Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Prologue

The Eclipse That Stole The Son

March 2004

Rhodey smashed at the metal door with his bare fists like it would somehow, against all odds, come crashing down. Tony on the other hand, could only watch ahead, dazed, frozen in place as his lungs heaved and chimed like broken machinery. His legs were trembling with such force that he was compelled to his knees.

They thumped to the floor violently.

He felt nothing.

”These assholes really think they can lock us up in our own home?” Rhodey said through gritted teeth, pushing at the door with his palms.

He should be helping. He knew he should be helping, but Tony was paralysed. The adrenaline was pulsating so loud it felt like his heart had traversed to his brain and all he could hear was a perpetual thump thump thump.

His vision was shrouded with a vail of painful anxiety and the only words that he could focus on were, he was failing. His child was out there all alone and he was failing.

Tony stared vacantly at the puddle of water which was swelling around him from when they were both attacked by the sprinklers. He was soaked to the bone; his vest and Pajama pant’s three shades darker than they should be. Nonetheless, he wasn't shivering from the cold. He wished he was shivering from the cold.

”Tony...” Rhodey implored. ”Tones.”

He had said his name at least several times by now but Tony couldn't bring himself to speak. His friend’s inferential plea for him to wake the fuck up was white noise. Each word sounded hollow, buzzing in the back of his skull. A withered reminder that he was real, as much as he didn't want to be.

”Tones, listen to me”, Rhodey crouched in front of him, gently putting a hand on his shoulder like he was an animal ready to lash out. Tony just looked lifelessly ahead, his eyes glazed over. ”I know you're scared—terrified—but you have to keep it together. You have to keep it together for him.”

Tony exhaled shakily, surprised that he had any air to let out. ”You were right. All of you. You said that I couldn't be a father. You were right.” The words tasted foreign in his mouth.

”No Tony”, Rhodey reprimanded. ”We said those things before we saw how much you love that kid. You proved us wrong when you got your act together for your son.”

”My son”, Tony spoke firmly despite the way his voice cracked in grief. ”Is gone. I have nothing. Zip. Zero. Nada. I failed him. Failure.”

“We don't know that.” Rhodey reasoned. He sounded as though his voice-box was crawling over eggshells—desperate to reach out and grab him, but too uneasy to so much as be in the same room.

Tony didn't say anything in response. He didn't think he could. It felt like a snake had coiled itself around his throat, only allowing him one word answers.

Raindrop’s pelted at the streets outside of the tower like bullets; integrating with the sound of the ongoing shooting coming from a few floors below. Every now and then, a particularly hostile drop of rain would whack a sheer glass window. It was as though the world was mocking him; jabbing a dainty finger as if to say ’We have him! We have your son!’

Perhaps it was karma. Retribution for all of the awful decisions he had ever made: the extensive reckless behaviour, the drinking, and the casual bitterness tossed towards the people he cared about. As a result, the universe was trying to seize the one good thing Tony had. His opportunity to be a better man, and a better father than Howard could ever be.

”He’s alone out there. He's too fragile to be alone out there.” Tony whispered, his voice hoarse and raw like it had been overused, even though he had barely spoken since the whole ordeal had begun.

”He’s with Cap Tones. He’s with Steve. You know, that despite all of his perfect faults, Steve would do anything protect him. I know you know that.” Rhodey conversed slowly, emphasising every word to Tony.

”If he can't—”

“He will.” Rhodey stressed, his face creased in grief and longing. However, Tony had known his best friend for enough time to read between the lines. The longing in Rhodey’s face wasn't from trying to reach Tony, it was from trying to believe his own words.

Rhodey couldn't guarantee his son’s safety. On every other occasion, his candid friend would have been core strikingly honest—never once making a promise he couldn't keep. But this time, Rhodey had made a broken vow and Tony understood why.

The incredible ’Tony Stark’ looked as though he was about to crumble into a dishevelled pile of clay if anyone so much as looked at him wrong.

”These people Rhodey, they're not...they won't...they aren't good people.” He rasped out, trying to breathe around the ginormous rock lodged in his throat. The shooting was getting louder.

Rhodey’s head tilted downwards like he couldn’t bring himself to look into Tony’s eyes and acknowledge the love which had so quickly shifted to pain. ”I know...I know but— ”

The two men were abruptly cut off as the imperishable door in front of them was practically torn off its hinges with a clang. Both of the men tightened their stances as they readied themselves for a fight. Which in hindsight, probably wasn't the best course of action considering neither of them owned a suit. Neither of them knew what it meant to be a hero.

(Not that they needed to. They should have known that at that moment, only one person could have utilised such extreme force with their bare hands.)

Everyone lingered in temporary stillness, not daring to speak as the figure continued to face the door which he had just slammed shut. His blonde hair looked unkempt from the back. Slight traces of matted blood—which marked his cheekbone—were only just visible due to the way his head was angled to the left.

The robust man turned hesitantly as if he was ashamed to so much as look at the pair. As he looked up, Tony couldn't help the gasp that escaped his lips. Standing in the doorway was Steve. Steve who was completely alone—with no delicate baby cradled in his gigantic arms.

No delicate baby in sight.

In the initial turmoil, Tony couldn't understand the absence of his son, the clogs in his brain moved in slow motion. The whole notion of time had become meaningless.

He scoured the floor behind Steve as if his one-year-old son had somehow crawled to him, before finally, he looked up. The realisation dawned on him like an eclipse; the decaying darkness hiding the sun. Hiding his son. Because his boy wasn't there.

”Where is he? Steve? Where's my son Rogers!” Tony barked. He shakily raised himself up from the floor, his knees almost buckling. Rhodey clung on to his elbow like he was a patient who had just wondered out of hospital.

Soft glints of moonlight flickered through the rain specked windows, highlighting the dull grey in Steve’s eyes. It was as if the radiant blue had physically been drained from the soldier. He looked exhausted; with sunken ashen eye bags, and his pale lips pressed so firmly together it was like he was afraid to speak. To breathe.

”Tony.” His name came out in a whisper of breathlessness. It sounded like Steve was praying for something. For someone.

”Tony...” he repeated again, sounding like a broken record.

Part of Tony didn't want Steve to speak. To confirm his worst fear. Because if he did, nothing would ever be the same. The universe would tilt on its axis and all the happiness, all the life, would trickle away. Evaporate into plumes of ash and dust.

“I’m...I'm so sorry Tony”, Steve choked. “I’m so sorry.”

The world tilted.

12 Years Later 

Pepper sighed, mechanically stapling various sheets of paperwork together and placing them into organised piles on her desk. She was beginning to lose her patience.

” Tony.” Pepper said his name like a warning, though even she could no longer disguise the hint of desperation.

” Pepper.” Tony mimicked. He reached forward to take a swig of her steaming cup of coffee, only to scowl as she batted his hand away. Like he was an angsty teenager.

“There’s too much sugar in it anyway. I didn't want it”, he grumbled. ”I don't want diabetes type three.”

She rolled her eyes, though there wasn't any real heat behind it. “There’s no such thing and even if there was, you still don't have diabetes type one and two.”

”Yeah, because I don't drink coffee with my sugar.” He murmured, not bothering to suppress his juvenile frustration.

Pepper glanced up at him, her eyebrows raised. This was a facial expression which Tony had gotten habituated to over the years and as always, he didn't falter, his stone face fused in defiance. Unmoving and determined.

Pepper placed her work down to give the mechanic her full attention. ”I just don't understand why? Help me understand Tony.”

He knew he had a tendency to be a little trying sometimes, but this wasn’t one of those times. He had given his reason countless times, yet he still felt like he talking to a wall.

”I don’t want to.” He repeated curtly, adjusting his tinted glasses.

”Why are you being so difficult?” Pepper questioned, not unkindly. She sounded curious. And slightly exasperated. ”It's one hour of your life. Do you think you could spare an hour?”

Earlier, she had told him that he had to go to a science fair at one of the major STEM schools in Queens. Mid...city? Midtown? Needless to say, he was utterly opposed to the idea; immediately shutting it down. It’s not that he wasn't eager about science (obviously), or the undoubtedly extraordinary ideas that the future generations were birthing. There was no polished justification as to why Tony didn't want to go. He just...didn’t.

’Can’t I just send a paycheck?’ He had asked in a typical Tony Stark manner, with a nonchalant wave of his hand. ’You know? Give all STEM schools advanced equipment. Better education for aspiring minds.’

Pepper didn’t disagree with the idea. However, simply stated they could do both. Something about how ’physical interaction would exhibit sincerity.’

Tony sniffed. ”Nope. No can do Potts. I don't like kids.” He stated bluntly, reclining in his chair and giving no further explanation.

I don’t like kids.

Pepper’s heart cracked at the proclamation, a small voice in the back of her mind reminding her that this wasn't always true. That there was a time—if only briefly—when Tony would have died to keep a kid happy.

Her eyes softened a little in sympathy and she leant a little further across the desk. ”You just have to take a look at a couple of projects and bat your eyes for the camera. You'd be in and out. Unless you'd rather attend a board meeting with the US governors?”

”I thought I just said I didn't like kids.”

Pepper scoffed, the irritation making a reappearance. ”Well then maybe you should stop acting like one.”

”Wow”, Tony clutched his chest dramatically. ”Ouchie. That was uncalled for. Hey F.R.I, wasn't that uncalled—”

”Tony.”

”Pepper.”

They were going in circles and at this rate, Pepper guessed it would be at least another half-an-hour before she got through to him.

Tony on the other hand, completely disagreed—confident that she would in no way, shape or form, break him. Nope. No way. Absolutely not. She had compelled him into year-long meetings, interviews, press conferences, and that barely scratched the surface. Spending the day in an odorous high school, brimming with overly-hormonal kids who pretend to have the emotional range of a teaspoon? That's where he drew the line. He had drawn the line.

It took her fifteen minutes.

”And here is ABC’s Laura Peñita’s...

Tonight in Queens NY, we can see the dramatic surveillance footage which shows the terrifying crash; a private Charter bus comes barreling through a queens intersection, slamming into –”

Peter gulped vigorously from where he was sat cross-legged on one of the kitchen chairs. His eyes occasionally flickered up to the TV like he was mentally inclining it to switch off.

He was silently delivering prayers to Thor or any deity that might be listening that they wouldn't mention Spider-Man. More specifically, Spider-Man’s absence. It was bad enough hearing about the horrific incident itself without having the extra the guilt churning in his gut.

His other half, his spider half, had only been a few blocks away when the incident had taken place. He had no way of knowing that a bus was ploughing down the streets and he was too far to sense any danger. Still, that didn't mean that it didn't fucking hurt.

If only.

If only I’d been better. If only I was good enough. If only. If only. The two words were set on replay like a broken record; scratchy and sore against his chest. Now it was just a count down until the daily bugle branded him as a ’Failure nemesis. A mask to hide the coward.’

”You ever see anything like that happening? You turn and run the other way.” His aunt declared, drawing him back to reality. She used one of the plates she was washing to gesture to the TV.

Peter frowned as though it was obvious, but couldn’t stop his gaze from shifting to his lap. He dreaded to think of May’s reaction to him being Spider-Man. Even when he was a small child, she had always been overprotective of him; not that he always minded. It was nice to have someone who cared about him unconditionally.

Peter remembered a time when he was only six...maybe seven. He and May had gone to the mall to pick out school supplies. Ben was unable to come due to work so it had just been them. Maybe it was that sense of independence that drove him to do what he did.

He had seen someone who looked just like his mom. Just like Mary. Or at least what he thought she looked like through the photos that he had seen. Either way, something possessed his seven-year-old brain to go after the woman and tell her that she looked just like his mommy. Just like Mary. Perhaps there was even a twisted part of him wanted to check to make sure that it wasn't actually her, despite all the people that had explained to him that he didn't have a mom because his mom was in the sky with his dad. ’Skypeople’ he’d call them. For as long as he could remember, Peter had wanted to be a sky person just so he could see his parents.

May had been beside herself with worry, searching for hours when she had finally found the lost boy. The pain and panic was etched on to her face clear as day. She had grabbed his shoulders, shaking him like she was fixing something that had fallen out of place—or at least that's what little Peter had thought. He'd promised never to scare her like that again.

He never wanted to break that promise.

”Yeah yeah yeah”, He agreed, nodding his head hard enough to make his curls bounce. ”Totally.”

She smiled, seemingly happy with his response as she set down the dishtowel she was using to dry cutlery.

Ordinarily, he would have assigned himself to help out. However, recently patrol had become depleting for the red-masked vigilante; blame it on the rising obsession with stealing bicycles.

He may be Spider-Man, but he was still a teenager. A wretched, exhausted, hormonal teenager. With superpowers. Which—on bad days—made him feel like someone had spewed diet coke and mentos inside his vibrating brain. One more mento and Peter was seriously concerned that he’d implode.

”So little man, you looking forward to the science fair tomorrow?”

”I guess”, Peter shrugged, intently eyeing his bowl of lucky charms as if they were the most interesting thing in the world. ”And please don’t call me that May...” He whined.

”Oh I'm sorry”, May placed her hands over her heart, “I meant my extremely large man.”

Peter winced, shaking his head hastily enough to give him whiplash. “Nope that’s worse. That’s so much worse.”

May flashed the boy a spirited grin, whilst simultaneously giving him a soothing squeeze on the shoulder. She manoeuvred herself to the chair opposite.

”So”, She hummed, swiftly untying her hair and allowing it to fall. An attribute she often did when she had either burnt food or was on the verge of a pep talk. ”What’s going on?”

”Hmmm? Oh, you know? Just...eating breakfast.” He hummed prodding at his food.

”You know you can't do that with your eyes sweetie?” May said, winking at him.

”Har-har” Peter deadpanned. He swirled the cereal with his spoon.

Her smile tugged into a small frown. ”I thought you were excited about the science fair?”

”I am!” He squeaked in defence, inwardly cursing at how many octaves his voice went up. ”I am...I just. I don't know? I'm second-guessing myself. Maybe my projects not as good as I thought it was...”

Truthfully, he wasn't solely worried about the project itself. He knew his idea was good. However, it also held an element of risk. For him to be the only person on record who was able to “re-create” Spider-Mans webbing...well it may turn a few heads. He may be a kid—a small and scrawny one at that—but people were always ambiguous. There was only so much he could use his ridiculously high IQ as his green card, before someone looked too closely.

”Your kidding right?” May asked incredulously. Peter’s lip twitched, but he remained silent. ”Sweetheart, you told me you were able to re-create Spider-man’s webbing! No other scientist has even come close, you realise that right?”

May paused briefly to read his face, clearly not finding what she was looking for. She continued. ”Most people would have used that for money or fame. But not you. You came up with a humble and truly incredible idea to use it in another way. A way that can help people.”

This caused Peter to crack a fresh smile; Aunt May was always able to cast them on his face as easily as a magic trick. If he was risking a few turned heads, for the sake of helping people and doing something good, it had to be worth it.

”My hero.” She bent forward to pinch his cheeks. He didn't try to bat her hands away. He didn't want to. Instead, he sighed in content; the guilt and overall exhaustion fizzling into something else. Something a little less painful.

Maybe something good would come out of tomorrow?

”—been following Spider-Man’s litigation for many months, leaving the NPD with the question: friendly neighbourhood hero? Or menace? Where was he when the bus crashed?”

Maybe.

Chapter Text

He stood—or more accurately bounced—behind his stand. The convention area had hastily become packed, filled with a variety of kids. Science techies who scurried around, lugging project carts larger than themselves behind them.

Like ants, Peter thought. Ant’s hauling food back to their colonies.

Consequently, he was feeling a little out of place. Okay...significantly out of place. On his teetering table, he possessed no more than his single rickety book bag and poster board.

Although his project was undeniably impressive, Peter worried that nobody would even come close enough to see it. Not that he’d blame them. Obviously, college professors would be far more drawn to people like Flash’s set up.

The bully had only been bragging about his project for two weeks. All whilst disparaging Peter’s. He claimed that he had created the perfect flashlight. One which could be used without battery’s; instead operating solely through the heat of the human hand. Something about Peltier tiles and ambient air. And google, Peter added, though not out loud. Never out loud.

Nedless to say, ’Flash’s flashlights’ were the talk of the room. The white twinkling spotlights stroked every crevice they could find. Glinting like medals.

MJ, who was only there to observe, had kindly offered to ’glamorise Peter’s minimalistic composition’ with some of her drawings. Now, only twenty minutes later, his poster board was cascading with colourful Spider-Man cartoons. Initially the new members had offered him some comfort, but now Peter wasn't so sure. He was beginning to realise how indisputably sad they looked.

How did she even manage to make Spider-man look that sad? He wondered. I wear a mask...

Suddenly he was really wishing he had said mask. It would give him stability. Something to hide behind. Especially when none one other then—

”Ned, stop touching it!” Peter swatted his friends hand away from the vile of web fluid. He was conscious that he was radiating anxiety to the entirety of the room.

“But dude, come on! It’s Spider-Man’s webbing! Literally. How am I not meant to touch it?” Ned asked in disbelief.

”Yeah I know. I made it.” Peter snapped.

Remorse prowled his veins as he watched his friend deflate slightly. He couldn't help it. He felt so exposed. So vulnerable.

”Hey, how about I make another batch after the fair?” He reasoned, softening his tone. ”You can keep it for...I don’t know, sentiment.”

”Awesome.” Ned breathed in awe, all the previous exhilaration reimbursing like a lightbulb. ”I still can’t believe Tony Stark is coming to this thing! Ironman is going to breathe the same air as me!” He stage whispered. A few heads turned towards them.

Peter shifted slightly, eyes roaming the area. He shouldn't feel this nervous. Why did he feel more uneasy at a science fair, than he did fighting criminals? ”Um, I don't think it works that way man...”

Ned continued like Peter hadn't said anything. “Maybe he’ll see your webbing...then introduce you to Spider-Man, and then you can introduce me to spider-man, and then we’ll both be friends with Spider-Man.”

Peter’s lips flickered into a faint smirk. ”You know saying his name that many times won't make him appear out of nowhere, right?”

”Shut up...” Ned muttered, only half joking. Peter grinned.

Okay, he internally encouraged. This is good, you’re good, it's all good.

If only he could believe that. 

”Okay team!” Mr Harrington clapped his hands together, brushing them together like he was trying to start a fire. ”You should all have your projects ready. Remember that Tony Stark is coming to our fair. I still don't understand why, but it's a very big deal so please be on your best behaviours. No starting fires. We can't afford to have a student getting hurt...again.” He finished with a discontented sigh.

Gradually people began to file into the room like ducks to water. Mothers, fathers, friends, professors—all browsing the stalls. Not that they were who Peter was searching for. Parallel to the rest of the science committee, all eyes were scanning eagerly. Their child-like enthusiasm bubbling up and longing for a glimpse of Tony Stark. Peter’s childhood hero.

Suddenly the surge of anxiety returned; countering the little calm Peter had managed to scavenge. His hero was going to be in the same room as him. He was going to ask the students questions. He might even glance in Peter’s direction. God, he sounded like Ned.

”You’re radiating anxiety. It's not good for your mind.” A disinterested MJ spoke up. Despite her calm and collected tone, Peter nearly jumped out of his skin. He whipped his head back. When the hell did she get there?

She leant against his poster board, her curly strands tickling her face as she nestled herself in a book. It looked as though she had been stood their forever—a monument in a museum. You’d think he’d be used to having her seemingly appear out of nowhere by now. Especially with enhanced senses. Apparently not.

”Yeah...I mean...no—I don't want to be anxious.” He stuttered.

”Then don't be.”

”What? But that doesn't— ”

”If you look less like your having a mid-life crisis, more people will come to your stand.” She shrugged like it was the most conspicuous thing in the world. Her gaze remained fixed in her book.

”Says the person who drew a sad Spider-Man. Lots of them. Lots of sad Spider...men.” Peter’s face furrowed as his words trailed off; realising that there was no way to say Spider-Man plural, without sounding ridiculous.

”My drawings are based off real life.” She smoothly closed her book, strolling away before Peter got the chance to ask what the heck that meant.

It had been Twenty-six minutes.

Twenty-six minutes and there was still no sign of his idol. Not that he was counting...

Peter’s face was officially one lip tug away from crestfallen. The disappointment was etched onto his face loud and clear. His hands had even tucked themselves into either armpit like he often did when he was feeling uncomfortable.

Most of the other students had moved on from their avid wonder, no longer scrutinizing every corner of the room. Instead, everyone seemed too invested in showing off their projects to professors and general members of the public.

A few professors had actually spoken to Peter, all of them impressed by his project and offering a multitude of amazed praises. Of which, the boy had responded to with some flustered ’thank you’s’ and a sheepish rub of his nape. He had never been great at taking compliments and constantly cringed at his replies. At one point, a woman had commended him for his ’fascinating project’. To which he replied ’You too.’

Despite the appreciation, Peter couldn't help but feel a little subdued. He had been determined not to humiliate himself in front of his hero, even with the nagging voice in his mind reminding him that he was a loser. Now he might not get the chance to prove himself.

It's not like it would be a huge revelation if the man didn't arrive. He was Tony Stark after all. The last place he’d want to be is a high school.

Peter released a breath of air through his nose and allowed his body to sag against the table. He squeezed his eyes shut to focus and hopefully avoid a sensory overload. He had been having a lot of those recently—always at the worst of times. However, as he did, a group of twelfth graders swooped past Peter’s stall, whispering eagerly.

”—see the car parked outside?”

Peter perked up at that, his head tilting to one side like he was a dog.

”It has to be him! Only Tony Stark would own a beast like that, man. That shit looked like it's more expensive than my girlfriends— ” Okay, that's enough of that. He tuned out, leaning past the multitude of heads to sneak a glimpse.

As if on cue people begun to crowd around the entrance, followed by a few occasional clicks and flashes. It was safe to assume the lights didn't belong to any of ’Flash’s flashlights’. Peter felt his heart skip a beat.

Slowly the crowd swayed, moving alongside the singular figure like a sea of fish. Once every few minutes the sound would heighten, filling the room with shuttering cameras and roaring questions. Then, as if someone was hushing them, the noise would decline into murmurs.

Peter realised with a jolt, exactly what was happening. Tony Stark was going from station to station.

He sucked in a sharp breathe of air, gripping onto the sides of his table and mentally cursing every swear he knew. Mr Harrington had never mentioned this part of the visit. No. Peter had assumed that the man would have a brief glance around, before leaving as swiftly as he came. The teen had never imagined anything as intimate as this.

For a split second the crowd parted, leaving Peter with a perfect view. He watched as Tony shook hands with someone in the decathlon team, his press smile plastered in place. The boy he was talking to seemed nervous at first—trembling at the mere sight of the billionaire. However, Peter couldn't help but watch as he straightened up, gradually opening up and giving a detailed and lengthy inscription of his project.

Tony seemed warmer than Peter had expected—smiling and nodding as each student spoke. Although, at one point Peter did spot him wiping his hand on his designer pants after a handshake. Not that he blamed him; school kids practically invented germs.

Peter suddenly registered how out of place he truly was. Whilst Tony Stark and his bodyguards were tucked away in luxurious suits, he was immersed in depleted clothes from a thrift shop. He just had to hope that his brain would outweigh his class.

It seemed like he had only blinked and the crowd was one station away from him. God, he felt sick. His leg was bouncing so violently it was beginning to ache.

Perhaps he'll just walk past me? Peter mentally disputed, latching his teeth onto his bottom lip. It's not like I'm anything special. Maybe he'll want to skip my turn so he can leave quicker.

”Hey kid.”

Peter’s face shot up in ambush, his mouth hanging open. His face burning. Tony Stark was looking at him through yellow-tinted glasses; his grin tight as reporters gathered around. It looked like they were trying to swallow him.

Beside him also stood three hefty bodyguards, one of which Peter recognised as the well-known ’Happy Hogan.’ All of them looked like they could kill with a punch. Or were distant children of the hulk. Either way, the boy found it somewhat amusing considering who they were guarding.

Despite the teen’s obvious panic, Tony remained unfazed, waiting for the boy to speak.

”Hey...um—hi”, Peter stuttered, already chastising himself for saying hello twice. Seriously, who does that. ”I-I-I’m Peter. Parker. Peter Parker.”

”Tony.” The man smiled, gesturing to himself.

”So, Peter...Parker”, He added, causing the reporters to give a light-hearted laugh. ”Tell me, what's your MO? You’re project. The whole shebang.” He moved his hands in a circular motion.

”Oh, well I... it’s—”

”Actually, you know what?” He cut in, not unkindly. Still, it was enough to temporarily stop Peter’s heart. “Tell me something about yourself. Anything you like. Favourite food? Colour? Gives us more than a first name basis.”

I’m Spider-man. Peter nearly choked at the thought, imagining the man’s face if just up and said it. Not that he’d believe him, or that he wanted to announce his identity. Ever.

”I-I guess, I’m kind of science crazy?” He decided, wishing that it didn’t come out like a question.

“Aren’t we all?” The man chuckled, motioning towards the journalists. They laughed in response, though Peter couldn't help but wonder if Tony was discreetly mocking them. Calling a mob of nosey seagulls ’scientists.’ It wasn't like Tony Stark was known for loving the press.

Either way, the thought sprung a small smile to Peter’s lips, some of his nerves easing away.

”Yeah, I um, I like to build things. I always have, recently though I’ve become more interested in other kinds of science. Specifically, Spider-Man’s webbing?”

Tony gave a single nod, “That makes two of us.”

Peter had to bite his tongue to stop his mouth dropping open in awe. It had never occurred to him that Tony Stark would be interested in Spider-man, let alone his webbing.

It took him a moment to recover from the initial shock, before he cleared his throat. “Y-yeah. Cool. Um so, once I had figured out the formula, I um started creating the webbing in my chemistry class – “

“Hey, hey. Hold up.” Tony raised his hand, shredding his glasses from his face.

Peter hadn’t inferred how much of a barrier they had created, now feeling like the man was staring clean into his soul. He fought to suppress a wince, the nagging thoughts now telling him that he’d messed up somehow.

”You were able to recreate Spider-man’s webbing?” Tony looked at him incredulously.

”Oh, well, yeah? I mean yes.”

”That’s...”

Foolish? Irresponsible? A waste of time?

”Impressive”, Oh. ”No really. Jesus kid, I've been trying to figure out his formular for months. How old did you say you were?”

”I-I didn't but I'm fifteen.”

”Are you people hearing his?” He gaped at the reporters, a few heads nodding in agreement. ”A fifteen-year-old kid!” He looked back to Peter, who swore that he saw a flicker of Tony Stark’s real and sincere smile. Not his press smile.

”Can I?”

”Oh uh sure. Yes.” He gently slid the vial of fluid across the table, gulping harshly.

Tony bent down so he was eye level with the vile; the reporters shuffling back to create more space. At least they were somewhat spatially aware.

The man’s gaze shifted to behind the teen, his eyebrows raised as Peter tried his best not to flinch. ”Nice drawings.” He commented.

”Oh, thanks. Well I mean, my friend—she drew them.”

Tony brushed past the comment, seemingly in a world of his own. ”Hmmm... webbing seems even more resilient than Spider-man’s himself.” He reached forward, plucking at the formula with his finger as if it was a guitar string. ”Tensile strengths off the charts, there's no doubt about it. How are you doing that?”

”Oh! Well I made some minor adjustments. Just the odd alterations— ”

*Ping* The outcry of Peter’s phone abruptly interrupted him. Although the noise was fairly quiet, to him it sounded as though a drill was hammering into his skull. 

”S-sorry”, Peter sputtered meekly, his ears burnt bright crimson as he reached into his pocket to switch the device off. Tony shrugged him off with a dismissive wave of his hand, though Peter was sure he heard the man mutter something under his breath about millennials.

Not wanting to correct the genius and say that he was actually Gen Z, he continued. “So, I um, I modified the formula of each nano-strand, making each strand of silk thinner than human hair...”

”Hmmm.” Tony hummed, unable to stop his lips from flourishing into a grin. A grin that virtually sung ’I've just found a child genius.’ Peter would be lying if he said he wasn't feeling overwhelmed with the sudden praise.

Tony leant back, tapping his fingers against the table. ”So”, He sniffed, directly facing Peter. ”You’ve simulated an improved version of a near-impossible formula? You've cracked the code, put yourself out there? What I wanna know is why. Why do all this?”

Peter thought for a moment, trying to find the right words. ”I-I guess, no I know, that I wanted to do something else with what I had. Something better. I-I was thinking about using the webs for a different purpose. Not all of us can swing from ten story buildings, you know?”

The crowd gave a gentle laugh. Tony huffed warmly, his lip twitching. ”I do.”

”I was thinking about the healthcare system and their supplies? My aunts a nurse you see so...” Peter trailed off, worried that he was rambling too much. However, his hero’s face was creased in interest, listening carefully to the teens every word. He nodded his head for Peter to continue. “N-Normal bandages are made from, um, vinyl, which is also the most toxic plastic for the environment. They’re...um also not biodegradable? And they aren't water-proof, so they’re less affective.” Peter hesitated, unaware of the newfound softness in Tony’s eyes.

”So you thought of using your new and improved webs instead?”

”Yeah, exactly. It's probably got some problems. It's really not the greatest—”

”It’s incredible”, Tony intruded. His voice held no doubt or clouded judgment, only reverence and certainty. ”More than that it’s thoughtful. I haven't met a lot of scientists with a heart as big as their brain. You’re going on to do big things kid.”

A heart as big as their brain. You’re going on to big things kid.

Peter blinked, frightened that Tony would disappear; the whole conversation no more than a fantasy. That, and he needed to rapidly discard the moisture building in his eyes.

”Thank you, sir... ” *Ping* Peter jerked, grinding his teeth in frustration. Suddenly he wanted to hurl his phone into the ocean.

”Sounds like someone is yearning for your company kid.” Tony gestured to Peter’s pocket with his head. The teen wanted the ground to swallow him whole.

”I–It’s probably just T-Mobile or something, sorry I’ll just...”

*Ping*

Great, now he sounded like a lonely loser.

*Ping*

A lonely loser who couldn't even switch off a phone.

”It’s okay. You’re good. Go a head, it might be your girlfriend. Never a good idea to ignore a woman.” Tony replied, sounding like he was speaking from experience.

Peter tugged his phone from his pocket, glaring at the cracked screen. ”I–I don't actually have—”

[!!] NPD ALERT:

Unknown Android detected attacking Brooklyn Bridge. NY 9:00 AM

Crapcrapcrap! Not now! The alert lit up, joining the multitude of warnings that he’d already dismissed. Peter could only stare at the notification, his face morphing into one of heartbreak. Part of him wished that he had never hacked into NPD’s security network in the first place. Then he wouldn't feel as bad if something happened and he didn't stop it, as he wouldn't have even known that anything was wrong.

However this was different. Talking to Tony Stark was his dream, but if it was between his dream or the lives of human beings, he didn't have a choice. There wasn't an option. Nevertheless, he closed his eyes in defeat, his shoulders sagging with what felt like the weight of the world.

Peter swallowed down the rock lodged in his thoat, and risked a glance at Tony. The man was watching the teen expectantly, his eyebrows pinched. “Kid?”

”I’m sorry.” He shook himself out of his haze, mind searching for an excuse. “It’s—it’s my sister”, You don’t have a sister. ”She’s, um, pregnant.”

”Oh, well congrats to her. Where were we?”

”No I mean, I’m sorry, she's actually... in labour...so I need to...”

”Oh! Right, of course”, Tony nodded. If Peter wasn't mistaken, he saw a flash of disappointment in the man's face. Was he really enjoying talking to him that much? ”You should probably sort that out. Like I said, never a good idea to ignore a woman.”

He had been shot and it hurt less than this. ”Right”, The teen sighed, hoping he didn't look as sorry as he felt. Nope. He definitely did. ”Thank you, Mr Stark.” He held out his hand.

To his relief, Tony took it. The man’s calloused grip was decisive. Memorable. And for some unfamiliar and absurd reason, Peter didn't want to let go. ”Yes, Mr Parker.”

Peter gave a small and bashful smile, spinning around to leave as quickly as possible. However, just as he was about to leave with his ’suit’ ready in his backpack, Tony cleared his throat. ”Hey kid, I usually don't take interns.”

Peter’s grimaced, gazing at his feet with dejection. However, when he looked back up, Tony was smirking. ”Drop SI an email. I’ll look out for any young bucks named Peter... Parker.”

The teen furrowed his brow, ”I thought...”

”I said usually.”

A lightness filled his chest, alongside something warm; as though someone had lit a candle inside of him. He offered a favorable nod—which Tony reciprocated—before taking off.

Peter sprinted off into the parking lot, the sound of snapping cameras and chattering becoming distant as he ran. He tried not to imagine his hero’s face as he left. Instead, forcing himself to dart into the nearest alleyway faster than any human could.

Three ambulances drove past him, their lights blazing as he struggled into his suit. Despite the letdown, he knew he’d made the right choice.

*Ping*

Nonetheless, he was about to kick this robot's ass for ruining his day.

Chapter Text

“You saw that right, it wasn’t just me?” Tony murmured, leaning to Happy.

His gaze followed the cluster of brown curls which were weaving past cars in the parking lot. Of all the ways he had expected his day to go, this wasn't it.

“You mean the kid that blew you off? Yeah, I saw that.” Happy remarked. Tony rolled his eyes, stepping away from the reporters and their feather-duster microphones. It had been decades and he still despised the lack of privacy.

”Make sure none of these decoy journalists writes anything scandalous”, The mechanic muttered under his breath, just loud enough for Happy to hear. ”You know? ’Tony Stark scares off defenceless boy.’ Anything along those lines. God knows I can't deal with another controversy.”

Happy nodded, ”He said his sister was pregnant right? You believe him?”

Tony’s brow furrowed at the question. For some bizarre reason, he almost felt offended. ”What? Why wouldn't I?”

Happy shrugged. ”I don't know...he already seemed nervous. Maybe it was too much? Kids are like that, they seem fine one minute and the next they’re slamming the bedroom door.”

”Yeah, thanks for the mom's Facebook quote Hap, but that wasn't what happened. Trust me. The kid was fine. Nervous? Sure”, Tony paused to quickly sign a girls textbook, “He didn't run away. He was an intellectual. I complimented him. His sister gave birth.”

”Wow...that story has New York Times written all over it. The next big hit.” Happy smirked, holding his hands out like replusers in an attempt to get them both through the mass of youths. It miraculously worked—people parting ways to let them through—like something out of a romantic teen movie.

”Ah Ah. Leave the sarcasm to me Mr sunshine. It suits me better.” Tony quipped from behind, whilst taking a selfie with a student. The kind with the bunny ears. Except he might have accidentally held his fingers the wrong way.

Even after Peter had left, there something Tony couldn't quite shake away. A feeling. Boy those are stupid, he pouted, who decided it was a good idea to feel things?

Truth to be told, he didn't hate talking to the boy. Perhaps even enjoyed it. Not that it was difficult to; the kid was clearly a genius who had accomplished something nobody else had. Christ, no one had even come close to replicating Spider-Man’s webbing, himself included. It wasn’t that he hadn’t tried either—if countless nights in the lab weren’t proof enough.

”You really think I'm intimidating? That I scared him away?” Tony asked.

He really didn't think the conversation went that bad? At least, not bad enough for the kid to lie his way out.

”I didn’t say you were intimidating!” Happy yelped, throwing his hands up in defence. ”I just meant that you're...you know?”

”I don't know that's why I asked”, Tony responded, ”Mind reading isn't my forte.”

”Fine, you’re not approachable all the time.”

Happy wasn’t wrong, he knew that. As a matter of fact, Tony preferred not being incredibly welcoming all the time. Sure, he had to be around people a lot; that didn't mean that he was a people person. Hence his relationship with his AI’s and androids. Maybe if he hadn't lost...so much...things would be different. He’d be warmer and friendlier. Hell, maybe he would even be happy. But he had, and deep down Tony knew that because of what he’d lost he would never get the chance to be that person.

Still, he squinted his eyes in animosity, ”I thought you wanted to be bumped up to asset manager? You know, anything other than forehead of security.”

”See right there? Unapproachable.”

Tony rolled his eyes again. He'd been doing that a lot recently. More kids swarmed him as he went to leave out of the front entrance, to which he responded to with a brief wave and smile. Pepper would probably scold him later for not doing anything more, but he desperately wanted to go and test out Peter’s webbing. Peter’s webbing which he might have slid into his pocket as the stripling hurried off. Maybe.

As he stepped into the parking lot, he immediately spotted his purple Audi R8. Not that it was hard to miss as it glinted in the sun; conforming perfectly with his tie.

(Just because he was a man it didn't mean he couldn't care about fashion.)

As trivial as it sounded, he actually sighed in relief at seeing the vehicle. After his days at MIT Tony pledged never to set foot in another university, let alone high school. Too many flashbacks.

”Boss, we have a problem.” Happy spoke up urgently. He was reading something from his phone.

Tony frowned as he reached over, seizing the device. ”Robot...blah blah...bridge. I take it this means I’m expected to take care of it?”

“Ross asked for you specifically.” Happy replied.

“Why wasn’t I notified?” He scowled, pulling up the latest notifications on his watch. Two texts from Rhodey and an overdue voicemail from Happy. Nothing from Ross.

“Maybe because you muted his calls.” Oh. Yeah...that would make sense.

He hummed in agreement, tapping at the screen. As much as he was longing for some time in the workshop, he couldn’t deny his one job. Saving the world and all that jazz. Even if this was below his paygrade. ”F.R.I call the suit.” He instructed.

”Already on it Boss.”

”That’s my girl.” He smirked. He secretly relished how similar he and his AI were, even if that was because he made her. 

”You didn't bring the suit?” Happy’s mouth marginally dropped open, taken aback.

”I thought bringing it would scare the kids!” Tony disputed, his voice higher than he'd like. ”Make them think ‘big scary robot’ or something.”

“Huh.” Happy conceded, his was voice laced with surprise.

“See? Unapproachable my ass.” He grumbled as the suit reconstructed itself around him. He instantly lit up his thrusters; the gold sparks showering from his foot armour.

”Scratch it, you pay for it.” He tossed the car keys to a startled Happy, before taking off.

As Tony approached the bridge he noticed three things. One, the overpass was chaos. Cars were rolled onto their sides—each one obliterated as easily as a child's toy. Whilst remarkably nobody seemed seriously injured, it didn't mean the civilians weren't screaming; running through plumes of smoke which twisted like typhoons. Two, the structure, as well as all the vehicles were shrouded in a white elasticated substance. The same substance he consequently had tucked away in his pocket. Three? The giant robot shooting lasers.

”Hey look! Iron-Man! He’s come to help save us!”, A man hollered, pointing at him. As well as standing dangerously close to a flying car. ”Go Iron-Man!”

“Yes. That’s me. Thank you. Please vacate this bridge. I repeat vacate this bridge”, He announced, sneering at the people stopping to take pictures. ”I have some robot ass I’d like to kick.”

The Android didn't look too dissimilar to the War Machine armour. Except it was five times the size and shooting orange beams from it's hands. Looks like someones coming after his brand, Tony thought.

As if someone could read his mind, a shrill voice spoke up. ”You coming after Iron-Mans brand man? Not cool.”

His suit whizzed around, catching a glimpse of red and blue. Of course New Yorks friendly spider was already here.

Spider-Man had the robot’s leg caught in his webbing, pulling on the other end through gritted teeth. Tony had to admit, based on first appearances he was somewhat impressed. Kid was strong. From what he could see he was holding his own. Or at least he was before he spotted the Iron-man suit hovering behind the robot.

”Awe, Woah! Iron-Man”, The Spider-ling stopped to clear his throat, forcing his voice to sound deeper. ”I mean...Iron-Man sir. It's a pleasure to meet you.” Tony scoffed. This kid couldn't be past his twenties.

The distraction from yours truly was enough to give the Rhodey-rip-off the advantage it needed. Tony watched as the robot used one of his hands to bat Spider-Man into a turned-up car; drawing a yelp from the vigilante.

”Urgh not cool...” Spider-Man groaned.

The android examined the webbing on his foot, before ripping off the sticky substance with aggravation. Tony dodged as it then attempted to sear him with a laser and responded with an explosive shot his own. He frowned when it didn't do half as much damage as he had anticipated.

”Keep your head in the game Spider-Man. You good?” He watched the kid pick himself up and shake off. As if he was physically discarding any injuries he might have gotten from being thrown into steel.

”I’m good, I'm good.” Spider-Man reassured, more so to himself. His voice still sounded deeper than it should. Tony wondered how long that would last. ”Hey Mr Iron-Man sir? I didn't know you watched high school musical, that's pretty awesome—”

”High school who?” Tony asked.

”Oh I thought because... ’keep your head in the’...never mind.”

”Yeah. Okay. You web up his feet, I'll take the top half. Capiche?”

”Capiche. Yes.” There was something familiar about the way the vigilante agreed to him. Though Tony assumed it was from the countless times he’d seen the arachnid pop up on the news. The friendly hero was known to be chatty—and that was putting it lightly.

Tony began to blast the robot's faceplate with his repulsers, watching the metal crumple under every blow. Take that Rhodey imposter, he smirked, managing to successfully strike one of the creatures glaring eyes as it staggered. Admittedly he owed that to Spider-Man, who had been able to web up one of its feet to the ground, giving Tony the leverage he needed.

”Hey F.R.I, there someone inside this thing?” Tony asked, circling around it.

”I’m not detecting any heat signature’s Sir.” She responded.

That's good, Tony concluded, it means he didn't need to feel as bad about going ham on this metal piece of ass.

”Spidey, you good?” Somehow Spider-Man had remained silent throughout the whole webbing up process. This surprised Tony, who realised that the kid wasn't nearly as talkative as he had imagined. Though that could be due to hero-worship. Or maybe this robot was above the vigilante's usual pay grade of preventing car crashes.

”Yes, Sir.” The Spiderling replied, giving a one-handed salute. Tony pursed his lips. There was something about this kid that he couldn't quite place. His voice sounded warped—straining under Spidey’s attempt to found more manly—and muffled from his Pyjama ‘suit’. Yet his mannerisms were...recognisable. Tony shook the thought away. He could think about that later.

Together they had almost maimed the android and it was clear it was merely a few blows away from destruction. Tony took this as his cue to bring out the big guns. His replusers expanded like claws, sporting a higher electrical charge; blue and crackling like small bursts of lightning.

”Awesome...” The kid breathed in awe, jumping out the way as the robot stumbled back from the blast.

However, just as it fell back—seizing from the increased current—it swung its vast hand towards Tony and swatted him away. Actually swatted him. With its hand. Like a fucking fly.

”Shit! Shit! Shit!” He cursed as the suit buffered, slowly losing its power. As well as tossing him in all directions like a puppet dancing on strings.

”Boss, the suit conducted the excess electrical current during impact.” F.R.I.D.A.Y warned. In other words, he just got fried.

Man, this really wasn’t his day. If he didn’t need any more proof of this fact, his suit then proceeded to hurl him off the side of the bridge, slamming into several cars in the process. If he didn’t already have enough damage to tend to.

”All systems entering emergency shut d-d-down.” Perfect.

Tony’s heart hammered in his chest, the air stripped from his lungs. He forced himself to bite back vomit as the suit jerked him a little higher, before proceeding to let him fall out of the sky.

”No!” As much as he hated to admit it, yes he screamed. The raging waters were rapidly getting closer and he doubted that even he could survive a fall from this hight. The suit started to spiral, heightening the sound of the wind whistling in his eardrums. Nope. He definitely couldn’t survive a fall from this height.

For a fluttering moment, as the earth grew closer, Tony wondered if it would be such a bad thing. To die. As ashamed as he was to admit it, the sound of not living with his failure, with the crushing empty void and false hope, sounded peaceful. No, he scolded, he refused to leave this earth before finding him. It was his one job. To find what he’d lost.

As if the universe was responding to him, he suddenly felt himself jolting and coming to an abrupt stop. He temporarily wondered if his suit had rebooted, only to remember that he would have seen it coming back online.

”I gotcha Mr Stark sir! Your gonna be okay!” Right. Spidey. He might have sort of forgotten that he wasn't completely alone.

Tony paused to breathe, trying to ease himself away from a panic attack now that he knew he had Spider-Man’s distinguished webbing as a lifeline. He looked at the swaying water below, suddenly appreciative that it wouldn't be the last thing he felt. 

”Let me just...” Spidey panted from above, beginning to hoist Tony up. That's when it hit him. He was currently swinging upside down from a bridge, saved by Spider-Man. He was saved by Spider-Man.

If this wasn't the most embarrassing thing that could have possibly happened to him.

”Great.” He uttered sarcastically.

Apparently, Spider-Man also ticked the checkbox for enhanced hearing. If the quiet grumble from above was any indication. ”Could say thank you.”

His response surprised Tony. That and it amused him. The notorious Spider-Man was embarking on a serious journey to confuse the hell out of him. One minute he was a stuttering over-excited mess, the next an experienced hero who could hold his own, and now he was undergoing the sarcastic route. He really couldn't figure this guy out.

”Oh. Hey, hey, don't!” Spidey yelped from above, before releasing an audible sigh. ”You did.”

”What?” Tony choked out, really hating how queasy he felt. He wasn’t even afraid of heights but this was starting to get to him.

”I...think someone may have just taken a picture. Maybe?”

”Fan-fucking-tastic”, Tony growled. ”No really. This is just punch myself in the face and throw myself off a cliff tremendous.”

”I don't think you'll want to throw yourself off a cliff after this, Sir.” Spidey responded, the seriousness in his voice only making the quip more agitating.

Tony retracted his faceplate, hoping to convey his annoyance through his signature Stark-Stare. That look was enough to frighten anyone. He glared up at Spidey, watching him nearly throw his hands up in defence before realising that would literally cause Tony Stark to fall to his death.

The vigilante cleared his throat, “Everyone needs a little help sometimes, Sir.” He spoke with...was that confidence? Tony dared to think of how nervous the Spiderling would sound with his real voice. He really wasn't going to give up the cheap accent huh?

”Iron-Man doesn't.” Tony replied curtly, snapping his faceplate back up in defiance. That, and not having it on was certainly not helping his nauseousness.

”Well...” The Spider-ling teased, using one hand to gesture towards Tony’s current predicament. He had to be strong if he could carry Iron-Man one-handed.

”Kid.”

”Sorry.”

”Just...pull me up.”

He got home later than he’d like. A lot later. If he hadn't suffered enough. First, he had to spend the day in a high school, only to end it by hanging off the side of a bridge. Tony’s first thought: I need a drink.

As much as he hated himself for it, after tossing his tie and Tom Ford suit jacket onto the couch, he headed straight for the liquor cabinet.

Scotch, Tony decided, that should do it. Though as he glanced at the swirling golden liquid—which had medicated him countless times without fail—he felt something clench in his gut. He paused, reaching into his pocket.

Tony bit his tongue hard enough to draw blood, glancing down at the shiny photograph. It wasn't much, but it was enough to temporarily drive him to slide his medicine further away. Across the table, out of arms reach like it would come to life and tear the treasure up. He couldn't drink in front of his son. Whether he was physically there or not, he would never allow him to feel the way his father made him feel.

He had promised.

”Tony”, Pepper hissed. ”You can't just say yes to the full-time care of a child. What about the drinking? The girls? You realise that the second you sign those papers, all of that is gone.”

”What am I supposed to do?!” Tony screamed but Pepper didn't so much as flinch, ”Give him up for adoption? Put him into the system?” He laughed humourlessly. ”The last thing the world needs is one more neglected Stark.”

Pepper shook her head, softening her voice, ”I just don't think you've thought about this Tony. This isn't a dog which you can give up the moment it gets too much, the moment it's not fun anymore.”

Tony scoffed, the one expression was laced with venom. ”You think I'm doing this because it's fun? The. Mother. Doesn't. Want. Him.”

He kept his voice dangerously low—almost the equivalent to a growl—if not for the fact that the mother was in the room opposite signing her rights away. It was daunting; knowing that she was going through a process that said in a few months, a child would rely solely on him.

”That doesn't mean that nobody else does Tony. There are plenty of other families—”

”I want him”, Tony cut in abruptly. ”I want him. Not a bunch of strangers. Me.”

”It's not just about you Tony”, Pepper sighed, sounding completely exasperated. ”It's about the unborn baby who deserves a healthy lifestyle. Look me in the eyes and tell me that this is a healthy lifestyle.”

She used her hand to gesture to the state of him, and Tony knew why. He looked awful. Pale and ashen, with two purple friends under his eyes, a hangover still throbbing every nerve in his brain.

Wasn't that everyone's reaction to having a child?

”Then I’ll change.” He almost wished he had said the words with less sincerity. It might have looked less foolish if his complexion was light-hearted.

”We both know it's not that simple.”

”Then I’ll figure it out!” He snapped. Pepper was unfazed, but he didn't mind; he didn't think he could handle this alone.

”That's it? You'll figure it out?”

”No. I'll do my best”, Tony replied surely, pulling the custody papers toward him. He leant forward to pick up a pen, stratching down his signature. ”Strike that. I'll do his best.”

Pepper sat down in the office seat on the far side of the table, suddenly looking incredibly sorry; though he didn't know if it was for him or the baby. ”The mother really doesn't want him? Did she say why at least?”

Tony clenched his jaw, hating how his heart ached at the idea of his baby not being...wanted. He shook his head wordlessly. ”I want him Pep. I do.”

(He meant it.)

”Hey there.” He cooed. He reached out, touching the image of his son's face.

He was so young—too young to remember him now. Though deep down Tony hoped that one day they’d meet, recognise each other immediately, and run into each other's arms. Like in the movies.

”You wanna know what your dad did today?” He hesitated as if he was actually giving the infant time to respond. “He was dangled upside down from the side of a bridge”, Tony’s lip twitched into a smile. He paused again like he was giving time for the child to laugh. It was easy to imagine the boy’s giggles, even without his presence. In the photo, he was grinning like the Cheshire Cat and sporting a single-toothed-smile.

Tony could remember that day clearly. So clearly it hurt and he almost wished he couldn't. The memory was raw and vivid to the point that if he closed his eyes...he was there again. With Rhodey talking to him on the couch whilst he tried his best to listen. However, he had been so mesmerised by the beaming ball of sunshine and brown doe eyes on his lap, that he had forgotten where he was.

To love someone that much, was the exact reason that Tony couldn't close his eyes. Because if he did, he'd wake up and the grief would crush him all over again. Raw and vivid like the memory. Like the photograph.

”Okay, chipmunk. Don't laugh too hard. Or do. Actually scratch that. Laugh your curly head off. Wherever you are I want you to laugh really hard. You got that?”

Like always Tony got no response. He tucked the photo in his pocket and, with a sigh, dragged the scotch towards him.

Whilst Tony had always struggled from the control of alcohol had over him, he tried his hardest to never get blackout drunk. He couldn’t let himself get distracted from his search or let himself spiral. Not when his son was relying on him to be a better man; a better father.

Unfortunately, bad moments...bad days, always crept up. Swallowing him whole when there were no bridges to hang off or robots to stop. When there was just him, he found himself falling back to old habits and asking the same question.

One drink couldn't hurt, right?

He drank.

Chapter Text

The report had been issued—alongside a photograph—to every newspaper in the state. Of course, the statement wasn't actually spoken by Tony, but instead Pepper.

He hadn't spoken. Not since the alarms had tranquilized and the sprinklers had retracted, leaving him with nothing more than a blurred memory; black and charred. Apparently—according to Dr Cho—the stress had physically caused his brain to paint over the loss. The reminiscence. It was as though when the commotion had ceased, his voice had been stolen too.

Tony had stayed awake hoping to hear his sons cries (something which used to make him feel a strange combination of anguish and annoyance), every day for a week. It took another three before he finally spoke.

His son stayed silent.

After some careful consideration from him, Pepper and his private investigators, they had decided it was best to keep his son’s name as classified information, ensuring that nobody knew he had a child. 

In the papers he was just a nameless man with a nameless son and a picture of a curly-haired boy grinning ear to ear, playing with bubbles in the grass. He asked Pepper to select the photo and for a long time couldn't even glance at anything which so much as resembled his son. When he finally picked up one of his baby’s toys—a ridiculous stuffed animal which was apparently supposed to be a sloth—he let out an animalistic growl.

They always say that when a parent’s child is in danger, they lose all sense of humanity. Operating solely on instinct. Like a lion and their cub.

As much as he wanted to shout and scream and use his voice, he knew that if the world found out the truth, the entire investigation would have been compromised. Strike that. The whole investigation would have gone to complete shit.

Tony could only imagine how many red herrings and fake calls he would receive from low-lives claiming to have found his baby. How many women would be willing to give up their babies so they would grow to be the next heir to SI. 

After a few months the papers with his sons face would melt into the abundance of unsolved missing child cases. The ink would fade and Tony would realise that even he wasn't invincible; there was no amount of money that would fix what had been broken. Because—in that moment—he wasn't a superhero. He wasn't a ’Stark’ or the worlds richest man. 

He was just a father out of his goddamn mind.

”But then he”, Rhodey’s words were overtaken by his violent sniggering. ”And then you...”

”And then I was dangling off the side of a bridge. Which you’ve reminded me off seventeen times during the time span of this phone call.” Tony grumbled into his cup of coffee. He had never been a morning person. ”Are you aware that you've been repeating yourself?”

”Oh I'm very aware”, his friend chuckled over the line, still struggling to breathe through his laughter. ”Don’t worry Tones. I'll keep reminding you so you don't forget.”

”Trust me Platypus, I won't”, He downed half of the steaming beverage, ignoring the way it singed his tongue. ”Thanks to the New York Times.”

”And Metro News and Times Union. Oh! And The New York Sun! Don’t forget The New York Sun.”

”Is it too early to sue a company? Scratch that, multiple companies.” Tony said, holding the phone with his shoulder so he could refill his mug. One coffee was never enough.

”Right, multiple. Meaning many. Many newspapers used a picture of you hanging upside down by Spider-mans webbing as the front page.” Rhodey said, his voice tight like he was holding back another laugh.

Tony sighed, it was definitely too early for this. Not to mention that he was too hungover. As much as he loved his honey-bear, he really wanted to spend the morning in blissful silence.

”Yes, and all of them will get hell for it.”

Rhodey sighed, trying to cool his hysterics. Tony could physically envision his friend shaking his head, trying to sober up and alleviate himself of the giggles. It seemed to work, as no more than a few moments later, his voice no longer held any trace of its previous playfulness. Tony wished he had the same control when it came to emotions.

”Seriously though man, how are you holding up?” Rhodey questioned lightly, though Tony could hear the underlying concern.

If Tony had a penny for the number of times he'd been asked that question over the last twelve years, he could give away all of his money and still be a billionaire. Not that he blamed the people who asked. His eyes shamefully flickered to the half-empty bottle of scotch from last night.

”I’m...holding up.” Liar.

”You sure? You sound...distant?” Rhodey replied hesitantly.

(“You can't keep pushing us away.”) 

”Probably because we’re talking over the phone. Have you checked your internet connection recently?”

(“I won’t.”)

”Don’t deflect Tones”, Rhodey asserted, not unkindly. ”You don't sound okay? You can tell me if your not. It's okay if your not.”

(“No, Tony. You can’t.”)

Tony forced himself to bite his tongue and not lash out at his friend.

Of course he's not okay, his thoughts spat. There is no universe in which he could lose his child and be okay with it.

He took a shuddering breath. ”They—my guys—think they might have found someone. Around half a mile from the Hudson River...he, ur, he fits the description of what he could look like now. It wasn't far from the last sighting of the van.”

”That's good right?” Rhodey encouraged. ”That they might be onto a something?”

”Yeah. Yeah, I just...” He trailed off.

”Don’t want to get your hopes up?” Rhodey finished softly. It was one of the many reasons he loved his life-long friend. He was always able to read him so clearly. Always able to finish his sentences when it was too painful for him to speak the words.

Tony released a shaky sigh. ”I don't think I can't handle it again Rhodes”, Unshed tears fogged his vision. ”I think one more dead-end will break my heart, I won't survive it.” 

”Tony...” Rhodey started, but Tony cut through his soon-to-be reassurances.

”If you thought he was dead would you tell me?” The words erupted from somewhere in the pit of his stomach; a sensation that was so physical, at first, it took some time for him to recognize the emotions creating it. 

There was a beat of nothingness and Tony swallowed, hard.

”Yes, I would.” Rhodey said softly, and Tony wasn't sure if he was lying or not, but somehow he felt thankful; as though an ache inside him was itching for some honesty. For someone who wouldn't let him run away with broken dreams or dance with distractions.

”Do you think he is?” Rhodey asked, his voice didn't hold even a hint of accusation, which Tony was grateful for. ”Is that why you asked?”

”No”, Tony responded so quietly, it was almost inaudible. His gaze flickered to beyond one of the grand windows where the sky was shrouded in grey smudges of cloud; he ground his teeth at the pathetic fallacy. ”I think if he was then I would have felt something. Does that sound stupid? Who am I kidding—of course, it sounds stupid. I don't know...I just...I know he's out there. I know Rhodey.”

”Then trust in that Tones. Gut feelings aren't overrated.”

His hands were trembling slightly as he fought the part of him which screamed it wasn't a gut feeling, it was a soul feeling.

”I think that if he was...” dead, the smoke in his brain whispered like a snake. Slippery and damp. Dead. Dead. Dead. ”I don't think I would be here. I would have followed him.”

I would have followed him.

He was expecting Rhodey to immediately protest, or reprimand him for saying anything so bleak. Instead two words, cold as iron, came out of the blue.

”I know.” his friend whispered gently. The two words were laced with so much sadness that Tony had to fight back a sob. ”I also know that you will survive this. We’ll find a way like we always do. I made a promise to you that we would find him, that hasn't changed.”

Whilst the words offered him some comfort, he couldn't deny that after all these years he found it difficult to believe. Besides, even if he did find his son, when would he? In how many years? When his boy was married and had a family of his own? What if he found him when he was on his deathbed? Or what if he was on his deathbed only to find out that his son had passed away the day he was stolen? The idea caused Tony to choke, the repressed sob bubbling up.

”S-sorry.” He cried, tears running freely down his face.

”Don’t be sorry, man. It's okay.”

”No—no”, Tony whimpered, trying to silence his painful gasps for air. Suddenly he found the world spinning and his mind floating. Everything was too much. “I should go. I need to go.”

”Tones wait— ” His friend started, but Tony had already hung up.

With the graciousness of a toddler, he clambered on top of one of the bar stools and allowed his body to sag from what felt like the weight of the world. He threw his hands over his face, crowding his fingers over his eyelids hard enough to see stars—willing himself to be anywhere else.

After a moment he rubbed a rough hand over his face, dragging the tears along with it and resting his forehead on the cool countertop, which—if anything—acted as a balm against his skin.

For a while he slept in intermittent bursts—waking up to be struck with the indescribable pain, before slowly drifting back into the abyss. It was a vicious cycle—and one that he was all to familiar with—but after a while it subsided and he found the dark nothingness.

Tony’s favourite moments were when he was asleep.

“Tony. Tony.”

The man blinked groggily, letting out an audible groan. His back felt like someone had jumped up and down on it several times, before proceeding to whack it with a baseball bat. Nonetheless, he refused to pin it as old age, instead choosing to ignore the way it twinged as he sat up.

”Miss Potts”, he rasped out, using a hand to roughly wipe the sleep from his eyes. ”To what do I owe the pleasure.”

She was glaring at him in a way that suggested she wasn't amused in the slightest; her hands situated firmly to her hips.

Pepper gritted her teeth slightly, ”Not a single meeting Tony.”

Tony’s brow drew together as he tried to process her words, his eyes still struggling to adjust to the light. God he felt like he was malfunctioning today. 

”What?” he croaked.

”You haven't turned up to a single meeting today Tony! Not one. I called you several times. I called F.R.I.D.A.Y several times!” Something told Tony she hadn’t finished. ”So, instead I put all of my meetings on hold to come and see you personally, only to find you passed out at the...”

She trailed off, catching a glimpse of the half-empty bottle of scotch lounging on the counter. Just like that, her eyes switched, morphing into something pitiful. ”Oh Tony...”

(”Oh Tony...why didn’t you tell me you were thinking about...”)  

He followed her gaze, ”What? No! No, I didn't—I haven't drunk anything.” He was quick to reassure, shaking his head. That was last night.

Pepper tilted her head in confusion. ”Then why...”

”I fell asleep. Accidentally.”

(“Jesus fuck, no – I wasn’t. I just wanted to sleep.”)

Pepper was quiet for a moment, eyes clouded in thought. ”You didn't sleep last night did you.” It wasn't a question.

Tony looked up. ”I haven't slept in a long time.” He muttered, sucking in a breathe as he realised what he had just admitted. Sure, everyone around him knew of his bad preservation skills, but he had never openly agreed with them. Never acknowledged that he had a problem.

Her mouth tugged into what was probably supposed to be a small smile. Instead, it came out as more of a grimace. ”I know.” she said softly.

(“I just wanted to sleep.”) 

He managed a sad smile in return, despite the voice in his head telling him that she was wrong. That she didn’t know. That nobody knew.

Pepper had pressed her lips together, and he could tell that she wanted to ask him more—to not ignore the fact that he clearly wasn't okay—but to his relief, she chose to let it go.

After only a few minutes, Tony broke throng the silence. He cleared his throat, burning holes into the table with his eyes. ”You don't have to stay.”

Part of him was embarrassed to have anyone see him like this...so messed up; after all, he was so accustomed to hiding behind sarcasm and morale. On the other hand, he really didn't want to be alone.

”I don't mind”, She confirmed, ”I can't stay long though. Some of us do have meetings.”

Tony huffed a laugh, hoping she couldn’t hear the way it shook slightly. If she did, she didn't say anything.

”So”, Pepper continued. Tony released a frozen breathe, grateful that she was taking charge of the conversation. He didn't think he could find the energy. ”How did you find the science fair? The one in Queens.”

Tony scoffed. ”Did you know that teenagers pick their noses? Seriously, I can't even count the number of kids that did it when they thought I wasn't looking.”

Pepper laughed. A true one; full and surprised. ”That's because teenagers are just larger sized babies.”

”Nope.” he declared, popping the ’p’. ”There is no excuse for that kind of vulgarity.”

”What about that one kid? The genius who replicated Spider-Man’s webbing?”

”Peter.” He supplemented, failing to conceal a fond smile. The thought of the kid—for some unforeseen reason—managed to put him a better mood. Perhaps it was because the kid seemed so unaware of his intelligence, navigated solely by doing good. It was refreshing in an industry of power-hungry scientists, who were motivated for all the wrong reasons.

”Right, Peter.” She amended.

He sniffed, shrugging. “I didn't see him pick his nose.”

“You know that's not what I meant.”

Tony rolled his eyes. Still, he knew better than to divert any further. ”He was fine.”

”Just fine?” She smirked knowingly.

”He was good.” He waved his hand dismissively as if the affection wasn't obvious in his eyes. ”Knew his stuff.” He finished shortly, refusing to say anything more.

Pepper seemed to know better though and didn't allow his bluntness to dissuade her. ”I thought you didn’t like kids?”

“I don’t.” He declared firmly.

“Hmm.” Pepper made a noise of scepticism, the same noise she made when she knew she was right about something but didn’t feel the need to explicitly say she was. ”But you like this one?”

”I don’t like your frequent use of the term ’like’. I tolerate. End of discussion.” He concluded, reclining in his chair like he was finishing up a business deal.

”Tolerate?” She asked. Tony resisted the urge to cross his arms over his chest and pout like a child.

”Look”, he huffed, knowing that he wasn’t getting out of this one. ”He was different from the other kids.”

”Different because he was smart? You have always connected well with...intellectual people—like Bruce. Unless they intimidate you.”

He ignored the jab, ”No, not just because he was smart. I don't know? He was...clean.”

”Clean?” Pepper’s eyes crinkled in amusement.

”Yeah...not smelly.” Well that cleared things up.

”So you tolerate him because you smelt him and he passed your...your what? Your smell test?” She failed to hold back a snort.

”Jees Pep, way to make it weird. I can literally see the articles: Tony Stark sniffs children for fun.” 

Pepper shook her head with a poorly suppressed chuckle. As much as Tony still ached to the core, he noted how much lighter he felt in comparison to a few hours ago. 

A sudden thought resurfaced with Peter in mind, his brow furrowing. ”I was actually going to ask, you haven't had any emails from the kid have you?”

”Peter?” She asked, and Tony resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

”Obviously.”

Pepper’s eyebrows lifted at his attitude, but proceeded to raise a hand in submission. The other filed through her handbag, eventually pulling out a stark-pad. ”I was just making sure. And I don't think so, why? Should you be expecting one?”

”Sort of. Yes? No?” Tony sighed heavily. ”I offered him an internship here.”

Peppers gaze instantly flickered from the tablet in surprise. ”Since when do you take interns?”

”Since I found a child genius.” He shrugged, ”And maybe it wouldn’t be...awful to have someone else in the lab. Someone to bounce my ideas from.”

Now that Bruce is God-knows-where, he failed to add.

”You’re letting him into your lab?” Pepper asked in shock. Tony didn't blame her; it wasn't every day he invited strangers—teenagers—into his personal workshop.

”I’m full of surprises.” He responded curtly, unable to keep the impatience from his voice. ”You found anything?”

Pepper shook her head, still scrolling through her emails. ”Nothing that I can see...there’s a chance it got mixed up with the fan mail, but if he sent it to this email than it probably ended up in junk.”

He couldn’t ignore the twang of disappointment in his chest. Then again, hardly any time had passed since the fair, so the kid probably hadn’t gotten the chance. Not to mention, that if he really wanted to, he could easily track the boy down himself. Though he before he could pay that any more thought, Pepper exhaled heavily.

”My next meeting is in twenty minutes. Will you be alright by yourself?” The question, ’do you promise not to get wasted and cry yourself to sleep?’ went unsaid.

Tony raised a single brow, resisting the urge to rub his eyes as they stung. ”I invented a new element. Literally. Not figuratively. I think I'll be alright.”

You invented a new element but failed to save your son? The bitterness inside him spat. He tried not to flinch.

Pepper narrowed her eyes like she was trying to read him, before blinking it away. It was like she could see that the man was excessively on edge; one wrong word and he'd recoil into a shell of shadows and despair.

With a final flash of upturned lips, she plucked her tablet and bag and strode out of the room, her heels tapping on the floor.

Tony looked around, sighing at the empty space. There were times he hated how huge and shiny his home was, with it being a constant reminder of everything he had lost. Of who he was supposed to share it with.

However, rather than basking in his grief—something he would have surely done if he had spent that time alone—he found himself taking the elevator to the lab. Arguably not the best way he could have resumed the day, but still, it was better than crying at the bar.

As he entered his favourite place, the first thing he noticed was the bundle of screws which were littered all over the floor. Thank God he was wearing shoes. This time.

The second thing he noticed was the very sheepish looking Dum-E beeping sadly in the corner.

Tony let out a resigned breath, ”What’s all this huh?” He nudged some of the screws with his foot.

Dum-E gave another dejected beep, which sounded suspiciously like a whimper. ”Yeah, yeah I know you're sorry. I don't know where you get your clumsiness from.” He scooped up the screws and placed them onto the table with a clatter.

”I’m going to work over here”, Tony pointed to his work table, “If you break anything, I'll sell you to a community college. Understood?” he asked.

Tony chuckled thickly, watching Dum-E whirl enthusiastically in response. ”Good.”

As he settled at his work table, Tony realised that he didn't actually have anything to work on. No project. Nada. For as long as he could remember, he had only spent time in the lab when he was on a search. Desperate for any new leads regarding the whereabouts of his son. It was either that, or he needed to distract himself from getting black-out wasted.

Tony knawed at his lip, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out Peters webbing. He twirled the compacted cartridge of silk in his fingers, his face creased in thought. His mind wandered back to Spider-Man on the bridge, remembering how he held his own.

Perhaps it was paranoia from past trauma, but he was always preparing for the worst—for whatever else was out there. Whether it was betrayal from the people he considered family, or something bigger. Either way, Tony knew that in his line of work there was always a demand for new blood. New heroes.

Perhaps it wouldn't be such a bad thing to give the Spiderling an upgrade, Tony contemplated, recalling the awful set of pyjamas he had been wearing. Not to mention the swimming goggles. God the swimming goggles. Yup. The kid was in dire need of a one hundred point restoration.

Besides, he supposed owed it to the friendly neighbourhood Spider. Payment for saving his life. As much as he hated to admit it.

”What do you think Dum-Dum?” He asked. ”Think I should make a tech-savvy Onesie?” A sentence he never thought he'd say. The robot rocked back and forth happily.

In less than an hour, the engineer’s workshop had transformed into a shrine of red and blue designs; with Dum-E holding up the blueprints cheerfully.

Seems Spider-Man has a secret admirer. Tony smirked, before gathering all of the ingredients he needed to bring this baby to life. He was suddenly very grateful he had a job to ease his mind away from its previous stress. A distraction from his painful reality.

Several more cups of coffee, and one sleepless night later and his eyes were settled on the final product. Not to gloat, but he was pretty damn satisfied with the outcome.

One tech-savvy Onesie, check.

Now all that was left was to find out exactly who this Spider-guy was.

Meanwhile, in a dismal Queen’s alleyway which was coated in several shades of Peter Parker’s blood, Spider-Man needed the new suit more than ever.

Chapter Text

He was out for no more than ten minutes before a bad feeling settled in. Not his Spider-sense, or a tingle itching his nape, but rather something churning deep in his gut.

Nobody was around, not that there would be anyone on top of a five-story office block at midnight; not to mention that it was the far side of town where there were at least half a dozen abandoned buildings, all of them a decent place to be alone. The crime was always worse in places which seemed eerily quiet; promising for Spider-Man, but not for Peter.

Perhaps it was that lingering thought which drove Peter to continuously scan his eyes around in trepidation—the little light emanating through the office windows only accentuated his anxious clouds of breath, crisp in the freezing temperatures.

”And he offered you a place in SI?!” Ned screeched over the phone. Peter winced at the loud volume, pulling it further away from his ear.

”Yeah...basically. I mean I still have to apply first.”

He heard Ned sigh in awe. ”Man, what even is your life?”

Peter knawed at the inside of his cheek, ignoring the metallic taste when he bit too hard. You don't even know the half of it.

”Yeah, it's crazy man.” He laughed nervously, picking a blue thread from his homemade suit. He had never been an expert at sewing and, for obvious reasons, it wasn't as though he could ask May for help making it.

”So are you going to?” Ned asked enthusiastically.

Peter cocked his head, brow furrowing under his half-peeled-back mask. ”What?”

His mind was floating to the upwards, and for the umpteenth time that day, he had to physically imagine himself grasping it's string and yanking back down; as though it was a helium balloon brimming with overwrought worries.

”Apply for the Stark Internship?” Ned clarified.

”Oh! Right, yeah I don't know. Things are already kind of busy at home with May and”, Spider-Man. ”School, so I'll have to think about it.”

”Dude! This is a once in a lifetime opportunity! You can’t give this up! It would literally be the best thing to ever happen to you.” Ned replied.

“You or me?” Peter chuckled. He twisted his legs so that they were no longer dangling over the ledge and allowed his body to rest flat against the hard fringe of the building.

”Both of us!” Ned exclaimed a tad too loud. Peter listened as something ruffled over the line, ”I’m not talking to anyone mom, it's probably the neighbours or something!”

With all the time Peter spent as Spider-Man and missing days of sleep, he often forgot that most people were tucked away in bed. A flash of guilt washed over him for keeping his friend awake so late.

”I’m back”, Ned whispered. ”I’m going to be real with you Peter, as your best friend and legendary wingman, you can't let this opportunity slide.”

Peter stayed silent for a moment, thinking it over. He tilted his head to one side, staring vacantly at the streets below him, his eyes glazed over. ”I don’t know man. After everything that May’s been through...I owe it to her to be around more. To help out, you know?”

It wasn’t a lie. He was already sneaking out late at night and staying after school for Spider-Man. Making excuses after excuses; not to mention skipping classes. Even if it was to help people. With the internship on top of that, he would feel like an even worse excuse for a nephew.

”...I know Peter”, His friend replied softly. ”Don't you think she’d want this for you though?”

Peter’s mind flickered back to the night Uncle Ben was shot. How he had walked back into the apartment covered in her husband's blood. The only blood that he shared.

He was the last of his kind, he had huffed humourlessly, his tears blurring his vision as he watched the porcelain sink turn crimson.

Beneath the surface Peter knew that Ned was right: his aunt would be ecstatic that he was going out to do exciting things and taking opportunities. She would grin ear to ear as she hugged him, followed by Thai to celebrate. You aren’t worthy of that happiness, a small voice inside him berated, ringing in his head like a claxon.

”Maybe...” Peter shrugged, even if there was no one around to see it. The line prevailed in silence for another minute, before Peter sighed. ”Probably.”

”See! And you might even get to meet the avengers. Who our age can say they did a coffee run for Captain America and internshipped for Tony Stark?! No one Peter, because that doesn't happen!”

Peter chirped a laugh, ”Internshipped isn’t a word Ned. Besides, isn't Captain America on the run now or something? I doubt Mr Stark would let rogue Avenger’s in his home.”

He could practically hear Ned’s shoulder’s sag. “...Yeah...but hey, what about Spider-Man?!”

Peter’s head shot up at that. He gulped harshly. “Wha-What about...Spider-Man?”

”He hasn’t said whose side he’s on yet! You might still get the chance to meet him if he’s on team Iron-Man.”

Peter grimaced, knowing that Ned would lose his head if he found out that he was actually talking to Spider-Man. Although, it did make him wonder...who’s side was he on? 

On one hand, he could relate to being enhanced, whether it was optional or not, much like Captain America. Laying your name down on a piece of paper for anyone in S.H.E.I.L.D to see immediately opened up an entirely different world for people like him; one drenched in vulnerability, where you’re constantly looking over your shoulder. 

On the other hand, Iron-Man was his childhood hero. He always had been. And putting his hero-worship to one side, he knew it was important that people like the avengers took responsibility for their actions, even if they were the result of trying to do the right thing.

(”With great power comes great responsibility.”)  Ben’s words echoed in his head, weighing heavily on his mind.

“Um, hey well if I ever meet him, I’ll let you know what team he’s on.” Peter promised, grateful that his friend wasn't there to see his wince. “Hey sorry man, May’s actually calling me right now. See you tomorrow?”

”See you, dude.” His friend answered. The call ended a moment later.

Peter blew out a breath through gritted teeth. He hated lying to his friend. His only friend, but he couldn't risk people finding out about him. May would freak out. Then he would freak out. Not to mention the amount of danger that he’d be putting her in.

It wasn't that he didn't trust his best friend of several years. He was just aware that Ned got a bit over-excited. Okay, that was the understatement of the century—he would probably end up telling half the school. Still, the selfish part of him couldn't help but think that it would be nice to have someone to share this part of his life with. Someone who also wouldn't tell him to stop.

Peter sat alone with his thoughts for a while longer, his lips aching from being chewed so much before he heard the commotion coming from below.

There were only three of them, which all in all wasn't anything compared to Spider-Man, but they were cruel. Peter was certain of this immediately, which wasn't a positive sign considering the teen’s forgiving nature.

They were harassing a homeless dog deep in an alleyway; kicking and taunting it like it was a piece of meat rather than a living being. Anybody passing by could see it, or even hear it, but as expected nobody was around. Even if they were, Peter doubted that they would come to the animal's aid.

They were definitely drunk. Peter was certain of that fact. Even someone without enhanced senses would be able to smell the stench of liquor from a mile away. The chemical odour radiated off them like a sickness, causing Peter’s stomach to clench.

One of the three had the dog pinned down, whilst the other kicked it. However, that wasn't what made Peter’s heart stop. The third man, with a stubbly beard and yellowish skin, had a pocket knife held to the dog's throat. They were about to start cutting the dog up and that's not even the worst part. The worst part was that they were laughing about it.

Peter wasn't an angry person, in spite of all the suffering, he’d endured from being orphaned once and then watching his uncle die. There was however, something about watching such a vulnerable life suffer without reason, that drove fury into the teen's core. Without having to be told twice, he scaled down the building and began yelling.

”Hey! The hell did that dog do to you?!”

All three of their heads jerked up at the sound of him. The first man tightened his grip on the dogs golden tail, causing the poor animal to squeal. Peter’s vision turned red.

”Hey! Your that Spider guy”, The man with the knife slurred, pointing the blade at him. ”Do a flip!”

”Let the dog go and then we’ll talk.” Peter reasoned, clenching his jaw.

”Ah Ah, you're the animal. Animals do tricks. So...do a flip.” Knife guy responded, thrusting his chin out.

“I won’t do anything until you let him go!”

“Why should we?” The man who had been kicking the dog asked. He applied pressure to the animal's stomach, causing him to whimper. “The stupid shit stole my sandwich! Thief!”

Peter curled his lip at the lack of empathy and compassion. There were some days when he really lacked faith in humanity. This was one of those days. “He was probably hungry”, Peter replied, his voice dangerously low. ”Look at him, he hasn’t eaten in days.”

“Do I look like I give a fuck? Skinny here can starve for all I care.” The man holding the dog down snarled.

Peter had heard enough. He was too mad to even try and form a witty response, instead choosing to send a web straight at him. He flew back, slamming and sticking to a large green dumpster with a groan. Thankfully, this gave the dog the incentive he needed. Peter watched as the poor creature scurried away, tail between his legs.

Perhaps it was because he had one too many sleepless nights. Or maybe saving Ironman on the bridge, right after being complimented by Mr stark at the science fair, was the calm before the storm. Either way, the relief he felt from watching the dog’s liberty lasted one moment too long as the knife was plunged deep into his abdomen.

“Not so tough now Spider-Man”, The Knifeman growled. He twisted the blade, causing Peter to scream through gritted teeth. The man grinned sadistically at the teens pained response.

“Where I’m from, we call you a different name. We call you an insect...you know what happens to insects?” The man paused, breathing heavily. Peter gagged at his warm and sticky breathe, hating the way it tickled the back of his throat. ”They get crushed.”

“I don’t think...I’ve ever spoken to someone...who talks more than me...” Peter choked out.

The man’s jaw clenched in irritation, but Peter hadn’t finished. The teen moved his leg, ”Where I'm from...we also have...a name for you...”

”Oh yeah? What's that?” The man asked, smiling. He was enjoying this. Peter winced, trying to breathe through the pain as he felt the knife shift.

“Asshole”, Peter grunted.

The man let out a surprised laugh. ”Tell me Spider-Man, if insects get crushed, what happens to assholes?”

”This.” Peter slammed his foot down, feeling some of the man’s toes break beneath him. The man screamed, stumbling back in pain and cradling his foot with his hands.

”Gah! Fuck!” The man cursed. He spat on the floor like a snake spitting venom. ”You broke my toes you freak!”

Freak. Freak. Freak. 

The words struck a cord from deep within, causing him to momentarily freeze; as though someone had pressed pause on his entire being.

You were born to be a freak little one, something slippery and cold whispered to him. Peter didn't recognise the voice, nor where it enigmatically emerged from, but it’s familiar; muffled from an underwater current, but familiar.

Peter felt no remorse as he wrenched himself forward and slammed a fist straight into his chest. He watched the man fly back and hit the brick wall with immense force, before crumpling unconscious.

The third man looked up and for a dreaded moment, Peter worried that he would have to take him on too. Knowing he was in no shape to fight anyone—enhanced or not—he sighed in relief as the man chose to bolt. Not so tough alone huh big guy, Peter huffed, which hastily turned into a wince.

Peter collapsed against the brick wall, his legs shaking too strenuously for him to stand upright any longer. He sunk down, crying out as the knife jolted.

Even as Spider-Man he had never suffered from anything as bad as being stabbed before, usually only tending to a few gnarly cuts and bruises. He had to admit, the pain was agonizing now that the adrenaline had almost faded. He could no longer stifle a whine as a few stray tears ran down his cheeks, sticking to his mask.

Was he supposed to call an ambulance? No. He quickly shook the idea away, blaming it on his rising panic. He knew that going to a hospital was never a possibility, especially dressed in his suit.

God his suit. He groaned. The idea of using a beaten up hoodie to go Spider-manning seemed really shit right about now.

However, his regrets were abruptly cut off by the sound of whining coming from beside him. Peter peeled his eyes open, his face still screwed up in pain. He blinked rapidly, wondering if the bleeding out had made him become delirious.

Merely a few feet away sat the dog from earlier, his head tilted as he observed Peter closely. The poor thing was coated in grease and grime, his golden locks barely recognisable. Not to mention his chest, which was sporting a long row of mountains due to him not having eaten in a long while. The sandwich was probably the first meal which he had devoured in weeks...not that the outcome was worth it.

”Hey...there.” Peter’s breath hitched as he choked on a sob. His hands were coated in red from where his hands were pressed to his side.

”You...shouldn’t...be here.”

The dog’s ears twitched as if he was frowning, though instead of taking off, he only moved closer. He sniffed Peter’s wound before letting out a pitiful whine.

”I feel you.” Peter replied.

He wasn't sure how long he had been sat like this, bleeding out on the floor of an alleyway, but he knew it had been too long. Part of him worried that one of the men would wake up while the dog was still beside him and all of this would have been for nothing. He would die. Then the dog would die. Great.

”You...need to leave.” Peter tried again. The dog sat down and Peter rolled his eyes, mostly from fear. ”Go!” He rasped out, his voice breaking.

However, his orders were once again ignored as the dog remained stationary. For someone who was just beaten up by three men, the dog didn't seem at all fazed by Peter. That's when it hit him; he was wearing his suit. The dog conceivably didn't even realise that he was a real person, with his voice muffled and face hidden.

In a spur of the moment decision, deciding that if anyone was around than they would have come by now, Peter heaved off his mask. ”Please.” He begged, sounding utterly broken.

The dog looked into his red-rimmed eyes and for a second Peter thought that he ought to give up on trying to make him leave. That being before the sound of scurrying caused the dog to perk up eagerly and scamper off after what was presumably a rat. Hopefully a new meal.

Peter sighed. What was he doing? He couldn't stay like this, no matter how much it felt like someone had put his stomach in a blender.

He couldn't call 911. That was totally out of the question. He couldn't call May. Obviously. Calling Ned also wasn't an option for a multitude of reasons. One being that he couldn't drive, and two, there was no way Ned could explain taking his parent's car in the middle of the night to ’pick up a friend’.

That alone left him with one option. He had to get himself out of this mess.

May would be beside herself if he didn't come home and he knew he could never do that to her. As she often reminded him, it was only the two of them. The two of them against the world.

The two of them against the world.

Most of the journey was a blur as Peter focused on trying not to blackout each time he swung. Every pull and the injury would reopen, stretching a little more and causing Peter to cry out.

His vision was blurring, growing black holes which seemed to absorb the entirety of his surroundings.

Concentrate, he could hear Ben order, though not in a way that was cold or condescending. Focus on the task at hand.

So he pushed the all consuming darkness away, willing himself to not think about how half of his suit was drenched in blood and he would most likely have to burn it—if he lived that long.

The only thing he could focus on was May; was making sure that she didn't have to see him dressed as Spider-Man on a metal table, in a room labelled ’morgue.’ The guilt she would feel, the pain and anger, was the burning fuel that drove Peter home.

He wasn't sure what time he clambered into his room, or how on earth he had managed to climb up the apartment building. All he knew was that he was extremely close to blacking out.

The digital clock on his nightstand blinked at him as though it was chastising him for coming home so late. The numbers blurred under the cloud of his unshed tears, and he blinked rapidly, only just making out the time: 3:01 am

That meant he had a few short hours to figure out what to do about the hole in his side, get some sleep and do his algebra homework. Man, this really wasn't his day.

Peter listened carefully to the sound of his aunts drawn-out breaths to ensure she was asleep, before clambering into the bathroom. He cursed as his blood immediately started painting the white tiles red, and made a note to himself to clean it up later.

If he was alive, the serpent over his shoulder hissed. He scrunched his eyes shut, wishing the creature away.

He was supposed to be Spider-Man. He was supposed to be prepared; not that this should have happened in the first place. Yet here he was bleeding all over his bathroom and feeling completely and utterly terrified.

Peter latched his teeth onto his bottom lip to try and stop it from trembling. Unfortunately, there was nothing he could do to suppress the violent shaking of his hand’s as he rummaged through the cabinets. His panic only increased when he couldn't find anything of use. He wasn't even sure what he was looking for. What did normal people use when they had been stabbed?

A bottle of Advil. Some Cotton Buds. A packet of May’s Sanitary Pads. A single band-aid. Could you cover a stab wound with a single bandaid? He was beginning to feel delirious.

The only thing that Peter could actually use were some painkillers. Not that they would affect him in the slightest with his super metabolism...and it expired in November. Two thousand and thirteen. Perfect.

He sighed shakily, popping a few of the pills anyway before rinsing his hands under the tap. He watched the yellowish-red trickle down the plug.

He watched the porcelain sink turn crimson. His lungs uncoiled a fraction as his hands were relieved of Ben’s blood.

But his nails. His nails were streaked with a dried-up reminder of the worst day of his life. It drove him insane because no matter how hard he scrubbed, it would cling on. Sucking at his skin like a leech. Nasty and slippery against every part of him.

”No.” He had cried, repeating the word over and over until he was sure it was the only phrase in his vocabulary. ”No. No. No.”

Peter shook himself away from the parallel, jerking his phone from his poorly stitched pocket and almost dropping it on the floor in the process. He could barely see the screen through his tears, clamping a hand over his mouth to stifle a wail.

’How to stitch up a knife wound?’ He typed clumsily into google, glad that May wasn't one of those parents who read their kid’s internet history.

Peter sighed when most of the results included which hospitals you should go to if you've been injured with a knife. He backspaced the search bar.

’How to stitch up a knife wound at home?’ He added, scowling when the results only included a helpline for injured civilians and a forty-minute long Bear Gyrll’s survival video. Something which he certainly didn't have time to watch.

His eyes reddened at the strand of blue thread hanging from his suit. He knew that Aunt May had some needles and thread of her own from having to sew buttons back on his clothes...and so he made the decision. He couldn’t stare at the oozing wound and his pale shaking hands any longer. He would have to stitch his own injury; even if it would scar him for life. Mentally and Physically.

Peter quickly learnt that first stitch was always going to be the hardest.

Not only had he copped out and nearly thrown the needle across the room several times, but he had also forgotten to bite down on anything, resulting in a loud yell. Even though May had, thankfully, remained asleep, he couldn’t seem to stem his pulsating heart.

”Come on...Peter...” He mumbled through the fabric of his sock. His mouth tasted salty from where his tears were trickling through his gritted teeth.

”Come... on Spider-Man.” He moved his trembling fingers to do the second stitch, swallowing a mouthful of bile.

The needle pieced his skin and Peter whined, trying not to picture May waking up from his painful cries. He loved being Spider-Man. He loved being the person that he never had. But this...this made him remember the other part of who he was.

A child.

A child who at that moment wanted May to hold him and Ben to tell him it was okay. Who,more than anything, wanted to play sports and go to school and not be stitching up a stab wound on the cold tiles of his home at three in the morning.

A sudden wave of anger and frustration surged over him like a storm, compelling his fingers to keep stitching. Why did his parents have to die? Why did he have to be bitten? Why did the universe think he was capable of...of...

Peter looked down, seeing that the wound was one stitch away from being closed like a poorly, half-sealed envelope. “Come on Spider-Man...” He mumbled one last time, in a dreary voice and through the chattering of teeth.

He pulled the needle through with a gasp. A gasp that rapidly had him retching sick into the toilet, beads of sweat dripping down his neck.

He didn’t care about the way the sick burnt his throat or tasted disgusting like warm copper. Not when he had single-handedly and successfully gotten home and stitched up a stab wound.

”Take that...asshole.” He chuckled dryly, immediately regretting the gesture when it turned into another heave and gag.

He wasn't even sure who the asshole was. The man who had stabbed him? The man who had killed Ben? The Universe?

He forced himself to stand on shaking legs and risked a glance in the mirror. His curls were positively cemented to his forehead from sweat and blood trickled down his chin from where he had bitten his lip too hard. 

You’ll look good as new by tomorrow, Peter told himself, though as he did, his arms nearly crumpled, temporarily loosing their grip on the sink and almost resulting in him face-planting the mirror. He shook his head.

It’s good. You’re fine. 

It was was a lie. 

That night Peter tossed and turned from excruciating pain, fading in and out of reality and closing his eyes to imagine a fictional world: a place where Ben was alive. Where his dad had made him pancakes before his decathlon meet and his mom had pressed a kiss to his temple; both of them happy and breathing. A world where May didn’t have to bear the burden of him alone and seventy five percent of his family weren't six feet under. 

That night he imagined a world without Spider-Man.

(But even in unconsciousness Peter knows that responsibility isn't a choice.)

Chapter Text

August 2003

Tony sat with his perfect brew of rich coffee and newspaper in hand, his legs propped up on the coffee table littered with animal-themed teething toys and plushies. 

It was unusual. Placing himself in a setting free from bundles of blueprints and empty bottles of alcohol. The entire environment was shockingly mundane for the billionaire, and yet, despite the urge for a warm glass of scotch and a hot piece of ass, he felt at peace. Happy, even.

”Sir, Tiny Boss seems to be in distress.”

Tony sighed fondly, his back creaking as he sat upright. ”What’s it is this time huh? A stinky diaper? A small and hungry belly? Or maybe he’s doing it for fun and just likes to see his old man running around.”

”I believe he misses his Dad, Sir. It is highly common for infants to experience separation anxiety when away from their parent for a prolonged period.” J.A.R.V.I.S responded.

Tony glanced at the neon magnetic letters that were plastered all over the fridge, spelling out a number of non-existent words. Whilst his son was only a few months old and certainly too young to use them, it made him feel more like a father. 

Something he never imagined himself wanting to feel.

As he allowed his feet to drop from the table, a smile grew on his face, swelling from the idea of a tiny person putting the entirety of their trust and love into him. Sometimes Tony would bask at just how remarkable it was that the little boy belonged to him, but whenever the realisation would dawn on him, a heat would blossom in his chest. A heat that was far more magical than any glass of whiskey.

”Separation anxiety my ass”, He grumbled, but only from affection, ”I put him to bed less than an hour ago.”

”I’m sure it feels like a lot longer to him, Sir.” J.A.R.V.I.S commented. Tony rolled his eyes, though he was unable to hinder the eye-crinkling grin blooming on his face as he made his way to his son’s bedroom.

The window’s of his baby’s room were mostly darkened, on account of Tony’s request to J.A.R.V.I.S. His son had always struggled to sleep when it was too bright and with the late summer sky’s, yellow beams tended to pour through the gaps in the curtains like lustrous streams.

He strode over to the personalised, self-made crib, where his son was wriggling restlessly; his little legs moving like a frog in water.

”Hey there”, Tony cooed, scooping the frail infant into his calloused mechanic hands.

The action had become second nature to the engineer and was a far cry from when his son was first born. After all, he was ashamed to admit that it took him the entirety of four days before he first held him.

Before he first held his son.

”I can't Rhodey.” He snapped at his friend, reclining in his seat which was pressed up as far back against the wall as possible, leaving him with an open view of a snuffly pink human, which to Tony, looked like the smallest creature on the planet.

”I'll break him. It's what I do, I break things.”

All of his senses were screaming at him to run; to leave the hospital as promptly as possible, abandoning all sense of responsibility which he had been preparing for over the past few months.

What was he thinking? He couldn’t be a single father. He couldn’t be a father period.

Yet there was something invisible and foreign that was tying him to the building. A weight keeping his feet fastened to the ground. 

Instinct, his brain supplied. The concept no doubt a result of one of the countless parenting books which Pepper had been pilling onto his desk day after day. He could remember yanking at his hair each time the stack grew taller; as though he was forcing himself to understand what ”instinct” even meant.

He instinctively steered towards alcohol and sought out the workshop, but he wouldn't die for them. They were never going to be the first thing Tony would look towards if there was a fire.

The realisation that he didn't know anything about being a parent was quickly becoming apparent, unfolding all around him. In his ragged breaths, in the way he talked, in the direction of his body towards the baby—as though he would rather be anywhere else. Which wasn't a complete lie.

Tony pressed his palms over his eyes, resting his arms on either one of his knees.

Rhodey searched his face in the same way you read a book, standing closer to the infant than Tony had dared to go since delivery, and he couldn’t help but think that the man who was supposed to be the child’s uncle, was already doing a better job at being a father than him.

His best friend spoke up tentatively, acknowledging that yelling and chastising wasn't the answer, and Tony wondered if his thoughts had been so loud and boisterous that Rhodey had actually heard them.

”You're a mechanic Tones. That also means you fix them.” The words were no louder than a whisper, but they travelled thoughtout the ward in a resounding echo.  

Tony’s head shot up fast enough to give him whiplash, his face pinched from pain; an ache that was rooted so deep inside him, he didn't know if it would ever fade.

Yet something was watering it down. Something that said, you never had a father, but you always had Rhodey.

Later that day, when the hospital was buzzing from the dimmed-down lights and the cleaners were sweeping the halls, he had hesitantly plucked the infant up from the incubator with a sniff—like if he pretended it wasn't a big deal, it wouldn't be.

It turned out it was, in fact, a big deal. Not because he wanted to say ’screw you’ to Howard, or because he wanted to prove anyone wrong. Instead, because it was a privilege to have been given the opportunity to hold and love someone unconditionally. And if he cried, nobody would have to know about it.

”Oh, um. Yeah, yeah I did it.” He told Nurse Montford when she found him cradling the infant closely, no longer wielding the baby as though it was an explosive.

”Congratulations honey”, She said grinning gaily, her eyes honest and caring, and for a moment Tony saw a flash of his mother standing before him. He sucked in a sharp breath. “You’re already a natural.”

Tony bit back a sarcastic comment about being ”father of the year”, because so far he all had done was hold his son, which was hardly a cause for celebration. Still, he let the comment deteriorate in the back of his throat.

God, he's been a dad for less than a week and he already feels like a different person, he scoffed internally, however he didn't feel at all bitter.

Instead, he noted the affection spreading in his chest as he rocked his son back and forth gently.

”Have you decided on a name yet?” Nurse Montford asked as she peered over her shoulder, beginning to change the sheets on his baby’s cot.

She didn't comment on the dried up tear tracks lining his cheeks, or the way he was holding the child to his chest protectively as though he was ready to fight off anything in boy’s path if he had to.

”Yeah”, he finally replied. ”I think I have.”

”Hey, hey. You’re okay Auzzy”, Tony rubbed Austin’s back as he squirmed to get closer. ”I know tater tot. It’s so hard being a baby. I can’t imagine getting free sleep...free cuddles and let's not bypass the free food. It is, let's be honest here, an abomination.” Tony rambled, mostly to ignore the way his heartstrings pinged at his son’s every cry.

Austin reached out with one tiny hand, pulling at his dad’s overgrown goatee (it was exceedingly difficult to maintain a clean-cut style with an infant), as though he was making sure Tony was aware of his distress and reprimanding him for leaving.

Tony rubbed the back of his tender hand with an indurate finger in response, ”I know baby. I'm here now.”

Austin had recently reached the exciting stage of being able to push himself up to a sitting position, not to mention his love of touching and grasping things.

At first, Tony found it adorable to see his son reach out with fragile fingers and attempt to grasp anything he could. It was particularly amusing when he would struggle to pick something up which was ten times the size and weight of him, only to become frustrated when it wouldn't budge.

It was slightly less amusing when he would yank out chunks of costly carpet. Not to mention his hair. Pepper had joked on several occasions that he would become bald before Austin turned a year old—to which Rhodey snickered and responded that it wouldn't be due to grabby hands.

However, he had now developed a dependable routine, which consisted of blowing raspberries on the infant's cheek or tummy to distract him from destroying valuable plush pillows.

He’s starting to get a little better at this whole being a dad jig, he thought.

Tony delicately pressed a kiss to the tip of Austin’s nose. Usually, he would accompany his kisses with a dramatic ’mwah’ sound effect. However, in that monumental moment, it didn't seem appropriate. The baby seemed to soothe at the gesture regardless and Tony pressed a successive one to Austin’s fine brown curls.

He manoeuvred himself so he was sat comfortably on the armchair, with Austin situated firmly on his chest as he began to rock them back and forth.

”I know Jelly bean. You’re okay, Daddy’s right here.”

”I’m sorry Sir. We triple checked fingerprints and secondary birth certificates in case he had been taken into CPS. His name classifies as Elija Campell, son of Melissa Campell and Frank Turner.”

”And you checked for a certificate of live birth? Anything which could have been used to hide the boy?” Tony was aware that he sounded desperate as he clamped down on the phone with shaking fingers.

”Yes, Sir. I'm happy to email you the private documents or deliver them if you want to see the certificates in person.” The static voice responded, and Tony wanted to smash the device to pieces.

Tony moved his hand away from where it was covering his mouth, ”No. No, don't... it's fine. Keep looking. There's no point chasing dead ends.”

”Yes, of course, Sir...it’s just...”

”What?” Tony barked sharper than he had intended. He couldn't help it, the sting he felt from being no closer to finding Austin was overwhelming.

”Excuse me, I know it's not my place...it’s been over a decade. Do you think maybe...you should put your search rest?”

Tony inhaled sharply, ”You’re right. It most certainly is not your place”, He spat. He took a shuddering breath to try and ease the venom in his voice. ”I don't pay for your opinion, Mr Carter. You feel me? You understand what I'm saying?”

”I’m sorry...” The man whispered, shame evident through the waver in his thin voice. Tony didn't feel apologetic. He couldn’t afford to. Emotions could come after he was reunited with his son.

He made an incorrect buzzer sound, temporarily balancing the phone with his shoulder so he could caress the tremor in his wrist. ”That wasn’t the question.”

”I understand Mr Stark.” Mr Carter responded, clearing his throat to try and ease the tightness.

Tony sniffed, ”Good. Say anything like that again and I'll find a new shiny detective. Capiche?”

”Yes, I-um, capiche”, Mr Carter stammered nervously. ”Crystal clear. I'll start pursuing any new connections.”

”You do that.” Tony flexed his palms against the countertop. ”And Carter?”

Tony could physically hear the man gulp over the line, ”Yes Mr Stark?”

”It wouldn't be the search that I’d be putting to rest. It would be my son.” Tony knew that he couldn't hide the raw suffering in his voice. He knew that he sounded broken. But he needed them to understand that this wasn't just a case or a random inquiry; he would never stop looking. Even if it drove him crazy.

A pitiful voice spoke up quietly like he was afraid Tony would physically crawl through the phone dressed in his Iron-Man armour, ”...I understand, Sir. I'm sorry, we’re doing everything that we can.”

Tony resisted the urge to bash his fists against the countertop and scream that it wasn't enough. Instead, he just repeated himself with another blunt, ”Good.” before hanging up.

Pepper scanned him sorrowfully from where she was stood a few metres away by the couch. She placed her mug on the coffee table as though she could sense that something was wrong and searched his expression for anything that glinted hope.

Tony shook his head and her gaze flickered to the floor. “Was it the boy on the edge of New York...near to Hudson River?” She asked cautiously. She sounded like she was walking on a wire. Most people around him talked like that.

Tony gave a single nod, clenching his jaw. He stayed silent.

It was rare for Pepper to be deterred from a valuable and careful response, but even he could see a light dim behind her eyes. After all, she too had loved Austin. She was there when he had been brought into the world; holding and caring for him. On the rarity that everything would get too much for Tony and he would be seduced into locking himself in the lab, Pepper would swoop in to save the day. She loved Auzzy endlessly. Not as much as Tony did—no one could ever love him as much as Tony did—but a whole lot.

“I’m sorry”, She responded gently, unsure of the right thing to say. A few moments later, she cleared her throat, adjusting her posture so she was conveying professionalism. Efficiency. However, even Tony could see through the mask. ”This doesn’t mean he’s...gone. We’ll keep looking.”

“I know.” He responded dryly, though the words tasted foreign and unbelieving in his mouth. He felt like a shell of emotions as he moved to the liquor cabinet and pulled out a glass.

Fucking pathetic, A voice which sounded suspiciously like Howard berated. Anything doesn't go your way and you steer straight to alcohol.

”Your one to talk.” He grumbled under his breath, pouring the drink with one swift motion.

Stark men drink because they can, to stay in control. You are far from control Anthony. You always were my greatest disappointment.

Tony flexed his face and sniffed. He swung the glass of alcohol as if he was making a toast to nobody. As if he was agreeing bitterly with an imaginary version of his dead father, before downing it in one.

”Tony.” a female voice spoke up...he thought he was alone? He couldn't remember having company.

”Tony I think we need to talk about this.” The woman continued and Tony lent over the counter, bringing the glass to his eyes so he was staring through the warped crystal.

Right. Pepper. Talking. She had been there when he had taken the phone call, he could remember now. He wasn't sure which ’this’ she was referring to, the drinking or his missing son, but either way he couldn’t bring himself to talk about his emotions. He poured another glass.

”You hungry?” He questioned, gesturing to her with his glass. She shifted uncomfortably and something flashed over him. He had never meant to make her feel uncomfortable. ”I should probably order something. What's the time? Screw it. When has time ever meant anything to me anyway. Pizza sound good?”

“Tony, you can’t keep doing this.”

“Are you calling me fat? I’m not fat.”

She took a step forward and slid the vase of alcohol out of arms reach. “It’s okay if you’re not fine about this.”

He pulled it bottle back towards him and held it protectively like a teenager defying their parent. “So everyone keeps telling me.” He commented.

”Nobody would be”, she proceeded. ”If you need to talk to someone, or if you need to cry—”

”I CAN’T!” He screamed, slamming the glass bottle on to the table. It smashed into pieces, sending waves of brown liquid running over the countertop.

He dropped the reminiscence of the bottle’s neck on to the floor with clatter, staring at it as though it was from another planet.

Pepper flinched, taking a step back in shock. It wasn't the first time he’d yelled. It was the first time he'd yelled at her.Tony took a shuddering breath, trying to ground himself.

”Shit...Pep. Fuck. I’m sorry. I'm so sorry.” He moaned, pressing his hands over his eyes. They burned from the reminiscence of booze which coated his fingers.

”Don’t”, She admonished. Tony jolted like he was preparing to be slapped or punched or...something. However, Pepper knew better. She knew the rage wasn't directed solely on her and that he was fighting his own demons. ”Don't be sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed.”

He allowed himself to fall back against the counter and resituated rough fingers over his eyes to stem the tears. To keep them at bay and fill his vision with stars, despite how much it hurt. ”I can't cry. Because if I do, I won't stop.”

She looked at the broken glass before settling her gaze firmly on him. ”You have to allow yourself to feel, you can't bottle all of this up.”

No pun intended, Tony thought humourlessly.

They locked eyes as though they were having a silent conversation, before Tony sighed from exhaustion, ”I’m going to the lab”, he gestured to the broken glass ”Don’t worry about...I’ll clear it later.”

She reached out to lay a hand on his shoulder, ”Please.”

”Please what?” He was aware that he sounded weary and used, like he had just fought a battle and lost. He also couldn't bring himself to care.

”Say something...” Pepper squeezed his shoulder. For a moment Tony stilled like he was thinking of opening up, before he shook himself off and moved back. The glass crunched underneath him.

”What do you want me to say?” He asked, still sounding resigned. ”That I'm not ticking all the boxes I should for the self-help book on a man who’s lost his son?”

”No, that's not...” She shook her head softly, ”You don't need to say anything.”

”No I don't.” He declared, walking towards the elevator.

”But you should. To someone. If not me, then someone else. You don't need to do this alone Tony.”

Tony pursed his lips, and let his gaze fall to the floor. He couldn't bear to turn around. To face everything. Instead, he just gave a single nod from behind.

”Lab F.R.I.D.A.Y.” He instructed, his knees nearly buckling as the elevator began to move.

Tony's finger tips were trailing over the stark red armour. His eyes cased straight ahead, unfocused. His mind was concentrated on his breathing, long deep breaths to push down the anxiety clenching at his stomach.

Anxiety because here he was, surrounded by remarkable suits of armour, lit up like beacons in their pods, and it meant nothing. Not when he kept pushing away the people he loved. Not when he built all of this for them; to keep Pepper and Rhodey and Happy safe, and to bring his boy home.

He had failed. He kept failing.

In his mind, Obadiah Stane spoke to him calmly, but each word was like a punch to his gut.

(”You’re going to lose, Tony. You're going to lose everything.”)

”I already have.” Tony said firmly, to nobody in particular, even though he knew it wasn't true. Not really.

The more his eyes bored into his creation, the cool touch prominent on his fingers, the more he wondered if his son...wherever he might be, knew that his dad was Iron-Man—the more he hoped that he didn't.

As he brushed down the armour a final time, slowly letting his hand drop to his side, Tony jolted, ”What the...?” He muttered. His hand was pulled back lightly by something...sticky? Tacky?

He flicked his opposite hand, gesturing for the suit to turn around. His brow furrowed as he touched the substance with two of his fingers.

”If I may Boss, I believe that the substance corresponds with Spider-Man’s webbing. Specifically, from when he stopped your fall from Brooklyn Bridge.” F.R.I.D.A.Y spoke up.

Tony hummed, choosing to ignore her teasing tone. Interest sparked inside him, willing to distract him from the way his body shook. He realised he had never gotten the chance to look over Peter’s webbing—precisely how similar it was to Spidey’s disreputable brand.

With that thought in mind, he picked up the vial of Peter’s webbing, bringing it up to his eyes to inspect.

Jesus, Tony rose his eyebrows as he compared them, the kid was able to one-up Spider-Man.

”Boss, may I suggest getting some rest, you haven't slept in over forty-eight hours.”

Tony sighed, not looking away from the webbing. ”I wasn't asking for suggestions F.R.I.D.A.Y”, He squinted his eyes as he inspected the vial. ”Scan this for me. I want to see what these babies are made of.”

”Are you planning on introducing Spider-Man’s signature webbing to one of the suits Boss?” F.R.I.D.A.Y responded. Tony could imagine a huge smirk plastered on her face had she been human.

Tony rolled his eyes, ”Do I look like an arachnid to you?” He grumbled.

The AI wisely chose to say nothing more as the screen in front of him started to fill with information. Tony’s eye’s scanned over all of the components.

”Methanol...Salicylic acid, toluene, BHA, Silica gel...huh that makes sense.” Tony commented, unable to keep the surprise from his voice. ”Ethyl acetate, Carbon tetrachloride...the hell is he getting this stuff from?”

”Most of the properties can be bought online. Carbon tetrachloride for example can also be found in some schools.”

”Hmm”, He hummed, chewing his lip. Whilst Peter’s webbing seemed more flexible and durable, there was a certain similarity between the two.

”F.R.I how similar are these?”

”Both of the cartridges have similar components, however, Peter has appeared to use smaller proportions—presumably to create thinner nanostrands.”

”Sure”, he waved his hand dismissively towards the ceiling like he understood every her word.

”But what're the chances someone could recreate Spidey’s webs to that parallel? These components are uncanny.”

”Whilst the amounts of each component differ greatly, the polymer chains which were formed when cooled to ambient air temperature are indistinguishable. Overall they share a similarity of...95.018%”

Tony’s eyebrows shot up at that, before his heart stilled in his chest. For a second he worried that the shrapnel inside him had shifted.

It was as if a switch inside him had clicked, everything ranging from the science fair, to being saved on the bridge linking together. Creating a polymer chain of their own.

He gulped, forcing down the rising panic. ”F.R.I, honey, pull up Peter Parker’s records.”

”Am I looking for anything specific Boss?”

He pouted, his memory flickering back to the day of the fair.

(”It’s—it’s my sister. She’s, um, pregnant.”

”Oh, well congrats to her. Where were we?”

”No I mean, I’m sorry, she's actually... in labour...so I need to...”)

Tony cursed under his breath, feeling cheated all of a sudden. ”He doesn't happen to have a sister, does he? A pregnant one perhaps?”

”There is no evidence to suggest that Peter Benjamin Parker has a sister. He appears to be the sole child of Mary and Richard Parker.”

”Huh”, He pushed his tongue against the inside of his cheek and fell back against the chair. The realisation hit him like a tonne of bricks.

”That little shit— ”

Chapter Text

He felt like death in physical form. There was no other way to put it—it was just that simple, just that all-encompassing. He was still simmering, dizzier than he was immediately after being stabbed, and he knew that if he allowed himself drift off now, he could easily sleep through practice, despite the constant yelling of answers and ringing of bells.

”Hey Parker! I was just wondering why you look like you’re about to check out?” Flash called out from the sidelines, cupping his hands around his mouth so his words echoed throughout the room.

Great, Peter sighed, now even more people will find out that he’s knocking on death's door.

The rest of the decathlon team—including Peter—were sat on stage, overlooking an empty audience of chairs. MJ had insisted that they got extra time in, especially with nationals coming up. Right now Peter was worried he wouldn't survive until nationals...he was also pretty sure the rest of the team were also thinking the same thing.

”Not that you don't always look shit”, Flash continued, ”but today you look extra shit.”

The bully had been in a bad mood ever since he found out that Tony Stark had offered Peter a place in SI, initiating rumours that he was lying to get attention. Which was ironic considering Peter could feel himself shrinking under the amount of attention he was currently receiving for looking like death.

”Shut up Eugene.” MJ cut in curtly. She had been forced to bench the bully after he had responded to every question with a new and cold comment about Peter.

”No, I’m just wondering because you know...if you’re infectious, we should be worried right?” Flash mocked, gesturing to all the other teammates. Peter rolled his eyes. ”I mean, you should be worried because if my dad finds out you turned me into a flesh-eating—”

”I’m not infectious.” Peter croaked out and wow, his voice did nothing to back up that statement. Neither did the dry and rattling coughing fit which was triggered by the three brief words.

He honestly believed that he would have healed by now. However, the day after the whole ordeal, he woke up...well he woke up surprised that he woke up. The injury was throbbing from underneath his new and improved webbing—the same one he had told Tony Stark about at the fair. And that's not including the terrible waves of nausea, burning skin and cold shakes. At one point he had shivered so hard that he had accidentally tossed his pencil across the classroom.

Several teachers had subtly advised him to go home, which all in all didn't sound like a bad idea. In fact, he had almost cried at the idea of being able to lie down rather than sitting tightly on a wooden chair, with his arms coiled around his abdomen.

That wasn't the problem. The problem was that May could not find out about his secret injury. As much as he longed for her kisses and words of comfort, his aunt was a nurse. Any wrong move or facial expression and she would realise his symptoms, leaving him to explain the stab wound which was stitched with her threading kit. As well as wrapped with a layer of Spider-Man’s webbing.

Nope, Peter winced, he definitely couldn't explain that.

“You sure your alright dude?” Ned asked, his face crinkled from concern. Guilt hung heavily in Peter’s chest from making his friend worry. He’d been feeling guilty a lot recently. It also added to the list of reasons why Ned couldn't find out about his other half.

“I told you, man, I’m good.” He rasped out, ignoring the way every teammate’s head was turned towards him, eyeing him carefully.

One of the teammates...Abe? Rang the bell. “That is incorrect!” He exclaimed.

Peter puffed out a breath of air and slouched in his seat. Which in hindsight, wasn't the wisest decision as the change in movement caused his injury to scream out. He only just choked on a yell.

“Hey, what did I say about using the bell for comedic purposes!” Mr Harrington reprimanded from where had suddenly appeared beside Flash, making notes. “Although, I do have to admit...you aren’t looking too hot there Peter.”

Peter resisted the urge to groan. He also resisted the urge to say that he was feeling extremely hot. Like, burning from the inside out kind of hot.

“What? No I’m...” He swallowed down a mouthful of sick, hard, really wanting to cry all of a sudden. “I haven’t been sleeping well is all.”

The teacher hummed, nodding his head ineptly. “I suppose we should cut practise short.”

”What about nationals?” MJ perked up, unable to disguise the urgency beneath her usually bored complexion.

The teacher waved a stiff hand and started to collect his notes. ”We have plenty more practise time scheduled in Michelle. Peter needs his rest...I also want to um, catch up on The Game Of Thrones...Jaime’s Hot Tub confession is on rerun.”

The team of teenagers let out a few disgruntled groans before gathering their belongings and heading out.

”Nice one Penis.” Flash sneered, deliberately elbowing Peter’s side as he walked past.

Peter couldn't catch the gasp which escaped his lips and barely managed to prohibit himself from doubling over; luckily, most people had already filed out and weren't there to see his gritted teeth or swollen eyes. He could feel the rims of them burning as he fought back tears. Had the hit been a few inches lower and Peter was sure that he would have blacked out.

”Peter?” Ned rushed over holding his elbow to steady him.

”I’m good...I just got winded.” Peter huffed, swiping a hand over his sweaty brow.

He took a few deep and shuddering breaths through his nose, his face scunching up like paper. He understood his friends panic, considering he himself was panicking immensely. Usually, the teen was an abundance of energy, but for the first time, he was exhausted. As though all the life had been sucked out of him leaving him nothing more than a shell.

He felt powerless.

More than that, he felt weaker than anyone without powers. He didn't just feel less than Spider-Man. He felt less than Peter Parker.

”You know you can tell me anything right?” Ned spoke up tentatively, gently letting go of Peter’s arm.

The softness in Ned’s voice drove Peter to flicker his gaze to the floor and swallow the lump forming in his throat. He was so used to his best friend being an abundance of enthusiasm.

”W-what? Yeah of course...” He stammered. He kept his eyes trained on a smidge of dirt on the floor; like if he looked hard enough he would somehow will his surroundings away.

”Really? Because you don't talk a lot dude. At least not recently.” Ned responded as they slowly started to make their way out of school. It didn't go unnoticed that he was strolling slower than their usual pace, presumably, so Peter wouldn't topple over like a Jenga tower.

”I talk!” Peter rasped out in defence, jolting when his stitches tugged.

Ned pouted in thought, eying Peter carefully like he was about to throw up or pass out...or something. Which in fairness, was definitely a possibility. ”Yeah but not about important stuff.”

Peter sighed, ”I know I—”

For a moment he considered letting everything go, all the secrets and hurt, before shaking the notion away. Not here. Not at school. Not now. ”I guess I haven't...got a lot of stuff to say? I don't know... things are fine at home and with May.”

Ned let his shoulders sag in defeat. ”Okay...can you just, I don't know? Let me know if that changes”, He fiddled with both the straps of his book bag. “I don't want you to shut everyone out again Peter.”

Peter gritted his jaw, his eyes becoming frustratingly moist. Most of the time after Ben’s death had been a blur. Though from what he could remember, it hadn't been good. He spent most of his time locked in his room, refusing to eat, shower or go to school. It wasn't until May finally had to put her foot down and insisted he got back into a routine, that he resurfaced from the abyss.

When he arrived back in Midtown’s hallway, everyone was murmuring in surprise. Apparently, word had spread about his uncle's death and half the school were convinced Peter had killed himself. He couldn't imagine being Ned in that situation; not knowing if your best friend would ever walk through the school doors again.

”I’ll tell you. I promise.” Peter agreed, ”Bedsides things are different now.”

Ned sighed, ”Okay. I believe you. And I'm still here for you, even if things are different.”

”I know”, Peter managed a smile. And he did know. Sometimes he felt as though Ned was all he had. It wasn’t that May wasn’t incredible—she was one of the best things to ever happen to him—but occasionally he was slapped with the sharp reminder that she didn't choose him. She felt pressured into taking care of him after his parents died. He and Ned had chosen each other.

Both of the teenager's fixed eyes, smiling as all the tension dissolved and it was as though they were back to building legos. ”Man, I'm not trying to be rude but Flash was right. You look like shit Peter...”

”Yeah...” He trailed off with a light-hearted laugh, still not in the mood to say something witty in response.

”You really should rest man.”

Peter nodded, his confirmation getting carried away as Ned pushed open the school doors, breaking the barrier of quiet. Perhaps if he hadn’t been so focused on staying upright amongst the sudden chaos, he would have noticed the first drop of blood seeping through.

As anticipated, his promise to get some rest fell short, his stomach squirming as it became harder and harder to sit stagnantly in one position. 

May was working the night shift again, so at least she wouldn't be around to hear his pathetic whimpers as he scrunched up his abdomen in an instinctive fetal position—the bed whining alongside him as he shifted, as though if he found the perfect posture the pain would immediately evaporate.

After a while, the walls began to grow nearer and suddenly his room was so hot he expected to peel open his eyes and see heat waves rising from his carpet. 

Maybe it was delirium—a frantic desperation to do anything to ease his suffering, but he soon found himself clawing his way towards his backpack where his self-made mask was buried. After practically destroying his notebooks and tossing them across the room to get to the item, he pulled the mask over his clammy skin, and cracked open the window to the fire escape.

He didn’t strain himself into trying to put his entire suit on—the black nerd shirt he was wearing of two atoms having a conversation hiding the worst of the minor bloodstain beginning to seep through. It was almost impossible to notice, and the chance of anyone seeing him at such an hour was slim. 

Or that's what Peter told himself as he wearily climbed the wall of his building, doing his best to avoid onlookers, as well as thanking May for renting one of the top floors.

As soon as he had clambered over the edge of the building, resting against it, he desperately wanted get out of the mask and feel the cool air against his bare skin, but city life was still active and noisy; the last thing he needed was for his senses dial their way to eleven.

It wasn't unusual for him to head to high places when he was feeling lost. After Ben died, he would often find his legs carrying him to the roof of their old apartment.

There was something therapeutic about hearing the sound of life moving around him, even if it felt as though he wasn't. 

A nearby pipe, rusted brown, centralized his senses toward a drip drip dripping sound, and suddenly Peter blanched. 

A memory filled his head, a memory of May, cautious and worried and holding him, despite the dirt and blood—her husband's blood—coating his hands. He could remember the tap dripping against the unwashed dishes that Peter had neglected to clean after his fight with Ben. Had could remember wanting to rip the spout from its place in the wall, so that the dripping could stop mocking him.

”Are you happy?” May had asked, seemingly out of nowhere, only a few months later.

The smell of burnt spaghetti brought bile to his throat, not just because it tasted like charcoal as he twirled it around his fork and consumed it in one, but because, like everything else, he had to pretend it was fine too. 

Most of the time, when May was turned away, he wouldn't feel the need to cover up the unshed tears fogging his vision with a yawn, but today was different. Today May wasn't looking away.

”I guess…” Peter shrugged, refusing to meet her eyes as she watched him closely from across the table. It had been their first meal together since Ben’s death.

”I wish you would mean that, baby.” May sighed, her gaze falling from his face and toward the floral bowl; instant shame stabbing Peter in his gut, the knife twisting.”I really do.”

Blinking the memory away groggily, Peter tried to push himself into a more dignified position, but the dilemma situated on his side had another idea.

He wrapped his hands around his legs and rested his chin on his knees, simultaneously staring at the decaying darkness which was hiding the sun, the question ’are you happy Peter? weighing heavily on his mind as he dozed off.

”Hey there, Spider-Man!” A slightly mechanized voice startled Peter awake, his head shooting up in alarm from where it was propped up against the ridge of his apartment building. On second thought, maybe it wasn’t the best place for a late evening rest.

His vision span, mind floating as he tried to see through the white stars plaguing his sight.

Had someone followed him to the roof? Peter’s heart pounded vigorously. Wait...no, that didn't make sense. Nobody could even access the roof, it had been blocked off for years. Ever since someone from the fourth floor had jumped off.

Peter jolted as two clanks sounded in front of him. He blinked rapidly, his eyes shifting to the metal figure stood in front of him...wait metal?

The teen could almost hear the snap of the last puzzle piece being put in place as he noticed the renowned glowing eyes burning dots into his retinas.

Oh, shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit!

For a second he thought the injury must have progressed to some new, unforeseen stage of suffering, where it caused surreal hallucinations. Because he could have sworn that Iron-Man was stood a few meagre steps away, golden flames slowly fading as the suit remained stationary on the rooftop, his rooftop...which could not have been right. 

Peter clambered shakily to his feet, trying to find something which he could use to brace himself with. He settled for wrapping his arms around his chest protectively.

He stood frozen like a deer in the headlights, his mouth agape beneath the mask. He persisted in raw silence, before Tony Stark, face still hidden behind glowing eyes, spoke up. His voice sharp. On edge. ”Or should I say, Peter? Spider-boy? What's your preference?”

”Wha—what, that’s not...” Peter stuttered, really hoping that Tony had just so happened to be in the area and had made an assumption based on his science-pun shirt.

”No?” Tony questioned, stepping out of his suit. “Gotta say, sunshine, you’ve screwed the pooch hard here. Taking a catnap on your own apartment roof. Wearing your so-called mask, that anyone could remove while you’re counting sheep.”

He wasn’t dressed in one of his typical press suits. Instead, to Peter’s surprise, he was wearing sweatpants and a worn MIT hoodie, which the teen could only assume was a result of jumping headfirst into one of his iron suits. Somehow, Tony still managed to make it look powerful and suave. And, despite the lack of armour, he was suddenly far more intimidating.

The man took a few calculated and dominant steps forward, the fingers of his right hand encircling his left wrist tightly. It was a self-soothing gesture, but it didn’t seem to be doing anything to soothe Tony as he soaked the image of the teen in.

Peter stumbled back slightly, nearly tripping over his own feet with a wince, though it didn't deter Tony as he made the order. ”Mask.”

“W-what?” Peter choked, the ground feeling like a sponge beneath his aching feet.

Please, please, don’t let this be going where he thinks it is.

”Mask. Off. Now.”

Peter could feel himself shaking violently, not helped by the windchill circulating in the crisp darkness. ”But my identity!” He spluttered, clenching his jaw down as soon as the words escaped, if not to suppress the chattering of his teeth.

”Your identity? Kid your identity is on fucking Saturn. Gone. Addio.”

”H-how?” His voice shook, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

Tony nodded as though he was deep in thought, his gaze temporarily trailing to the sparkling city encompassing them. When he finally seemed to settle on the words, he looked back to Peter, causing the teen to jolt. ”Let's see...first on the bridge, I hear you. I see you. And I just know that there's something familiar about this kid, but of course, I push it to one side. I'm thinking: ’I don't need to be intrusive. This guy’s doing his thing. Friendly neighbourhood hero, I respect that.’”

Peter gulped, but Tony hadn't finished, ”Then, I’m in the lab, right?” He spoke to Peter slowly in a tone that was almost patronising. A tone that you would use with a child. Peter hated it. ”And I find a few similarities in your webbing. So me being me, I dive deeper. Look closer...and lo and behold, both of the polymer chains share a similarity of, wait for it... ninety-five percent!”

Something inside him surfaced beneath the fear and humiliation from being yelled at by his hero. An urge to defend himself and snap back with a retort about how the man had no right to go digging or to get upset at what he found. However, instead, he swallowed the fight in him away. At least for the moment.

”So...I’m going to say it again. Mask. Off. Now.”

Peter hesitated, wondering what Tony would do if he just upright refused. However, the defiance was quickly discarded as Tony’s dangerously low voice hung in the air, unwavering as the man stood his ground.

He paused for a moment, causing Tony to raise his brows incredulously, before he reluctantly peeled off his mask.

Tony ground his teeth together audibly, and Peter wasn't sure that it was possible for the man to get any angrier. However, as he nervously wrung his mask with his two hands, as though he was trying to choke water out of it, that's exactly what happened. He watched as Tony’s eyes became ablaze, like someone had ignited a fire inside them, mixed alongside something else. Something wild and exasperated. Peter couldn't quite place it...but if he could guess, it looked like...fear.

”What the hell were you thinking?” Tony growled, clenching his fists.

”Please, Mr Stark, I—”

Tony cut him off, holding out a single hand, before dragging it down his face. “Jesus, kid. You’re too damn young for this. What do your parents think about you running around in a onesie trying to get yourself killed!? Huh?”

There it was again. The switch inside Peter, kindling and resulting in two clenched fists of his own. He wasn’t even sure who he was angry at, Mr Stark or himself—however, he couldn't ignore the other feeling which was churning inside him. A feeling far more complicated and painful.

Guilt.

Would his parents be disappointed in him for being Spider-Man?

”I-I wasn’t trying to get myself killed!” Peter spat.

Apparently, this was the wrong thing to say, as he watched Tony lift his hands fiercely to make a zipping motion. ”No, see this is where you zip it! The adult is talking. What, what did you say you were...fourteen?”

“I’m Fifteen.” He corrected, hating how small he felt. It reminded him of when he was a little kid and would add ’three-quarters’ to his age, like it would make all the difference.

Tony scoffed like he didn't believe him, but chose not to comment on it. ”It doesn't matter. You’re under eighteen. Heck, you’re under sixteen! You want to play superheroes? Fine. Do it at home. Not out here. Not where you’re going to get yourself killed!”

It was like the metaphorical bridge which he had been standing on, that was bending beneath him, had finally snapped.

”And yet I’m the one who saved your life!” Peter retorted, cringing at how many octaves his voice went up, yet still managing to shoot a glare.

He could hear Tony’s heartbeat pickup, alongside the irregularity of his breathing, as though the man couldn’t so much as imagine that Peter was the same person who had saved him that day on the bridge. Peter didn’t blame him, without his tacky suit on and with his height, alongside his youthful features, it made it practically impossible to believe he and Spider-Man were one of the same. Perhaps that’s why he was so careless when it came to his identity; webbing his backpack up on random dumpsters, wearing only his mask in vulnerable places, sneaking out at night. It was a pure dumb luck that nobody had figured it out already, and it seemed, based on current events, that his dumb luck was wearing thin.

“What do you want from me? Huh? A medal? For putting your life in danger?” The man asked with a visible edge to his voice. Although he spoke it like a question, Peter knew that it wasn’t one.

”A thank you might be nice.” Peter mumbled, immediately sucking in a sharp breath when he realised what he had just said. More importantly, who he had said it to.

He hoped that the wind would carry the words away before Tony could catch them, but judging by the stern and intense look in the man's eyes, it was clear that wasn't the case.

To his surprise though, Tony didn't raise his voice or recover with another sarcastic retort. Instead, he took a deep, heavy breath and stared at Peter straight on. Their eyes were locked so fiercely that the teen didn’t think it was possible for him to break away; as much as he wanted to. “There are things about this world...this world that you’ve put yourself in, that you aren’t old enough to understand.”

Despite the measured, calm tone of Tony’s voice, Peter felt a force of anger emerge from the back of his chest; hot embers swirling. Mr Stark had no idea what he had seen. Or the lives that he had watched fade away.

(Ben’s eyes loosing all sense of life, the repressed choking of blood staining his lips.)

”Like what?” Peter questioned, giving a single nod of his head like he was urging the man on—testing Mr Stark’s tolerance. His tongue was laced with teenage angst, and, as much as he hated to admit it, hostility. He wondered where the burst of confidence had come from.

An icy stone dropped in his stomach, causing his injury to throb as he remembered that he wasn’t talking to Ben. As much as there was a distant similarity between Mr Stark and his Uncle, this wasn't him.

No, Mr Stark was one of the richest and most powerful people in the world. So why was it so difficult to see him like that? What had changed since the day of the fair?

“The parts that you’re too young for.” Mr Stark snapped, his patience immediately running slim.

Before Peter could stop himself, the short proclamation had already escaped his chapped lips in a watery whisper. It was almost inaudible. Almost. “You’re not my dad.”

A foreign emotion, one that Peter recognised all too clearly as pain, spiked in the man's brown irises, lingering for a few seconds. Tony’s lips were parted in shock and all of the color had drained from his face. It was brisk and instant and frightening, and it took every ounce of Peter’s anger with it, hot air leaving in a rush.

However, the image of hurt was discarded as quickly as it came, and was rapidly replaced with another feeling. A look of bitterness and detest. ”Trust me, I'm aware.” The man said lowly, almost like it was supposed to be an insult.

Peter swallowed, the taste of blood and unshed tears of frustration thick in his mouth. He watched carefully and with precaution, as Tony shook his head and took a deep breath, all the muscles in his chest blowing out like a hot air balloon.

The man’s jaw was clamped so firmly shut, that it looked almost painful as he opened it. ”I’m not trying to be your dad, kid. I’m trying to keep you alive.”

Instant guilt manifested in Peter’s chest when he heard the desperation and fatigue in Mr Stark’s voice. It was unnerving to hear him so out of character. Or what Peter imagined was out of character based on the man’s public appearances. Still, it didn’t stop the teen from pushing further. “By stopping me from being Spider-Man?”

Tony shrugged, throwing his hands up and shaking his head back and forth slightly; a non-verbal way to say “what did you expect?”

Except, Peter didn't know what to anticipate. He had no idea what the man was thinking—everything was moving so quickly that it was hard to believe a few minutes ago he had been sleeping. Or unconscious. One of the two.

”I can't stop being Spider-Man”, Peter declared with more confidence than he felt. There was a hint of sadness in the way he said the admission. As though he didn't have a choice. ”You can’t stop me from being Spider-Man, Mr Stark.”

Another surge of desperation settled in Tony's features, and Peter knew that it was because he was right. Tony couldn't stop him from being spider-man. He had no claim over him. 

Or so Peter thought. He was quickly proven wrong as Tony’s eyes narrowed, the wheels in his brain visibly turning. “I wonder if your parents would feel the same way?” He asked, tilting his head in a way that was almost belittling.

And that was it. That was the push. Everything he had bottled up—the stab wound in his abdomen and the mental strain—had burst. Like he was a can of diet coke, violently shaken.

The last thing he could remember was the image of May’s face burning into his mind. Distraught and betrayed after Mr Stark told her the truth. He couldn't let that happen.

”No, you...you can’t...” He slurred. Peter swayed, opening his mouth to apologize, or to beg Mr Stark to not tell May, but he was suddenly hot all over, and the skin around his wound felt like it was crawling with bugs.

His legs crumpled, like a puppet whose strings had finally been cut. Exhaustion weighed on him so heavily that it felt as though his mind and body had been separated. 

He barely made out Mr Stark’s startled and anxiety pinched face, before the decaying darkness filled his vision. Except this darkness didn't own a single lonely star.

Chapter Text

“You're not my dad.”

Tony blinked. The blood surged from his face in one swift motion; sudden and painful and frightening, as though he had just come face to face with the imprint of a ghost.

(Maybe, in a way he had.)

He could feel his heartbeat in the tips of his fingers, could barely hear past the thundering of it in his ears, and beneath the resentment, there was another impression, one which he couldn't quite make sense of—one which he didn't want to make sense of. Disappointment.

The notion was completely absurd; he had no reason to be disheartened. Despite the spark of parental instinct searing his chest, he knew he wasn't Peter’s father, he wasn’t trying to be. Nevertheless, any control he had over his emotions was slipping through his fingers like mounds of sand; making him feel transparent. An open book dissipating his feelings all over Queens.

He couldn't help it. The moment he had landed on the roof and spotted the hunched figure wearing a pun shirt and those ridiculous fucking goggles, something inside him had burst.

(The turmoil from imagining a child running headfirst into a crime scene only personifying when Peter had reluctantly stripped off his mask.)

Fuck. Fuck, the kid looked so youthful and naive, even more so than during the science fair—after all, he had been so transfixed on the boy’s intelligence, that he hadn't had time to recognize just how young he looked; what with his doe eyes and cheeks that he clearly hadn't grown into yet.

And he was supposed to believe that this kid, this child, was fifteen? He had been played once already and refused to fall into another one of the teen’s fabrications, the memory of a “pregnant sister” fresh in his mind; taunting him.

In all honesty, the kid could have been eighteen and he wouldn't care. It wouldn't alter the rage rattling his skull. It didn't change the fact that the kid looked so much like...so much like…fuck!

Perhaps he had allowed the familiarity, the fear, wavering in the air to cloud his judgement, which was why he continued to press forward, backing the boy into a corner like a startled deer; his thoughts immediately drifting to the teen’s parents. Who the hell lets their kid run around risking their life? Better yet, who doesn’t realise that their kid is running around risking their life?

Big words coming from the man who failed his own son, the ghoul over his shoulder whispered, bringing his attention back to the kid trembling in front of him.

Peter’s clenched fists, which were once coiling around his abdomen like a shield, had fallen to either side of him, his mouth agape slightly as though he too couldn’t comprehend what had just escaped his lips.

You’re not my dad. The short words were set on replay in his head, causing the bitterness to swell as he internally cataracted the reminder with the only thing he could muster up. The only thing just as unusually painful...

You’re not my son.

”Trust me, I'm aware.” He said, surprising himself with how stable his voice was; how low and measured. Though perhaps that was only because he was sure and unwavering when it came to the proclamation; because the kid wasn't his kid. He wasn't Austin.

A pinched look settled on the boy’s features, and for a moment, Tony had to yank himself back to earth on a string, reminding himself that he was the adult.

He sighed, swallowing down the fatigue dragging him into the rooftop. ”I’m not trying to be your dad, kid. I’m trying to keep you alive.”

Alive, being the keyword in this scenario. And as much as he loathed to admit it, he understood why.

He didn’t want to see Peter leave too.

He couldn't.

Peter drew in a shaky breath before holding onto it tightly, like if he let it go he would fall apart. “By stopping me from being Spider-Man?”

Tony clamped down on a sigh; he threw his hands up, shrugging. What did Peter expect he’d say? That watching a child run headfirst into crime was perfectly okay. That he wouldn’t address the turmoil that’s been plaguing him ever since he discovered who Peter was, or to have to explain the conflict that has been raging inside of him—the tug of war between when it became reasonable to let a teenage boy fight criminals alone. If it was ever reasonable.

”I can't stop being Spider-Man”, The kid said suddenly, causing Tony to swallow air. He was wearing a look that no child should ever have to; one that told him he was already older than his time. ”You can’t stop me from being Spider-Man, Mr Stark.”

The realisation that the kid’s claim rang true, at least to a degree—he wasn’t the boy’s parent and the decision regarding what happened next didn’t necessarily lie with him, hit him at full force. And before he could stop himself, the surge of desperation pushed the threat off his tongue, “I wonder if your parents would feel the same way?”

Although he didn't show it, he took himself by surprise with the threat. Would he tell the kid’s parents? Should he? He observed Peter closely, hoping to see if his reaction would tell him something. Anything. However, his bitterness quickly shifted to dread as he watched the boy stumble back, dazed.

”No, you...you can’t...” The kid said drearily and almost incoherently; his words strung together, which didn't make sense, because he could have sworn that Peter hadn’t been slurring before. Had he?

Before he had the opportunity to question the boy’s speech further, time seemed to come to an abrupt halt; Peter’s entire weight dropping suddenly like his limbs were lined with lead, and for a second, it felt as though his stomach was the one that was falling. Tony blinked, before the reality of what was happening sunk in.

“Fuck!” It was the only entity his brain could construct as he threw himself forward, only just stopping the kid from whacking his head on the concrete. He huddled Peter in his arms, the boy’s head lolled back over his elbow.

Tony's blood froze in his veins in the split second it took for him to realize that the boy who he just been lecturing, talking down to like he was fucking Howard—and about staying alive of all things—wasn’t moving.

He shifted two trembling fingers to the boy’s pulse, and for a dreaded period, he wasn’t sure if it was his own heartbeat that he could feel in the tips of his fingers. It felt almost as if his mind was playing tricks on him, because in a flash, all he could see was Austin’s face lying pale and unmoving on the floor.

”F.R.I. What the hell happened?” He choked out to his suit, who was hovering close behind him. His voice was so strained, so quiet, that it seemed impossible that she had heard him.

“Scan him!” Tony said louder; in his mind, he was screaming, but for some reason, that order too could have been withered away by the wind.

"Running scan", Friday replied, ready as always to comply. Tony couldn’t help but let his anxious thoughts wander as he waited.

Had he done this? Now that he took the time to actually look at Peter, he realised just how bad the kid looked. His eyes were red, his face pale. And on looking back, Tony noted how erratic the boy's breathing had been all whilst he had been screaming at him. All whilst he refused to give him a chance to speak.

God, he felt like an asshole.

”He appears to be suffering from a severe abrasion on his lower abdomen Boss. The wound seems to be infected. Medical attention is required.”

What the fuck? Tony cursed under his breath, looking to the boy’s shirt, his lungs ceasing to move as he noticed the blood seeping through. Dark and insufficient. But noticeable.

He quickly pulled the fabric back, wincing at the sight before him—any hope that F.R.I.D.A.Y had miscalculated the damage, deteriorating.

Various shades of crimson were seeping through...what was that? A switch clicked in Tony’s mind and he titled his head back, resisting the urge to scoff in exasperation. Unbelievable.

Biodegradable, waterproof bandages.

When Peter had told him about his webbing at the science fair, he was impressed, to say the least. He was also surprised that a teenager could come up with something concentrated so greatly on helping others. He never thought Peter would wind up using them on himself. Fuck.

”F.R.I what's my best course of action here? Can I move him?” He blurted, shifting the kid in his arms. Peter didn't even stir.

”Moving him shouldn't be an issue so long as it's done carefully and the injury is kept elevated.” F.R.I.D.A.Y confirmed. Tony gave a single jerk of his head, his lips twitching in discomfort as he peeled back the muddied webbing, revealing the gnarly slash underneath.

It was definitely infected; swollen to hell and back, with red spreading in all directions, and yet, that wasn’t even the worst part. The worst part was the god-awful stitches which were inevitably self-inflicted.

His fury morphed into sadness as he imagined this kid—this young and bright-minded kid, full of life—stitching himself up on his bathroom floor. He wondered if that had been the centre of his anger the entire time. Fear.

God knows what his parents would feel if they found out—a sudden twinge of guilt pinched his chest for threatening to tell them straight to the kids face.

”Alright kid. Let's go on a rocket trip”, He murmured, gently scooping the teen up into a bridal carry as the suit accumulated around him. ”You’re going to be kicking yourself that you weren't awake for this one.” He added, hoping that despite his sufferings, Peter still had an ounce of childlike enthusiasm inside him. That he could be spared from the early overture into adulthood that Howard had pressured him into.

His faceplate snapped shut as he immediately took to the sky, headed straight for the tower, thanking the stars above that he hadn’t sold it yet. He couldn't bring himself to think about having to take Peter all the way upstate; the lack of air reaching his lungs already causing his chest throb and ache.

”Boss, might I remind you that there is currently nobody working in the medical wing and Dr Cho is on her excursion.”

Tony cursed, suddenly feeling like an idiot. He should have just taken the kid straight to a hospital and forced them to sign an NDA; after all, it would have been so easy to shift the responsibility to his parents, take spider-man away, and forget any of this ever happened. Forget he and the boy ever crossed paths.

(It would have been so easy to hand his baby to some strangers, leaving Obadiah to do the background checks and take the “problem off his hands.” It would have been easy to fall back into his life of women and drinking. Or at least... it should have been.)

However, as he looked down to the kid’s pale face, his stomach clenching, another invisible tie was binding them together; whether Tony knew it or not.

What he did know was that not long ago, he had been secluded in his lab, and now he was flying with an unconscious teenager, untreated stab wound, a few PHDs and some basic medical training.

In all the years that Helen Cho had worked for him without taking a step back, he’d finally given her a break. A holiday to the Maldives—he’d seen it in a brochure that she had been carrying around and figured that it would be nice to give her a break from constantly saving his life. And dealing with him in general.

He should probably start hiring full time medics, Tony thought to his entire hospital ward, vacant and silent beside the humming lights. He spared Peter an anxious glance.

A forlorn sigh pushed itself from his parted lips, knowing with building dread that he only had the one option, ”Looks like I'm going to have to patch you up myself, Pete.”

Pete. The nickname slipped off his tongue before he could catch it, his jaw immediately flexing as he ground his teeth and reminded himself once again that wasn't his kid. That helping him was a professional courtesy; a good moral compass. Even though, for some reason, the thought alone left him with a bitter feeling.

Delirium.

Thick and hefty and painful.

It was the only word that Peter could think of to describe the feeling—the feeling of his brain floating above him, yet still clenching down like a hand was grasping it.

Why was someone grasping his brain?

He brought a hand up to the side of his head, fingers brushing over his temple, but not pinpointing any cuts or bumps to explain the throbbing.

Instead, it was more of an all-over ache which made Peter wonder what the hell happened to him, until a memory, blurred and distorted, pushed through the fog like a bad fever dream—bits and pieces flashing incoherently.

Confusion weighed him down to something soft and cushioned, causing his brows to furrow with residual dizziness. He felt as though he had forgotten something—something that he had to do. Or had to stop.

There wasn’t any anxiety—not yet; not really—it was more of a vulnerability and tiredness swelling in his limbs. He couldn’t remember being kidnapped, and there was no noise to signal that he had found himself locked up in some sort of freaking dungeon. Overall, he felt sore and heavy, but then again, it wouldn’t have been the first time he had stumbled into bed feeling something similar.

He took a deep breath through his nose, causing his abdomen to burn like a dozen wasps were stinging his skin. Why were wasps stinging him?

In a spur of contorted panic, he flailed his hands out, his eyes remaining stubbornly closed as he sluggishly tried to swat the pests away from his stomach.

”Hey, hey, hey! Steady, sleeping beauty. Don't do that.” Something warm and rough caught his wild hand, firmly holding it still.

Peter’s face crinkled at the man’s voice, before a sudden burst of panic shot through the haze, causing his heart rate to spike. He blinked open his eyes, and then blinked again, squinting up at a blurry, panelled ceiling, lined with several bright squares.

It took a moment for his vision to adjust to the harsh contrast in lighting, but after a few heavy seconds, the outline of a hazy figure sitting beside him, tense and set like stone, came into view.

For a moment, he was frozen, before everything around him started spinning as he scrambled upright, heaving himself away from the man.

”Woah! HEY! What did I just say?” Hands began pushing him down, only fuelling his overwhelming urge to get out.

”No, hey!” Peter whined, trying to pry the two arms from where they were gripping his shoulders. ”Get off!” He started kicking, too terrified to decipher the reality of what was happening.

“Hey! Kid! Look at me! Look at me!” The voice yelled firmly, and it was only when the noise of a rapid heartbeat—a second rapid heartbeat—caught Peter’s attention that he stopped fighting; stopped searching for an escape route and allowed his red-rimmed eyes to focus on the figure in front.

”You’re alright.” Mr Stark assured, his eyes frantically searching Peter’s face as though he was reading a book, his arms softening their grip on his shoulders.

Wait…Mr Stark?

Oh. Oh shit.

Everything began cascading in—the argument, the threat, the fainting—causing his ears, his face, hell, even his toes, to burn in mortification. Still, he felt his posture uncoil slightly now that he knew he wasn’t being held hostage by a crazed killer.

Tony pulled back with a raised brow, taking a seat in the chair beside the bed, ”Before you ask if it was a dream, it wasn't.”

Peter’s eyes remained blown open comically wide, his tongue growing dry like sandpaper as his lips parted. ”I passed out in front of Tony Stark.”

”Yup.” Tony stated, popping the ‘p’ with force. There was an emotion building behind his eyes which Peter couldn’t place, a dangerous spark that made the teen shift under his gaze. He could tell that, for whatever reason, Tony was holding back from saying something.

”I passed out in front of Tony Stark.” He repeated again, more so to himself, as he swallowed hard. His heart was thumping so loud that he was sure even someone without enhanced healing could have heard it. Mr Stark was probably listening to it right now.

”Sure did.”

”Urg...ouch.” Peter winced as he propped himself up on his elbows, studying his abdomen. His eyebrows rose in surprise when he saw that his stitches were removed and his web bandages discarded, leaving him with an open view of his wound.

It looked even worse than he remembered—with red flourishing across his stomach like a blurred bouquet of roses, crusted blood surrounding the gash.

Tony was clearly sharing a similar thought as he cringed in sympathy. ”Yeah I had to get your...thread out. Nice work, by the way, you've got great stitching skills.”

”Really?” Peter’s head raised a little, hoping that maybe, just maybe, he hadn’t messed up on all fronts. However, Tony just stared at him with a blank expression, and the teen could tell that the man was trying hard not to roll his eyes as he came to the realisation. ”You’re joking.”

After an uncomfortable beat of silence, Tony made a tsk sound, his lips breaking apart as he ran a hand over his face, looking depleted. Peter instinctively held his breath, the nagging anxiety in his mind whispering to him that he had just ruined Tony Stark’s entire evening.

”Listen, I'm going to hold up on the next part of this, so I can deal with this part of this.” Tony gestured with a firm hand to the teens injured side...or just his entire being. Peter couldn't tell.

A sudden flash of dread caused his stomach to squirm, anxiety clamping down as he tried to understand what Mr Stark meant by the next part; even though he wasn’t sure he wanted to understand.

”W–What’s the next part?” He asked, shifting his gaze nervously around the room, as though he was once again subconsciously looking for a way out.

As he took in his surroundings, he noticed the two vast windows situated on the white wall ahead, overlooking the city; dark and heavy with fume. Peter dreaded to think about how long he had been laying here—let alone if May realized that he was missing. The thought caused his brain to spike in pain.

Tony sighed, ”The talking part.” He stood up, pulling two elasticated blue gloves out of a draw, and putting them on his hands with a snap.

”Oh. Right. Umm...”

”Kid, if you want to say something, say it.” Tony scolded, and it was only then that Peter could see just how frantic the man’s entire demeanour was; the remorse prowled in Peter’s veins as he noticed how hard he was trying not to let it show.

Peter fiddled anxiously, picking at the skin around his fingers, “Sorry, I was just wondering where we are exactly? B–because I, um, it’s not exactly a good idea for me to go to a hospital.”

”You say sorry an awful lot for a teenager”, Tony responded with a quirk of the brow. “And you're not in a hospital...even if you probably should be. Not my finest moment”, He grumbled, before sighing. “You’re in the tower’s medical wing. My own personal touch to the facility.”

“T–the tower?” Peter stuttered, peering over Tony’s shoulder and out of the glass, his heart jumping as he realised that the usual grand ivory tower that would usually rule over the city, was nowhere to be seen.

Tony nodded, tracing a finger around the red coating Peter’s abdomen, before pulling out something that looked like rubbing alcohol. Peter did his best not to wince at the mere sight of the bottle. He had used the antiseptic solution a while ago—though only on a minor abrasion, and he didn't even want to imagine what it would feel like on an injury of this magnitude.

“As in the avenger’s tower?” Peter asked, swallowing thickly.

Tony stilled, his jaw clenching, and for a moment, just a moment, something that Peter was all too familiar with flashed in his eyes—loss. Raw and unfiltered, and pained. However, as quickly as the emotion arrived, it was forced away again.

Tony turned his attention to splashing the solution onto a cotton pad. “That’s the one.”

Peter chose not to question it any further, despite how much his childhood self yearned to know what was happening with the hero’s. He had seen the man angry once and really wanted to avoid it happening twice, knowing that nobody wanted to be on the receiving end of Tony’s rage.

“Where are the doctors?”, Peter wondered aloud, scanning around the vacant room, “N-not that you can’t be a doctor! I mean you’re Tony Stark, and totally a genius who literally invented a new element...so I’m sure you are an excellent doctor, Sir.”

Peter expected the man to roll his eyes or at least show a sign of frustration towards his rambling. Instead, he seemed unfazed, like when they first met at the science fair. ”My Doctor, Helen, is currently swimming with baby sharks, so that means that as of right now I'm having to play doctors. I have to warn you, kid...this isn't exactly my forte.”

”Oh. Yeah, of course. No, um, that’s fine. Got it. Thank you.” He stumbled, feeling like he was metaphorically tripping over his own feet; the internal comparison caused his cheeks to burn fiercely.

Tony blinked at him, as though he was a computer trying to decipher some sort of puzzle. However, behind his sullen lips and narrowed eyes there was a forlorn expression—sad, and tender and causing Peter’s lungs to tighten.

After a moment, the man breathed, laboriously.

”Alright, I'm going to put this”, Tony held up the cotton pad, ”On there. It's probably going to sting...” Tony sighed, ”Okay it’s probably going to do more than sting...but I need you to be prepared.”

Peter nodded violently, trying to put on a brave face in front of his hero. However, Tony instantly seemed to catch on his intentions, his features softening negligibly, “Kid, it’s okay if you need to cry or scream. No judgment here. I promise.”

”Okay…” Peter exhaled, hoping that Tony didn’t notice the way his voice trembled. If he did, he didn’t say anything.

As it turns out, Peter didn't scream...this time. He managed to get through the burning with no more than an intense flinch and grunt.

”You good?” Tony asked cautiously as he removed the pad and tossed it into a nearby trash can.

Peter nodded, not trusting himself to speak as his eyes began to grow a layer of unshed tears. To his relief, Tony didn't mention it, or the way he looked up at the sharp light as though he was trying to ward the wetness away. Instead, he turned his head, pulling something else out of his enigmatic draw of medical supplies. Peter didn't ask what came next—even though the reasonable part of him that had already experienced this once before, already knew.

Peter focused on the pressure his nails had against his palm, and making crescent moons of his own. A pain he could control.

”I’m not going to lie, I was really hoping you'd stay in dreamland for this part.” Tony murmured, drawing out a needle and thread.

Peter could feel his face visibly pale; instant and obvious and terrifying. Tony seemed to have noticed it too as he tilted his head, this time from concern, urging the kid on.

Peter cleared his throat, dislodging the rock wedged there, but only slightly. “I–I’m just not that good with needles. I'm sorry I–I know you're helping me and you've already done so much, I don't want to be an inconvenience—“

”Hey hey. You’re good. It's okay. Breathe, Kid.” Tony placed a hand on his kneecap and Peter really wanted it to say that way, rather than be worrying about what would come after all of this. The talking. The pain. The unknown.

”Is there anyone I can call for you? A parent? Friend? You don't need to do this part alone if you don't want to.” Tony squeezed his knee once, as though he was pulling him down to earth and keeping him grounded. His voice remained surprisingly calm even though Peter could hear the desperation underlying the question. He wanted him to say yes—he needed him to.

(But May’s face was etched into his mind; heartbroken and fierce after Peter made the call to say that he was bleeding out in Tony Stark’s tower. The idea of ruining May’s life just so he could have a hand to hold, seemed far more selfish than ruining Tony Stark’s evening by saying no.)

Peter shook his head hastily, fear seeping into his bones as he recalled the man's words from earlier.

(”I wonder if your parents would feel the same way?”)

Peter shifted his eyes to his lap, ”Maybe it would be better if you just...” he swallowed thickly, past the rising lump in his throat. “Left it to heal itself...” the idea sounded ridiculous even before it left his throat.

Tony’s disappointed face morphed into one of pure shock. As though that was the worst thing Peter could have possibly said. ”Yeah. Hard no, kid.”

Peter could feel his blood rushing to his brain as his eyes followed the needle. The idea of passing out again didn’t seem half bad. ”You allergic to anything?” Tony asked, snapping a length of thread effortlessly.

Peter shook his head, his eyes still trained to the needle hovering above his abdomen.

”Good because I might have already dosed you up when you were counting sheep.”

Peter frowned, twisting the bed sheet in his hands, ”Oh, I don't know if they’ll work on me, I–I have a super crazy metabolism so...”

”Hmmm, is that a teenager thing or Spider-Man thing?” The way Tony’s nose wrinkled at the mere mention of the vigilante didn't go unnoticed.

”A, um Spider-Man thing...but being a teenager probably doesn't help.” Peter replied.

Tony pursed his lips and nodded in thought. ”We should probably look into that, maybe run some tests.”

Peter subconsciously jerked at the use of the word ’tests’, though before he could pay it much attention, the needle was situated by the injury.

Peter bit the inside of his cheek, his hands curling tighter at the thought of having to go through all of that pain again. Tony sighed, ”Listen, I know it sucks.  I don’t...fuck...I don’t have the meds for you, and even if I call in a bunch of doctors and a legal team to protect your identity...” Tony broke off with another sigh. “This needs to be done, now. We can't have it getting infected...again.” There was a slight edge to Tony’s voice as he trailed off, one that caused the teen to wince.

Peter sucked in a sharp breath of air—instantly feeling stupid when he thought about how spider-man was letting his fear of needles get in the way. And only making Iron-man’s job even more difficult. He wasn't even sure where his fear of needles originated from. It was strange; as though he was born with the anxiety. All he knew was that they terrified him.

Paralysed him.

The teen bit down on his lip to try and stop it from trembling. He hated how much he felt like a little kid. Today was full of everlasting moments where he felt small.

To his surprise, Tony who had kept his walls set like stone the entire time, allowed the barrier to be broken for a brief second as he reached forward and gave a brief squeeze of Peter’s hand. Even through the gloves, he could feel the warmth radiating and the callouses among the softness. However, the comfort it brought was short-lived, as he promptly let go to work the thread through the needle.

Tony looked up at him as if he was asking for permission, but Peter couldn't bring himself to speak or even nod. He was shaking more violently than he ever had before, and the worst part was that he couldn't do anything to control it.

”Being handed things.” Tony stated abruptly, sitting up. He pulled the needle away slightly, prompting Peter’s gaze to meet his brown irises in trepidation.

”What?” The teen choked out, his voice no louder than a whisper.

”Your fear is needles. Mine is being handed things. Well, I say fear. It's more of a thing. An annoying thing. I don't know when it started, but I hate being handed things, I won't do it.” Tony rambled and Peter was surprised to hear him opening up so much. Especially with how closed off he was before.

Tony waved a gloved hand, ”My point is, that you don’t need to be embarrassed. We all have our...things. So the same rules apply. If you need to scream, don’t hold back, okay?”

Peter uncoiled slightly—some of the tension in his shoulders dissolving at the man's gentle tone. He managed a single shaky nod in response.

As it turned out, the second time Peter did scream. It started out as a whine through gritted teeth as Tony pulled the needle through, though as the man pulled the first stitch closed, it accelerated into an almost blood-curdling scream. Perhaps it was because the injury's condition had worsened and had already undergone this process once before, or maybe he was less dazed than last time, but either way, he sincerely hoped that there was no one in the tower there to hear it.

”I know, I know. I'm sorry buddy. I'm sorry.” Tony muttered tenderly.

Peter wanted to reassure the man. To tell him that it wasn't his fault and he was trying so hard not to scream, but all he could do was sob as Tony pulled the needle through the second time.

”Like when ?” Peter gasped.

Tony stopped his ministrations to give Peter a concerned look. It was a far cry from the icy rage the boy had seen before he passed out. ”One? One of what?”

”W–when you couldn't...be handed something.” Peter replied, already sounding hoarse from screaming.

”You mean like a time when it embarrassed me?” Tony clarified. Peter nodded.

”Let’s see...” He quickly pulled another stitch through, causing Peter to cry out. The teen swallowed a mouthful of bile, wincing at the sour taste it left in his mouth, all whilst trying not to picture himself throwing up and passing out in front of Tony Stark in the same day.

Tony continued. ”Okay, I've got one, but just to be clear, you sell this to TMZ and I'll plaster an embarrassing photo of you on every billboard in New York.”

Peter huffed a laugh, which quickly turned into a dry sob. He bit down on his lip hard, as Tony tied the stitch together with the suture thread.

To anyone else, the man’s movements were swift and precise, despite the dire situation. However, Peter’s senses were going haywire and he couldn't help but notice the tremor lacing the man’s hand. Now Peter examined him, he could also pick up on Tony’s unstable breathing and audible heartbeat.

”It was my college graduation at MIT.” Tony started, pressing another stitch through. The boy twitched under his skin, a few whimpers escaped his lips, but Tony kept his sight solely on the wound and continued a steady string of words.

”Of course, I was younger than everyone else there so naturally I was already...the odd one out.”

Tony managed to pull the stitch together and knot it with only a hiss coming from Peter. Not that it was any less concerning to hear that the boy was making less noise.

Peter watched as the man fought the urge to look up at him, choosing to settle his own gaze on the ceiling.

—He had to be at least halfway done.

—Please let him be at least halfway done.

”Anyway, I'm going up to collect my certificate and whatnot. I reach the professor by the stand, except when I get there, I realise that I physically can't take it from him.”

Tony kept up the story and Peter was aware that it was becoming an invisible barrier between what was happening and where they both wanted to be. Even if his side still hurt like hell, it was at least somewhat of a distraction.

”I want to...but it's like there's an invisible wall between my hand and the diploma.”

He could tell that Tony was uncomfortable telling the story and had probably forced himself not to think about it for years, which on any other occasion would have amused him, maybe even excited him—but right now all he could focus on was the sound of the mechanic’s voice.

”So there I am, staring at it like an idiot for what felt like ten minutes”,

Two tears trailed down Peter’s temples and into his dampened hairline, but he couldn't find the strength to lift his hands to his face and swipe away the residue.

”Until my best friend Rhodes, older than me...taller, a catch with the ladies. He comes up to the stage…”

Tony pierced the skin with the needle for what felt like the hundredth time and Peter could feel his entire stomach vibrating in response, another whimper escaping his lips.

”Rhodes...as in the Iron Patriot?” Peter managed to choke out, mostly just to prove that he was okay—or as much as he could be at least. It was almost ridiculous; even when his face was scrunched heavily from pain, he was still striving to prove something to his hero. No matter how minor or trivial that thing was.

”War machine, but yeah whatever, he comes up to the stage, and you'd think that's nice right? Going up to help his ol’ pal Tony.”

He pushed the needle through once again, pulling the wound one stitch closer to being sealed. The evidence that the end was in sight, like the light at the end of a darkened tunnel, should have given him some solace. However, instead, the unexpected burst pain caused Peter to forget his super strength. It was only for a split second, but under the pressure of his teeth, it rapidly developed into a split lip. His mouth began to fill with the metallic taste of blood, before he swallowed hard, his face contorting in displeasure. 

”Nope”, Tony continued, unaware of Peter’s predicament. He was refusing to look anywhere other than the injury; like he was afraid the boy would fall apart if he did.

”Boy that's how I wish it went”, He grumbled. ”But anyway, Rhodes leans into the mic and says: sorry everyone, my friend Anthony here has a fear of college diplomas. It was actually incredibly difficult to convince him to graduate.” The man shakes his head slightly in reminiscence, doing a poor impersonation of what Peter assumes colonel Rhodes definitely does not sound like. 

The hysteria that was drawn by the story, alongside the panicked pain he was in, caused him to snort in laughter. Though that too promptly turned into another dry and wounded sob. Disappointment hit him like a slap in the face.

Disappointment because his whole life he had imagined meeting his hero, the man who he had looked up to—who he had cried for when he watched him fly into a black hole; like the last spark on a burnt paper.  And after the science fair, he thought that maybe, just maybe, he might have a chance to be something more; to do something more. But whatever that longing was, he knew this wasn't it. It wasn't colouring the man's home in numerous shades of his blood or crying in his medical room. 

”Pretty sure if I ever went back to MIT I’d still be known as the guy with diplomaphobia.” Tony mumbled, finishing off his story.

And that was it. The breaking point. He wasn't even sure whether it was because of the ridiculous and positively hilarious story or the absurdity of this entire situation, but he started laughing. Breathy and hysterical like when you laugh so hard you can't get any air into your lungs. May always called it his baby machine-gun laugh.

He felt Tony become static as though he was giving him time to calm down and not risk injuring him whilst he was moving—the thick needle still pinched between his fingers.

When Peter glanced back down—large tears continuing to roll down his cheeks—the man was staring at him with concern. More than that he looked scared. Disturbed.

”I–I–I’m sorry it’s just...diplomaphobia.” He wheezed. The laughs proceeded to slip off his tongue, before slowly turning into cries. Ugly hiccups which rattled his chest, prohibiting the air from getting in and out.

”Pete.” 

”Peter.”

”Kid!” The man raised his voice, sharply, though he eyes were brimming with  worry.  Peter snapped his attention to the man, his turbulent gasps for air getting louder, like his lungs were malfunctioning, glitching into a permanent shutdown.

(He thought about the day on the bridge; the way Mr Stark’s suit had buffered into a free fall, and although the comparison was completely absurd, he couldn't help but feel that what happened to the suit was happening to him.)  

”You need to breathe.” Tony told him, his voice measured but his movements frantic. I can't, Peter gasped internally. I want to but I can't.

It was as if Tony could hear his plea’s, because only a moment later, the man's entire demeanour was shifting. ”Here, put your hand on my chest.”

Tony placed the needle down, and strode over, settling by the boy's side. Peter watched carefully as the man took his hand and placed it exactly where he said he would, before proceeding to take a few deep and exaggerated breaths.

This went on for a few more minutes until Peter’s breathes were more constant and collected. Still jumpy and with the occasional, mortifying hiccups, but undoubtedly better.

He couldn't help but think that this was the second time Tony had saved his life tonight. 

“Good boy”, Tony praised, moving back to the other side of the bed. “Now five things you can see. List them.”

“W–what?” Peter’s lips parted in confusion.

“Just...trust me”, Tony sighed, nodding his head as though he was physically urging the teen to do as he said. Peter imagined that looking at the man now wasn’t a whole lot different to looking in a mirror; if the two purple friends under his eyes, and his exhausted complexion was anything to go by. Had he really caused all of this?

Peter tugged in a shaky breath. 

“Um...curtains? A plastic cup, um...a table, machines...and, um, Tony Stark’s goatee.” He finished lamely. Tony’s lip quirked.

”Good. Four things you can touch. Go.”

“The...the sheet, my hands...my hair...I can't think of a fourth one...sorry.”

Tony didn't seem deterred and Peter realised that it probably wasn't the first time that the man had to use these methods; although he had never been open to the public about his struggles as Iron-man, other than the bleak and self-critical humour he fed to the press, Peter knew first hand about the anxiety that game with wearing a suit.

”Two things you can smell.” Tony dragged him away from his overbearing thoughts.

“Coffee...and antiseptic.” He replied, his breath hitching as he focused in on the chemical scent, combined with the rich and recognisable one clinging to the man’s clothing. The technique seemed to be working as all of his senses focused in, his head becoming clearer like a window to that had been wiped clean.

Tony nodded, ”And one thing you can taste.”

“Blood.” The taste was prominent and bitter, pushing the word impulsively from his stained tongue before he could even think about what he was saying.

Tony shook his head a little, blanching as he noticed it for the first time; not that Peter blamed him, a little blood seemed like nothing in comparison to everything else. Still, concern pierced Tony’s eyes as he stumbled closer and inspected the boy’s lip—tilting Peter’s chin with his finger so he could get a better look.

”I...I think I bit down too hard. Sorry.”

”Stop”, Tony rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand and Peter watched him take a few calming breaths. ”Stop apologising. I should have given you something to bite down on.” He spoke under his breath, like he was chastising himself.

”S’ okay.” Peter whispered, holding the tissue Tony passed him to his lip, red ink instantly bleeding into the white. The boy couldn't help but shift his gaze back to his injury. ”You...done?” He whispered, aware of how young and helpless his sounded.

Exactly how Spider-Man wasn't supposed to be.

He watched Tony grit his teeth and cast his eyes to the floor. Peter could tell he was thinking about skipping the final stitch, before he shook his head with a gravelly sigh. ”Kid, look at me.”

Peter obliged, tears—hot and large, falling helplessly down his cheeks as Tony finished applying some dressing on the last part of the wound, ”I need to to stay still for me. Just for another minute.”

Peter wanted to sob. To scream that he couldn't take it any more and beg for Tony to leave the rest of it alone, but he knew the reason why they needed to finish what they had started. He knew that they couldn't abandon they had already started. He nodded jerkily and Tony reciprocated, reaching out to give the boys hand a final reassuring squeeze. ”You might want to look away. Anticipating will only make this worse.”

Peter didn't respond, instead opting to focus on one of the ceiling tiles. He described it in his head as though it would somehow saturate the pain encompassing him.

White with grey flecks.

A perfect square.

Possibly made from a type of aluminium.

The needle pierced his skin a final time and a moan evaded his lips. Peter loathed how childlike it sounded, but before he could hate himself too much, the wound was pulled together and given a final knot. Like a bow on a present.

”Okay Pete”, Tony spoke up, quiet but still undeniably firm. ”I'm going to clean up and give you a chance to rest. I know that can't have been easy.”

”And then we’re done?” Peter asked hopefully, praying to any deity that might be listening that there were no other painful steps which he’d somehow forgotten.

Tony’s intense brown’s lifted, meeting his own. ”And then we're going to talk.”

A spike of dread pierced his stomach, drawing his face into a wince, and for a second it felt as though the needle was making another rift in his skin. However, before the worry had a chance to linger, something pressed against his right leg, followed by two firm pats that caused Peter’s brow to furrow.

He peered down, craning his head to where Tony stood was at the end of the cot, his lips tugging into the beginning of a smirk. As Peter’s eyes trailed downwards he felt the tension in his shoulders release slightly.

‘You were brave today.’ The letters were unkempt and cartoonish, and the sticker itself a luminous yellow—but most humourous of all was the happy snail grinning ear to ear.

The knowledge that Tony Stark kept children’s stickers in his medical ward, as well as the sight itself, caused a weight on his chest to lift. He looked at Tony quizzically, his lips  raised a little as he wondered if the sticker—the words, meant something more. Something bigger.

However, Peter’s hopeful eyes quickly dimmed as his hero sniffed, breaking away from their locked gaze; one of the many flags that the next part wouldn't be so easy.