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Chapter Text

“Peter, come on, we need to board.” Peter looked up from the book his nose had been buried in to see his parents frantically gathering all their belongings together as hoards of people closed in on the gate in some alternative version of a queue. He pushed his glasses up his nose and slid his book under his arm as he slid off the seat.

“Stay close,” his mom told him, “hold onto my jumper and don’t let go. Make sure you have your inhaler in your pocket, don’t leave that behind.”

Her hands were full, and his dad was tackling the mess of jackets and snacks that were scattered across the chairs, so Peter did as he was told and patted his pocket, feeling the familiar shape of his inhaler before gripping onto the bottom of his mom’s jumper, the fabric of it crinkled in his tight hold as he made sure he wouldn’t be separated.

“Mom?” He muttered uncertainly, eyeing the people who seemed to press on them from every side, all in a rush to get on the plane. Would it leave without them if they were too slow? His heart jumped into a gallop at the thought, what if he got separated and lost his parents forever? “Mom?”

“It’s alright, baby, just keep holding on.”

“You’d think people would have more common sense that flooding the gate,” his dad said, in that loud voice that parent’s so often used so that they could complain, but make sure everyone around them could hear their grievances, “we’d get through so much faster.”

“Keep your voice down,” Peter heard his mom hiss, “you’ll make a scene and then this will take even longer.”

“Mom? Can’t we drive there?” Peter asked, his voice quiet, he didn’t want to cause a scene like his dad, but he wasn’t enjoying the airport experience so far.

“No, Sweetie, we’re going too far.” His mom said, seemingly distracted.

“I don’t want to leave New York.” Peter whispered. “It’s scary, can’t we go home?”

“Pete, stop complaining, please,” his mom said, “we’re just going on holiday, you’ll love it, I promise.”

“I could stay with Uncle Ben and you guys could go,” Peter suggested, “then I’d be able to play with Ned and I wouldn’t be in the way, I promise.”

“Enough!” His mom snapped, before sighing, “sorry, hon, I shouldn’t have snapped at you, but I need you to be a brave boy, we’re just going on holiday. We’ll be home before you know it, and I bet that as soon as it’s time to come back, you won’t want to because you’ll be having too much fun.”

“Alright,” Peter said, ducking his head to hide his pout that he couldn’t quite stop from forming. He was a brave boy, and he would prove it. He was going to be the bravest ever until he was home again, and then he could go back to asking his dad to catch spiders and take them outside for him.

Peter did his best not to complain as people pushed on him and caused him to press into his mom’s side to escape the backpacks that kept bumping his head and the elbows that kept coming dangerously close to hitting him. Finally, they reached the front of the queue and Peter was pushed in front of his mom while yet another person looked at him and compared him to his passport photo.

The thing was, Peter hadn’t wanted to go on the plane because they were big and scary and there were far too many people, but no one had warned him about how completely and utterly boring they were. He had been sitting in his seat for what felt like hours, and even though the seatbelt light had gone off his mom had insisted he keep his on.

He’d gone through four juice boxes and five fruit bags, he’d wolfed down a sandwich and even a bag of peanuts – they were gross, but he ate every last one of them – all because he was bored.

“…Stark?”

Peter made sure that his mom’s nose was buried deep in her book before he unclipped his seatbelt and poked his head up over the top of the seat in front of him to hear the hushed conversation.

“What would Tony Stark be doing in first class? Can’t he get a private plane?”

“Who cares, it’s Iron Man, if we can get a signature, we’re rich.”

“Oh, yeah, and how do you expect we get into first class?”

“I don’t know, I found out he was there, maybe you should contribute an idea.”

“How about-”

“What do you think you’re doing?” Peter was pulled back down into his seat.

“I was just-”

“Eavesdropping?” His mom interrupted, before looking at his dad for back up, “oh, Richard, not you too!”

“Sorry, dear, I just- they’re saying that Tony Stark is on the plane.” Peter’s dad explained.

“It’s Iron Man, mom,” Peter agreed.

“And I’m sure that he doesn’t want to be harassed while on a flight with no escape. You two are going to stay in your seats and be grateful that you can say you shared a plane with Tony Stark. Peter, put your seatbelt back on.”

“But Mary-” Peter clipped his seatbelt back into place and listened to his dad try and fail to argue their case.

“No ‘buts’, you’re going to set an example for your son.”

“Fine,” Peter’s dad grumbled, “what do you say kiddo, want to watch a movie with me?”

Peter paused for a moment, pursing his lips in thought, he wanted to say no and that he would rather go find Tony Stark, but his mom would never allow that. He was sitting in the middle seat, so she would definitely notice if he tried to sneak away.

“Can we watch Wall-E?” Peter asked with a small sigh, he had been eyeing it up for a while and it didn’t seem like he had any other choice but to stay in his seat.

“Sure thing, bud.”

With a final wistful glance at the curtains that were separating Peter from the First Class, he sighed and settled down in his seat to watch the movie with his dad.

Peter didn’t remember falling asleep, but he was sure that he would never forget waking up. At first, he didn’t realise what had woken him, and he blinked before rubbing the sleep from his eyes and looking around blearily. His mom was the first person that caught his attention, she was wearing a strange mask on her face and was pushing a similar one in his.

“Mom, wha- no.” He struggled against her, his legs kicking against the seat in front.

“Pete, it’s alright,” his dad said in his ear as he clamped Peter’s arms to his sides.

“No!” Peter shouted, shaking his head to avoid the mask-thing.

“Petey, please baby, it’s to help.” His mom said, it was weird, Peter could hear her talk, but her face was masked by… well, the mask.

“Why?” Peter asked.

“I don’t know,” his mom admitted, “but you need it on, it’s for your safety. Look, your dad has one too.”

Peter turned to see his dad wearing the same thing as his mom, the same thing they were trying to shove on him. There was a strange look in their eyes, one that Peter had never seen before and it scared him. There was a ball of lava in his tummy, bubbling and burning, spreading through his body and making his fingers and toes tingle like static on a TV.

“Alright,” he conceded, allowing the mask to be put on.

Was it designed to help his panic? After a few breaths he felt the tingling disappear, but the burning fear was still there.

“Mom? Dad?” He glanced from each of them, hoping they would have answers for him.

His dad gave him a tight smile, but his eyes didn’t look right, “it’s going to be fine, just keep that mask on.”

His mom reached over with a blanket, wrapping it around him tightly, the plane shuddered as if it was cold. Maybe the plane needed the blanket more, Peter was being warmed by his fear.

“It’s too hot!” Peter protested as his hugged him.

“Just, keep it, please,” She said, “and when the plane stops, I want you to get out, baby, don’t wait for anyone. Not me, not dad, just get yourself out.”

“I’m not holding onto your jumper?” Peter asked as the plane shuddered again.

“Not this time.”

“Dad?” He asked, feeling a swooping feeling in his tummy, like that time his Uncle Ben had taken him on The Cyclone at Coney Island. “We’re not in California yet, are we?”

“Not quite,” his dad admitted.

“Richard!”

“Tell the kid the truth, Mary, if he’s going to survive, he needs to know what’s going on.”

“Don’t you dare, it’s probably turbulence.” His mom shouted.

“That’s why you’re telling him to get out?”

“Mom, dad, please,” Peter pleaded, there was a cracking noise from somewhere and Peter looked out the window before his mom could launch herself over and slam the blind down.

He didn’t tell her that the wing had split into two parts, he didn’t need to, the tears that were making their way down his cheeks without his permission were enough to let her know that something was wrong.

“We’re crashing, aren’t we?” Peter asked quietly.

They didn’t reply, they didn’t have to, he already knew that they were. The plane wing wasn’t meant to be doing that, the weird mask thing wasn’t meant to be on his face, his mom wasn’t meant to be that pale and his dad wasn’t meant to be crying and holding him so tight.

Yet all those things were happening.

The lights were flickering, and everything seemed to lean forward. Peter was gasping for air, everything felt tight and wrong. The plane was crashing, he knew he should have stayed with Uncle Ben. A flash of guilt overcame him with that thought, that was just wishing that his parents died without him.

“I’m scared.” Peter admitted, his dad’s arms tightened around him.

“I know, so am I.” His dad whispered in his ear before pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

“I love you, baby,” his mom said, joining the hug, “both of you, I love you both so, so much.”

They were plunged into darkness and Peter was sure the plane was speeding up, he felt sick. He swallowed heavily, he couldn’t throw up, not now. There was too much happening, he needed to be brave, like his mom said.

“Close your eyes, sweetie.” His mom whispered in his ear.

“But-”

 “Just do it, trust me.”

He did. He had to fight all his instincts to open them again, to try and face the danger that was coming. It would be ok, it would, Iron Man was on the plane and he was a hero. Peter had watched the press conference where he had declared himself Iron Man live, and he had watched the man he admired as a scientist admit to being a hero. Peter’s favourite hero.

There was no way that he would let them down, he had to have some kind of technology on him that would save their lives. Surely, he was going to do something.

Peter’s chest felt tight, he needed his inhaler, but he was too afraid to move or open his eyes to get it. Please, please, please, Iron Man, save me, save my mom and dad. Get us out of here.

But Iron Man wasn’t on the plane, Tony Stark was, and as much as Peter was wishing for a hero in those moments, even heroes were human. Even heroes got scared, and froze up, and sometimes were faces with situations where they were powerless. Even when they wanted nothing more than to be able to help.

While Peter was sobbing and gasping for air while feeling as though he was only being held together by his parents’ tight holds, Tony Stark was sobbing and gasping for air while murmuring apologies to the woman he loved and never thought he would see again.

Chapter Text

The impact was more than Peter could have ever prepared himself for, his bones seemed to jolt and tremble inside him in a nauseating manner and his brain felt as though it was being shaken around inside a maraca – he had learned what that was in music class. It was almost like he was being torn apart from all angles, not that he had much experience with how that would feel, being only seven years old, but he was willing to say that if he had to describe that feeling it would have been somewhat akin to what he was going through.

“Mom?” He screamed her name out as the plane rolled and shook and was ripped apart at its seams.

Everything was loud and difficult to process, smoke started to fill the air and screams seemed to be piercing his eardrums from all angles. Peter didn’t know whether to join them, but instead he curled himself up as yet another jolt ran through the plane, somehow worse than the last. His teeth seemed to be shaking in his mouth and his eyes felt as though they were vibrating, he balled up his fists and shoved them over his ears trying to block out everyone else’s panic.

“Dad?”

A loud bang from somewhere at the back of the plane managed to break through the seal he had over his ears, and Peter had to fight the urge to look back and see what was going on. Maybe if he hadn’t been so terrified he would have, but in that moment all he wanted was to stay curled up in his little ball until the plane came to a stop. Then his mom and dad could pat his head and tell him that he’d been a good, brave boy and it was time to go home. Oh, how desperate he was for that to happen.

Instead. there was a cracking noise from overhead and Peter smushed himself into a tighter ball and gasped for breath as fear spread through his veins, leaving an icy, prickly feeling behind. Maybe it was a blessing that he wasn’t scared for very long, as something fell from the overhead compartment, striking his head as it did so, causing the fear, noise and smoke to fade away.

“Dad, look!” Peter shouted as he raced to the next exhibit in the science museum. “This one is so cool!”

“Pete, you’ve said that about everything so far,” his dad said with a laugh as he followed Peter to stare at the mirrored exhibit.

“Yeah, but this one is the best.” Peter insisted.

“You said that about the first, and the second, and the-”

“Alright,” Peter interrupted, pouting at his dad, “but I was young and dumb, I’ve grown since then.”

“You’ve grown in the last five minutes?”

“I’m always growing,” Peter said, narrowing his eyes at his dad, “you told me that, you said that’s why I have to eat trees.”

“Jeez, Pete,” his dad glanced around, “broccoli, you eat broccoli. Do you know how bad it sounds when you say I make you eat trees?”

“What about when I say you make me eat Nemo and Dory?”

“It’s just fish, we’re definitely not fancy enough to get anything other than your bog-standard fish.”

“Oh,” Peter muttered, “so it’s not actually Dory and Nemo?”

“What? No! Who said it was?”

“Ned.” Peter admitted, before something else caught his eye, “Dad! Look! That one is the best one ever, I need to see it.”

Peter raced towards the brightly coloured exhibit.

“Peter! Come on, don’t run off,” his dad called after him. “Hello?”

Wait… that wasn’t his dad’s voice, Peter slowly lifted his head and uncurled from the ball he was in. The air was thick with smoke and it irritated his eyes, making them water, or maybe he was just crying. That was entirely plausible.

“Hello? Is anyone alive in here?”

Alive? Was Peter alive? He didn’t really feel like it, maybe he was a ghost, haunting the plane. He should test it, if he could reply to the person, then he wasn’t surely that meant he was still a human, not a ghost.

“C’mon, anyone?” The man shouted.

Peter tried to shout, but his throat was too dry, he only succeeded in making a small whining sound. It was like all his nightmares, the ones where he was being chased by someone but no matter how desperately he tried to scream for help, nothing would come out.

“I can’t be the only one, someone answer me!” The man called.

I’m trying, Peter thought desperately, I can’t speak properly.

He kept his eyes low, not wanting to look at his parents, not wanting to know for sure that they weren’t going to help him. He needed to look for something, something that would make enough of a sound to alert the man that he was alive too.

An empty water bottle caught his eye, near his feet, Peter inched a foot closer to it before shifting his weight. The bottle crackled loudly under his foot, and he kept going, hoping the man hadn’t left already.

“Wait, I hear you!” The man called. “Keep doing whatever that is, I’m coming!”

Peter did, the movement was hurting him, but he kept going as if his life depended on it – because, well, it did. There was a movement in the aisle by him, Peter still kept his eyes low, he could see a scuffed pair of shoes that once must have been shiny and rather expensive – they had those thin laces that Ned’s dad always had, and he was a pretty successful business man.

“Oh, fuck,” the man muttered, saying the word that Peter’s mom had always told him not to use, “right, Kid, it’s ok.”

The man reached over and tried to lift him out of the seat with shaking hands, only for Peter to cry out as the seatbelt cut into him and hindered any movement.

“Shit, sorry,” the man said, “can you get that?”

Peter nodded, he could undo his belt, that didn’t involve looking up. His fingers trembled and slipped against the clip as they were coated with something red that Peter’s mind wasn’t ready to acknowledge. Eventually a small snick sounded, and the belt fell apart.

“Good, come on, I’m getting us out of here.”

Peter let the man lift him from the chair, closing his eyes and clutching the blanket around him so he couldn’t see anything. The man didn’t put him down and Peter was grateful for that as he doubted he would manage to walk, instead he buried his face in the man’s neck and breathed in the scent of sweat, smoke and a faint whiff of cologne.

“Don’t look.” The man warned as he moved, his walk was jarring, was he limping?

Don’t worry, I don’t want to, Peter thought.

Peter kept his eyes tightly shut until he wasn’t seeing black, but rather red – was there a light on, illuminating his eyelids? Slowly he eased them open, blinking against the harsh light, they were… outside?

The sun was bright in the middle of the sky, but the air around was cool. Peter could still smell smoke; he didn’t think he would ever get the smell to leave his nose.

“Kid?” The man asked gently, “I’m going to put you down now, ok?”

Peter nodded against his neck, his head spinning as he did so.

“Stay here, I’m going to see if I can grab some bottles of water and food, before…” he trailed off, but Peter understood.

The plane wasn’t filled with smoke for no reason.

Peter was gently placed on the ground – it was hard under his battered body – and he curled up into his little ball once more, tucking his arms and legs in safely and holding onto the blanket so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

“I’ll be right back, ok?” the man said.

Peter nodded, silently, the man seemed to hesitate beside him, as if waiting for Peter to look at him, but seemed to understand that it wasn’t going to happen.

As he made his way back to the plane, Peter listened to the crunching of his scuffed shoes get farther and farther away, staring at the ground instead of anything else. It was a sandy coloured dirt, he was sitting on, it was hard and cracked and sparsely decorated with hard looking tufts of grass.

Where were they? His dad had told him they weren’t in California yet, that was good – he didn’t think he would have liked California very much if the ground was like this.

He sniffled and fought back a fresh wave of tears, he wanted his mom and dad. He wanted to be held by them once more, because he knew that if they were there and he was wrapped up int their arms then he was safe and nothing would be able to hurt him, they would be able to kiss his wounds and make him feel all better.

Peter heard a strange crackling noise, and broke his promise to himself not to look up. His eyes couldn’t help but look at the source of the noise - the plane. It was broken. It reminded Peter of the toy plane he and Ned had thrown out of his bedroom window because they’d believed it would fly. The real plane had been torn violently into multiple parts, dark smoke billowing from it and spreading through the air while flames seemed to lick at the outside, leaving behind dark marks on what had once been white.

Maybe someone would see that smoke and rescue them? Maybe they’d arrive in time to help Peter’s parents?

He didn’t have enough time to hope about that as he saw someone clambering out of one of the breaks in the plane, arms full, was that the man who had saved him? Peter tried to focus on him, but from a distance he wasn’t having any success, there was something wrong – he raised a hand to his face.

Oh.

His glasses were missing, that wasn’t hugely surprising and really he should have expected it, he had been in a plane crash after all. He was just lucky he could still feel his inhaler.

“C’mon, Kid, get up, we need to move away!” The man called as he got closer, Peter felt as though he recognised him, and not just because he’d saved him from the burning plane wreck. If only he was a bit closer… “Kid, now!”

Oh, right, burning plane.

Peter stumbled as he tried to get up, ow, he was sore all over and his head was spinning like a yo-yo. Every step he took made him stagger a little as it shooting pains up his neck and through his head, affecting his balance.

Thankfully for Peter, they moved slowly, he was sure that the man who had saved him was in pain too; his gait was off and every so often he would grunt a little under his breath, but if he didn’t want to mention it, Peter wasn’t going to bring it up, after all he was kind enough to walk behind Peter, making sure that the younger one didn’t fall behind.

Every now and then Peter would hear the man mutter, “what the fuck?” under his breath. He wanted to say something, to tell him that he was using a bad word, or that he should watch his language, but he secretly felt that the man was right to be saying it. If Peter’s mom would let him, he probably would be using a few bad words too.

“Right, Kid, this is far enough,” the man said, “here you go.”

Peter was handed a bottle of water, which he gulped down in seconds, before looking at it with a twinge of guilt. They were stranded and would have to be careful with food and water, and Peter had thoughtlessly guzzled one of their bottles.

“I’m sorr- oh! You’re Iron Man!” Peter gasped, as he finally looked at the man who had saved his life.

“Tony will do,” Iron Man said with a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Stark,” Peter said, “I didn’t mean to drink so much!”

“It’s alright, Kid,” Mr. Stark said, “I gave it to you to drink.”

“But what about you?” Peter asked.

“There was more than one bottle, and I’m hoping that we won’t be out here very long.” Mr. Stark said.

“Is someone coming for you?” Peter asked. “Do you think they’ll help me too?”

“Help you t- jesus, fuck, Kid.” Mr. Stark cursed, running a bloodstained hand through his hair. Peter ducked his head, of course they wouldn’t want to take responsibility for a lost kid. “Of course, they’re gonna help you!”

Peter’s head jolted up dizzyingly, “they will?”

“I promise, I’m not leaving you out here.”

“Thanks, Mr. Stark.” Peter said.

 “Did you really think I’d leave you behind?” Mr. Stark asked incredulously.

Peter just shrugged in response, everything was suddenly catching up to him and there was a chill in the air that was making his teeth chatter, reminding him unpleasantly of the shaking of the plane as it had gone down.

He was in a plane crash.

Peter.

In a plane crash.

A seven-year-old kid.

He had survived a plane crash. So had Mr. Stark. Hadn’t anyone else? Peter’s parents had told him to get out and not to stop for anyone, but he hadn’t even done that, he’d been knocked out. Mr. Stark had been the one to save him, he had been the one who should have gotten out and not looked back – but he had.

Peter was only alive because he’d done that. What if Peter’s parents were actually alive and Peter had left them because he wasn’t as brave as Mr. Stark was?

What if they were stuck?

What if they were hurt?

Peter hadn’t been able to bring himself to look at them, maybe they were alright and hoping he would come back for them, maybe they-

BOOM

The blast was deafening, and Peter felt the heat from it ruffle through his hair and dry the tears on his face. He had to close his eyes against the brightness of the flames that billowed into the sky as though they were trying to light the clouds on fire. Not that closing his eyes helped, the flames seemed to be tattooed on the insides of his eyelids.

What was he doing?

Nothing. That was what he was doing, he was doing absolutely nothing, if his parents were alive then he was leaving them there to die. It would be his fault.

Without thinking he leapt to his feet, the blanket falling off his shoulders and fluttering down into the dirt as he began to run to the plane, he didn’t make it more than two or three steps before two arms wrapped around his torso, holding him in place.

“Kid, stop,” Mr. Stark said quietly.

“No!” Peter screamed, surprising even himself at the volume he managed to produce.

“Kid, c’mon.” Mr. Stark said, pleadingly.

“Mom! Dad!” Peter yelled, as though he could save them that way.

“Kid.” Mr. Stark’s voice seemed to break but Peter couldn’t care less, he needed to save his family.

“Let me go! Please, I have to get them out.” He begged.

“They’re gone.”

“No!”

“Yes.” Peter felt his knees weaken and he could no longer fight Mr. Stark.

He knew the older man was right, Peter’s teachers and parents had always commented on how bright he was, they’d wanted him to skip classes, but Peter had wanted to stay with Ned. He was smart – he knew that no one could have survived that explosion. He knew it, but he wasn’t ready to accept it.

“Please, Mr. Stark, I g-gotta help them,” Peter pleaded, hiccupping as tears coursed through the soot and grime on his face, “they’re my mom and dad.”

“Kiddo, they’re gone, you need to help yourself now.”

“I don’t wanna be alone.” Peter sobbed. “Please, I want my mom and dad!”

Mr. Stark lowered them both to the ground, and he held Peter together as the tears took him apart at the seams. Mr. Stark didn’t shush him or tell him that it was going to be alright, he didn’t make any promises to Peter, he didn’t tell him that they would be saved.

All he did was hold Peter and whisper, “that’s it, let it out, I’ve got you,” every now and then, and wrap him in tinfoil-y blankets that he seemed to have plucked from the plane. 

Shock blankets, Peter’s mind numbly supplied after he had cried all his tears out. That made sense, he supposed, after everything they had been through. In fact, it would have been odd if they hadn’t experienced shock. 

Eventually after his tears had dried up and he’d finished crying as much as he could, he pushed himself away for Mr. Stark, who lost his balance at the sudden movement and ended up almost flat on his back, somehow catching himself on his elbows at the last moment. 

“You alright there, Kiddo?” Mr. Stark asked, looking puzzled. 

“I don’t know you.” Peter declared, crossing his arms across his chest. 

He must have been quite a sight to behold - covered in blood and tears that had carved rivulets in the soot and dust that coated his body. He was small for his age, he knew that, the many doctors’ appointments had been a significant clue. So, he knew that he was by no means a threat to Mr. Stark and was probably laughable in his attempt to be brave. 

Like my parents would have wanted me to be, he reminded himself. 

“What?” Mr. Stark asked with a confused frown. 

“I don’t know you.” Peter repeated. Wasn’t Mr. Stark meant to be one of the brightest minds of the century? He sure needed to get his hearing checked if so. 

“You do know me, I’m Iron Man - Tony Stark,” Mr. Stark continued, “you recognised me earlier.” 

“Well, yeah, but I don’t know you.” Peter elaborated unhelpfully. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me right now.” 

“My mom always told me to be wary of stranger's, no matter how nice they may appear to be,” Peter told him, “so I’m sorry Mr. Stark but I have to do what my mom said.” 

Even though she’s gone, Peter thought sadly, tears threatening to spill once more, no, I can’t think like that. I have to be a brave boy, for mom and dad. 

“We’re in the same boat here kid.” 

“What?” Peter asked, his eyebrows coming together in frustration as he tried to figure out what it was Mr. Stark was saying. Was he ok? Maybe he had bumped his head during the crash. “Sir, we aren’t on a boat.” 

“It’s a saying,” Mr. Stark explained, “and don’t call me ‘sir’.” 

“Sorry, Si- uh, Mr. Stark.” Peter stammered. 

“You can just call me Tony, you know?”

“No thank you, Mr. Stark is fine.” Peter declared, he was taught to respect others by his dad and he couldn’t let that slide already, not when they’d just- 

No, best not to think about that. 

“Alright, suit yourself, Kiddo,” Mr. Stark said, “do you have a name? I can’t keep calling you kid.” 

“No.” Peter muttered, closing his lips right and mentally zipping them up. 

“No?” Mr. Stark asked. “That’s a funny name, I don’t think I’ve heard that one before.” 

Peter huffed out a breath of air and rolled his eyes at Mr. Stark. 

“Not playing along?” Mr. Stark asked. “Alright then, Kid it is. Strange to think that you don’t have a name, but there’s a first for everything.” 

“I’m not telling you it.” Peter said tightly. “You’re a stranger.” 

“Back to that are we?” Mr. Stark asked. “Alright then, come on Kid, we don’t want to stick too close, those fumes aren’t good for you. Don’t think I didn’t see that inhaler in your pocket.”

“What do you care about it?” Peter asked.

“Well, we’re currently in the middle of nowhere, I don’t think anyone will be giving you a new prescription out here, so I would look after that thing as though your life depends on it – which it probably does to be fair.” Mr. Stark said. “So, if we make our way away from the burning wreckage of the plane, then we won’t be adding any risks to your lungs from contaminated air.”

Peter nodded to himself, that made sense. Mr. Stark had gotten him this far, and he’d comforted Peter when he’d felt as though he was falling apart. Besides, stranger danger was scary, but Peter was already in plenty of danger already. Maybe he could stick with Mr. Stark, he just had to be careful not to tell him too much about who he was.

He could do it.

Chapter Text

“I took a survival course after I got back from Afghanistan, you know? I figured if I was ever in danger, I’d want to give myself the best possible chance.” Mr. Stark said, breaking the silence that had formed thickly, as they both limped away from the smouldering wreckage.

“Huh,” Peter mumbled, “that’s cool.”

“Yeah,” Mr. Stark said, “well, it would’ve been. I didn’t actually finish the course. It brought back too many bad memories, so I dropped out. Funny really, it would have come in really useful.”

What is your point? Peter wanted to ask, but he bit his tongue, he had a feeling Mr. Stark wasn’t really talking to him, but rather, just thinking aloud.

“Can’t really drop out of this situation because it’s uncomfortable, now, can we?” He continued. “Y’know, Kid, they don’t tell you that in the real world. They think they do, but until you’re in a truly shit situation, you don’t realise how easy it is to have an out normally.”

Who are ‘they’? Peter wondered.

“It would be nice for us to have an out,” Mr. Stark continued, “I tried to activate my distress signal, but I’m not getting anything back. Smartest man in America – that’s what the news companies call me when they like me, I can’t tell you what they say when they don’t – you’re too young for that – but what use is being smart when none of my technology actually works?”

You got me out, that’s not nothing.

“Anyways, enough of my griping,” Mr. Stark decided, turning to face Peter, “do you think this is far enough?”

Peter just shrugged. He’d thought that they were far enough away earlier but then Mr. Stark had made them move once the place blew up, who was to say that it wouldn’t do that again? Things could explode more than once, right? He and Ned had watched a cool action movie where that had happened, and the main character had been caught off guard by it. He didn’t want that to happen to Mr. Stark.

“You’re quiet.” Mr. Stark observed. “You alright? Wait, no, that’s a stupid question.”

“Don’t worry.” Peter mumbled. “I was just thinking, I guess.”

“You guess?” Mr. Stark asked. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

“I dunno.” Peter mumbled with a shrug. “Just stuff.”

“It’s ok to be a bit overwhelmed you know?” Mr. Stark said before laughing to himself. “Listen to me, telling you what is and isn’t normal, like this situation can be planned for in the slightest.”

“S’alright.” Peter said, “I knew what you meant.”

“I think what you need is a distraction.” Mr. Stark said. “During my three hours of wilderness survival – yes, that’s all I lasted – I was told that a shelter is pretty important.”

“Is it gonna rain?” Peter asked, looking up at the clear blue skies in confusion.

“No idea, but there’s other things to be worried about. Not just the rain.” Mr. Stark said.

“Like what?”

“The cold, that’s a killer.”

Peter flinched at that word. Killer. He had always assumed a killer was a person, a bad one, someone that his Uncle Ben would be able to protect him from; but he was beginning to learn that anything could be a killer – planes, people, the cold… there was danger everywhere.

Mr. Stark wasn’t a killer though. He had saved Peter’s life, but why?

“Mr. Stark?” Peter asked quietly, as he watched the man lay their rations from the plane on the ground.

“Yeah, Kiddo?”

“Why did you save me?” Peter could barely hear himself over the wind that was starting to pick up, but apparently he was loud enough for the older man to hear.

“Why did- what?”

“Why did you save me?” Peter repeated, maybe Mr. Stark hadn’t heard him like he’d thought.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“I dunno, I’m just a kid, and there was probably someone more useful to you on that plane. I don’t know much about things.” Peter said with a shrug. “I mean, I know some stuff, my mom says – used to say – that I was bright, but I don’t know how to build a shelter, or find food and water, or how to-”

“Kid, woah!” Mr. Stark interrupted. “It’s ok, I don’t expect you to know about that, we’re going to muddle through together. We’ll manage.”

“But why me?” Peter repeated.

“Well… honestly? You were the only one who answered my call.” Mr. Stark said.

“That cant be right? There was heaps of people on that plane, surely we weren’t the only two survivors.” Peter said.

“I don’t know if there were others or not before the explosion,” Mr. Stark admitted, “and that’s something I won’t ever stop thinking about. It’ll probably play on my mind for the rest of my life.”

“You can’t blame yourself!” Peter said quickly.

“Why not?” Mr. Stark asked, turning away from Peter to pull some of the coarse grassy tufts from the ground to lay them down as a base for their shelter. Peter was quick to jump up to help, even though the quick movement made his head spin and pound as though someone was playing the drums on his brain – but not normal drums, no, more like the kind that came with Rock Band and didn’t make a lot of noise, so people would slam the drumsticks on them to compensate.

“Well…” Peter floundered for a moment. “it’s not fair, you saved me. You didn’t have to do that, but you did. You shouldn’t be sad about not helping others when you don’t know if they were alive or not.”

Like my parents.

Just like that, with that one fleeting thought, Peter understood.

Mr. Stark didn’t know if anyone on the plane had actually been alive when it had blown up, and he felt guilty about all those lives that could have possibly been saved. Peter hadn’t looked at his parents, for all he knew, they were just unconscious and that’s why they hadn’t spoken up, therefore they could have been alive when the plane had exploded.

He wouldn’t be able to forget that, not ever, not when it could be his own fault that he was an orphan. So how could he force Mr. Stark to forget? It was unfair of him.

Peter continued to pull grass from the ground, and they piled it up in a rough rectangle.

“Shouldn’t we be focusing on walls?” Peter asked.

“Walls are good for exposure, but the cold will still come from the ground even with walls.” Mr. Stark said. The sun was already setting slowly, casting an orange glow across their slowly forming shelter – or maybe that was the glow from the burning plane in the distance, it was probably best not to think about it in detail.

Peter tired faster than Mr. Stark, and he ended up sitting on the cool ground and watched as Mr. Stark propped sticks up and stretched their blankets around, creating a pretty neat little shelter, if Peter did say so himself.

-

It wasn’t until the sun had properly set and darkness spread across the horizon, that Peter felt the ball of fear fester in his stomach, it had been easier not to think about their situation when the sun had been high in the sky and the daylight had brought with it that instinctual feeling of being safe. He tried his best not to look towards the slightly lighter area in the distance – he knew exactly what that was, and he didn’t want to think about it.

“Kiddo, c’mere.” Mr. Stark called from beside a pile of twigs that were initially meant to be a fire but had failed drastically after neither of them could quite figure out how to light them – it turned out, making a campfire was not as easy as the movies made it seem and Mr. Stark hadn’t stayed for that part of his survival training. Peter inched closer, glancing carefully at the item that was being held out. “It’s not much I’m afraid, but it’s the best we can do.”

A granola bar.

“Do you have one too?” Peter asked, waiting for Mr. Stark to wave his bar in the air, before he ripped his own open.

“We don’t have much, but if we’re careful we should be good for three, maybe four days.” Mr. Stark said.

“Is that long enough?” Peter asked.

Mr. Stark smiled at him, but Peter noticed it didn’t quite reach his eyes, “it’ll be fine, I’m sure there’s someone already on their way to find us. I’m hoping that this is the only night we have to spend out here.”

“There has to be, right? Someone coming for us, that is,” Peter asked, “I mean, they’re going to notice when a plane doesn’t arrive in California?”

“Of course they will,” Mr. Stark said with a nod.

“But?” Peter prompted.

“But what?” Mr. Stark asked, feigning ignorance.

“You’re not telling me something,” Peter said.

“Believe it or not, Kid, but I don’t actually know a lot about plane crashes.” Mr. Stark snapped. “And the last time I was stranded with no hope, I nearly died. So, excuse me if I’m not jumping about with hope and optimism.”

Peter flinched away from his tone and muttered an apology as he turned his attention to chewing the bland granola bar mechanically. It sucked. It was the kind of bar that he would have refused to eat if he’d been back at home, but the pain that the roughness caused in his jaw was a nice distraction from his headache and the stinging in the back of his eyes.

“Fuck, shit, sorry Kid.” Mr. Stark muttered after a brief silence. “I didn’t mean to snap, I can say it’s the stress of the situation and all that jazz, but I still shouldn’t have taken it out on you. I’m truly sorry.”

“S’ok.” Peter mumbled, snapping off another chunk of his bar with his teeth.

It was strange. Every now and then he would forget that Mr. Stark was a stranger and he would find himself gravitating closer, as though he was safer that way, but then something would happen to make Peter remember that he didn’t know Mr. Stark, he only knew of him. That wasn’t the same thing.

“It’s not.” Mr. Stark said so quietly that Peter didn’t think he was meant to hear him.

Peter shivered in the breeze that seemed to be growing colder with every passing minute.

“Come on, Kid, you can sit closer you know, I’m not going to bite.” Mr. Stark said.

“No thank you.” Peter mumbled, he was perfectly fine where he was.

Except, as the cold air continued to ruffle his hair and work its way through the gaps of the blanket, he realised that he was most certainly not fine. It was cold. His mom would usually have called him in long before the temperature had dropped this much and told him to put on a thicker jacket or she would tell him to have a warm bath while she made a cup of cocoa.

Peter missed her.

He missed her and his father, so much that it was like there was a large gaping hole in his chest, where they had taken a part of him away with them. It was sharp and dull, it was agonising and numbing, it was all consuming but he could still function and survive. It was the kind of pain that nothing could heal and no one – especially not a child – should have to experience.

He didn’t think it was a pain that he would ever be able to describe to anyone because he knew that as soon as he opened his mouth to try, the only thing that would come out would be sobs.

“Kid, maybe we should go into the shelter.”

“No thank you.”

“Why not? You cant sit out here all night, it’s far too cold.” Mr. Stark said soothingly.

“My dad said not to go in a stranger’s house.” Peter said.

“Your d- kid, come on!” Mr. Stark said, pinching his nose between his forefinger and his thumb. “This isn’t my house; this isn’t even a house. It’s a barely put together shelter to protect us from the worst of the weather. I know you want to listen to your parents, and I know that you think you’re misbehaving just by talking to me and sitting near me, but I promise you, I’m not the bad guy here. I only want to go home, and I promise to get you home too.”

Peter deliberated for a moment, running through all his options in his mind. Surely, his parents would forgive him for talking to a stranger if it meant staying alive?

“Alright.” Peter said quietly. “But, Mr. Stark?”

“Yeah, Kiddo?”

“I don’t think I have a home anymore,” Peter said quietly, biting his lower lip to stop it from sticking out, he couldn’t be seen to be pouting. He was older than that, “my mom and dad are gone. So, where will I go?”

“Ah, shit, Kid,” Mr. Stark mumbled, shuffling closer to him, “do you have anyone else? Any other family members?”

“Uh, I have an Uncle Ben,” Peter said, picking at a ragged nail, “he’s nice, he’s a policeman. I went to his work once for the day, he let me handcuff his friend to the chair and then I got to dress up in his uniform. It was fun.”

“Alright, that’s great,” Mr. Stark said, “how about this then? You try your best to trust me, I’m not saying you have to do so instantly, but maybe stop thinking that I’m a dangerous stranger to be wary about. In return, I promise I’ll get you out of here and I’ll find your Uncle Ben and get you safely home to him.”

“And Aunt May?”

“May?”

“His wife.”

“Alright, I’ll get you safely to Ben and May.” Mr. Stark promised.

“Ok.” Peter murmured, making his way into the shelter. It was warmer, just removing the chill of the wind made a huge difference.

“You gonna tell me your name now?” Mr. Stark asked.

“Uh, no, I don’t think so.”  

Chapter Text

When Peter woke up, the first thing he was painfully aware of was the stiffness in his bones and the ache in his neck, apparently the grass cushioning on the bottom of their shelter – while great at keeping them warm – was a terrible mattress and didn’t provide much lumbar support.

“Ow.” He muttered as he hauled himself up off the ground, slowly.

His dad used to say that old age didn’t come itself, but how old was old? Peter wanted to know if he was included in the age bracket where things started to go downhill.

Adding that to the mental list of things to ask adults, Peter shook the thought from his head and looked around, the light was dim inside the shelter, but he was able to see that Mr. Stark was gone and he was alone in there.

Where had he gone? Had he left Peter? Maybe he’d been rescued but they’d only had room to save one person so he’d left Peter behind, or maybe they had thought Peter would be too much trouble and had taken advantage of him being asleep to get away.

Panic worked its way through his veins in a burning haze of warmth as he forced himself up onto his feet and, ignoring the pain, he forced his way out of the shelter.

Bright sunlight blinded him as he gasped and looked around anxiously. Why would Mr. Stark leave him? Wasn’t he being a well behaved and polite kid? He was doing everything his mom had told him to do! He didn’t deserve to be abandoned in the wild, he’d told Mr. Stark that he didn’t know anything about survival. Maybe that was what had driven the man away? Maybe Peter’s confession had proved that he was too much work and Mr. Stark had decided to ditch him while he still could.

“Hey there Kiddo, I thought you were reaching your adolescent years early and planning to sleep the day away for a moment there,” a familiar voice called, Peter could have sobbed with relief, “I thought I’d give the whole campfire thing another go, but I’m having just as much luck as I did last night.”

He was there.

He hadn’t abandoned Peter at all, he hadn’t thought him too much work and left as soon as he had the chance.

Peter couldn’t stop himself. He ran.

“Kid, what are you- oof!” Mr. Stark was cut off as Peter’s body slammed into him.

Peter quietly sniffled into the man’s abdomen as he tried to control the wave of emotion that overpowered him. he hadn’t expected to be so terrified at the thought of being left alone, after all, hadn’t he realised that he was alone yesterday? Hadn’t he decided that after acknowledging that he had been made an orphan? So, why was it that he was so terrified at the thought of Mr. Stark leaving him now?

“Kiddo, are you alright?” Mr. Stark asked quietly, running a hand through his sweat and grime coated curls.

Peter nodded slightly.

“Are you sure about that?” Mr. Stark asked.

Peter wiped his nose on his sleeve as he pulled away, “yeah, I’m good, I just got scared.”

“You want to tell me what scared you, Bud?” Mr. Stark asked, handing him a bottle of water.

“I woke up alone, so I thought you’d left.” Peter admitted after taking a tiny sip from the bottle and recapping it. Water was important and he wasn’t about to guzzle any more bottles, not after Mr. Stark had been nice enough to stay with him.

“Left?” Mr. Stark asked. “Where would I even go?”

Peter shrugged, “I dunno, I just thought someone might have rescued you.”

“I promised you, Kiddo, I won’t be leaving this place without you.” Mr. Stark said. “No chance, me and you, buddy. We’re going to get out of here and I’m going to find your Aunt and Uncle, remember?”

“I remember.” Peter whispered.

“Good kid, now how about once those tears dry, you give me a hand with this dang fire?”

“Alright.” Peter agreed, lifting the hem of his shirt to wipe his face on. The action stained his shirt with more than tears.

Peter squatted down beside the sticks and started to rub two of them together. He didn’t think it was possible to light a fire this way, no matter how hard or fast he tried to move the sticks, no signs of smoke seemed to be appearing.

“Mr. Stark?”

“Yeah?”

“Why is a fire so important?” Peter asked, after switching to two different sticks, maybe his other ones had just been duds.

“It gives us warmth.” Mr. Stark said.

“So does the shelter.” Peter said.

“Yeah, but we can’t spend all of our time in there, it’s too small, besides the smoke off the fire can act as a signal to any planes flying by, maybe it’ll make them stop and help us.” Mr. Stark said.

“I’m sure the giant, burning plane wreckage is perfectly capable of doing that.” Peter muttered.

“Alright Mr. Snidey Pants. Point proven.” Mr. Stark said with a laugh. “At least if we catch any food, we can cook it on a fire.”

“Catch food?” Peter asked. Did they not have enough granola bars?

“Yeah, you know, my father always promised to take me on fishing trips when I was younger and I was desperate to go, I had read a hundred books on fishing and watched tutorials, I’d even bought a fishing magazine with my pocket money, I was convinced that when he was finally ready to take me, I would impress him and all his friends with my skills.” Mr. Stark said.

“Did you?” Peter wondered.

“He never took me,” Mr. Stark admitted, “he said there wasn’t room on the boat because one of his friend’s was going to bring his flavour of the month.”

“What’s a flavour of the month?” Peter asked, frowning in confusion.

“Uh, nothing, forget I said that.” Mr. Stark said quickly.

“Ok,” Peter mumbled slowly, elongating the vowel as he thought that through, “but, Mr. Stark, what does any of this have to do with building a fire?” 

“Well, I was getting there, eventually,” Mr. Stark said, “I figured that I could do the thing that my father failed on, and take you fishing. Break the cycle, you know?”

No, Peter did not know, he was in fact, extremely confused.

“Mr. Stark, we can’t go fishing.” Peter said.

“Why not?”

“There’s no, uh, water?” Peter said.

“Right,” Mr. Stark muttered, “that would probably slow us down a little.”

Peter nodded, letting go of the sticks, they’d left small splinters in his fingers. Huh, who would remove his splinters now? His dad used to be great at getting them out, he’d tell Peter mesmerising stories from his childhood and distract him with mediocre magic tricks, before subtly removing the splinters when Peter wasn’t expecting it, making the experience pain free and easy.

Now, Peter would have to remove them on his own, he didn’t have a mom or dad anymore.

“Here Kiddo, dig into that.” Mr. Stark called as he threw a granola bar at Peter.

“Yay.” Peter mumbled to himself as he stared at the boring bar.

“See, that’s why I wanted to go fishing.” Mr. Stark said through a mouthful of his own bar.

“I didn’t say fishing was dumb, I just said there was no water.” Peter said rolling his eyes.

“Semantics.”

“What?” Peter asked cocking his head to the side, semantics?

“It’s to do with the meanings of words.” Mr. Stark said as he stood up and stretched, his back making an audible clicking noise that disturbed Peter but seemed to please the older man.

Adults are weird, Peter thought, as he followed suit, jumping to his feet, “where are we going?”

“Woah, kid,” Mr. Stark apparently hadn’t expected Peter to leap to his feet, “calm down we’re not going anywhere.”

“But you stood up.” Peter stated.

“Yeah, because I was going to grab one of those blankets and rip a few shreds off to clean that wound on your head,” Mr. Stark explained, nodding his head over to where the blanket he had used to carry out all of the supplies from the plane was sitting by the unlit pile of sticks.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, I should have done it last night, but we had a bit of a day yesterday, it slipped my mind.” Mr. Stark explained, Peter could hear the unsaid, ‘and you probably wouldn’t have let me near you.’

“It’s not that bad is it?” Peter asked, looking up as though he would be able to see his wound, all he succeeded in doing was giving himself a mild headache.

“I don’t think so, but then I’m not that kind of doctor,” Mr. Stark said, “I don’t really know enough about wounds or heads, or head wounds.”

“Huh, so what’s your plan exactly?”

“Clean it.” Mr. Stark said. “Further than that I don’t know.”

“Should we really be wasting water?” Peter wondered aloud. “I was fine last night, surely that means we can just leave it.”

“It won’t be too much water, let me worry about supplies,” Mr. Stark decided, “and whilst you were fine last night, I don’t know how that’s gonna change in the future, I don’t know if you’re likely to get an infection. I just don’t know, Kiddo, and I don’t want to take that risk.”

Peter pursed his lips, before nodding.

“Will it hurt?”

“Maybe. Probably. But I’ll be as quick and gentle as possible, alright?” Mr. Stark asked.

Peter stared at him for a moment, he didn’t look like he was lying, and he hadn’t done what most adults usually did which was tell him that he wouldn’t feel a thing. No, Mr. Stark had been completely honest, he’d said that it would probably be sore.

“Alright.” Peter agreed, sitting back down on the ground by the pile of twigs. They really needed to figure out how to light that.

Peter heard a small clinking noise and instinctively looked over to the sound, but there was nothing to see, Mr. Stark was making his way back over with a sealed bottle of water and a ragged piece of torn off blanket.

“What was that?” Peter asked.

“What?” Mr. Stark asked, furrowing his brow in confusion.

Am I hearing things? Peter wondered, that would be concerning, it would mean that there was something wrong, maybe the head injury was more severe than they had thought, “oh, uh nothing.”

“Are you sure you’re alright with this?” Mr. Stark asked, “you seem a bit quiet, if you’re really not happy to go ahead then just say.”

“No, no, it’s fine.” Peter mumbled.

“Alright then kiddo, grit your teeth for a moment.” Mr. Stark said as he poured water over the blanket.

Peter winced as Mr. Stark dabbed and rubbed at his forehead, the older man had been right, it did hurt. It stung and brought tears to the corners of his eyes. He couldn’t cry. Not now, not in front of Mr. Stark, he had to be brave and prove that he was old enough to look after himself.

“You good?” Mr. Stark asked as he continued.

“Yeah,” Peter mumbled, breathing steadily through his nose.

“You know, my girlfriend – Pepper – is probably having the time of her life.” Mr. Stark said with a humourless laugh. “She’s finally going to be able to relax without cleaning up my messes.”

“I think she’s probably worried.” Peter disagreed.

“Do you?” Mr. Stark asked. “You know, Pep would like you. You’ve got manners, a sweet smile and a kind disposition. You’d have her wrapped around your fingers in a second.”

“I don’t know,” Peter said with a shrug, “maybe I’d just remind her of the time her boyfriend almost died in a plane crash.”

“That’s a morbid way to look at it.” Mr. Stark said.

“How could she not?” Peter asked. “If we ever get out of here, there’s always going to be this memory, this thing that happened.”

“Are you alright, Kid?”

“I don’t know.” Peter admitted. “Mr. Stark, I don’t have my parents anymore, what if I can never get over this?”

“You will, and if you need to speak to someone after all of this, to talk your emotions through, I’ll organise that for you.” Mr. Stark promised.

“Really?”

“Absolutely.”

“Alright, can you tell me more about Pepper?” Peter asked, changing the subject so he didn’t have to think about his life as an orphan any longer.

“Of course kid,” Mr. Stark said as he wet another piece of fabric and continued to clean Peter’s wound gently, removing all the blood and grime, “so Pep worked for me for the longest time. She was too good, way too good, and I was a bit of a dick – don’t repeat that word – she should have quit long before I started to buck up and act like a decent human.

“She would meet my every request, even the stupid ones, but she would make sure to let me know that I was being a complete asshole – don’t repeat that either. She was the queen of being stubbornly loving. No matter what I did, no matter who turned against me, I knew that Pep was always there. She will always deserve better than everything I can give her.”

“She sounds cool.” Peter decided.

Mr. Stark snorted, “yeah, she is pretty ‘cool’, you got that right Kid.”

“I take everything I said back,” Peter decided, “I want to meet her, as long as I won’t bring back bad memories for her. I don’t want to make her sad.”

“She would love to meet you,” Mr. Stark said, “trust me on that one. You won’t make her sad at all.”

Peter nodded, alright, he could trust Mr. Stark, he knew that – until he had a reason not to.

“Alright, I think that’s you all cleaned up.”

“Thank you,” Peter said, just like his mom had taught him.

“No worries kiddo.”

“Fuck, ow, damn, Kid you better not repeat that.”

“Uh ok?” Peter mumbled unsurely.

“Right, ouch you motherf-” Mr. Stark cut himself off and glanced at Peter meaningfully.

“You know, if you don’t want me to repeat any of your bad words, then maybe you should stop saying them.” Peter muttered.

“Hey, how old are you again?” Mr. Stark asked raising an eyebrow, “because unless that age ends in ‘-teen’ I don’t want to hear any of your sass.”

“I’m seven.” Peter mumbled with a pout.

“We’re going to have to discuss rhetorical questions at some point.” Mr. Stark mumbled to himself.

“You’re a rhetorical question.” Peter muttered.

“No, I’m a genius.” Mr. Stark declared, as he stepped back from the gently smoking pile of twigs. “Look at that!”

“I see it.” Peter said, unimpressed. “So you made smoke, didn’t we need a fire?”

“Where there’s smoke, there’s flames, just you wait.” Mr. Stark declared. “Now we need to get to work on collecting more twigs.”

“Alright.” Peter said, “are we chucking them on top?”

“No, make a separate pile, we don’t want to suffocate our fire before it builds properly.” Mr. Stark said.

That made sense, Peter knew from school that a fire needed oxygen, heat and fuel to survive. If they shoved too much on the top, they’d cut off the oxygen and kill it.

“Now, you head over that way, I’ll get some from down here.” Mr. Stark said.

“Uh, why?” Peter asked.

“So we can collect a higher amount of sticks.”

“Oh,” Peter mumbled, biting his lower lip, hard enough to leave tooth marks in it.

“Is that alright?”

“Yeah, uh, of course, sure is.”

“Ok, it just doesn’t sound like you’re sure about that?” Mr. Stark said.

“I am.” Peter said, mentally shaking himself and holding his head high he turned his back on Mr. Stark and walked away.

So maybe he wasn’t alright with it, maybe he was a little scared to be on his own, and maybe he kept glancing over his shoulder to make sure that he wasn’t being left alone.

He didn’t have to be alright with it, he just had to be brave, like his mom and dad were. They were always brave, they never seemed to get scared when Peter was, and they were always there with their warm hugs and soothing words to make sure that he was alright. Not now though, now it was just him.

Well, not yet, he had Mr. Stark there with him.

It wasn’t that he was scared to be alone, it was just that he was…scared…to be alone.

Peter glanced up once more to look for Mr. Stark and felt his heart stop, he was gone, he couldn’t be seen. Peter couldn’t see him. he was alone, he thought he’d been ready, but maybe he wasn’t.

“No, no, no, no, no.”

Peter ran, the twigs and sticks falling from his arms as he did so, leaving them scattered all around and destroying his efforts.

“No, I can’t, I-” he could barely breathe through the panic, his words coming out broken with sobs and mixed in with gasps of desperation.

“Kid?”

It was him.

“Kiddo? What-” Peter launched himself at Mr. Stark, unable to verbalise anything for the sheer strength of the sobs that were pouring out.

Mr. Stark seemed to realise that he wasn’t going to get much out of Peter in that moment, as he gave up on asking questions and instead wrapped his arms around him. holding Peter together.

They stood like that for a while – Mr. Stark hunched awkwardly, Peter’s sobs creating a damp spot on his grubby shirt – until eventually Peter’s tears ran dry and the redness across his cheeks was more from embarrassment than the tears.

“I’m sorry.” Peter whispered, taking a step back and breaking free from Mr. Stark’s hold.

“Sorry?” Mr. Stark repeated, looking bewildered. “What for?”

“For crying all over you.” Peter said, staring at the ground.

“Kid,” Mr. Stark said, gently placing a finger under Peter’s chin and pulling it up to meet his eyes, “there is no shame in crying. None at all. I cry sometimes, you know? It’s perfectly normal.”

“My dad never cried.” Peter mumbled, he wanted to be like his dad, he wanted to be strong.

“Sure he did,” Mr. Stark said, “he just didn’t want you to see him crying, he wouldn’t have wanted to make you worry.”

“What makes you cry then?” Peter asked.

“Well, a lot of things,” Mr. Stark said honestly, “I cried a lot after getting home from Afghanistan, I cried whenever I couldn’t save someone, I cried when watching The Lion King, and one time I even cried because I’d been awake for 35 hours and I just felt like it.”

“I cried because I was scared.” Peter admitted quietly.

“Of what?”

“Well, I know that you said you wouldn’t leave me here alone,” Peter said honestly, “but when I was collecting sticks, I looked up and I couldn’t see you, and I realised that I didn’t want to be on my own.”

“You panicked.”

“Yeah, and I knew you wouldn’t leave, but what if something happened to you, Mr. Stark?” Peter asked.

“Nothing is going to happen to me,” Mr. Stark said, promising something that wasn’t his to promise, “but how about this? Why don’t we collect sticks together for now?”

“Alright,” Peter said with a sniff.

“Now, go get yourself a drink while I grab those sticks we both dropped, and then we’ll get back to it… together this time.”

Peter nodded and while keeping an eye on Mr. Stark’s whereabouts he ran back to their shelter and smouldering fire.  He quickly spotted the pile of provisions and with a final look at Mr. Stark to make sure he hadn’t disappeared, he focused on shoving the granola bars to the side to find water.

Clink

Huh? What is-

Peter picked up one of the glass bottles, it was tiny, it barely looked as though it contained enough liquid to had been worth picking up from the plane wreck, so why had Mr. Stark brought it?

Peter carefully uncapped one of the bottles and sniffed it.

Oh…

“Kid! What are you doing? Put that down!”

Peter jumped, dropping the bottle, amber liquid ran out and disappeared into the ground he was kneeling on.

Chapter Text

“Fucking hell!” Peter’s dad yelled as he threw his glass at the wall where it shattered, sending thousands od tiny glass shards sprinkling into the carpet below.

Peter flinched from where he was hiding behind the sofa, and stared down at his Legos, he’d been building a secret cave for Batman and Robin somewhere they wouldn’t be found, somewhere safe. They would have been safe behind the sofa.

“Richard, calm down, Peter’s in bed.” Peter heard his mom say in a hushed voice.

Peter flinched minutely, he was supposed to be in bed, but he certainly wasn’t. He had waited until his mom and dad were distracted and then crept down the stairs with his favourite box of Legos.

“They refused us,” his dad said, Peter heard a clinking noise - his dad had grabbed another glass, “all those years of work and research and they refused to grant us the funds.”

“You know how these things are,” Peter’s mom whispered, Peter inched a little closer to the edge of the sofa to try and listen in better,  “we’ll just reapply next time, then they’ll see that we’re dedicated. We can put a bit more legwork into the thesis and go back stronger and more prepared.”

“They know we’re revolutionising medicine!” His dad sounded angry, angrier than the time Peter had been caught sneaking out of his bedroom window and onto the roof of the house in the middle of the night to put his astronomy books to the test.

 Peter pushed his Lego Batman and Robin into the half built cave, they’d be safe in there and he could continue building around them.

“Be quiet Richard!” Peter’s mom said, her voice almost as loud as his as she tried to break through to him.

“I can’t, I’m angry, this is our entire life, Mary!”

“It’s not.” His mom said, her voice quieter that time – if Peter was to guess, he would’ve said she sounded hurt. “We’ve got Peter.”

“This is our career though, this is what we’ve been working on for the last six years.”

Peter didn’t build a door onto the cave. They’d be safer without it.

“We have a child, Richard, he’s more important than anything.”

“Fuck!” his dad yelled throwing yet another glass.

This time the glass shattered above Peter’s head and the shards rained down over him, amber liquid splashing on his face, something sharp nicked his cheek and he couldn’t stop a small shout of fear from escaping his mouth. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he was glad he’d protected Batman and Robin, at least they were safe from the sharp glass and foul smelling amber stuff.

“Peter?” His mom’s face appeared over the back of the sofa. “Oh god, Peter, don’t move baby.”

She looked horrified at his presence and he wanted nothing more than to be able to disappear into nothingness. He should have stayed in his bed.  

“Peter?” He heard his dad say. “I thought he was in bed.”

“Oh, because that makes your drunken temper tantrum alright?” His mom snapped, as she pulled the couch forward exposing Peter’s secret cave to the world.

“Oh, shit, kiddo come here.” His dad said, looking guiltier than Peter had ever seen.

“No!” His mom snapped. “Sorry, but don’t move Pete, I need to lift you out, there’s too much broken glass.”

“He’s hurt.” His dad said.

“Oh really? I wonder why?” Peter flinched back from his mom’s tone of voice. Maybe he should have found a better secret hidey hole for the bat cave.

“It’s just a superficial cut,” Peter heard his dad say, “it won’t even need stitches. He’s going to be alright.”

Peter’s mom traced her finger along Peter’s cheek where the glass must have nicked him, it felt itchy and he lifted his hand to scratch at it, only to have it lowered by his mom.

“Don’t touch, baby,” she murmured, “come on, let’s get you changed into clean jammies and into your bed.”

He wrapped his arms around her as she held him on her hip.

“Look, Mary-”

“I don’t want to hear it right now,” Peter heard her say, “I want all damn traces of alcohol out of this house, I don’t care what you’ve been through, you’re never drinking again with our son here.”

“I’ll get rid of it all. I promise.”

“Alcohol?” Peter asked, looking at the damp patch where the liquid had fallen, surrounded by the broken glass.

“Look, kiddo,” Mr. Stark said, gently pulling him away from the mess, “come here, don’t hurt yourself.”

“Why do you have that?” Peter asked, biting his lip.

Alcohol made people angry. He remembered that, he didn’t think he’d ever forget it, even if his dad had stayed true to his word and removed all traces of alcohol from the house.

“I just-” Mr. Stark paused before sighing, “it’s an adult thing.”

“Don’t say that!” Peter shouted, stomping his foot like a little kid, hopefully Mr. Stark hadn’t noticed that. “Stop treating me like I’m a kid!”

“You are a kid.” Mr. Stark said, raising an eyebrow at Peter. “You’re a kid who appears to be having a tantrum right now.”

“I’m not.”

“You are, you’re even pouting.” Mr. Stark pointed out. “But, anyway, that’s not the point right now, the point is that I should have brought those bottles off the plane.”

“So why didn’t you just leave them?” Peter asked as though it was all that simple.

“It’s complicated kid,” Mr. Stark said, “there’s a lot about it you wouldn’t understand, and not just because you’re a kid, before you get angry about that. You can’t understand.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re you.” Mr. Stark said with a shrug. “Because you’re innocent and not jaded by the world yet.”

“I was in a plane crash.” Peter deadpanned.

“Yeah, you’ve got me there,” Mr. Stark agreed, before running a hand through his greasy hair and sighing, “I probably shouldn’t say anything. I should tell you not to worry about anything and just to run along and pretend you didn’t see anything.”

Peter just watched him, he didn’t say anything, it didn’t feel like the time to.

“I used to be really dependent on that stuff,” Mr. Stark admitted with a sigh, “but I kicked the habit a while ago, or rather Pepper made me see that my life and happiness weren’t tied to a bottle. It was just seeing it on the plane made me think; if any situation is enough to allow me to break my dry run, surely this is the one?”

“I understand.” Peter said, even though he didn’t.

“No, you don’t but thanks for trying, kid.” Mr. Stark said, poking his arm. “Enough of that, let’s go grab all those sticks we dropped and make sure this fire doesn’t die on us.”

“Uh, Mr. Stark?” Peter asked hesitantly as the man stood up.

“Yeah, kiddo?”

“Shouldn’t we get rid of those little bottles?” Peter wondered, biting his lip.

Mr. Stark smiled, but it looked more like a grimace, “I suppose we should,” he said, sounding like Peter used to when his parents told him that it was time for bed.

Reluctant, his mind supplied. He’d learned that word not long before the crash, his dad had taught him it.

“I can do it if you want?” Peter offered.

“Nah, come on kid, that’s not something you should have to take responsibility for.” Mr. Stark said, as he carefully uncapped the bottles one by one and poured the liquid out.

Together they watched it disappear into the dry ground.

“Right,” Mr. Stark said suddenly as though nothing had happened, “let’s sort this fire.”

“Alright.”

Peter was young, and sure he didn’t exactly know what it meant to ‘kick the habit’ or why Mr. Stark had decided to grab those little bottles of alcohol that had made his dad mad all those years ago, but he knew that Mr. Stark was done with the subject and he respected that.

His mom had always been good at nudging Peter, giving him that look and telling him to let something go. Now he would have to take responsibility for that on his own, and he was sure that he would mess up sometimes, but maybe Mr. Stark would be willing to help him.

They collected the dropped sticks together, silently working side by side until Peter decided to break the quiet and lower his guard a little, after all Mr. Stark had told him something private hadn’t he?  

“My favourite colour is red.” Peter said quietly.

“Is it?” Mr. Stark said, glancing sideways at Peter.

“Yeah, it makes me feel warm. What’s your favourite colour?” Peter asked, biting his lower lip.

“I haven’t thought about it in a long time.” Tony admitted.

“Well, think about it.” Peter said as though it was that simple. And really, wasn’t it?

Mr. Stark’s lips twisted in thought before he turned to Peter and said, “blue.”

“Blue?” Peter asked, cocking his head. “Really?”

“What’s wrong with blue?” Mr. Stark asked self-consciously. “Blue is cool.”

“Yeah but it’s such a cliché answer.” Peter mumbled.

“Big word for such a little terror.” Mr. Stark muttered. “However, if you must know, it’s the colour of Pepper’s eyes, and the colour of my arc reactor. It means love and life.”

“Love, life and warmth.” Peter mumbled. “Red and blue are pretty cool.”

“That they are kiddo, that they are.” Mr. Stark said. “So… anything else you want to share while your tongue is feeling loose?”

“Uhhh,” Peter’s brow furrowed and his tongue poked out in concentration, “I don’t like mushrooms?”

“You don’t- what? You heathen!” Mr. Stark said in a ridiculously overdramatic tone, Peter couldn’t stop the giggle that escaped thanks to the theatrics. Mr. Stark also let out a laugh. “Nah, I’m messing with you, mushrooms are gross.”

“They are!” Peter said excitedly. “Mom always made them with cheese inside and I used to just pick out the cheese and eat that, I don’t get it, who wants to eat fungus?”

“Weird people,” Mr. Stark agreed, “Pepper is one of them.”

“Oh no, does she make you eat them too?” Peter asked.

“Are you kidding? I’m Tony Stark.”

“So she does?”

“She blends them up and hides them in sauces,” Mr. Stark said with a scoff, “as though she can sneak them by me.”

“They have a bad taste.” Peter said wrinkling his nose.

“Agreed.” Mr. Stark said. “Now come on then, lets get these sticks back to the fire. I think we have them all.”

“Are we going to chuck them all on?” Peter asked. “Because I’m tired, I don’t want to go gather more right now.”

“No,” Mr. Stark said with a chuckle, “we shouldn’t need to get ant more until tomorrow, and hopefully someone will come and rescue us before then. It’s not like we’re in the middle of nowhere – well, we are, but we’re not on a deserted island or anything. We’re still within the USA.”

“And they’ll know that the plane didn’t arrive on time.” Peter muttered.

“Exactly, that’s the kind of thinking I’m talking about.” Mr. Stark said with a grin. “It’s only a matter of time.”

That was good as Peter had seen their supplies and he was aware that they were running out of the bland granola bars and bottles of water, but he wasn’t going to think about that if he could help it. He was going to focus on going home and seeing his family again.

“Mr. Stark, when we get home will I be allowed to see you?” Peter wondered.

“If that’s what you want.” Mr. Stark said easily.

“Would you teach me how to build things?” Peter wondered. “I can take things apart and put them back together, although I have to do it in secret, my mom was really mad when she found out I took her vacuum cleaner to pieces.”

Mr. Stark let out a loud laugh, “tell you what kiddo, you can take apart all sorts of things if you want to in my labs, as long as you check with me first, because some of the things in there are pretty dangerous.”

“Really?” Peter asked with a toothy smile. “You’d let me do that?”

“Of course, you’re going to put them back together after all. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Thank you, Sir!”

“Ah ah!” Mr. Stark said quickly, holding up a finger to silence Peter. “No calling me ‘sir’ alright?”

Peter nodded, “of course, sorry Mr. Stark.”

“You can call me Tony you know? We’ve reached that point.” Mr. Stark said as he knelt by the fire.

“It feels wrong,” Peter muttered, “I think I prefer Mr. Stark for now.”

“Alright, suit yourself.”

“Is that ok?” Peter wondered, biting his lip, maybe he’d upset Mr. Stark by not calling him by his first name.

“Of course.”

Just like that, Mr. Stark gave him an easy grin and Peter felt the anxiety that had come with the potential, unintended disrespect, lift. Of course, Mr. Stark wasn’t mad at him, the man was made of gentle smiles and words that made him feel safe to say what he was feeling. With each hour he spent in Mr. Stark’s presence, the more he began to trust the man.

Maybe even enough to forget that he was technically a stranger.

“Hey, uh, Mr. Stark?” Peter asked staring at the orange and yellow flames that licked the sky, sending small sparks upwards.

“Yeah, kiddo?”

“Peter.”

“What?” Mr. Stark asked, turning to face him, a confused frown on his face.

“My name is Peter.”

Chapter Text

Being stranded in the middle of nowhere with no idea when someone would appear to rescue them and take them home, or even if someone would, wasn’t much fun. But Peter didn’t realise how good they actually had it until the rain started.

It wasn’t even a light drizzle, or a normal shower that they often got back home, no - it was a raging downpour as though someone was standing above them with a bucket of water and just pouting it out constantly, unrelenting. Or maybe a hose, Peter pondered that for a moment before deciding that there was a tap above them that had been turned on completely.

Their fire was doused instantly, smoke floating up into the sky before it disappeared, the last trace of what had once been warm. Peter who had let out a sound of annoyed discontent at suddenly being wet, was ushered into their little shelter by Mr. Stark.

It wasn’t the biggest place as it had only been designed as a place for them to sleep for a few nights until they were taken home again. So, they sat hunched up, or rather, Mr. Stark did. He was too tall to stretch out and Peter heard him mutter a few times about how sore his back would be tomorrow.  

If that hadn’t been bad enough, it was then they realised that their hastily put together shelter was not so waterproof. Peter wasn’t sure if it was meant to be but it seemed a little silly for them to have designed something to protect them from ‘exposure’ only for it to let the rain filter through the cracks and gaps and drip on them constantly. Peter shifted to stop it from dripping on his nose only to find his ear being the unwitting victim of the wetness.

“Mr. Stark?” He asked quietly, taking in the harrowed expression on the older man’s face. “Are you ok?”

Are we ok?

“Yeah, Kid, it’s all good.” Mr. Stark said with a grimace that Peter was sure was meant to be a smile. “Don’t you worry, we’ll be fine.”

“I-” Peter faltered before clamping his mouth shut, he didn’t want to upset Mr. Stark any further.

“Kid, you can talk, I’m not going to bite your head off.” Mr. Stark said, shuffling to face Peter in the dim light.

“I just- I don’t think it’s fine.” Peter mumbled.

“No, but there’s no sense in focusing on the things that could go wrong or all the ways in which we’re going to struggle is there?” Mr. Stark asked. “Once this is over, we’ll go out there and evaluate the damage.”

Peter nodded, that was fair enough.

The damage as it turned out was a lot.

After the rain had finally let up until it was nothing more than a misty drizzle that made the air they inhaled feel damp, they walked slowly around their makeshift campsite, checking everything.

“Hey, uh, Mr. Stark?” Peter called out, drawing his attention. “Did you know the granola bars were wrapped in paper?”

“I guess that makes sense from a waste point of view.” Mr. Stark muttered as he made his way over to the pile of mush that peter was staring at. “Not so much from a survival point of view.”

Peter hadn’t heard Mr. Stark said that word yet: survival. It was something that he knew about, he knew that they were trying to beat the odds and survive long enough to be rescued, but hearing mr. Stark say it just drove home the fact that there was a chance they wouldn’t.

There was a chance that they could have survived a plane crash only to be killed by the wilderness. That was terrifying, it made tears of fear prick at the corners of Peter’s eyes. He blinked furiously, hiding them.

Be brave for mom and dad, he reminded himself, before glancing up at Mr. Stark’s tired face, be brave for Mr. Stark too, he’s doing his best.

“We still have the water.” Peter mumbled, holding up the damp plastic bottles. “The paper labels died, but that’s not the most important thing really, is it?”

Mr. Stark smiled grimly and nodded to one of the bottles, “you should drink that.”

“No, I’m not thirsty right now.” Peter lied.

His tongue was dry, his mouth felt like a desert and the dripping of the rain had been torture when they’d been in the shelter, he had almost stuck his tongue out under it to get some relief. He hadn’t because Mr. Stark would have felt guilty, and Peter had already seen that the older man was giving Peter extra rations, putting him first. Now, it was Peter’s job to put Mr. Stark first.

“Alright,” Mr. Stark said, easily accepting that, “but if you do get thirsty, just help yourself alright? I’m going to line up those little glass bottles and the empty plastic ones so if we get another downpour like that, we’ll have an abundance of water.”

“Hey, Mr. Stark?” Peter asked with a cheeky grin. “Do you think this is enough water to finally go fishing?”

“Oh you little shit,” Mr. Stark muttered with a loud laugh that lingered in the air, lightening the mood, before his eyes widened and predictably he muttered, “don’t repeat that.”

“Yeah, yeah, no swearing, I got it.” Peter said turning away so he could roll his eyes without being admonished for it.

It was strange knowing that Mr. Stark knew his name, because the man never used it. Peter was always ‘Kid’ or ‘Kiddo’ and a few times he was even ‘Underoos’, never was he actually called by his name. he figured it was a Mr. Stark thing, because he would talk about his family and friends and all of them were given nicknames, it warmed Peter’s heart that he had been given one too. That he was important enough to deserve one, although he ignored the fact that the nickname had come about because he’d refused to give his name.

When Peter looked back at Mr. Stark the man was staring down at the mess of damp ash and charred wood.

“Can we do anything with that?” Peter asked, although he already knew that answer.

“Not a chance in hell.” Mr. Stark muttered. “Don’t-”

“-Repeat that, yeah I know,” Peter mumbled, “can we start another fire?”

“Not now,” Mr. Stark said, “the sticks are all too damp, we won’t get them to light.”

“Oh.” Peter said.

That sucked. The heat of the flames would have allowed them to dry out their clothes that were starting to chill Peter to the bone thanks to their dampness.

“Mr. Stark?” Peter asked quietly, after the chills had gotten to the point where he couldn’t ignore them any longer.

“Yeah?”

“It’s cold.” Peter whimpered. “I’m so cold.”

“Aw, shit,” Mr. Stark said, “I’m sorry kid, I didn’t even think. Come here.”

Mr. Stark raised his arm, clearing a space at Peter’s side for him to wedge himself into. Peter hesitated for a moment before another wave of shivers overtook him and he made to move towards the offer of warmth. With the man being bigger than Peter, he hadn’t cooled down as quickly, and Peter sighed in relief at the damp heat.

“I’m cooling down too, but not as much, we need to figure out a way to dry off.” Mr. Stark muttered.

“The sun?” Peter asked.

“Will take too long,” Mr. Stark muttered, “and judging by the position in the sky, it’s a fair bit past midday which means that we don’t have much daylight left.”

Peter was grateful that Mr. Stark was kind enough not to mention the grey, overcast sky or the fact that it was more likely to start to rain again than it was for there to be enough sun to warm them.

“Uh, what about the cases?” Peter asked hesitantly.

“Cases?”

“From the plane,” Peter continued, “maybe we could find some dry clothes in them?”

“Uh, I don’t know how hard you hit your head, but that plane exploded.” Mr. Stark said, looking at Peter with concern.

“But before it did, it broke.” He remembered that, he’d been on it. “Maybe some fell out.”

Mr. Stark jumped to his feet, “Kid, you’re a genius, have I ever told you that?”

“Huh?”

“The plane broke!” Mr. Stark said with a look of pure excitement that caused hope to blossom in Peter. “There was debris everywhere, and it’s definitely worth a shot.”

Peter returned Mr. Stark’s grin, he had done something right, he had helped. Maybe that would mean his survival hadn’t been a mistake, that he was useful enough to deserve to have been the one that Mr. Stark carried from the burning wreckage.

The wreckage.

He would see it. He would see the place where his parents had perished, he would see the final resting spot for hundreds of people with lives and families that were forgotten.

His stomach twisted anxiously with the thought of that.

“Are we going now?” Peter wondered, wringing his hands together.

“No time like the present,” Mr. Stark said with a shrug, “besides, we’re both just going to get colder and once it’s dark out we’ll be completely f- uh, screwed.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Peter mumbled.

“Do you wanna stay here?” Mr. Stark asked gently, silently letting him know that it would be alright if he did.

Peter considered it for a moment, he thought about the time it would take for Mr. Stark to reach the cases, after a search for them, the time it would take him to find clothes roughly the right size, the time it would take him to return.

That seemed like a lot of time to Peter.

Time when he would be completely on his own, in the middle of nowhere, left to fend for himself if something happened to Mr. Stark. And how long would he sit there, shivering and twiddling his fingers for? How long before he was able to tell himself that Mr. Stark wasn’t coming back?

“I want to come.” Peter said quickly.

“You sure?” Mr. Stark asked. “I won’t be upset you know?”

I know, but I will, Peter thought before forcing a smile onto his face, hoping that it was convincing enough, “I know, but I want to.”

“Alright then, tag along Kiddo.” Mr. Stark said.

Peter fell into step beside Mr. Stark, it seemed that joining him had been a good idea for another reason, he was able to warm slightly from the exercise. Even though the dampness of his clothes caused them to rub uncomfortably and his skin was turning red with the cold.

“What do you think it’ll look like?” Peter asked.

“The plane?”

“Uh huh.”

“I don’t know, kiddo, are you scared to see it?” Mr. Stark asked.

“A little.”

“How about I look and if its scary I’ll tell you to close your eyes?” Mr. Stark offered.

“No,” Peter said, shaking his head, “if you tell me not to then I definitely will, it’ll be too tempting.”

“Forbidden fruit.” Mr. Stark muttered.

“What does that mean?”

“Uh, nothing, never mind.” Mr. Stark said quickly.

They lapsed into a comfortable silence as they walked, Peter taking two steps for Mr. Stark’s one, trying his best to keep up. Mr. Stark had an important walk, Peter noted absently, he walked with a purpose that Peter had only seen in people on the TV. That made sense though, because Peter had watched Mr. Stark on the TV quite a few times.

Shoulders back, chin up, arms swinging in time with each step, Peter tried to mimic the walk. He glanced sideways a few times to check that he was doing it right, to make sure that he was walking with the same purpose as Mr. Stark.

On the third glance to the side Peter flushed bright red as he was met with Mr. Stark’s raised eyebrow and slight smirk. He’d been caught. his shoulders slumped and he returned to his own way of walking, with his damp trainers dragging slightly on each step.

“You need to raise your chest a little.” Mr. Stark said quietly.

“What?”

“Just saying, putting your shoulders back isn’t enough, raise your chest too.”

“I wasn’t doing anything.” Peter lied.

“I know.” Mr. Stark said easily.

Peter tried it, glancing at Mr. Stark again, the man was looking resolutely ahead that time. It worked.

“Thanks.” Peter mumbled.

“Anytime Peter.”

Chapter Text

 Peter realised that he had made a huge mistake in following Mr. Stark to the plane as soon as the burnt carcass of it came into his line of vision, still smouldering from the explosion that had caused the ground to tremble and the skies to fill with flames and dark smoke.

“Uh, Mr. Stark?” Peter mumbled, hesitantly, he wasn’t really sure what he wanted to say or ask, but he wanted the reassurance that he knew the man could give him.

“You alright kid?” Mr. Stark asked, glancing back at Peter who was lagging behind.

“Um, yeah, I think so,” Peter lied, keeping his eyes on the ground as he spoke, scared to see the plane again, “I just… I don’t know.”

“I know what you mean.” Mr. Stark murmured. “It’s a lot to take in, why don't you just, I don’t know, focus on the ground? We’re looking for suitcases that were thrown to the side during the… crash.”

“Yeah,” Peter mumbled, as though he wasn't already trying his best not to look at the giant, blackened funeral pyre, “suitcases.”

“You sure you’re alright kid?” Mr. Stark asked. “Wait, no, stupid question. You don’t have to answer that.”

“It’s alright.” Peter muttered, unable to even bring himself to look up from the damp ground to look at the man who had saved his life.

They didn’t say much as they scoured the area for suitcases, there was no way to tell how much time had passed but as Peter felt his trembling worsen with the cold that seemed to seep in with the setting of the sun, he realised that they needed to hurry up.

Maybe they would have covered more ground, but he was practically super-glued to Mr. Stark’s side, afraid to even step more than a foot away from the man he knew would protect him. Every now and then, temptation would overcome him and Peter would look up to the plane before forcing himself to look away from it, from the place where he knew his parents were.

“Hey, look, here we go!” Mr. Stark called out before jogging over to a case.

Peter saw his relieved grin drop as Mr. Stark dropped down to his knees beside the case.

“Is everything ok?” Peter asked, moving closer, before he saw the case and he thought he understood why Mr. Stark suddenly looked so sad. “Oh.”

The case was covered in mud but Peter could clearly see the face of Iron Man staring back at him; it was a kid’s case. That much was obvious, even though the hard shell was cracked and covered in dirt and ash, the words: ‘Iron Man Saves the Day!’ were clearing visible.

Peter knew that the case didn’t belong to him, so logically that meant that there were other kids on the plane. It seemed obvious for that to be the case, after all it had been a fairly large plane travelling the span of the U.S. but he had determinedly been trying not to think about who else may have died on that flight, now though, he had no option but to think about the kid who may have owned the case that they were staring at.

“Should we look for another one?” Peter asked.

“What’s the point? They all belonged to someone.” Mr. Stark said, his words sounding harsh with his ragged breathing. “Shit, sorry, Kiddo. I’m not upset with you, I just…”

“I get it.” Peter mumbled.

“Just, have a look through, hopefully there’s something in there you can squeeze into.”

So Peter did, he carefully unzipped the case, and opened it up. It was full to the brim with clothes that belonged to someone else. 

He was lucky, the kid who had owned them had been bigger than Peter and the clothes were easy to shrug on. He felt  uncomfortable, after all he was wearing another kid’s clothes, and they were ones that belonged to a kid who had… well, who wouldn’t be wearing them anymore. 

It was almost worse to know that it was probably a kid he would have been friends with - a cartoon atom grinned at him as a speech bubble declared: 'don't trust atoms, they make up everything!' the print was faded and cracking in places from constant wear and washing. This was a well loved shirt, just... not loved by Peter.  

“Mr. Stark?” Peter mumbled quietly, the words coming out broken and disjointed through the lump in his throat and the tears that were stuffing his nose up.

“Yeah?” Mr. Stark asked, as he pulled on a dry shirt from another case, that one black and unidentifiable – not knowing who it could have belonged to was a fact that was almost worse.

“I really want to go home.” Peter mumbled, unable to keep any of his tears back.

“Oh, Kid.” Mr. Stark mumbled. “C’mere.”

Peter didn’t need to be told twice, he launched himself at Mr. Stark and let himself melt in his arms as the sobs overtook him. He’d been so focused on trying to keep Mr. Stark unaware of his fears, trying to stay brave in the face of everything that was going on, trying to live up to his parent’s memory, trying to be better than he was… it was nice just to let go and let everything out.

It was nice just to be held as he cried and to be offered the reassurances that he so desperately needed. 

Peter felt the man's shirt crumple beneath his fingers as he gripped on as though his life depended on it, there was so much he wanted to say, and yet none of the words would come out. All that escaped him was giant tears and gasping sobs that took his breath away and made his head hurt. 

Be strong, he reminded himself before wondering, why? What is there to be strong for? Mr. Stark? He doesn't need me, he's Iron Man. 

He had only tried to stay strong to stop himself from feeling the pain of losing his family and he wasn't even sure why? Maybe because that would mean that he wouldn't have to deal with his grief? Or maybe because he knew that he was nothing on his own.

"You're alright, Kiddo, I've got you." Mr. Stark murmured gently, a constant stream of careful reassurances and quiet comforting words. 

Peter felt a hand running through his dirty curls, nails gently scraping against his scalp in a way that made him relax into the hug he was getting. 

"I'm sorry." Peter mumbled into Mr. Stark's chest after a while had passed. 

"For what?" Mr. Stark wondered, not pausing his gentle movements. 

"For crying." Peter muttered. "For saying that I want to go home - that was ungrateful when you've done so much for me." 

"Peter," Mr. Stark said firmly, waiting until Peter met his red-rimmed eyes to continue, "you don't have to apologise for crying, it's perfectly normal to be upset in this situation, hell - I'm crying. I have cried. It's normal. Also, just because I'm helping you doesn't mean you have to prefer this to going home."

"Really?" 

"Really." Mr. Stark confirmed. "I want to go home too, buddy, I can't wait for someone to come and rescue us." 

"Do you think it'll happen?" Peter wondered, almost afraid to ask for what the answer may be.

"I don't doubt it." Mr. Stark said surely. "I'd thought it would've happened today, but since it hasn't I think tomorrow will be our day for sure." 

"How do you know?" Peter asked, desperate to believe him. 

"Well, it's impossible to be certain, but we didn't leave the U.S., we're not on an abandoned island somewhere, we're traceable." Mr. Stark explained. "That means it won't take them long to find us, we just have to wait."

"That's..." Peter paused, looking for the right word, "reassuring."

"Isn't it?" 

"But why didn't they save us today?" Peter asked. 

"The U.S. is big," Mr. Stark said, "and they'll have narrowed down the area the plane would've crashed in, but they still have to work their way to where we are. It takes time."

"But-" Peter cut himself off, clamping his mouth shut - that wouldn't have been a question his parents would have approved of. 

"What is it?" Mr. Stark asked. 

"Doesn't matter." Peter mumbled. 

"No, it does, talk to me, Kid." 

"It was rude." Peter admitted. "I shouldn't have started to ask anything." 

"Kid, I promise I won't be mad," Mr. Stark said truthfully, "if you have a question then ask it and I'll do my best to answer."

"I was- uh, wondering, um," Peter swallowed heavily before plucking up his courage, his voice still thick from crying, "how can you be so sure someone will save us when you had to save yourself last time?" 

"You mean when I was in Afghanistan?" Mr. Stark asked him, the only sign that he was affected by the question was a small stiffening of his shoulders.   

Peter nodded. 

"I mean that was very different," Mr. Stark said quietly, "I was targeted then and assumed to be dead after I was taken. They didn't know where to look for me, they had no clue. This time around there's a giant plane to look for, I haven't moved far away from it and I've got you."

"Me?" Peter asked. 

"Yeah, you're smarter than anyone I've met, I'll be fine if I'm with you." 

Even though Peter knew that the words were only being said to give him some hope, to make him feel important and confident that they'd get out of the mess, he couldn't stop the grin from taking over his face. He was going to help Mr. Stark. He was. 

"Alright." Peter mumbled. 

"You believe me?" 

"Yeah, we're going to go home again." Peter said. Or rather, you are, I'll go to may Aunt and Uncle.

"We will," Mr. Stark agreed, unaware of the thoughts that were going through Peter's mind, "now, shall we head back to our camp?" 

"Yeah." Peter said, standing up and feeling his muscles protest the lack of recent movement. 

They walked together, slowly making their way back to their makeshift, leaky shelter. Peter's movements were slow and sluggish and without realising he reached up to latch onto Mr. Stark's sleeve so that he didn't fall behind, if the action was weird to the older man, he didn't say anything. Perhaps he knew that Peter was struggling, after all he had shorter legs and his energy had been sapped by the cold and his crying fit. 

"Do you, uh, need carried?" Mr. Stark asked hesitantly as he glanced sideways as Peter who had flushed bright red at the question. 

"No!" He shouted, his cheeks warming even more at the unexpected volume, he hadn't meant to be that loud. "Sorry, I just- no thank you, I'm fine." 

Mr. Stark didn't push him any further, but he did slow down a little, enough that Peter cast a grateful his way as he walked - still gripping the sleeve. 

Part of Peter had wanted to bring a few more outfits from the case with him so that he could change again in the morning but after remembering that he was wearing a... gone kid's clothes, he had banished that thought. Instead he committed himself to wearing those same clothes until they were rescued. 

A small, nasty part of his brain whispered, if we're ever rescued, but he was quick to dismiss it because Mr. Stark had promised that they would be home again soon and Peter trusted him. 

He wasn't a stranger, he was Mr. Stark, and he had been nothing but painfully honest with Peter the entire time they had been stranded together. 

Despite having a fairly decent companion to be stranded with, Peter couldn't help but be grateful that they hadn't left the U.S.A. because that would have made their rescue take longer and he didn't want to be stuck for months and months. 

A few days was more than enough, he decided as he crawled into the still damp shelter and curled up, resting his head on his arms in a makeshift pillow.

It turned out that his last fleeting thought was absolutely correct as while he slept, and Mr. Stark snored, the sky shifted and the velvety blackness slowly burned red at the edges and started to brighten with a gold hue as a team of helicopters slowly inched closer and closer to their destination.

Chapter Text

Peter was the first to wake the next morning. He woke up slowly, with a heavy feeling in his head and pains of hunger in his stomach. It had only been a few days since he'd ended up stranded with Mr. Stark and yet he was already feeling the struggle - how did the people on TV do it? How did they manage to survive for weeks, months, even years in the wilderness? 

He shoved himself up onto his elbows, looking at the streams of light that filtered in and trying his best to focus his eyes despite not having his glasses any longer; he was surprised how much he missed them, especially after spending years of his life finding them nothing more than an inconvenience. 

There was something happening. He didn't know how he knew, but he did, every one of his instincts screamed at him to wake Mr. Stark - who was snoring relentlessly, sounding an awful lot like that old lawn mower his dad owned; the one that they threw away because it was better at making noise than cutting grass. 

"Mr. Stark?" He started off quietly, poking the older man's shoulder tentatively. "Uh, Mr. Stark?" 

The older man's snores faltered, and he rolled onto his back with a frown, before resuming his snoring at an even louder volume. Honestly, they were loud enough to alert the world that they were there, Peter decided before shoving the palm of his hand against the scruffy cheek. 

"Mr. Stark!" He said, louder and more desperately. 

"Huh, wha- Peter?" Mr. Stark's voice was thick with sleep and Peter could see him slowly become more alert and orientated, although that initial confusion at being abruptly woken up did not leave. 

"Mr. Stark, we gotta go." Peter mumbled desperately, now that Mr. Stark had stopped snoring he was able to hear a noise that sounded important. He was convinced that some part of him had registered it over the noise of Mr. Stark's breathing and that was why he’d been overcome with the desperation and need to go. 

"Kiddo, what?" Mr. Stark asked, shuffling himself into a hunched over sitting position. "Are you alright? Did you have a bad dream?"

"No, Mr. Stark, listen." Peter said insistently. 

Thankfully, the older man did as Peter asked and he stopped talking and moving, listening carefully for what Peter had heard. It was obvious when he heard the noise as he straightened up suddenly, hitting his head off the top of the shelter but not seeming to care. 

"Kid..."

"You hear it?" Peter needed to confirm. He needed to know that he wasn’t hearing things. 

"Come on," Mr. Stark said with a sudden urgency as he scrambled to his feet, all traces of sleep gone, "come on!"

They burst out of the shelter, their rough movements causing it to cave in on itself, but neither of them cared as they were running. Mr. Stark held onto Peter's hand as they ran, making sure that he didn't lag behind. Together they sprinted in the direction of the burnt-up plane – or rather, Peter sprinted because his legs weren’t as long as Mr. Stark’s.

"Was... I... right to... wake... you?" Peter shouted out through gasping breaths of air. 

"We're going home." Mr. Stark said simply, confirming Peter's hopes. 

That steady thrumming, airy noise was exactly what he had thought it was - a helicopter. Peter wasn't entirely convinced that it had been sent to rescue them, but if it were heading their way then it would see the wreckage; the disastrous scene that had taken Peter's most loved ones away.

As soon as they saw that, they would call for help, they had to. That meant that Peter and Mr. Stark would be best to make sure that they were as close to the wreckage as possible, so when the authorities arrived to investigate what had happened then they would see the two survivors and take them home. 

Peter stumbled as they ran, almost face planting the ground, in fact he would've if it hadn't been for Mr. Stark's grip on his hand that jerked him upright and - despite the pain in his shoulder from the yank - helped him keep moving. That was helpful, what was slightly less helpful was the tightening in his chest. 

His breaths came out in sharp, short wheezes as he tried to suck in as much air as he possibly could. The intense feeling of being out of breath was too much, he was struggling, he needed to stop but he couldn't suck in enough air to tell Mr. Stark that because he was barely able to breathe. 

Peter knew that his inhaler was in his pocket, but he wasn’t convinced that he would be able to inhale enough to try and take it, he needed to sit down and take a moment.

Mr. Stark, please stop, please, he mentally begged as he barked out a cough, wasting precious air. 

Desperation overcame Peter and sensing no other options, he planted himself down, dropping his weight to the ground so that his arm was jerked on once more, but he wasn't working with the pull this time, he was working against it.

Mr. Stark ended up falling to the side from the abrupt change and he let go of Peter's hand on instinct, landing with a small 'ooft' as he was winded. 

Sorry, Peter thought as he watched the disaster play out in front of him.

Hopefully Mr. Stark wasn't too hurt by the fall, his dad had told him that the older generation were more breakable after his Grandpa had fallen and broken his hip. Had Peter broken Mr. Stark's hip? He couldn't bring himself to worry enough to check as he was too busy focusing on trying to get air. 

He tried to get his inhaler out of his pocket - relieved that he had thought to swap it over to his new pants when he'd changed into the dry set of clothes - but his hands were trembling too much for him to have any success. 

"Kid, what the fuck?" Mr. Stark asked, he sounded annoyed and confused but not in any pain. 

"Ca- bree." Peter tried to say. 

"Oh shit, oh fuck, oh fucking hell," Mr. Stark muttered over and over as he stumbled over to Peter's side and dropped down to his knees, "inhaler, inhaler, you have one of those right?" 

Peter looked meaningfully down to his pocket where he was trying to pull the inhaler from. Thankfully Mr. Stark got the hint and he shoved Peter's hands out of the way so he could fish out the inhaler. The man looked at it blankly as though he had no idea what to do with it, that was fair, neither had Peter until he was given it a few years ago. 

Peter opened his mouth and Mr. Stark got the hint. 

"Press?" He asked Peter who gave a miniscule nod. 

Peter timed it perfectly and inhaled the medication that immediately got to work on loosening up the tightness in his chest and allowing him to breathe. 

They sat for a moment before Peter murmured, "again," around the inhaler and was given another shot of medication. 

"Is it helping?" Mr. Stark asked, looking ashy grey and anxious as he did so. 

"Yeah," Peter mumbled, the word coming out with a hoarse wheeze, but he was starting to feel so much better, "thank you."

"Don't thank me," Mr. Stark muttered, "I didn't even realise that you were struggling."

"It's fine." Peter said, taking back the inhaler and taking another dose. 

His doctor had told him that during an asthma attack he could take up to ten doses with about a minute between each one, and considering that he was in the middle of nowhere with no access to a hospital – he planned to do just that. It always amazed him how much the simple inhaler made him better, just a few doses were enough to help him breathe and talk. Although he knew from experience that the harsh wheeze and the tight cough would linger for a short while still.

"It's not fine, Kiddo, I was too busy thinking about getting us to the plane," Mr. Stark said, "I didn't even think about your asthma." 

"It's alright," Peter insisted, "I forgot about it too."

"You... you forgot?" 

"It's usually well controlled." Peter said with a shrug.

Because it was, normally he wouldn't think about his asthma other than making sure he, or his parents, had one of his inhalers on their persons so that if there was a chance something happened then they were covered. It had been a long time since anything had happened though, so this occasion had very much taken him by surprise. 

"Do you think you can stand?" Mr. Stark asked after a few more minutes and puffs of the inhaler, he looked guilty that he had asked the question, so Peter felt the need to reassure him. 

"Yeah, I'm fine." 

"We can move slowly this time, we're almost there." Mr. Stark promised. 

They could still hear the rhythmic thwipping of the helicopter's blades, and Peter could tell that they were getting close to the plane - for once he was excited to go back. They weren’t going with the intentions of scrounging for some dry clothes by a mass grave, instead they would hopefully be rescued and taken home. 

And he would be taken away from Mr. Stark... 

"Kiddo, you good?" Mr. Stark asked, making Peter realise that he was lost in his thoughts. 

"I uh, yeah, of course." Peter mumbled as he took a few shaky steps to Mr. Stark's side. 

"I'm gonna support you, if that's alright?" Mr. Stark said as he wrapped a shoulder around Peter's shoulders and balanced him. 

"Thank you." Peter muttered, feeling a heat rise on his face, was he really so weak that he couldn't walk himself? 

"Don't mention it, Kiddo. I've got you." Mr. Stark said. 

Together they ambled towards the plane, Peter's heart thudding out an unsteady rhythm as they grew nearer.

They were going to be saved.

He couldn't wait to see his Aunt and Uncle, he couldn't wait to have a warm shower, and a hot meal, he couldn't wait to have a cup of cocoa and to watch TV and play Legos with Ned.

All normal things… but he wasn't going back to his normal life, was he?

He was going to go back to school as an orphan, he would be pitied by his friends and teachers, he would have to deal with the sad eyes and apologetic words - as though any of this was their fault or responsibility. 

He was also going to be the kid that was saved by Iron Man. Would the news companies latch onto that story? Would they want to talk to him? Would he have to recount some of the worst days of his life to them? He hoped not, he didn't want his parents' deaths to be a public spectacle.  

"Mr. Stark?" Peter asked after they'd walked in silence for a bit. 

"Hmm? You alright?" 

"Yeah, I just-" Peter paused wondering how to ask his question without sounding rude. 

"Just spit it out, Underoos." Mr. Stark said. 

"Were you serious when you said that I could come to your labs?" Peter wondered. 

"Of course I was," Mr. Stark said, "why wouldn't I be?" 

Peter just shrugged a little, "I dunno, I just wanted to make sure." 

"What's this really about?" Mr. Stark wondered, fixing Peter with an intense stare.

"I just, I guess I worried," Peter said slowly, "I don't want you to forget me when you go home." 

"For- what? Forget you?" Mr. Stark sounded incredulous as though he had no idea how Peter could have come to such a conclusion. 

"Just when you go home, you'll be home, and you might not want to think about me." Peter said. "Maybe you won't really want me to come to your labs."

"Kid, it's more likely to be the other way round." Mr. Stark said with a humourless laugh. "This is a freaking stressful experience and you're a young kid. Once you get home, there's every chance you won't want to leave your family, not even to come see me." 

"Uh uh," Peter said, refusing to accept that, "I can't wait, I'll be able to tell Ned all about it, he'll be so jealous and excited at the same time." 

"Alright," Mr. Stark said with a shrug, "but just know that I won't hold it against you."

"Me either." Peter lied, looking away. 

"You good now?" Mr. Stark asked. 

"Yeah, I just... I'm gonna miss you." Peter admitted.

"Hey, hey, hey," Mr. Stark said quickly, "why does this sound like you're saying goodbye?"

"Shouldn't we?" Peter asked. 

"Why?"

"Well, we're going to end up in hospital when we get back," Peter said as though that was obvious, "I don't think it'll be the same one."

"Why not?"

"Because you're Iron Man, and I know the rumours that you have your own kitted out Medical Bay in your tower." Peter said. "I don't think I'll end up in there."

"Of course, you will." Mr. Stark said. 

"I- wait what?" 

"Kid, you survived a plane crash with me," Mr. Stark said, "forgive me for saying this, but I'm kinda invested in keeping you alive now, so I'm going to make sure you get checked over by the best medical team in the U.S." 

"Really?" Peter asked. 

"Of course."

"Cool." Peter breathed out. 

"Uh huh, that's totally cool." Mr. Stark said, playing along. 

Their conversation ended up lapsing into silence and Peter realised why. The plane - they had reached it and it was surrounded.

Teams of people seemed to have spread out around it and there were numerous landed helicopters in the vicinity.

People.

Other people, who weren't him or Mr. Stark. Peter felt tears build up in his eyes, tears of relief and joy, but also tears of worry and anxiety. There was so much unknown waiting for them in their future, it almost made him want to turn around and return to his and Mr. Stark's shelter, except it had collapsed as they had left, there was nothing here for them. 

"HEY!" Mr. Stark screamed, making Peter jump beneath the grip on his shoulders. 

It happened slowly and then all at once. One person turned to look at them, taking in their grungy appearance and haggard expressions before their mouth opened wide in a gasp and then they shouted something that Peter couldn't make out. After that first person, everyone ended up turning to stare. Peter shuffled self-consciously under the intense gazes and felt Mr. Stark squeeze his shoulder comfortingly, and then they flooded forward. 

They were everywhere. 

Peter was almost tempted to take another puff of his inhaler as there was an oppressing feeling to being surrounded from every side, it almost made him feel as though he couldn't breathe, but he could - and what was worse was that he could hear.

"...is that Tony Stark?"

"...a kid..."

"...someone get the medics over here now..."

"...crowding them..."

"...kid looks scared..."

"...stark..."

"...Iron Man..."

Peter wanted to back away, but he was held in place by Mr. Stark, which was probably for the best as Peter had no idea where he would go. 

He wanted to go home, he did, there was no questions about that. He just didn't want to deal with all the changes, he didn't want to know that he wouldn't be returning to New York with his parents, he didn't want to go to the funeral, or deal with the pity, or face the unknown. He just wished that everything could be normal again. 

But it couldn't, there was no way that things could go back to how they had been before, not now. Not when Peter had been forced to adapt and change so much in order to survive. He was a different kid now. Would that change how he got along with Ned? Would it have an impact on their friendship?

"Kid, come on, open your eyes." Mr. Stark whispered gently in his ear.

Peter hadn't even realised that he had closed them, and he blinked against the harsh reintroduction of the light. 

"There he is," Mr. Stark said gently, "look, it's just us now kiddo."

Peter glanced around, the hordes of people had backed off, although Peter could still see them glancing over at them curiously, not able to hide their stares or smother their whispers. Mr. Stark was wrong, it wasn't just them, there was a woman with kind brown eyes standing off to the side of Mr. Stark - she reminded Peter of his mom in a way that made his heart pang with loss. 

"This is Dr. Ronen." Mr. Stark said, making Peter wonder how much he had missed while he had closed his eyes and reverted into his thoughts. 

"Hi." Peter mumbled. 

"Hey there, Peter, right?" Dr. Ronen asked. 

"I'm not meant to tell strangers my name." Peter said quietly, wedging himself as closely as possible into Mr. Stark's side. 

"She's alright, Kiddo," Mr. Stark said, "she knows my name."

"Everyone knows your name." Peter mumbled, staring at the ground and toeing at a footprint with his own shoe. 

"Do you want to come and have a seat in the helicopter?" She asked. "I have some snacks and I can have a little look over you and make sure that you're ok." 

"I'm fine." Peter mumbled. 

"So am I, but I'm still going to get checked over." Mr. Stark said. "Pepper would have my balls if I didn't. Don't-"

"-repeat that." Peter finished with a small but genuine smile, before he sighed and looked at Dr. Ronen. "What kind of snacks do you have?"

"I have a few granola bars-" Peter's nose instantly wrinkled in disgust, "-and I might have a packet of Cheetos and some chocolate." 

"Cheetos?" Peter asked, perking up a little.

"You like them?" 

"Who doesn't?" Peter retaliated. 

"So, you'll come with me then?" Mr. Stark asked. "I really would prefer not to go through this on my own." 

"I can see through that." Peter said. "I know what you're trying to do."

"Fair enough." Mr. Stark said with a shrug. "I'm going to go and get checked out and eat some Cheetos."

He let his arm drop from around Peter's shoulders, which felt cold in the absence of the comforting warmth of Mr. Stark's safe hold. 

"You suck." Peter declared as he jogged a few steps and fell into place at Mr. Stark's side, the protective hold returning around his shoulders as he did so. 

"I've heard that a time or two before." Mr. Stark said with an easy laugh that showed he hadn't taken Peter's words personally. 

"Alright," Dr. Ronen said as she led them towards a helicopter that looked completely different to any of the other ones. It was a medic’s one, Peter deduced, which made sense because they were being led to it by a doctor. 

It had seemed too easy. It had been too easy. 

Because absolutely no one had been prepared for Peter's reaction to the helicopter. 

Chapter Text

 In hindsight, Tony should have expected the reaction that met him.

He himself had been through a traumatic experience not all that long ago and it had affected him significantly. For a long time Tony had found it difficult to get in a car, his mind would automatically fill with visions in of the car exploding and he would be able to feel the pain of shrapnel piercing his chest once more. That was all before he started to freak out about being kidnapped again and trying to prepare himself for the inevitable escape that he would have to plan.  

It had taken months of therapy for his palms to stop becoming slick with sweat at the sound of a car door closing behind him and for his instincts to stop telling him to turn around and run as fast as he could. So really, he should have known that the kid would struggle, he should have predicted a fearful reaction.

He didn't, however, think he could be blamed for not predicting the way the kid panicked. 

The tiny boy, with unruly curls and tear tracks clearing their way down a dirty face, threw his head back and screamed. In fact, Tony would even wager that it was more of a shriek, and he grunted as the back of the kid's head collided with his nose.

A burst of pain flashed up his nose, and he had to fight every instinct that told him to let go of the kid, to drop him - because in his mind, he had images of Peter bolting as soon as he did so, and then he could get lost or hurt or have another asthma attack. 

"Motherfucker." Tony grunted, ignoring the disapproving look that the doctor cast his way, it wasn't like her nose had just been headbutted by a panicking child. 

"I think he's panicking."

"You think?" Tony snapped before he could stop himself. 

Peter's breaths were coming out fast and shallow as he struggled against Tony's grip, his wide eyes fixed on the helicopter in front of them. Tony didn't know what to do, but acting on instinct, he whirled them around so that Peter could no longer see the vehicle that had terrified him so greatly. 

"Come on, Kiddo, I've got you, you're alright," Tony said quietly, silently praying to a god that he didn’t believe in for Peter to be listening to his words, "come on, that's it, breathe with me." 

"No," Peter mumbled, "no." 

"No?" Tony questioned, sinking them both down onto the ground, still keeping a tight hold on the child so he didn’t run. 

"No." Peter repeated. 

Thanks to the sitting position, Peter had ceased most of his struggles to run away, perhaps knowing that he wasn't going to be walked onto the helicopter against his will was enough of a reassurance to give him the mental capacity to listen to reason. 

"No what?" Tony asked. "You gotta give me a little more here, Underoos." 

"No planes," Peter whispered between scared, gasping breaths, "planes crash."

"Actually, Kid, it's pretty rare for them to crash." Tony said, fighting the urge to respond with a sarcastic ‘actually this is a helicopter’. "We were just super unlucky the last time, but that should be our share of plane crashes for the rest of our lifetime."

"Should be." Peter mumbled, of course he would pick up on that.

"Look Kiddo, I'm going to be real with you here," Tony said, tapping Peter's knee and motioning for him to stay put as he shuffled around to face the kid while making sure that he still couldn't see the helicopter, "I'm scared too. Any normal person would be; what we've been through was a lot and it's not something that you can come to terms within a few days. In fact, I doubt we’ve even started to properly process it, given that we’ve been so focused on staying alive."

"So, we don't have to go on the helicopter?" Peter asked, looking up with hopeful puppy eyes, and Tony so desperately wanted to tell him they didn’t, but he couldn’t lie. 

"We do." Tony said, and Peter automatically opened his mouth to protest, only for Tony to quickly cut him off. "I know it sucks. In fact, it's completely shit, but we have to do this, we have to go home." 

"I really wanna," Peter whispered, "I don't wanna be here." 

"I know, but for that we have to get on that helicopter." Tony said, wishing that there was a way for him to tell the kid that they could drive or walk, hell, Tony would even carry him if he could. 

"Just the one?" Peter asked quietly. 

"Probably not," Tony admitted, "this one is going to take us to the nearest hospital and then from there we'll be transported back to my tower by a private plane, where we'll get to see our families."

"My Aunt and Uncle will be allowed in there?" Peter asked hopefully. 

"Yeah, Kiddo, of course they will." Tony promised. 

"I'm still scared." Peter said so quietly that Tony would have missed it if he'd breathed too loudly. 

"I know, and so am I, but you know what?" Peter looked at Tony as though he had all the answers to the universe and for once in his life, Tony understood why parents would move land and sea for their children - there wasn’t anything he wouldn't do for the kid. 

"What?" Peter whispered. 

"You've been so incredibly brave," Tony said gently, "throughout everything we’ve been through, you've stayed strong. There were moments when I was scared and I thought of how strong you were being, and I thought to myself, 'this is the bravest kid I've ever met, he has a strength that could rival some superheroes, so if he can wake up in the morning and give it his all, so can I'. I couldn't have done this without you Kiddo." 

"Really?" Peter asked, wide eyed. 

"Really." Tony confirmed. "Now, do you think you can lend me some of your bravery on the flight to the hospital?"

"I..." Peter paused, his brow furrowing as he thought it over with such intensity that Tony wasn't sure what was running through his mind. "I'll come with you, Mr. Stark." 

"Thanks, Kid." Tony said, relieved that his plan had worked. 

"But I'm not stupid, you know," Peter said, as if he knew what Tony had been thinking, "I know you're just saying nice things to make me come with you." 

"So why'd you agree?" Tony asked. 

"Because I'm not stupid, I'm scared." Peter said, as though it was obvious. 

"Me too," Tony said, "but me and you? We're brave and we stick around like a bad smell."

"A bad smell?" The kid asked, cocking his head to the side with a mildly disgusted look as he thought it through.

"You know? We linger." Tony explained. 

"Ah." Peter said, with a spark of awareness, that quickly faded into apprehension as Dr. Ronen appeared in front of Tony. 

"Are we ready?" She asked. 

Peter shot Tony a look of absolute desperation, one that broke his heart, but they needed to get on that helicopter. They had to.  

"Right, Kiddo, here's what we're going to do." Tony said, a tiny part of him feeling awed and afraid of the way that the desperation filtered away and Peter started to look at him with such trust and confidence, "I'm going to pick you up and I want you to hide your face and keep your eyes closed." 

"All the time?"

"Until I tell you to open them," Tony said, "just keep them closed and listen to me talk."

Gently, he scooped Peter up and the kid instinctually latched onto him and buried his face in his shoulder, hiding his eyes. His breathing quickened as they climbed into the helicopter while Peter was being held tightly.

Tony let out a breath he hadn't realised that he was holding as they made it inside. 

"Keep them closed, I'm just strapping you into a seat." Tony whispered, as he placed Peter down. 

"Mr. Stark?" Peter sounded unsure and on the verge of tears or panic. His breathing was still slightly wheezy from his previous asthma attack. 

"You're alright, I'm going to sit next to you, alright?" Tony said quietly. 

"Ok," Peter whimpered, "we’re on the helicopter now, aren't we?"

Tony swallowed, wondering whether panic would follow his reply, but he knew that the kid already knew, he was just seeking reassurance.

"Yeah, Kid, we are." 

"Alright." Peter said simply, but Tony saw him screw his eyes shut even tighter and the hand that Tony was holding tensed, tiny nails digging into his skin. 

"You're doing great, Kiddo, I’m super proud of you." Tony whispered. 

An hour or so later, Tony cast his eyes over the sleeping kid – exhaustion had overcome him after about twenty minutes of Tony running his free hand through the messy curls -  he was lucky to be alive, they both were after everything that they had been through.

How was it that they had been the ones to live? Tony could see how the kid had deserved to survive but how had he? If there was a deity looking down on him, how could they rationally say that Tony was one of the two people who deserved a second chance? 

Sometimes he would feel a pang of guilt about all those other people who could have still been alive, those people who he’d left on the plane, but then he couldn't say that he regretted saving the kid, because he didn’t and he was so grateful that Peter had been smart enough to make noise to alert someone that he was there and alive. 

Peter mumbled in his sleep and his brow furrowed in discomfort, Tony wondered what sort of things were running through his dreams? Was it a nightmare? Should Tony wake him up? 

No, absolutely not. As he looked out of the window and saw the ground thousands of miles below, he knew that waking Peter would be a mistake, the kid was sleeping – that was a comforting break from the stress of their situation. 

"Would you like a drink, Mr. Stark?" The hostess asked with a polite smile as she held out a first-class menu. 

"No thank you," Tony said quickly, he knew that she was just doing her job, but he was doing pretty well with his abstinence from alcohol, “I’m good with my coffee.”

"Alrighty, if you change your mind, just give me a shout, there's plenty on offer." 

Her flirtatious grin and subtle wink made Tony think that it wasn't only a drink he was being offered.

How time had changed him, previously he would have been totally hammered and all up in her offer, but now he was a committed man and he didn't care for pointless games and three-day long hangovers. 

So instead, he sipped at the lukewarm coffee he had been given a while ago and continued to look at his laptop that was showing him the latest figures for Stark Industries' California headquarters, apparently they were on the up, which was interesting and made him wonder if it was worth expanding the workforce there.

A shudder made the coffee in his cup ripple before it toppled over and spilled all over his computer. 

"Oh fuck!" He cursed, dabbing his suit sleeve on it on impulse, not willing to lose all his work on the flight. Not that he couldn't recover it, he was Tony Stark after all, but he wouldn't be able to do anything until he made it to California, and had the aid of F.R.I.D.A.Y.

"Watch your language, there are children on this plane." A lady with a blond bob said, looking extremely miffed at him for having sworn during the flight. 

"Watch your face." Tony muttered in response, not actually caring that his retort made no sense or that her face twisted as though she had sucked on a lemon.

He expected another snide comment but before she could say anything else, another wave if shuddering overcame the plane, and knocking his cup off the small table completely.

Tony white knuckled it, clinging onto the armrests with all his strength as he forced himself to breathe through the automatic human stress response of turbulence. He was a well-seasoned traveller; he could handle a little shaking.

Except… was it just him or was the plane descending? Surely not, he was almost positive that they were nowhere near California yet, they hadn't been in the air for long enough. Unless... the shuddering, were they making an emergency landing? Was there a problem with the plane? 

Come on, there's no way he was going to survive his ordeal in Afghanistan only to be killed in a plane crash. After all, plane crashes didn't happen to normal people, they just didn't. They were always something that would only be seen on TV, they were rare. 

A mask fell from a compartment in the ceiling of the plane, and Tony's stomach swooped in fear. No, he just had to put it on and breathe, sometimes this was a thing that just happened, especially during turbulence. He snatched it out of the air and hastily pulled it on over his head, the rubber mask scratching uncomfortably against his goatee. 

"Put your masks on," one of the hostesses shouted, her voice muffled by her own mask, and Tony could hear the worry in her voice which only served to fuel his own. 

This was wrong, this was all so very wrong. 

The plane was crashing.

That was suddenly very apparent, and Tony listened to the sounds of couples comforting one another and children and adults alike, sobbing, only to realise that the one person he would want in that moment was Pepper who wasn't there. 

Would he ever see her again? 

What was the last thing that he had said to her? 

Was it good? Was it something that told her how much she meant to him? Was it something heartfelt? Was it something stupid and annoying? Something that she would look back on bitterly after his death as she wished for him to be a better person? 

He wouldn't blame her for wishing for such a thing. 

His stomach swooped uncomfortably as the plane lurched and shuddered on its downward slope. The lights started to flicker overhead and there was a terrifying screeching sound, as though someone was tearing through metal with more metal, and Tony's heart thudded in his chest. He had a heart condition; he wasn't fit to go through this. 

With shaking hands he reached for the blind and pulled it down over the window to block out the outside world, he couldn't bear to watch the ground grow closer and closer, he didn’t want to see his death approaching. So, with one final, silent thought to Pepper about how much he loved her and how sorry he was, he closed his eyes. 

Tony had thought that would be it, that his life would have been over after that, but there he was, sitting in the helicopter and watching the child who had also survived with him sleep. 

Peter. The Kid. Kiddo. Underoos. 

The child who had been so strong and so fierce in the face of such a traumatic experience. When Peter had actually broken down and cried about losing his parents, Tony had felt a part of his heart break. How was he meant to reassure this child who had lost everything? How was he meant to comfort him and tell him that everything would be alright when he wasn't sure? 

"Mr. Stark?" Tony shook his head lightly, bringing himself back into the moment, that name had been so familiar, but the voice was all wrong. 

Tony looked to see Dr. Ronen staring at him with concern, and he gave her an uneasy smile, "you say something, Doc?" 

"I was just saying that we're almost there," Dr. Ronen said, "are you alright?"

"I'm..." Tony pursed his lips, thinking briefly, "going through a lot." 

"Understandable, do you want to talk about it?" 

"No offence, Doc, but not really." Tony said. "I want to wait until I'm home and the kid is home, it's nothing personal but I already have a psychiatrist." 

"I get it." 

They lapsed into a tense silence as the helicopter began its descent. 

Soon, Tony thought to himself, soon we'll be on a plane home, I'll make sure of it. This is nothing more than a pitstop to keep the Doc happy. We need to get home. 

Chapter Text

Peter was carried off the private jet, his face hidden in Mr. Stark's neck as a horde of voices sounded all around him, if it hadn't been for the quiet, "keep your head down, kiddo," Peter would have looked up in shock at the sudden noise.

There was a lot of shouting and requests for Mr. Stark to look at people as well as a fair number of requests to see 'the kid', reporters, Peter's mind supplied as he listened to the loud clicking of cameras.

Of course there would be reporters, Tony Stark - Iron Man - was an incredibly famous person who had defied the odds multiple times and apparently couldn't be killed. He had survived the impossible twice in a row now, and Peter knew that the media would want to get their hands on that exclusive story.

"Tony." A man said, closer than the masses of reporters. 

"Hap, you miss me?" Mr. Stark asked in a shaky voice, he sounded like he wanted to cry but was holding it in for some reason. Maybe because of the reporters. 

"Not at all, I was finally getting some peace and quiet." The man - Hap - said. 

"Well, you know me," Mr. Stark said, "I live to disappoint. Enough of that though, let's get away from these vultures." 

A car door opened, and Peter was placed inside, "once I shut the door, they won't be able to see you, so you can look up and put your belt on." 

THUD

Peter slowly opened his eyes, the car he was in was fancy, he wasn't sure he'd ever sat on leather seats before. Following Mr. Stark's instructions he pulled his seatbelt down around his body and shoved it into the clip quickly. 

It wasn't long before Mr. Stark slid into the seat beside him, plugging in his own seatbelt with an easy grin. 

"Now, Kiddo, this-" Mr. Stark motioned to the man who had been called 'Hap', "-is Happy. He's my driver." 

"And head of security." Happy said with a grumble.

Happy is a funny name, is that his real name? Peter wondered before casting the man an uneasy smile. He was better than the reporters and the masses of doctors at the hospital at least, he didn't seem to care about Mr. Stark's celebrity status, or Peter's being there.

It was nice. 

"Do you have it?" Mr. Stark asked Happy expectantly. 

"Of course, that's what you care about." Happy grumbled before tossing something back towards Mr. Stark. 

"Look at this, Kiddo," Mr. Stark said, wrapping the device around his wrist with a grin. 

Peter peered curiously at what was happening, it seemed like it was just a watch - a fancy one for sure, but still, a watch. Yet... as soon as Mr. Stark twisted his hand in a certain way metal began to form around it. Within a few moments, instead of a hand, Peter found himself staring at a gauntlet. One of Iron Man's gauntlets. 

"That's so cool." Peter breathed out. 

"Isn't it?" Mr. Stark asked. 

Peter had a feeling that Mr. Stark was trying to distract him during the drive with the fancy repulsor, but he didn't care, he was happy to look at it rather than thinking about what was waiting for them at Stark Tower. Or rather, who wouldn’t be waiting for him…

Mr. Stark had been adamant at the last hospital that they were only allowed to check Peter over and make sure he was alright following his asthma attack, and then any further treatment they needed would be done by the medical team at his tower.

Peter understood, or at least he thought he did, as they hadn't been gone that long, his main complaint was that the hospital food sucked and he was still hungry.  

Sure Peter's body still ached and his head was still sore from where he had banged it during the crash, but that was it, and they had been in a crash - there was no way that they would be perfectly alright after that. 

Mr. Stark just wanted to get them home. 

So, Peter had endured some poking and prodding and a nurse had covered his face with a 'nebuliser' which made him breathe in medication that eased his breathing and soothed his lungs, and then they gave him fluids directly into his bloodstream. Finally, even though Mr. Stark was refusing to let them do anything for him, they declared the pair to be safe to fly and Peter was whisked away to an airport - by car, thankfully. 

"The Parkers arrived just as your plane landed," Happy said to Mr. Stark, the words making Peter perk up. 

His Aunt and Uncle were there, they were so, so very close that he could almost feel their hugs already. 

Happy drove them from the airport and after the initial fascination with Mr. Stark's Iron Man gauntlet had worn off,  Peter returned to staring out of the window, watching as the sparse buildings became steadily more and more apparent and before they knew it the city was surrounding them. It was wonderful. 

Peter could see cars and people everywhere, stores with bright signs in their windows overwhelmed him from every direction, and the take-out stores were rife. There was a chance to get something to eat and drink everywhere, it wasn't like he was going to be forced to live on measly cereal bars here, no more icky granola. He was home. He was safe.

There was danger everywhere in New York and yet, Peter had never felt safer in his life as he sat beside Mr. Stark and they made their way to the tower. 

Stark Tower. 

That was another amazing thing for Peter's tired, hungry brain to take in. It was massive, and despite having seen it hundreds of times in the passing, Peter had never been inside. But there he was, sailing through the opened gate and into the underground garage without having to say anything. 

"Come on, Kiddo," Mr. Stark said gently, "let's go see everyone."

Peter carefully followed Mr. Stark through the corridors of Stark Tower, he didn't feel like he belonged in the building. His clothes - that weren't even his own, they were hospital cast offs - were dirty and he was in desperate need of a shower, his hands were grubby and he was afraid that if he touched anything then he would leave behind grubby finger prints. It was not the kind of place for a seven-year-old kid to be. 

"Peter, you alright?" Mr. Stark asked quietly, perhaps seeing the wild look of panic in Peter's eyes. 

"I'm..." Peter trailed off, he didn't even know what he was feeling. 

He wanted to run ahead and hug his last remaining family members, but he also wanted to turn around and bolt for it, he wasn't sure that he was going to be able to keep walking. Once he saw his aunt and uncle standing there it would be official, he wouldn’t ever be going home with his parents.  

"Kid," Mr. Stark paused and knelt down beside Peter so that they were eye to eye, "I know this is a lot, and it's completely normal to feel overwhelmed. This is us finally being home, we're going to see our families and we're finally safe." 

"So why does it feel weird?" Peter asked. 

"Because we've been through a lot, it's going to take a little time to adjust to everything now," Mr. Stark explained, "we can't expect everything to suddenly go back to normal in a day." 

"But will it go back to normal?" Peter asked. 

"Not entirely, but we'll learn to accept a new normal." Mr. Stark said. "Before we know it, we'll be living our new lives without a hitch." 

"What if I can't ever forget?" Peter asked. 

"About the crash?" 

Peter nodded in answer, unable to speak past the sudden lump in his throat. 

"We won't be able to," Mr. Stark said honestly, "that's going to stay with us forever, but that doesn't mean we can't get on with our lives, and we both know that your parents wouldn't want you to hold yourself back from enjoying what the world has to offer because you think you owe them your happiness. Does that make sense?" 

Peter nodded once more, "thanks Mr. Stark." 

"Anytime kid, now shall we go see Pep, Ben and May?" 

For the first time since he was carried onto the helicopter by Mr. Stark, a grin appeared on Peter's face, his dimples reflected in Mr. Stark's coloured glasses. 

"Come on then Underoos." Mr. Stark said, standing up and holding out a hand that Peter didn't hesitate to latch onto. 

"Peter!"

Peter's head snapped up suddenly at the shout, his uncle was moving towards him - quickly - and his aunt wasn't far behind.

The air was knocked out of his lungs as he was pulled into a tight hug, one that hurt his body but soothed his heart, and put plasters on the breaks in his heart.

"Pete, Pete, Pete." His aunt mumbled into his greasy curls as she held him as best she could around his Uncle's arms. 

"Oh, Kiddo, I'm so glad you're here." Uncle Ben whispered. 

"I was scared." Peter admitted, before cursing himself for showing that weakness to his new guardians. 

"Oh, Sweetie," his Aunt May said with tear filled eyes, "so were we. We were absolutely terrified when we learned that your plane didn't arrive in California, and our hearts broke when we thought that we'd lost all three of you." 

"But my mom and dad won't be coming home." Peter said, confused. 

"No, but you did," Uncle Ben said, "and we may not be your mom and dad but we're going to do our best to treat you like a son, alright Kiddo?" 

"Thank you."

"Don- just, you don't need to thank us Pete," Uncle Ben said quietly, "we love you and we want to be here for you, there's nothing you owe to us." 

"I wouldn't have made it without Mr. Stark," Peter admitted, "he carried me out of the plane. I would have been in it when blew up if it weren’t for him."

"I want to meet this man then." Aunt May said with a smile and she reached forward and wiped her thumb under his eyes to rub away the tears, an action that reminded Peter so much of his mom that more immediately fell and replaced the ones she’d cleared. "Do you want to introduce us?"

Peter didn't trust his tight throat enough to speak so he merely nodded and broke himself free of the holds on him. Mr. Stark was standing with a blonde woman, Peter recognised her from the TV - Pepper Potts. She was rubbing his back soothingly as he buried his face in her shoulder and let himself cry. 

Peter cautiously made his way over, and paused a metre away from them, would it be wrong to interrupt? Should he go back to his aunt and uncle? With a glance back at them, Peter realised they were standing in the same position as Mr. Stark and Miss Potts, except his aunt was the one crying. 

Peter was lost, he wasn't sure what to do.

Thankfully, he was prevented from having to make that decision as Miss Potts opened her eyes and spotted him. A gentle smile appeared on her face, that was red and slightly blotchy from crying. She patted Tony's back once, twice, three times and murmured something in his ear that Peter couldn't hear, but he was sure that it had something to do with him as Mr. Stark lifted his head and turned to see Peter.

"Underoos!" He said brightly, looking happier than Peter had ever seen him. "Come here, I want you to meet Pep." 

"Hi Miss Potts." Peter said shyly as he was pulled into Mr. Stark’s side, feeling his shoulders relax a little as he was back beside the adult he trusted most in the room. 

That wasn't to say that he didn't trust his aunt and uncle, because he most definitely did - but he hadn't ever been around them without his parents before. It was strange and just drove home the reality that he wasn't going to see his mom and dad ever again.

"Just Pepper is fine." Miss Potts said kindly, perhaps she was wondering why her boyfriend was parading a kid in front of her. Peter wouldn't blame her if she was. 

"Don't hold your breath, Pep," Mr. Stark said with a gentle laugh, "he's been adamant that he must call me Mr. Stark all the time, even though I told him not to. He has this thing about respect."

Peter grinned, "nah, that's just because you're old."

"Oh, you little shit." Mr. Stark said with narrowed eyes. 

"Tony you can't say that in front of a kid!" Pepper said, sounding scandalised. 

"It's alright, watch." Mr. Stark said, looking to Peter, "remember kiddo, don't-"

"-repeat that," Peter said rolling his eyes, "yeah, yeah, I know." 

"Are you teaching my nephew how to swear, Stark?" Peter heard his Uncle Ben ask, and he turned to face the man guiltily, quickly relaxing when he saw the amused glint in Uncle Ben's eyes. 

"More like teaching him not to listen to anything I say." Mr. Stark said easily. 

"Good luck with that," Aunt May said with a snort, "that kid has been listening to you since he could turn on a TV himself." 

"I haven't been Iron Man for that long." Tony said with a frown of confusion. "Unless you were a late bloomer?" 

"Oh no, early more like it, but he was listening to you, not to Iron Man." 

"C'mon," Peter whined, looking pleadingly at them, "you said you wanted to be introduced, not that you wanted to embarrass me." 

"Kid, I’m your Uncle, you know that I live to embarrass you," Uncle Ben said with a grin, "it's what I do best."

"You're mean," Peter declared with a haughty sniff before he caved at his uncle's exaggerated pout and opened arms for a hug, and yet as he jumped into the man's arms he still muttered a quiet, "you suck."

"Cho is waiting with her team in the Med Bay," Miss Potts said quietly, and Peter was sure that he wasn't meant to hear her words so he just basked in the cuddle he was receiving until Mr. Stark spoke up.

"Hey, Kiddo, you ready to see a little more of this place?" Mr. Stark asked. 

"Meaning, am I ready to get checked over again?" Peter corrected with an arched eyebrow. 

"You're certainly coming out of your shell now we're home," Mr. Stark commented, "but yes, smart ass, I did mean that."

"The last doctor gave me the all clear," Peter said with a pout. 

"Yeah, the all clear to fly home and have a more thorough check out." Mr. Stark said patiently. "Come on, I'll buy you pizza afterwards." 

"Bribery isn't the way to get a kid to do what you want." Aunt May said, giving Mr. Stark an amused smile. 

"Yes, it is." Peter said quickly. "Can I have Hawaiian?" 

"You heathen!" Mr. Stark exclaimed amidst the chuckles from the other members of the room. 

So that was how Peter found himself sitting on yet another medical trolley as he was poked and prodded and checked over. He was sure that his aunt, uncle, and Miss Potts were practically glued to the other side of the door as they waited for the ‘thorough check-up’ to be completed

"I want to clean this wound properly, and I'll be giving you some antibiotics because it looks infected." Dr Cho - a strict lady with gentle eyes - said. "Did you clean it?"

The question wasn't aimed at Peter, "I most certainly did." Mr. Stark said sounding slightly offended that he had been asked that question. 

"Immediately?" Dr Cho asked. 

"Well, no, but we were in a plane crash, there were other priorities." Mr. Stark excused himself. 

“I need to know exactly what you did and when, and I also want to know about this asthma attack."

"He washed it clean with some bottled water." Peter said, hoping to save Mr. Stark the wrath of the doctor. 

"Was there a cloth used?" She asked, seemingly accepting that Peter was the one answering her questions. 

"Yeah, there was a blanket, we ripped some strips off of it." Peter said. 

"A dirty blanket?" 

"There wasn't exactly a washing machine," Mr. Stark muttered. 

"I'm not criticizing your choices; I'm trying to figure out what I'm dealing with." Dr. Cho explained after a second of staring at Mr. Stark impassively. 

"Alright, alright," Mr. Stark muttered. 

"You need to let go of that guilt." Dr. Cho said to him. 

"I don't know what you mean." Mr. Stark said, and even Peter could tell that he was lying.

"You think that the wound being infected is your fault." Dr. Cho said. "But you were stranded in the middle of nowhere with no medical experience or supplies, you did the best you could, and judging by Peter's temperature, this infection really isn't all that bad." 

"I'll live?" Peter asked. 

"You- of course you'll live, silly child," Dr. Cho said, rolling her eyes good-naturedly at him, "I'm too good a doctor for this to do you in." 

"Mr. Stark?" Peter asked quietly, waiting until the man met his eyes to continue talking. "It's really not your fault, you know that right?" 

"Sure." Mr. Stark said, Peter wasn't convinced. 

"You saved my life, Mr. Stark," Peter said honestly, "and you kept me alive even when I was a brat and wouldn't tell you my name." 

Peter winced as Dr. Cho did something that stung his wound.

"Kiddo, I don't blame you at all for not sharing your name, in fact, you thought that I was a stranger, you were incredibly smart not to trust me straight away. Just because I was a good adult, doesn't mean all of them are, so you keep doing your thing and make sure people earn your trust." Mr. Stark said. 

"Deal, but if I'm going to do that," Peter said, "you have to stop blaming yourself for my wound being infected." 

"It really isn't that bad," Dr. Cho agreed. 

"Plus, you carried me out of a plane wreck, and helped me through an asthma attack." Peter said. "Both of those things were more dangerous than my head being a little infected."

"Smart kid." Peter grinned at the doctor's praise. 

"Fine, fine, you win, you little shite." Mr. Stark muttered. "Don't-"

"-repeat that." Peter said with a laugh that made him move under Dr. Cho's grip.

"Stay still, Kid," the doctor said, "I'm almost done here and then I want to hear about this asthma attack."

Peter scowled but remained still under her ministrations, casting Mr. Stark an exasperated look as he accepted that he was going to be poked and prodded for a little longer, but Mr. Stark merely grinned at him without a hint of pity and Peter realised that he didn't actually care. 

He was home, he was safe, he had his aunt and uncle, and he had Mr. Stark. 

Chapter Text

 "-kidding me?" Mr. Stark shouted. 

Peter twiddled his fingers together and appeared to be extremely interested in picking at the nail on his pinkie finger. 

"After everything?" Mr. Stark continued, a vein in his forehead popping out concerningly as he continued his lecture. "Why on Earth wouldn't you tell me about this? What made you think that this would be something that you should be keeping a secret?"

"Mr. Stark, you have a heart condition, maybe you should-" 

"Maybe I should nothing," Mr. Stark snapped, cutting Peter off, "answer my questions." 

"I don't know." Peter mumbled, looking into the homemade goggle eyes of his Spider-Man suit that was lying on the coffee table in front of them, it was hastily put together and repaired by himself so it was kinda shabby looking and most definitely not a masterpiece, but it was undeniably his. 

"You don't know?" Mr. Stark repeated, Peter finally looked up and met the older man's eyes, feeling himself suddenly become winded by the pure concern that he saw there. 

Thankfully, he didn't have to look for long as the pent-up anger and worry got to Mr. Stark and he resumed his pacing alongside the coffee table. 

"I'm sorry." Peter said honestly. "I just- I didn't want you to stop me." 

"How long has this been going on?" 

"Four months." Peter admitted. 

"So, around the time Ben-" Mr. Stark cut off, seeing the pain that flashed across Peter's face. He sighed. "Come here, Kid." 

Peter launched himself into the familiar open arms, breathing in the reassuring smell of Mr. Stark's aftershave. 

"You don't hate me for this?" Peter asked quietly. 

"Kid I could never hate you, we've known each other for seven years now," Mr. Stark said, "you have a bedroom here and you've destroyed my workshop twelve times, and you’ve devoured more Hawaiian pizza than anyone should on my sofa. You can talk to me, you know?" 

"I know I can, it just felt..."

"Like it was too much?" Mr. Stark asked. 

"I didn't want you to think that I was trying to copy you." Peter admitted. 

"Oh, kid," Mr. Stark murmured, "you're too smart to copy me." 

"I think you're a pretty great role model." Peter mumbled. 

"May had asked me to talk to you, about all the sneaking out you've been doing," Mr. Stark said quietly, "is this what you've been leaving out your window for?" 

"I like to make sure Queens is safe." Peter admitted, cheeks burning. 

"Kid, you're fourteen." Mr. Stark told him, as though he didn't already know that fact. 

"So?"  Peter asked with an arched eyebrow. "You were fully planning to recruit me to chase down Mr. Rogers until you realised who I was. If you didn't know me, you still would have tried, don't deny it." 

"You’re right," Mr. Stark said, "I'm pretty desperate and maybe I would have overlooked your age." 

"So, take me with you." Peter said. 

"No way." Mr. Stark said, firm on that. 

"Why not?" Peter whined, great make yourself sound more like a kid why don't you?

"Your Aunt just lost her husband, you lost your Uncle," Mr. Stark said, "I know you're coping well for her and because you think you're to blame - you're not - but I know that grief lingers and I'm not taking a grieving fourteen year old to Germany." 

"But visiting Europe is on my bucket list." Peter whined. 

"Then I'll take you to Italy in the summer." Mr. Stark said, not changing his mind. 

"Ugh," Peter threw himself back on the sofa, staring at the ceiling, "Mr. Stark? You suck." 

"I'm aware." The man said. 

They lapsed into a comfortable silence for a few moments as Peter turned his attention to the muted TV that was showing a Scrubs rerun. He hadn't expected Mr. Stark to figure out his secret so quickly, and really that was Peter's fault, he should have known not to doubt Mr. Stark's intellect, he should have been more careful with his suit. 

"What going through that head of yours?" Mr. Stark asked. 

"I was thinking that it was dumb to keep my suit in my wardrobe." Peter admitted. 

"Yeah," Mr. Stark agreed, "we need to figure out something else."

"Wait!" Peter said suddenly, his head snapping up. "You won't stop me from being Spider-Man?" 

"Spider-Man? More like Spider-Baby." Mr. Stark muttered to himself before rolling his eyes and giving Peter a look. "No kid, I'm not going to stop you, even though I think you're insane, I'm going to build you a better suit and make sure that you're being safe." 

"Really?" Peter asked. "That's awesome." 

"Now, come on, talk to me." Mr. Stark said. "How did you become Spider-Kid?" 

"Spider-Man." Peter whined, "and it was on my school trip earlier in the year, I was bitten by a radioactive spider."

"I told you Oscorp was evil." Mr. Stark muttered. 

"That's all you have to say to that?" Peter asked. 

"It's Oscorp." Mr. Stark repeated. 

"Yeah I know, it's pretty hard for me to forget that fact now." Peter said.

"Your aunt doesn’t know?" Mr. Stark asked 

"No, and you can't tell her." Peter said quickly. "She might try and stop me, and I was born to do this." 

"Actually, you weren’t," Mr. Stark said, "you were bitten at fourteen years old, you weren't born to be Spider-Man." 

"Maybe I was born to be bitten." Peter muttered petulantly. 

"Kid." Mr. Stark muttered as though he was physically pained by Peter's idea of destiny. "I'm a scientist."

"Yeah and we have survived the impossible and do the improbable." Peter said. "There's something more than sheer dumb luck at play there." 

"I'm disowning you." Mr. Stark declared. "The Bugle was right." 

"In which instance?" Peter asked with a cheeky grin. 

"You are a menace." 

"The worst menace in New York, actually." Peter corrected him. 

"Exactly, that's what I said." Mr. Stark said before sighing and throwing himself down onto the sofa dramatically. "Your aunt is going to kill me." 

"So, don't tell her." Peter said, wishing that it had come across blasely, but knowing that he sounded desperate. 

"Kid..." Mr. Stark muttered. 

"Please?" Peter begged. 

"Kiddo, she deserves to know." 

"She won't let me be Spider-Man." Peter said.

"She'll be worried about you for sure, but we both know that she loves and supports you unconditionally." Mr. Stark said. "She'll be more likely to let you continue being Spider-Kid if you're mature enough to tell her about it yourself rather than waiting for her to figure it out."

"She won't." Peter said. "I'm careful."

"You're really not." Mr. Stark said. "Once I started looking, I knew the truth within a few minutes." 

"Really?" Peter asked. 

"Oh yeah, kid, you’re terrible with secrets." Mr. Stark said honestly. 

"I'm not that bad." Peter complained. 

"You're actually the worst." 

"I just... I don't want her to be disappointed." Peter admitted. 

"Why would she be?" 

"Because... I had these powers when Ben- when the guy- when it happened." Peter said. "I could have stopped it from happening, but I panicked and froze." 

"Oh, Kid." 

"It's my fault he died." Peter admitted, saying his most heart-breaking secret out loud. 

"Kid, that was not your fault," Mr. Stark said, pulling Peter's chin up so that he was forced to meet his mentor's eyes, "no, come on, look at me. That was no one's fault but the guy with the gun's." 

"But-"

"No." Mr. Stark said adamantly. "No 'buts', there is nothing you can blame yourself for here." 

"I guess." Peter mumbled, not entirely believing his mentor. 

"I can read you like a book, Kiddo," Mr. Stark said, "but I'll convince you that it's true soon enough, after all, I'm Tony Stark. I'm always right." 

"But-"

"Nope," Mr. Stark said once again. 

Peter sighed, "when do I have to tell May?"

"No time like the present." Mr. Stark said. 

"No way!" Peter protested. "That's not fair, I need to prepare myself, go out for a final patrol, make the most of my last few days as Spider-Man."

"Kid, come on, I'm coming with you and it's all going to be fine." 

"How do you know.?" Peter asked. 

"Because, Kiddo, you are inimitable, there is no one else in the world that can do what you do. Not because you're Spider-Man, or because you survived a plane crash with Iron Man, but because you have a moral compass that would put anyone to shame. You do the right thing and look out for the little guy, you've been through more than any child should ever have to go through and yet you’ve still got a smile on your face and a kind word to say for anyone you meet." Mr. Stark said, nothing but honesty and love shining in his eyes. "I'm by your side always kiddo, you're the best of all of us."