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The blast of energy that pushed or broke anything caught in its path, almost hit Peter square on as the teen engaged in fight scene banter. The bolts of energy were being blasted out of the floating robots’ hands as a swarm of killer bots circled Downtown Manhattan. It seems some crazed scientist had set them loose and the Avengers (plus Spidey) had been called in to deal with the situation.
“Peter,” Tony yelled through the comms, sounding slightly mad. “Stop chatting and stay focused! If you don’t pay attention then we’re benching you!”
“Awh Dad,” Peter whined, shooting out a web as he swung from building to building. His job was to web up the robots, stopping them from causing any (or more) harm. “But making quips during a fight is my thing!”
“Let’s put ‘your thing’ to the side and focus on the killer robots, shall we?” Steve added, throwing his shield out to slice through a few of the robots near him.
Peter made a disgusted face behind his mask. “Yuck, Pops never say ‘your thing’ to me like that— it sounds creepy.”
An exasperated sound came from Steve’s line on the comms. “Peter, you know what i meant.”
“I thought it was creepy too,” Clint unhelpfully spoke up. Peter smirked at where the archer was standing on the roof of a building, shooting arrows out left, right and centre. Every so often, the Spider-teen had to dodge as a robot fell out of the sky with an arrow pierced in its head.
“You aren’t helping Barton!” Natasha growled. She was jumping from robot to robot in the air, shooting or tasering them in the head so they powered down and then jumping to the next one. Peter couldn’t help but watch with awe (almost going head first into a building a couple of times).
“How about everyone just goes back to paying attention to the situation at hand?” Rhodey tried to stop the bickering as Natasha and Clint started arguing and Peter made gross sounds over the comm.
“Okay,” everyone shut up and followed Rhodey’s orders. They’d all learnt a long time ago that when Rhodey talks, you listen.
The robots were depleting now, getting cut in half by Steve’s shield, impaled by Clint, shot by Natasha, webbed up by Peter and blasted to smithereens by Rhodey and Tony.
“This isn’t a Code Green situation is it?” Bruce Banner’s meek voice spoke out loud since the start of the fight.
“No Brucie, you can stand down,” Tony supplied as he shot another 3 robots out of the sky. “We have it handled— tell Wanda, Vision and Sam that there’s no rush here either. I think we’ve almost got them all.”
“It’s almost clear skies,” Rhodey agreed, flying up high to stare down at the scene from a birds-eye view. “There’s a few on the West— PETER WATCH OUT!” The line crackled under Rhodey’s yell as the man watched as 3 robots lined up, arms pointed towards his nephew as the teen swung between buildings.
“PETER!” Tony yelled once he’d spotted the problem as well, knowing his son wouldn’t be able to defend himself against 3 robots at the same time. He was only meant to be webbing them up and keeping his distance. “FRIDAY turbo boosters now!” His legs transformed into one giant repulser, shooting him in the direction of his kid as the guns on the robots’ arms charged up. The power of 3 against Peter could easily kill him.
“Peter! Tony be careful!” Steve’s yell was practically ignored as his husband shot through the air towards their son, his only goal being to protect the boy.
Steve watched what transpired with wide eyes, his heart hammering in his chest. Tony shot forwards, managing to block the blast of energy from hitting Peter, as the Iron Man suit got the full brunt of it. Clint shot down the robots as Tony fell towards the ground, his comms going offline as the suit powered down from the extreme energy blast.
“Dad?” Peter cried out, dropping down next to where his father laid on the concrete. The Iron Man suit was smoking, the paint chipped away and the smell of burning metal wafting in the air.
Steve followed soon after, kneeling opposite his son on his husband’s left. He ripped off Tony’s mask, his hands shaking as he pressed a few fingers to the side of the man’s neck. The pulse that beat under his fingers was a miracle. Steve let out a sigh of relief, tears springing to his eyes as he thanked God for keeping Tony’s heart beating.
“He’s okay,” Steve whispered, pulling off his helmet so he could stare at Peter without any head gear in the way. “He’s going to be okay, Pete.”
They stayed like that, Peter sobbing quietly, Steve trying to comfort him, Tony’s unconscious body laying between them. It seemed like hours as they waited for the Quinjet to arrive, Bruce running off before it even touched down so he could help his friend.
“Dad’s going to be okay,” Steve wrapped his arms around his son as a swarm of medical people surrounded his husband, yelling out phrases and terms the Captain couldn’t understand. Peter sobbed into his chest, the fear of having possibly lost a parent too raw and harsh for the boy to calm down sufficiently enough despite Steve’s efforts.
“Shh Pete, he’s going to be okay,” Steve tried again. He kept repeating the words like a mantra. As they tried to stay out of the bustle of those attempting to fix his hurt husband, Steve kept saying the words like a broken record.
He hoped if he said them enough, it would come true.
————————
As Tony opened his eyes, he couldn’t help but let a groan rip from his throat. His head was hammering, like he’d hit it really hard and his limbs felt stiff, as if he’d been sleeping for too long. There was an annoying beeping noise sounding from beside him, a constant beep that reoccured every second and it was driving Tony insane.
“Ah, you’re awake Mr Stark,” the soft voice of a woman spoke up from somewhere in the vicinity near him. It felt like a physical exercise to fully open his eyes, his eyelids feeling like weights as he pushed them open to stare at the room around him.
The walls were white and sterile, the floor marble with a squeaky clean shine. Medical equipment lay around him and the annoying beeping sound came from the monitor as it tracked his heartbeat. The bed he was laying in had that ‘old persons’ vibe, the blankets scratchy and the mattress slightly lumpy.
“Where am i?” Tony groaned, his throat sore and the need for water almost making him choke. The nurse, a woman with olive skin and black hair tied up in a bun, seemed to notice this as she brought a plastic cup up to his lips. Swallowing the water was almost better than drinking whiskey, Tony mused.
“You’re in the Medical bay,” the nurse supplied unhelpfully. “You hit your head pretty hard.”
It felt like he had, he wanted to say. Instead, he just laid back down on the bed, staring at the white ceiling as he tried to understand what the hell was going on. God, Pepper and Obadiah were going to kill him for missing the meeting that was scheduled for today.
“I’ll go tell everyone that you’re awake,” the nurse smiled at him as she walked out the room, closing the door behind her.
Go tell everyone? Tony frowned; who was there to tell?
He groaned once more, racking his brain for his last memory. The nurse had said he’d hit his head pretty hard so maybe this was injury that had occurred when he’d been blackout drunk? It wouldn’t be the first time he’d had one too many (thousand) shots and woken up the next day feeling like death with bruises and cuts he couldn’t explain.
Tony frowned, his last memory was of a party. He was at the house . . . in Dubai, yes. He’d been partying, getting drunk, chatting up blondes. There had been a pretty brunette giving him heart eyes from across the pool. He’d had a glass of whiskey in one hand, the taste of tequila still burning his mouth from when he’d done a shot off of some blonde woman’s body several minutes earlier. The buzz of the music had lifted him off his feet, his entire body swaying to the music. The brunette with the heart eyes had been making his way over to him . . . they were going up to one of his many rooms, the waterbed juggling as they jumped on it. The sounds of the party faded away as moans had filled the room . . .
And then nothing. Tony’s mind went blank and all the could remember was waking up in the medical room, head pounding and feeling like he was nursing the worst hangover of his life.
The door to his room cracked open a bit and Tony guessed this was the ‘everyone’ the nurse had been referring to. He expected to see his assistant, Pepper, walk in with a deep frown and a lecture on her tongue about responsible drinking. He expected to see Rhodey, his best friend of many years, sigh and shake his head at Tony’s alcoholic antics. He expected Obie to slap his shoulder and tell him to get up and make the meeting before it was too late.
He wasn’t expecting to see a man and a boy walk into his room. The man had short blonde hair, handsome features and a jacked body. There was a look of concern and relief etched onto his face and a small smile was spreading as he stared at Tony. The boy beside him looked to be no older than his middle teens, a mop of curly brown hair adorning his face and his eyes red and puffy. He was biting his lip with uncertainty, leaning in closer to the man as if seeking comfort.
Tony frowned at the pair. There was something familiar about the elder blonde man that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. It was like he’d seen his face before but Tony knew they’d never met (he would’ve remembered if he’d ever spoken to such a handsome man before).
“Uh hello?” Tony gave the pair a quizzical look; was this a prank? They shuffled in more, the blonde man walking over to his bedside and holding his hand in the man’s own.
“Tony,” the blonde sighed his name, as if it were a prayer. “Thank God you’re okay. We were worried for a second.”
Tony frowned, staring at the hand holding his own. What was going on?
“I’m sorry,” the teenage boy sniffed, eyes pooling with tears as he stared down at Tony with such a sorry expression that the genius wondered if he was meant to actually feel bad for this kid.
“Peter,” the blonde man gave the teenager a look. It was clear they’d had this conversation a million times. “What have i said? It wasn’t your fault; Dad doesn’t blame you— right Tony?”
Tony blinked, the confusion he’d been feeling doubling as the blonde man looked down at him. It was obvious he was awaiting an answer. Dad? He glanced up at the brunette boy, trying to search his features for anything that screamed Stark. His eyes were similar to Tony’s the brown orbs looking much like his own . . . but having the same eye colour wasn’t proof of genetics.
No, Tony didn’t have a son. Definitely not a teenage son who was now sniffling beside his bed, a look of sorrow on his face and eyes that screamed ‘hug me’. So why the hell had this blonde man called him Dad?
Tony cleared his throat, both pairs of blue and brown eyes getting brought back to him. He opened his mouth and delivered the bombshell: “Okay, this has been fun but who the hell are you?”
The blonde spluttered, a frown decorating his features. Tony pulled his hand out of the man’s grip, looking at up him expectantly. “Tony . . . what?”
“I said: who are you? Why are you in my room? I’m not really in the mood for a meet-n-greet right now so if you could skedaddle, i’ll get my assistant to send you an autographed shirt or something.”
“Dad?” The boy took a step back, a look of horror on his face.
“And that’s enough of that,” Tony groaned. His head was hurting, a pressure building up behind his eyes as he tried to wrap his head around everything going on. Dad? What?
“Tony,” the blonde man spoke with more urgency now, snapping the genius’ head to look at him again. “I need you to be honest with me: you seriously don’t know who we are? No messing around anymore?”
“What part of ‘who are you’ don’t you understand, sweet cheeks? If i knew who you were, do you think i would have asked?”
The blonde bit his lip as Tony ignored the teenage boy’s small sob.
“Pete,” the blonde turned to the kid. “Go get Cho, okay? And stay with Uncle Rhodey whilst we figure this out.”
The kid nodded, a few tears slipping down his face as he rushed out of the room. The awkward silence left behind from his departure was only broken by Tony’s small voice, confusion once again gripping him.
“Rhodey?” He questioned, a frown deepening on his face. “Rhodey’s here?” The blonde nodded, a frown decorating his own face too. “What is going on?”
“I don’t know,” the blonde admitted. “I’m not a Doctor but i think my best bet is that you have amnesia.”
The words felt a punch to the face, the wind getting knocked out of Tony. How could he have amnesia? He’d been at a party like he was always was, getting drunk because he could and gaining a reputation he was sure he would never be able to shake. How could he go from making out with a pretty brunette to laying in a hospital bed, a handsome blonde trying not to cry beside him?
“Wait, so who does that make you?” Tony stared at the man beside him, knowing that no matter what the answer was, he was going to hate it.
“Your husband.”
Yep, he hated it.
————————
Amnesia. Some Doctor named Cho declared almost 40 minutes after he’d originally woken up. Apparently he’d hit his head really hard and all his memories of the most recent decades had just . . . vanished. She’d admitted that brains were difficult (“no one can really know much about our brains, they’re too complex”) but she held out hope for a full recovery. She said that mental stimulation and familiar settings could trigger certain memories.
“So i’m not 22 anymore?” Tony spoke up, cutting the Doctor off on her speech about how the brain needs cues to trigger memories.
This brought a small smile out of the blonde’s— Steve, he was told (his husband apparently— face, shaking his head slightly. “Uh, no Tony, actually you’re 47 years old.”
“I’m what now?” Tony spluttered, grabbing the nearest metallic thing he could find to stare at his reflection. True to the man’s— Steve, dammit he needed to remember his name— words, he was definitely older than 22. There were lines on his face that shouldn’t be there, wrinkles creasing around his eyes and mouth. The smallest fleck of grey was in his roots and there was just the air of ageing surrounding him that there hadn’t been in his youthful face.
What. The. Hell.
“So it’s actually . . .”
“2017, yes.” Steve nodded.
“And we’re . . .”
“Married, yes.”
“For how long?”
“We’ve been together since 2012, we married 3 years ago.”
“And that boy . .”
“Peter.”
“Peter is our . . .”
“Son, yes.”
“But he’s older . . .”
“We adopted Peter last year when his last relative died. You were close to him before his Aunt’s death and when she died, you just said ‘he’s ours now’— it sounds creepy but it wasn’t. Trust me.”
“And your name is Steve. . .”
“Rogers, yes.”
Tony frowned, the name ringing a bell. His frown deepened when he remembered why. The constant droning of his father’s rants ‘Captain America this, Steve Rogers that’ sounded through his ears like a airhorn.
He let out a groan. “Please tell me i didn’t actually go and marry Captain fucking America.”
Steve looked like he wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. “Yes, you did.”
“Congratu-fucking-lations to me then.”
“Tony, please.” Steve whispered.
But Tony ignored him, flopping down on the bed with a loud groan. He felt like he was 22 but his body was 47. He was married to the man he’d hated in his childhood and adolescence— the one who his father had favoured over him, his own flesh and blood. He had a teenage son.
And he had absolutely no memory about any of this.
Tony ignored Steve, rolling over on the hospital bed and closing his eyes. He hoped that when he opened them, everything would go back to how i should be. He’d wake up in his own bed, some naked body laying beside him and a killer hangover. As it should be.
When he did eventually wake up, he was still in the scratchy hospital bed. And Steve hadn’t moved from his side.
————————
“It’s really hard, Ned,” Peter admitted to his best friend one day at lunch. The loud cafeteria was drowning out their heart to heart, the rest of the students ignoring how misty eyed Peter became as he admitted things he couldn’t even tell his Pops.
“He doesn’t remember anything?” Ned’s eyes were wide, horror flashing in them.
“To Dad, he’s 22, single and childless. He came home four days ago and he just stared at everything like he was in a state of confusion.”
“Maybe because waking up with the mentality of being 22 when in reality you’re 25 years older is a bitter pill to swallow?” MJ spoke up, her head still bent into her book and her tone the same as her constant bluntness.
“How’s your Pops taking it?” Ned asked, ignoring the girl reading her book.
“I think pretty badly. He pretends to be strong for me, always saying that Dad will remember soon but i think i heard him cry to Sam last night. Dad just looks at him with such annoyance and hatred.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know, i think it has something to do with my Grandad? Howard basically helped to create Captain America and i don’t think he ever let Dad forget that face. I’m pretty sure my Dad resents Pops because Howard wasn’t exactly a stellar father, you know, and Pops was probably only fuel to that fire.”
“Oh.” Ned made a cringed face, looking down at his sandwiches. “I’m sure things will get better, Peter.”
“Will they?” Peter sighed, his voice small and fragile as admitted the hardest thing. “He doesn’t remember me.”
“He will,” Ned promised.
“How do you know?” Peter shot back. “He isn’t my biological Dad, it’s not like we share some genetic connection that could force him to remember me.”
“But he loves you?” Ned frowns like it was obvious. “Surely that’s the same thing?”
Peter stares at his lunch, feeling sick. “He looks at me and Pops like we’re strangers—“
“Which you kinda are,” MJ butts in.
“—and he talks to me like he doesn’t know what to say. The only person he actually relaxes around is Uncle Rhodey.”
“Understandable,” MJ shrugs.
“I just want my Dad back,” Peter whispers.
“You need to spend time with him,” Ned suggests. “If you hang out with him, it increases the chances of jogging his memory. Just do stuff that you would normally do with Tony.”
“Like work in the lab!”
“Yeah, if you do that, maybe he’ll remember.”
“What if he doesn’t?” The words burn as they come out of Peter’s mouth. He’d already lost so many parents to death’s cruel clutches, he didn’t want to lose another Dad in an even more tragic and messed up way. Having someone die was so final but someone just simply forgetting who he even was, that created a whole new pain Peter wasn’t aware of.
“He will.” Ned’s voice was final and Peter tried to believe him. He wanted to believe that Tony would remember him, that he’d be his Dad again. But Ned didn’t see the way his Dad glared at his Pops, the childhood resentment coming back with full force. Or the way his Dad cleared his throat and spoke to Peter like he was an alien that Tony didn’t trust himself with. Ned didn’t see how his Dad’s drinking had come back, his 22 year old mind progressing back to his alcoholism. He didn’t see the empty bottles of liquor that now littered the lab. Or how snarky and rude Tony could be, rolling his eyes and refusing to eat dinner with Peter and Steve like a family (“because we aren’t a family Steve, i don’t even know who the fuck you are!”)
Ned didn’t hear how Peter cried into his pillow most nights, knowing his Dad was drinking down in his lab and his Pops struggled to keep their family from falling apart.
Ned didn’t know that Peter wished, more than anything, that it had been him who’d been hit by the robots’ energy blast. Even if it had killed him.
He would take death a million times over the living nightmare he was currently stuck in.
Being forgotten, Peter thought to himself, was a fate worse than death.
————————
The last few weeks of Tony coming home had been hard for Steve. Adjusting had not been easy. He’d given Tony the run down (recounting the events of him becoming Iron Man, The Avengers, SHIELD, Peter, their marriage, Pepper now being CEO of SI, Ultron etc) he’d hoped that telling his husband all that would trigger some memories.
Nothing had worked.
3 weeks Tony had been home now and his husband was still putting no effort in to regain his memories. He refused to spend time with Peter (breaking the boy’s heart Steve was sure), constantly argued with Steve and locked himself in his lab to drink and tinker. It was like living with Tony from early 2012 again, the man having not moved passed his adolescent hatred and his immaturity still peaking through.
Steve missed his caring, wonderful husband. He missed Peter’s father. He missed waking up next to Tony’s warm body, the feeling of safety engulfing him as they fell asleep in each other’s arms only to wake up in the same position in the morning.
He knew Tony’s drinking had peaked again. Steve had tried to stop it, yelling about Peter being in the house and that it wasn’t a good example (“even if you don’t remember, you’re still Peter’s father!”) but Tony had just scoffed and down the rest of the amber liquid with a cocky grin and a glazed look in his eye.
But as Steve’s mother had always said: you need a little rain to make a rainbow. Things aren’t going to get better until they get a little worse.
Well, this was a little worse. Tony’s memory had been gone for almost a month and his husband still looked at him like he was to blame for all of the man’s terrible childhood memories, hardly spoke to their son and drunk his weight in alcohol. As each day progressed, Steve found himself thankful that he’d come out of the ice when Tony had been in his 40s not when he’d been in his 20s.
It was barely even 8am when Steve received the message from Clint. As an early riser, Steve had already been up, been on his jog and showered by the time he received the text from his friend that shattered his entire heart.
Attached to Clint’s sorry message was a link to a news company where pictures and articles of his husband locking lips with several random women was dominating the front pages. As Steve swiped through, bile and anger rising up in his throat, he choked down a sob as he started at the multiple images of Tony shoving his tongue down stranger’s faces.
A blonde, a brunette, another blonde, a ginger, two more brunettes, a red head.
The pictures were obviously taken at a nightclub or bar, Steve not even knowing that his husband had gone out for the night. The lighting was poor and the girl’s faces were always in a shadow but Tony’s features and signature goatee was clear as day. Every news report was zooming in on his lip locked action, discussing his cheating and whether or not it meant divorce was on the cards for the Super Couple of the Century.
Was it cheating? Steve questioned himself several minutes later, having turned his phone off and throwing it against the wall. He glared at the dent it made, his screen now smashed as it lay dejectedly around the broken plaster.
He wanted to say that yes, it was cheating. Tony was his husband. Steve was the only person that he should be kissing.
But to Tony, he was single. He had no memory of his relationship to Steve, no remembrance of their wedding and their vows. He didn’t remember being in love with Steve and he sure as hell didn’t love him right now.
So was it cheating? To Steve, yes, but to Tony, no.
Which one was right?
———————
Peter pressed his ear up against the door, the sounds of his parents arguing echoing around their personal floor. Ever since those pictures of his Dad making out with someone else had been released, shit had hit the fan. His Dad hadn’t even been remorseful which only fuelled his Pops’ anger even more.
“We’re married Tony!” Pops yelled, his voice breaking slightly. The sound caused Peter to flinch, his stomach feeling empty and his heart aching as he listened to the words through the door.
“Are we?” Dad shot back, never one to give in when fighting. “Because i sure as hell don’t remember the service!”
“That doesn’t change the fact that we are! Why did you do this? This— you cheated Tony.”
“Jesus,” Dad groaned. “You need to give it up, my memory is gone!”
“You can get it back.”
“Maybe i don’t want to.”
Peter’s breathing hitched as tears sprung to his eyes.
“You don’t mean that—“ Pops whispered, sounding as broken as Peter felt.
“Don’t i? Because the last thing i remember is partying and just having fun and then suddenly i’m waking up, tied down with a teenage kid— living the life i never wanted. I’m not husband material and i never wanted kids.”
“You are husband material,” Pops sounded more like he was begging now. “You are! You just don’t remember that! You mature so much in between those 25 missing years. And you did want kids! You wanted Peter!”
“This isn’t the life i wanted.”
“Oh really?” Pops’s voice became hard, a coldness settling in over the rejection. Peter felt his heart shatter as his parents relationship turned to dust. If only he’d been the one to get hit with the blast. “And what is the life you want? Getting blackout drunk each weekend? Making a fool of yourself for the world to see? Sleeping with nameless people and having no real emotional or romantic connections to anyone? Pushing away those that love you? Because that sounds like a horrible way to live when you have a husband declaring his love for you and a son who adores you.”
Peter could practically hear his Dad’s eye roll.
“You aren’t 22 Tony,” Pops’ spoke clearly and calmly, his shouting much over now.
“I don’t care,” Dad didn’t fool anyone and Peter wondered if he even fooled himself. “My body may be older but i feel like it’s 1992 and i don’t want to be tied down with someone i hardly know and have a kid be dependent on me. I can’t be what he wants.”
“You’ll regret this,” Pops whispered. “You will regain your memories and when you do, you’ll hate yourself for doing this.”
“Well until then,” Dad clapped his hands together in what Peter had sussed out to be a fake bravo. “I guess this is goodbye, sweet cheeks.”
Peter walked away from the door, tears rolling down his face, before his Pops could walk out and find him eavesdropping. It seemed to casual and calm for this to be the end of his parents’ marriage. He’d expected screams, broken vases and custody battles. He didn’t like the ‘i guess this is goodbye’ or how resigned Pops had sounded.
He didn’t like that his Dad didn’t even want him at all.
———————
“You got anything for me Karen?” Peter spoke to his AI as he crouched on top of a building, staring down at Queen’s bustling streets despite the late hour. A dark hue had settled over the city, the sun almost all the way down as night began to settle.
“Nothing has been picked up by my scanners,” Karen replied, making Peter sigh. This was the first time going out as Spider-Man in weeks and he just wanted something to do.
It had now been a month since his parents’ separation. The divorce hadn’t been filed yet, Peter knew his Pops was holding out hope that Dad would remember, but Peter had the suspicion that the legal files would be made soon. It was clear that Dad just didn’t remember them and wanted nothing to do with them. He really was a 22 year old selfish, billionaire prick who had no intention of settling down.
Peter stared at the sky, watching as something shot into the air and disappeared into the clouds. He knew it was his Dad testing out the Iron Man suit, dancing around in the sky like it was the first time he had taken the suit out for a test flight. It seemed after 2 months of his brain being wiped, the only thing his Dad had remembered was his superhero antics.
“Peter, there is a robbery occurring 6 blocks from your location,” Karen spoke urgently through his mask. “Around 4 males have been detected with heavy weaponry trying to rob a bank.”
Peter was already following the GPS Karen displayed before she’d even finished talking. He perched on a building and watched as the men used specialist technology to break into the bank, hacking the ATM and attempting to pull the thousands out of the bank. The scene seemed eerily familiar to when Toomes’ men had done the same thing.
“I think you guys need to reevaluate your morals,” Spider-Man called out, landing just outside the broken door to the bank. All 4 men turned their heads to see the spider-guy watching them, groans ripping from their throats as they turned their weapons on him.
“Wow, so much for a welcome wagon,” Spider-Man teased as he dodged the bullets firing at him. “Could i at least get a hi before you start shooting at me?”
“Get lost Spider-brat,” one of the men snarled as he reloaded his gun.
“That’s a weird way to pronounce ‘hi’,” he shot out a web to stuck to the guy’s gun, throwing it out of the robber’s grip. They fought for a few minutes longer, Spider-Man shooting out webs as the robber’s shot at him with bullets. The bank was now filled with broken glass and bullet holes in the plaster of the building.
“You know, if you want money, you could always get a job—“ Spider-Man yelled over the sound of guns firing, doing flips as he attempts to dodge the rain of metal heading towards him. “All you need is a CV—woah.”
A loud clang sounded at the entrance of the bank as a repulser blast shot out and hit one of the robbers on the chest, sending him sprawling on the ground. The eyes of Peter’s Spider suit widened as his Dad in all his Iron Man glory shot into the bank, making quick work on the bad guys. It had been so long since he’d seen Tony that Peter was distracted for several seconds as he watched him handle the situation like a pro.
Pain tore through Peter’s left side, a cry escaping his throat as he fell to the ground. His momentary distraction had allowed for one of the robbers to shoot him just above his left hip, the bullet going clean through his skin and out the other end. Peter bit his lip as blood began to leak out the hole, the warm liquid running down his thigh and dripping to the floor.
“Oh shit,” Iron Man’s metallic voice seemed to hurt Peter more than the bullet wound. He lifted up his gauntlet and shot the robber, sending him flying backwards. “Ah kid, you okay?”
“Y-yeah,” Peter mumbled, pushing himself to stand back up. “Just a g-graze.”
“Let me get you to a hospital,” Iron Man offered, stepping forward in his suit but Peter shook his head and flinched.
“I can do it,” he grit his teeth and pushed forward; his legs wobbled with each step as he made his way out of the now-destroyed bank and onto the dark night street. Blood was running down his left leg, the sticky liquid making his suit feel gross and slimy. He choked down a sob, not wanting to seem weak to Iron Man.
Peter Parker (Stark) had cried so much when his Dad had moved out. He’d watched as most of Tony’s things were taken and the man settled into a new apartment. He’d sobbed when news reports circled of another Stark Party, pictures swirling around of his Dad getting drunk like it really was 1992 again, a blonde hanging off his arm.
Peter just wanted to be strong as Spider-Man. He wanted to show Iron Man, his Dad, that he wasn’t just a sobbing, bereaved 15 year old who felt as if he’d lost another father in his life (which he had). Peter Parker was a cryer, Spider-Man was a rock.
“Shit kid that doesn’t look good,” Iron Man frowned, his helmet pushing up to reveal Peter’s Dad’s face. Tony looked the same as he always did, presentable with his signature goatee. But the parental love and worry wasn’t in his eyes as he watched Peter (did he even know it was Peter under the mask?) hobble away.
“It’s fine,” the teenager grumbled seconds before he collapsed on the ground, a puddle of blood flowing under him as the wound began to sting with unbearable pain. Black dots scattered in his vision, something lethargic and warm trying to get him to close his eyes and dive into the darkness it offered.
“Oh crap, no kid— eyes open.” Tony rushed out of the suit, kneeling beside the bleeding Spider-boy. “Uhh— FRIDAY call an ambulance!” His hand went down to Peter’s wound, applying pressure which made the teenager see white as he screamed. “I know it hurts— ah shit, sorry kid this is my first time being out; i don’t really know what to do.”
Peter wanted to say that it was okay. His Dad was here; that was enough for him. All he could do was manage a few gurgles as blood started to dribble out of his mouth and down his chin.
“I’m going to take your mask off now,” Tony spoke slowly, his free hand coming to rip the fabric off Peter’s face. The second their eyes met, something dark and terrifying found itself flitting into the elder’s expression. He choked out a whispered: “Peter?” and then promptly pressed harder on the wound.
Peter guessed Tony had forgotten about his Spider-Man antics.
“Peter— what? Oh shit kid, it’s going to be okay. FRIDAY ETA? 5 minutes? Crap, hang on kid! Shit, why does this feel familiar? This panic and fear, it feels so goddamn familiar to me. Hang on Peter, okay?”
I’m sorry Dad, Peter wants to say. It should’ve been him who was hit by the robots’ blaster rays. Peter guessed this was life’s way of coming full circle.
His eyes fell shut, his head falling back onto the pavement as the sounds of his Dad’s cries lulled him to sleep.
———————
“Tony, he’s going to make a full recovery. That’s what Cho said.”
“It should’ve been me.”
“Don’t say that.”
“I could’ve lost him Steve— we could’ve lost him! And i wouldn’t have even remembered who he was!”
“But you do now, that’s all that matters. And Peter is going to be fine.”
“I just can’t believe how horribly i treated you both after i lost my memory,” Tony sighed heavily.
“It’s understandable, Tony. Your last memory was of being 22 and single, with untold possibilities for how your life turned out. It must’ve been hard waking up 25 years older with a husband and son demanding you act a certain way for them. It was hard on all of us but you remember now.”
“Steve, I want you to know that i didn’t sleep with anyone else. Yeah i made out with a couple of people but it never progressed passed that— each time things got more heated, i just felt like something was wrong. This guilt just ate me up and i ended it before things moved on. That was my love for you Steve, even when i didn’t remember that i loved you— i did.”
There was the sound of a sigh and a kiss, a whispered “i love you too”, floating in the air. Peter cracked his eyes open slightly, trying to figure out where he was. His side hurt slightly, a tugging sensation on his skin but other than that, he felt fine.
“Peter, honey,” the voice of his Pops filled his ears, a comforting hand being placed on his shoulder. “How do you feel?”
The teenager groaned, looking up at his Pops. The man looked worried but relief was outweighing his features. “Kinda sore,” he admitted which made his Pops smile sadly.
“Considering you lost a lot of blood and you’d had a bullet sized hole in you, i think i’ll take ‘kinda sore’ over what could’ve been.”
Peter winced. “Was it bad?”
“You almost died in my arms,” Dad whispered, a pained look in his eyes. “It was pretty bad, Underoos.”
Underoos. The familiar nickname brought tears to Peter’s eyes— did he remember? The hope that swelled in the teen’s chest felt kept growing as he realised his Dad was looking at him with such love and worry. Did he remember?
“Do you . . .?”
“Yeah buddy,” Dad’s hand went into Peter’s hair, teasing through the curls the same way he always did. Just that simple gesture, something Peter had been devoid of for 2 months, made Peter want to cry with happiness.
“How?”
“I guess seeing you hurt, that unconscious fear of losing you just brought out all my memories. And then when i remembered who you were to me and why i cared so much, all the other memories just came floating back. You brought me back, Pete.”
“I’m sorry,” Peter cried, fat tears rolling down his pink cheeks. The guilt that had consumed him for 2 months was finally being let out and it exploded all around the room. Peter’s sobs echoed around him, his chest heaving up and down in an unhealthy motion. His entire body shook as his cries racked his small frame.
“Peter, buddy, what for?” Tony sat down on the edge of Peter’s bed, pulling his son into his arms and holding him there. The boy’s tears soaked the elder man’s shirt as he sent a quizzical look to Steve.
“I should’ve been hit by the energy blast.” Peter spat the words out, his mouth filled with bile and the tears causing his eyes to strain as he wept.
“What?”
“Peter, we’ve talked about this,” Steve sighed, rubbing their son’s back in a caring motion. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“But Dad you jumped in the way to save me!” Peter looked up at his fathers, eyes red and puffy. “You lost your memory because of me.”
“And it’s back now,” Tony kissed the side of Peter’s head. “And you saved me by getting my memory back.”
“How’d i do that?”
“Well, just by being you. I love you Peter, almost losing you made me remember just how much i loved you.”
“Is everything okay now?” Peter looked between his parents, lips wobbling at the fear of divorce that had been hanging in the air for the recent weeks.
Steve smiled, placing a hand on the back of Peter’s neck as Tony held him tighter. “Everything is perfect, bud.”
“And Dad, you don’t want to leave?”
“There’s no place i would rather be,” Tony promised, sighing as he held his son and his husband wrapped his strong arms around the pair. At 22 all he’d wanted to do was get drunk and sleep with pretty girls, he’d never wanted a domestic life nor thought he deserved one.
But at 47, Tony was in love with his husband and son. They were his heart and his family, the only reason he got up in the morning and worked everyday to be a better man. He could never give them up— not even for the world.