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"Corn," Peter declares, staring out at the field of undulating yellow. He's got a scarf curled around his neck and into the collar of his jacket, keeping the worst of October's brisk air at bay.
The jacket is a Tony Stark original, lined with smartwool, designed specifically with his thermoregulation issues in mind. The scarf is an Aunt May original, because apparently she picked up the hobby in the five years Peter was gone. Peter doesn't like to think about that, though.
"Corn," the inventor agrees beside him, hands stuffed into the pockets of his Versace bomber jacket. The sunglasses on the man's face help to mask his expression, but Peter can still sense the amusement underneath.
The world around them carries that peculiar scent that can only be described as Autumn; the grim fragrance of flora rotting and decaying, their shoes kicking it up tenfold with every leaf crunched beneath them. The vegetal aroma of pumpkins in the patch and the spice of apples churned into cider. He can smell the musty tang of the goats, both in their enclosure towards the front of the orchard and lingering on Morgan's hands. She spent the better part of an hour petting them and falling in love, particularly with the spotted one she dubbed irrevocably Dan.
Thanks to Peter's enhanced senses, he can smell it all. He loves it all.
"So what?" Happy gruffs next to them, casting both an irritated glare. "It's corn. I'm not plodding through corn."
Peter turns to him with abject shock. "You have to! It's part of- of Spooky season! Corn mazes are essential."
"Getting lost and being chased by costumed freaks trying to scare you is essential?" Happy dead-pans.
Peter frowns at Happy. He happens to be, in a roundabout kind of way, a member of the costumed freaks club. Even though Mister Stark wouldn't like that particular train of thought, would probably scoff at Peter for even thinking it. "You don't like costumes?"
"I like costumes," Morgan offers, smiling up at him, swinging her arms at her sides. "And I'm not afraid of anything."
"Of course not," Tony agrees easily. "For you are my child and completely immune to any type of self-preservation."
She beams up at Tony through her lashes, all rosy cheeks and pastel rainbow colors. The colors are Morgan's newest schtick, and she's decked out from head to toe in multicolored garb.
"Lord help us," Pepper murmurs, running affectionate fingers through Morgan's perpetually tangled hair.
"A corn maze is essential to the Halloween spirit," Peter insists. "Like apple cider, like trick or treating, like-
"Corn?" Happy asks, incredulous. Like he can't believe even the existence of the golden vegetable. " Corn?"
"A maze," Peter corrects. "It's- the maze part is important in that equation."
"I'm not doing it," Happy repeats, crossing his arms across his chest. Corn stalks rustle gently in the soft breeze, beckoning them in. "You couldn't pay me to go prance around in a goddamn corn maze for chainsaw wielding zombies to chase me around-"
"Zombies?" Morgan asks, turning wide eyes Happy's way. Peter watches as she shifts nervously from one foot to another.
"No. No zombies. Definite no," Tony assures quickly, tapping Morgan's flushed cheek to pull her attention to him. "I gave Meddley's Orchard a resounding no way José on the undead when I rented this place out-"
"You rented the orchard out? Like the whole thing?" Peter blurts out, still amazed at Mister Stark's reach and wealth. He rented out an entire orchard right smack in the middle of October? The busiest season of all?
"Duh. Perks of being a rich asshole." Tony flashes him a smile.
"And," Pepper adds, shooting Tony a sideways glare, "it's a safety concern. Better for everyone involved if we can enjoy the entire establishment without being hounded by paparazzi and dealing with potential- er, scenarios."
"Kidnappings," Happy summarizes, shrugging.
Pepper cuts her glare his way, her lips pursued. "Yes. Kidnappings. Which isn't exactly a word I wanted to say around my child-"
"Not a child," Morgan insists quickly, copying her mother's glare precisely; narrowed eyes and soft contempt. "I'm basically a grown-up now."
"We need to do the maze," Peter reiterates, throwing an arm out to gesture at the mouth of the trail, to the slightly ominous sound of corn stalks shifting in the wind. He can hear the goats bleating towards the entrance, Dan the loudest of all.
Morgan rocks excitedly on her heels, doing her best impression of a bobblehead beside him. "Yes! The corn maze. We have to do everything here. We did the pumpkins, and the goats, and now we have to do the maze!"
"I will quit," Happy growls, though it sounds a bit pleading when he turns to glare at Tony.
Tony sighs deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose. Peter knows that look; it's the look he gets every single time he's about to give into Morgan's whims. "Why don't you take Maguna through, Pete? Do your little maze of corn and meet us at the cider shop. We'll feast to your victory with apple cider and cinnamon donuts."
"I could go for some cider." Pepper nods appreciatively, shivering a little when a particularly strong gust of wind cuts across them. She huffs, stuffing her hands into her armpits.
"Donuts." Morgan replies, wiggling her eyebrows in his direction.
"Be quick, though," Tony warns. "I don't want you out in the cold too long, Mr. Thermoregulation Issues-"
Peter rolls his eyes. "I have a scarf!"
"Mo, please don't let your brother become a Spider-Sicle out there."
Morgan salutes theatrically. "You got it, Daddy."
"And just- be safe," Tony emphasizes, reaching out to zip Peter's jacket up to his jugular. Peter fights the urge to outright blush.
Even now, half a year after Thanos' defeat, after he came back from the dead, or wherever he was, because he doesn't know, and that's enough to make him feel a little crazy, enough to freak out, because where, where, where, was he-
He doesn't think about that. He shoves it away. He thinks instead about how, even now, it blows him away every time Mister Stark fusses over him. Every time the man pulls him in for an impromptu hug, every time he compliments Peter for the mere act of existing, it makes Peter feel a little more corporeal, a little more real.
Because Tony Stark, somehow, cares about Peter Parker.
He grins softly up at the man, silently relishing in the affection when Mister Stark reaches out a hand to ruffle his hair. "You sure you guys don't wanna go? None of you?" Peter asks.
"Nope." Mister Stark replies, turning around and bending down to plant a kiss on the crown of Morgan's head. "Go enjoy your lame corn, kiddos. I'll prepare the feast for your triumph."
Morgan hops in place, sending Peter a wide smile. This little girl, this amazing girl, who somehow loves him, too.
Peter grins back. "Into the corn we go."
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"Corn is also called maize, y'know," Morgan informs him, skipping along by his side. Her arms are held out wide, brushing the stalks of corn as they meander down the twisty pathway.
He glances down at her, smiling. Sun is slanting through the stalks towering above them, painting the world in a soft golden hue. Her face glows with it. "That's a pretty cool fact, Morgs. Where'd you learn it?"
Morgan shrugs, fingertips skimming the tips of yellowed leaves. "In a book. I like learning stuff."
Peter nods, following the narrow trail as it loops quickly to the left, nearly turning them in the opposite direction. "Me too. Learning new stuff is like- my favorite."
Morgan beams at him, corn leaves susurrating softly as her arms glade across them. "After me. I'm your first favorite."
He laughs. "Of course after you."
She skips in front of him, humming a quiet Italian ditty that he's heard Tony murmur to her in late twilight hours at the lakehouse. He watches her for a second, smiling softly at the tune, feeling a rush of pure contentment. The fact that he's alive , that everyone is alive , that Tony is alive, especially after facing down Thanos on his own, snapping the Infinity Stones and nearly losing his life. Peter is acutely, painfully aware of how lucky he is.
"It's called Zea mays in Latin," he offers after a moment.
Morgan pauses, turning to look at him. "Huh?"
"Corn." He shrugs, kicking at the dirt beneath his shoes. "It's also called zea mays."
Her face scrunches up, her eyebrows drawn together in sioent concentration. She looks exactly like Tony wearing that expression on her face. After a moment her features break open in a broad smile. " Zea mays," she repeats, enunciating each syllable carefully.
"Yep," he tells her, nodding. "Zea mays."
"Cool. Now I have another name."
"I'll have to find some more corn facts for you then, make sure you have plenty of new-" Alarm prickles across his neck and down his shoulders, lighting up his nerves in the way only his Spidey-sense can. He stiffens, his mouth slamming shut. "Wait-"
"Petey?" Morgan asks, pausing obediently where she is, a leaf gliding slowly through her fingers.
The pinpricks don't diminish, and he scans their surroundings somewhat desperately, trying to peek into the sea of impenetrable corn to find whatever it is that has his body on high alert. Somewhere, amidst the sound of bleating goats and shifting corn, he hears a stalk snap.
"Petey?" Morgan asks again, her eyes wide.
"Come here," he orders gently, holding out a hand in her direction. Immediately she stumbles his way.
"What is it?" She squeaks, plowing into him and wrapping her arms around his legs. "A zombie?"
"No, no," he assures quickly, straining to hear. There's the muted sound of what might be footfalls. "No zombies, remember? Your dad said so-"
And, to be fair, it's not a zombie that steps through the tall corn grass in front of them.
It's a goddamn killer clown, wearing an incongruous red and white polka dot suit besmirched with blood splatter. The actor's features are painted in an elongated manner, with a grotesque curling grin that seems to stretch even wider when he looks towards them. The disportionate features aren't even the worst part, though; that title belongs to the long, sharp scythe clutched in the clown's hand.
Which is absurd because clowns don't even carry scythes. They carry- like, silly stuff. Harlequin mallets and cannons that shoot lemon meringue pies.
Morgan yelps, tripping over her feet in her haste to hide behind his legs. Peter's own heart skips a beat in his chest, and he forces himself to take a deep breath. Sure, Spider-Man deals with shit like Rhino and Electro all the time, but he's Peter Parker right now and killer clowns wielding wickedly long scythes are unnerving. Always. It's like some unspoken rule out there in the universe. Clowns are freaky.
He takes a step back, keeping Morgan securely behind him. "Hey, uh, sir? Sorry- but actually we're not supposed to be spooked, child and all-"
"Not a child-" Morgan murmurs, voice wavering. He feels her press her face into the back of his knee, her fingers fisting tightly into the fabric of his jeans.
Peter nods, still staring at the clown. He watches as the actor drags the tip of the scythe slowly through the dirt. The pin-pricks across his neck continue to dance uneasily, his built-in alarm system a persistent warning. Is Pennywise a real threat? Or are his senses going haywire because of Morgan's palpable fear?
"Us two adults," he corrects, patting Morgan reassuringly on the head. "Not signed up for the spooking, you see, not supposed to be scared-"
The clown cocks his head. "Not here to spook. Here to take." The voice is decidedly not what Peter's expecting to come from the mouth of the contorted clown; high-pitched and slightly nasally. The actor sounds more like Jeff from the R&D labs than Pennywise.
Peter takes another step back, maneuvering Morgan with him. The clown steps forward, the tip of the scythe dragging through the soil with a sort of scratching sound.
He gulps apprehensively, ghosting his finger across the face of the watch on his wrist, the one with the built in panic button that leads directly to Tony. It's in the same place Morgan wears her own, though hers is a glittery pink. He's thinking about pressing it now, this watch that Tony foisted upon him the day after he came back from being snapped, this watch he'd never even consider tapping if not for Morgan.
Morgan, who he has to protect. Even if he's just Peter Parker right now. "Listen, this is- good. Great. Great performance. Totally. I'll leave you five stars- but really, you're not supposed to be here, it was kinda specified-"
"I don't give a fuck about that," the clown says evenly, lifting the scythe off the ground, oscillating it through the air.
Peter swallows. "You should. Mister Stark is, uh, a stickler for his specifics-"
"Mister Stark, huh?" The clown asks, all smiles and pointy teeth. Peter's heart drops down to his feet. Should he not have mentioned Tony? "I bet he's a stickler for certain little girls, too. Bet he'd pay a lot of good money to get a certain one back."
Peter's stomach swoops too, joining his heart in his shoes. This is a real threat, not a Halloween scare tactic. Pennywise is here for Morgan. This is a kidnapping.
"No," Peter says, low, finger crawling towards the panic button on his wrist. He doesn't even have his web shooters on him, he doesn't have his suit, he's not currently the type of costumed freak that's able to lift cars and handle bad guys, but he's not going to let this guy take Morgan. Even if he has to blow his cover. He taps the side of the watch three times fast, praying that Tony gets here before he has to let the Spider-Man secret out of the bag.
"Back away, little guy," the clown says, pointing the sharp curve of the blade his way. "You don't have to get hurt, I only want her-"
Peter sighs, eyes flicking up to the cloudless sky, hoping to see a flash of red and gold glinting in the sun. Nothing yet. "I can't do that, we're a package deal-"
The killer clown smiles wider. "Suit yourself."
Peter's senses spike, going from dull itch to full-fledged panic in a fraction of a second, screaming at him. The corn rustles behind them, and he whips his head in that direction, eyes widening as another killer clown steps from the rippling ocean of the field, wearing a similar polka-dot ensemble and distorted grin. Instead of a scythe, though, he's carrying a gun.
The second clown provides the distraction, and by the time Peter turns his attention back to the original Pennywise, he sees that the man is arching the scythe through the air, the blade gleaming off the midday sun. He knows, in the nanosecond it takes him to understand the situation, if he moves to either side that he's going to leave Morgan horribly exposed. The only direction that leaves is back. He takes a staggered backwards step, nearly tripping over the girl behind him, but in the single split second it took him to analyze the situation, to move, he knows it's too late.
The scythe is too long, and it slices down his upraised arm and across his shoulder and sternum. Half of Aunt May's hand-crocheted scarf falls to the ground, cut cleanly in his half.
He gasps a little, clutching at the frayed end of the scarf still wrapped around his neck. "My aunt made this-"
"Grab the girl," Pennywise orders to his clown compatriot.
Peter's head whips back that direction, to the second clown now approaching them, that menacing gun held out in front of him, and it's absurd because the only gun a clown should be carrying is a fake one that shoots out the word bang on a white flag, and Peter knows it's not that. It's a real gun, a real threat, and not something he can even risk getting close to Morgan.
"You guys are just- slandering the Ronald McDonald name," Peter pants, and holy shit , the pain is hitting him a little now, and holy shit he just got scythed and holy shit his shirt and specially designed Stark-jacket are starting to go a deep spreading red, "He'd be- so, so disappointed-"
Morgan screams from behind him, latching on like a little tick, her fingers clawing into his legs even through the material of his jeans, and the second clown is reaching out a hand to curl around Morgan's arm, to pull her away, and Peter knows his time is up.
Goodbye, Spider-Man secret.
With one last long-suffering sigh, wincing when the motion pulls at whatever is happening with his body, he twists around with unnatural speed and fluidity, dulled only slightly, and catches the clown's outstretched hand mid-air.
"Swiper- no swiping," he pants, meeting the clown's enraged, bloodshot eyes. He can see the other hand in his peripherals, the gun lifting up, the man's finger already curling around the trigger, and he squeezes.
Something in the clown's hand snaps , loud and sharp, and the man lets out a guttural scream. Peter uses that time to elbow the clown in his bright red nose, wrenching the gun from his grasp in an easy motion. The man's body hits the dirt with a soft thud, kicking up more of that Autumn eau de parfum that Peter loves, the smell of leaves and soil now tinged a little too heavily with the coppery scent of blood.
"Mother fucker!" Pennywise shouts, lifting the scythe again, high in the air, and Peter's not real keen on getting fucking cleaved again, so he turns around and chucks the gun in the direction of the man's malformed, painted face.
Sure, tossing loaded guns isn't Spider-Man's usual forté. A bad message to send to the kids. Don't throw your guns and all that jazz. That's probably a thing. Definitely a thing. Usually he's a bit more refined.
He's feeling a little fuzzy at the moment, though, so he just- just chucks the thing.
It hits with a resounding crackkkk and Peter's pretty sure he's broken something there, too, a nose or a jaw, but can't quite find it in himself to care at the moment. Pennywise hits the ground just like his friend.
He takes a deep breath, grimacing at the pain. "I got 'em, Mo," he says, slurring a little. "Don't be scared, all handled-"
"I'm not scared," she argues, clinging tightly to his legs.
"Course not," he tells her, meaning to pat the top of her head in reassurance. The blood on his hand stops him, and he stares at it numbly, twisting it around to stare at his red speckled palms. "Huh."
"Not scared," she says again, voice breaking.
"Good," Peter says. His ears roaring. Hands red. Clowns down. Some of the corn around them is also red. "Don't- Don't let these bozos scare you away from McDonald's- I'm sure Ronald is a nice man, upstanding member of clown society-"
"You're bleeding," Morgan says, sounding scared no matter what she says.
"Red," he tells her. "Just- Iron Man colors. Is all."
It's the color of the suit that lands in front of them seconds later, kicking up dirt and beheading corn in its haste. Tony Stark stumbles out of it, wide eyed and frazzled.
"Don't worry, Mister Stark," Peter says quickly, trying to dispel some of the horrible anxiety written so clearly on the man's face. "I got 'em. Defeated Pennywise- with, uh, the power of friendship. And a gun." Peter salutes him.
Tony makes a choking sound, bumbling forward. "Jesus christ-"
"Ronald probably has a cannon with lemon-meringue pies," he tells them both, nodding, and then the fuzzy world pushes him off a cliff and lets him crash.
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He groans upon waking, the faint redolence of disinfectant and bleach hitting his nose. Which means MedBay. The very last place Peter wants to find himself waking up in.
"Well, good morning, sleeping beauty," comes a familiar voice that Peter knows well. So well.
"Sorry," he offers preemptively, slitting open one eye. Tony Stark has a chair pulled up to his bedside, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. The man looks haggard, deep purple bags under his eyes.
Tony arches a brow. "Okay. I'll bite. For what?"
Peter wracks his brain. "For. Um. The stupid thing I did. Very stupid." He nods in emphasis, wincing as the motion burns across his shoulder.
Tony snorts. He's got affection shining in his eyes, even as tired as they look. "The stupid thing being saving Morgan's life? That's the stupid thing you're apologizing for? Or maybe you're apologizing for the cornfield altogether-"
"Morgan!" Peter squeaks, shooting up from the bed. Adrenaline courses through his veins, even as painful fire does. He gasps, gaze jumping desperately across the familiar room, finding it to be terrifyingly empty-
"Oh my god oh my God, is she okay? Is she hurt? Did they get her?"
Tony pushes him back into the bed, a hand braced against his uninjured shoulder. "Hey- hey. Whoa. Slow down. She's fine. Well enough to hassle Happy into buying her a happy meal on the way home tonight- something I'm sure you're directly responsible for, Mr. Ronald McDonald is in innocent man- direct quote by the way-"
Peter blushes, running a hand across the stinging pain in his shoulder, feeling the telltale ridges and bumps of bandages underneath his shirt. He spies a similar one wrapped around his wrist. "Oh wow, that's embarrassing-"
"You, on the other hand," Tony continues, fixing Peter a haunted stare, "Are minced meat. You've got a gash in your shoulder that just- shit. About gave me a heart attack, kid. That asshole nicked your radial artery- your wrist was just gushing blood-"
"Okay," Peter says, feeling queasy. He runs a hand across the bandage curled around his wrist. "I'm sorry then. For that. The gushing blood thing."
Tony snorts again. "Well. I don't accept it. Not after you saved Morgan from Bozo the kidnapping clown and his sidekick."
"Pennywise," Peter corrects softly, for some reason. He stares down at his wrist, imagining the horror beneath the gauze. There are definitely stitches; he can feel them pulling on his skin.
He hears Tony take a deep, staggered breath, pulling his eyes back up. There's so much guilt, so much worry, pressed into the man's emerging wrinkles that Peter's stomach swoops uncomfortably. He hates it, hates seeing Mister Stark's unwarranted distress etched so viscerally into his face. "Peter. Kid. I'm- I'm sorry. So sorry. You hit the panic button, did the right thing, and it took me three fucking minutes to get there- fuck, three minutes too fucking long, and look at you, sliced six ways to Sunday-"
"I'm the one who wanted to go into the corn, though-" Peter offers a little helplessly, shrugging. He winces, rubbing the ache in his shoulder.
Tony scoffs, shaking his head. "Corn. Goddamn corn. Gonna break your little Spider-heart, kid, but I'm officially with Happy now. Corn sucks."
"Shucks," Peter amends quietly.
"Corn Shucks," Tony repeats dryly, leaning back in his seat. "Have to put that on a shirt."
Peter nods. "You should. It's a Peter Parker original."
Which jogs something in his still addled brain, the image of a crocheted scarf fluttering to the ground, a clown shoe stomping it into the dirt.
"Aunt May?" He questions, bracing a hand against his sternum. The longer he's awake the deeper the ache seems to settle in, and it feels like it's in his bones now, carving exhaustion and pain into his very marrow.
"Informed and inbound," Tony tells him. "Full of that Parker wrath I know so well. Deserved, of course."
"Not your fault," Peter murmurs, thinking morosely of the now ruined scarf Aunt May spent hours crocheting for him. He's horrified already imagining her face when he tells her it's gone.
"Pete-"
Tony's voice is raspy and wrong, every decibel just dripping with the kind of hate that the genius reserves exclusively for himself, and Peter just can't deal with that. Never. Because Tony Stark saved the universe, saved him, and he's one of the best people Peter knows.
"It's not," he insists, sitting back up, biting back a cry of pain. "It's not, Mister Stark. Don't say that-"
"Okay, okay," the man hisses, pushing Peter's shoulder back towards the bed. "Christ, kid- don't- relax-"
"Say it-" Peter orders, inhaling sharply as red-hot agony shoots up his side.
"Shit, shit, fine you little gremlin, it's not- it's not my fault. Happy now? Lay your ass back down."
Peter relents at that, letting Tony guide him gingerly back to the bed. "Very happy. Mucho happiness, now."
Tony snorts, lifting his hand from Peter's unmarred shoulder to his cheek, tracing gently with the tip of his thumb. Peter melts at it, liquifying back into the bed. He doesn't even try to fight the blush that spreads across his cheek at the action, the expression of Tony's affection. He's corporeal, he's real, and Tony Stark, somehow, cares about him.
"I love you, kid," Tony says softly, "Can you try to refrain from becoming minced meat in the future? Please? I promise to keep Ronald McDonald in business if you do-"
Peter rolls his eyes before offering a muted, "I love you, too. And I'll- I'll try."
"That's probably the best I'll get with you, huh?"
Peter shrugs. "Probably."
Tony ruffles his hair gently before pulling away, reaching behind him to grab a small brown paper bag from the hospital bedside table. He tosses the bag into Peter's lap, the cinnamony goodness hitting his nose before the bag even touches down. "Your victory donuts. I'd say you more than earned 'em."
"Oh my god," Peter breathes, tearing into the bag with the kind of voracity only a half-starved, enhanced teenager could manage. "Thank you thank you-"
"Anything, Pete," Tony tells him earnestly, settling deeper into his seat. "Literally. Anything."
"Just donuts." Peter shoves one into his mouth, practically coming undone at the cinnamon softness. "You should get Mo a goat, though. To go with Gerald."
Tony scoffs. "Absolutely not."
He's wearing that look, though, the one he gets when he's about to give into Morgan's whim. There's a beat of silence before he sighs, opening his arms into a theatrical shrug. "I'm getting her the goat. Dan. Actual Dan."
Peter nearly chokes on his donut, laughing. "Meddley's is willing to sell him?"
Tony shrugs, one corner of his mouth turning up in a smirk. "It's either sell Dan the goat to Tony Stark for three times what the animal is worth, or be sued by him for two of their employees using a goddamn scythe to carve into one of his kids like a turkey. Easy choice."
Peter nods, even as warmth spreads across his chest. One of Tony's kids. Because Tony Stark cares about him. He swallows thickly. "Yeah- yeah. No contest."
With Morgan safe and sound, on track to add another member to their little makeshift family, and Tony looking at him like that , all proud and thankfuul and alive to do so, alive to care about him of all people-
Victory's never tasted so sweet.