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There was something different about living with Tony. After May had passed away in a car accident and Peter had moved in with his mentor and father figure, he’d realised fairly quickly – amidst the grief and misery and yearning – that something about the older man made him feel protected.
Peter’s been fighting his own battles for as long as he can remember, and although he would do anything to get May back, after four months of living at the tower – once some of those deep-seated wounds are finally beginning to heal – he’s able to admit that he likes it. He likes knowing that Tony will answer his call regardless of what he’s doing or who he’s with, he likes knowing he’ll be there to pick him up from school every day without fail, he likes feeling small and safe in his arms after a nightmare.
There’s something freeing about knowing there’s someone to have his back no matter what, whether he’s Peter Parker or swinging around New York as Spider-Man, and that safety, that protection he feels, quickly has him viewing Tony as something more than a vague father figure. It has him viewing him as his actual dad.
The first time he brings the issue up to Tony, his hands shake, and he stumbles over his words, but once they spill out of him, once he’s asked if he could maybe, perhaps, possibly start calling Tony ‘Dad’, he’s being swept up into a hug that reminds him exactly why he asked for this. He feels like nothing could hurt him when he’s got Tony’s strong arms gathering him up close, his nose buried in the smell of Tony’s t-shirt, soft words of affection being whispered into his ear.
“There’s nothing I’d like more, bambino,” Tony murmurs, his voice sounding more emotional than Peter’s ever heard it. “You’ve been my kid since long before I took you in.”
And so, it’s settled. Tony is Peter’s dad and Peter is Tony’s son. It only takes another month and a half for the adoption paperwork to be filed and it to be legal. He’s no longer Tony’s ward; Tony’s not his legal guardian anymore, but his father. It’s the most he’s smiled since May died.
That’s why six months later – nearly a year after May’s passing – Tony’s words after a mission that went awry bring his world crashing down.
“You’re overreacting, Dad!” Peter protests as Tony paces angrily in front of him. If he’s completely honest with himself, the blood dripping down his face and his multiple broken bones don’t exactly strengthen his position, but he’s not interested in rationality right now.
Tony pauses his paces, turning to stare at Peter incredulously. The fury on his face almost scares Peter; he hasn’t seen him like this since he was fifteen and had just held a broken ferry together with his bare hands.
“I’m overreacting?” Tony seethes. “You disobeyed me, Peter! You went against my direct orders, and you could’ve got yourself killed. Then what, huh? Doesn’t seem like such a great idea anymore, does it?”
“But I took him down, didn’t I? We won!”
“That’s not the point, kid,” Tony says, deflating a little. Peter can see the disappointment begin to replace the anger and something about it makes his stomach sink. “And if you can’t see that then I’m not sure you’re in the right place to be Spider-Man right now.”
Peter stares at him, tears springing unbidden to his eyes. “You’re taking away the suit?” His voice is hollow, empty, shocked that his dad would put him in the same position that almost killed him a little over three years ago now.
“No, Pete,” Tony says seriously, softness creeping into his tone as he levels with him, walking over and brushing a lock of hair from its place stuck in the wound on his forehead. “I promised you I’d never do that again and I meant it. You can keep the suit, but you are forbidden from going out as Spider-Man for at least two weeks, alright? After that we can sit down, talk about it, reconsider, but for the next two weeks, I need you to hang the suit up.”
“But Dad—”
“It’s not up for debate, kiddo,” Tony says, his voice hardening again. “You disappointed me tonight. I can’t trust you to be Spider-Man right now, and I think you could do with a break. So, take the next two weeks as a little vacation from the superhero business, yeah? Spend some more time with me in the lab, read those books that are piling up unread on your desk. You gotta see this from my point of view, kid.”
“And what’s that?” Peter says, a little bitterly maybe, but he can’t help it. This sucks. “What’s your ‘point of view’?”
Tony sighs. “When May wrote her will a couple of years ago, a good while before she passed, she came to me and asked if she could nominate me to be your guardian in the case of her death. We talked about it, and after I swore that if it came to that, I would do everything in my power to keep you safe, she made it official. Can’t you see, Pete? I owe it to May to keep you out of harm’s way. It’s my job to protect you.”
Peter stares at him. He swallows. He feels sick, and he doesn’t quite know why.
“Now,” Tony says gently, leaning in to place a gentle kiss to Peter’s forehead. “Why don’t we let Cho stitch up that wound and set any bones, and then we can head upstairs for some food? I’m sorry for yelling, Pete. I just love you so much and seeing you like this—it’s hard. But that’s no excuse. Let me make it up to you, okay?”
Peter just nods because what else can he do? Tony calls Dr Cho in, she patches him up, and they head upstairs to gorge on takeaway pizza. But all night, his skin crawls with discomfort, unease, something he can’t quite name.
It’s not until the end of the evening that he pins down what it is. It’s my job to protect you. It’s my job. My job.
His dad doesn’t protect him because he wants to, or because he loves Peter, or because it matters to him. He does it because he feels an obligation to Peter’s aunt. Because he has a duty.
Because it’s his job.
The next morning isn’t much different to most mornings since he moved in. He wakes up at his alarm, Tony pokes his head round five minutes later, they check that his injuries are healed enough for him to go to school, and he gets ready for the day. He sits at the breakfast counter and laughs at Tony’s jokes while he eats his fry-up, and at 7.55 on the dot, Happy walks into the penthouse to collect him for school.
Nothing’s different. Nothing’s changed. His dad doesn’t hate him or judge him. He’s not still angry after last night. He’s moved on.
So why can’t Peter?
The whole routine feels like a charade, he feels like he’s performing, playing a part, while inside he feels empty and scared and desperate for someone to tell him why he’s feeling like this. He goes through the motions, but by the time the end of school bell rings and he’s traipsing out to meet Tony in the parking lot, he’s exhausted.
His body aches from the battle yesterday – the wounds may heal quickly but pain always lingers for a couple of days – and he feels heavy, weighed down by emotions he can’t understand, and feelings he doesn’t want to name. He doesn’t think it shows. Ned and MJ didn’t notice that anything was amiss and Tony smiles at him and ruffles his hair like he always does when he slides into the passenger seat, but he’s gone through more trauma in his eighteen years of life than most people do in a lifetime. He’s a damn good actor.
“You gonna join me in the lab?” Tony asks brightly as the elevator doors slide open and they step into the penthouse.
Peter’s heart feels like lead. “Uh, maybe in a bit. I have Spanish homework and school kinda wiped me out.”
He hates the way he sees Tony’s face fall, just for a fraction of a second before it’s restored to its usual neutral, unbothered expression. “No problem, bud. I’ll come check on you in a bit if you don’t come down, okay?”
Peter nods, gives him a brilliant fake smile and then slinks off to his room. He wasn’t lying about the Spanish homework, it’s sitting in his backpack and he really should do it because conjugations are kicking his ass right now, but he doesn’t do anything more with it than sling it in the corner of his room, crumpled at the bottom of his bag to be worried about by future Peter. Present Peter is crawling into bed, pulling the covers over his head and trying desperately to block out the thoughts racing through his mind.
The events of the last twenty-four hours or so have bothered him for so many reasons, but the one that hurts the most right now are the thoughts of May. He loved her so much – he still does – and whenever Tony goes into ‘parenting mode’, he can’t help but remember the woman who parented him for the majority of his life. He almost wishes Tony took a different approach to May so it didn’t hurt so much when all he can hear is May’s voice telling him she’s disappointed or he’s grounded or to go to his room.
Tears start to stream down his face as grief wraps a tight, boa constrictor knot around his stomach, squeezing the pain out of his gut like May used to wring water out of their clothes when the dryer didn’t work. He stifles his sobs with his hand as he cries for the aunt he lost, for the mother he lost, for the friend he lost, all in one go.
Along with the grief, though, come sneaking thoughts that maybe… maybe Peter was just a ‘job’ to May, too. It’s not really a new fear. After all, he’s known that May and Ben never planned on having kids for years now, they were just saddled with Peter one day and out of obligation to Richard and Mary, they sucked it up and dealt with it. May died with her best years behind her, spent parenting a teenager she never wanted, and doing a good chunk of it alone, and Peter hates himself for that.
He loves May, but he wishes he could love her without having burdened her so much. The thought that he’s doing the same to Tony now just makes the tears come faster, and suddenly he has so much grief and pain and blood in his hands, and he has nowhere to set it down. He sits up as his sobs become so heavy and stifling that he can’t breathe, gasping as tears fall relentlessly and he has no idea how to stop them or take a breath.
A hand finds its way to his upper back, though, and suddenly Tony’s voice is telling him to “breathe, honey, you’re okay, I’m here. You’re gonna be okay, alright? I just need you to take a big breath in like this and then release it nice and slow, yeah? Big breath in, and nice and slow breath back out. You got this, baby, come on. In and out.”
He continues demonstrating the breathing, putting Peter’s hand over his heart so he can feel the steady rhythmic beat and the movements of his chest as he breathes, until his gasping sobs relax into tired cries. Tony eases them down into a horizontal position and lets Peter cry it out into his t-shirt, playing with his hair in that slow, soft way that he knows helps calm him down. As much as Peter’s rollercoaster of emotions today have been caused by Tony’s words yesterday, he still finds comfort in the man’s soothing words and gentle hands.
“What’s going on, bud?” Tony murmurs after Peter’s sufficiently calmed down. “You haven’t been quite yourself today.”
Of course Tony noticed. Even when Peter thought he was hiding it brilliantly, of course his dad saw through his façade and noticed something was up.
Peter doesn’t say anything – he doesn’t know where he would even begin – and instead buries his face further into Tony’s t-shirt.
“Come on, baby, talk to me,” Tony says gently, craning his head to try and get a better look at Peter’s face. “Is it about the mission yesterday?”
Peter takes a long time to find the words, but he gets there eventually. “More like… more like afterwards?”
Tony’s face contorts into one of understanding. “Ah.” His hands don’t stop his ministrations in Peter’s hair, though, and he doesn’t move away so Peter hopes that the revelation hasn’t upset him too much. “Is it Spider-Man?”
Peter shakes his head.
“Me shouting at you?”
Another shake.
“What, then, bambino? You gotta help me out a little, here.”
Peter tries to find the right words to express everything he feels, but eventually decides to start with the words that upset him in the first place. “You said… it’s your job to protect me.”
Tony’s hand pauses then, and he looks up anxiously only to see an expression of confusion on his dad’s face.
Tears flood back to his eyes as he has to explain further. “Your job.”
Understanding suddenly colours Tony’s features, quickly followed up by regret and sadness. “Oh, Pete,” he murmurs sitting up and pulling Peter with him to hug him even tighter. “I didn’t mean it like that, kiddo, I promise. It was just a figure of speech.”
“It just made me f-feel like I was just… an obligation,” Peter manages through his renewed tears. “And it made me think about M-May, too.”
“Peter, Peter, look at me,” Tony says seriously, pulling away slightly so he can look his kid dead in the eyes. “You are not and never have been an obligation to me, okay? You are my kid, and my favourite person on planet earth. I don’t just protect you because I’m your dad or your guardian or because I promised May. I do it because I love you, and if anything happened to you, it would break my heart irreparably, do you understand? You deserve so much happiness and joy and life and a future, Pete, and I’ll be damned if I don’t help you get there.”
Peter’s face crumples in relief and he throws himself back into Tony’s arms as all the words he’s needed to hear make a warm, welcome home in his chest.
“Do you mean it?”
“Peter, I couldn’t mean it more,” Tony murmurs, desperate for Peter to believe him.
“I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you about it sooner.”
Tony sighs, rocking them side to side soothingly. “Don’t worry about that, bambino,” he assures him. “You told me now and that’s what matters, yeah?”
Peter nods in assent, his tears finally slowing and a new kind of exhaustion settling in.
“Now, how about I order Turkish food for dinner, you choose a movie I won’t enjoy, and then you fall asleep in my lap fifteen minutes in and leave me stuck with it for the rest of the evening,” Tony says lightly, nudging Peter’s side and making him giggle.
“I think that sounds like a plan.”
“Well, you know what they say, kiddo,” Tony laughs, drawing back from their hug to kiss the top of Peter’s head, “great minds and all that.”
Peter leans into the kiss and laughs again. “I love you, dad.”
“Oh, Pete,” Tony says, looking into his eyes with more love and adoration than Peter ever thought he could deserve, “I love you so much it hurts.”