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Peter would like to say that he doesn’t whoop as he throws his first web, but he whoops as he throws his first web. How can he not? He hasn’t been on patrol in weeks, busy with reacclimating. He supposes that he really hasn’t patrolled in five years, but he’d rather pretend that it’s just been a few weeks. It’s easier that way.
“Spider-Man!” Someone screams. They put their fingers to their mouth to let out a shrill whistle.
Peter grins from beneath his mask and does a flip. That’s what everyone wants to see from him, really, when they’re not being mugged. There are almost as many Spider-Man-doing-flips compilations on YouTube as there are of Spider-Man-falling-on-his-face compilations. And, well, he’d rather do a flip than fall on his face.
Patrol is calm today, which is a good thing. He’s not sure that he’s really in the right mental space to take down a drug cartel or something, just weeks after defeating Thanos. Peter’s content with helping old ladies across the street for now.
He’s doing that, gripping onto Edith’s bony elbow as she leans onto him for support, when a call comes in.
“Answer it, K,” Peter responds, smiling as Edith reaches the sidewalk and thanks him for his help.
“Hey, kid,” Tony says.
His voice is slightly different than it was five years ago. There’s a weariness in the tone that Peter knows comes from Titan, but at the same time, it’s infinitely softer. That’s from Morgan.
“Hi, Mr. Stark, what’s up?”
“Nothing much. You’re on patrol?”
“Yeah. Don’t worry, I’m not stabbed or anything.”
“... Well, now I’m worried.”
Peter chuckles, thwipping away to a nearby building to continue the conversation in solitude.
“So listen, kid, I was wondering if you could do me a small favor?”
“Depends. What is it?”
“SI’s completely wrecked, if I’m being honest. Pep and I haven’t been there in years. Now that... well, frankly, now that you’re back, kiddo, I have less on my mind, and we really need to head in for a meeting with the Board.”
“I - I’m really sorry, sir.”
“Jesus Christ, Pete, you’re the only one who would apologize for dying.”
Peter flushes. “Well, I don’t - I don’t want to make you sad.”
A forced chuckle stumbles its way through Peter’s speakers. “Yeah, well. Anyway, the reason I’m telling you this is because we need a babysitter.”
“I’d love to hang out with Morgan!” Peter chirps.
Tony had, apparently, regaled his daughter with tales of Peter’s adventures, both as Spider-Man and Peter Parker, when she had trouble sleeping. It makes him blush when he thinks about it, but it’s also why the two are so close, even after such a short amount of time knowing one another. The second Morgan laid eyes on him, only a few hours after the fight, she immediately latched onto him, declared him her brother, and never let go.
Peter hopes she never does.
For some reason, Tony seems hesitant when continuing. “Are... you sure, bud?”
“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be? Morgan’s great. Besides, May has a work thing tonight and I’d be alone anyway.”
“Okay, Pete. Come by the lake house at around 6:00? I’ll be back by midnight, and then we can have one of our famous Tony and Peter movie nights.”
“If they’re so famous, we should probably think of a name more creative than ‘Tony and Peter movie nights.’ I thought you’re supposed to be big on naming things. Disappointing, Mr. Stark.”
“Well, it finally made you refer to me as Tony. How does ‘Irondad movie nights’ sound?” Tony says with a short snort. “Better?”
“Iron -”
“Have a good patrol, kid.”
Tony hangs up.
...Irondad?
At the designated time, Peter arrives at the lake house via webs. The air is clear and fresh, a stark contrast against the heavily polluted city air he’s grown accustomed to. Behind rows of lush trees, there lies the cabin, a quaint and yet modern building.
It’s nothing that an outsider would recognize as Stark-quality, but Peter sees the touch of his mentor in each crevice of the home. He walks up to the door and knocks twice, instantly warming as Tony answers.
"So where’s my favorite Stark?” Peter asks, smirking.
"I’d get angry but it’s the correct opinion.”
“I know.”
Tony runs a hand through his hair. “There’s one other thing, Pete.”
“Yeah?”
“A game. A, uh, a game you’re going to have to play.”
Peter furrows his brow. “What are you talking about, Mr. Stark?”
Before Tony can answer, however, Pepper walks up to the doorway, Morgan perched on her hip.
It takes some time for Peter’s brain to catch up with his eyes, and Tony’s thrusting a bottle of cold medication into his palm before the realization hits him.
Oh.
Morgan looks like shit.
She’s pale and clammy and her silky black hair has lost its sheen, lying limp at her side. There’s a certain weariness in her eyes that doesn’t look right on her; maybe it’s the droopiness in her eyelids or the way her eyebrows are drawn together.
Tony sends Peter a quick apologetic glance.
“So, Magoo, are you excited to spend time with Petey?”
Morgan’s lips pull up into a quick smile, and then the muscles relax once again and her expression returns to a miserable one. She says something that could possibly be interpreted as ‘yes,’ but it’s unclear.
“Thank you, again, Peter,” Pepper says, lifting Morgan up and placing her in Peter’s arms. “Tony said that you shouldn’t catch the sickness because of your spider metabolism? Because we wouldn’t want you to get ill.”
“Oh, yeah, yeah,” Peter mutters. He's trying to arrange Morgan into a position comfortable enough for the both of them. Her limbs get tangled together and he accidentally elbows her in the eye, but eventually he successfully mimics Pepper’s hold. “Yeah, I don’t - I don’t get sick.”
“I have to go change, I’ll be back in a minute,” Pepper nods pleasantly at Peter and heads off up the stairs.
“So, Mr. Stark,” Peter says, plastering on a sickly sweet smile. “Morgan’s sick, huh?”
“Yeah... I’m sorry, kid, I forgot to tell you.”
“Feel like that would have been some important information.”
“You don’t wanna be with me?” Morgan whispers, her voice hoarse.
“No! No, Morgan, I would have wanted to come anyway, I just wish I could have – just gotten in the right frame of mind.”
Tony and Peter begin a silent conversation, and it ends with the decision that Tony will procure the special popcorn that Peter likes for their movie night in exchange for Peter's silence.
At least, Peter thinks it does. It’s kind of hard to communicate your demands without using any words.
“Alright,” Pepper says, smoothing her skirt down as she returns to the group. She snatches up the car keys from the counter. “Ready to head out, Tony?”
“Yep.”
Tony gingerly rests his hand on Morgan’s cheek, brushing away some of her hair that’s sticking to the skin. He gives her a soft smile and bends down to press a kiss to the crown of her head.
“Pete’s going to take care of you, bambina. It's all going to be okay.”
As he pulls himself back up, his knees pop and his back creaks slightly. It’s an uncomfortable reminder of the five years that Peter missed. But those unwelcome thoughts are soon wiped away when Tony cups the back of Peter’s head in the palm of his hand and kisses Peter’s curls.
“I love you, bud. Have a good time, okay?”
Peter freezes.
I love you.
Tony’s never told Peter those words before.
Not that Peter doesn’t know that they're true, or doesn’t reciprocate the feeling. But saying something and feeling it are two incredibly different things, especially in this respect.
Peter tears his gaze from his mentor and busies himself by threading Morgan’s hair through his fingers.
“I, uh, I love you too, Mr. – Tony.”
“It’s about time,” Pepper says, in that forceful-soft way that she does. “Now we really do have to head out, though. Take care, Peter.”
“Yeah!” Peter says, drawn from his reverie. “Yeah, of course. Have a good time.”
“I won’t,” Tony grumbles, as Pepper escorts him outside. Pepper blows Morgan a few kisses from the doorway and sends Peter a maternal smile before she shuts the wooden door with a resounding creak.
Peter is alone.
With Morgan.
With a sick Morgan.
“Petey, can we watch Sesame Street?” Morgan asks, pouting up at Peter.
“Yeah, of course, Mo.”
His thoughts running at a mile a minute, Peter carries Morgan over to the living room and sets her down against the arm of the sofa. There’s a worn knit blanket tossed over the side of the couch, one adorned with the stains of the Starks and the Parkers, and Peter pulls it down to drape over her small body. She makes a short noise of contentment and bundles some of the material in her hands, turning over so that she faces the television.
“Right,” Peter mutters, grabbing the remote from the coffee table and fingering the buttons. He’s never really used it before, and it has quite a few more controls than his own.
Morgan whines and a sob bubbles out from her throat.
“It’s okay, Mo, it’s going to be okay, I just gotta – I gotta...” Peter thumbs the power button, and lets out a small noise of triumph as the screen begins booting up. He then presses some other promising options, and eventually navigates his way to cable, where an entire season of Sesame Street awaits.
Peter selects a random episode and exhales as it loads, automatically skipping through the commercials. Of course Tony would invent a way to do that for his daughter.
Tony’s a great father – a really great father.
“Cuddles?” Morgan asks, her question supplemented by a short sniffle.
“Yeah, of course, c’mere.” Peter pulls Morgan’s blanketed legs onto his lap and rests his arm around her shoulders, pulling her torso closer to his. “This good?”
She doesn’t respond, only snuggles closer to him.
They watch the program in silence for a while, Morgan sniffling and coughing every now and again. Aside from the way Peter’s heart wrenches with each of those pitiful sounds, he’s enjoying himself. Sesame Street is a quality show, and sharing Morgan’s company is always fun.
Elmo’s World begins to play, both Morgan and Peter humming along, when Peter’s phone buzzes.
mister tin can:
Hey, kid. Did you get Mo to take her medicine yet?
not yet we’re busy watching sesame street
hows the company
Eh. Been better. I'm technically in a meeting with the board right now, but I’m a master secret texter.
I’m sorry I kind of sprung the whole sick thing on you. If I’m being honest, I forgot to mention it over the phone, and then...
You’re sure you’re okay with it? I can run home.
we're fine
it'll be no problem im a morgan whisperer
what happened to her anyway
It’s just a tough cold, she must have caught it from one of those germy kids at kindergarten.
Just give her the medicine, stay with her until she falls asleep, tuck her in, and I’ll be back for our movie night before you know it.
okay :)
hey uh
are we going to talk about
yknow
Do you want to?
i love you
I love you too, bud. So much.
softie
Shh, don’t tell the tabloids.
Uh-oh
Hkhfjkasfgsklak
Hello, Peter, Tony has to pay attention to these meetings about *his* company. My apologies, I know that you've been having a much-needed conversation.
How’s Morgan?
wait can i answer or do you have to be at the meeting
Oh, you can answer me, I know how to text discreetly.
Tony thinks he knows.
Believe me, he doesn’t.
lmao okay
she’s good. we’re watching sesame street and cuddling
You’re a great big brother, Peter. If you need anything, feel free to reach out.
wait
big brother?!11!???!
pepper?????????
After receiving no response for several minutes, Peter drops his phone on the couch and glances over at his... sister? She catches his eye through her peripheral vision and turns toward him expectantly.
“What?”
“Nothing, Mo, I just think it’s time for your medicine.”
Morgan immediately curls into herself, pulling away from Peter, and frowns. “No.”
“No... what?”
“No. I already told Mommy and Daddy, I don’t want it.”
“Why not? It’ll make you feel so much better.”
“I don’t want it.” She crosses her arms and pouts.
“You already told Mommy and Daddy about this, huh?”
“Yeah.”
“Interesting how they didn’t mention it,” Peter mutters under his breath, and then an idea strikes him. “Hey, Mo? Do you want some hot cocoa?”
Morgan eyes him suspiciously, her nose twitching as she sniffles. “Yeah.”
“Alright. I’ll be right back. Keep watching without me.”
Morgan nods and turns her attention to the TV, gathering up the blanket that Peter messes up as he stands.
He knows that Morgan is suspicious, but he also knows that Tony and Pepper are counting on him. Even more important, he knows that Morgan must feel awful and that the medicine will make her feel better.
So, he’ll be sneaky. He’ll put in extra cocoa.
She’ll never be able to taste it.
Humming contentedly, Peter opens up the cabinets and grabs a ceramic mug. He knows the lay of the kitchen fairly well – especially the areas necessary for making hot chocolate. Even though he feels safe at the Stark cabin, he still has his fair share of nightmares, and hot cocoa is sometimes the only thing that can help calm him down.
The cocoa mix is in the pantry on the second shelf, the kettle is in the cabinet under the kitchen island, and the stove is to the left of the refrigerator.
Peter fills the kettle up from the tap and sets it on the stove top, ripping open the cocoa packet and dropping the contents into the mug as he waits for the water to boil. It doesn’t take too long, and he quickly takes it off the fire once it begins whistling. That’s not a pleasant noise to hear with enhanced senses.
The water trickles out from the spout and into the mug. Peter is sure not to put too much water in, so that the richness of the chocolate fully covers the artificial taste of the cherry cold medicine. Once he’s satisfied with the cocoa-to-water ratio, he grabs a spoon and stirs to get out all the lumps, then turns to the medicine bottle in his sweater pocket.
It comes with a small cup for the measurement, and he pours the bright red liquid into the container. The strong smell immediately begins assaulting his senses, reminding him of the many days he spent as a sickly child digesting that very treatment.
He pours it into the mug, mixes it into the cocoa, and takes a sniff.
All he can smell is the steamy rich chocolate. If he can’t smell the medicine, no way Morgan will be able to. And so she shouldn’t be able to taste it either, right?
“Hey, Magoo,” Peter says, wrapping a towel around the handle and bringing it into the living room. “I brought you the cocoa.”
Morgan gives Peter as much of a smile as she can manage, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
“It’s hot, okay? Make sure to blow on it before you drink up.”
Nodding, Morgan eagerly accepts the drink, scooping up a spoonful of the liquid and blowing on it before pouring it into her mouth.
And then immediately spitting it back into the mug.
“Petey!” She yells, putting the cup on the side table. “You lied to me!”
“W-Well,” Peter manages, trying to figure out how the hell she tasted that. “In my defense, I never told you that I wasn’t going to put any medicine in the hot chocolate.”
Morgan pouts and crosses her arms, when her nose begins to quiver. In preparation, she raises her arm and tilts her head back slightly. They both know what’s coming.
She sneezes.
It’s a noisy, awful, painful-sounding sneeze, that must irritate Morgan’s already sore throat. She sneezes again, and again, and once more, before collapsing back onto the couch, whimpering softly.
“I’m sorry, Mo,” Peter says, combing his fingers through her hair. “This is going to make you feel better.”
“Don’ wanna.”
“You don’t want to feel better?”
“Don’ wanna have the medicine.”
Peter sighs. “Please. Please, Morgan.” Peter’s seriously considering getting down on his hands and knees. “It’ll just be a quick gulp and you’ll be all done. Come on, Magoo, you’re a big girl, you can do it! Please?”
Morgan shakes her head and says, “No.”
Okay. That’s okay. She’s five years old. He’s seventeen. He can outsmart her. He can figure out a way to get her to take the medicine.
“Brownies,” he says eventually, interrupting Big Bird’s speech about sharing. “I’ll bake you brownies if you have the meds.”
Morgan doesn’t even bother tearing her eyes from the TV. She shakes her head.
“Morgan. Please. I’ll do anything.”
She’s still for a little while, and then she slowly turns to Peter, a shy smile pulling up at her lips. “Anything?”
Oh, boy. Peter doesn’t like where this is going.
“W-Well, maybe not anything. What – what did you have, uh, have in mind?”
Without hesitation, Morgan responds: “I want to go swinging.”
“You want... to go...”
“I want to go swinging,” she repeats.
He – he can’t do that, right? He can't take Tony’s daughter out swinging. But then again... “If I take you out swinging, you’ll take your medicine?”
Morgan nods, a daring spark flashing in her eyes.
“O-Okay,” Peter relents.
This is a bad idea, right? Yeah. It is. Peter knows for a fact that is a bad idea, but he must not have communicated that to his legs, because he's soon finding himself back in the kitchen, standing in front of the bottle of cold medication.
Peter stares at the bottle.
The bottle does not stare back.
What to do, what to do? There are two options here, both undesirable. Peter really sees no other way to get Morgan to take her meds, but what would Tony say if he finds out that Peter’s taken his daughter swinging?
… Maybe he just won’t find out, then.
Snatching the bottle up, Peter jogs back to Morgan and pours the prescription out into the cup, then presses it gently into Morgan’s hand. She wrinkles her nose at the thing, peering deep into it.
“It’s okay, Mo, you can do it.”
She takes a steadying deep breath, brings the cup to her lips, and shoots it down her throat. She cringes back at the strong taste, but quickly regaining her bearings.
“Let’s go!”
“Uh.”
“Petey!” Morgan whines. “You said you would. You said, Petey!”
Goddamn - it's Sad Morgan, Peter's weakness. “I - I will, Morgan, let’s just – let's not tell your parents about this, yeah?”
“Okay. Like the Iron Man suit Daddy’s making for me that I can’t tell Mommy about?”
Peter grins at Morgan, shaking his head fondly. “Yeah. Like that.”
He can’t believe he’s doing this, but apparently he is. His fingers find his web shooters and trace their outline.
“Let’s go already,” Morgan exclaims, tugging on Peter’s sleeve.
“Okay, okay.”
Peter scoops up Morgan with his arm and she wraps her arms around his shoulders and her legs around his chest.
“Here goes nothing...” With a hesitant gesture, Peter positions his shooters above Morgan and presses the release, sticking her against his torso. “Comfy?” Peter asks.
Morgan cuddles closer to Peter and nods into his shoulder. He has to say, it’s nice being so close to her. He really does feel like a big brother at the moment, and he enjoys that.
He tests the sturdiness of his webs, jumping up and down a little. It’s not that he doesn’t trust them – the science is there, he knows that – but he’s still nervous. His spidey-sense is blissfully quiet, though, so that’s something.
“Let’s go already,” Morgan repeats, nudging Peter with her chin.
“Yeah, yeah.”
They reach the door and Peter places his hand on the doorknob, his mind flooding with all the horrible ways that harm could fall upon Morgan. He blinks out of his thoughts when Morgan taps his shoulder impatiently.
“Hurry up, Petey.” A long yawn stretches out the end of her sentence.
Maybe he can just wait? Until she falls asleep?
Unfortunately for him, Morgan is half-Tony and half-Pepper. She isn’t going to fall for that.
Instead, she begins banging on Peter’s chest. “Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go, let’s -”
“Alright!”
Peter throws open the door and a light breeze beckons him to continue on outside. He follows it, shuts the door behind him, and gazes out at the scenery.
The lake ripples with the wind, blowing water over itself and creating a satisfying slosh noise. There’s a forest to either side, filled with thick and healthy trees. It’s dark, but Peter can easily navigate with his enhanced sight.
Morgan’s vibrating with excitement, and she bounces a few times. “Let’s go, let’s go!”
If he’s being honest, babysitting has been stressful. He kind of wants to go swinging as well.
With a press of a button, Peter shoots a web to a nearby tree, catapulting both him and Morgan to it. They land on a branch and Peter sits there for a little while, looking out at the view.
“See that star, Mo?”
Peter follows Morgan’s eyeline as she looks up at where his finger is pointing to.
“Yeah.”
“See how those stars next to it kind of look like a bow and arrow?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Now look back at that star over there, and – and those five behind it. Do you see them?”
She’s silent for a little while, and then finally nods. Peter glances away from the constellation for a minute to check how she’s doing, and a weight is lifted off of his shoulders.
Morgan is transfixed by the night sky, her jaw slightly ajar and her eyes simply shining with excitement, just the way her father’s do. Smiling, Peter finds Orion once more and continues helping Morgan navigate the constellation.
Ben was a big fan of the stars, and stargazing had always been his and Peter’s special activity. It’s nice to get back at it, even though Ben’s not there. It is.
“Can we swing some more?” Morgan asks, turning from the stars to glance at Peter.
He’s not thrilled about the idea, but that was their agreement, so he nods begrudgingly. Standing up on the branch, he braces himself, one hand on Morgan’s back, then shoots another web.
The wind tussles their hair, streams through their curls. It stings their teeth and dries their eyes, all against the backdrop of Morgan’s screams of delight and the constellations above them.
It’s nice. Really, really nice.
They swing some more, Peter’s excitement building and building while Morgan’s seems to lessen and lessen. Suddenly, as Peter thwips out a new web, she goes limp. His mind immediately begins flooding with graveyards and flatlines, but he soon realizes that she’s only fallen asleep.
The cold medicine must be working.
“Okay, Magoo, your parents are going to be home soon,” Peter says, mainly talking to himself, as he swings back over to the cabin. “They’re going to be so proud when I tell them what you did.”
Proud of Morgan or proud of Peter?
Probably both.
If he’s being honest, Peter’s proud of himself.
They reach the house and Peter pushes his palm against the door, opening it as quietly as he can manage. Morgan shifts in her sleep, her eyelids fluttering, but stays unconscious.
Peter lets out a heavy exhale.
The web dissolvent is on the kitchen counter, and he quickly sprays it over Morgan’s bindings, catching the girl as she falls off of his chest. Humming softly, Peter carries her bridal-style up the carpeted stairs and into her room, placing her head on her pillow and tucking her beneath her covers.
“Nighty noodles, Mo,” Peter whispers, kissing her forehead as he clicks off the lamp. He walks away, pausing in the doorway for a moment. She’s already looking healthier – happier, too – and some of his guilt washes away. She didn’t get hurt, so it was worth it, right? He would have saved her anyway.
Yeah.
He did good.
Peter shuts the door behind him, a soft smile on his face.
One bag of potato chips and four programs on HGTV later, Pepper and Tony return home. Tony throws his jacket over the hook and Pepper kicks off her shoes in the foyer. It still astounds him, sometimes, how real the Starks are.
“Is she in bed?” Pepper whispers, entering the living room and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
“Yep,” Peter grins. He balls up the empty chip bag and wipes the grease off on his pants.
Tony soon enters the room, used medicine cup in his hand. “Pete - did – did you -?”
“Yep.”
Tony and Pepper exchange matching looks of astonishment.
“What? I – I mean, how?”
“It’s a secret,” Peter responds cheekily, smirking up at the couple. “Though I will admit, it was difficult.”
“You’re a lifesaver, Peter, we really can’t thank you enough.”
“No problem.”
Tony snatches the bag away from Peter, unwrapping it and peeking inside. “I’ll throw this out, you queue up a movie.”
“Sure, Mr. Stark!”
“Tony, for Christ’s sake.”
“We’ll see, Mr. Stark.”
As Tony drops the plastic in the garbage can, he catches sight of the web dissolvent sitting on the counter. Pepper sees it as well, from across the kitchen, and she raises an eyebrow at Tony.
“Do you think...” She whispers, picking up the bottle and examining it.
He doesn’t answer directly. “She’s safe. She took her meds. That’s what’s important right now.”
“But -”
“You know that Peter would never let anything happen to her, Pep. What we don’t know can’t hurt us.”
Pepper’s clearly unhappy about his response, but she sets the bottle down with a thump and sighs.
Peter's flicking through viable movie options when Tony enters the room with two steaming bags of popcorn. The salty, buttery, slightly smoky scent of the popcorn wafts through the room and into Peter’s nose, and his eyes perk over to Tony.
“You bought the kind I like!” He exclaims, abandoning the task at hand in favor of scooping up a handful of the delicious treat.
“What can I say, you have good taste. Did you decide on our movie yet, Roo?”
“Eh, I think I want to just watch The Force Awakens again,” Peter responds through a mouthful of popcorn.
Tony rolls his eyes as he moves to sit on the couch, looping his arm around Peter and tucking the boy into his side. “I take it back. You have awful taste. How many times have we seen this thing?”
“Just stop, Mr. Stark, you know you love it.”
The opening credits begin playing courtesy of FRIDAY, cutting off any future comeback from Tony, and they settle in to watch together.
(Tony does like the movie, if he’s being honest, even after the sixth time watching it in one month. What can he say? It’s quality cinema.)
Peter falls asleep halfway into the film, his popcorn bag tossed over his chest and his mouth slightly hung open.
Tony from a few years ago would have sputtered uselessly, wondering how he was supposed to work a sleeping child. Asleep. On him. But he’s a father now. A father to two children.
So he gathers a few of the popcorn kernels that have spilled out into the folds of Peter’s shirt, brushes them into the waxy brown bag, and then picks Peter up with a paternal smile.
Peter’s oddly light - it's those wacky spider bones - but Tony’s back still aches with the weight. It’s a reminder that he’s old, and only growing older. But right here and right now, Peter’s asleep in his arms, at peace. Morgan’s asleep in her bed, healing. Pepper’s asleep on an armchair, snoring. Right here and right now, Tony knows that all the pain of his past has been worth it, even if just for this one moment. If this one moment is everything, and it sure feels like it is, he’ll take it.