Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

No matter how your heart is grieving,

If you keep on believing

The dream that you wish will come true

-A Dream Is A Wish Your Heart Makes-

***

It isn’t that Tony Stark hates Christmas. He has nothing against the holiday itself.

It just never meant much to him; growing up, his family didn’t have big traditions like all of his friends’ did, and his parents weren’t particularly over the top when it came to celebrating. Plus, the Starks didn’t have any relatives around to spend the holidays with, and his father often was away on business trips. So more often than not—aside from the lavish decorations adorning the mansion and some gifts—Christmas didn’t differ much from any other day.

As he got older, Christmas became about the parties—to be honest, everything was about the parties for young adult Tony. He more often than not spent winter break with boatloads of girls and drinks and whatever else he fancied. There were some good memories, like that Christmas he’d spent with Rhodey’s family, but overall there was just never anything special about the day.

And now, although Tony is in a much better place, the holiday season still doesn’t seem like something to get all tied up over the way people seem to do. He’s a businessman himself, and between all the chaos of running a company and being Iron Man and saving the world a couple of times, Christmas is just never high on his priority list. Except when it comes to buying gifts for Pepper. That he can do. But other than that, in the years they’ve been together, neither he nor Pep have really gone out of their way to celebrate.

So when his wife suggests getting a real Christmas tree this year, instead of the short, skinny plastic one they’ve used for the past several Christmases, Tony can’t deny that he’s a little surprised.

“You don’t like the tree we have? What’s wrong with the one we have?”

“Nothing’s wrong with it, Tony,” Pepper says, shaking her head as she chops up vegetables at the kitchen island counter. “I just thought it might be nice if we did something…different.”

Tony squints at her. “Okay,” he says slowly. “Any specific reason why?”

She just shrugs. “I happen to like Christmas, and I think a real tree and some decorations would be a nice change this year.”

“You never wanted a real tree before. You don't like them. So come on, what gives?”

Pepper gives him a look before returning her gaze to the cutting board. “No, I never said I didn't like real trees before. You like to assume things, you know.”

“Well, what, am I supposed to read your mind? You never said you did want one, either.” She didn't, right? Tony wracks his brain for any conversation where that topic came up. No, he's pretty sure he didn't miss anything, although…he has noticed Pepper’s tendency to point out all of the lights and trees and other decorations in windows whenever they go out. She's done that for years, though. They go by Rockefeller Center every Christmas to enjoy the ginormous tree there.

“Why didn’t you say something sooner?” he asks. “I could have bought you an entire Christmas tree farm five years ago if you'd asked.”

Pepper rolls her eyes. “I don’t need a Christmas tree farm. Just one single tree and some nice decorations would do.”

“All right, fine. I just don't see the point. It's not like we have kids around to enjoy it.”

Pepper lifts an eyebrow. “Are you implying that's something you'd like?”

“What? No,” Tony says immediately, eyes widening. “That's—that’s not what I'm saying at all. Just giving reasons why I don't think hauling a whole messy tree—that belongs outdoors—up to the penthouse makes the most sense.”

“Me wanting it isn't enough for you?”

“Oh no, dear, it's plenty enough.”

A smile plays on Pepper’s lips as she transfers a chopped onion to a pan and turns back to start on slicing the next. “You're a Grinch,” she informs him matter-of-factly.

Tony finds himself oddly offended at the probably-accurate accusation. “I am not a Grinch,” he protests. “I'm just…busy. More important things to worry about than putting up a tree and setting out little snowman figurines that only stay up a couple weeks at most, you know? You do know, you're CEO of SI.”

“Hm.” Pepper sets the knife down on the cutting board and uses the back of her hand to brush some loose strands of hair out of her face. “So is that a no, then?”

“It’s not a no.” Tony isn’t sure why this seems to be such a big deal to Pepper all of a sudden.

“It’s not a big deal, Tony. We don’t have to—”

“Nope, nope, nope.” Tony steps around the counter and places his hands on her hips. “If you want a tree, beautiful lady, you will get a tree. The absolute biggest one I can find.”

Pepper smiles and rolls her eyes, wiping her hands on a nearby dishcloth before draping her arms over his shoulders. “Average size will do.”

Tony leans in, tugging her closer and smirking. “Since when is anything I do for you average?”

She laughs.

He may not understand his wife’s desire for the penthouse to become a winter wonderland just a few short days before Christmas, but what Pepper wants, Tony gives. He loves her too much for anything less. 

Besides, as much as he might try to deny it, as a kid, Tony always thought it would be fun to go pick out a tree and decorate it. Now, it still sort of seems like a pointless waste of time and money, but it isn't like he doesn't have the cash to spare. And a nice, quiet Christmas together with Pep actually sounds really nice.

So, a Christmas tree this year it is.

***

Peter Parker is all alone. 

Fourteen and homeless on Christmas Eve, and not a single person in the entire world who cares.

The cold, biting air only sort of numbs the pain and grief that reside in his chest as he trudges down the icy streets of New York.

The crowds are thinning as the day wears on, everyone returning to their homes to spend the evening with their families. Still, as Peter wanders, he sees little kids giggling and ice skating, adults rushing around doing last minute shopping in preparation for the big day, couples huddling together for warmth as they stroll down the sidewalk.

He hugs his arms around himself as a particularly cold gust of wind rushes over him, his tattered jacket doing little to protect him from winter’s brutal elements. If he keeps moving, he doesn’t really notice the way he can’t feel his fingers and toes—if he wasn’t so exhausted, he’d be out swinging around just to keep the blood flowing.

Peter has already spent most of the day out patrolling, ensuring everyone is having a safe and happy holiday. Most people have been extremely grateful for his help—he’d even gotten a hot chocolate out of assisting an elderly couple carrying a heavy load of last-minute groceries for their big Christmas dinner. The warm drink had been heavenly.

There was also a sort of bittersweet interaction after he’d rescued a runaway dog from getting hit by a car.

“Thank you so much, Spider-Man!” A young girl with two missing teeth grins up at him with relief as she hugs the brown and white puppy to her chest. “Merry Christmas!”

Next to the girl, her grateful father nods in agreement, adding, “Any plans for the holiday? Family, friends?”

Peter tries to play off the stabbing pain in his heart at the well-intentioned words. “Ah, well, you know,” he says, shrugging. “I’ll be busy out here. Always people to help.”

The man’s smile wanes a bit, compassion in his eyes as he claps Peter on the shoulder. “Don’t forget to take care of yourself, Spidey.”

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” Peter responds with an exaggerated nod.

“Weather’s supposed to get worse later on tonight. I’d make sure you get home before too late.”

“Right, will do.”

Peter doesn’t bother to mention that home is kind of a nonexistent term for him at the moment. Though to be fair, the whole homeless shtick is kind of his own fault. 

The most recent foster family he'd been with hadn't been so bad, at least not compared to the others over the last year. They were going to send him to respite care just for the holidays, as they had plans to go on a cruise, but there were no available openings for him. No one who wanted to take in a teenager with a reputation for being a troublemaker for Christmas.

And then he’d gotten caught sneaking out—again—and they’d decided, just like all the others, that they couldn't continue fostering him anyway, even after they returned from their Christmas cruise.

Faced with the choice of a group home for boys that’s essentially synonymous with juvie or the cold New York streets, Peter knew he had to take his chances with the latter. He wasn’t going to get locked up with no way to go out and help people as Spider-Man.

It's only been a few days since he’s disappeared with nothing more than the clothes on his back and his bag, and he's not so sure anyone's spending much time looking for him. Still, when he’s not in the suit, he finds himself constantly looking over his shoulder. Waiting for someone to grab him and drag him back to a place where no one wants him anyway. 

Fear of getting caught is part of the reason why he’s been doing his best to avoid stopping at homeless shelters. Besides that, those types of places are probably all packed out, and Peter doesn't want to take away a bed and a meal from someone else who needs it. He can make do.

He only wishes he didn’t have to. He just wants a home. A family.

Why is that so much to ask?

Aunt May always used to tell him that “wishing and Christmas always go together.” That Christmas was a wonderful time to make wishes; the magic of the season always helped make even the silliest wishes come true. 

After the way the last year has gone, Peter isn’t so sure he believes that anymore, but he can’t help but remember all the Christmases he and May would sit on the couch in front of the tree and silently make their wishes. 

Peter didn’t make a wish last year. Everything was still too fresh, too raw. Last Christmas was all a grief-filled haze, but he does recall swearing off Christmas wishing one anger-filled night—telling himself there’s just no point. Why bother to make a wish that will never come true?

So he doesn’t know why, as he stares at his tousled, street-urchin reflection in a store window, the memories of past Christmas wishes won’t leave him alone. Maybe it’s the need to keep his aunt close to him somehow even though she’s gone, maybe it’s just pure desperation. Whatever the reason, Peter finds himself closing his eyes and letting the impossible wish have free reign in his mind.

I wish I had someone to love me.

He’s lonely. He misses his aunt’s hugs, his uncle’s life lessons, and even though he doesn’t remember them well anymore, his parents’ voices. There’s a bitter chill that resides in him, down in his very core—and it has nothing to do with the snow and sub-freezing temperatures outside. It’s the ache of sadness, the ache of fading hope that anything will ever be okay again.

Peter opens his eyes and looks at his reflection again. There’s a smudge of dirt on his cheek, and his beanie is almost too small but at least it covers his ears. His gaze wanders to the shoppers beyond the window’s holiday display, to the bustling crowd inside, and he lets himself imagine for a moment that May and Ben are inside picking up some last minute groceries because the first attempt at Christmas Eve dinner was a disaster.

A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth before it disappears, taking any warmth the little daydream had brought with it and snuffing it out like a candle.

Peter sniffles and continues wandering aimlessly down the street. He’ll need to find someplace to spend the night if he wants to avoid freezing to death.

He looks in the windows of apartment buildings and houses as he passes, finding himself unconsciously searching, hoping he might see one with a big Christmas tree and pretty decorations but no kids. That maybe, by some miracle, there will be someone like his aunt and uncle who would be willing to let a teenager stay with them, even just for a day or two.

The idea is as ridiculous as it is impossible.

There's an older woman sitting on a bench as he passes, a bouquet of red and green balloons in one hand. She smiles kindly at him. “Would you like a balloon?”

Peter fingers the few cold coins that reside in his pocket. He really shouldn't, all things considered. There are more important things to spend money on—like food and shelter.

But then again, the pennies won't afford him anything, not even a can of cold soup or beans. Why not? It isn't as though he has anything left to lose. Besides, May loved balloons, and the thought of the joy a silly, air-filled piece of plastic could bring even a grown adult is almost enough to push a smile onto his face.

“Sure,” he finally says, voice quiet and a little hoarse as he steps forward to retrieve the prize. “I'll take a red one, please.”

The lady nods and smiles as she exchanges Peter's money for one of the brightly-colored balloons. “Merry Christmas,” she says.

Peter returns the smile, though he's sure he looks much more tired and sad, if how he's feeling inside is anything to go by. “Same to you,” he manages, forcing back the tears that want to burst forth. They're always teetering on the edge these days.

It isn’t long before the sun begins to drift westward, the gray clouds in the sky blocking out most of the light anyway as snow begins to drift from above in gentle flurries. The already-freezing temperatures are dropping even more rapidly, and Peter recognizes his body beginning to drift into shutdown mode. He needs to find somewhere to hole up before he collapses. Ever since the spider bite, he’s had a difficult time regulating his temperature. Spending hours outside in a northern winter that would harm a human with regular DNA isn’t exactly the smartest thing he’s ever done, but it isn’t like he has many options.

“It’s so cold,” Peter murmurs to nobody in particular, trembling. He finally ducks into an alley and hides behind a dumpster, tying his balloon to the handle to keep it from flying away. He digs through his backpack and gingerly pulls on the homemade spider suit. It's not much, the material thin and worn, but it's better than nothing. He tugs his jacket and pants back on over it, trying to suppress the shivers that are wracking his body and wishing he had more layers to help keep out the cold.

“Okay, Peter,” he whispers, clenching his jaw against his chattering teeth. “You can do this. J—just find somewhere t—to lie down for a—a bit.”

But despite his best efforts, moving seems to require too much energy. He glances around the alley and finds an old tarp lying half across the dumpster, along with a few empty boxes or crates. He manages to tug the tarp into a position that blocks the bit of wind that the alley itself doesn’t, and wedges himself underneath it, between a couple of boxes. He hugs his backpack close to his chest in an attempt to draw at least a little more warmth.

I’ll just rest here for a bit, and then I’ll have to go stop at one of the shelters, he thinks. Just long enough to warm up.

But as Peter’s eyes drift shut, he knows deep down that there’s a good chance that if he goes to sleep now, he might not wake up.

He doesn't know if he cares.

Maybe when he opens his eyes again, he'll be warm. His family will be there to welcome him with open arms. That…that actually sounds really nice.

Come to think of it, Peter's sort of starting to feel warm even now, though it seems impossible considering the fact that it's below freezing outside, and not much better in this little haven he's found. He vaguely registers the fact that it's probably not a good thing, but his exhausted, grief-infused mind drifts off before he can consider it long enough to worry.

***

Tony grumbles under his breath as he makes his way down the busy sidewalk, dodging tourists and residents as they all rush to and fro on their last minute errands before the holiday.

His baseball cap and sunglasses probably look rather out of place on a cloudy, snowy day, but it’s better than walking around the streets as an easily-recognizable Tony Stark. Not that he minds the attention, it's just inconvenient sometimes. 

Like now, when he's trying to hurry back to the penthouse with his and Pepper’s coffee before the liquids turn into java-flavored popsicles. Never mind that they have all kinds of gourmet coffee in the penthouse, none of which require going out in the freezing weather on Christmas Eve to visit an overcrowded coffee shop. But Pepper had specifically requested a peppermint mocha from The Brewhouse, and since she was busy preparing their Christmas Eve dinner for two, Tony had opted to be the one to run down the street and pick up their drinks.

The sidewalks aren't completely crowded, but there are enough people making their way through the streets that Tony is having to thread his way back toward the tower, ducking around and past the slow-moving tourists with a Christmas-themed cup in each hand. Unfortunately, he's not the only one with someplace to be in a hurry.

As Tony maneuvers his way past a storefront to get around a group of college-aged kids, someone is exiting the building. The door flies open without warning, slamming into Tony's elbow and causing him to stumble with the force of the unexpected hit. 

One of his coffees goes flying, and the other is crushed in his hand as he staggers to the side in an attempt to regain his balance. He lets out a loud swear as the scalding hot liquid splashes over his fingers. The cup lands on the ground and rolls a few feet before coming to a stop right next to the other one, the last of the coffee pouring out like a sad waterfall.

Tony blinks a few times as the shock wears off. He whirls around, hoping to catch a glimpse of the idiot who'd just robbed him of his Christmas cheer, but they must have already disappeared into the crowd.

Around him, no one else seems to particularly notice or care that his day has just taken a sharp downward turn, either. People pass by, simply sliding around the random guy in a baseball cap and sunglasses staring down at two empty coffee cups in the middle of the sidewalk.

Finally, with a long, heavy sigh and few more choice words, Tony stoops down and snatches the offending cups off the ground, stacking them together and shoving the lids inside. Now he has to either go back to the cafe or return home empty handed. Knowing how Pepper can be about her coffee, the latter isn't really an option.

So Tony turns around and stomps back toward the direction from which he'd just come, any remaining trace of a good mood disappearing.

“This, this is why I hate people,” he mutters to himself, spotting an open dumpster near the front of an alley as he passes. He changes direction, heading to throw the cups away. 

There's a random balloon floating in the alley, tethered to the dumpster, which is odd to say the least—then again, it is New York. But when Tony takes one final step forward as he tosses the trash into the dumpster, his foot connects with something solid—and it lets out a surprised yelp. 

Tony startles back. “What the—” He glances down, expecting to see an angry alley cat or some other animal at his feet.

The lump unfurls from its hidden position under the pile of tarp and litter, and it's much too big to be an animal. With no small amount of surprise, Tony realizes it's a person. Not just a person, a whole freaking kid.

“S—sorry, sir,” the boy stutters out, desperately clambering to his feet as he adjusts the black beanie that sits on his head. There's a cut above his eyebrow, and his movements are slow and uncoordinated, like his limbs aren't quite able to catch up with his brain. “Sorry. I—I didn't…I mean I wasn't trying to—I’m not staying here—”

“Are you okay?” Tony asks, stupidly, because it's pretty clear the kid is anything but okay.

“Yes, sir. I—I’m fine. I was just stopping here for a minute, I, uh, I'll—”

Tony opens his mouth to interrupt, but as the kid stands fully upright, his unzipped jacket falls open, exposing a glimpse of red and blue, along with a familiar spider emblem. A quick glance at the kid's wrists confirms Tony's suspicions, the glint of some sort of metal contraption peeking out from under his too-short sleeves. So that's how he gets around.

The kid's just staring at Tony like he's looking right through him, and it's honestly kind of creeping him out.

Tony clears his throat. “So, you—you’re the…spiderling. Crime-fighting spider.”

The kid's tired brown eyes double in size at the words. “What? No—no, I'm not.” He pulls his jacket tight around himself and crosses his arms, shaking his head rapidly. “I'm not.”

Tony lifts a single eyebrow. “Uh-huh. Almost had me there, DiCaprio.”

The kid audibly swallows and takes a step back, looking ready to bolt—though his legs don't seem all that steady, and Tony doubts he'd make it far.

He puts his hands up in surrender, hoping to deescalate the situation. “No need to panic, your secret’s safe with me. I just want to…talk.”

Spider-Man has been on Tony's radar ever since he popped up in Queens, saving people from muggings and helping old ladies cross the street. Tony has had FRIDAY keeping tabs on the guy. Probably could have dug up his identity within a few days if he'd really wanted. He was intrigued by the superhero wannabe, sure, but there have been more important things to worry about than a vigilante running around New York in a onesie. The Spiderling seemed harmless enough anyway.

But now he's staring at him face to face, and Tony doesn't like what he sees one bit. Because this isn't some college student or young adult running around fighting criminals.

“You're—what, twelve?”

The kid stares down at his shoes, scuffing the toe of his shoe against the ground. “Fourteen,” he mutters quietly, as if that's any better.

“Where are your parents, huh? They know about this?”

The kid's face darkens, and he presses his lips together—lips that Tony notes are blue. Not only that, he's quaking so hard he looks like he might fall over at any given moment.

He frowns. “Seriously, kid, what are you doing out here? It's freezing.”

“Gee, thanks, I hadn't noticed.”

Tony lifts his eyebrows at the sarcasm-infused retort. “Go on, then,” he says, waving a hand aimlessly in front of him. “Get home and stay out of trouble. Enjoy your Christmas.” He'll just check back into all of this once the holiday is over, figure out what in the world he's supposed to do with the revelation that Spider-Man is a literal child.

“Yes, sir, I'd love to—if I had one.” The muttered words are quiet, but roll off the kid's tongue with all the bitterness of a person who's lost everything.

That stops Tony short. “You…don't have a place to go?”

“No, I'm just sleeping under this dumpster for fun. It's really comfortable, actually.” 

It's easy to see that the scathing retorts are a defense mechanism, carefully constructed to put up a barrier between himself and the outside world. Tony knows because he's done the same thing for years. If he looks beyond the surface, it's pretty obvious the kid is close to a breakdown.

He looks half-frozen, too, which is probably why he's still standing here rather than on a rooftop a mile away.

“Okay, okay. Shoot.” Tony's mind is racing, trying to catch up and process everything that's happened in the last two minutes. This is absolutely not how he expected his Christmas Eve to go. He pulls his sunglasses from his face and rubs at the bridge of his nose. What now? Call the police? Just let the kid go?

All I wanted was a cup of coffee.

When he finally glances up again, the kid is staring at him, open-mouthed. “Y—you’re Tony Stark,” he chokes out.

“Yep. Surprise. The man, the myth, the legend, at your service.”

“But you—I…I shouldn’t—” The kid tries to pull away and slips in his haste, nearly taking a nosedive into the cement.

Tony reaches out and grabs his arm to steady him. “Whoa, easy there, Happy Feet.”

The kid looks equal parts terrified and starstruck as he takes another step backward, his breath coming out in quick little puffs. “What—I, uh, I don't—how did—were you—you—” He curls in on himself, chest heaving as he practically starts to hyperventilate.

“Whoa, hey. Let's just…calm down for a second. Big deep breaths, all that jazz.” Not helpful, Tony's mind supplies, but what else is he going to do?

Thankfully, the kid follows the hasty instructions, exhaling a shaky but long, slowed breath.

“Good. Great.” In an effort to distract the kid—and hopefully avoid the onset of another panic attack—Tony asks, “You got a name?”

The kid's lips twist into a frown.

“Come on, you know mine. I think it's only fair we make this a two-way street.”

The kid hesitates for a moment longer, taking another shuddery breath before finally answering, resignation in his voice like he knows Tony will find out eventually anyway. “Peter. Parker.”

“Well, Mr. Parker, it's a pleasure to meet you. Now let's get you out of this weather before I have to watch you turn into a human ice cube.”

Peter blinks in surprise. “What? You're not going to call…?” he trails off, like he's not really sure what to insert after that. Police, CPS, the government.

Tony just shrugs. “If we stand out here any longer, we'll need a coroner. So, no. You can come home with me.”

“Wh—what?” Peter's eyes widen before narrowing in suspicion. He shakes his head. “Thank you, Mr. Stark, but I'm fine. Really.”

“I don't know what your definition of ‘fine’ is, but whatever it is, I disagree. This” —Tony waves his hand in a circular motion at the teen in front of him— “is not fine. So come on. I don't know about you, but I'm done standing in the snow.”

Peter sits back on his heels, clearly mulling it over. For a moment Tony thinks the kid is going to make a run for it, but then Peter's shoulders drop suddenly, like the weight of the world is sitting on them. It might be the harsh wind, but Tony swears he catches moisture glistening in the kid's eyes.

“Okay,” Peter finally whispers, chin down but gaze lifting to meet Tony's. “Okay.”

Chapter Text

Tony isn't normally one to do something like this. Well—in the sense of making rash decisions and not thinking things through, that's not exactly true. He's very prone to doing that, actually.

But when it comes to finding a freezing kid—who apparently also happens to be the crime-fighting Spiderling from Queens—huddled up in an alley on Christmas Eve, frozen tear tracks on his face, a tiny backpack and a red balloon his only possessions, Tony's initial and entirely logical reaction is to get him into a warm cab and drop him off at the nearest police station. Surely they can handle it from there—get him medical attention, call CPS, find him a place to stay, all that jazz. Easy peasy lemon squeezy. Tony will be back at the penthouse enjoying dinner with Pepper in no time. That's responsible, right?

Yet some undecipherable emotions flare in his chest when he looks at this sad teenager who's probably borderline hypothermic, all alone on Christmas Eve.

Then again, it's starting to snow—pretty hard, at that—and the tower is much closer than any police station or hospital. Peter needs to be warmed up and fed as soon as possible. Besides, this kid is apparently Spider-Man, and that adds an entire other complicated layer to this whole situation.

So Tony makes a decision in this moment. It's one that he might regret, one that might get him scolded by Pepper, but just seems right.

“You can come home with me.”

Despite the confidence he'd infused in the words, Tony isn't entirely sure what to do. Making sure the kid doesn't freeze to death is a priority right now. After that…well, he can call CPS, or maybe find a relative or someone who's able to take the kid in. He'll figure it out.

He tells the kid he'll save the interrogation for when they get back to the penthouse, so right now he's got nothing but a name and a couple of assumptions, none of which offer very happy thoughts.

Thankfully, the tower isn't far—a good thing, because Peter seems dead on his feet, and the snow is starting to pick up. The red balloon bobs as they walk, the string tied to the kid's backpack strap. A bright spot on an overcast, winter afternoon.

Never one to let silence and awkwardness reign supreme, Tony nods toward Peter's wrists, going for casual instead of demanding. “That web fluid—pretty fancy stuff. You manufacture that yourself?”

Peter nods.

Tony lets out a low whistle. “Impressive.” And it takes a lot to impress him. This kid is clearly smart.

The attempt at conversation doesn't go any further, and silence falls back over them after the small exchange, neither speaking until they arrive at the tower’s entrance.

Peter gawks. “We're—we’re going into the Avengers Tower?” 

“Well, considering I live here, yes,” Tony says dryly.

Peter blushes, his already-bright-from-cold cheeks turning even redder. “Right, yeah—sorry.”

Tony feels a pang of guilt for his blasé response. He clears his throat awkwardly. “None of the team is here right now. Holiday plans and all that jazz.”

Peter shrugs. “You’re my favorite Avenger, anyway,” he says without thought.

An odd feeling of warmth pricks in Tony's chest at the kid's simple words.

As the elevator steadily climbs up to the top floor, Tony's mind wanders to how he's going to explain this all to Pepper. Hey Pep, I went out for coffee and came back with a kid instead. Oh yeah, and it turns out he's Spider-Man.

Well, he's done crazier things.

When the elevator stops and the doors slide open, revealing the penthouse, decked out with Christmas decor at Pepper’s request. The tree sits tall and proud in front of the wall of floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooks the city. Various bows, wreaths, and decorations are set up throughout the rest of the penthouse as well.

“I must be dreaming,” Peter mutters, the words so quiet that Tony doesn't think they were meant to be heard. “Or dead.”

“You're not dead,” Tony reassures, shucking his coat and glancing around for his wife. He spots her in the kitchen, back to the elevator as she checks on something in the oven. “Pep?”

Pepper straightens up and turns around. “There you are!” She stops short at the sight of the dirty, half-frozen teenager standing next to Tony, her eyes moving between the two of them for a moment before she speaks. “Who in the world is this, Tony?”

“Spider-Man,” Tony answers, scratching at his jaw. He pulls his cap from his head and tosses it onto the coffee table. “Long story; explanations later—kid needs to be warmed up, pronto.”

Pepper’s eyes widen, probably feeling the same sort of shock Tony did when he found Peter and realized that Spider-Man is a teenager. She looks like she wants to argue for more details, but her gaze drifts back to Peter, who's practically vibrating from the cold and nervous energy, and sympathy immediately overtakes her expression. She strides over, taking charge of the situation before Tony can even blink.

“What's your name, sweetheart?”

“Peter,” the kid answers, eyes glossing over a bit at the term of endearment.

“I'm Pepper,” she says.

“Hi.”

Pepper’s concerned expression melts into a smile at the awkward but adorable greeting Peter gives her. Even Tony has to concede that it was pretty cute.

“Oh, honey.” Pepper tuts softly, her fingertips ghosting over the cut on Peter's forehead as she gives him a once-over. She turns to Tony. “He’s freezing. He has to be hypothermic—he really should see a doctor—”

“No!” Peter shouts, flinching immediately after. “I mean, I don't want to be an inconvenience. I—I don't need to go to the doctor. I'll be okay once I start to warm up. My—my body temperature runs a little low normally anyway, so it's fine,” he explains.

“You're not an inconvenience,” Pepper says.

“I don't think anybody's on call in the med bay tonight,” Tony admits. He could get Helen Cho or one of their other doctors to the tower pretty quickly if needed, but he thinks they should be able to handle the kid up here in the penthouse. Peter  is definitely cold and exhausted, but he seems alert and he's still shivering, which is a good sign.

Pepper doesn't look happy, but she presses her lips together and nods. “All right. Tony, we'll need some clean, warm clothes to start. Blankets, too.”

“Yep, on it.” As Tony heads off in the direction of the bedroom, he hears Pep talking to the kid.

“Okay, Peter, I am a little concerned about the possibility of hypothermia—let’s get your temperature up a bit before you try taking a hot shower or anything like that.”

“Okay.”

“I like your balloon.”

“Thanks.” Peter's voice is quiet, strained. “Christmas wish balloon,” he adds, almost an afterthought.

Tony doesn't quite make out Pepper’s reply. He gathers up and delivers the pile of clothes he dug out of his closet before setting some soup to heating on the stove as requested. He feels like he's just in the way, so while Pepper is busy cleaning Peter up and working to get his body temp to an acceptable number, Tony ducks out of the room, pulling out his tablet and doing a quick deep dive into one Mr. Peter Parker.

The kid's records spell out a story that can only be described as a tragedy. Fourteen years old. Parents dead, aunt and uncle dead, no other close living relatives. He's been in foster care for just over a year, and in that time has lived with five different families, plus spent a month in a group home for troubled teens.

That last note has Tony frowning, because based on everything else he can see, Peter is anything but trouble. Top of his class at Midtown Tech, heavily involved in a plethora of extracurricular activities—or was, until he got pulled out of Midtown at the beginning of this school year due to the location of his newest foster home.

Peter had officially gone missing at the beginning of December. It's a wonder he's survived this long on the streets, even with his enhancements. No homeless person in New York has an easy time of it, especially not in the winter.

While there's probably more information to be dug up, Tony figures this basic overview is enough. He'd better get back out there and check on Pep and the kid. Hopefully Peter can fill in any gaps and they can get something worked out. He's not sure what their best option is at this point, but this is all happening kind of fast.

By the time Tony makes his way back out to the living area, Peter is settled on the couch, wrapped up like a burrito in a cocoon of thick, fuzzy blankets. He's got a steaming mug held in one slightly-trembling hand that's peeking out from under the edge of all the layers.

“Is there anyone we can call for you, Peter?” Pepper is in the middle of asking, seated on one of the chairs nearby.

Before Tony can interject, Peter shakes his head. “No ma’am,” he says softly.

“You don't have any plans for Christmas, anywhere to stay?”

A humorless, wistful smile forms on the kid's face. “No ma’am," he repeats. “Just a visit to the cemetery. And then, y'know, Spider-Man stuff. People need help, even on Christmas.”

Pepper meets Tony's gaze over Peter's head, heartbreak clear in her eyes.

Peter clears his throat uncomfortably, setting the mug of what must be tea or cocoa down on the coffee table in front of him and looking between the two adults. “Um—thank you both so much for everything. I'm really sorry to have interrupted your evening…your Christmas Eve.”

Everything? Tony thinks. All they did was give him some clothes and blankets and a warm drink. The kid has been here for all of ten minutes, and he's acting like they set the world into motion or something. It's then that Tony realizes with unsettling clarity that for a homeless teen who probably hasn't seen an ounce of kindness in a year, something that seems so insignificant might be life-changing to him.

Pepper is shaking her head in response to Peter's apology. “You didn't interrupt anything.”

“Well…” Tony says teasingly without thought, thinking of his lost coffee and the dinner sitting in the kitchen oven.

“Tony.” Pepper’s tone is not impressed and carries a barely-perceptible but clear hint of warning.

“Sorry—no, she is absolutely right. Our plans for the evening consisted of a Christmas movie marathon. That's it.”

Still, Peter squirms in a feeble attempt to free himself from his blankets. “I—I should go.”

“You're not going anywhere, Peter,” Pepper says kindly but firmly. “You were just on the edge of hypothermia. Besides, it's late, and the weather is only getting worse.”

Sure enough, a quick glance out the window confirms her statement. The snow is falling harder, a thick whirlwind of flurries drifting over the brightly-lit city.

Peter bites his lip uncertainly. “I don't want to be a bother…”

“You're not,” Pepper assures him, standing to her feet. “That soup should be ready by now—let me get you some.”

“Thank you,” Peter says quietly.

She smiles at him before moving back over to the kitchen.

Tony doesn't want to dredge up a topic he knows the kid would probably prefer not to discuss, but he has a few things he needs to know—wants to hear Peter's side of. He edges closer, lowering himself to sit on the coffee table and bracing his arms on his knees.

“Is anybody looking for you?” he asks.

“I don't know,” Peter admits, avoiding eye contact. “Probably not.”

“What about your foster family?”

Peter winces a bit, staring down into the mug on the table next to Tony. “I…they couldn't keep me anymore, and there weren't any openings anywhere else. So, um, they were gonna send me to the boys’ home.”

Tony hums. “So you ran away.”

“I didn't have much of a choice. I wasn't—I couldn't go back there.” The way Peter shudders when he says the words makes Tony think not being able to go out as Spider-Man is only one problem that place presented.

Peter looks a little frantic all of a sudden, sitting up fast enough that his blankets slide down from his chest to his lap. “You’re not sending me back there, right? Please, Mr. Stark, I can't go back. I—”

“Easy, Pete,” Tony says, the nickname rolling off his tongue without thought. “Hey, we’re all good here; no need to panic. We'll figure something out.” What exactly, he’s not sure yet. “You can stay with us for the night.” The impulsive words leave his mouth before he can even consider them. It's a no-brainer, really. The kid deserves better than to spend Christmas at a police station or the nearest group home they can toss him in. Even Tony is not that cold-hearted, whatever the media may say about him.

Peter looks shocked despite the fact that Pepper all but said the same thing just moments ago. “Are you sure?”

“Of course we're sure, Peter,” Pepper chimes in, arriving back in the living area with a bowl of reheated chicken noodle soup. She hands it to the teenager in exchange for the mug, and the kid's face crumples a little at her affirming words that they won't be kicking him back out on the streets tonight. The action makes Tony's heart twist.

Now, Tony has never really been a “kid” person—or rather, he's not regularly around kids. Pepper, on the other hand, is great with them. She's been dropping more and more hints—subtle, but there—in the past months about the idea of them growing their little family. It’s always seemed almost laughable, what with him being a superhero who still doesn't quite have a handle on the self-destructing tendencies and her carrying all of Stark Industries on her shoulders.

But there's an odd, unfamiliar feeling that's been blooming in Tony's chest for the past hour or so. It reminds him of Pepper. A sort of fondness, a need to protect. And it's directed toward this kid.

Of course, it would be kind of heartless to not have compassion on a homeless teenager who spends most of his time doing everything he can to help others, even when he's suffering himself. But something about Peter is just…different. And it's not just the Spider-Man thing. Tony can't really put his finger on it.

“Thank you,” Peter says, the words clearly extending beyond gratefulness for the bowl of soup. A warm, safe place to sleep must seem akin to winning the lottery for someone in his position. 

The thought makes Tony's stomach churn. Kids shouldn't have to be worrying about stuff like that, they should have adults who care about them and take care of all the important things. He makes a note to himself to have SI make a sizable donation to some of the organizations that support the homeless and the foster kids in the city. Peter shouldn't have slipped through the cracks. He shouldn't have had to choose the streets because no one wanted him and the only alternative was that awful.

“Is there anything you'd like to do this evening?” Pepper asks carefully, easing back down into her armchair. “Or would you rather just go to bed?”

Peter shrugs a little.

“How about we put on a Christmas movie? Does that sound all right?”

Peter just nods this time, staying quiet as he sips at his soup.

Tony claps his hands together. “Perfect—movie marathon it is. I’m choosing the first one.”

“Die Hard is not a Christmas movie, Tony,” Pepper warns.

He ignores her in favor of turning the TV on.

Since Peter seems to be doing much better physically since being inside a warm house, Pepper gives him the okay to take a hot shower once he's finished eating his soup. While the kid heads to the bathroom to get cleaned up, Tony and Pepper finish up the Christmas Eve dinner—adding a third plate to the arrangement—and get set up in the living room for their movie night.

The moment the water starts running from behind the closed bathroom door, Pepper lowers her voice and starts, “Tony—”

“I know, I know, I made an irresponsible decision. But I just couldn't leave the kid out there—not to mention he's Spider-Man, which is an entire other—”

“Tony.” 

Pepper’s voice stops him short. She reaches out, laying a gentle hand on his arm. “You absolutely made the right decision.”

A protest is already on Tony's lips as his brain registers her words. “...I did?”

“Of course you did. That boy clearly needs some TLC, and it doesn't seem like he's going to get that anywhere else tonight. You said he's in foster care?”

Tony nods, relaying the information he'd found on the kid, which has Pepper clutching a hand to her chest, sadness etched in her expression.

“That poor thing. And he seems so sweet, too.”

Peter emerges from the bathroom a few minutes later, chestnut curls damp and redressed in Tony's oversized sweatpants and hoodie. He looks younger than his fourteen years, though his eyes remind Tony of someone much older.

They bring their dinner plates to the couches and dim the lights, eating while they watch Home Alone. Peter doesn't say much—though at first he is busy inhaling the food like it's the first he's had in months and the last he'll ever get—and neither Tony nor Pepper push him. The two of them had decided that they'd get through Christmas and try to give the kid a fun, relaxing holiday before digging in deeper to the situation and figuring out where to go from there.

Peter still seems nervous, shooting side glances their way throughout the entire evening, like he expects them to change their minds and call child services to take him away at any given moment. However, at some point between Elf and the Garfield Christmas Special, Tony glances toward the couch to find the kid dozing off, his eyelids heavy as they begin to droop shut. He can't help but smile a little at the sight as he reaches out for the remote to pause the movie.

“Kid,” Tony whispers, not prepared for the way Peter jolts upright at the quietly-spoken words. 

“Sorry,” the teenager says hurriedly, rubbing his eyes.

Tony waves him off, ignoring the unnecessary apology. “I'd let you sleep on the couch, but you'd probably wake up with a very sore neck.”

Peter just blinks at him like he doesn't know what to do with that information.

“We have a perfectly good guest room set up for you, Peter,” Pepper interjects gently, sitting up from where she’d been curled into Tony's side. “Why don't we all head to bed? It's late.”

“Okay,” Peter says.

The kid allows himself to be maneuvered down the hall and into the large but simple guest room. Pepper turns down the bed and checks that Peter has about five extra layers of heavy blankets to keep him warm while Tony watches awkwardly from the doorway.

“Sleep well, honey,” Pepper says. “Please let us know if you need anything—you won't be a bother.”

Peter still seems overwhelmed, eyes darting all around the room, taking everything in. “Thank you.”

Despite his obvious reservations about the Starks' ulterior motives, the kid is out before his head hits the pillow.

Tony blows out a big breath as he follows Pepper to their bedroom. It was by random chance he found Peter under that dumpster today. Now he's got a super-powered, fourteen-year-old orphan under his roof and a million questions about what to do next facing him.

Merry Christmas, I guess.

Chapter Text

See, you can never find an elf when you need one

And you don't know what you're gonna do

But if you believe

The magic of Christmas Eve

Well then one finds you!

You Can Never Find An Elf When You Need One

The Garfield Christmas Special (1987)

***

Tony isn't sure what time it is when he hears a floorboard creak and the sound of someone moving about in the living room.

FRIDAY would have alerted him if it was an intruder, which means it must be the kid. For a moment, Tony wonders if he's either ransacking the place or trying to sneak out, but he quickly dismisses the former because Peter is definitely not the type of person to steal; he's the one who stops others from doing it. Despite the enhanced strength, Tony doubts he would hurt a fly.

But he seemed convinced he didn't belong here, felt like he was intruding, and Tony figures he'd better get up and check that the kid isn't trying to go back to catch his death of cold out on the New York streets.

He rolls out of bed, careful so as not to wake Pepper, and exits the bedroom. Sure enough, the door to the guest room is open—when Tony peeks inside, the bedsheets are rumpled but there's no one in there.

When he wanders out into the main room, it's dark except for the glowing lights on the tree. And as expected, there's Peter. Though surprisingly enough, he isn't fiddling with the windows or waiting at the elevator.

The kid is sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the Christmas tree, staring at it as though almost mesmerized by the elegant, twinkling white lights Pepper had picked out just last week. He's got one of the big throw blankets from the couch wrapped around his shoulders.

“Don't you know Santa won't show up if you're not in bed asleep?”

The kid just about hits the ceiling, whirling around to face Tony. “I'm sorry,” he apologizes rapidly, scrambling to his feet, the blanket falling to the ground, forgotten. “I just—I couldn't really sleep, so I thought I'd come sit out here. I didn't mean to wake you, I'm sorry.”

Tony waves him off. “Don't sweat it, Spider-Boy. Sleep and I aren't really friends, anyway.”

“Oh.”

Silence falls over the room for several long seconds. Peter's gaze drifts down to the floor; he rocks back and forth on his heels awkwardly like he isn't sure what to do next. At least he isn't still shivering like a sad little Chihuahua puppy. His gaunt cheeks even hold a hint of healthy, rosy pink.

After a moment of deliberating whether or not he should just go back to bed, Tony asks, “Want some company?”

Peter shrugs.

“I'll take that as a yes.”

When the kid doesn't protest, Tony moves past him and lowers himself to the floor just in front of the tree. Peter joins him a moment later.

“I like your tree,” the kid mumbles, eyes roaming from the silver star on top to the fancy, shiny bulb ornaments, lights, and ribbon spread throughout the branches.

“Thanks. I can't take full credit for it—Pep insisted on ‘real’ decorations this year. First time for everything, I guess.”

Peter looks over at him in surprise. “You've never had a real tree before?”

“Nope.”

The kid hums softly.

“What about you?”

“Huh?”

“You. You ever had a real tree?” 

Tony realizes a second too late that it might be an insensitive question. Obviously the kid has been through the wringer, forced to face a mountain of tragedy in his short life. Reminding him of his past—of what Christmas was like before foster care and the streets—probably isn't the best idea.

But Peter either ignores the fact that the question shouldn't have been asked or doesn't recognize it, because he answers—albeit a bit wistfully. “Yes, sir.”

Tony isn't sure if he should press further or not. He's not really equipped for this…whatever “this” is. Maybe he should just go back to bed. Can't screw up if you're sleeping, right?

He's just about ready to stand up and say good night when Peter takes a long, deep breath, gaze glued on a red ornament dangling in front of him at eye-level. “My aunt, she, uh, she and I used to make wishes in front of the tree on Christmas Eve.”

Tony knows right away that he needs to handle this conversation delicately. “Yeah?”

Peter nods slowly, still looking at the tree. “Yeah,” he says. “She always said it was Christmas Eve magic. All you had to do was believe.”

“Sounds like a good tradition. So, is that what you were doing out here?” Tony asks. “Making a wish?”

Peter shrugs, hugging his arms around himself. His gaze drifts toward the red balloon bobbing in the corner of the room, still attached to his backpack.

Christmas wish balloon. Tony remembers Peter's words to Pepper earlier. He wonders what the kid's wish was.

“Not sure if I believe in wishes anymore,” Peter finally whispers, the words raw and honest, probably let slip due to exhaustion.

There's no reason any kid should sound so…hopeless and broken. Tony doesn't know how to respond. Wishes aren't something he ever particularly thought about, or put much stock in. But he also isn't about to break the kid's heart even further by voicing that aloud.

He's churning those thoughts over in his head when he notices a tear slip down Peter's cheek, the droplet illuminated by the glow of soft white Christmas lights. 

The teenager quickly reaches up and wipes it away, sniffling softly. “Sorry,” he says, the admission barely audible. “I just, uh, um…” Another tear falls, and his chin quivers with what must be the effort of keeping his composure.

Whether it's the exhaustion, grief, or sudden turn of events this afternoon—or some combination of all three—Peter has surpassed his limit. Which is understandable. But it's clear that the teen is attempting to stay strong, perhaps due to the man sitting next to him.

Tony fiddles with his fingers awkwardly. “Hey. You’re a strong kid, Pete,” he says, and finds he truly means it. “And you've been through a lot. Grief sucks. It's okay, you know…to not be okay.” He cringes internally even as the cliché words come out of his mouth. Eloquent. He's terrible at this.

But for some reason, the mini speech is permission enough for the kid, knocking down the thin walls that still surround him. Peter breaks, chin dropping to his chest as his shoulders begin to shake with silent sobs.

The knife in Tony's heart twists a little further, the sight of the crying teen enough to stir up some sort of protective instinct within. He hesitantly reaches out a hand to settle on the kid's shoulder, fully prepared for Peter to flinch away or shrug it off.

Instead, the kid melts into the touch, tears coming even faster. “S—sorry,” Peter manages through his tears, looking a little horrified to be crying in front of Iron Man. “I—I'm sorry. It's just, uh—”

“I think you've had a long day.” Year, really. “Your brain's still catching up. It's all right.”

Tony slides his hand downward, swiftly grabbing the abandoned blanket and wrapping it around Peter’s shoulders again before moving to pat the kid on the back. He's out of his element here, but he can't not do something.

“I—I just, I miss my family,” Peter keens, curling further in on himself. “And our apartment—our Christmas decorations. And…and—I don't want to get sent back to the group home. I can't.”

“You won't.”

But Peter isn't listening. The kid is working himself up into a panic attack, on the verge of hyperventilating, and Tony would very much like to prevent both of those things.

“Hey—hey, look at me,” he says, voice firm. “You gotta breathe, kiddo. With me, come on—in and out. See? Easy.”

Peter's still crying, but he manages to follow the instructions, sucking in a shaky but long breath. His shoulder is trembling under Tony's hand.

“That's it. Again.”

Once they've worked through several more breathing exercises, the kid isn't okay by any means, but he seems a bit calmer, a bit further from the edge. Tony decides to move them from the hard floor to the couch just a few feet back. Peter lets himself be guided over to the piece of furniture and settled down on the plush cushions.

“Hey—tell me about those webs of yours. How'd you come up with the formula?” Tony asks the question not only because he's hoping the distraction will help calm Peter down, but because he's genuinely interested in how the squirt managed to create such an intricate and strong webbing. Might as well go for a win-win situation.

Peter sniffles, accepting the offered box of tissues from Tony and mumbling out another unnecessary apology before diving into how he designed his Spider-Man web shooters for his nightly activities.

The tears begin to dry as Peter rambles on, the teen slowly becoming more animated as he describes his process for figuring out the chemical formula for his web fluid, with Tony interjecting with his own thoughts every now and again. They go down several bunny trails, enough engineering talk for Tony to realize just how smart Peter is—his knowledge clearly goes above and beyond his high grades at Midtown.

Eventually the conversation circles back to Spider-Man, and Peter ends up spilling the whole story of how he became a teenage vigilante.

“I just figured, if I can't have anything, I might as well help others,” he says once he's finished. The words aren't spoken from a place of self-pity or pride, but rather stated as if it were a simple fact of the universe.

And this fourteen-year-old kid who owes the world nothing, who could have become bitter and angry after everything he went through—everything he lost—choosing instead to tirelessly help others is just…wild. Too good. A little concerning, maybe, his lack of self-preservation. But then again, Tony doesn't have much room to talk on that front. Except he's a full grown adult, and Peter's, like…a literal child.

Tony really isn't sure how to respond to all of the information that the kid nonchalantly spouts—how he once stopped a bus with his bare hands, jumped in front of a knife-wielding maniac to prevent a mugging…how it was never a question that he needed to step up and use his powers to do good in the world.

Thankfully, Peter seems oblivious to the fact that the chatter is mostly one-sided, and it isn't long at all before his eyelids are drooping, his body listing to the side as he succumbs to exhaustion. Tony freezes up a little when the teen's head drifts to his shoulder, but after only a moment of deliberation, he wraps his arm around the kid and pulls him closer. He fusses with the blanket to make sure it's properly covering Peter's slightly-shivering form. 

“FRI, turn up the heat a bit,” he instructs in a whisper. “Kid's still an ice block.”

The A.I. chirps a quiet affirmative, a sound followed by the soft whir of the heater cranking up. 

Satisfied, Tony shifts to get comfortable on the couch, knowing he should probably get the kid back in bed but too tired to bother moving. He'll give it a few more minutes…

It's as his own eyelids are beginning to grow heavy that he hears a small sound next to him. He'd thought Peter was already conked out, but the kid is mumbling something.

“What's that, Pete?”

“Maybe…maybe my wish…is coming true after all,” Peter slurs, snuggling deeper into Tony's side like a puppy searching for warmth. He lets out a little sigh of contentment and falls silent, his breaths fully evening out.

The words seem to reverberate in the calm quiet that follows, Tony's mind replaying the day’s events leading up to now with an oddly clear realization.

As Tony drifts off, gaze lingering on the red balloon bobbing on the other side of the room, the little voice in his head tells him he knows without a doubt what he needs to do. 

He's just not sure he has the confidence to do it.

***

When Tony's eyes pop open hours later, he's met with gray clouds promising more snow outside the giant windows, and Pepper's soft smile in front of him. The soft glow of the Christmas tree and the lights strung around the penthouse surrounds them.

“Merry Christmas,” she says, voice low so as not to disturb the lightly-snoring teenager curled up against Tony's side.

The kid's face is pressing into his ribs, but the warm weight isn't uncomfortable, if anything, it's comforting. 

Tony hums. “We're keeping him, Pep,” he mumbles back in his half-asleep state. He tightens his arms around Peter protectively and lets his eyes fall shut again.

“Well, that didn’t take long.” By the sound of amusement coloring her voice, Pepper has broken into an even wider smile.

“What did you expect? He’s very keepable. Like a puppy.”

“You don’t even like puppies.”

“Now that is just false.”

“Is it?”

“I love puppies.”

“Oh? In that case, we could get one of those, too.”

Tony peeks one eye open. “I think we’ll have our hands full with just the kid.” He realizes rather abruptly this is probably a decision they need to make together—with it being life-altering and all. He opens his other eye, scrutinizing Pepper’s now-thoughtful expression. “Is that…what are you thinking? I know rash decisions—”

“I don’t think this would be the worst rash decision you ever made,” Pepper says decidedly. “In fact, it’s probably one of the best.”

“Hold up, somebody write that down—FRI, you heard that? I am capable of making good decisions. That makes two in less than twenty-four hours.”

Pepper rolls her eyes but is still smiling. “Peter clearly needs some stability in his life, and I think we can provide that for him. Especially with the whole…spider-vigilante thing. Dealing with that in a foster home, even a vetted one, wouldn’t be easy.”

Tony hums in agreement.

“FRIDAY showed me a bit of the footage from last night. Sounds like you two get along well.”

“He's a miniature genius,” Tony says, gaze drifting down to the mop of chestnut curls resting on his chest. A little more awake now, the doubts that have always held him back start to creep in. “But I'm just not sure—I don't think the whole ‘kid’ thing is for me. I'd be an awful…dad.” It feels wrong to even use that title in possible relation to himself. He didn’t have the best role model for that position; how can he be expected to take up the mantle?

Pepper shakes her head. “You would not.”

“I'm barely responsible enough to take care of myself, Pep—you know this. How am I supposed to make sure a little human is eating regularly, going to school, getting enough hugs—and for this one, not getting himself killed as a vigilante?” These are the kind of anxiety-fueled thoughts that fill him whenever Pep broaches the topic of growing their family.

“Tony, breathe,” Pepper says, and Tony does—if only because his little outburst disturbed Peter. 

The kid stirs and shifts his position, but thankfully stays asleep.

“I’m not naive enough to think this will be easy—but since when have either of us backed down from a challenge?”

She’s got a point.

Pepper continues, “Besides, it's clear that you and Peter already get along, and you've been wonderful with him so far. And on top of that, you are a good man, Tony Stark. That means you will do your best no matter what.” She reaches out and cups his cheek with one hand, careful not to disturb Peter. “You don't have to be perfect—you just have to put in the effort.”

“When did you become a motivational speaker?” Tony asks teasingly, tilting his head up to press a kiss to Pepper’s lips, but his chest feels a little lighter from her reassurances. 

“You assume I wasn’t always like this.”

“Touché.”

“And Tony,” she adds, tone taking a serious edge once more as she presses her forehead against his, “you’re not alone. We’re in this together.”

“Yeah,” he says, closing his eyes and taking a long breath. He still thinks they might be crazy, but even despite that—something about this all just feels right. 

Now they can only hope Peter feels the same way.

***

When Peter wakes up warm and comfy in the fanciest apartment he's ever seen in his life, it takes a few minutes for his mind to realize he's in Tony Stark's penthouse and not, as he initially thought, dead. He's still warm, and it's such a pleasant feeling that he thinks he doesn't want to move ever again. He can't remember the last time he woke up and wasn't shivering.

But his head is pillowed against something firm yet comfy, and there's a warm weight of a blanket covering his body. The distinct scent of cinnamon rolls and bacon is wafting through the air; it's enough to make Peter's stomach growl desperately. Something under his ear shifts, and he feels more than he hears the rumble of a chuckle.

“You keeping a grizzly bear caged in there, kid?” someone asks.

The teasing words don't really register, but the voice itself triggers a boatload of memories, the events of yesterday crashing into Peter like a freight train. He blinks up at Mr. Stark, cheeks flushing slightly as he realizes it's the billionaire’s chest he's using as a pillow. 

Right, he's in the Starks’ penthouse in the Avengers Tower. So it wasn't a dream after all.

Shoving himself into more of an upright position—and immediately missing the warmth the body heat had brought—Peter runs a hand through his untamed hair and looks everywhere but toward his hero. Although Mr. Stark hadn't seemed to mind Peter's breakdown last night, it doesn't keep Peter from feeling awkward about it anyway.

He hears Mr. Stark take a breath, as if he's about to speak, but Pepper—from the kitchen area—beats him to it. “Good morning, Peter. Merry Christmas!”

“Merry Christmas,” he returns automatically. As he turns his head in her direction, his gaze catches on the Christmas tree he'd been sitting in front of just hours before.

The underneath of the tree is completely overflowing with presents, ranging in size and each adorned with giant bows and ribbons. There are so many that they spill out from beneath the tree, trailing out onto the surrounding floor. It's impossible to see all of them, but there are a few with tags large enough to read, and most of them are labeled Peter.

Peter stares at the pile of festively-wrapped gifts for a few long seconds before turning the same dumbfounded expression to Mr. Stark.

The man just shrugs. “Santa came,” he says to the unasked question. “I’d say go wild, but in the name of responsibility, I think breakfast is in order first.”

As if on cue, Peter's stomach rumbles loudly again.

Tony snorts in amusement and stands from the couch, offering his hand out to Peter. “Come on, then.”

They make quick work of the spread Pepper has prepared, with very few words exchanged beyond simple pleasantries. Peter feels like he's running on autopilot as he sits at the table and eats—just like last night, the food is heavenly after going weeks without a decent meal. He has to force himself not to scarf it down like it'll disappear if he hesitates too long. 

He still isn't entirely sure he's not caught in some hypothermia-induced coma fantasy world. Was it really less than twenty-four hours ago that he thought he was going to freeze to death alone on the streets? Now he's sitting at the Starks’ kitchen table, dressed in one of Tony Stark's hoodies that practically swallows him up, and is warm and full and rested. His brain is working overtime to play catch up, and yet he still doesn't think he understands. But if this is somehow a dream, then Peter doesn't ever want to wake up.

Once breakfast is finished, they all move back into the living area—where Mr. Stark promptly starts shoving presents in Peter's direction. It's a bit awkward at first, but once he starts opening them, Peter slowly finds himself relaxing, becoming more and more excited with each gift nudged into his hands. The worry and uncertainty of his situation fades away, the world narrowing down to the simplicity of an eager child opening gifts on Christmas morning.

He feels bad that he doesn't have anything to offer the Starks, but they have several gifts they exchange with each other as well.

However, by the time all the gifts are opened—wrapping paper and bags strewn haphazardly across the room—Peter is feeling sufficiently overwhelmed again. This is more clothes, electronics, toys, and trinkets than he had filling his entire room back at May's. How did the Starks find out he loved Lego and Star Wars so much? Not only that, how did they get all of this stuff ordered, delivered, and wrapped on such short notice?

Okay, so they are billionaires. But still.

“This is amazing—thank you so much,” he says for the millionth time, gaze raking across the pile of loot he's accumulated. He's itching to tear into several of the new Lego sets, but he's not sure if the Starks would want him making a mess all over their house when he'll just have to pack everything up again when he leaves.

“So” —Mr. Stark claps his hands together, completely derailing Peter's spiralling train of thought— “which one are we starting with?”

“What?”

“Personally, I'm a firm believer in the bigger the better, but your choice. Everything is awesome, right?”

Peter raises his eyebrows dubiously. “You've seen The Lego Movie?”

“Am I more or less cool if the answer to that question is yes?”

A genuine laugh chuffs its way past Peter's lips, the sound almost foreign to his own ears, and Mr. Stark smirks and winks at him.

They end up choosing the ferris wheel—a set with well over two thousand pieces—opening up the box while discussing their favorite movies and debating the best ones. Mr. Stark is really funny and easy to talk to.

Peter's emotions are still all over the place, but it turns out a distraction is the best thing for him. It is a little discombobulating though, finding himself sitting on the floor across from Mr. Stark, a spread of Legos scattered atop the coffee table between them. Pepper sits in one of the armchairs nearby, cracking open the cover of a new book she'd gotten as one of her gifts—though Peter is pretty sure she's the one who bought it, wrapped it, and put the From: Tony tag on it.

Putting Legos together is something Peter can do with his eyes closed, and he finds himself relaxing—even though he's literally building Legos with Iron Man, something that surely only happened in the imagination of his eight-year-old fanboy mind—as he works in tandem with Mr. Stark to put the correct pieces together. Keeping his hands busy has always been the best way to keep his mind occupied, too.

The setting is calm; gentle Christmas music playing in the background on the fancy surround sound speakers, fireplace crackling, and snow flurries falling past the windows. It almost feels like Christmases past, when Ben would help him put together whatever some-assembly-required gift Peter had gotten that year or try out his new toys or games while May read or watched TV—or offered the boys unsolicited advice. The Chemistry Kit Disaster is still one of Peter's favorite Christmas memories.

They're just about halfway done with the ferris wheel when Peter suddenly notices Mr. Stark's attention has been diverted from his self-imposed task of pilfering the piles of bricks for the next pieces needed. He glances up, brow furrowed at the way the man's mouth is moving with silent words and exaggerated facial expressions. When Peter follows Mr. Stark's gaze over his shoulder to Pepper, he realizes the two must be having some sort of conversation.

With a sinking feeling, he decides it's probably about him.

“Is…is everything okay?” he dares to ask, eyes darting back and forth between the two adults. He's definitely overstayed his welcome at this point, right? Surely the Starks want to have some alone time on Christmas Day. Maybe—

“Kid, relax.”

At the sound of Mr. Stark's voice, Peter lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding, his fingers slowly uncurling from involuntarily-clenched fists. The two-by-one Lego piece he was holding leaves a slight indent in his palm from where he was squeezing it too tightly.

“Sorry,” he says fast.

“There's no need to apologize, sweetheart,” Pepper tells him, and just like yesterday, Peter's heart lurches at the soft nickname. “We didn't mean to worry you. Everything is fine, I promise.”

“Okay,” he acquiesces, although he's still uneasy. Fine can mean a lot of things.

“There is something we'd like to talk to you about, though.”

There it is.

Peter tries not to let panic sweep him away. As much as the last year has taught him to trust nothing and no one, he can't help but have faith that his childhood hero will keep his word and make sure Peter goes somewhere safe.

Pepper leans forward in her seat and continues, “We wanted to give you some time to enjoy the holiday, but I don't see a reason to wait any longer—”

“Pep, you're gonna give the kid a heart attack,” Mr. Stark says dryly. He taps his fingers against the edge of the coffee table. “And that would be very inconvenient. It's Christmas, after all.”

Peter feels like he should chuckle or wave the man off and say something along the lines of it's okay, but his mouth is dry and his limbs are dead weights at his sides.

“Peter,” Pepper says—after she's finished giving Mr. Stark a look like May used to give Ben when she was exasperated with him, “we were thinking…and this is entirely your decision, of course. But we would like you to stay with us.”

What? “...Stay with you?”

Mr. Stark tilts his head. “That's what she said.”

“Like, live here?”

“That’s the general idea, yes.”

Peter's brain blinks out for a few seconds before realization hits him. “Oh. For Spider-Man, right? I guess that makes sense.” Mr. Stark probably wants to keep a close eye on him, and that'd be much easier to do here than sending him off to another foster home. Maybe prevent him from going patrolling at all. Or…or maybe they plan to keep him contained here until someone from the government can pick him up. The thought is probably irrational, but it sends a chill down his spine nonetheless.

“In part, yes,” Pepper answers, tone deliberate and careful. “But because we think it would be the best fit for you. And we may have just met you, but I can already tell that you are a strong, intelligent, brave young man—and we would love the opportunity to get to know you better as a part of our family.”

Heat creeps up Peter's cheeks as he fumbles for a response, well aware that both adults are watching him. “Oh. Um…”

“It’s one hundred percent up to you,” Pepper adds reassuringly. “I promise we will figure out different arrangements if you decide that's what you'd prefer.”

This sounds too good to be true. Ever since his life turned upside down a year ago, Peter has been certain that a happy ending just isn't in the cards for him. The last thing he ever expected was another chance at being a permanent part of a family.

“So…so I still get to be Spider-Man?” he asks hesitantly.

“I have a feeling we'd have a hard time stopping you,” Pepper says with a little half-smile.

Mr. Stark pokes a finger in Peter's direction. “But not with that DIY onesie you currently call a costume. Once we put something new together, we'll talk.”

Peter is too surprised to be offended at the dig—but hey, he'd had very limited options when he pieced together his Spider-Man suit. “You're…you're going to make me a new suit?”

“Well, I'll tell you this much—no kid of mine is going to be running around New York City fighting crime in his pajamas. So, yeah—I think a little upgrade is in order.”

Kid of mine. My kid my kid my kid.

“Pete? You okay there?” A hand waves in front of his face.

“I—yes,” he blurts out before he can overthink any more. “I would like to—to stay. If…if you really want me to, that is.” Logically, he knows they wouldn't have asked if they hadn't been serious, but then again, the adults in his life the past year don't have a great track record of meaning what they say.

Neither Mr. Stark nor Pepper roll their eyes or laugh at him, though. Instead, they simply nod in unison. Pepper says, “Of course we do,” and the look she gives him is so loving and genuine that Peter nearly melts right where he sits.

His gaze darts between the Starks. “And I promise I won't be too much trouble on you. I really don't take up that much space, and I'll keep up with my schoolwork, and I can help—”

“Peter,” Pepper interrupts gently, reaching out to place a hand on his shoulder. “We’re not worried about any of that. We want you—and everything that entails.”

“If we wanted a quiet church mouse, we would've gone to the pet store, Stuart Little.” Mr. Stark sits back on his heels and raises his eyebrows. “This is the real deal, all right?”

Peter nods, body on autopilot as he tries to process the reality of what he's just been offered. Something warm and wet hits his leg, and he stares down in surprise at the teardrop splattered on his pants. Another chases it. 

“Sorry,” he croaks, desperately wiping at his cheeks. He thought he'd cried himself out last night, but apparently not. “I—I don't know why—”

“Oh, Peter.” There are tears in Pepper’s voice too as she speaks. “Is it okay if I hug you?”

He's nodding before she even finishes the sentence, moving up onto his knees as she leans down from the armchair and wraps her arms around his shoulders.

Hugs are the one thing Peter misses the most about his aunt and uncle. The absence of physical affection ever since he lost them has practically been tangible; he can't remember the last time he was given a proper hug from a caring adult. 

Now, Pepper's simple embrace is the most comforting thing Peter thinks he's ever experienced, and he sinks into it, squeezing her as hard as he can without hurting her and soaking in the warmth of the much-needed contact.

“You get in here, too,” Pepper commands over the top of Peter's head.

Mr. Stark grunts. “You're right, I don't like being left out.” There's a rustle of movement, and then a warm, calloused hand ruffles Peter's hair fondly before strong arms encircle both Peter and Pepper.

It's everything Peter ever could have asked for. A sense of belonging that he hasn't felt in over a year fills him. He turns his head to bury it in Mr. Stark's shoulder. As he moves, his tear-blurred gaze snags on the red balloon still floating in the corner by his backpack. 

“My Christmas wish really came true.” The choked words are barely audible, muffled into Mr. Stark's sweater.

“So did mine,” Pepper whispers into his hair.

“Mine, too,” Mr. Stark says. “And I didn't even know I had one. Christmas Eve magic, huh?”

***

Maybe Tony finding Peter under that dumpster wasn't by random chance after all.