as he stands on the precipice of revealing the truth, he can't help but wonder if it's all been for naught. Or if he’d been right to spare them for at least that short amount of time. A surge of adrenaline courses through him, his muscles tensing as he fights the urge to flee, a thin ice cold iron rod stabbing through his stomach. His mind races with a million questions, each one more terrifying than the last. What will they think of him? Will they understand why he kept it hidden for so long? Will they hate him for it? Willl they still accept him, knowing the truth? And, most importantly, will this moment come back to haunt him in the future?

Gods, he feels so fucking lost.

With a shaky breath, Peter rises from the couch, his movements jerky and uncertain. He paces back and forth across the room, his hands fidgeting nervously at his sides. But despite the overwhelming sense of despair that threatens to consume him, Peter knows he can't keep running from the truth. He knows he owes it to his family to be honest, no matter how difficult it may be. And so, with a heavy heart and trembling hands, he takes a deep breath and prepares to finally reveal the secret he's kept hidden for so long.

There are so many pairs of eyes staring at him.

He meets Tony's gaze, his body trembling.

Just rip the bandaid. Just rip the bandaid.

Just rip the bandaid.

Yeah. Yeah, okay. He can do that.

"I'm a demigod.”

A stunned silence falls over the room. Tony's eyes widen in disbelief and, honestly, confusion- as does Pepper’s. Harley's jaw drops in astonishment. Morgan's innocent voice is the first to break the silence, her eyes wide with wonder. "A demigod?" she repeats, her voice filled with awe.

Peter nods slowly, cautious. "Yeah," he whispers, his voice barely audible. "I'm a demigod."

There’s yet another long pause.

Then:

“So, you're like Hercules from the Disney movie?!" She gasps, face lighting up.

“What? Like, what- Jesus?!” Harley blurts out at the same time, face contorted into an offended sort of confusion- before quickly slapping his mouth closed.

Peter blinks.

A snort inadvertently bubbles up from deep within him. Then, he remembers it might not be the best moment and clears his throat, “yes, no. I’m… I’m half-human and half-god.”

“Yeah, that’s what demigod means…” Harley is still staring dumbfounded at him.

”Excuse me, what the fuck?” Tony blurts out.

“You’re what…?” Pepper slowly says, not even bothering with scolding him for swearing in front of Morgan.

“Oh my god…” Tony grumbles, letting his face fall and smush against his hands. He rubs at his eyebags.

“What?!” Peter worriedly asks. This is it. The reaction he’d been fearing. How could Peter have blatantly lied to his face since… well, since always, since they’ve known each other!?

“You’re telling me,” Tony stares him dead on with a frown, “that all this time, you’ve been afraid to tell me you’re part god?! All the secrets, all the oddness… for this!?

Peter scratches his arm, “yeah? Are- are you disappointed? You kinda look disappointed. That’s not exactly the reaction I’d been waiting for.”

”What even were you expecting me to react like?!” Tony waves his hands.

Peter shrugs, pouting, “I don’t know… a bit more incredulity, a bit more… anger?”

Tony holds the bridge of his nose with his fingers, “kid, I’ve spent Christmas with a god, for hell’s sake! His name’s Thor, big muscles, big hammer, not so big brain- hello? Peter, we all know gods exist! How bad could it be to tell us that?!”

Peter shakes his head, “no, you don’t understand. It’s not that easy!”

“How hard could it be?! Why would you ever think we- I- would think less of you for something like this?!” Peter opens his mouth, but Tony shushes him, literally. “Shush! Don’t even try, I know you. That’s definitely something you thought might happen, kid.”

Peter frowns at that, temper beginning to flare, “no! You don’t understand! The reason I didn't tell you is exactly why this place is in this state!” He waves around, “I’m the one that caused this!”

“So, what? You’ve angered some holy family member? I think we can handle that, Pete-”

“No! You’re not listening, just…” He breathes in deeply, trying to calm down, “I just… I need you to listen to me. Like…. really listen.” He glances at Morgan, “I can’t explain with her here.”

Tony hesitates. The genius clicks his tongue, but relents, falling backwards against the back of the couch. Pepper sighs, looking tired like Peter’s never seen her. “Harley, would you-?”

“Got it.” The blonde boy is already up on his feet, taking the little girl by the hand towards the door- or, where the door would have been. “We’ll be outside, this dust is probably bad for Morgan anyway.”

As his little sister passes by him on her way out, she looks up at Peter with wide eyes, her expression a mixture of awe and admiration. "You're amazing," she whispers, her voice filled with wonder.

Peter manages a weak smile, his heart heavy with gratitude, though he can’t help but feel even guiltier at her words. No, he’s not. She could have died because of him.  "Thanks, Mo," he says softly, his voice tinged with emotion.

With the two out, the woman pats the spot between her and Tony on the couch. Peter crosses his arms and slowly marches up towards it, half-hugging himself as he sits in between the two adults he can’t help but see as parents. He doesn’t even know where to start.

Thankfully, Pepper seems to always know when he needs some saving, “can you tell us… how?" She asks, gently.

Peter hesitates, “it’s... complicated," he admits, his gaze shifting uncomfortably.

“Please don’t tell me you also got bit by a god,” Tony says.

Peter deadpans.

“You know what? Maybe I’ll just vanish again for a couple days, how about that?”

“Peter Benjamin Parker.”

“Sorry…”

But Tony’s face, when he shyly looks back up to sneak a peek at him, is reassuringly accepting- and resigned. “I’m sorry too, kiddo,” he admits, “I didn’t mean to put you on the spot back then, it’s just… it’s just been a really shitty week,” Peter looks down, Tony settles a hand on the back of his kid’s neck, “and I never thought this is how it would end. I mean, I’m glad it did, too. I’m glad we got you back, it’s just all of this…” He gestures at the wreckage, “it’s not your fault, there’s just no parenting book on how to react when your kid tells you they’re a god.”

“Half god,” Peter sheepishly smiles, “and no, I wasn't bitten by one. For real.”

“We know you weren’t,” Pepper rolls her eyes, shooting a soft glare at her husband. She takes one of Peter’s hands in hers, holding them over her lap, “demigods are the children of gods, right?”

Peter nods, “yeah. Nordic gods like Mr. Thor aren’t the only ones that exist. Greek gods are real.”

“Like, the ones from Ancient Greek myths?” Tony ponders.

“Hmm,” Peter agrees, “and Roman gods too, from the pagan myths. Though, they’re technically the same, only their roman counterparts- sorry, got distracted. Anyway, it’s confusing. A lot is confusing about our world, really.”

“Was that woman…” Tony begins and Peter can make out the unease in his voice, the… fear… the genius doesn’t want to show and, clearly, to admit he’d felt. Peter doesn’t judge him. The man may have gone through a lot, faced plenty of enemies- non-human even- but a monster is always a monster, especially to a mortal who cannot understand what exactly it is he’s looking at but that can only understand one thing: that whatever it is, it is fundamentally wrong.

“No,” he quickly reassures, not that the truth is much better.

“And the other two?” Pepper asks.

Peter shakes his head.

“There are gods and goddesses; Zeus, Poseidon, Hades, Aphrodite, all of those- you’ve heard of them. But the old stories and myths are true as well. The minotaur, harpies, manticores,” he shrugs, “ironically? Hydras. Monsters are real too, and they all absolutely hate the gods, but can’t hurt them. So, they go for the next best thing… us.”

He avoids the growing petrified stares.

“All throughout history, demigods- or, half-bloods, heroes- have fought monsters. Perseus and Medusa, Heracles and the Hydra, Bellerophon and the Chimera…” Peter takes a deep breath, steeling himself to continue. "So, demigods, we're the offspring of gods and mortals. That makes us... well, favorite targets for these monsters," he explains.

Pepper's eyes widen, her hand flying to her mouth as she processes this new information. "Targets? But... How? Do they wander around looking for you?" She asks, her voice barely more than a whisper.

“Because monsters can sense us," Peter continues, his voice heavy with the weight of his words. "They can smell our scent, track us down... and well, some of them have grudges against specific godly parents and want to get revenge through their children, like that woman today- Medusa. Some monsters just have awful anger issues, some are just loony, and others are just very very hungry… if you get me. Demigods, we kind of smell like a good old barbecue to them."

Tony's jaw tightens as he absorbs Peter's explanation, his mind racing with the implications. "So that's why they attacked us," he murmurs, his voice dark with realization.

Peter nods grimly. "Yeah. They followed my scent here," he admits, his gaze falling to the floor.

“How? You said these heroes defeated them, how can they still exist today?” Tony is scowling and, to Peter’s fear, it’s not directed at him. Yet another reason he avoided telling the truth to the man: he’ll start getting… ideas.

"You can kill a monster, but it can never die,” he says, only to look back at two very confused faces. Right. That explanation always does wonders. “Every time they’re killed, they’re sent back to this place where they regenerate and it’s only a matter of time before they’re back.”

He looks at Pepper when he feels a hand carding through his curls, softly pulling his hair back and away from his face. Her eyes are lined with tears.

"I'm sorry. I never wanted to put you all in danger."

“Don’t you dare apologize. You’ve just told us you’ve been hunted down by these… things that want to kill and eat you, and you’re apologizing?!” Tony’s voice sounds a bit crazed, “since when… how long?”

“I was nine when I found out,” he admits, “I’d always seen these weird things, always had unexplainable accidents happen around me or to me. My parents knew, I guess, May and Ben too. One day, one of them came after me. They told me what happened and reached out to a satyr- they’re sort of our protectors, meant to sniff out half-bloods and take them to safety- and he rushed me to camp.

“Camp?” Pepper asks.

“Yeah,” Peter manages a faint smile. Camp is, despite his recent visit, still a bit of a sore spot for him. "There's a place," he begins, “it’s like a summer camp... but for demigods. It's the only safe place for people like us.

"It's called Camp Half-Blood," Peter explains, his voice growing stronger with each word. "It's protected by a magical barrier that keeps monsters out. It's where demigods go to train, to learn how to protect themselves. It’s really- and I mean, really- the only place in the world that’s safe for greek demigods. Magic keeps mortals like you from finding it.”

“Okay… first, don’t call me that ever again,” Tony raises his index, “it’s weird coming from you and it makes me feel old. Second, where the fuck is it? I’m pining that place on a fucking map. It’s where you were all this time, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah… I may have been just a little bit hurt?” Both adults fulminate him with their eyes at that and Peter hurries to explain, “Some monsters ganged up on me while I was out patrolling and another demigod helped me get to camp to receive medical help. See? Nothing there! Children of Apollo make the best healers!” He parades his leg in front of them, pointing at it and turning. His bandages are gone and there’s just a faint tender white line running along the side of the muscle. Neither of his guardians look impressed.

Before Tony can get started on his famous mother hen shit show, Peter hurries to change the subject, opting to answer the other part of the man’s question. “It’s near here, in Long Island Sound. In the middle of the woods, there’s a hill. It spreads out from there all the way towards the bay.”

Pepper's eyes widen in realization as she processes Peter's words. "That’s where we were.” Peter looks at her, confused. Tony’s gaze darkens.

“Shit… Fuck. FUCK! Fucking-” The man jumps to his feet, startling the two of them. He walks around in front of the couch, hands pulling up at his greying hair, breaths growing shallow. “Fuck, we were so close. You were right there, hurt, and- why-? We just left! I fucking left! And you were right there!!!”

Peter jumps from his place too, hurrying forward, “Tony, please, it’s not your fault,” he grabs at his guardian’s arm, pulling him to a stop, “no mortal can get in! You can’t even see it! The mist, there’s this thing called the mist. It’s a magic veil. It shields the eyes of mortals from the mythological world-”

“-don’t call me that…”

“-you probably just saw a strawberry farm! Right?” Pepper nods, eyes round. She’s standing up too. “We sell strawberries to mortals, so the mist disguises camp as a strawberry farm! Delphi Strawberry Service!”

Tony’s mouth presses into a line. His head snaps towards his wife, “Delphi. Fucking Delphi. I should’ve known there was something fucking magical going on. That place… We just turned around and forgot about it!”

“Why were you in Long Island, anyway?!” Peter wonders.

“Your suit, there was a random signal that popped up around there one day,” Pepper explains, walking towards him. She takes Tony’s other arm, slowly pulling the still mumbling man back towards the couch and sitting him down.

“Oh,” Peter nods. He doesn’t dare explain why the suit’s signal might have popped up that day. He’d worn it underneath his clothes the night he sneaked out to say goodbye to them. It might have connected to Tony’s servers briefly after he left the magical border.

There is silence for a while, a tiny break finally allowing the two adults to try and process everything they’re being told and for Peter to get a breather. He’s watching Tony with a somber look when the man suddenly mutters something a bit louder than the rest.

“What?”

Tony looks up and it’s like he’s studying Peter, “you said gods had children. Which one had you?”

Peter’s cheeks grow warm. “Oh…” He looks down, fiddling with his hands, unable to stop the tiny smile from growing on his lips- which is stupid, because he’s not really on a fun streak with his mom. He guesses he’s just happy that, after everything he’s heard, Tony still cares enough to ask about Peter.

“I’m a son of Athena, goddess of wisdom, warfare and handicraft.”

Tony and Pepper stare at him.

”That’s… good…” Tony clicks his tongue, “that’s good, right?”

“Heh. I’m just… particularly good at strategy. No special powers.”

Tony nods, slowly, still looking at Peter. His eyes seem to shine, though, as if he’s literally looking at Peter in a new light.

“Athena,” Pepper tries the word, slowly letting it roll out of her tongue, “wow…” She whispers, “I’ve read about her. Daughter of Zeus. She’s one of the virgin goddesses, isn’t she? What’s she like?”

Peter opens his mouth. Then he closes it, and looks down.

“Er-”

Tony raises an eyebrow at his wife, “didn’t know I’d married a greek mythology connoisseur…”

She scowls, “I had a phase, okay?” Tony winks at her and she rolls her eyes, “sorry, sweetheart. You were saying?”

Peter shrugs, “actually, I don’t know her very well… we… we’ve met once?” And she wasn’t very motherly…

“What do you mean once?” Tony interjects, loudly.

Peter winces, “gods aren’t… really the parent blueprint? I’m one of many, in many thousands of years. Also,” he looks up, trying to ransack his smarty brain for a way to explain so that it won’t sound half as bad. Still, it’s like Athena is listening to him badmouth her, because no other words come up and Peter, too tired to keep pretending, just rips the bandaid, again, “they don’t really care. Kind of hate us sometimes, to be honest. Either we bring glory to their names, or we’re nothing; and even when you do manage to make them proud, they also still don’t really care.”

“How can I speak to this lady?” Tony stands up again, ignoring Pepper’s protests. He’s disheveled, hair poking up in random ways and his face is pale and contorted in angry wrinkles. There’s dirt and smears of blood on his face, which only serves to enhance the crazed look he’s got going on. His eyes have that same dangerous glint Peter has feared they would get: the one May had that night, the look that is willing to challenge the unknown, horrors they can't so much as see, let alone fight, and get themselves into a whole lot of trouble- all because of Peter.

“Tony,” Peter smiles, trying to reassure his guardian, “I appreciate it, but there's really nothing you can do. Demigods are on their own. We’re supposed to win by ourselves, whatever that means…” Or die trying.

We’re born to die. As tragically as possible, too, that's always great of them to deliver.

Should he tell them he's nearing his life expentancy?

He thinks back to Tony's heart conditions.

Yeah, probably not the best idea...

“Fuck,” Pepper says.

Peter blinks. Pepper does not swear.

“Are you okay…?” He asks, wincing.

Pepper is staring at him wide eyed, “are you? I mean, sweety… I knew you’d had a though life but… being hunted down every day as a little kid… God, May knew. You must have felt so alone this year, with no one to talk about any of this. Why didn't you tell us, Peter? I still don't understand… we’re, we’re not exactly normal people either. We would have understood.”

Peter's shoulders slump as he meets her gaze, the guilt weighing heavily on his conscience. "I... I didn't want to put you in any more danger than you’re already in just by me living with you," he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. "Monsters don’t go after…” He sneaks a glances at Tony, “non-demigods. But, just like when we learn of our heritage and our scent immediately grows stronger, when a mortal knows about us, out scent grows stronger too and that person might end up drawing their attention. It’s like a blaring beacon. Monsters are- They’re… sadistic like that. Which is precisely what happened here…” He shrugs, “I just thought if I kept it a secret, if I kept you out of it... maybe you'd be safer. Unlike… unlike May.”

“Her death…” Tony leans a bit down, inching closer to Peter whose head is lowered.

“Yeah. She'd always been able to see through the mist. Some mortals can. It's just born with them. They see the monsters, our weapons. For instance, you always saw me holding something different whenever I had my dual blades out, but May could see them as they truly are."

Tony freezes, "Morgan saw the monsters outside. She didn't see what we saw. She kept calling them monsters."

"She did," Pepper mutters, voice shaken.

Peter's heart drops to his feet. He rubs his face with his palms, "fuck. Morgan can see through the mist???" His forehead is etched with wrinkles as his face twists into the depiction of horror, "shit..."

"Is it bad?" Pepper asks.

He sniffs, clearing his throat to try and keep away the hiccups spasming within his chest, “not if she doesn't go looking into it. It's just more dangerous, once again, because of me. Monsters will always come for me and if they realize she can see them too- and that she knows me- they may go for her. Like... like May. This monster came after me when we were at the mountains. It caught me in the wrong place at the wrong time. May turned its attention to her. She..." He feels his eyes stinginging, "May died for me. It was supposed to be me.”

”Don’t say that-“ Pepper rushes to cut him off, grabbing at his hands.

“And you tried to run away to this camp, that night,” Tony connects the dots. “I found you near Long Island. You didn’t want to come back with me and I thought… I thought it was just the grief but…” The man shakes his head, suddenly surging forward and pulling Peter into his arms, tucking him tightly against his chest. Peter grabs onto him just as fast, if not faster, on instinct, as easy as breathing and blinking comes.

“Jesus, kid, when will you stop being so freaking selfless?”

Pepper comes up from behind, laying her hand over Peter's arm and softly running it up and down over his sleeveless skin. His skin is cool in the summer night air. The beads around his neck dig uncomfortably into Tony’s chest but the man doesn't complain, so neither does Peter. His eyes are leaking and, for the first time, he doesn't want- doesn't need- for them to stop.

He's safe, right there. Even if for just a moment.

“I was afraid you’d be mad at me,” he hiccups, “for hiding this for so long. I lied so much. I created you so much trouble- and, and hardships, and you were entitled to know, but I couldn’t lose anyone ever again. You, Morgan… I’m putting her in danger. She doesn't reserve this. None of you do.”

There's a heavy silence that settles over the room as they digest Peter's revelation, the weight of his words hanging in the air like a thick fog.

Tony's expression softens as he listens to Peter's words, the boy’s hurt tugging at his heartstrings. "Kid, you should've told us because none of that is true. We both know you would never let anything bad happen to Morgan. I'm honestly more scared of what you might let happen to yourself to keep her safe."

"Morgan loves you, she wants you here. We all do. No matter what you are or aren't," Pepper agrees, her voice heavy. “If there's one person here who doesn't deserve any of this it’s you, sweetheart. "

Tony smiles down at him, placing a sweet kiss on his curls, “and if you ever dare to think otherwise, I’m grounding you. No Spider-Maning for a month. Also no ice cream.”

Peter sniffs, looking up, outraged, “what?! That's so unfair!”

Pepper chuckles at his childish tone, “I second it.”

The boy gasps, “traitor…”

“One more thing. If this demiblood thing is gonna work,” Tony starts, completely ignoring Peter's complaints that it ‘is Half-Blood actually!’, “it’s gotta stop being a ‘you’ thing. Pepper and I are in on it too. You fill us in, no more secrets, no more mysteries, and we are not going to let anything happen to you, we'll find a way. That's a promise, kiddo.” He taps Peter’s nose, “so don't be an idiot. No more lies. You suck at lying. Or, at least take some lessons first. I don't wanna keep seeing weird shit going on without a proper explanation.” Peter giggles and Tony wipes the bottom of his eyes. “I’m serious, Underoos. It's not on you to always protect everyone. I’m going to find a way to protect you from this too. You deserve to be protected. Get that into your thick noggin’ yeah? We’re allowed to help.”

Peter swallows hardly, overtaken with emotion. He doesn't have the heart to try and convince Tony that there really is nothing he can do. It’s the thought that counts. And, at least, he’ll be busy thinking up ideas instead of getting between Peter and more monsters as May had.

He nods.

“I wanna hear it,” Tony insists, cupping a hand around his ear, “come on.”

Peter looks at Pepper, who's biting her lip to keep from laughing. She nods, urging him on.

“Okay, no more secrets,” he relents, a smile cracking across his cheeks, “just the truth.”

Tony snorts, ruffling his hair rather annoyingly and pulling him in again, followed by Pepper, “that's my kid.”

And Peter smiles.

And smiles.

And the guilt and doubt and fear and regret are still there, but he can't help but smile. They're part of who he is, they're not going anywhere anytime soon. He's allowed this break. He will always be everything he is, but at that moment, he's something else, something more important, the one thing he’s wanted more than anything to be.

He's Tony’s kid.

…

    555-4510

    We got him.

555-7735 ˜Michelle J.

About time

555-7735 ˜Michelle J.

Is he okay?

    555-4510

    Safe and sound. Tony's half-crying, half-yelling at him.

555-4510

You good?

555-7735 ˜Michelle J.

Drama-free life officially over, I guess

    555-4510

    You say that like it's a bad thing

555-7735 ˜Michelle J.

…

555-7735 ˜Michelle J.

Life was simpler before Peter

    555-4510

    Yeah, but I bet it was also duller

555-7735 ˜Michelle J.

Maybe dull isn't so bad.

    555-4510

    You really believe that?

555-7735 ˜Michelle J.

For some reason no…

555-7735 ˜Michelle J.

Not really…

    555-4510

    You sound thrilled.

         555-4510

    You missed him that much, huh?

555-7735 ˜Michelle J.

I never said that

    555-4510

    Uh oh. Careful. Your stoic mask is slipping

    555-4510

    cause you never didn’t say it either

555-7735 ˜Michelle J.

Shut up, Keener.

    555-4510

    you guys’ first date’s on me

555-7735 ˜Michelle J.

your biography's on me.

555-7735 ˜Michelle J.

smth tells me there’ll be a killer plot twist at the end

…

The soft glow of the bedside lamp casts a warm ambiance in Peter's room as he sits cross-legged on his bed, glancing over one of the books he'd set out to read that summer, but had been interrupted days ago.

Tony watches from behind the ajar door of his room. He's fully aware the kid can probably hear him, knows he's there -spying- but it's not like Tony cares. He's beyond giving a shit. Maybe in the past he would have. He can vaguely remember the time when Peter was but a stranger, a cheeky kid he'd recruited on a slip of desperation, and then later on a sort of teammate that required just a bit more attention than the others, a little more care, tough yet fragile. He remembers very faintly the time when he'd realized perhaps this random kid had become more important to him than Tony could allow it, when he did everything not to let him in. He remembers, but can hardly imagine not caring for such a precious human- or, half/quarter human, whatever the boy is at that point, with gods and spiders messing with him and his genetic code.

His kid got ripped away from him and now he's back and all Tony can do is watch him, drink him in, and let the panic he's been trying to keep at bay since the day Peter never showed up to dinner simmer and bubble within him, turning to giddy butterflies of happiness and relief- and strangling snakes of yet another kind of worry. Since becoming a father, no- since meeting that boy long before that,- Tony's been discovering a whole different set of emotions he didn't know existed are, in fact, real.

Where's the son of Athena?

Where’s that half-blood runt?

The words sibilate across the inside of his skull and Tony shakes his head. If that voice, that being, was disguised from his eyes by whatever magic curtain Peter told him and Pepper of, than he doesn't want to imagine what it would have sounded like if it wasn't.

There's that anger at the universe again.

Why does such a good kid have to suffer so much? Just when he thought Peter couldn't lose more, he learns he already has.

“Are you staying there ‘till morning?”

Tony smiles, pushing the door open to fully look at the boy. “Knock knock,” he teases.

Peter puffs his cheeks, rolling his eyes, but he's smiling too. Despite the heaviness none of them can ever fully scare away, can only get used to, a genuine warmth settles in the room. Tony heads forward, sitting over the covers draped over Peter's lower body and then climbs up on the bed entirely beside him, stretching out his legs with a big exaggerated yawn.
“Scooch over, you're in grave debt of cuddles from this past week's little misadventure, mister," Tony declares, wrapping an arm around his kid. The boy snorts, closing his book and snuggling closer under his arm, tucking his head next to Tony’s chest as he always does, listening to his heart. After May, it was one of the only things that could get him to sleep even if for a couple hours. Whenever he left, the kid always woke up in a cold sweat, crying out for another parent that had been taken from him. Tony's spent many nights looking up at that specific ceiling above that specific bed, hoping for things to get better.

As they lean back against the pillows, Peter sighs. Tony looks down at the mop of brown hair, a teasing smile pulling at his lips. He already knows another apology is on its way.

"It's not like I wanted to keep secrets. I just... didn't know how to tell you, you know?" Peter stresses.

"Hmm..."

“Back when May was still alive, there was a time I started to really want to tell you and she encouraged me to do it too. I just… didn’t really know how to go about it and then I waited too long and then- then things happened, Thanos happened, May happened, and afterwards everything was so new, not only to me, but to you as well… there was just so much going on at once…”

Tony rolls his eyes dramatically, "please, I've survived aliens, evil AI, my own charming personality and worse, greedy men. A little demiblood drama wouldn't faze me."

"Demigod..."

Peter is quiet for a moment.

“And no, I guess it wouldn’t... I’m just stupid like that.” The kid goes on, focused on that bad habit Tony hates so much: talking ill of himself, “if you factor in my not-so-secret side gig as a genetically altered person that swings around dressed in a skin-tight suit, which is already like having a giant target painted on my back either way, I guess it wouldn’t have been that weird of a conversation.” He admits. “Gods, even Kate told me to do it and I had to wait until I became an orphan again and for freaking Medusa to come crawling out her lair- which, just so you know, is not very usual of her.”

“Hmm, got it,” Tony says, like he's taking notes- which, truthfully, he kinda is. There's much reading to be done the following nights. He's about to become and expert in ancient greek mythology. Never saw that one coming.
Then, he pauses. An eyebrow climbs up his forehead, “wait did you say Kate?”

The kid has the decency to look a bit sorry.

Tony purses his lips.

And sighs.

“Childhood friend, uh?”

“Yeah… actually met her at camp. She’s not exactly a half-blood. Her dad was a son of Apollo, which makes her a legacy- anyway! It’s not my story to tell, Tony! Quit changing the subject!”

“I like the name change though,” Tony teases. Peter stiffens against him. “You called me that back at the lake house today too. Many times. I’m finally even with Pepper, huh?”

Peter’s cheeks flush and he hides his face in his hands, “I can keep calling you Mr. Stark if you prefer…”

“I swear I’ll ground you for life if you do.”

Peter giggles, “on second thought…”

“Hmm,” Tony asserts.

They stay quiet for a while, slowly melting against the soft mattress and covers. Peter snorts at one point and Tony looks down again, “what?”

“Nothing…” The kid mumbles, drowsily, “just thinking about what we were talking about earlier. How it would have been to tell you the truth instead of just letting you see me in the weirdest situations thanks to the mist.”

“I would have believed you,” Tony says, “anything you said would sound believable after the shit I saw you do.”

Peter yawns.

“Right… so believable…” He clears his throat.

“Hey, Mr. Stark,” Peter imitates his younger self, through a funny high-pitched voice, which to Tony is still pretty much the same thing: the kid didn’t age for five years, after all. “Just wanted to say a greek goddess birthed me out of her forehead ‘cause she thought my father was kinda of a nerd. No no, it’s cool. Oh the weird stuff? No, it’s not just New York’s charming wildlife, it’s actually creatures from ancient myths that want to murder me. By the way, can you hand me that ratchet? This cylinder is giving me a hard time again.”

“Go to sleep, sleepyhead. If the cylinder head’s stuck it needs a socket wrench not a ratchet and you know it”, Tony snorts. “What are the beds made of at that camp of yours? You look like you’ve spent the whole week awake.”

Peter grumbles under his breath, snuggling further against Tony’s side. He hides his face in the man’s shirt, “got the top bunk. And my face stuffed in a toilet- willingly. Kinda… Not very… relaxing…”

Tony whistles.

“Wow. And you make the monsters sound bad.”

“Don't joke. Monsters are no joke… They’re ugly,” the boy slurs, “and they smell. Didn't want you and Pepper and Mo to smell like me either… too messy …”

Tony's expression softens,  the playful facade fading as he feels Peter beginning to dose off against him. He cards his fingers through his kid’s hair, rythmic circles and caresses that only lull him further to sleep, "you don't get to decide what mess we want to be a part of, Pete.”

“Hmm…”

“Hey, I’m serious. This is getting repetitive. I swear this is the last time I'll say this. You’ll have to just believe it from now on.” Tony nudges him so he'll listen before falling completely asleep, "listen, Junior, monsters can kiss my genius, billionaire, stay-at-home dad, philanthropist behind. If they think they can mess with us, they've got another thing coming. And as for you trying to pull the whole lone-hero act, that’s become so old.” He digs a finger into Peter's side, the boy letting out a drowsy subconscious giggle.

“You're stuck with us, and that includes me being your very own monster repellent. You’ll see.”

As his breathing evens out against Tony's chest, the man picks up the book the kid had been reading and sets it on the bedside tablet, turning off the light. He kisses the mop of hair and smiles.

Peter will see. He won’t ever have to fall alone again.

And Tony will catch him if he does.

…

Peter approaches the porch of the Big House, a wooden box clutched tightly in his hands. Chiron and Mr. D await him, the former standing tall and dignified, while the latter lounges lazily in a chair with a can of diet coke in hand.

"Peter, my boy," Chiron greets him warmly, though his tone is filled with moderate caution, “I trust you're alright?”

Peter nods, trying to push down the unease that still bubbles in his chest. "Yeah, I handled it. But we need to talk about what happened. They came after my family because of me, didn't they?"

Chiron's expression softens with empathy, “I'm afraid so, Peter. Your scent as a demigod likely led them straight to them-“

“No,” Peter interrupts. He sets the box heavily down on the table before the two men, likely destroying a game of poker that’s in the middle of happening. He doesn’t think Chiron would ever mind about that, and- judging from what he’s seen- neither will the wine god who was loosing big time. Inside, Medusa’s head jostles around, making a very faint squelching kind of gross sound.
“This wasn’t that,” he insists. “I mean- it was, but… I did sneak to our house one night, but the time I was there, the days that passed in the mean time, it shouldn’t have been enough for them to track their way there. I’m not some forbidden child, my scent is strong but not THAT strong. Also, the way Medusa spoke- they went after my family on purpose, it’s like she wasn’t sure whether I’d even be there or not.”

Chiron frowns, tail flickering against his hind legs, one of the few nervous habits Peter’s been able to pick up on all the years he’s known the centaur. He crosses his arms, “things are in motion.” He admits. “Something’s stirring, big or small, and it seems to have its attention on you. The oracle-“

Peter feverishly shakes his head, “I already denied being part of that stupid prophecy you all want me so badly to be part of. I refuse it, so it can’t be me-“

“That’s not how it works and you know it, my boy-“

“Mr. Chiron-“

Mr. D, seemingly uninterested in the conversation up until then, suddenly interjects with his usual nonchalance, "Patrick, listen-"

"My name’s not Patrick, Mr. D," Peter interrupts, feeling a bit exasperated.

"No matter, Paddy-"

"Still not it."

"Percy-"

"Wrong godly parent."

"Pedro-"

"You know what? I'll take it."

"Ah, yes, whatever. Just go home already," Mr. D grumbles, taking a swig from his can. "I can't listen to you two yapping yapping around me any more."

Peter deadpans at the god, before huffing through his nose and allowing a small smile to grace his lips. He’s glad for the change of subject, actually, “yeah, I have to be somewhere soon anyway."

Chiron regards him with a knowing look, and Peter is reminded that this will likely still not be the last time he’s going to have to put up with the prophecy convo.

“Will you be returning, Peter?"

Peter hesitates for a moment, then nods firmly. He’s tired of running- from either side of his life.

"I think I am, this time.”

"Then you should have this," Chiron says, holding out a small pouch. Peter's eyes widen in surprise as he takes it, immediately opening and recognizing the spheres inside it as the missing beads from his camp necklace.

"I don't deserve this," Peter murmurs, his voice filled with emotion, “I wasn’t here these years.”

Chiron places a reassuring hand on his shoulder, “surviving as a demigod is achievement enough, Peter. This is your home too, no matter if you want it or not. No matter what yours peers might think, you will never have to earn your place here. It’s always been yours.”

Peter swallows past the lump in his throat, feeling a sense of belonging finally wash over him. It’s strong and overwhelming and he feels every doubt that’s grown roots in him over the years tremble and crack. The things he’s put himself through all that time are derived from a small wounded child, from a broken sense of responsibility, from the fear that to this place and its people, he was just the things he had to do and those he failed to accomplish. Maybe that’s true for some of his peers, maybe he was and still is those failures, but since when has he allowed what others think of him dictate his life? He wants a normal life, outside these borders, and he has it- but denying he wants to be a part of camp, wants to not feel the alienation from his kin that he’s been forcing upon himself,- it’d be like denying his second arm or his second leg.

“Thank you, Mr. Chiron,” he rasps, before clearing his throat. Then, he turns to Mr. D, who’s seeping at his coke once again, and narrows his eyes, smiling as innocently as he can, “and you’re welcome, you know, for the game.”

The god frowns, mouth gaping open like a fish.

With a final nod of farewell, and a couple slaps to the top of the box for good measure, Peter turns and walks away.

He walks confidently through the forest, the weight of his decision to return to camp lifting with each step. As he reaches the road, he casts one last glance back at the camp borders, the emblematic pine tree off in the distance at the top of half-blood hill, and a small smile plays on his lips as he touches the beads of his complete necklace.
A car is parked at the edge of the road. The front passenger window rolls down before him, and Tony leans over from the driver's seat, a grin on his face as he peeks at Peter behind stylish shades, “ready to go, kiddo? All this greenery’s starting to make me feel like I’m in a giant salad bowl or something.”

Peter nods with a serious face, "yeah, better go before we run into any giant salad dressings,” he jokes, trying to hold in the surge of pure warmth and gratitude and just overwhelming joy that’s been covering him head to toe the last minutes.

“Haha, look, I think I’m so funny,” Tony mocks him. The man ruffles his hair as he usually does when Peter gets in the car and Peter’s complaints, he admits, are perhaps less than half as serious as they usually are.

They drive off, the sound of Led Zeppelin ACDC filling the car as they speed down the road.

…

As soon as Tony pulls the car to a stop, he turns to Peter, “you sure you good, kiddo?"

Peter breathes out, a bit shakily. Still, that same sense of contentment that’s been washing over him since Tony picked him up from camp is enough to settle his nerves, “yeah, ready to dive back in."
Exiting the car, he waves at the billionaire, who’s watching him walk away like those dads that Peter always watched drop their kids on the first day of school. Butterflies dance in his belly and, in a long time, he’s honestly feeling like he could dance right along with them.

MJ and Ned are huddled around a stack of donation boxes, their backs to Peter as he approaches and comes to a stop right behind his friends.

“Ned, just drop it. We need to sort through these boxes and separate the clothes from the non-perishable food items. I don’t wanna be here all day,” MJ sighs, dragging a box filled with clothing items away from Ned.

Ned lets out a dramatic sigh, shaking his head in mock disappointment. “You're no fun. If Peter were here, he'd agree with me.” The boy drops the shirt into the box that’s been dragged away from him and Peter smiles wickedly- he can easily see the two words written on its chest: ‘Hello there.’

“General Kenobi.”

His friends freeze.

Ned is the first to look back and catch sight of him. His best friend’s eyes turn to twin moons and he lets out an excited yell, immediately launching himself at Peter in a bear hug, “Peter, dude! Oh my god! You’re back!”

Peter laughs, returning the hug, “missed you too, Ned."

MJ watches the scene with an expression Peter can’t exactly pinpoint, her arms crossed. He winces, deciding the safest move is to assume her furrowed brow to be that MJ-signature kind of annoyance slash awkwardness she often sports when physical demonstrations of love happen right in front to her, (which, with Peter and Ned as friends is just about every day). With a sheepish grin, he takes a hand from Ned’s back to quietly wave at her, “hi…”

She simply rolls her eyes at that, but Peter is surprised when suddenly there is the hint of a smile playing on her lips. "Hi, loser," she teases, right before surprising him even further: she steps forward and joins the group hug.

Peter’s heart jumps to his throat, blood rushes to his ears. He feels her warmth join Ned’s on his other side, their bodies fitting just right with each other in that one big hug. MJ’s chin digs into the muscle between his neck and his shoulder and she says, “don’t forget you owe me a do-over for movie night,” before adding, “minus the drama.”

“Deal. Can’t promise that last part though,” he snorts.

MJ doesn’t complain.

“Oh! We should totally go watch Sharknado 13: The Return of the Flying Ninja Sharks!!! There’s like, tornadoes and sharks, which is so cool- not cooler than Star Wars, obviously, but…”

Peter sighs, smiling at Ned’s clear obliviousness. Yep, some things never change.

It’s good to be back.