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Christmas is a weird time of year for Peter.
The first holiday season after his Uncle Ben died was the hardest. Filled with an edge of sadness that the spiderling tried his hardest to shake away, Peter spent his break drinking practically his entire weight in hot cocoa and cookies, staring at the tiny sparkling tree nestled in the corner of his and May’s too-empty apartment until his head began to ache. Nothing seemed to help, however, and the boy was left laying awake during the midnight hours, watching through his frosted window as a dust of snow started, the white flakes fading to black as sleep finally overcame him.
He felt like Scooge almost, stuck in an endless loop of longing for the ghosts of Christmas past while being stuck in the present, the uncertain future looming far, far ahead.
Peter cried himself to sleep that holiday break more times than he’d like to admit.
This year, at least, it’s a little different.
“Do you want any more of Pepper’s special sugar cookies, bubba?” Tony’s voice startles Peter slightly from where the boy’s nestled on the couch, reaching up to rub at his eyes before responding.
“No thanks, I’m good.” A yawn cuts through the 15-year-old’s words, so large that his jaw aches slightly. “Do we, uh, do we have any more chocolate chip ones, though?”
Rubbing at his now watery eyes, Peter watches as Tony scoots around the sofa, his own plate of cookies held in one hand, Peter’s hot chocolate mug in his other.
“Tired already, bug?” Settling both the plate and cup on the coffee table, Tony carefully reaches out, scooting Peter’s legs off the cushion before sitting down, drawing the boy against his side. Brushing a stay curl from his kid’s forehead, Tony continues, glancing down at Peter with dark eyes as soft as melted chocolate. “Don’t tell me you’re gonna fall asleep during A Christmas Story —”
Peter scoffs, leaning his cheek against the billionaire’s shoulder. “It comes on so much anyways, re-run after re-run—”
“Still a classic, kid.”
“You quote it so much, you can just recite the parts I miss.”
Tony’s laugh is warm, the kiss he presses against Peter’s forehead even moreso. “We can’t start it now anyways, bambino, we gotta wait for Pep and Morgan. You can nap if you want, they just left the cabin so we have a while.”
“May’s still coming over too?”
Tony nods. “Later though, her shift doesn’t end until 8pm. That’s what she said, right?”
“Yeah, think so.”
Reaching up, Peter wraps his arms around Tony’s torso, nuzzling his cheek against the soft fabric of his father-figure’s Rudolf themed night-shirt. Carefully, the older superhero reaches down, helping to get Peter situated in his usual spot underneath Tony's chin and Peter sniffles, eyes fluttering shut.
“Take a rest, buddy.” Tony whispers, brushing at Peter’s soft curls with his fingers. “I gotcha, I gotcha.”
Peter tries to respond, he really, truly does, but he’s asleep before the words can even leave his throat, escaping as a soft puff between his teeth and he’s slumping fully against Tony, lulled by the gentle rocking and sound of his dad’s heartbeat in his ears.
It feels like only a few seconds have passed before Peter’s jerking awake again.
This time, he feels different. Too hot, almost itchy, his own heartbeat practically drowning in his ears. He’s crying, can feel the tears as they spill down his too red cheeks, can taste the salt on his tongue as his mouth opens in a silent wail.
“ —ey, hey, Petey, hey buddy, shh.” Tony’s there, wrapping his arms around him before the spiderling can even blink. Drawing Peter closer, Tony makes soothing sounds under his breath, one of his hands rubbing up and down the boy’s shaking back, his other cupping his cheek, wiping away each of his tears as they fall. “Shh, shh, il mio piccolo, deep breaths, come on—”
Sucking in a wet gasp, Peter lets it out in an almost cough-sigh combination that hurts his chest and Tony holds him tighter, pressing a series of sweet and soothing kisses across his son’s red nose and cheeks, pausing at his temple. Speaking against Peter’s fluttering pulse, Tony’s voice is merely a whisper.
“It’s okay, baby, it’s alright, shh.” Finally, Peter calms down enough to take a proper deep breath, and Tony sighs in relief right alongside him, leaning back just enough to cup his kid’s soft cheek in his palm, meeting Peter’s red-rimmed eyes. “All good now, buddy? Not gonna choke again, right?”
Shaking his head, Peter tries his hardest to glance away from his father-figure, a harsh jab of shame and guilt causing his stomach to clench. “I’m sorry.”
“About what?” Tony’s voice holds no judgment, only concern and Peter swallows.
“For-For freaking out, ruining the movie night—”
Holding up a hand, Tony shakes his head, carefully guiding Peter’s eyes back to his. “You didn’t ruin anything, Peter, swear it to you. Pepper and Morgan aren’t here yet and even if they were, you still didn’t ruin anything, kiddo. Got it?”
Peter nods after a second, swallowing down another dry sob. Tony brushes another kiss against his temple, and the spiderling leans into the warmth of his embrace, feeling the elder superhero’s grip around him tighten.
“What made you freak out, though, bud?” Clearly feeling the way Peter tenses at the question, Tony tries again, pulling away slightly. “Cause if-if I did anything to make you uncomfortable or—”
“No—” Reaching up, Peter grips at the collar of Tony’s night-shirt, clutching the fabric with shaking fingers. “It’s not you, Tony, I-I promise. It’s just, this time of the year, it’s hard. I know it’s been a few years but-but it’s still Christmas without Uncle Ben and—”
Peter’s voice cracks, his tears spilling over again and Tony coos, gently guiding his kid back against his chest without hesitation. Rocking back and forth slightly, Tony eases Peter through his next round of sobs, muttering soothing words of comfort, both English and Italian, against Peter’s soft curls. When Peter’s cries dissolve into sniffles again, Tony carefully lifts his chin, brushing the last of his kid’s tears from his baby cheeks.
“You really miss him, huh, bambi?”
“Y-Yeah.” Peter swallows, rubbing at his eyes with his sleeve. Tutting, Tony carefully pulls Peter’s hands down, replacing them instead with his own, carefully wiping his kid’s face. “Few years ago, it was — it was worse, for both me and May. This time, though, it’s better, I think?”
“Why’s that, baby?”
Peter’s cheeks heat, both at the nickname — said with so much fatherly affection the boy feels like his chest could burst — and also at the reason behind his better year. Clearing his throat, Peter sniffles, ducking back down so that his words are muffled, practically smushed against Tony’s chest.
“Because you’re here, with us — with me.”
Tony’s silent for a few breathless seconds, his chest expanding underneath Peter’s cheek. The arc reactor, a faint glow below his chin, seems to shine brighter for a few seconds, twinkling like the Christmas lights surrounding them.
“You know, Pete?” Tony finally says, his voice as soft as the snow outside, but as warm as a summer breeze. “It’s better for me this year too. Wanna know why?”
“Why?”
“Because I get to be here with you, get to watch movies with you and drink way too much hot chocolate and sit with May and Pepper on Christmas Day and watch you and Morgan tear into your presents at-way-too-early in the morning—” Pausing when Peter lets out a wet giggle, Tony lightly flicks his ear, pressing a kiss against his son’s cheek when the boy laughs again. “The best present I’ve ever gotten, and let me tell you, buddy, I get a lot of presents—”
“Even when we get wrapping paper everywhere and you end up tripping over it and falling on your face?”
Faking a gasp, Tony pokes at Peter’s side with a finger, listening as the spiderling yelps. “I told you to never mention that again, mister—”
“I think Pepper has a video, actually.”
“Oh my God—” Covering Peter’s mouth lightly with his palm, Tony ignores the smile that causes his own eyes to crinkle. “We’re done talking about that for the rest of your entire lifetime, it’s now banned.”
Peter laughs again before settling down, wrapping his arms around Tony’s torso once more, resting his head in his usual spot and Tony sighs, carding his fingers through his kid’s chestnut curls, scratching at his scalp. Peter arches into the touch almost like a baby kitten, his doe eyes blinking shut.
“Ready to watch more movies now, spider-baby?”
When all Peter does is nod, Tony clicks his tongue, getting an idea. Ignoring his son’s questioning noise, Tony quickly reaches back onto the coffee table for the tv remote. Clicking the button to bring up the menu, the billionaire scrolls through the channels for a second, flipping off of A Christmas Story re-run just as Ralph gets in-line to see Santa.
“What’re—” Peter clears his throat again, sitting up slightly. His doe eyes, reflecting the twinkling red and green Christmas tree lights, are filled with adorable confusion and Tony smiles. “What’re you doing? Tony?”
“Hush, kiddo, I’m not going anywhere.” After a few more seconds of surfing through the menu, Tony huffs, glancing upwards with an exaggerated eye-roll that has Peter huffing out his own laugh. “Hey Fri, do a movie search for me please.”
“What movie would you like me to look for, boss?”
Turning toward Peter, Tony raises an eyebrow, brushing a loose curl behind his kid’s ear. “What was his favorite movie, buddy? Can be for the holidays or not, I don’t care.”
“Who? Uncle Ben?”
“Mm-hm.”
Peter flicks his eyes from his dad, toward the television, biting at his bottom lip. He can feel his eyes sting, more tears causing his vision to blur and the spiderling blinks them away almost angrily, gripping Tony’s shirt even tighter. Finally, Peter speaks, his voice small, like a little boy’s. “He-He liked The Grinch. The one with Jim Carry.”
“That’s one of my favorites too, bug.” Tony flicks his wrist upwards, toward the ceiling before pulling Peter closer again, resting his cheek against Peter’s head, the teen’s curls tickling his nose. “Friday, if you would please—”
“Already on it, boss.”
“Thanks, sweetie.” Reaching back toward the coffee table, Tony brings with him Peter’s hot chocolate mug from earlier, a light dusting of steam rising from the top. At his son’s questioning glance, the billionaire clarifies. “Made some while you were sleeping, figured we could always use more hot choco, huh?”
“Yeah, totally.” Peter carefully grabs his mug from Tony, the little atoms in Santa hats going from green to red with each slosh of the hot liquid. He takes a sip, a hum rising at the delicious flavors, his chest warming. They’re both silent for a few minutes, watching as the opening credits start rolling, the animated snowflake on-screen tumbling through the air.
Finally, Peter breaks the silence. “Hey, uh, Tony?”
“Yeah, bubba?” The billionaire glances from the tv, toward Peter, face softening. “You okay?”
“Thank you, for-for doing this.” Peter sips his drink again, attempting to hide his face almost completely inside the rim. “For being here, I mean.”
“You don’t gotta thank me, kid.” Tony draws him closer, grabbing the spare blanket from the back of the couch. It’s old, the colors almost completely faded and absolutely perfect and Peter snuggles down into it, drawing his legs up beside him. “But you’re welcome anyways. You — you’re very precious to me, bambino, I hope you know that.”
“I know, I promise.” And Peter does know. He hasn’t felt like this sort of a person to anyone but his Uncle Ben, the way a son feels to a father and he basks in it, in the familiarity of Tony’s arm across his shoulders and his heartbeat in his ear. Cuddling closer, Peter sighs, his next words a mere whisper but Tony hears them just the same. “I love you, Dad.”
A kiss is pressed against Peter’s temple, the gentle hold around him tightening. “I love you too, buddy, so much.”