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The injuries weren’t the worst part. It wasn’t the battle itself. It wasn’t even the recovery, not really.
It was the look on Peter Parker’s face when he’d woken, taken a look around the world he’d almost left and said, ‘who are you?’.
Tony Stark had received a notification from F.R.I.D.A.Y to say that Spiderman had won his fight, though not without serious injuries. Iron Man had been at his side within moments, catching the boy as he’d almost fallen from the skyscraper he’d found himself on, trying to clean his own wounds.
It had been an entire week since Spiderman had slipped into a medically induced coma. It was only supposed to last two days, the doctors had said. They’d been wrong. The doctors had said they didn’t know what his chances were after three, that the blood loss might have caused permanent brain damage.
Tony hadn’t allowed any doubts. He should have been prepared for this though. He should have known Parker luck would strike the kid again.
He would blame himself for all of it, he knew that. He should never have let a sixteen-year-old boy swing himself into danger. He should have better protocols in place. Peter should never be the one lying in a bed, bruised, and beaten, fighting for his own life.
May didn’t blame him, but she did yell at him. She yelled because she was scared, and Tony knew that. He didn’t understand how she didn’t blame him. He could have prevented all of this. He should have.
And yet, there they were, staring at the boy they’d both come to care for, who was staring at them as though he’d just met strangers in his room.
The doctors had swept into the room the moment Peter had awoken, checking his vitals, and asking questions.
He didn’t know his own name.
May looked ready to sob, but the boy merely stared at her, narrowing his eyes and then a small, broken smile spread across his cheeks.
“Aunt May?”
She did weep then, moving herself closer to her nephew and gently engulfing him in a hug. Tony stood awkwardly to the side. He didn’t want to intrude on such a moment. May was his family, Tony needed to give them space.
Peter had looked up when May finally released him (“don’t you ever scare me like that again, Peter!”), facing the billionaire. His head tilted, clearly trying to figure out who he was staring at. His eyes widened slowly, and Tony allowed himself to hope.
“Dad?”
Tony’s heart ached at the word, but he was nothing if not an excellent actor. The doctors had said not to overwhelm him, that his memories would come back on their own.
Ignoring the ache in his chest, he swept forwards gracefully, “hey, kiddo.”
Peter’s grin was shaky, but he relaxed into the bed, eyes alternating between the two adults in the room. Eventually, they began to drift closed and Tony ran a gentle hand across his forehead, watching as the boy slept.
Tony was pacing outside Peter’s room. The boy had been cleared from the hospital, yet both May and Tony had decided it would be best for him to recover somewhere Tony could have more supervision on the kid. The kid who thought he was Tony’s son.
The worst part wasn’t that he didn’t want Peter to think he was his kid.
The worst part was that he did.
Peter would get his memories back; the doctors were sure of it. He would remember that Tony was just a mentor. The man who built him his suit. He wasn’t father material anyway. Peter could do so much better, and Tony knew that.
It didn’t stop him from enjoying the short amount of time he had with the kid who thought he was his son. Tony could pretend, he was great at that. He could pretend the kid wanted to spend time with him for more then his money. He could pretend this kid wanted to be with Tony for Tony.
Not because if he didn’t see Tony, he would be back to wearing PJs.
May was staring at Tony, one eyebrow raised. The silent judgement raised the hairs on the back of his neck, but he continued to pace. It had been four days.
Four days.
(“Hey, kiddo, how are you feeling?”
Peter blinked from the bed, raising himself slowly and wincing as he did. In a heartbeat, Tony was at his side, raising the pillows and easing the kid upright.
“Was I hit by a truck?”
Tony released a quiet snort at that, then shook his head, “not quite, kiddo. Better odds.”
“Never been hit by a truck, have I? Think it might feel like this.”
Tony fought the urge to roll his eyes and lost, a small smile tugging at his lips. Even now, memory gone and bedridden, the kid was finding ways to make him smile. “I’ll ban all trucks from being near you, you’ll never know how it would feel.”
Peter smiled, relaxing into his upright position against the cushions, “thanks, dad.”
Tony’s heart couldn’t take much more of it, but he had to stay. Amnesia Peter would leave soon. He needed to treasure it whilst he could.
“Hungry?”
Peter nodded once, “like you wouldn’t believe. Is that normal for me?”
Tony snorted, “kid, you’re going to eat me out of house and home someday.”)
He glared at the ceiling when F.R.I.D.A.Y alerted him that Peter was on his way to the kitchen. The boy had recovered almost completely, his healing factor aiding in his survival. That had been an interesting day.
(Peter looked down at his abdomen where the angry red scar was stitching itself. Tony rubbed the cream he’d been told to put on it liberally, ignoring Peter’s hand drifting towards it.
“It’s not supposed to heal this quickly, right? Are you magic, dad?”
Tony snorted, almost used to being called dad (he didn’t want to get used to it, not when he knew it would end). “No, kiddo. You are, though. You’re Spiderman.”
The kid’s jaw had dropped, looking at the wound, then up at Tony, “I’m a superhero? Like you?”
Tony shook his head, “you try, but you’re not quite ready for the big leagues, Underoos.”
“Sorry.”
Tony raised an eyebrow, “what are you sorry for?”
“It must be really stressful, watching your son go off and put himself in harm’s way.”
Tony paused. It was, he wouldn’t deny that. “You look out for the little guy, Pete. I can’t stop you, and I don’t want to. Never apologise for that.”
Peter smiled softly, fingers ghosting over the wound, “spider healing?”
“Amongst other powers.”
“Can I make webs?” the excitement in his voice almost made Tony want to say yes. Almost.
“With science, yes. Not from your body, that’s gross.”
Peter pulled a face, though ultimately decided he could live with that, “I got my brains from you, hey, dad?”
“Sure did, kiddo.”)
Peter yawned as he entered the room, stumbling slightly over the couch. Tony stared at him, pausing his pacing. The kid caught himself expertly as he almost tripped over his own feet, launching himself into a hug with his aunt.
May returned the hug easily, helping him down onto the couch. Peter went willingly, yawning. Fully healed, his body had decided he needed to catch up on some sleep to recover from the stress of healing. Tony had thought it best if he did that in his bed, but Peter really never listened.
“Want some breakfast kiddo?”
Peter looked up wearily, though the mention of food seemed to snap some awareness into his being. “Pancakes?”
“With blueberries,” Tony agreed, not missing May’s look of amusement. She was enjoying this whole thing far too much.
She knew how Tony felt about this whole ordeal, even without him explicitly saying anything. She was a smart woman in her own right. Perceptive. She knew Tony cared for Peter. She had to know that Peter would remember it all soon. That she would have to take Peter away, there would be no reason for them to stay when he knew the truth.
She was humouring Tony for the moment.
Peter hoovered down his pancakes and all but demanded another. Tony wasn’t one to deny this kid anything, least of all when he’d forgotten the vast majority of who he was. He knew May. He remembered Ned, he thought Tony was his dad. It made sense. Why else would he have been allowed in the hospital room?
“Can we watch a movie?”
Tony had agreed easily, his AI taking his request to play a film he knew the kid adored – Star Wars. He sat on the couch beside Peter and his aunt, watching the film with only half of his attention. He’d brought his phone, was working on the calculations for Peter’s upgraded suit (he was never going to let Peter get to the same point of injuries again, no matter what the kid said), when his mind became thoroughly distracted.
May had gotten up, claiming to be going to the bathroom. Peter was left without the heat source of his aunt and had shifted to the other side of the couch, dropping himself over Tony.
The move felt so familiar, even if it had never once happened before. Peter watched the film, head resting on Tony’s shoulder, arm all but wrapped around Tony’s own and preventing him from using both arms to work on his calculations.
Tony blinked when May returned, the woman grinning and dropping on to a different couch. Tony wanted to call her a traitor. He couldn’t. not when it meant he could have this. Peter was a very tactile person. He’d gone for a hug once before and Tony knew he’d wanted to again, but he never had. At first, Tony understood. They weren’t there yet.
He thought they’d been there for months though.
It hurt to realise they weren’t, but he could have this. Better to have something for a little while then not at all.
When the movie finished, Tony looked down.
The kid had fallen asleep.
He smiled, draping the blanket that hung over the back of the couch over the kid.
May stood up, leaving the room with the knowing look in her eyes. Tony didn’t care.
It had been another two days of it.
(“Dad, I remember how to put toast in the toaster, you don’t have to watch over me!”
Tony rolled his eyes, “I wouldn’t be, if you were using the toaster.”
Peter paused, glancing at what was clearly not a toaster and in fact a coffee machine. The kid had put the bread in such a way that Tony was dreading cleaning it out (let’s be real, he’d simply be buying a new one).
“Oh.”
Tony huffed out a laugh, then put the toast in the actual toaster, two fresh pieces of bread. Peter looked rather sheepish, moving around the island bench to the seats, watching the man move through the kitchen. Whilst Tony wasn’t the world’s best cook, he could at least toast bread for the kid.
Peter accepted the toast gratefully.
Tony raised an eyebrow at the disappointed look on Peter’s face after he’d finished the bread in two seconds flat. Seemed the kid hadn’t remembered he had super metabolism that morning. Even before the accident, Peter would occasionally forget. This wasn’t uncommon behaviour for the boy.
“More?”
Peter gave a small nod, “if you don’t mind.”
“It’s bread. In a toaster. Hardly Michigan style.”)
But then, after an entire week of Tony playing dad to a kid he adored, it shattered.
When Tony went in to see if the kid was awake yet, he’d been met with wide, terrified eyes. Ashamed. Fear. All number of emotions Tony never wanted to see on his kid’s face, much less be the cause of it.
Peter tumbled from the bed in his alarm, gaping at the billionaire and rushing to put some pants on. “Mr Stark!”
Tony wanted to frown, his heart aching at the words, yet he couldn’t. Peter would notice. Peter, who had his memories back. Who was leaving the apartment rapidly, leaving without Tony.
He made it to the elevator, Tony following slowly, watching as he left.
It was only when he was gone that he allowed the frown.
Of course the Peter who knew Tony wouldn’t want anything to do with him now. He’d humoured the idea. He’d entertained Peter, when he could have told him he wasn’t his father. But he’d gone and taken advantage of the kid’s amnesia.
Simply so he could hear Peter call him dad.
And now he’d lost the kid.
Tony slammed the door to his lab and instructed his AI not to let anyone interrupt him.
Not unless they were Peter.
It had been three days.
No contact for three days.
Tony hadn’t slept for three days.
On the third, Pepper came down to the lab and all but banished him, instructing him to have some food, a shower and a nap. Tony did so, but only because Pepper was all but forcing him. She wasn’t one to be trifled with and Tony knew better then to try.
He attempted to call Peter, finally working up the guts. He wanted to apologise. He needed to apologise.
The call rang out and he couldn’t leave a message.
Tony was a genius though.
He went back to his lab and flickered through his systems idly before calling the data up on Peter’s suit. The kid had adorned it for a short patrol the day before, Tony knew that. The suit that had been fixed up whilst he’d been recovering.
Tony sent a message through to Peter’s AI, who he’d dubbed Karen.
‘Hey Pete, I’m glad you’ve got your memories back. Swing by the tower when you get the chance, I’ve missed our lab sessions.’
He wanted to apologise, but he just didn’t know how. How does one say, ‘sorry that I let you think I was your dad, when you clearly don’t see me as anything more then a mentor, if I’m lucky?’
Tony threw his heads into his hands, banging himself on his work bench.
The next day, Spiderman dropped into his living room. Tony blinked in surprise, watching the nervous vigilante standing awkwardly before him. Tony wanted to walk over, to embrace the kid, but he couldn’t. He watched as Peter shifted, trying to decide on what to say.
Instead, Tony asked him down to the lab. Science didn’t mean talking about feelings. Peter was grateful, following him down eagerly.
Tony sighed, two hours into a productive session in the lab. Peter with his memories was the best lab partner. Peter with his memories was the best Peter and Tony just… wished he could have kept some of amnesia Peter. Selfish.
“I’m really sorry, Mr Stark.”
Tony almost dropped his spanner at the words, quiet as they were. There was pain in the words. Pain that should never be allowed to be in this kid’s voice.
“You have nothing to be sorry for, Underoos.”
Peter shifted from foot to foot awkwardly, fingers fumbling with the frayed edges of his shirt (note to self: get Peter new terrible pun shirts). “I do. I know it can’t have been easy, I lost my memories for a whole week, and you had to look after me.”
Tony frowned, putting his spanner down and turning his whole body to the boy. Peter looked away meekly, trying to make himself smaller. It wasn’t working. “I don’t ever do things I don’t want to, Peter. I wanted to take care of you. Never apologise for needing help.”
“Thank you, for that. And… I’m sorry, that I… that I called you dad. I know that’s not…”
He trailed off and Tony’s heart clenched painfully. “I know I’m not exactly father material, kiddo, but it’s ok.”
Peter raised his head quickly, eyes widening, and he spoke rapidly, almost offended, “Mr Stark, you’d make a great dad! Any kid would be lucky to have you for a father.”
“Thanks, kid.”
Peter went silent again, a blush spreading across his cheek. Tony looked away with a sigh.
“I didn’t mind.”
The young man heard, of course, blinking up at the billionaire in surprise, “you didn’t?”
Tony sighed, shaking his head and looking to the side, “of course not. You… you mean a lot to me, Peter.”
Peter’s eyes widened slightly, mouth twitching and he looked speechless. A rarity. Tony wanted to revel in it, but that would be rude. “You mean a lot to me too.”
There was a gentle silence between them, then Peter broke it and said, “May told me to come here. I was… well. I thought you’d hate me, Mr Stark. For calling you dad.”
Tony’s heart clenched painfully at his words, the mere thought that he could ever lead this boy to think he could ever hate him (the Ferry Incident aside). Peter trudged on.
“I didn’t want you to know, Mr Stark. I’ve thought it for a while, but my amnesia self… it knew, because the feeling was there. That’s why I called you dad.”
Tony took a step forward carefully, “I am honoured you feel the same way, kiddo.”
Peter’s eyes snapped up and met Tony’s, surprise colouring them.
He went to take a cautious step, then said, “are we there yet?”
Tony snorted, wrapping his arms around his kid powerfully. Peter relaxed immediately, curling his arms around the man and returning the hug for all he was worth. Tony smiled. This was his Peter.
“We’re there.”
Peter smiled, “thanks, dad.”
“Anytime son. What say we go and order some food and watch a movie?”
Peter nodded happily, releasing his grip from his father figure only so they could walk upstairs.
“I should tell May I’m here; do you mind driving me home? I can swing home I guess.”
Tony rolled his eyes, “kid, you’ve got a room here. May won’t mind if you stay here, will she?”
“I’ll ask.” There was a giddiness in his voice and Tony smiled.
Yeah, they weren’t perfect (he was Iron Man with Spiderman for a son. Nothing ever would be perfect). But they were them and that’s what mattered.
Tony had never thought he’d make a good father, but Peter made it easy.
“For the record, I love you, Peter.”
The kid smiled wider than Tony had ever thought possible, “I love you too, dad.”