Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Buried in a home and old bones

The past will sink its teeth into

No matter what you do

The past will sink its teeth into what it can take

But I won’t lose you

Those who said Tony Stark was privileged were, for lack of a better term, fucking wrong.

Well… okay, maybe they would’ve been right twenty, probably thirty years ago. Yeah, sure, that claim held water back in the day. But now? How the hell could anyone look at his life and agree?

“What do you mean Morgan’s been missing since yesterday?!” Tony all but barked, making a sharp, violent attempt to heave himself up from the bed. If it weren't for the fact that he only had one functional arm right now, he would’ve yanked the IV straight out of his vein.

He had approached Pepper with a simple question: Where was Morgan?

At this time of day, Tony was used to seeing her bouncing up and down, her hands filled with snacks, stuffed toys, or her sketchbook showing her latest Spider-Man drawing.

Happy flinched from the doorway, holding his hands up defensively. “We’ve already deployed our entire internal security team– we're afraid that if we involve the police, you'd be compromised– ”

“No! No, this is where you zip it!” Tony snapped, his breathing coming in shallow, ragged bursts. “What do I have to do with this, huh? MORGAN IS MISSING! A dead guy like me shouldn't even be factored in! Pep, help me here! Tell him he’s being an idiot! Give me a good fucking reason why you haven't mobilized the entire NYPD to find my kid!”

Because why could literally anyone else in New York report it the second their kid went missing, but Tony couldn’t? What did Happy mean they had to be careful because Tony’s enemies might figure out he was still breathing and do something worse to Morgan? What kind of twisted logic… just…

“I can't… I can't lose my kid again,” Tony choked out, his chest constricting. He knew he said it because he’d already lost time with Morgan while stuck in that damn coma. But somehow, deep in his bones, the sentence carried far more weight than it had any right to.

Hyperventilation seized his lungs in a sharp, sudden spiral. Before the panic could swallow him whole, Pepper was there.

From the door, Happy could see Pepper signal him to leave the room. He hesitated a bit, not wanting to leave her with the full wrath of Tony. But then again, this was Pepper, the only person in the world who can ground Tony Stark. So Happy relented and decided he would follow up on that lead. And Tony's gonna need water. Yeah, he can do that. 

Back in the room, Pepper moved towards Tony, letting her heels click against the floor. She sat down on the edge of the mattress and pulled his head gently against her chest. Tony buried his face into her shoulder, closing his eyes as the familiar, soft scent of her perfume grounded him against the spinning room.

“What kind of father can't even walk out of bed to help with finding his kid?”

“A recovering one.”

Pepper looked across the bed at where Happy was earlier, her expression solemn and exhausted. “We… we think we know where she is. At least… we hope.”

Tony stirred against her, his voice muffled. “I really fucking hope so too, Pep… I’m so worried.”

“We're so sorry this happened, Tony. If only I had put more care. If only I asked more than one person to be with Morgan.” Pepper murmured, her hand gently clutching the bedsheet beside Tony. 

Tony took her hand in his and pressed a firm kiss on the back of her palm with interlaced fingers. 

“It's not my fault, then it's not your fault. We're a package deal, hun. If anything, it's the sub's fault. I'm gonna skin that man alive.”

“Get in line then.” She let out a sigh as she laughed. 

“But I still don't understand. Why only our security?”

Pepper's look grew sharp. And Tony knew that look. It was the same look she gave whenever he placed colored clothes in the white wash or when he forgot to put the toilet seat down. She was pissed.

“When we spoke to a liaison at the precinct about it, do you know what one of them suggested?”

Tony let out a harsh, bitter breath. “I don’t know. They didn't ask for a bribe or give an excuse, did they? If so, they're more useless than I thought.”

“We told them that we learned that a random civilian had run to help Morgan. But then they suggested that maybe that person was the one who took her.” Pepper’s voice held a razor-sharp edge.

Tony looked at Pepper, appalled, as if she was the one who offended him. “Are they perhaps one screw short of a ship’s hull? No? Okay, let’s do this again: are they fucking idiots?” 

“My thoughts exactly. But then again, it was easy to think of that, to be honest.”

“Which brings us to another problem,” Happy chimed in quietly from the corner, re-entering the room with a pitcher and a glass of water.

“Which is?” Tony forced himself to sit up slightly, looking between them.

“The person who tried to rescue Morgan.. It was Spider-Man.”

“I have so many questions. But you know what? That’s actually great news. Right? Why are you looking like that? Isn’t that supposed to be good news?” Tony urged, a spark of an old memory breaking through the fog. “Hey, Happy– didn’t I, like, build some equipment for the kid a long time ago? I don’t really remember the details, but maybe we can track his suit. If I’m right, hopefully the kid is still wearing what I gave him. Because honestly, who won’t– ”

Happy looked at Pepper as if asking was his boss (friend) was delusional, to which Pepper just sighed at. This was not the time to play detective at Tony’s recent development memory gaps.

“Tony…” Pepper shifted, leaning into Tony’s good left side, and he stopped the beginnings of a planning tirade he usually does every time a crisis arises, being the problem-solver that he was. She slid her head down onto his left shoulder, wrapping her fingers tightly around his good hand. “Even if it’s true you gave him equipment before… he was unmasked.”

Tony froze. “What?”

“He risked exposing his identity for Morgan. That’s why we didn’t tell the Police who tried to help Morgan was.” Pepper whispered, her thumb tracing the back of his knuckles. “If you really had a connection with Spider-Man– which I still don't understand how that slipped past me– it might explain why he’s doing all of this. But still…” She trailed off, her voice heavy with worry.

Happy took a step closer, remaining anchored near the foot of the bed. “All we saw of Morgan on the CCTV was her in the van and him, unmasked, with no gear, clinging to the back of the getaway van. He got dragged across the asphalt by a rope or a web line.”

“Holy shit,” Tony breathed.

“Right,” Pepper agreed softly against his shoulder. “It made it more complicated, honestly. Happy’s men are following a lead to an abandoned warehouse district. That’s where we think they brought her.”

“How are you sure?”

“Spidey left a trail. He left broken-up pieces of Morgan’s pencils on the gravel leading there.”

Tony’s lips twitched slightly. “Smart.”

“I don't know, Tony. I’m feeling conflicted,” Pepper admitted, her voice trembling just enough for Tony to catch it.

“How come?”

“Well… I… Tony?”

Pepper felt the shift in his frame before she saw it. The tension in Tony’s hand went completely limp.

“Bring her… home…” Tony whispered into the dark room.

His eyes glazed over, staring straight ahead into blank space– looking for all the world like a battery-operated toy whose power had suddenly been pulled.

Pepper closed her eyes for a long, silent moment. She was used to this by now. Ever since he woke up, these sudden, hollow absences would claim him. When they’d asked Strange, the wizard had offered only cryptic, frustrating answers about Tony’s spirit being incomplete after the Snap. How to fix it, nobody knew.

Tony had complained once, shortly after waking up, about feeling like he’d forgotten something vital. Something– or someone– immense. And it was only then that Pepper realized she felt the exact same phantom ache in her chest.

“I promise,” Pepper whispered, raising his limp hand to press a kiss to his knuckles. “I’ll bring Spider-Man back; I think he’s the only one who can help us solve this mystery.”

Please promise me you’ll wait for us, she thought, looking at his vacant eyes.

As long as you hurry up, she imagined he would reply in that fast-talking, arrogant tone if he were fully here.

“Will that be all, Mr. Stark?” she murmured aloud to the semi-unconscious man beside her.

Gently, not waiting for a reply to their usual quip, Pepper lifted her head from his shoulder, stood up from the bed, and settled Tony back down onto the pillows, pulling the duvet over his chest.

She turned on her heel, her posture instantly shifting back into the formidable CEO of Stark Industries as she marched toward the door.

“Happy, what time is it?”

Happy checked his watch instinctively. “It’s three-forty-fi– ”

“It’s about fucking time your team gave me an update; that’s what it is,” Pepper interrupted coldly, stepping past him into the hall.

Happy blinked, quickly falling into step behind her. “Yes, of course. So about that warehouse by the docks.”

The air felt cold and dry against his skin, and he could taste the distinct flavor of iron on his tongue. 

Which made Peter think of Iron Man.

He had seen how fast those thrusters his mentor could go in person.

Peter was too far from Morgan. 

He wished with everything in him that he had those thrusters.

No. 

All Peter had were his own feet, calloused and blistered from years of heroism.

“PETEY!”

All Peter had were his hands, scarred and aching with chronic strain.

“MORGAN!”

Peter felt his brain begging– no, screaming– to detach from the horror of the moment.

Screaming…

Screaming to either wake up, or just shut down.

He was too far

For a fraction of a second, time froze around them.

The leaves stopped moving. 

The air stopped whipping against his skin. 

Suddenly, in a second, all there was was stillness. 

Then, in a single heartbeat fueled by pure, blinding adrenaline…

Peter closed the large gap between them. 

“NO!”

Peter felt a shift.

His head felt ablaze, but his back was ice-cold. A shift occurred deep inside him– his mind felt strangely lightheaded and detached, but his body moved on instinct alone.

He couldn’t feel the ache in his bones anymore, though he was certain a few of his ribs were cracked. He didn’t feel the throbbing migraine he’d been trying to hide from Morgan all afternoon. 

Peter launched himself off the cliff with zero hesitation, kicking hard off the bottom of the ledge to accelerate his descent.

The cold, familiar rush of freefall hit the nape of his neck, cutting through the dampness on his cheeks. In mid-air, he twisted his body, shot a single web line to the lip of the cliff, and wrapped the line around his wrist in one swift, fluid motion– leaving his other arm completely free.

He caught Morgan in a mid-air embrace.

The web held, as did the soil where he attached it. His wrist and fingers held wth practiced ease. But with the combined force of his accelerated fall and the sudden added weight, he wasn't surprised when he felt his shoulder give a deep, resounding POP.

“PETEY!”

But Peter held on tight. 

He held on tight to his web. 

He held onto Morgan tighter.

He was not letting go of either.

“Petey… I’m scared.”

“You're okay…” Peter inhaled, a sharp, painful gasp ripping through his lungs. “We’re gonna be okay.”

“Petey– ”

“Hold on. Okay, Morgan? Please hold on.”

Morgan let out a soft, terrified hum of absolute trust. She buried her face into his neck and wrapped both arms around him.

It was only then that Peter realized catching Morgan was the easy part.

Lifting both of them back up with a dislocated shoulder was the impossible part.

Peter glanced down at the dark, churning October water below, taking in the violent waves crashing against jagged rocks.

“I’m sorry,” Morgan sobbed into his neck. “I’m so, so sorry…”

“Shhh…” Peter brushed his cheek against hers, his voice trembling. “You did nothing wrong, Morgs.”

“But I– ”

“But no, Morgan. Just hold on. I’m getting you out of here. And I am going to tell you the truth.”

“You… You promise?!”

“I promise!” Morgan let out a heavy sigh and nodded at Peter once, trusting Peter with full confidence. Morgan still felt scared, but her trust in Peter was definitely stronger than her current fear. Peter had never let her go before. 

“I’m gonna hang on real tight, Petey. I promise,” she whispered fiercely. “So please… let go and use your other hand.”

There it was. Morgan’s unwavering, absolute faith in him– so entirely certain that they would get out of this simply because he had two hands free.

Maybe Peter needed to take a page out of her book.

Maybe he needed to believe in Peter Parker, too.

Maybe he didn’t need to summon "Spider-Man" to find his strength.

“Come on, Petey,” she whispered into his ear.

“Alright,” Peter breathed.

Come on, Peter.

Peter shot a fresh web line toward the top edge of the cliff, giving it a sharp yank to ensure the anchor held.

COME ON, PETER PARKER.

A raw, ragged scream tore from Peter’s throat as he hauled both of their weight upward using only his right hand.

He released the web line attached to his dislocated arm and wrapped it around Morgan, but there was no time for relief. The moment he let go, he fired another line higher up and pulled with everything he had left.

He screamed again.

And pulled.

Morgan held on tight.

He pulled.

And pulled.

And pulled.

His throat burned, raw and bleeding. The ledge felt impossibly far away.

But he had his hands. He had Morgan wrapped around him.

He was going to make it. He was going to save her.

“COME ON, PETER!”

With one final, desperate heave, Peter’s right hand slammed over the top edge of the cliff. His fingers dug frantically into the damp soil and grass, screaming in pain as he gripped a fistful of sharp rocks to anchor himself.

“Petey…”

“Morgan… climb off me… hurry.”

Morgan moved instantly, her actions clumsy with fear, but trusting him blindly. She gasped as her knees hit the jagged stones above them, looking down at him in horror.

“It’s okay, Morgs. Climb over me… step on my shoulder.”

“But your left– ”

“It’ll be easier for me to climb if you help pull me once you’re up. Okay?”

Morgan nodded, swallowing her panic. Peter bit back a sharp hiss as her small weight pressed directly into his dislocated shoulder, but he didn't budge an inch.

Once she scrambled fully onto the ledge. Morgan's tiny hands locked around his wrists. She pulled anyway– not because she could possibly lift him, but because she refused to let him climb alone. Morgan pulled her big brother with all her strength.

“I got you, Petey! Now climb up, please!”

Peter allowed himself to be dragged up by the nine-year-old as he forcefully pulled himself up the ledge.

Morgan poured every ounce of her small body weight into pulling her big brother over the edge. She didn't care how heavy he was. She refused to let go, too.

She let out a fierce cry as she hauled him forward– until finally, Peter tumbled over the lip of the cliff and onto the solid, safe earth beside her.

“Petey… Petey!”

Morgan threw herself into his arms, sobbing hysterically. They were safe. That was all that mattered in the entire world.

By the time the reality set in, both of them were clinging to each other in the dirt, crying uncontrollably.

“I’m so sorry, Morgan…”

“I’m so sorry, Petey… I just… I wanted…”

“Shhh… It’s okay, Maguna. It’s okay…”

Morgan froze in his arms, pulling back just enough to look at him. “You… you remember my nickname?”

“I do.”

“How about the fort? And Mommy?”

“Yes. I remember all of it.”

“How about Daddy?”

“I… Yes. I remember your dad.”

“Why did you pretend not to know me when I tried to talk to you in New York?”

“I was trying to protect you,” Peter whispered, wiping a streak of dirt and tears from her cheek. “I thought if the bad guys believed I didn't know you, they’d leave you alone.”

“Who?”

“The people I fight.”

“Oh.”

Morgan stared deep into Peter’s eyes, her gaze hopeful and raw. “No more lies?”

Peter looked back at her, his expression resolute. “No more lies. I promise.”

“Okay,” Morgan said, looking at Peter with trust and anticipation. “Why didn’t you at least talk to me?”

“I was scared.”

“Scared of what?”

“Not… knowing, I guess. Not knowing how you would react, or facing the reality that you guys don’t actually really know me, and it was just a dream. That’s why I lied. I lied a lot, especially to you.”

“Are you still scared?”

“Yes,” Peter’s voice cracked completely. “I’m always scared.”

“Dad says it’s okay to be scared. Whenever I’m scared, he always holds my hand even while he’s asleep and can’t talk.”

Despite the direness of the moment, Peter felt his heart break at her use of the present tense. He didn’t even dare to correct her use of Tony being asleep even when he should be dead.  

He felt Morgan wrap her legs tightly around his body as if she was locking him in place. Not that she needed to anymore. He wasn’t running away this time.

“Do you hate the idea of being my big brother?”

“…No. Never.” And that is Peter’s absolute truth. He had never hesitated about the thought that he was Morgan’s big brother when she needed him. No. The only thing he hesitated about was whether he could stay.

“Can… can you promise not to leave me anymore?”

Peter swallowed hard, looking away for a brief second. “I… I don’t know, Morgs.”

“Why?”

“I’m not sure if I can keep you safe. And… your mom and Happy don’t remember me.”

“Why don't they?”

“A long time ago, I asked someone to make the whole world forget who I was. I had to stay away after that so everyone would be safe.”

“But I never forgot you,” Morgan said softly. “Do you know why?”

“Not really…” Peter smiled through his tears, pressing his forehead against hers. “But I’m so glad you didn’t.”

“Me too, Petey. Me too.” She wrapped her arms around his neck once more. “I love you, Petey. I missed you.”

“I love you too, Morgan. So much.”

And there, on the edge of the cliff under the gathering night sky, they sat together in quiet, peaceful silence.

Morgan’s heart had felt so full. Petey finally said out loud what they both knew in their hearts. 

After their tearful heart-to-heart, the heavy exhaustion finally caught up with Morgan. Her small body went completely limp against Peter’s chest, her breathing evening out into a soft snooze.

Peter sat quietly in the damp grass, stroking her hair with his good hand and staring up at the clear night sky, feeling the biting October air on his face. He felt himself let go of a long and heavy breath, and for the first time in years… he felt at peace.

Silently, two pairs of footsteps approached from the tree line.

Pepper and Happy emerged into the clearing first, holding heavy flashlights. Happy held up a hand, signaling for the police escorts behind them to stay back as they took in the scene.

It was only a matter of time before he saw their faces again. Peter expected this, which is why Peter didn't run. This time he didn't jump into the trees or hide his face. He just looked up, his eyes tired and bloodshot, holding Morgan close.

"She's safe," Peter whispered softly into the quiet night air, his voice hoarse. He looked at the little girl in his arms, now fully asleep from the exhaustion. "She had a fever, but it broke down thankfully."

Before Pepper could step forward, bright flashlight beams suddenly cut through the clearing from the officers behind them. Guns were unholstered in a heartbeat.

"NYPD! Put your hands up and step away from the kid!" an officer shouted, taking a hard step forward. "Hands where we can see them! Both hands!"

Morgan stirred, frowning, and Peter flinched slightly, although mostly from exhaustion, a little scared that maybe they actually thought he was the bad guy. And although he was used to their presence as Spider-Man, that didn’t alleviate the fear that they might actually shoot if they believed he was hostile and he couldn't completely comply. 

He slowly lifted his right hand, but his left arm hung uselessly at his side, locked in place by his dislocated shoulder. "I... I can't lift the left one, sir," Peter said quietly, his voice hoarse from the earlier strain. "My shoulder is dislocated."

The movement jostled Morgan awake. She rubbed her eyes, blinked at the blinding flashlights, and instantly realized what was happening. Her face twisted into pure, Stark fury.

"STOP IT!" Morgan yelled, scrambling up slightly and placing herself right in front of Peter like a shield. "DON'T POINT THOSE AT MY BIG BROTHER! HE SAVED ME! LEAVE HIM ALONE!"

“Morgan, it’s okay, they don–”

“NO IT’S NOT!”

"Morgan, sweetie, calm down– !" Pepper moved instantly, crouching down and putting herself between the officers and the kids, while Happy stepped in front of the gun barrels, glaring down the police force with pure authority.

"Lower your weapons! Now!" Pepper commanded, her CEO voice slicing through the clearing like steel. "Can’t you see he is an injured child, and my daughter just told you he saved her life!"

The officers hesitated, looking at each other with uncertainty but never lowered their weapons. However, one more fierce look from Pepper made them holster their sidearms as Captain DeWolff pushed her way to the front of the police line, slightly late to the scene. She took in the sight of the weeping nine-year-old, the slightly visible web lines flowing in the wind by the edge of the cliff, and the battered, pale boy holding his dislocated arm.

"Mrs. Stark," DeWolff said quietly, keeping her tone respectful. "Thank you for letting us assist with the search."

"We had no choice because we needed a search warrant," Pepper retorted sharply, still furious at how the officers had drawn their weapons on two traumatized kids. "Your team mishandled this the moment you arrived."

Peter looked up from the dirt, offering a gentle, quiet defense for the officers. "To their credit, Ms. Potts... NYPD isn't usually like this. They were just trying to protect Morgan. At least I think… right, Detective?"

DeWolff looked down at Peter, appreciative of this kind kid’s soft defense of her precinct. To top it off, this was the kid who singlehandedly saved and kept Tony Stark’s daughter safe. 

“Certainly, young man. You would have to excuse them, Mrs. Stark, the protocol is always the immediate security of a scene.”

She gave Pepper a firm, understanding nod. "Swing by the precinct tomorrow morning when you're ready, Mrs. Stark. Right now, just be there for your kids."

Happy gently helped Peter up from the ground as the detective talked, taking care not to touch his ruined left arm, while Pepper swept Morgan up into her arms, burying her face into her daughter's hair with a shuddering breath of relief.

“I appreciate the understanding, Detective. Please expect me in the morning. Thank you very much.”

“But the testaments…” one officer chimed in.

“Can wait. What we need right now is to prioritize the victim’s immediate recovery.”

Pepper nodded at the curly-haired detective as she passed, the silent understanding between two mothers much appreciated by Pepper and Happy. 

As they were walking back to the SUV, suddenly there was an ugly resounding sound of popping joints and a groan coming from behind Happy, Pepper, and Morgan.

Whipping their heads to face Peter, who now had a hand to his left shoulder leaning backward to his side.

“Did you just…” Happy looked on at Peter in horror. “... reposition your own dislocated shoulder?”

Pepper looked at Peter with furrowed eyebrows as the kid had the audacity to shrug his shoulders and wincing. “Not successfully.”

Peter tried not to pay attention to Morgan’s stink eye.

The ride in the back of the sleek Stark SUV was quiet. Morgan was fast asleep, her head resting heavily on Pepper’s lap, one of her hands still loosely clutching a corner of Peter’s hoodie.

Peter sat in the corner seat, staring out the window at the passing city lights, trying to keep his posture still so he wouldn't jar his shoulder.

Peter noticed Pepper look over at him in the dim interior light.

Of course she would. At this point, Peter understood that he was just a stranger. They should be vigilant of him, a stranger, even though that same stranger saved her daughter.

That's how it should be. Right? But somehow, Peter thought that wasn’t the right answer anymore.

Regardless, Peter knew he needed to explain.

“Uhm… about what happened, ma'am–”

“It’s okay,” Pepper said, looking out the front of the car, looking like she had a lot on her mind. But despite that, Pepper looked at him with a gentle smile. “You can tell me later.”

Peter would have lied if he said that he wasn’t surprised or taken aback. He thought that Pepper was definitely better than him. Because if it were him who his daughter had gotten kidnapped and saved by some random kid, he would have wanted answers immediately. 

“Oh… okay.” Silence followed that short exchange as they let the city roll into view. 

Seeing the familiar New York City lights made Peter’s wrists itch. He missed this sight as if he was away for years now. Given that so much happened in the span of a day and a night, it was only natural that he felt like an eternity had already passed.

He missed being Spider-Man more than he thought he did.

And as if he was reading his mind, Pepper asked him a question. "So... you're Spider-Man?"

Peter’s eyes widened, and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Uhm... how'd you… I mean, what do you…"

"Your mask and web-shooters were in your backpack," Pepper replied gently. “We have it back at the tower. I’ll have Happy hand them to you later.”

"Oh. Yeah... I see." Peter rubbed the back of his neck with his good hand, looking down at his lap. 

Ahh, so that’s why he wasn’t some random kid.

On the other hand, Pepper stared at this random kid who just so happened to be Spider-Man.

To Pepper, Peter had looked like a child waiting to be scolded. His eyes darted all around the car, and he played with his fingers as if not knowing what to do with them. Pepper was quite familiar with that self-soothing behavior; she had seen it in her own daughter (and sometimes husband), after all.

"I'm not mad," Pepper said after a quiet beat with a fond laugh. "If that's what you were wondering. You look like a kid being scolded, you know."

A tiny, faint smile touched Peter's lips. "I was going for, 'I promise I'm harmless,' but that works too."

Pepper narrowed her eyes at Peter with an incredulous smile on her lips and slowly chuckled. In a spark of playfulness, Peter raised his hands and shrugged, forgetting the previously dislocated shoulder as well as the bloodied and soiled hands he had after clawing the dirt earlier. Pepper’s smile dropped as her sight landed on Peter’s palms.

Pepper’s expression softened completely. "Thank you for saving Morgan. As a mother, I can't ever repay you. I don't know how you even know her... and it really does seem like the two of you somehow have some  But regardless... thank you."

"I... please don't mention it," Peter murmured, his voice just above a whisper. "I'm sorry for not being efficient and bringing her back earlier."

"What matters now is that both of you are safe." By pure reflex, Pepper reached across the seat and gently placed her hand on Peter's cheek, looking into his eyes with a fondness you can only see from someone who truly cares for you. "You get yourself treated in the Med Bay, okay? No more running out of windows."

Peter leaned into her warm palm for a brief, fleeting second before giving her a tired grin. "No promises, Ms. Potts."

Pepper let out a soft, breathless laugh, her thumb wiping a streak of dirt from his cheek. "Been a while since I heard someone call me that. Just call me Pepper, kid."

Peter gave a smile of his own. “Nice to see you again, Mrs. Pepper. My name is Peter Parker.”

And what Peter wouldn't give up for just one hug.

The sleek black SUV hissed to a halt outside the Avengers Compound, its headlights cutting through the dimming evening light.

Pepper stepped out first, her mind still racing from the sheer adrenaline of these past few hours– actually, it had started the moment she heard her daughter had been kidnapped. She turned to help Morgan, but her eyes immediately drifted to the boy stepping out behind her daughter.

She looked on as Peter hesitated at the door of the vehicle, his knees trembling under his weight from a sheer fatigue that seemed deeper than just saving a kidnapped child and surviving in the woods. Pepper watched as he forced his spine straight– a subconscious effort to look functional, to look unbothered, even as his posture practically screamed that he was holding himself together by a thread. As they walked inside the Avengers Compound, she continued to observe him through her peripheral vision. He moved with a strange, hyper-cautious hesitation, stepping carefully over the threshold as if terrified that touching the ground too hard might break something in the facility, or worse, get him thrown out.

Yet, Pepper noticed with a mix of curiosity and a subtle pang in her chest that he didn't look lost. His eyes flicked between the side entrance and the lower elevator banks with a quiet, ingrained familiarity that made no sense. It was as if he knew where he was while simultaneously looking terrified of occupying the space.

Until his gaze locked onto Morgan.

The moment the boy looked at her daughter, an anxious look crossed his face as he scanned Morgan for anything wrong. Pepper thought that if he had shown even a fraction of this concern for Morgan back in the woods, it explained why Morgan barely looked like she had been hurt. She watched as he reached out with a hand– noting again that his knuckles were bloodied and caked in forest dirt– and lightly pressed the back of his palm against Morgan's forehead to check her skin.

"She feels warm," Peter muttered quietly to Pepper, his voice raspy but filled with concern. "I saw that she took another nap in the car, which is good, but her fever might spike again soon. Also, she’s got a scraped knee, her shoulders are bruised, and she’s definitely dehydrated. She needs fluids, Mrs. Pepper. And did I mention that her fever needs to be monitored– "

"Petey, stop talking about me like I’m not standing right here," Morgan interrupted, her little voice cracking with authority despite the fatigue shadowing her eyes. She was clutching her battered sketchbook– something Happy had retrieved moments before they finally drove away from the woods– tightly against her chest with one hand. Her other hand reached out and grabbed Pepper’s sleeve, tugging her firmly toward the wide glass sliding doors of the Compound entrance.

"Mommy, tell him to stop talking. He’s the one who used his hands to pull us up from a cliff! And he even protected me when we jumped out of a car! He needs to go to the doctor way more than I do. Oh, and not to mention what you tried to do with your shoulder."

“Hey, in my defense, I did reposition it, but it went back on its own!”

“How does that even work, Petey!”

“I don’t know, boss. I’m sorry?”

Morgan tilted her tired head toward Peter, scrunching her nose and forehead at him. "Oh, and Mom, we need to replace his battery. He made it explode to make a fire for us." Morgan nodded once, entirely satisfied with her recount, while Peter just tilted his head with a raised eyebrow in agreement.

“It is what it is.”

Pepper looked between the two of them, her eyebrows knitting together in concern and mild amusement. There was an effortless, practiced rhythm between them– a protective, exasperated dynamic that reminded Pepper so vividly of how she used to bicker with her own cousins, the kind of bond that only existed between family. The mention of the exploding battery hit Pepper with a sudden, jarring wave of realization: this boy had improvised survival tech out of raw instinct to keep her nine-year-old daughter warm in the wilderness.

"I hear you, sweetie," Pepper said softly, placing a warm hand on Morgan’s head before looking at Peter with an expression so full of profound, aching gentleness that the boy swallowed hard, flinching slightly under the attention. "We are getting both of you looked at right now."

They crossed into the wide, pristine main foyer. Pepper kept a close eye on Peter. His eyes tracked the layout automatically– the long glass hallways, the steel beams, the quiet elevator shafts. But as he looked around, his expression darkened with a quiet, hollow grief. Without the bustling chatter of technicians, heroes, and suit armors humming in the background, the Compound was a grand, empty echo chamber, and Peter looked at it like a boy visiting a graveyard.

"Happy," Pepper called out, turning toward the foyer entrance. "Call Dr. Emilia’s team down to the lower med-bay. Tell them we need a pediatric checkup and emergency triage. And ask for someone to help Peter settle in for the night."

"On it," Happy said, stepping aside with his phone already pressed to his ear.

"Actually, Morgan, Mrs. Pepper... I think I’d rather go home."

Pepper raised an eyebrow, turning to face him fully. Peter instinctively shrank back an inch, intimidated by her sharp focus.

"Well, I... uh..." Peter rubbed the back of his neck, wincing at his sore shoulder. "I have some things that I need to settle back at my apartment."

"But Petey… you promised," Morgan whined, her lower lip trembling.

The look of sheer, crushing guilt that washed over the boy's face broke Pepper's heart. He looked like he had just accidentally kicked a puppy.

"I did. And I am gonna come back," Peter said quickly, dropping down to one knee so he was at eye level with her. "But I still have that... you know... responsibility thing, right?"

Morgan pouted, but she nodded slowly. "I know, but..."

"How about this, Morgan? I’ll give you my address. So if you think I’ll run away again, you can just... well..."

And somehow, through whatever unspoken language they shared, Morgan understood what he meant. "Okay. I’ll ask the FBI to come to your door."

"What? Morgs, no!"

"Just kidding." Morgan giggled, the sound light and bright in the large, barely lit room. "You’re never leaving me again. Pinky promise?"

"Pinky promise," Peter whispered, wrapping his pinky around hers.

Pepper watched the interaction with a curious, searching look. Just who is this kid? she thought, her mind racing. How does he fit in so well, yet look so afraid of us at the same time?

"Pepper?" a rough, breathless voice called out from down the hall.

Pepper turned sharply.

Coming around the corridor from the residential wing was Tony.

Pepper’s breath caught in her throat. How could it not? For the first time since his agonizingly slow recovery, her husband was standing up on his own two feet instead of sitting in his wheelchair. He was leaning heavily against a medical technician hovering nervously behind him. His face was pale and his breathing was shallow from the exertion, but his dark eyes were wide, frantic, and locked entirely on his daughter.

“Maguna…”

"Daddy!" Morgan shrieked.

She immediately let go of Peter and bolted across the lobby. Tony let go of the medic without a second thought, wincing in raw pain as he caught her momentum, dropping to one knee to wrap his arms around her. He buried his face in her neck, his entire frame shaking as he let out a jagged, sob-like breath.

Pepper rushed over, tears spilling down her cheeks as she collapsed beside them, wrapping her arms around both Tony and Morgan, sinking into the overwhelming, miraculous warmth of her family being whole again.

“I am so sorry, Morgan. You're safe now.”

Tony could barely smell Morgan’s shampoo– cheap, berry-scented stuff from the cabin that she had insisted on using long ago because it had princesses on the bottle– but the soft touch of his daughter and wife anchored him to the reality that his baby girl was back in his arms. He held his daughter tight, his hand cupping the back of her head, ignoring the sharp flare of agony in his damaged chest from the impact.

“Daddy…” Morgan sounded like she was about to cry right there in her father’s arms.

"I've got you, Maguna. I've got you," Tony rasped, his voice thick and broken.

Over Pepper’s shoulder, as he held his family close, Tony’s sharp instincts– the ones that never quite turned off, even after a coma– caught movement in the corner of his eye.

The kid who had been standing with them looked like he was collapsing in real time.

Tony watched, his brow furrowing through his own tears. The boy didn't fall like someone fainting; he fell like a tower whose foundation had just been kicked out. Amazingly, instead of crumbling completely, he keeled forward, catching himself with his palms on his knees while staring at Tony with wide, bloodshot eyes that looked completely shattered. Jesus, the kid looked like he had even stopped breathing.

The boy whispered something: “–happening?” It was barely audible, but in the quiet lobby, Tony heard the sheer disbelief in his voice.

Happy also seemed to notice the kid’s distress. He stepped up quickly, shielding the boy from the medical staff's view.

"That’s... that’s Tony Stark," Tony heard the kid gasp out, his hands clawing at his own legs as if trying to ground himself in reality.

"Yeah, kid, we know," Happy’s low voice replied, reaching down to grab the boy’s arm.

"But he’s... I was at..." the kid choked out, a tear cutting a clean line through the dirt on his cheek.

Tony had spent nearly five years in a coma.

Apparently, somewhere outside this building, Peter Parker had attended his funeral.

Tony felt more confused than a monkey in the Arctic, his eyes narrowing as he stared at the boy over Pepper's shoulder. At where? At what? What did the kid mean? Looking more carefully, the kid looked like he was seeing a ghost rather than a living man.

To Tony, the boy looked as though he had just clawed his way out of a grave himself.

"Come on, kid," Happy said quickly, his voice tight with an urgency Tony hadn't heard in years. "We need to get your palms and your shoulder fixed ASAP. Up you go."

“But I told you that I repositioned it already,” Peter said in a joking tone with a serious face, using the humor to re-center himself– an attempt Tony recognized as someone who had done the exact same thing many times before.

“I remember you telling us ‘not successfully’ earlier. Yeah, no, kid, let’s go.” Happy pulled the trembling boy to his feet and led him gently down the corridor toward a private examination room as they bantered back and forth.

Tony slowly pushed himself up as he watched the duo disappear toward the Compound’s clinic, using Pepper’s shoulder for leverage, his mind churning. "Pep... who is that?"

"That’s Peter," Pepper whispered, wiping her eyes as she stood.

"He’s the one who brought Morgan back. Tony... she insists she knows him. She calls him her brother." Tony looked toward Morgan, who nodded in firm confirmation.

Tony stared down the empty hallway where the boy had disappeared. Something in his chest– a strange, phantom ache that had nothing to do with his Arc Reactor scar– pulled tight.

Inside the med-bay, the doors slid shut automatically. Happy guided the boy to sit on the edge of the examination table. The kid was pale, his left arm hanging at an unnatural, awkward angle.

"Look at me," Happy said, stepping in front of him. "Your shoulder is out. I can wait for Emilia's team, or I can set it now."

"Set it," the boy muttered, staring blankly at the floor.

Happy didn't waste time. He stepped in, slung the kid's dead-weight arm over his own shoulder, braced his hip, and leveraged the joint back into place with a swift, practiced motion.

A sharp, horrible CRACK-POP rang out.

The kid didn’t even gasp or show any indication that he felt it– he just sat there, motionless, staring into space.

“Does it hurt?” Happy found himself asking in genuine concern.

"I have a lot of questions," the kid rasped, staring up at the white ceiling tiles.

"That’s not what I expected you to say," Happy replied, pulling over a metal stool and sitting down with a heavy sigh. “But go for it. I owe you more than that anyway.”

"First, though..." The kid turned his head, his eyes burning with quiet intensity. "Morgan had a fever."

"Yeah. We know."

"She needs to be checked. Thoroughly."

"She is. The person with Tony earlier was a medic."

"And Mr. Stark–" The kid’s voice cracked, the name tasting heavy and terrifying on his tongue.

"He’s alive, yes," Happy said softly. "He was in a specialized medical coma for almost five years. We kept it dark for security. He’s receiving treatment here."

The kid closed his eyes, a long, shuddering breath escaping his lips. Then he opened them, looking over at Happy with a searching expression.

"And you," the kid said weakly, pointing a trembling finger at Happy's chest.

Happy paused. "Me?"

"Your temperature's up," the kid said, a tiny, exhausted little smile touching his lips. "You look like hell, Happy."

Happy stopped. He stared at the kid– broken, bleeding, running on pure adrenaline, sitting in an Avengers facility with a dislocated shoulder, still trying to triage everyone else in the room.

"Spider-Man–" Happy started softly.

"Peter," the boy interrupted gently.

Happy’s mouth stayed open for a second. The name felt strange, yet heavily loaded, like a word he had forgotten the definition of. There was a faint familiarity to the name, Happy realized. But then again, he knew a lot of Peters in the world, so he didn't dwell on it.

"Call me Peter," the kid whispered.

Before Happy could respond, the door pushed open.

Morgan skipped into the room, a large bandage wrapped around her knee, trailing behind Tony, who was back in his wheelchair being pushed by Pepper.

The small room suddenly felt suffocatingly full. Peter immediately sat up straight, his spine going rigid as he pulled his defensive mask back on– the lighthearted, deflective armor Tony knew all too well.

Tony stopped at the side of the bed, his dark eyes picking the kid apart piece by piece.

"So," Tony started, his voice dry. "You’re Spider-kid? Spider-boy?"

"Spider-Man," Peter shot back instantly, before catching himself. “Al-legedly.”

Tony raised an eyebrow. "Yeah. Tight, kid. And you’re the one who saved Morgan?"

"Also allegedly."

"Right. Pep says you're Peter Parker," Tony continued, stepping a fraction closer.

"That I can confirm."

"And you're also the same person Morgan has been calling 'Petey'?"

"Technically?"

"And on that same technicality..." Tony leaned in, catching the hurt look on the kid’s face. "...we apparently knew each other, too?"

Peter’s breath hitched. He flinched, opening his mouth to deflect– probably to spin some wild excuse or offer an unbelievable truth– but Morgan stepped right into the gap between them.

"He’s my big brother," Morgan said with absolute, quiet authority, looking up at Tony. "It’s okay if you don’t know him right now, Daddy. You can just learn about him again."

Tony looked from his daughter’s dead-serious face back to the boy on the bed. He couldn’t quite place the expression on the kid’s face. But whatever was going on, Parker didn’t look good.

"I... I should go," Peter whispered, his voice cracking. He looked up at Morgan. "Morgs, you need to sleep now. Get some rest, okay? I'll... I'll come back in the morning."

"You don't need to leave, kid," Tony said, his voice dropping into a lower, almost pleading tone. "We've got dozens of bedrooms here. You look like you're about to faint."

"I kind of need to," Peter said, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and wincing as his sore shoulder protested. He forced a small, tired smile. "I've taken way too long of a break by now. The city doesn't pause forever."

“Spider-Man…” Tony opened his mouth to order him to stay, the old overbearing instinct flaring up in his chest. But something in the boy's hollow, exhausted eyes told him that pushing right now would only make the kid bolt out a window.

Tony dared to take a step forward. The kid flinched, but made no indication that Tony was unwelcome. Tony moved to sit beside him on the bed, genuinely relieved when Peter shifted slightly to give him space. Tony brought a hand down onto his good shoulder and squeezed it gently.

“Thank you. For saving my daughter.” Tony made direct eye contact with the kid. "Peter. Please come back here anytime.”

Tony gave a final pat on the shoulder before making his exit with his family.

The kid clearly needed space. But whatever was going on with him, Tony knew his family– himself included– would welcome him back with open arms. For some reason, his daughter, wife, and friend had all grown instantly attached to the kid.

And maybe… maybe he had, too.

A few minutes later, after Happy quietly handed him his suit in a plain black duffel bag, Peter changed into his suit and slipped out of the side exit of the Compound with a nod toward Happy.

He pulled the fabric over his aching head, firing a web line into the dark tree line and launching himself up into the night sky.

"Peter! Oh, thank goodness," EVIE’s automated voice chimed instantly in his mask, thick with simulated panic. "Your location vanished from my local array! I had no way of knowing if you were alright. I was preparing to initiate emergency protocols– "

"I'm okay, EVIE," Peter murmured softly, shooting another web line and swinging smoothly into the glowing grid of downtown New York. "I'm okay. I'll tell you everything later. Right now... I just want to look around."

He dropped low, swinging through the familiar, neon-lit streets of Manhattan. He expected chaos. He expected to find three different muggings and a car chase that desperately needed Spider-Man to step in.

Instead, as he perched on a ledge above an alleyway, he watched two NYPD cruisers pull up smoothly to block a fleeing suspect. In the span of ten minutes, the officers stepped out, spoke calmly, and handled the arrest cleanly and professionally, without a single shot fired.

Peter blinked in disbelief beneath his mask.

He swung a few blocks further, landing quietly on a fire escape above a familiar Chinese restaurant in Queens. Down on the sidewalk, he saw Mr. and Mrs. He– the elderly couple he had helped save from a robbery a while back. They were standing outside their shop, talking to a teenage kid sitting on a crate, handing him a warm meal.

"You want a job cleaning up the back storage starting tomorrow?" Mr. He was saying, his voice warm. "We need a strong security guard for the shop."

The kid looked up, his eyes wide. "Really? Man, I’ll be the best security guard you ever had! I’ll even be better than Spider-Man!"

Mrs. He chuckled, patting the boy's shoulder. "Nobody is better than Spider-Man, but you will do very well."

Peter sat on the cold iron fire escape, a soft, tearful laugh escaping his chest as he watched, resting a hand against his cheek.

Somehow, the city wasn't falling apart without him. New York wasn't collapsing because he took a breath. The police were doing their jobs. Neighbors were taking care of homeless kids. The world was learning how to heal, how to protect itself, how to keep moving forward.

If this had happened a few months ago, Peter wouldn’t have believed it. But seeing it today was a welcome surprise.

Was he really allowed to take a break? Was he finally allowed to just rest?

Peter fired one long, powerful web line, launching himself higher and higher into the night sky until his feet touched the cold metal spire of the Empire State Building.

He pulled his mask up past his nose, letting the crisp, biting night air fill his lungs. He let himself breathe. He let himself take in the sight of the city he had given everything to protect these past five years.

Below him, New York stretched out like an infinite sea of golden light, humming with millions of lives, millions of quiet miracles.

Peter let himself remember. He remembered the crime reports from the past year showing a steady drop in activity that he had never stopped to appreciate. He remembered seeing fewer homeless people on his patrols, some of them even telling him they had found jobs– including those he had personally given money to for a meal or a decent suit, even when it meant he had to go hungry for a few days afterward.

He looked off into the distance toward the construction site of a new youth learning center near a local park where he had occasionally stopped to tutor kids. Did he actually, truly... unknowingly influence that?

Peter turned his thoughts back to the things that mattered most.

Tony was alive.

Morgan was safe.

Happy and Pepper knew his name.

And the city was taking care of itself.

Was this all really happening?

Peter felt his eyes fill with tears– tears that were long overdue.

He felt like he was sitting on top of the world. Peter took a long, deep breath of relief. For the first time since the spell– for the first time since May– he didn't feel like a ghost wandering a world that had forgotten him. He felt the cold wind on his skin, the steady beat of his heart in his chest.

He felt alive. And as he looked out over the glowing city, Peter finally let himself believe that maybe... just maybe... it was okay that he was.