Chapter Text
Iron Man had been his favorite hero since before he could remember. Peter always said that he’d peaked at eight-years-old because nothing could ever beat the time that he helped Tony Stark defeat a Hammer Drone in the middle of the chaotic StarkExpo—but then, because Flash Thompson had laughed and promptly shoved him into a trash can for saying it, Peter stopped telling everyone about the coolest night of his life. (It was fine, really, because he had that signed Iron Man replica helmet in a case above his bed, and that was all that mattered.)
He was around fourteen when he saw Iron Man again. With Captain America. In his living room. Eating his Aunt May’s walnut date loaves.
Suffice to say, Peter never expected to choose Reveal Your Secret Identity for 500, Alex, but what else was he supposed to do when the poster child for integrity and virtue was sitting on his Star Wars bed sheets and telling him that they wanted to train him to be a real superhero?
The coolest thing to Peter, at least in his mind, was how quickly he became close with everyone. In between sparring sessions and training exercises, there would be team nights ranging anywhere from playing video games to roasting shitty movies in the common room in Avengers Tower. ‘Iron Man’ and ‘Captain America’ soon became ‘Mr. Stark’ and ‘Captain Rogers’, which soon evolved into ‘Tony’ and ‘Steve’ after the latter two got all up in arms about honorifics. And in no time at all, Peter felt like he easily slotted into a missing space in their lovingly chaotic family puzzle.
Of course, being an Avenger (or, in Peter’s case, an Avenger-in-Training) didn’t come without its hazards. Dealing with international criminals and fending off nosy politicians had become part of their normal Tuesdays, alongside Clint’s offensively sweet iced-coffees and Bruce’s spicy chicken biryani. Frustratingly, Tony didn’t let him do much outside of being Queen’s friendly, neighborhood Spider-Man, but the many hours spent with him in the tower’s workshop more than made up for the lack of crime fighting.
And if Tony kept pretending to reach for the door handle whenever he and Happy would drop Peter off at his apartment, just for an excuse to hug him, well, that easily replaced the coolest thing to ever happen in his life.
Peter was almost seventeen when the aliens came back. He was almost seventeen when Tony’s wizard friend got taken up into a spaceship, and he followed right behind without much thought because Tony needed his help.
He was almost seventeen when he watched almost everyone around him turn to dust—and he was scared half to death, but Tony was hurt, and that mattered more. It was one cauterized stab wound, haphazard web bandage, and “Gross, Pete, that’ll never get off my shirt” later that the gravity of the situation really sunk in.
After a week drifting out in space, Peter didn’t think he would make it to see his next birthday. They got the distress beacon going, sure, but being in deep space near a desolate planet with half the galaxy gone didn’t bode well for them. He helped Tony and a blue lady named Nebula with repairs to the spaceship, and they were thanking their unlucky stars that at least the water filtration system was still intact.
The Iron Man suit was damaged, that much was evident, but there was just enough juice for the helmet to record video logs. Every other day, Tony would leave messages for Steve, for the other Avengers, for Rhodey. Peter didn’t think the messages were getting anywhere, if there was even anyone left to receive them, but he knew it gave Tony a string of hope to tug on.
Tony and Nebula had ransacked the ship’s entirety to scrounge up their resources, but Peter knew that was a thin silver lining when there wasn’t enough food on hand for the three of them. By the end of week one, Tony was starting to get mad at Peter for not taking the rations that they’d divvied up. “You need to eat, kid.”
“So do you,” Peter argued, frowning.
“Yeah, well, turns out, I’m not the one with the superhuman metabolism.” Tony shoved a packet of food under his nose, brows raised to make a point.
Peter’s brows knitted together as he reluctantly took the bag. “But you and Nebula—”
“I’ve tried with her, no dice,” Tony said. He lifted his other hand to pat his stomach, the corners of his mouth turning up in a smile. “Besides, your old man’s got some extra fat stored for just the occasion.”
With no planetary orbit around a sun (not their Sun, not out here, because Peter took one look out the window and frighteningly didn’t recognize any distant constellations) to mark the passage of day into night, Peter turned to the ship’s data screens flashing with a geometric alien language to do so. He used his many years’ worth of cereal box decoder ring techniques to work on deciphering the foreign alphabet, if only to give himself something to do; he was just missing a handful of letters when Nebula stalked up beside him, snorted, and stroked a few keys to translate the screens to English.
Peter felt heat creep up his cheeks as he fumbled with the pen in his hand. “Oh. Thanks. That—wow, that was… such a waste of time. Sorry, I should’ve just—”
“Asked?” Tony piped up from the cockpit, dismantled helmet in hand. He laughed under his breath, shaking his head in amusement. “At least she didn’t watch you for two hours fumbling around with components in the back before showing you there was a freaky laser fabricator thing hidden in the back galley. Isn’t that right, Nebula?”
“Perhaps if you bothered searching with your eyes instead of your mouth.” She blinked at Tony, dark eyes shining with mirth. It was the closest thing to a smile that Peter had ever seen from her.
Things got worse before they got better. It became monotonous days of staring at the ship’s interiors, staring at each other’s faces, staring at the darkness of space and the stars beyond. Peter could tell Tony was trying really hard to stay calm and act brave for his sake, but when he overheard his mentor leaving another video message with the Iron Man’s helmet despite being out of network, wanting for Steve to hear it, he knew that their hope for rescue was draining. (Not unlike their already limited resources.)
“This thing on?” Tony must have thought Peter was asleep when he triggered the transponder in the helmet, tapping the faceplate as it whirred to life. “Hey, Steve. Hi, honey.” There was a deep exhale, and Peter made sure to keep his eyes closed as Tony began to speak.
“If you find this recording, make sure you don’t post it on social media. It’s going to be a real tear-jerker. I don’t know if you’re ever going to see these. I don’t even know if you’re still…” Tony trailed off, his voice wavering on the word ‘alive’. Even he couldn’t let himself think about the alternative, that maybe his husband hadn’t vanished right along with everyone else. “Oh, God, I hope so.”
Peter shifted, turning to better hear the low-spoken words.
“Today’s day… twenty-one. No, uh, twenty-two. You know, if it wasn’t for the existential terror of staring into the literal void of space, I’d say I’m feeling a little better today.” A shuffle, like Tony adjusted his perch. “The infection’s run its course, thanks to the Blue Meanie back there. Oh, you’d love her. Very practical. Only a tiny bit sadistic, but I know you’re into that.
“Our little Spiderling has been a chatterbox on the good days, and honestly, getting him home is top of my list of Things to Do Before My Departure. In any other situation I’d be happy he’s with me, but… the fuel cells were damaged in battle, and we’d figured out a way to reverse the ion charge and bought ourselves about… forty-eight hours of flight time? But now we’re dead in the water. Thousand light years from the nearest 7-Eleven. Oxygen will run out tomorrow morning, and that’ll be it.” There was a kind of despondence lacing Tony’s words, a sad acceptance of their untimely situation. Peter risked a glance when Tony took in a shuddered breath, seeing a petulant frown on the man’s lips.
The silence stretched on until: “Steve, I know I said no more surprises, but I gotta say, I was really hoping to pull off one last one. But it looks like… well, you know what it looks like.” A cynical smile tugged on a corner of his mouth as he teased, “Don’t feel bad about this. I mean—actually, if you grovel for a couple weeks, and then move on with enormous guilt, it’ll make me feel better for…”
Peter blinked, still quiet, watching a myriad of emotions flicker across Tony’s face. There were so many things left unsaid; having been whisked off into space when he and Steve were in the middle of a lover’s quarrel seemed to prod at the back of Tony’s mind every night.
“I should probably lie down for a minute. Go rest my eyes,” Tony sighed, placing a light hand to the helmet. “Please know, when I drift off, it’ll be like every night lately. I’m fine. Totally fine. I dream about you. Because it’s always you.”
With a light hand, Tony shut off the helmet, the blue holograms flickering before disappearing altogether. He slipped his arms into the sleeves of his jacket, and then sprawled across the cold metal floors near the pilots’ seats. It was nearly immediate how he fell asleep, Peter straining to hear his breathing and heart rate slow evenly.
Peter carefully moved his limbs as he got to his feet and made his way across the ship, trying to make as little noise as possible. (Tony looked incredibly uncomfortable laying pillow-less across the floor; as morbid as it was, if they were going to die out there in space, at least Peter could prevent Tony from getting a crick in the neck.) Carefully, he scooted near Tony’s head, pillowing the man’s head in his lap.
It’s one thing for Peter to wake up to a glowing lady hovering outside of the spaceship, and it was another thing entirely to wake up to Steve Rogers’ face as he carried Peter down from the ship and into the Avengers Compound. The smell of freshly mown grass was overpowered by the scent of freedom that Steve always seemed to exude from his pores, and Peter huffed a laugh through his nose at the thought.
Peter tried not to squirm in Steve’s hold, but he couldn’t help reaching out to grasp the front of the man’s shirt and tugging. “Mr. Stark, is he…?” he asked, mouth dry.
“He’s right behind us, buddy,” Steve said reassuringly. He looked down at the kid, shiny blond hair a stark difference to the starry sky above. “Don’t worry.”
“Oh. Okay. Good.” He tried to crane his neck over Steve’s shoulder, eyes searching anyway. Tony smiled when their gaze met, waving the free hand that wasn’t holding onto Rhodey beside him. The initial anxiety seemed to simply melt away from Peter, and he slumped back into Steve’s embrace. “Mr. Rogers?”
There was a smile in Steve’s voice as he replied, “Yes, Mr. Parker?”
He tried to fight against the sleep attempting to pull him under, the events of the past three weeks finally hitting him hard. It was like his body knew that he was safe now, that they both were, and he didn’t need to push so hard to stay alive. Quietly, he said, “Thanks.”
“Don’t thank me yet. Let’s get Dr. Cho to get a good look at you two first, alright?”
“I wanna… wanna thank you anyway.” Oh, whoa. The bed sheets under him were cold and—how did they get to the medical wing so fast? Steve had set him down gently, pulling a thick blanket over him.
From his periphery, Peter saw Rhodey help Tony into his own hospital bed. Steve dragged a chair in between their beds, pausing briefly to brush the hair back from Peter’s sweaty forehead. A tight smile was on his face as he took a seat, patting Peter’s knee just like—
May. Was May okay? She had to be. God, Peter hoped so.
Before he could ask Steve about his aunt, consciousness slowly slipped between his fingers.
~*~*~*~
Adjusting to a new world order was a rough time for everyone, and it was the first time that Peter really grasped the notion that Superheroes never got a day off. There had been an attempt to get the Stones back from Thanos after he and Tony were rescued, but the team came back with nothing. Steve had been devastated, defeated, sitting vigil at Tony’s bed in the medical wing as he recovered.
The United Nations spent the better part of the first year just trying to send resources out to the whole world, helping to coordinate with any remaining governments to help its citizens. In their new borderless world, the people banded together, for better or worse. Thanks in large part to the Avengers and still-active SHIELD factions, there became a new normal. With Aunt May gone, Peter didn’t have anywhere else to go except for the Avengers. He’d resolved to stay home in Queens while things settled, but Tony put his foot down with a firm “No way in hell am I leaving you alone in an apartment to fend for yourself, Underoos,” and almost automatically, Tony and Steve took over responsibility for him.
After two years of exhaustion and grief and trauma and mourning, everyone just learned how to continue living. That went without saying things weren’t always easy. Most days, the Avengers were elbows deep in conferences and meetings, and Tony would be doing double that with Stark Industries efforts. Rhodey had split his time between the team and ending up on the campaign trail to run for Vice President, and Peter…
Peter took on a lot more than he should have. Be it survivor’s guilt or taking on an unnecessary obligation to help the rest of the world, he found himself carrying his burdens on his own. But Tony and Steve, they were always there to stand on either side of him and help to lighten the load.
Even though Peter had been given his own suite at the Avengers Compound, he would usually lounge around Steve and Tony’s floor. (They had the comfiest couch and the largest television screen, so sue him.) He’d often find himself curled up on the sectional sofa with bowls of popcorn and cans of tooth-rotting soda with Tony at his side, laughing at comedic B-rated movies until two in the morning.
At some point, Peter must have fallen asleep. Consciousness was just out of reach, his brain just barely waking up enough for him to hear his surroundings; there’s a blanket over him and someone was carding their fingers through his hair, and yeah, okay, he could fall right back asleep if the person continued the comforting motion.
There was shuffling, two light thuds as a pair of shoes were left near the door, and then a quiet, “He asleep?”
A hum of affirmation came from above him. He realized it was Tony when he whispered, “Poor kid nodded off right as Jake Wyler started singing Janey’s Got a Gun.”
“I still don’t know why you watch that bawdy movie so often.”
“Honey, first—It’s 2020, and nobody says ‘bawdy’ anymore.” A snort, from Steve most likely. “Second—Evans’ banana split scene is a cinematic masterpiece.”
Amusement laced Steve’s words as he muttered, “If you say so.”
Peter sensed someone kneel in front of him, and then a light hand brushed hair from his face. He slipped in and out of consciousness between that moment and getting carried to his room, familiar strong arms holding him steady. Steve deposited Peter onto his bed, who sleepily peeked one eye open as he settled against his cold pillow.
“Steve?” Peter slurred, blinking.
“Hey, buddy. Go back to sleep.” The bedside lamp got shut off, leaving only the hallway light to illuminate Peter’s bedroom. “G’night.”
Peter rubbed his cheek into his pillow, tugging his comforter under his chin. “M’kay. Night. Love you.”
Steve paused before bending down to press a kiss to the side of Peter’s head. Fondly, he said, “I love you, Pete.”