Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

I love you baaaby and if it’s quite alright I need you baaaby to warm the lonely ni -

Tony smacked the phone resting on the bedside table with a groan, sleep stealing him away again before he could even form a coherent thought.

I love you baaaby and if it’s quite alright I need you baaaby -

Tony moaned louder this time and fumbled for the phone as his mind registered the familiar sound of the ringtone. Eyes still closed and huffing loudly, he accepted the call.

''You better have a good reason for waking me up this early on my day off, platypus,'' he groused, voice half lost in the thickness of his pillow.

''Tones - ''

''One day, Rhodey, that’s all I wanted,'' he continued, shuffling around under the blankets as the early morning chill nipped at his bare arms, ''and all I ask is for everyone to leave me the fu – ''

''Tony.''

The undeniable tension in his best friend’s voice had Tony sitting upright, frustration at being denied a lie-in long forgotten.

''Rhodey, what’s – ''

''There’s been an accident. I was one of the first to respond to the call, it’s…'' Rhodey sighed, a short exhale of fragile air. ''Tony, it’s Ben and May – ''

The table lamp clattered to the floor as Tony reached out a hand to brace himself, all of a sudden feeling like he was tumbling sideways even though he was sat completely still. He knew Rhodey was still talking but it was all white noise, lost in the ferocious buzzing inside his head. His heart clenched dangerously and he drew in a rough breath, thoughts whirling round and round until they crashed onto one single thing.

''Peter,'' he gasped.

''He’s here, he’s fine, I promise.''

''Oh god,'' Tony moaned, gritting his teeth as his chest caved in. ''Rhodey – ''

''I’m here, Tones, I’ll be here waiting, but you need to get down here soon, okay?''

Tony went into autopilot then. He yanked on the first shirt he saw and cursed hysterically as he fought to shove his feet through the legs of his filthy sweatpants. He crashed around in the living room as he searched for his wallet, bumped the coffee table hard enough for it to skid across the floor as he fumbled for his keys and let out a loud burst of ''FUCK!'' before he hurried out of the apartment, not saying a word to either Thor or Bruce as they poked their heads out of their rooms with sleepy concern.

It was raining on the day that Tony’s parents died. The sky was a gloomy grey and big fat droplets pelted off the windows in a persistent drumbeat. Tony remembered staring up at the skylight in the school reception, watching the plastic pane shake under the force of the downpour as his feet tapped anxiously on the scuffed linoleum floor. He’d been called to the office just after lunch and been left waiting, frowning as Mrs Adams, the school secretary, kept looking over her glasses at him with strangely wistful eyes. The office had been decorated with all the necessary graduation garlands and banners, a gaudy reminder of the rapidly approaching day that would send him further out into the big wide world.

Then Ben had walked in and the immediate rush of surprised joy that Tony had felt at the sight of his older brother rapidly turned into dread as he noticed the redness around Ben’s eyes, the quivering tremble of his stubbled jaw, the way his fingers flexed as he reached out to grip Tony by the shoulders.

Ben had always seemed so tall, had always been tall, and yet in that moment he had seemed so unbearably small, so frighteningly breakable, that Tony had actually stumbled away from him before Ben had corralled him into a crushing hug.

He didn’t need to say it.

But he did.

''Tony…they’re…'' the sob that had rushed through his hair was hot and wet, ''they’re gone.''

The entire world seemed to fall apart in that moment, leaving behind nothing but Ben and Tony and the rainy days that seemed to go on forever.

Tony had begged to see them, convinced Ben to take him to the hospital and had almost made it to the door of the mortuary. Then Rhodey, who was supposed to be at college, had appeared around the corner and Tony had collapsed into his best friend’s arms, roaring his sorrow into the scratchy denim of Rhodey’s jacket as Ben hugged them both with his burly arms.

He remembered the cloying smell of antiseptic, the glare of artificial light and the bustling chatter as nurses and doctors and patients swirled through the winding corridors.

And now there he was, back in the same hospital, heading down the same corridors except this time he was running, shoes skidding across the floor as he hurried, and Ben isn’t there because –

Tony stumbled into the nearby wall, hand pressed against his chest, pushing firmly to try and quell his racing heart. His throat constricted horribly and sweat broke out across his skin in a chilling prickle.

''Tony – Tony – breathe, man, come on – ''

It could easily be eight years ago; the corridors are the same and it was Rhodey holding him together again but there was no Ben now, no comforting presence at his back or the gentle but steadying embrace of his older brother as he stood beside him, propping him up like he always had.

Tony sank into Rhodey’s arms, just like all those years ago, and muffled a low scream into the padding of his uniform, a few stray tears bouncing off the badge that gleamed smartly under the lights.

''I’m so sorry man,'' Rhodey whispered, bending his head to rest against Tony’s with a soft sigh. Tony could hear the sadness there and latched onto it desperately, using it as a tether to steady himself in the waves of his own turmoil.

Since Rhodey’s family had moved in across the street from Tony’s when they were kids, Rhodey had served as a best friend and a second older brother, what with him being four years older than Tony, and so it was a bizarre source of comfort for Tony when he felt the other man take a steadying breath of his own, because it meant that he knew, he understood.

They allowed themselves a few more seconds, swaying gently together as they held one another before Tony allowed his friend to lead him along to where Peter was.

As they moved through the corridors, Tony’s thoughts focused on the kid. He tried to sharpen the image that he had of the boy, tried to shove the buzzing mess in his mind aside to gain some clarity.  Ben has always said that Peter reminded him of a younger Tony. Tony couldn’t deny the physical resemblance was definitely striking; while Ben had always been the mirror image of their mother, Tony had been the perfect mix of both parents with Maria’s eyes and Howard’s dark hair and Peter, with his unruly chocolate curls and wide honey-brown eyes, could have easily been a younger Tony’s twin.

''I don’t mean just that,'' Ben had chuckled as they watched a five-year-old Peter digging in the sandpit. ''He’s smart. Like you kinda smart. He’s ahead of every kid in his grade, and some in the one above too.''

Tony, twenty-three and nursing a horrendous hangover, had merely smiled tightly and made all the appropriate noises that a loving uncle was supposed to make. The disappointed glint of sadness in Ben’s eyes had made his stomach churn in a way that wasn’t down to the multiple tequilas he’d consumed the night before.

It was that moment that flashed before Tony’s eyes as he paused outside the door of the room that Peter was in, one hand fisting the sleeve of Rhodey’s jacket and the other braced against the frame.

''What the fuck do I even say to him?''

Rhodey sighed. ''Just…tell him that you’re here for him.''

''Oh sure, a big fat fucking help that is!'' Tony snarled, slamming his fist against the wood, eyes closing in a grimace. ''Hey kid, long time no see but your parents are dead and I’m all you’ve got left, whoop-de-fucking – ''

''Hey!’’ I get it, Tones, alright? I do. This is the shittiest thing that could have ever happened, it really is,'' Rhodey gave Tony a short but rough shake, ''but you need to suck it up.''

Tony glared at him, reproachful and forlorn, and though Rhodey’s face softened, his words were still firm. ''Ben was there for you when you lost your parents, even though he was grieving just as much as you were. You were both an absolute mess but he put you first, even when he was months away from becoming a father himself for the first time.''

Tony made to pull away, eyes clenching shut again because it was just too much to bear, because he couldn’t stand to hear it, but Rhodey held fast, all but pressing him into the wall.

''He put you first, Tones. Don’t you think it’s about time that you did something for him in return?''

Not for the first time in their friendship, Tony felt like punching him.

In the years after Maria and Howard had died in a car wreck, it was no understatement to say that Tony had gone off the rails. Fresh into college only a couple of months after it happened, he had been a ticking time bomb of fury and grief, just waiting to explode.

Except he didn’t.

Instead, he evolved into a bitter and twisted shell that abused the multiple options for self-destruction that were suddenly at his fingertips, ripe and ready for the taking.

And oh boy, did he take.

Friends were scarce, but the drugs and those willing to share them were plentiful; the alcohol was always flowing in one dorm room or another and there was definitely always somebody willing to let him into their bed. The days and weeks and months all eventually blurred into a kaleidoscopic haze where the pain was forced to the edges of his mind as it became blissfully empty on an almost nightly basis.

Rhodey, already starting out in his career in law enforcement and progressing with flying colours, would call often and try to visit whenever he could. One memorable occasion had involved Rhodey having to pry somebody off Tony as they rooted through his pockets while he lay unconscious in a bathroom at the party of someone he didn’t even know. He’d actually swung for Rhodey that night when the other man had practically screamed at him that his parents wouldn’t have wanted this for him, that Ben didn’t deserve to see his brother throwing his life away, that he could be so much better than this and Tony, knowing that everything that Rhodey said was true, had launched himself forward with swinging fists.

He’d wound up flat on his back and staring up a filthy ceiling with the forlorn face of his best friend looming above him.

And so it went on and on. Being smart did him no favours and Yinsen, the professor leading him and a bunch of other would-be geniuses through mechanical and electrical engineering, would regularly look at him with a narrow stare of disappointment whenever he stumbled in hungover or still slightly drunk from the night before.

The mistakes Tony made then had followed him since. The only remaining example of his ability, of who he could have been if things had been different, was Dum-E, the robot he had manufactured in his final year. Hailed as something truly impressive, it should have been the first step towards the dawn, a way out of the darkness he’d been drowning in.

But it wasn’t.

Now, Dum-E was nothing more than a mechanical house pet that made horrendous concoctions in the undeserving blender and Tony was stuck in a soulless career full of pretentious assholes who, in another life, would have been working for him, not the other way around.

Plus there was the whole heart condition thing, because hey, life’s a bitch like that and years of intense alcohol and substance abuse can catch up on a guy, making it necessary to pop pills on a daily basis for a whole different reason.

And now Ben was dead. Ben, his older brother who had done nothing but be a good man all his life, and his wife May who would always smile sweetly before making an obscenely hilarious joke. Ben, who never gave up on Tony, never stopped being there, never once faltered in being good and kind and decent and everything that Tony wasn’t.

And now he was dead and Tony was the one left behind.

Him, and the little boy on the other side of the door who was now an orphan too.

''Tony?''

''Yeah,'' he whispered, jerking out of the internal spiral. ''Yeah, I heard you.''

Rhodey reached out a hand and wrapped his fingers around the door handle. Tony sucked in a breath and grabbed Rhodey’s arm again, meeting his gaze with his own wide eyes. They looked at each other for a few seconds, Rhodey calm and collected and Tony about to collapse or scream, he wasn’t quite sure which, before Tony gave a weak nod and the door was pushed open.

The room was small and horribly decorated. Everything from the curtains to the carpet was a shade of brown except for the garish orange couch that sat against the far wall. Upon it lay a small figure covered by a faded black leather jacket. At the sound of the door opening, a head lifted up and a pair of huge, tired eyes peered over at Tony.

Rhodey nudged the back of Tony’s knee with his own and sent him stumbling into the room.

''H-hey, kiddo,'' Tony said, trying to force something bright into his voice and failing miserably as he crouched down in front of the boy. ''It’s Uncle Tony,'' he added, as if the kid needed confirmation.

Without fail, Peter had always called him Uncle Tony, never just Tony. He wasn’t sure if it was due to a slight lack of familiarity on account of them not seeing each other often or due to the manners that May had firmly instilled in the kid. Either way, it was still inexplicably adorable and Tony always felt a strange sense of pride on the occasions that he heard it.

Today, however, brought nothing but another wrenching twist of despair as Peter whispered the name tiredly in greeting, uncurling himself from the couch and slowly sitting up, Ben’s jacket sliding from his shoulders to crumple in a heap next to him. Tony sank a hand into the supple leather and dug his fingers in, fighting desperately to keep the tears at bay.

''Been a while, huh?'' he said weakly. ''You got big.''

It was a lie; Peter still looked as small as he did when Tony had seen him four months ago at May’s birthday dinner. Just like Tony had been, Peter was short for his age and could easily be mistaken for a year or two younger than his eight years. Still, it was the only thing that Tony could think of to say and the room fell silent for a long time, filled with nothing but the sound of their breathing and the traffic somewhere far below the window.

''Am I going home with you?''

Peter’s soft voice broke through the haze of Tony’s mind. He studied the kid’s face, noting the small cut just above his left eye and the tearstains on his cheeks and realised with horror that the kid must have been in the car too. He looked relatively unharmed aside from the small injury but that did nothing to soothe the tremor of concern, the distantly familiar sensation of protectiveness that Tony could only remember feeling a few times in his life, the first being the day that he held a newborn Peter after a love-drunk Ben had placed him into Tony’s trembling arms.

The feeling set off an alarm in his head, a bright blare of sound that zigzagged down his spine in a scream of retreat, run, escape because this shouldn’t be happening. He should only be the Uncle, the figure that appeared for all the family holidays with an annoyingly loud present and promises of an endless sugar high from all the bags of sweets that came with it, the guy who didn’t serve much of a purpose except to make his brother worry and his sister-in-law fret and his nephew look at him with curiosity over the dinner table every once in a while.

Tony loved Peter. Of course he did. That was just a fact, but it was a distant factor, a thoughtless emotion that just existed somewhere in the ether of his life, much like lyrics from a song he’d heard too many times or the path to the bathroom in the dead of night when sleep still fogged his brain.

He didn’t know how to turn it into anything else, how to make it tangible enough for him to be able to do what Ben had done for him all those years ago.

Sheer panic swelled within him.

He couldn’t do this.

''Mister Stark?''

Tony stood up abruptly as a woman entered the room. She had a careworn face and greying blonde hair that was pulled into a loose ponytail. Her navy suit was crisp and her black heels were far too shiny.

''My name is Cynthia Blake. I’m from Social Services. I’ve been assigned to Peter’s case by the hospital.''

''Right, yeah,'' Tony nodded, lifting a sweaty hand to palm his face. ''I’m his uncle.''

''Yes, I’m aware.'' Her eyes flickered over to Peter. ''As I understand it, you are Peter’s only living relative, is that correct?''

There was a sound behind him; a soft, almost inaudible intake of breath that made a strange rush of heat flare up inside Tony.

''Yes,'' he answered through gritted teeth.

''And are you willing to sign for temporary guardianship of him until the wills of Mister Stark and Miss Parker can be reviewed?''

It was strange to hear Ben and May referred to so formally. Though they’d never married, they’d always called each other husband and wife, because that’s what they had been for all intents and purposes. A certificate and a couple of rings would never change anything about them, so they’d considered it an unnecessary venture in the end.

''We’d have nobody to invite anyway,'' May had laughed over dinner four years ago. ''You’re the only family either of us have and I sure as hell don’t fancy paying out for all my friends to come and get drunk whilst I flit about in a ridiculously overpriced dress.''

''Yeah,'' Ben had agreed around a mouthful of meatloaf. ''Besides,'' he’d smiled brightly at Peter, ''gotta get this little guy through college somehow!''

Tony wondered how much was in that college fund now.

''Mister Stark?''

''I’m…'' he cleared his throat and tried again. ''I’m the one…'' he waved a hand, struggling to find the words. ''They named me on the will as the one who would…''

The woman nodded. ''I understand, Mister Stark, but until we can obtain the details of the wills – ''

''Right, fine, yeah,'' Tony mumbled, unable to stop himself from glaring at the woman. ''Yeah, I’ll sign.''

''Excellent. I will need to carry out a security check to verify your identity and suitably to act as a temporary guardian before we can allow Peter to leave with you, so any form of identification you have on you would be extremely helpful in speeding up the process.''

Tony turned his head to look beseechingly over at Rhodey.

''Can you – ''

''I got it, man.''

Rhodey grabbed the wallet that Tony held out to him and shepherded Cynthia out of the room. With a shaky sigh, Tony stumbled back into couch and dropped down into the cushions, taking care to avoid Ben’s jacket.

The room was silent for a long time before a hand reached out to tug at his sleeve. Tony jumped at the contact, sending the figure beside him shrinking back into the gaudy upholstery. He glanced at the kid apologetically, reaching out to pat the foot resting beside his thigh.

''Uncle Tony?''

Tony sighed, giving the kid a smile he knew was far from comforting.

May was dead. Ben was dead.

And life would never be the same again.

''Yeah, buddy. I’m taking you home with me.''

Chapter Text

The cab ride home was unbearably silent. Unable to face going to the apartment, Tony had handed over his copy of the key, still shiny and rarely used, to Rhodey and asked him to go and collect some things for Peter, whatever he would need to get them through the next few days at least.

''Is there anything in particular you want me to get, Peter?'' Rhodey had asked, years of experience in his role as a protector of the innocent lending a unique gentleness to his voice. ''Favourite shirt? Toys?''

Tony had stood idly by the door, clutching Peter’s worn backpack in shaky fingers, and listened as Peter had whispered a list of items to Rhodey who noted them down obediently, smiling encouragingly all the while. 

''Oh, and Iron Man.'' Peter added urgently as he’d moved towards Tony. ''He’s on my bed.''

Iron Man.

It had been a last-minute purchase. On the way to the party last-minute, in fact. Tony had raced through the aisles of the toy store with Thor hot on his heels, completely out of his depth as his eyes had raked the shelves frantically for something suitable, anything that didn’t scream 'Hi, I’m the worst uncle in the world'.

It looked like some sort of robot. Vibrant red and gold in colour, the stuffed toy that sat at the very back of the store had ticked the box for something bright and cheerful and Tony had grabbed it without a second thought. It was only on the subway when he was trying to stuff the thing into a gift bag that he’d noticed the expressionless face, the narrow slits for eyes and lack of anything that could resemble a smile. From all the pictures that Ben had endlessly bombarded him with, Tony knew that the toys Peter had were covered with gigantic googly eyes and overly happy grins that spoke of nothing but sweetness and light.

The toy in his hand had none of those qualities. It looked like someone had plucked the Tin Man out of Oz, given him a gaudy paint job and ironed his face flat. Thor had winced when Tony had wordlessly shaken the toy at him in dismay but it had been too late by then.

He’d tried to hide it in the back of one of the kitchen cupboards, nearly tackled Ben to the ground to stop the man from handing it over to a cheerfully shrieking Peter as he had played on his mat, and then had found himself watching with mounting trepidation as the baby had carelessly yanked the toy out of the bag. The room had fallen silent, or at least that’s how Tony remembered it, as Peter gazed at the toy, gigantic eyes impossibly wide and toothless gums on display as he patted his chubby hands all over it curiously. Tony had braced himself for the tears, the cry of fear, the inevitable scolding from his brother for scaring his son –

And then Peter had laughed.

A sweet, high-pitched belly laugh that stretched his round cheeks and made dribble pour from his mouth as he hugged the toy close, gumming the head with delight. The sound had flipped Tony’s stomach upside down and made it necessary for him to seek refuge in the kitchen where he tried to practically hide himself in the fridge under the pretence of getting himself a drink.

Ben had followed him, bringing Peter and the toy with him, and had spoken in that overly saccharine way that parents always seemed to whenever they were with their children as he asked 'Uncle Tony' what the name of the toy was.

The image of Tin Man fending off an iron instead of a wicked witch had stuck with him and the words ‘Iron Man’ had rushed out on a wobbly breath.

Ben had looked at him, then at the face of the toy, then back at him again, mouth quirking into a smirk before he was laughing and balancing Peter on a hip so he could reach over and pull Tony in for a hug. The move had placed Tony’s face directly in front of Peter’s and he’d found himself terrifyingly entranced as the baby boy had beamed at him before smacking him over the head with his gift; the gift that would steadfastly serve as Peter’s favourite toy from then on.

Tony’s throat burned as Ben’s laughter, bold and bright, echoed in his head, jerking him back to the present as he ushered Peter towards the apartment building. Peter had tentatively reached for his hand as they’d walked out of the hospital and he did the same again as they walked inside. The feeling of little fingers curling trustingly against his own made the hairs on Tony’s arm stand on end.

''Rhodey will come by soon,'' Tony said, feeling the need to fill the silence as they rode the elevator up to the top floor. ''He’ll bring your stuff and we’ll…'' he paused, because what the hell were they going to do? He sniffed, fingers twitching uncomfortably against Peter’s sweaty palm. ''We’ll watch a movie.''

Yeah, because that was the answer.

A minute later, they stepped into the apartment and were met with a frantic Bruce.

''Tony? What the hell is going on? I’ve been going out of my – oh! Hey, hi, Peter.''

The smile that fell onto Bruce’s lips was immeasurably kind, though the surprise on his face was clear.

''Hello,'' Peter replied shyly, shuffling so that he was partially hidden behind Tony’s leg. Having the kid use him as a shield moved Tony to unthinkingly settle a hand in his hair, unsure of what else to do.

''You remember Bruce, right, kid?'' he asked and Peter nodded quickly against his side. ''Peter’s going to be staying with us.''

The lack of a 'for a while' or 'for the night' or any other definition of time had Bruce staring at Tony in confusion. Then, the warm brown of his eyes rapidly filled with dismay as understanding began to dawn on him and Tony had to look away, steering the kid further into the apartment to sit on the couch.

As places in the middle of the city went, the apartment was an impressive size. The main room was an open space featuring both a kitchen and a living room made up of all sorts of mismatched furnishings; there was a small but satisfactory balcony that sat outside wall length window on the east side of the room and a discreet hatch above the window seat that led up into a small attic that housed multiple boxes and cobwebs. There were three bedrooms of varying sizes and style; Thor’s was the smallest and full to the brim with art supplies and empty coffee mugs, Bruce’s was the biggest and immaculately clean while Tony’s was a cross between neat and tidy, a strange sort of sanctuary with movie posters on the walls, a pile of laundry always in the corner and a battered copy of a robotics book on the bedside table.

The three of them had secured the place fresh out of college, just before Bruce started medical school, and it was only due to Bruce and the connection that his mother had to the woman that owned the building that they’d managed to not end up in a flea infested box somewhere downtown.

The rent still made a humongous dent in Tony’s pay cheque every month but he was grateful for the feelings of comfort that came with the place, the feeling of home that always seemed to wash over him whenever he opened the door to Thor sprawled out asleep on the couch surrounded by sketchbooks, to Bruce tiredly making coffee after a shift at the hospital where he was an intern or to Rhodey waiting for him after stopping by with takeout on his way home.

It was that feeling that was grounding him now, covering him in an armour against the grief that was lurking nearby, pinching and prodding at every inch of him as it tried to find a way in.

Though the heartache was kept at bay, the absolute helplessness he felt in relation to Peter was increasing rapidly, casting him out to sea without a lifebelt and he knew it was only a matter of time before it overwhelmed him.

''Can I get you a drink, Peter?''

The gentle question from Bruce snapped Tony from his thoughts and he looked down at Peter as the kid shuffled closer to him before nodding his head timidly.

Tony frowned. Why wasn’t the kid crying? A trembling wreck of snot and tears?

A nurse at the hospital had given him some information before he left in the form of pamphlets featuring titles such as Helping Your Child Deal With Death and Children and Bereavement; a cursory glance at them on the journey home had drawn his attention to something about the way children processed grief, how some mourned in bursts, seemingly okay one minute and then inconsolable the next.

He looked at Peter as the kid sat on the couch, looking completely calm and normal save for the cut on his head. As though sensing Tony’s eyes on him, Peter looked up and met his gaze.

''I hurt my leg too.''

He pointed to a small hole in his jeans from which a tiny hint of a plaster peeked through. It was decorated with smiley faces, a sight which Tony found strangely odious to look at.

''That’s, uh…'' he paused, incapable of thinking of a single thing to say to this kid, to his nephew who felt comfortable enough to hold his hand, press in close and seek comfort from even though they barely knew each other.

''How’s that drink coming, Brucie-bear?'' he called over his shoulder, feeling desperate for one of his own, though his would be on the rocks and distinctly more amber in colour than the cup of milk that Bruce was pouring for Peter.

Bruce had barely handed the cup to Peter, who held it with both hands and lifted it to his mouth carefully, when another presence in the apartment made itself known.

''Did I hear Tony?'' There was a crash and then the bathroom door was wrenched open and a dripping wet Thor stomped into the room. ''What the hell happened – ''

''Thor, man, please get a towel!'' Tony yelped, slapping a hand over Peter’s eyes before Thor had taken more than four steps forward.

''Wha – oh shit – sorry!'' Wet feet slapped on the floor as Thor ran back into the bathroom before appearing again seconds later with a periwinkle towel wrapped snugly around his waist. ''I didn’t realise we had a guest!'' He said enthusiastically though Tony didn’t miss the glare thrown his way. ''Hello, Peter.''

''Hi,'' Peter said bashfully, one hand still toying with the hole in his jeans.

Tony couldn’t even remember if Thor and Peter had met properly in the past. Still, that didn’t deter the hulking mass of a man as he dropped into the armchair on Tony’s left, wet skin leaving dark patches on the purple fabric.

''Are you here for a sleepover?'' Thor asked pleasantly.

''Yeah, yeah, a sleepover,'' Tony replied, feeling the sudden urge to laugh hysterically.

Thor looked at him with a frown and Tony could sense Peter’s gaze on him too. It was suffocating, stifling, too much and he felt his chest clenching, heartbeat picking him up  -

A soft meow by his feet yanked him out of the spiral. He glanced down and the faintest of smiles crossed his lips.

''What’s up, Nebs,'' Tony whispered, dangling his fingers low so that the cat could rub against them, the softness of her dark, smoky fur tickling his skin soothingly.

''Pretty kitty,'' Peter gasped, leaning forward slightly on the couch to get a better look.

Tony blinked. He’d owned Nebula for two years; surely the kid had been there in that time? But as he watched Peter offer his hand out for the cat to sniff curiously, he realised that he hadn’t. In fact, he couldn’t actually recall the last time Ben had set foot in the apartment, let alone Peter.

The thought was a miserable one and Tony shoved it away with a wince. With an awkward pat to Peter’s shoulder, he stood up and shuffled into the kitchen, moving close to where Bruce was now pouring coffee into mugs. Wordlessly, he held out a bottle of Tony’s medication and rattled it. Tony swiped it, cracked the lid and dry-swallowed two of the pills before snatching up a mug and downing a scalding gulp of coffee.

Bruce watched him silently for a moment.

''You left Christine here by the way.''

Tony opened his mouth before hesitating in thought.

''I thought her name was Crystal?''

Bruce shrugged. ''Well, the lady with many names that you left in your bedroom was not happy when you ran out of here earlier.''

''She’s not still here is she?'' Tony asked, eyes flitting over to his bedroom door in panic.

''No. Thor managed to persuade her to leave by promising her free coffee for a month.'' Bruce took a sip from his own mug. ''You best pray he keeps up his end of the deal. She knows where you live, after all.''

Tony snorted before leaning against the counter wearily, looking over at where Nebula was now sat on the coffee table, eyes closed in delight as Peter gently stroked her head. Thor and his towel had thankfully disappeared into his bedroom.

''Are you going to tell me what happened?''

Bruce was using his doctor voice, the one that made people trust him to look after them, the one that he had used during the only time Tony had cried in front of him. It had been the night before college graduation, because yeah, he had graduated but it had been a hollow victory, made all the more heavier by the absence of the two people who should have lived long enough to see it. It had been Bruce’s voice, soft and lulling, and a hand at the back of his neck that had kept him afloat that night, kept him from emptying another bottle and adding it to the collection that lay on his bedroom floor.

''Car crash,’’ Tony said gruffly. ''Ben and May…Peter was there…'' He sniffed. ‘’Now he’s here.''

''And is he staying?''

He knew what Bruce was doing: asking the question without asking it at all. It was clever, but Tony knew the trick well enough by now to recognise it. He decided not to answer, not trusting how the words might come out, and that was enough for Bruce. He flinched as the hand settled on his shoulder but didn’t push it away.

''I’m so sorry, Tony.''

A moody hiss stole the moment away from the reaching claws of they’re dead they’re dead they’re dead and announced Thor’s reappearance in the room. The man rolled his eyes at Nebula as she growled sulkily at him.

''I don’t know what I’ve ever done to offend that creature,'' he grumbled, giving the cat a glare of his own as he moved into the kitchen.

''You sat on her the day Tony brought her home.''

''It was an accident!'' Thor exclaimed, eyes wide with frustration. ''She blended in with the throw!''

A throw they had promptly got rid of, if only to reduce the possibly of Nebula being turned into a furry pancake.

''So…'' Thor stepped closer, bending his head so he could whisper. ''Why is your nephew sleeping over?''

Tony peered down into his coffee and waited, feeling the air around him fill with tension as Bruce and Thor shared a long silent look that had Thor actually stumbling back in shock before he stepped forward to wrap his arms around Tony in a fierce hug.

''My friend…I am so sorry.''

The softness of Thor’s voice made Tony’s eyes prickle and his nose burn and he quickly wormed his way out of the hold, ignoring the concerned look on his friend’s face and giving him a pained smile.

''Hope you guys don’t mind an extra roommate.''

The day dragged on. Tony felt suffocated, closed in; he almost considered scaling down the balcony before properly accepting the fact that it wasn’t a good idea. Bruce went to work, giving Tony a kind smile of sympathy as he left that made Tony’s chin wobble, and Thor confined himself to his room in order to channel the creative surge he was having. Tony didn’t need to point out to the aspiring artist that he was going to be late for his shift at the coffee house; the mid-afternoon phone call that sent Thor shooting out of the door like a blonde lightning bolt was enough.

Rhodey’s arrival was like a balm on the blistering burning of Tony’s mind and he all but clung to his friend as he stepped through the door, unable to hide his relief. Peter too seemed relieved by the man’s presence and came to say hello, eyes brightening as Rhodey held out his beloved Iron Man. Peter took the toy, buried his face into it and went back to the couch where he curled up into the smallest of balls. Tony watched him for a moment before sighing heavily.

''Has he been like that all day?''

''Pretty much,'' Tony replied as he set about making some coffee.

''I called Peter’s school by the way.'' Rhodey murmured as he set the bags on the kitchen table. At Tony’s stricken look, he gave a brief shake of his head. ''It’s fine, man.''

But it wasn’t fine. In the space of less than a few hours, Tony had failed to do anything remotely useful, had barely even exchanged more than five sentences with Peter and had instead sat beside the boy in awkward silence, steadfastly ignoring the odd sniffle that met his ears.

Tony rubbed his hands over his face and across his eyes, fingers digging into his itching eyelids.

''I got him two weeks off school. You’ve also been listed as his primary contact.''

''Is, uh…is that long enough?''

Rhodey shrugged. ''It’s best for children to carry on as normal as possible, to stick to some sort of a routine. Helps them cope with the process, helps them grieve.''

Tony wondered how he would have coped if he’d lost his parents at a younger age. Would he have cried into his teddy bears instead of furiously snarling at his older brother? Would he have let his school friends cheer him up instead of shoving everyone away? Would accepting a hug from someone who loved him have helped him to not feel so desperately lost?

He felt Rhodey’s eyes on him and turned his back, pouring fresh coffee into mugs and thrusting one into his friend’s hands. An excited series of beeping noises followed by a yelp and a disgruntled hiss had Tony’s own coffee sloshing over the sides of his mug as he spun round in surprise.

''Dum-E!'' He scolded, lifting his hand to blow on his stinging fingers. 

The bot, who had clearly been hiding in Tony’s bedroom, no doubt sulking from the scolding Tony had given him yesterday for screwing around with the toaster again, had made an appearance. His long arm extended towards Peter and his claws were flexing in a manner that could be considered rather sinister, if it weren’t for the fact that Dum-E was trilling happily at the sight of a potential new friend.

Peter unfurled from his defensive position and carefully reached out a hand, allowing the tip of his finger to touch one of Dum-E’s pincers.

''God, it’s like a scene from E.T. gone wrong,'' Rhodey murmured.

Tony ignored him, just as he ignored the flicker of warmth in his chest at the sight of Peter giggling at an overexcited Dum-E.

Rhodey eventually left, promising to swing by the following day, and the sun slowly disappeared beyond the skyline and brought in a darkness that pushed a heavy sadness through the windows of the apartment. After nibbling on two slices of pepperoni pizza and changing into a set of space-themed pyjamas, Peter was crawling into Tony’s bed,  looking terrifyingly small against the pillows, like he was the tiny hero of a fairy tale who had decided to take a nap in the giant’s bed. It was long past what Tony suspected was a reasonable bedtime for an eight-year-old child, so he made quick work of lamely tucking the kid in and shutting off the main light, but not before handing Dum-E a small torch to hold in favour of a nightlight, a vague memory of Ben telling him that Peter was afraid of the dark prompting him to do so. 

''I’ll,'' He gestured his head to the living room, ''be out here, y’know, if you need anything.''

Peter nodded quickly, clutching Iron Man so tightly that his little knuckles turned white.

''So…see you in the morning.''

''Night, Uncle Tony.''

Tony didn’t miss the hitch in the kid’s voice as he closed the door, but he couldn’t bring himself to go back in. He stared morosely around the living room for a moment, unsure of what to do with himself. He couldn’t say how long he stood there in the end, but it was enough to have Nebula sidle up to him and meow quietly in concern.

With a sigh, he crossed the floor to switch off the lights and the room was plunged into near darkness, save for the glow of the city lights seeping gently in through the window. Tony crawled onto the couch and used excessive force to beat the cushions into a more comfortable shape before settling down to stare up at the ceiling. He remembered sleeping on the couch in Ben and May’s apartment the day his parents died; remembered staring at the small stain in the righthand corner of the living room ceiling, remembered the quiet desperation that seemed to rise inside of him as the hour grew later and later.

The dark was dangerous for grief, he’d concluded that night as he lay there, wide awake until the morning. Night was when the monsters came, when the cold cruelty of reality was laid bare, when there was nothing to do but sink beneath the pressing force of the pain and let it overwhelm and engulf and devastate over and over until the call of the morning brought with it the things that needed to be done in order to just simply survive.

Tony’s breath trembled as he felt the familiar heaviness, the oppressive weight of the truth settle on his chest and pin him down. The tears came suddenly and it was only when he was sobbing silently into his pillow, Nebula sitting somewhere near his head in an attempt to comfort him, that he registered the fractured cries of a heartbroken child coming from his bedroom.

Chapter Text

In the two weeks that followed that earth-shaking moment in time, Tony’s life turned into a whirlwind of chaos.

The first few days brought phone call after phone call, legality after legality and the horrendous task of not only arranging the burial of two people, but trying to take care of a little boy without actually having a clue about how to take care of a little boy, especially one that had basically had his entire life come crumbling down around him.  

''Tony, you know how he feels,'' Bruce had said one night after he’d walked in on the two of them eating cereal for dinner in silence. ''If anybody gets what he’s going through, it’s you. Just talk to him.''

That was easier said than done. Try as he might, Tony just couldn’t make the words come out of his mouth, couldn’t open the door to the screaming void within himself and expose the bleeding nerves of his mind and the ruined muscles of his heart.

Tony knew grief, knew the pain like an old friend and it was infinite in its entirety; a gaping pit that swallowed him whole, crushing him and pounding him over and over until the ache was more than unbearable. It consumed him like a black hole, ceaseless and interminable and oh so terrifying in its completion, because that’s what grief did: it pulled apart the seams of the world stitch by stitch with unforgiving strength, rewrote the pages of the future irrevocably and poisoned the air with a finality that just choked and choked at the souls of those left behind.

He’d made room for the pain because it never left and that took away any possible avenue he could have taken to reach out to Peter, to share the burden, to somehow lighten the load if only by carrying it together.

Still, he couldn’t ignore the very real fact that Peter needed someone to take care of him, nor could he hide away from the responsibility because it was very much his and his alone.

Tony quickly made the decision to take time off work. That in itself was no bad thing; he didn’t like it there anyway. Stane Enterprises was a soul-sucking corporate machine bent on achieving domination of the science and technology world. Project Manager was a loose term for what Tony did; in fact, he liked to consider himself more the official bane of his boss’s life and did the job proudly by throwing funding into the smaller upstart projects with drive and character as opposed to the big, characterless ventures that would do nothing to deserve the support.

For that, he was a hero to some. To his boss, he was a problem with a capital P. So it wasn’t surprising that his request for time off had been met with nothing but ire and flying spittle.

It wasn’t a big deal, the man hated his guts anyway, so what was one more thing?

''You can’t be serious, Stark!'' Obadiah Stane’s voice had been full of all the blustering outrage he was known for. ''A week at best is all you’d need, surely?''

''I’m using my vacation days, what more do you want?'' Tony’s snarl had not gone unnoticed by Frieda Day, the head of HR, and it was only the pressure of her hand on his arm that had stopped Tony from making any rash decisions. Affectionately known amongst the staff as 'Friday', she had been the one to remind Tony that he had plenty of time accrued and was free to use it whenever he needed to when he had stumbled into her office on the Thursday of that first week, dishevelled and exhausted.

''We’ve got deadlines, meetings. The president of Hammer Tech is coming in next Thursday and if we don’t have – ''

''Need I remind you, Mister Stane, that per company policy, Mister Stark is entitled to two weeks bereavement leave.'' Friday’s voice had been cold, her Irish accent heavy with disapproval. ''As it stands, he has suffered a tremendous loss and is now the primary carer for his nephew so I am in agreement with his decision to take some of the vacation time he is rightfully owed in addition to that in order to manage his personal affairs accordingly.''

The furious glare Obadiah had levelled at her did nothing to deter the woman and she merely glared straight back at him, blue eyes sparkling dangerously.

''I will grant Mister Stark leave and I can only suggest that you find someone suitable to provide support where necessary.'' Her lips twitched in badly concealed glee and Tony all but adored her in that moment.

''He’s the goddamn overseer of all our major external projects, Frieda! There is nobody to cover him!''

''Well maybe if some of the other assholes in this place actually did their job – ''

''What did you say, Stark?!''

Half an hour and much screaming later, Tony left the building with Friday’s blessing and a month’s paid leave.

Then came the funeral.

Without Rhodey, Tony wasn’t even sure that it would have gone ahead. The ceaselessly pointless questions about flowers and songs and hymns had driven him to near madness, had him snarling in frustration at the poor woman trying to help, and eventually storming out, leaving Rhodey to pick up the pieces. The day itself was offensively bright and sunny and the happy birdsong in the skies around the cemetery made Tony’s teeth itch. It was a decent turnout; Tony recognised about three of Ben’s old school friends and gave a weak grimace of a smile as they clapped him sympathetically on the shoulder. Peter stood beside him silently, holding his hand in a grip that increased to an impressive strength as the caskets were lowered into the ground. The word passed around that Peter was staying with Tony from now on, and the disapproving and sceptical looks were enough to keep Tony from going to the service afterwards. Rhodey went instead with Peter and Tony sank over half a bottle of whiskey and passed out on the couch long before they came home.

There was a brief court hearing regarding the guardianship of Peter.

Tony had sweated his way through the entire thing, utterly convinced that something from his past would come back to bite him on the ass, that the fact that his place didn’t even have enough space to give the kid his own room would somehow be enough to make them whisk Peter away.

That didn’t happen. Tony suspected that the character reference Rhodey provided might have had something to do with it. Being the named guardian within both Ben and May’s will and Peter’s last living relative, Tony was granted full legal responsibility for Peter under the provision of regular checks from a social worker for the next twelve months.

The will reading itself had been predictable enough. Nearly everything had been left to Peter; a modest college fund, a tiny savings account that he could access when he turned twenty-one and various items of significance or value, such as Ben’s leather jacket and the ring that had belonged to May’s mother once upon a time. Tony was bequeathed Ben’s books and his beloved collection of vinyl records that he had inherited from their father; the sudden image of the pair of them dancing together in the bathroom as kids to Frankie Valli and The Four Seasons had invaded his memory instantly and he vowed to hide the records beneath his bed for a long time to come.

The will also contained details of the plan that was to be put into place in the unlikely event of both Ben and May passing away (the lawyer blanched at the glare Tony gave him as he read the unnecessary words out) and it involved all remaining finances to be transferred to Tony. This was to provide support for the outgoings that naturally came with looking after a small child.

It wasn’t a huge amount but it was something.

Rhodey broached the subject of the apartment not long after that.

''Just leave it.''

''Leave it? Tony, the rent – ''

''Use the…'' he flapped his hand in the air, face pulling into a grimace, ''the inheritance.’'

''Ben left that money for you – ''

''Rhodey – ''

''You’re going to need all the help you can get providing for – ''

''Rhodey.'' His tone was firm, mind resolute. ''Please.''

 Rhodey sighed. ''Six months,'' he said after a moment. ''That’s all I’m getting you. Ben wouldn’t want you to waste that money on something like that.''

''It’s not a waste – ''

''It is, Tones,'' Rhodey insisted, turning to leave. ''And you know it as well as I do.''

They didn’t speak for two days.

And then there was Peter himself. It wasn’t an exaggeration to say that Tony had fucked up royally at least once every day since he’d brought the kid home. From forgetting to do laundry so that Peter had something to wear from his meagre selection of clothes to not even realising that the kid hadn’t even bathed for two days until the boy nearly scalded himself trying to turn the temperamental shower on, it was an absolute disaster and without the presence of Thor and Bruce, Tony was almost certain that it would be so much worse.

But they weren’t there all the time and the thick silences that filled the apartment during those moments were unbearable. Tony knew that it was down to him, that he was the adult, that he should be the one reaching out, offering comfort, trying to connect with the boy. But any placating words turned to ash on his tongue and his palms turned slick with sweat whenever he caught Peter’s tearful gaze as he sat quietly on the couch, his Iron Man toy close by, offering support in the way that the man who had given it to him couldn’t. The irony wasn’t lost on Tony and he couldn’t stomach it, despised the whole situation with a venomous hatred that did nothing but throw up more barriers. He knew Peter could sense his frustration from the way that the kid didn’t really come near him, no longer sought him out for any shred of comfort that he might need, and that hurt in ways that he didn’t understand.

Rhodey, after eventually accepting that Tony wasn’t going to do it himself, took Peter to collect more of his things, returning with a case of clothes and a few more boxes of toys. Tony’s room was now no longer a place of quiet refuge but a strange stopping point full of action figures and lego pieces.

It had taken Bruce practically yelling at him on the Thursday of the second week that he couldn’t make Peter live off a diet of takeaway pizza and Eggos, but the first attempt at making a healthy dinner had ended with Tony furiously throwing a plate of broccoli and chicken into the sink when Peter said he didn’t like it and the kid hiding under the bed crying for an hour. In the end, Bruce had been the one to coax Peter out and sit with him, quietly discussing what sort of food he liked to eat for dinner. The hushed reply of ''my mommy’s spaghetti bolognese is the best'' had Tony storming out and straight into the nearest bar.

Thor found him an hour later, stopping him from having anything more than the two glasses he’d nursed sourly in the corner, and brought him back to the delicious smells of rich sauces and grilled meats and fresh herbs. Bruce, unfailingly kind and wonderful Bruce, had saved the day by sacrificing his one night off and heading downstairs to the small store on the corner to buy enough ingredients to batch cook at least a weeks’ worth of dinners.

Tony cried in the shower that night, staying under the sputtering stream of scalding water long after his skin turned red and raw.

The tears went unseen on both sides; Tony’s dried up quickly, surfacing only in the darkest hours when his resolve fractured just enough and even then he fought back viciously, but Peter would cry long into the night in long, painful howls that would quickly quieten lest they be heard, only to rise in pitch again as the sorrow consumed the desire to remain unnoticed.

Clearly it was an undisclosed family trait, Tony considered bitterly as he listened to the kid one night, barely suppressing the urge to bite his knuckles to stifle the scream wobbling in his throat. He wanted to do something, wished he knew what to do, how to help – but he just couldn’t and he hated himself for it.

The crunch came on Peter’s first day back to school, only Tony wouldn't realise it until the day was almost over. 

Tony wouldn’t have even remembered that the kid was due to go back if it hadn’t been for Rhodey texting him a curt reminder the evening before.

Tony stood on the busy sidewalk beside Peter, watching as the garish yellow bus approached them at a rather alarming speed. He shoved his hands into his pockets and kicked at a loose piece of the curb, feeling completely out of his depth. If it wasn’t for the fact that Peter knew the bus routes with alarming detail, Tony wouldn’t have had the first clue about how to get the kid to school, because he sure as hell wouldn’t have been able to fund paying for a taxi every day and he had no idea if the subway would take them anywhere near the place.

''There’s a bus stop just outside,'' Peter had said quietly over dinner the night before. ''I come past here every day on my way to school.''

The kid’s words had made Tony’s stomach churn, rendering him incapable of eating the sausage casserole that he had reheated for them. He couldn’t tell if Peter had spoken that way out of habit, if the phrasing was more to do with just a force of habit as opposed to a lack of acceptance of their situation, but either way it left Tony feeling unsettled, floundering for some kind of sturdy ground upon which to stand in order to gain control.

The fact that the kid had passed the place where Tony lived for the last few years was another thing entirely.

And it was that thought that clung to the edges of Tony’s mind as the bus came to a stop in front of them. The other two children waiting at the stop clambered on first and Peter made to follow them before pausing uncertainly with his foot hovering above the first step. He turned to look at Tony, gaze lingering timidly on his face.

Tony, needing desperately for the intensity of the moment to break, found himself speaking first. ''I’ll, uh, see you later?''

Why it came out sounding like a question was anyone’s guess, but if Peter noticed he didn’t show it and merely gave Tony a funny little wave before clambering up the rest of the steps. Tony watched him walk along the bus, catching sight of Peter smiling as a chubby dark-haired boy waved at him from somewhere near the back.

He remained on the curb and watched until the bus was out of sight.

Chapter Text

Tony took his time heading back to the apartment, opting to use the stairs instead of the elevator, feeling a funny kind of relief as his thighs burned under the strain of the many stairs.

All too soon, he was stood in the apartment, coffee in hand, and feeling a bit, well, lost.

Bruce was at work, Thor was likely unconscious, buried under a mound of pencils and paper, Nebula was nowhere to be seen and Dum-E was doing his version of sleeping over by the window, no doubt having deactivated after gazing out eagerly at the bright lights of the city during the night.

Peter was hardly a loud presence in the apartment; if anything, he was hardly noticeable for how quiet he was and the worst thing was that Tony wasn’t quite sure if that was actually a personality trait or if it was a result of…well. He knew the kid wasn’t one for running around like a pain in the ass ball of hyperactive noise but beyond that? He had no real clue, didn't know a thing. 

But what he did know what that the apartment was way too quiet now; suffocating and taunting in its silence. 

Struck by a sudden determination to do something, Tony started to try and get a semblance of order restored to the place. He gathered the endless pile of washing into a basket and took it down to the communal laundry room where he shoved it into the largest machine, only allowing himself a moment to feel a tiny bit of fondness at Peter’s impossibly adorable set of underwear that looked like a Boba Fett suit. It was only because he and Ben had owned (and practically lived in) similar garments in their childhood that Tony knew they were referred to as Underoos, and it was surprisingly comforting to know that Ben had insisted on his son owning a few sets too.

He ran a vacuum around the place, cursing Thor and his endless littering of pencil shavings as did so. The clutter of cups and plates on the draining board were put away and the window was thrown open to let some air in; he even gave the cushions a good beating to plump them a little, giving the lacklustre furniture a bit of a filthy look in the process.

He retrieved a frozen lasagne and placed it in the fridge, cursing himself for not remembering to do so the night before and prayed that it would be defrosted enough in time for dinner. After that, he sat at the kitchen table and opened his laptop to face the horrendous amount of emails sitting in his inbox. Clearly compassionate leave meant nothing to some people, though he did smile at the friendly check in from Friday. Pinging her a sassy one liner, he folded his arms and sat back in his chair to stare at the ceiling.

He must have dozed off because the next thing he knew was the feeling of a hand cupping the back of his neck and easing his head forward.

''Wha – '' he garbled, wincing a little as strong fingers immediately dug in to ease the crick at the base of his skull. ''Oh, hey, man.''

Thor smiled at him. ''Are you alright?''

''Huh? Oh, yeah,'' Tony grimaced against as he stretched. ''Guess sleeping on the couch isn’t helping the cause for getting a solid eight hours.''

Thor snorted as he moved to the fridge. ''I don’t believe you’ve ever had a solid eight hours in your life.''

''Well, we can’t all be giant koalas like you.''

''Do koalas sleep for a long time then?'' Thor asked curiously. 

Tony blinked. ''I don’t know. They look like they need to.''

Thor nodded seriously as he set about making something to eat. Tony watched him lazily, only moving to shake his head at the offer of a sandwich, much to Thor’s disapproval.

''How was Peter this morning when you sent him off to school?''

Tony shrugged. ''He seemed fine.''

''And what about you?''

Tony frowned at Thor as the man sat down opposite him. ''What about me?''

Thor bit into his sandwich and looked at him pointedly, lips smacking together loudly.

''I’m fine.''

Thor’s eyes, one perfectly blue and the other spattered with hints of brown, bore into him and Tony practically glared back until his resolve cracked and he shoved his chair away from the table. ''Gimme a break, man.''

''I would if you’d let me,'' Thor retorted, remaining in his seat. ''You do not need to carry the weight of your grief alone.''

''I am not – '' Tony cut off the snarl and shook his head. ''I’m going to bed.''

He stormed into his room, kicking aside a row of army men that were neatly lined up on the left side of the door, and flopped into the unmade bed. Peter’s scent, laundry detergent and something that reminded him greatly of Ben, surrounded him and he threw the pillow across the room, groaning with disappointed frustration as it flopped uselessly onto the floor.

He didn’t sleep.

''Wow, Peter!'' Bruce chuckled as the kid finished inhaling his second portion of lasagne. ''Guess today really took it out of you, huh?''

Peter flushed, hands toying with the piece of bread that he had just grabbed from the basket in the middle of the table. Though he had said hardly more than a few words since hopping off the bus that afternoon, he had appeared the tiniest bit brighter, or so it seemed.

Now though, looking closely at him, Tony could see how pale and tired he looked, the downturn of sadness around his eyes, the way he kept looking at the remnants of the dinner on the table.

''What did you eat for lunch?'' Bruce asked Peter after encouraging him to take a bit of the bread.

Peter looked at Tony but quickly turned his gaze to his lap when they made eye contact. His fingers picked at the bread, creating a mess of crumbs in his lap until Bruce reached over to gently remove it and place it on his plate.

''Peter?''

''…Nothing.''

Tony accidentally dropped his fork. ''What? Why?''

Tony knew himself that his tone had been too harsh without Bruce glaring at him or Peter jumping like he’d received an electric shock. The kid was flushing a furious red and his bottom lip was wobbling along with his chin.

''…you didn’t make me any,'' he whispered. ''And I didn’t have any money to buy anything from the cafeteria.''

Tony’s stomach dropped. He thought back to that morning when Peter had been getting ready, when he’d come over to stand by Tony as he drank his coffee, backpack still unzipped and half-held out in front of him.

The kid had been waiting for Tony to give him his lunch. Worse, when Tony hadn’t done so, he’d left the building without a word, not even asking for a couple of dollars to buy something, probably thinking that his uncle was that much of an asshole that he didn't even want to feed him properly. 

For the hundredth time since Ben and May died, Tony wondered what the hell they had been thinking when they decided to entrust Peter into his care. In every single way, he had failed and every single time that he did, something inside him broke off and crumbled beyond repair. He couldn’t even do something so simple as remember to feed the kid; it didn’t get much more unforgivable than that.

Something sharp seized him inside and he immediately clapped a hand over his chest, letting out an involuntary groan. He jumped when Bruce shoved his bottle of medication across the table but quickly opened it and swallowed two pills, only reaching for his water when they became caught in his throat.

''Why didn’t you say anything?'' Tony asked after he swallowed them down, hardly recognising his own voice for how pitiful it sounded.

Peter shrugged, fingers pulling nervously at the sleeves of his jumper.

Bruce leaned closer to him. ''Why didn’t you tell Tony that you needed something for lunch, Peter?''

A hint of jealousy flared up inside Tony as he watched Peter respond to the soothing tone of Bruce’s voice. His legs swung back and forth as his eyes flickered up to Tony anxiously before back to Bruce.

Peter spoke softly. ''I didn’t want to bother him.''

Tony flinched, feeling the words as fiercely as a physical blow. He desperately longed for the ability to reach inside his chest and yank his pathetic heart out. Bruce looked up at him, silently urging him to do something, to get involved and stop being so goddamn useless.

Tony’s cheeks puffed out in a long breath, the yearning for Ben, for May – hell, for anybody who had a single iota of a clue about what to do – growing ever stronger by the minute.

''Kid,'' Tony reached out and turned Peter’s chair to the side so that he was in the centre of Peter’s vision. ''I…'' His tongue swished around his mouth, chasing the rush of words to try and find the right ones. Peter looked at him, apprehensive and unsure, eyes shining with a guilt that just looked all kinds of wrong on such a small face.

''I’m sorry.''

Because he was, he really truly was, more than anything he’d ever been sorry for in his life.

''I just want my mom and dad,'' Peter whispered and promptly burst into tears.

Something happened then. Instead of giving into the immediate call of retreat distance run that sharply screeched through his mind, Tony followed the other basic instinct that had him dropping to his knees by the side of Peter’s chair and wrapping his arms around the shaking boy in what he sincerely hoped was something of a comforting embrace. He tensed as Peter immediately latched onto him, uncertainty lost in the face of his sorrow, and held on with desperate tightness as he howled into Tony’s shoulder.

The sound was so much more heart-breaking this side of the bedroom door.

Tony focused on the feeling of Peter in his arms, fragile and delicate and so small, and allowed himself to relax into the hold, shifting his arms so that he could pull Peter even closer. He thought of all the times he’d seen Ben hold Peter; how it had looked like the most natural thing in the world for him to sling an arm over Peter’s shoulder or pull him up onto his lap so that the kid could imitate an octopus by wrapping himself all around him. He thought of all the times Ben had swept him up into crushing hugs, crouched down to catch Tony as he flew at him when he’d been a hell of a lot smaller, hooked an arm around him and pulled him close whenever they sat together.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d let Ben hug him.

Tony blinked away tears at the thought of his brother, longing for the unique comfort of his presence, because god knows he’d be able to make it all better in a heartbeat.

Not like Tony, who just couldn’t seem to take a single step forward but could sure as hell take a lot backwards.

Story of his fucking life.

He peered over Peter’s head at Bruce who was watching them sadly. At Tony’s urgent stare, he just jerked his head pointedly at Peter and gave him a thumbs up.

Right. Grief, crying, kids.

Progress.

The crying seemed to go on forever but really it could have been only a few minutes. Peter eventually leaned back, red-eyed, shivering and exhausted, to peer up at Tony. Tony curled a sleeve over his thumb and lifted it to brush the remaining tears away, like Ben used to do for him when he had been very much the kid brother. He wanted to speak, though he didn’t know what he wanted to say. Something about being sorry, wishing he could make it better, that it was going to be okay.

He stayed silent. 

He doubted Peter would have believed him anyway.

 ''Orange or apple?''

Peter studied the juice boxes for a moment before pointing to the apple flavour. Bruce nodded and handed them to Peter, placed the other package back on the shelf and carried on walking. Tony kept a slow pace behind him, leaning wearily into the handle of the cart that he was pushing. The kid was sat in the main body of the thing, having been placed there by an overexcited Thor who they had lost somewhere near the cereal aisle, and was carefully placing the juice boxes atop the rest of the items they had gathered.

After Peter had calmed down, Bruce had made the suggestion of going to the grocery store to pick up some things that Peter would like for his lunches, a suggestion that had Tony peering at him in confusion.

Sure, they bought groceries but the extent of their shopping trips usually involved grabbing whatever they needed from one of the nearby bodegas or corner stores, not visiting actual grocery stores with shopping trolleys and an absolute overabundance of choices of whatever a person could possibly need.

Still, it was an excuse to get out of the apartment and, in Tony’s mind, the chance to actually do something right for the kid.

He could make lunches. He could be that guy who made nice sandwiches and made sure the kid had at least two portions of fruit and packed everything in a brown paper bag. Did kids still eat out of brown bags? Would Peter need an actual lunch box?

His mind whirled as they strolled up and down the aisles, much slower than the other supermarket professionals who whizzed with impressive speed up and down the store, hardly taking any time at all to select what they needed. Bruce had spent a long time debating which type of tomatoes to buy, watching almost jealously as a woman made her choice without even looking.

To be fair to the guy, there were a hell of a lot to choose from.

''I found the pop tarts!''

Thor’s cheerful declaration snapped Tony out of his thoughts and he smirked at the sight of Thor hurrying towards them with a cart of his own, which did indeed contain a ridiculous amount of pop tarts. Bruce stopped in his perusal of the yogurts to look over and shake his head in affectionate disapproval.

''Did you get the beer too?'' he quipped and then palmed his forehead with a groan as Thor took off eagerly towards the alcohol section.

They carried on and eventually turned into the cereal aisle, which was completely empty of other shoppers. Bruce strode ahead, deliberately walking past the colourful boxes that screamed sugar overload and headed towards the healthier choices of muesli and cornflakes. Tony let him go before reaching over to knock a box of Fruit Loops into the cart. Peter jumped as the box fell into his lap and looked up at Tony questioningly before his face brightened a little at the mischievous look Tony gave him in return.

As Peter carefully placed the box beside the juice, Tony glanced around the still empty aisle and felt a sudden urge overwhelm him. He didn’t put up a fight as the desire took hold and before he could second guess his decision, he was running, arms outstretched as far as they could go as he pushed the cart along. Peter reared back to look at him in surprise just as Tony lifted his feet and planted them on either side of the cart, letting loose a wild cackle as they flew along the aisle fast enough for Tony’s coat to billow out behind him and for Peter’s curls to wave in the rush of air.

The sound that met his ears over Bruce’s tired reprimand was sweet, surprising and warm.

Laughter.

Peter was laughing.

Desperate for it to not stop, Tony lowered one foot to brace against the floor, turning them at the end of the aisle so they could careen down the next one. Thor soon joined them, gleefully stuffing a furiously protesting Bruce into his cart and chasing them through the store, pausing only to grab items from the list and narrowly avoiding the store manager as they went.

Tony had to pause eventually to catch his breath, tucked away behind a stack of tomato soup tins, eyes darting around for any sight of Bruce and Thor.

He caught Peter smiling at him, open and bright, and immediately smiled back, feeling lighter than he had in years.

Something inside him cracked open then, just wide enough for a piece of happiness to settle in amongst the darkness and take root, patiently eager and willing to grow.

Tony decided to give it a chance.

Chapter Text

''You can’t keep this up, you know,'' Bruce said, knocking his knuckles against Tony’s head as he walked past.

''Sure I can,'' Tony argued, turning to squint at him over the back of the couch. ''I’m young and full of vitality.''

''You’re exhausted and have a heart condition,’’ Bruce countered with a stern look. ''And your back isn’t going to withstand sleeping on the couch for much longer.''

Tony rolled onto his side. ''I’m fine.''

''You’re grieving and you need to accept that Peter is here to stay.''

''I have – god, Bruce, it’s way too early in the morning for this sh – ''

''I know you’ve turned a corner with Peter,’’ Bruce said, more gently, ''but you need to make it a permanent thing, make it feel like he’s not a lodger waiting to go home at some point.''

Tony huffed out a grumble, pointedly ignoring his friend, and buried his head under his blanket.

It was true that since the whole ridiculous race around the grocery store that resulted in them all getting escorted through the checkout by security two weeks ago, progress had definitely been made.

For a start, he did actually make lunches for Peter. Little sandwiches accompanied by a juice box and what was probably considered to be too much fruit. Peter accepted each brown bag with a polite thank you and gave Tony a shy smile after he peeked inside. Tony asked the kid what he wanted to eat for dinner, filing away details that suddenly seemed so important, like the fact that Peter hated broccoli but liked zucchini, only liked chicken when it was cooked in a sauce and would under no circumstances eat carrots unless they were cold and cut up into thin sticks.

Tony also discovered that Peter really was as smart as Ben had said. Not that he’d ever doubted it but seeing it up close and in person was something else.

The way the kid would approach the homework he came home with was both baffling and adorable. He’d waste no time in throwing his books out onto the kitchen table and getting stuck in, only pausing to smile at Tony when he would tentatively push a glass of juice and a bowl of grapes across the table for Peter to snack on. Quick peeks at the homework had Tony’s eyebrows lifting into his hair almost every evening. Bruce too had been equal amounts surprised and impressed because along with the standard second grade worksheets, there was a textbook of advanced mathematics and science for children that Peter would blitz through a few pages of every evening while dinner was cooking.

Thor, of course, was always keen to get involved when there was any art homework. 

Peter asked Tony for help every so often, shyly tugging on Tony’s sleeve before mumbling his request and pointing to the question he was stuck on. Tony would stand over him, stirring the contents of a saucepan or with one eye on a sizzling frying pan, talking the kid through the problem until Peter’s face would light up in understanding and his pencil would start moving furiously across the page. He’d always thank Tony with a soft ''thank you, Uncle Tony,'' that had Tony’s insides doing a weird little flip of pride.

Along with all of that, Tony talked to the kid; actually talked to him in full sentences with an exchange of questions that led to more words, more thoughts.

More smiles.

In fourteen days, he had learnt more about one person than he had ever known, with the exception of maybe Ben and Rhodey.

He found that Peter loved science fiction movies, particularly the older ones that Tony and Ben had obsessively watched together in their own childhood, but couldn’t choose between Return of the Jedi or Back to the Future as his ultimate favourite. The books that he liked always had a happy ending and he couldn’t stand wearing odd socks, a detail revealed when Tony fell behind on the laundry again. 

One thing that Tony took from their conversations and everyday interactions was just how sweet Peter was, how endearing and good he was in everything that he did. Sure, he could level a glare that was so similar to Tony’s that it was like looking in a mirror, but the smile that appeared when Tony sat down next to him on the couch and asked what movie he wanted to watch, or the soft mumble of ''g’night,'' that came with every tucking in was so undeniably lovable that Tony found himself craving more.

However, there was one thing they didn’t talk about.

Since Peter’s admission of wanting his parents and the subsequent sobbing that came after, neither Ben nor May had been mentioned since. After that day, Tony had found himself wondering if the floodgates would be opened and leave them positively drowning in the sea of sorrow that Tony knew lurked just on the outskirts of his everyday thoughts, just as he knew it did for Peter.

It didn’t happen and Tony felt the fractured shards of his own grief clinking together nervously with each passing day, just waiting for it to happen. 

But in those two weeks, despite all the undeniably unhealthy withholding of feelings, something had changed. Though still shy and uncertain in their ways, there was a familiarity between uncle and nephew that hadn’t been there before; a hesitant trust that had Peter looking to Tony and Tony looking right back, still so out of his depth but willing to try.

It was…good.

Things were about to change again though.

Tony was going back to work in a few days, which meant that he wouldn’t be able to be at home for Peter immediately after the kid got back from school. A visit from a Miss Danvers, the friendly but no-nonsense social worker who was to be the one checking up on them for the foreseeable future, had highlighted a few issues. Who would be there to take care of Peter after school when Tony was at work? What was he going to do about making Peter’s place here a more permanent fixture?

When Tony had frowned in confusion, Miss Danvers had cocked her head at him like he was missing the obvious.

''You’re currently sleeping on the couch while your nephew is sleeping in your room. Despite the toys he has in there, it’s still very much your room, Mister Stark. If you want Peter to adjust positively, that needs to change.''

As he recalled those words, Tony wondered if she and Bruce were secretly friends, united in their infuriating reason and logic.

Feeling like he was back at square one, Tony flipped onto his back and glared up at the ceiling.

Even if he used the money that Ben and May had left, which wasn’t an option no matter what anyone else thought, it still wouldn’t solve their problems. He couldn’t afford a place by himself, not a decent one anyway, and he sure as hell didn’t want to drag Peter through another life changing event that he had no say in.

His eyes skipped thoughtfully along the paint splatters on the white ceiling, a reminder of one of Thor’s more adventurous artistic escapades, before landing on the attic door.

The attic door.

Tony scrambled to his feet, almost tripping over the blanket as it tangled around his legs. Dum-E trilled at him from over by the window, coming over to watch curiously as Tony grabbed one of the kitchen chairs and positioned it just so before hopping on and snagging the grubby length of string that hung down from the hatch. 

''Tony? What are you doing?'' Bruce asked, lowering the piece of toast he’d been about to take a bite out of.

Tony pulled the string and eased the door open, swinging it down to reveal a rickety set of steps. He jumped down from the chair, kicked it aside and hurried up the steps before he’d even fully lowered them to the ground.

''Tony!''

''Quiet, Brucie! You too, Dum-E!'' Tony barked as he poked his head through the hatch. ''Actually, make yourself useful, get me a torch!''

''What? I don’t – ''

''Hurry up!''

''Alright, jeez!''

As a grumbling Bruce walked away, Tony peered into the black dimness of the space, only able to make out the shadowy shapes of a few boxes. Something tapped him on the leg and he lowered a hand, fingers curling around the phone that Bruce was handing him. He pressed the button for the torch app and squinted into the light that filled the room. Tony studied the dusty attic, the collection of boxes and bags, the high sloping ceiling, the shape of one skylight peeking out from under a sheet and the empty light fixture that dangled from a beam in the centre.

A slow grin spread across his face.

Bingo.

''Bruce?''

''What?''

Tony batted a few cobwebs away. ''You’re not working today, right?''

 ''I’m telling you, Tony, it’s not working.''

Tony scowled at Bruce from his place in the corner. Cobwebs clung to the unruly spikes of his hair and the knees of his jeans were stained grey with dust. His fingers were wrapped in several wires and there was a screwdriver pinched precariously between them. From the hatch opening, Nebula watched him with narrow eyes, tail swishing slowly back and forth. 

''Just flip the switch!''

''No!'' Bruce snapped, throwing a roll of electrical tape at him. ''You’ve been shocked twice already. You’ve already had me clearing out all the stuff from here on my day off, I don’t fancy having to do CPR as well!''

Tony groaned and released the wires, toppling back onto the grimy floor with a thud. After pulling the sheet down from the skylight, clearing out all of the boxes and bags and finding that most of their contents were nothing but junk they’d all forgotten they owned anyway, Bruce, Tony (''God where the fuck is Thor when you need him!'') and a very keen to help Dum-E had hauled each one out of the apartment. Some were dragged down to the local charity stores while the rest was simply stuffed into whatever dumpster they could find that had room.

They’d spent the day working in very poor lighting because the light fixture, even with multiple light bulb changes, didn’t work. The skylight only provided so much light and the gloomy skies outside did nothing to help. Tony, not one for being bested by anything electrical, had ripped up several floorboards before locating some wires and had spent a good hour fiddling with them in an attempt to find a quick fix to the problem.

If he had the time, Tony could tear the entire place apart and rewire everything himself. It had been a while, but he imagined it was like riding a bike: some things you just don’t forget how to do. But he didn’t have the time. His return to work was nigh, meaning there was a mass of emails to respond to among other things, and he sure as hell didn’t need to give Miss Danvers any more ammunition than she already had.

''Just give it up, Tony.''

Tony threw the screwdriver at Bruce who glared at him.

''I gotta do something! Last thing we need is that damn social worker – ''

''Anybody home?''

Dum-E beeped happily from down below and then Rhodey’s head suddenly appeared through the hatch, making Tony squawk in surprise and Nebula purr happily. 

''Don’t you knock?'' Tony barked, hurling a loose screw at him which majorly missed its mark.

''No, I have a key,'' Rhodey retorted, leaning on his elbow and scratching Nebula behind the ear. ''The hell are you doing up here?''

''Freaking out,'' Bruce explained as Tony stood up with a groan.

''Huh,'' Rhodey nodded, tilting his head to look at Tony. ''Peter okay?''

''Fine,'' Tony said, getting to his feet. ''Be even better once we get this mess sorted out.''

''What exactly is going on?''

Tony explained his plan as he bumped Rhodey back down the steps, ignoring Bruce’s complaining as he trailed dust across the living room. He could feel Rhodey’s eyes studying him and turned to give his friend a withering look.

'' What.''

''Nothing,'' Rhodey said and then, to Tony’s surprise, he smiled at him. Warmly, proudly, like a brother. ''I’m just impressed, that’s all.''

''Surprised, you mean,'' Tony retorted, running his hands under the kitchen tap to wash away as much grime as possible.

''No,'' Rhodey replied, voice soft, ''not surprised at all.''

Tony glanced over his shoulder. Rhodey was leaning against the back of the couch, arms folded, smile still on his face, reminding him so much of Ben that he had to turn away. He scrubbed harshly at his hands until the sickening pressure in his chest eased up, turned off the tap and grabbed a towel before heading for the door.

''Tony? Where are you going?''

''To get reinforcements.''

Less than a minute later, he was two floors down, bouncing impatiently on the balls of his feet as he knocked on the door of apartment 5B. There was a thud, a shuffling sound and then the door swung open to reveal a tall, burly man with blonde hair. He blinked blue eyes in surprise at the sight of Tony who gave him a shoddy attempt at a casual smile.

''Tony,'' Steve Rogers said slowly, opening the door wider and leaning against the frame, ''what brings you here?''

''What?'' Tony spread his arms wide. ''Can’t a guy just drop in on his neighbours every now and then?''

''Not when he doesn’t like his neighbours,'' another voice said and the door swung fully open, revealing another man with long, dark hair scraped into a bun.

''Hey, come on now, Bucky, I like you,'' Tony protested weakly.

He was met with two narrow stares of disbelief.

''Look, I’m gonna cut to the chase,'' Tony waved a hand impatiently, ''I’ve got a job that needs doing fast and clearly,'' he eyed their sleepwear critically, ''you two aren’t exactly raking in the work right now.''

Bucky rolled his eyes. ''I’m not putting up with this bullshit on my own doorstep. Go find yourself another pair of suckers, Stark.''

He stalked off, muttering under his breath. Steve watched him go over his shoulder before sighing. ''What’s the job exactly?''

''Bunch of wiring in the attic I need looking at, light fixture not working, nothing too strenuous.''

Steve raised an eyebrow. ''If that’s the case, why can’t you do it yourself?''

Tony waved a hand. ''Time. I have hardly any and this needs doing by yesterday. I’m willing to pay half your fee upfront if it gets you both up those stairs in the next half hour.''

''I don’t know if I’m comfortable doing work on an apartment that doesn’t even belong to you,'' Steve said carefully. ''Why can’t you just ask – ''

Bucky appeared in the doorway again. ''How much we talkin’ here?''

Tony sighed, reminding himself just why he was here. ''Name your price.''

Twenty minutes later, both Steve and Bucky were knocking on his door, and they weren’t alone.

''Miss Carter,'' Tony said in surprise, opening the door to let the men in, sharing a narrow-eyed look with Bucky as he passed before turning his attention to the woman, ''what brings you here?''

Peggy Carter was a retired Army officer, heavily decorated and something of a legend in her time. Long since retired, she had retrained as a teacher and worked part time at an elementary school in the city. Tony only knew her by sight and the odd two-minute conversations that occurred whenever they passed in the hall, but the cheeky twinkle that always seemed to be present in her bright eyes told him that she was something of a firecracker once you really got to know her.

''Well, when I happened to bump into those two,'' she gestured to Steve and Bucky as they made their way towards the attic hatch, ''and they told me where they were going, I just had to see whether they were pulling my leg or not.''

Tony rolled his eyes. ''You get into one disagreement over the smallest thing and people just can’t let it go.''

''I’d hardly call welding their door shut a small thing,'' Peggy remarked, an amused smile pulling at her lips.

''Hey, that was only because they ratted us out to the super for – ''

''Yes, yes,'' Peggy said placatingly, waving her hand, ''I’m sure you’re all just as bad as each other.'' The teasing smile on her face turned gentle. ''How’s that sweet little nephew of yours?''

Tony shrugged. ''He’s…''

Describing Peter as fine didn’t seem quite right, not when Peggy was looking at him with such knowing in her gaze, like she could see exactly what he was thinking. He sniffed and gave her a twitch of the lips and she hummed softly with a little nod. 

''Well, if you ever need any help, I’m only a few floors away.''

The words switched a light on in Tony’s mind, and it must have done something to his face because Peggy looked at him curiously, lifting a hand to his elbow in mild concern. 

''You wouldn’t be interested in regularly spending time with an adorable and unfailingly polite eight year old, would you?''

She blinked at him before her face relaxed with a warm smile, one that Tony returned out of sheer relief. 

''Stark,'' a frustrated voice snapped from inside the apartment, ''come and control your pain in the ass robot before I do something you really won’t like.''

''Hey!'' Tony barked, storming back inside, leaving Peggy shaking her head with an exasperated laugh, ''touch him and I’ll do worse than weld your door shut!''

''My room?''

Tony nodded, feeling an uncomfortable sense of nervousness as he and Peter stood beneath the attic door. ''That’s right, kid. Few minor tweaks to make here and there, but soon enough she’ll be all yours.''

Peter stared up at the hatch with thoughtful eyes. 

''Do...Will I have my stuff from my old room?''

Tony didn’t reply for a moment, trying to steel himself against the thought of stepping foot into Ben and May’s empty apartment. ''Do you want your old stuff?''

There was a long pause where Peter didn’t say anything. His bottom lip trembled a little bit and he took a wobbly breath. Tony braced himself for the tears, stomach immediately churning. 

''Is...is that okay?''

''Yeah,'' Tony grunted, giving Peter as wide of a smile as he can manage, ''course it’s okay, kid.''

Two days later, after they’d fixed the wiring and Tony had grabbed some paint from a hardware store, he found himself knocking on Steve and Bucky’s door once again, offering more money he couldn’t afford in exchange for the use of their shabby transit van and upper body strength. 

''Just everything from the kid’s room,'' Tony said as he handed the apartment key to Steve, ''nothing else.''

Steve gave him an odd look, lips twisting with unspoken thoughts, but took the key without argument. Two hours later, there was a knock at the door and a mess of furniture, toys and clothes in the hall. 

With Bruce at work and Thor unable to be roused from his pit, it was left to Tony to move everything into the apartment. 

He was shoving Peter’s little armchair through the door, debating whether he needed to take some of his meds or not, when he heard a noise. He glanced over his shoulder and grinned.  

''Hey, Ms. Potts. Looking radiant as always.''

Madelyn Potts paused in closing the door to her apartment and narrowed her eyes playfully at him. ''Flattery will get you everywhere, young man.''

''Did you do something new with your hair?'' Tony asked, straightening up and making a show of studying her silver curls, chuckling when Madelyn’s lips pulled into a smile. 

''On fine form today, aren’t you,'' she replied, pulling the door closed but not before Tony caught a glimpse of two large suitcases sitting just inside the apartment. 

''Going somewhere?''

''Yes, actually,'' she said brightly, ''a friend of mine has decided to do some travelling and has invited me to join him.''

Tony raised an eyebrow and hummed. ''Oh, did he?''

Madelyn laughed and shook her head. ''Behave yourself.''

''So what’s gonna happen to your place?''

''You remember my granddaughter, Virginia? I’ll be subletting it to her, so you’ll have a new neighbour soon enough.''

Oh, did Tony remember Virginia. Long red hair that shone like the sun, eyes as blue as the ocean and a scattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks. He’d subsequently given her the nickname Pepper as a result when she’d visited Madelyn last Christmas, and the smirk he’d received in response had danced through his thoughts regularly ever since. 

A pointed clearing of a throat drew Tony back into the moment and he laughed sheepishly as Madelyn cocked an eyebrow at him. 

''You be good, Tony Stark, you hear me? Or you’ll be seeing the unpleasant side of my handbag.''

''Gosh,'' Tony simpered, gazing at said handbag, ''and it’s such a pretty handbag.''

She whacked him on the leg and he obediently flinched, the sound of her laughter as she walked away soothing a little of the turbulence rattling around inside him. 

By the time Peter returned home from school, Tony and a very disgruntled Thor had managed to shift the furniture up into the attic. There had been a couple of mishaps, one involving Tony losing his footing and falling backwards onto Thor, sending the pair of them crashing to the ground in a painful heap with the box Tony had been holding narrowly missing their heads. 

It was with bated breath that Tony followed Peter up the ladder. There was a gasp of shock as Peter’s head cleared the hatch, and then he was scurrying up frantically, little sneakers almost sliding off the steps as he went. Tony pulled himself into the room and found himself leaning against the edge of the hatch and watching as Peter turned in slow circles in the middle of the room.

The walls were a sky blue and adorned with a couple of framed movie posters, one that Tony recognised as having belonged to Ben years ago. Peter’s bed sat in one corner with Iron Man propped up against the pillows, his desk in another with a small bookcase on the far side, and a moon lampshade covered the bulb dangling in the centre of the room. 

Toys of various sizes filled the rest of the space: boxes of Lego, a huge tab of plastic dinosaurs, an entire wooden chest full of Star Wars figures and a rather impressive collection of stuffed animals. A rug in the shape of a rocket covered a large part of the floor and some glow in the dark stars were stuck sporadically across the ceiling and around the skylight.

''This…this is so cool,'' Peter breathed, a grin appearing on his face as he looked around. 

The relief was intense, escaping Tony in a shaky rush of air. In all the madness of getting things sorted, he hadn’t had much time to dwell on how he was feeling, on how nervous he had been, but now it was impossible to ignore. 

''You like it?'' he asked, pulling himself up and standing to the side of the room, right beside the wardrobe covered in robot stickers. 

''Yeah,'' Peter nodded vigorously, ''big much.''

Tony felt the world turn as the memory rocked through his head.

Ben, crouched in front of a tiny Peter, the biggest grin on his face.

''Tones, watch this. Hey, Petey pie, how muuuuch do you love Daddy?''

''Biiiig much!'' Peter cheered, all cherubic delight and adorable innocence.

''That’s my boy!''

Tony stumbled back into the moment as he heard Peter cough awkwardly.

''I mean, um…'' he looked away, clearly embarrassed, visibly upset, ''I really like it, Uncle Tony.''

 Tony hated that look, the one where the grief was fresh and raw on Peter’s face, the lingering uncertainty of their life as clear as day. Standing in the room, the finality of it all dawned on him in a way it hadn’t before. 

Peter’s eyes lifted to his, far too shiny for Tony’s liking, and he found himself kneeling down in front of Peter, hands on his shoulders and gazes level. 

''I’m glad you like it, bud. I like it, too.''

There was a sizeable weight to his words. It wasn’t just about the room, and Tony was too tired to even pretend that it was. The truth was that he did like having Peter around, even if the reasons behind him being there still made Tony want to sink to the floor and scream, even if the guilt for feeling a shred of happiness made him feel like he was being turned inside out. 

But that didn’t change that right now, right in that very instance, Tony was glad. 

Peter looked carefully at his face for a while, eyes flicking back and forth in quick motions, and then he was stepping forward and gently curling his arms around Tony’s neck. 

Tony drew in a surprised breath, faltered for approximately five seconds, and then hugged him back, hiding his suddenly wet eyes against the thin slope of Peter’s shoulder. 

''You got everything?''

''Yeah.''

''No you haven’t,'' Tony teased, waving Peter’s lunch in the air. Peter jumped up to grab it with a giggle. ''You got your permission slip?''

''In here,'' Peter reached down to tap the left pocket of his jeans. 

''Still think you could go to somewhere better for your field trip.''

''But it’s Oscorp, Uncle Tony. They’ll have lots of cool stuff there.''

Tony made a noise of disgust as he gulped down the last swig of coffee in his mug. ''Norman Osborn is a jackass and everyone knows it.''

''You said ass.''

''I did,'' Tony nodded, wrinkling his nose at Peter’s judging scowl, ''and I’d do it again. Ass. See, there, I did it again.''

''Why are we saying ass so early in the morning?'' Bruce grumbled sleepily as he stepped into the kitchen, hair askew and shirt rumpled. His eyes opened wider as he spotted what Tony was wearing. ''Oh, is it today?''

''Yep,'' Tony sighed, giving his tail of his tie an unconscious tug. ''Back to the rat race.''

''Uncle Tony said ass.''

''You know, kiddo,'' Tony said airily, ''at this point we’ve both said it twice. How about we call it quits before the air turns blue, huh?''

Peter giggled and nodded his head. ''Okay.''

''Okay. Ready to go?''

As they walked down the stairs together, the knot that had been growing in Tony’s stomach since last night began to pull tight. Moments like that morning were easy. If he wanted to, tried really hard, he could pretend that Peter had just stayed over for the weekend while Ben and May went away on a little getaway for two; could imagine that he was on his way to take Peter home instead of heading into work and sending Peter off to school. 

Tony glanced at his watch as he and Peter waited on the curb for the bus. If he didn’t get a move on, he would be late.

''You can go, if you want.''

Peter’s voice was quiet over the rush of city life all around them, but Tony heard him loud and clear. He looked down, eyes fixing on the way Peter’s grubby sneakers scuffed against the ground, laces dragging by the sides. 

''Nah,'' Tony said with a shrug, ''I’m fine here with you.''

''Won’t you get in trouble if you’re late?'' Peter asked with a frown. 

Yes, yes he would, and god knows Obadiah would use any excuse to give him a hard time, but Tony couldn’t bring himself to care like he should. Peter was eight years old, still so very much a kid, and he deserved to have somebody in his life who could wait for his school bus with him. 

It was just unlucky for Peter that Tony happened to be that somebody. 

A hand carefully slipping into his made Tony jump, fingers instinctively clutching hold. 

''I hope you have a good day, Uncle Tony.''

Damn this kid, Tony thought as he looked down at Peter’s earnest face, seeing those big eyes so full of kindness gazing up at him. 

Tony found himself crouching down, Peter’s hand still held within his own. 

''You remember the plan, yeah? Ms. Carter will be waiting for you when you get home, and I’ll be back a little later than that, okay?''

Peter nodded, face very serious. 

''You wanna get pizza for dinner?''

Not that he could really afford to shell out for pizza, but the answering smile on Peter’s face meant that he was going to do so regardless. 

Peter’s attention shifted to something behind Tony and he straightened up just as the bus started to pull in towards them. With one squeeze of Peter’s hand, Tony let go and watched him scurry up onto the bus. 

As it pulled away, he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. A glance at the screen made his heart ache a little, but not in the way that usually had him swallowing his meds like popping candy. 

Good luck, Tones.

Tony lifted his gaze back up to watch the bus disappear from view before replying. 

Thanks honeybear x 

To say that he was regretting returning to work was an understatement. 

Within the first half an hour, he considered six different ways that would make it necessary for him to leave. Breaking his leg and leaping out of the window were two quite serious contenders, along with faking a heart attack, though the latter was looking more and more likely at the rate in which his frustration was rising. 

Things had gone to shit in Tony’s absence. All the projects he had originally signed off had all been bumped to the side to make way for larger ones, the exact kind of soulless and dime a dozen ideas that he’d worked so hard to promote smaller projects above, and the man who had been left picking up the slack his absence, a snivelling wretch of a guy called William, could offer no satisfactory explanation when Tony demanded one. 

Not that it took a genius to work out what, or rather who, had been behind the decisions. 

''Come now, Stark,'' Obadiah crooned, the smile on his face far too gleeful, ''I’ve been telling you for a long time that you need to be more cutthroat. Plenty of those projects just didn’t cut the mustard. Hard decisions were made, hard but necessary, and we simply prioritised the ones that seemed the most promising.''

''The ones that step all over the little guy and fill your pockets with dirty money, you mean,'' Tony snapped, yanking off his tie and throwing it onto his desk. ''And I doubt the guys behind the projects you green-lit have invested their entire life savings in their ideas.''

''More fool those that did, then'' Obadiah shrugged, lifting a hand to study his nails. ''You aren’t going to change the world by showing pity on the less successful, Stark.''

''I'm not - '' Tony cut himself off, turning around to rub the heel of his hand against his chest. 

Obadiah’s hand clapped him heavily on the shoulder, a sinister weight against him. ''I know that things have been difficult for you, Stark. I hope your return can herald a better relationship between us, one that allows us to work together instead of against each other.''

Tony fought the urge to shudder but pointedly removed Obadiah’s hand from his shoulder. The man’s face turned incredibly cold, eyes narrowing dangerously, but Tony held his gaze firmly. 

''Well,'' Obadiah said after a moment, voice clipped, ''I’ll see you in the meeting room in five minutes.''

‘’Can’t wait,’’ Tony sighed, dropping down into his desk chair as Obadiah left the room. 

He didn’t want to go to the meeting. From the information that had been waiting on his desk, a project with the backing of a well respected college professor was up for consideration of financial support from the company, but the professor was keen to ask as many questions as possible before agreeing to any kind of contract. 

Feeling extremely unenthusiastic about the idea of talking nothing but shop for the next however many hours, Tony stepped into the meeting room with a plastic smile on his face, did a quick sweep of the gaggle of people seated at the long oak table in the centre, and then froze as his eyes landed on one man in particular. 

''Yinsen.''

The man didn’t look surprised at all to see him. In fact, he looked quietly triumphant. 

''Tony Stark. We meet again.''