Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Tony Stark often thinks about firsts. His first invention. His first kiss. His first heartbreak. 

Thomas Stark had none of those milestone firsts. No first steps. No first words. No first Christmas or Birthday. 

In Tony’s mind, there is a locked box where he keeps eight months of treasured memories. He unlocks that box on March 3rd, the day Thomas was born. And on November 22nd, the day Thomas died.

During those 24 hours on those two different days, Tony allows himself to think of the moment that Miranda told him she was pregnant. He thinks of standing in the hospital, holding his son in one room, while Miranda signs away her parental rights in another. A child given up for the mere change in Tony’s pocket. He thinks of sleepless nights as he feeds a baby and learns that he is more than just a CEO. He’s a father who is going to end the cycle of abuse.

He thinks of Yinsen in a cave as the man says, “You’re a man who has everything, and nothing.”

He doesn’t think about how the stroller was taken from the park during a moment where the nanny had turned to talk to another caretaker. All of 45 seconds where their attention was on each other. All of 45 seconds where the stranger stepped forward and pushed the stroller onward and away, suddenly lost in a sea of people.

A crime of opportunity, the police had said, one that led the Feds on a month-long chase to a human trafficking ring. A chase that ended at a shipping container with the burned remains of three kids under the age of one year and traces of blood that were positively identified as belonging to Thomas Stark. Over a hundred kids had been shipped out of the country yet Tony’s son was never one of them. 

But Tony doesn’t think about that. No, he has a few too many glasses of scotch and thinks about how his son came and his son went and time marches on.

It’s far too cold for Peter to spend his evenings patrolling so he has been cutting them shorter and shorter as the temperature drops. It means that the streets and sidewalk are still a little busy with post-work traffic when he’s wrapped up any Spider-Man business. He’s finished for the day, backpack slung over his shoulder as he navigates through the Forest Hills neighborhood, just a few blocks from the apartment, when he hears a sharp exhale. It's twinged with pain, punched out of someone’s lungs and joined by a squelching noise that Peter wishes he could unhear.

The sound of a knife being pushed into flesh.

He’s running that direction before he can stop himself, instinct driving him to help whoever it is - whether he’s in the Spider-Man suit or not. Peter hones in on the area with his hearing.

“...have the money…” Gasping accompanies the words.

Another voice snaps back, “Too late for that, Derek.”

The alley Peter ends up in has two occupants. The assumed Derek, who has a knife hilt-deep in his gut, and his attacker, who is immediately spooked by Peter’s sudden appearance and jerks back from the victim. 

They make eye-contact and Peter tries to remember every detail he can as the guy spins around and takes off the other way. About his own height. White. Dirty-blond hair. Brown eyes. Cheeks plump but covered with dark stubble. Jeans and a black hoodie. Peter doesn’t follow after, his attention soon diverted to the man who has a knife sticking out of his stomach. 

No, not a man. A kid, Peter realizes as he walks over and stands in front of him, taking in the dilated pupils as shock sets in. He can’t be much older than Peter, maybe 17. 

“Derek?” Peter asks.

Maybe it’s because the kid is too shocked by what’s happened to lie, but he nods and confirms the name like it’s a reflex. Peter looks down, sees that the black shirt the kid’s wearing under his open jacket has become soaked by blood seeping past the blade. Too much blood. It creates a sickening glossy sheen that Peter knows all too well. 

Derek’s hand goes to the knife, fingers gripping the hilt before Peter can stop him. He is, however, able to wrap his own hand around Derek’s hold, fingertips grazing the handle to keep the knife in place. “No,” Peter warns, hand briefly clenching so there’s no mistaking what he’s talking about. “Don’t take it out.”

He needs to call an ambulance. Peter considers using his own phone, but he’s trying to stay out of the cop’s line of fire. The police haven’t been a fan of Spider-Man as of late. “You got a phone, Derek?” The kid's hand shakes as he tugs a cellphone from his pocket.

Even as he goes to hand it to Peter, Derek pants out, “Can’t… got drugs…”

There’s a flash of sympathy that runs through Peter. Normally he’d let the justice system worry about that, but the kid just took a knife to the gut so maybe he’s learned his lesson about dealing drugs in this city.

Police sirens sound in the distance, reminding him that time is a luxury Derek doesn’t have and Peter makes up his mind to help this stranger.

“Where?” Peter asks.

“Inside… pocket.”

He’s careful of the knife, working around it as he digs through Derek’s jacket pockets. There’s a small bag that Peter palms and puts in his own jeans, tucked away deep where it isn’t at risk to fall out. He places the 911 call once Derek gives a humble nod. Peter’ll pass by a dumpster somewhere and toss the drugs after the ambulance comes. 

They don’t have to wait long. Derek’s still conscious when the EMTs arrive, but his words are slurred as he gives Peter a weak, “Thank you.” 

Whether it’s for getting rid of the evidence, or calling the ambulance… Peter doesn’t know. He just gives the kid a nod and leaves, ignoring the EMT who calls out, “Wair, Sir! Could you give a statement?! Officers are on their way.” If Derek hadn’t made it, Peter would have stayed… would have told the cops what the other man looked like. But Derek will answer those questions now so Peter doesn’t feel bad about leaving the scene. 

After Peter tosses what he’s pretty sure is cocaine into the next dumpster he sees, he races home to beat May there. The blood on his clothes is fairly easy to wash off. He’s become well practiced since he started going out as Spider-Man six months ago so it’s a short scrubbing before the jacket sleeves are passibly clean. 

The apartment door opens and he hears May call from the living room, “Peter? Can you help me put away some groceries?” Before the front door is even closed, Peter’s working to take bags from her hands, easing the burden in one of the few ways he knows how. She’d never take his money, but she won’t turn down letting him do the heavy lifting.

They talk about school and May’s work. They talk about the upcoming winter break. Peter doesn’t mention the stabbing, because it would lead to more questions than he’s willing to answer and the last thing he wants his Aunt to do is worry about him more. 

Detective Frank Holton’s sitting at his desk, combing over a police report taken at the Queens Memorial Hospital. The victim came in with a stab wound and identified his attacker during the initial questioning. A knife was placed into evidence, three sets of prints lifted. Holton knows that one belongs to the victim, a second belongs to the suspect, and the third belongs to the bystander who intervened to help with the victim’s injury. There’s no mention that the supposed good Samaritan had given his statement. 

It’s not unusual for people to be too rushed to stay behind and talk to the cops, so Holton notes that if the prints come back without a criminal background he won’t push for tracking down the unknown bystander. No point in wasting the resources when the victim gave a solid statement and they’re well on their way to arresting the suspect.

Less than two days after he has submitted the fingerprints into the IAFIS, Detective Holton ends up in the office of FBI Agent Kim Loreant, whose only question is, “Where is the Good Samaritan?”

“There’s only two prints. And the thumb is a partial,” Holton says as he holds up a comparison of the fingerprints pulled from the knife and another set that was submitted over fifteen years earlier. An infant set, taken not long after birth according to the file it came from. 

‘Who takes prints from an infant?’ Holton had asked.The answer had been, ‘ important people ’ .

“What are the chances that there was an error in the match?”

Agent Loreant takes back the documents when Holton’s done, setting them inside the folder that had been in storage for over a decade. “Less than five percent. The computer used an age progression tool in order to get them up to date. It isn’t perfect, but it’s been enough to solve cold cases before and I trust the outcome.”

Detective Holton stares at the folder, particularly focused on the label that had been taped across the manilla tab.

STARK, THOMAS - Deceased. 

The name was printed in bold type, but the details had been penned to the right. He’s still staring when Loreant pushes a map across the desk, covering the folder. Holton recognizes the area, thirteen blocks that reside in the Queens borough. Loreant taps on the map and says, “There’s only two cameras that would have caught the entrance to the alley. Our techs are looking over the footage to see if they can grab a still-shot of Thomas Stark.”

Holton can’t help but raise a brow at the name that likely hadn’t been spoken in just as long as the file had been in storage. A name that had been on every news station when the boy was first taken in Malibu. “You really think it’s him?”

“Your stabbing victim, Derek Webb, gave a weak description, but the age range seems to fit. Not older than eighteen, highschool age. Brown hair and brown eyes too. It’s not a lot, but add in the matching prints and we have enough circumstantial evidence to keep searching.”

“What do you need from me?” He needs to know how quiet they’re keeping this. So far there’s only three people in his department who are aware he’s meeting with the FBI about one of his active cases. 

“Boots on ground. The kid most likely lives near there. Felt safe enough to go into the alley to try to keep Derek alive. Doesn’t seem like tourist behavior. Kid also reported that Thomas had a school bag with him. I’ll send you the photos once we pull them. Give them to your people. CI’s if you have them.” Not so quiet then. It’s no manhunt, but there’ll be questions. There’ll be talk.

Holton gives a quick nod, then asks, “You plan on calling Stark?” 

“That’s up to people who make more than me. Best we worry about step one. Finding this kid.”

The feds give Holton a temporary access code to their central system. They’re cutting out the middleman for this case. He logs in as soon as he’s back at the precinct. There’s already a notification in the top right. 

Two messages. 

One has three pictures, zoomed in and cropped to show a young man with blood on the cuffs of his shirt and a frown on his face. Short hair. A little curly at the ends. It’s not a full frontal profile, but it’s not the worst still image that Holton’s had to work with. The second photo is the kid’s back. He’s in jeans and carrying a black backpack. The third picture is from a different camera. It’s the kid as he digs into Derek’s pockets. Holton wonders what he’s looking for. Couldn’t be a phone considering there’s one on the ground in front of the two teens. 

He prints off the first image and pins it to the corkboard he keeps in his office. Every officer who walks by will see it, along with the message scrawled underneath that reads, ‘Seen me?’.  

“What’d the feds want?” Detective Joseph Rockweiler’s the first to follow up with Holton after his return from downtown. 

“Cold case warmed up.” With a flick of his wrist, he indicates to the photo. Joseph hums as he squints his eyes and takes in the teen’s image. 

After a moment, he shakes his head. “Suspect?”

“Nope. Victim. Take a picture and share it with your CI’s. Mainly the Forest Hills area. Kid was last seen there so it’s the place to start.” Joseph abides, snapping a quick picture with his cellphone. It’s barely a beat before the man asks for his own favor, but such is the way of their work. 

When Holton’s alone again, he checks the second message. We have a DNA sample from the Stark kidnapping. Once we have the kid in custody, we can get a court order to compare.

From there, Holton’s next few days are filled with walking the streets of Queens. He checks bus stops in the mornings, eyes darting across handfuls of highschoolers before talking to driver after driver. When that dead ends, the detective makes his way through a few convenience stores scattered around Forest Hills. 

Teens are a predictable bunch. Most days. They have their haunts. The local arcade. A Starbucks. Or a bodega. Holton’s scouring them all because all his CI’s in the area have turned up nil. 

He’s checking the phone on his map to see what stores are close by. Unfortunately, New York stalls come and go often enough that he is better off using his own two eyes. While rounding a corner, Holton spots a sign above his head. 

Delmar’s. 

Holton scrawls the name in his notepad before pulling out his phone, already prepped with a photo of the kid. The door sets off a bell as he opens it, but no one glances his way. At least, not that he can tell from a cursory glance around the small shop.

“-real flat. Thanks. Gracias .” A mop of brown hair is the first thing the detective sees as he glances over the deli counter. The kid is leaning over, head down as he eyes a rack of magazines. Holton can only see the side profile of him as he navigates around the obstacles.

But it’s enough.

With this kind of luck he should buy a lotto ticket. Maybe make some stock investments.

There’s a slight dimple that appears when Thomas Stark smiles. The contrast to the frowning expression from the surveillance tape is almost disconcerting. Like two different versions of one person. Then again, Thomas had been trying to keep someone from bleeding out in an alley at the time and stress has a way of warping people into unrecognizable parts of themselves.

For now, there is an innocence in the way the kid’s beaming. 

Holton stares for too long, triggering that latent instinct that some humans have where they know they’re being watched and a furrow forms on Thomas’ forehead before his head comes up. The kid straightens, a brown gaze meeting the detective’s from across the counter. Unafraid. The dimple vanishes and Holton knows the kid’s clocked him as a cop from the way he tenses and shoots a quick glance to Holton’s hip. Where his sidearm resides.

Interesting. The kid is clever. Intelligent. Maybe he’s naturally smart like his biological father. Holton files that bit of information away in the slowly building profile of the kidnapped boy.

“This man bothering you, Pete?” Thomas - no - Pete shakes his head and gives a casual wave to the cashier that’s glaring in Holton’s direction. The man huffs and turns back to making a sandwich. Pete, however, doesn’t turn away. 

The kid’s mouth turns down in a slight frown as he asks, “Do you need something, sir?”

It’s polite. No irritation or impatience in Pete’s voice.

Holton holds out his phone, showing the still picture that had been pulled from the surveillance feed just two nights earlier. Before his eyes he can see the color drain from Pete’s face. The teen’s mouth opens and Holton knows he’s about to deny it, so the detective starts talking first, “You’re not in trouble.” Pete’s jaw closes with an audible click, brow rising as though he doesn’t believe him. “But we have a few questions for you.”

“Did…did Derek make it?” Holton pauses at the question. Of all the things the kid could have done, he asked about the victim. 

Eventually, Holton nods, “He did. Thanks to you.”

“Couldn’t he answer your questions? Since he knows more about…” Pete trails off as he gestures with his hand, stabbing at the air with an imaginary knife.

“It’s complicated.” FBI level complicated. But he doesn’t want to spook the kid, even if he seems like someone who does the right thing. Holton continues, “Listen, we just need to go over a couple of things. Get a statement.” The kid’s not buying it so Holton hits with a cheap shot. “Helps with prosecution. We don’t want to let this guy get away with stabbing a kid, do we?” 

There’s a sort of defeat that settles on Pete’s face and from there it’s easy. The kid demands to see a badge before they even leave the bodega, showing those smarts again. Holton shows it in exchange for a look at the kid’s school ID. Peter Parker. Midtown. The information goes down in the notebook right under the scrawled name of the shop. 

If this pans out, then there are going to be a lot of questions from some very important people. Holton doesn’t want to answer any of them with ‘ I don’t remember ’ .

Pete’s phone gets some heavy use as they begin the long walk to the precinct, texting non-stop yet somehow navigating the world around them with ease. Holton’s car is just two blocks away, but the kid insisted on going to nearby precinct 112 by foot because ‘ everyone knows not to get into cars with strangers’ and ‘ secondary locations are where they find the body. ’

The kid’s tapping away on his phone, but he shoots a quick glance towards Holton as he asks, “How long will this take? I have to let my aunt know when I’ll be home or she’ll freak out.” 

“Aunt? What about mom or dad?” Holton asks, but he’s pretty sure he can guess what the kid’s going to say next. 

“Died when I was six.” Well, that wasn’t exactly what he expected. 

“Sorry to hear that.” 

Pete just shrugs. “It was a long time ago. Barely even remember them, to be honest.” 

There’s not much to say that won’t come out sounding like false sympathy. Instead, Holton just tells the kid it could take a couple of hours at the station, even though he’s aware that they’re going to be there all night. 

The 112 isn’t very busy, which means the detective is able to get the secretary’s attention almost immediately. “Can we get an interview room and a blank statement sheet?”

He guides Pete through the security doors and takes him down a hall with labeled rooms. 1. 1A. 2. 2A. And so on. They take room 3, which is designed to be more like a waiting room instead of an interrogation room. A small sofa and some end tables instead of metal chairs and a table that’s bolted down. 

Holton hands over the statement sheet and a pen. “It’s pretty self explanatory. I’ve got to step outside to make a call, but if you need me, just step out and flag someone down.” He considers locking the door on his way out, but he’s trying to do everything in his power to keep the kid calm. Plus, he isn’t a suspect. He’s a victim.

Stolen as a baby. Raised by strangers who died when he was young. Living with just his ‘aunt’. 

Holton leaves Pete and slides into 3A. He flips the switch for the on the one way sound system and faces the window. 

Then he calls Agent Loreant.

Peter writes down every detail about the night Derek was stabbed. He recalls the man that did it. Jots down what he can remember of him. The knife that was used and the 911 call that followed. Peter stops when he comes to the point where Derek told him about the drugs. He doesn’t want to bring that up, but he also doesn’t want to be the reason a case is thrown out. 

He brings the pen up and taps it against the side of his skull. It isn’t lying. Just some omission. Just like how he omitted the fact that he had been swinging through Queens only ten minutes before. 

And how likely was it that they ever found the-

“-DNA.”

The detective’s voice filters through Peter’s senses. Usually, he doesn’t listen in on people. It’s rude. A violation of their privacy. But it seems there are certain key phrases that he subconsciously hones in on. Spider-Man is one. Help me is another.

The term DNA must be on the short list as well because suddenly Peter’s locked in on Detective Holton’s voice as he talks. Not too far away, though.

“Send over the court order. We have a nurse on site that can do the blood draw.” 

Peter drops the pen and stalks towards the door, ready to yank it open and find the closest exit. Ready to flee. 

Except he can’t. His hand stills on the door handle as realization washes over him. They know his name. His school. If he runs, then they’ll go after May. Drag her into the mess he’s created. And he can’t do that. Can’t put her through any more grief.

He swears under his breath, shaking with unchecked adrenaline at what’s coming.

Blood draw. They confirm he’s Spider-man. They could send him to prison. Or he’s shipped off to some kind of research facility. Treated like a freak and experimented on. Or used for the military. What if they want him to kill people? Peter’s stomach churns at the thought.

Still, May would be safe. Maybe they would let him negotiate for her. 

Maybe they-

The handle in his grip turns on its own and Peter jumps back as it swings open. Holton’s head is cocked as he looks Peter up and down. “You alright, kid?” He doesn’t seem surprised that Peter’s at the door. 

Another realization. He’s in an interrogation room. The large mirror that spans one wall isn’t a mirror after all. It’s a one-way window. They’ve been watching him this whole time. When Holton doesn’t get a response, he steps closer to Peter. Well, not closer so much as he just wants to get into the room and Peter’s in the way. It has the desired effect and Peter takes a few large steps back, giving the detective space to navigate to the sofa.

Holton stands by the far end and waves a hand towards the cushions. “Why don’t you take a seat, Pete?”

“Peter,” the correction comes automatically, an instinctual grab to take back control of the situation. 

“Okay. Peter. Going to tell me where you were-”

“Why am I here?” The cop seems taken aback by the question, like he hadn’t expected Peter to call him on the lie. But the surprise is quickly overtaken by a small grimace. Shame. As if he feels bad for lying to Peter. Which… makes absolutely no sense. Why would a cop, someone who was hunting down Spider-Man, feel bad about lying to him? 

“The FBI is on their way here.” Oh god. Not good. Terrible even. The NYPD is one thing, but federal agents?

But, before fear can fully set in, Holton continues, “Your fingerprints matched those of a boy who was kidnapped as a child.” 

What? 

“ What? ” How did they even get his fingerprints?

Peter isn’t certain if he asked the question out loud, but Holton answers it anyway. “The knife that was used to stab Derek had your prints on it.”

“Oh.” A surge of relief passes through Peter, almost knee buckling in its intensity. He has to reach out for the end table to stay standing. He fights to keep his fingers from curling into the wood frame. They don’t… this has nothing to do with Spider-Man. That relief fades as sharply as it had come, replaced with an uncertainty that Peter can feel in his bones. In his chest. 

There must be a mistake.

If what the man says is true, then his entire life is a lie.

He meets Holton’s gaze and says as much. 

“A court order has been faxed to do a blood draw. We have the child’s DNA on file. But, we’re pretty sure it’s you, Peter. You have key features that match the victim. The baby was young, but had brown hair and brown eyes. You’d be around the same age. Your partial prints were also a match.”

Richard and Mary Parker were his parents. They were… they were good people. They wouldn’t kidnap a child. And Ben and May would never be involved in anything like that. If there had been even an inkling that he was a missing person then Ben would have stopped at nothing to find the truth.

“I have to call my aunt.” He sits then, allowing some numbness to creep over him as the situation fully sinks in. If it wasn’t a possibility then he wouldn’t be in the 112, waiting on court orders and the FBI. A question bubbles forth, one that’s going to haunt him for some time, “So, who are my parents?”

Holton gives Peter a sympathetic look. “We have to get confirmation of a match first. And we’ll reach out to your aunt in the meantime.”

The entire ordeal happens faster than Peter expected.

An FBI agent arrives with a medical team. Her tone is kind when she addresses Peter, informing him of what is about to happen. She seems familiar with the process. There’s the court order. The comparison. Some guardians are placed under arrest -Peter hopes that May isn’t sitting in a cell right now-  and others are released when it’s deemed they weren’t involved in the kidnappings.

He redirects his attention to Kim as she stands next to the nurse, who prepares a needle and a blood collection tube. Despite his tolerance to pain, he still lets out a hiss when the nurse finds a vein and puts the sharp object through his skin. “Do you, uh, see this a lot?”

“Reunification? Not often. Usually I’m delivering the bad news.” Children who didn’t make it. Parents who can never move on. 

He can’t help but watch as the nurse carries his blood out the door. It’s a science he’s more familiar with so he’s aware that it won’t directly give away his unique mutation, but there’s also a handful of people who would kill for that small sample. It’s a thought for another time, though, because he hears a familiar voice in the hall, loud and sharp and demanding. “Where is he?” 

“May!” Agent Loreant is about to protest, one hand up and mouth dropping open to tell him to stop, but Peter’s slipping off the stool in the lab room. Once his feet hit the floor, he’s practically sprinting out into the hall.

May’s head snaps around and her eyes, narrowed in that aggressive way that reminds Peter of a mother bear, land on him. She’s still wearing her scrubs, hair harried and makeup smeared around her eyes. The fact that she had been crying stabs at his chest.

The truth is cloying in his throat, but he manages, “They said I might be-” Someone else. Not your nephew. 

She closes the distance, weaving around the cops who try to block her path. Nothing stops her from reaching him and pulling him in tight, offering comfort and protection all at once. “I know, kiddo.”

“Mrs. Parker.” Agent Loreant appears at their side, casting quick looks between May, Peter, and the handful of cops in the hallway. “Why don’t we head back to the interview room?” 

May maintains contact with Peter the entire way. Whether it’s a quick hug or a hand on his arm, she tries to let him know without words that she isn’t going anywhere. He didn’t realize how much it meant until he feels the tightness around his heart loosen a little. For the first time since Holton told him the truth, Peter is able to take a deep breath. 

It’s about fifteen minutes later that they find themselves seated in the interview room, a recorder sitting on the table as Kim asks, “Tell me a little about how you became Peter’s guardian?” 

The story begins when Richard and Mary tell Ben Parker about their son. There is no mention of adoption or of Mary’s pregnancy. Ben and Richard spoke a few times a year, mainly due to Richard’s long stations overseas, so it was not uncommon for them to get late updates about each other’s lives. 

“He worked for the government. I’m not really sure what he did, though.” May struggles to answer every question, but the more she talks, the more Peter realizes that he hardly knows anything about who the long-passed Parkers truly were. 

And why would he have wondered? Ben and May were the ones who he remembered celebrating birthdays with. Who bought him clothes for school and made sure his belly was full. They loved him and he’d never felt a piece of himself was missing. His status as an orphan was often overshadowed by the fact that he had a surrogate mother and father for most of his life. 

The questions shift to more detailed prying as time goes on. Peter’s medical history. Any recollection of his birth documents being questioned? Was there a will in place when the Parkers died? Special instructions?

May shakes her head to almost all of them. “They died and Ben was granted custody as he was the only living relative. We’d met Peter several times at that point. Some holidays. Even had him over for a week one year when Richard and Mary had an anniversary vacation in the Bahamas. It didn’t even cross our minds that he wasn’t…” She trails off for a moment, but then her expression tightens into that fierce stare once more, “Not that it would have mattered if he was biologically theirs or not. He is my nephew. My family.”

Kim’s mouth opens, but before she can speak there is a knock on the door to the interview room. Holton stands in the hall, documents in his hand. The papers are passed between the two and then Kim nods. “Guess it’s time to call him.” 

From his place on the couch, Peter speaks up, “Call who?”

“Your father. The results were a match.”

Chapter Text

There’s a stack of papers on the coffee table. Well… it’s less a stack and more a pile. Tony rifles through the pages until he spots one with red scrawl in the margins. Around him are a handful of Avengers, still reading their own copies of the accords. It’s far too late for most people to be using this kind of brain power, approaching midnight, but with their hectic schedules they tend to keep odd hours for these meetings. 

“Here.” He shoves the annotated document towards Steve. “Provision for alterations and exceptions.” 

Steve barely glances at it, giving out a small huff of frustration. “It will be SHIELD all over again and we’d be puppets to someone else's agenda.” The paper ends up on top of the stack and Tony finds himself staring at it. At what that simple dismissal means. 

They’re not going to agree. Not today at least. But it’s his job to bring them together and it’s a task that requires finesse and patience most days. Cap’s always leading them, but Tony’s the one who builds the home and keeps it filled. “Take a copy. Read it. Tell me what you don’t like.” 

Despite his earlier avoidance, Steve picks up his bundle of papers and carries it with him. 

“For what it’s worth, I agree with you,” Natasha says once they’re alone. She’s in the compound more often than not these days. No SHIELD missions to keep her occupied. Just training and monitoring other organizations' chatter. It’s given them more time to get to know one another. Of all the Avengers, she’s the one that Tony feels closest to. 

Well, now that Bruce is off their radar anyway.

Tony’s past the point of surprise when it comes to her. Still, he gives a satisfied grin. “A day for the books. FRIDAY, make a note. Nat agrees with me.” 

“It’s less about you-” Tony doesn’t hide a pout, “-and more about the external threats. Someone else is going to try and manage us at some point. Best we stay ahead of it.”

A nod of agreement as he picks up her copy of the accords and holds it out. “Tell me what you-”

“ Boss, you have an incoming call from Agent Kim Loreant of the FBI. ”

Nat’s head cocks to the side, brow lifting as she asks, “Anything I should know about?”

“Might be an open case. Maybe the raid we did in Ohio?” Tony drops the packet on the table and retrieves his phone, running through the potential reasons why he’d receive a call from the bureau. “Patch them through, FRI.”

The line connects and a woman’s voice sounds in his ear. “ Is this Tony Stark? ”

“Depends on if I’m facing some kind of criminal charges or not. I mean, if he is. You know what, this is Stark speaking, how may I direct your call.”

There’s no laugh or huff or anything that could be interpreted as amusement on the woman’s end. All he hears is a small sigh, followed by, “ My name is Kim Loreant. I’m with the FBI’s Northeast regional team . Are you sitting down, Mr. Stark? I have some shocking news to deliver. ”

Never one to be told what to do, Tony remains standing. He does, however, lean over and place a hand on the back of a nearby chair, fingers gripping into it with a steadily growing tension. Worry fills him and Tony glances upwards, sending unspoken questions to FRIDAY. 

Who’s hurt? What’s happened? 

The AI is swift to respond, “ All close acquaintances are accounted for, Boss. ” Pepper. Rhodey. Happy. The big three. She likely checked others, but Tony doesn’t go far down the list. 

“What news?”

The Agent sucks in a quick breath, audible over the line, then begins, “ We have a 15 year old boy at the 112 precinct in Queens, New York City. His fingerprints and DNA match that of Thomas Stark.”

Impossible. Tony’s breath catches, eyes darting towards Natasha. A frown pulls at her mouth and she silently asks, ‘you alright?’ 

‘No,’ he says back with a shake of his head. 

“That’s not possible. He-” Tony doesn’t want to say it. Hasn’t said it out loud in so long that the words fight to stay inside. But years of processing grief have taught him that ignoring it won’t change the truth and he hasn’t become the man he is today by cowering from the facts. So, Tony clutches the chair tighter and manages to say, “He’s dead.” 

‘Who?’ Nat mouths. A moment later and her phone beeps. She glances down at it then holds up the device to show a message had been sent by FRIDAY. The AI must be following a protocol long ago forgotten and buried because Thomas’ name scrolls on the notifications. It’s not an invasion of privacy if Tony’s the one who created the protocol. Then again, it might have been Pepper who insisted on creating it. He can’t really remember those early years.

Well… he can remember that being alone was a hazard to his health some days. Maybe that was the origin of the protocol. 

“ You will need to come to the station. We have a social worker on their way as well to help you navigate the situation. You’re also free to have additional testing done. Do you want us to send you a plane or a car?”

Tony almost laughs at that. A plane? He’s got several of his own. Not that he’ll be taking one. The suit will be faster. Yes. FRIDAY can navigate him. Get him to the 112. Queens, was it? His mind is racing as quickly as his heart. 

“Tony.” He hadn’t realized that he was moving until a hand snagged around his wrist, drawing him to a quick stop. His gaze snaps to Natasha’s, breath coming erratically as his thoughts run wild. Her thumb runs along the side of his wrist in a gentle stroke, soothing and grounding . Tony knows she’s handling him, but he’s immensely thankful for the compassion. “You can’t use the suit like this. We can take a car. It’s not as quick, but it’ll give you time to… process.”

Process. Right. Process the fact that there’s a kid out there with DNA that matches his dead son’s. A son he never got a chance to watch grow. It’s impossible and terrible and… and creates an ache in his chest that he used to fill with alcohol and danger.

Where was he going? And why isn’t he breathing?

Something happens. One moment Tony is standing and in the next his legs give out. Oh. This is why they have people sit down. Pain shoots up his left knee as it hits the ground. Then his elbow. His head is filled with fog and his vision blurs. A palm braces his back so he can’t crack his skull on the tile. He doesn’t know how it happens but he ends up resting against a person’s side, limbs lax and unresponsive. 

Far away, he hears Nat talking. “I will get him there… Yes, he is alright. Just stunned… No. She’s been questioned?” The words fade away and the next time Tony blinks, he’s looking up into Nat’s concerned green stare. “You with me, Stark?” 

He doesn’t ask what happened, already aware that he suffered a total system reboot. He refuses to think of it as fainting, no matter how justified. As elegantly as he can, Tony gets to his feet. They head down to the garage where Nat picks out one of the audi’s, a self-driving model that will allow them some freedom during the trip.

Details swarm him. The night sky. The lines on the road as they zip by. The buried memory of the scent a newborn baby has. An infant’s cry in the night. He feels the encroaching panic attack, but a hard squeeze of his hand pulls him from the spiral. Another quick, and effective, grounding technique from the spy.

When he turns to look at Natasha, she lets go of his hand and points to his cell phone. “Call Pepper. Then James.”

Right. They’d want to know. But what would he say? What if it’s a mistake? He fears the outcome and he can’t imagine putting anyone else through that. Pepper and Rhodey had been there every step of the way during the entire investigation. Without them he isn’t even sure he would have made it through the grief and despair.

Nat, never afraid to say the quiet part out loud, adds, “Imagine how they’ll feel when they learn you didn’t call.” 

Never one to be told what to do, Tony calls Rhodey first.

There’s a small lot on the back side of the precinct. By the time they arrive, a handful of cops are waiting outside. Two uniformed. Two not. Tony slips on his glasses to get live updates from FRIDAY. Names and badge numbers flash across the lens. Agent Loreant approaches him, but before she makes contact, a loud whir draws their attention. It’s followed by a flash of metal and a thud.

Tony’s head snaps around to see the Warmachine armor open. Out comes Rhodey, sweat across his brow. Considering he’d been two states away when Tony called, he’d pushed the armor to its limit. 

Rhodey gives a squeeze to Tony’s bicep, “Let’s do this.” 

“Weren’t you in a Committee meeting at the pentagon?” Tony asks, voice low as they navigate the halls of the police station.

“They have other experts.” It’s a quick dismissal. It’s also a blatant lie.

A folder appears in front of Tony, but it’s grabbed by the colonel, who flips it open and reveals a picture of a boy. A teenager. He’s got brown hair and brown eyes and he’s smiling like he’s content and happy. Like he’s loved. 

Tony’s hands clench into fists and he tears his eyes away from the picture, turning to stare at the FBI Agent. “Where is he?” 

“He’s in one of the interview rooms.” An overlay of the building appears in his field of vision and Tony starts heading towards the rooms. A hand grabs at his sleeve, but he yanks out of the light grip. No one is stopping him. “Wait! Mr. Stark. Peter doesn’t know-”

FRIDAY directs him to the only occupied room in the back. She’s probably violated several laws while accessing security feeds, but she’s just doing her job and helping Tony with every tool in her arsenal. Every door he encounters opens, electromagnetic locks failing just in time for him to push freely.

Room 3. 

He stops. Takes a deep breath. Removes his glasses because he wants to see the child without any barriers. And twists the handle.

He’s certain he looks manic. He feels it. The room has three occupants, but Tony’s laser focused on one. The boy. The pictures don’t do him justice. Don’t quite highlight the similarities that they share. It’s nothing compared to seeing him in person. Similar cheekbones. Brow structure. A hundred tests could tell Tony the kid isn’t his, but he’d never believe it. Not when he sees the resemblance, the evidence right in front of him. 

The kid is staring at Tony with the same intensity, though there’s a furrow between his eyes that speaks of confusion. Behind the teen is a woman who has her hand on his shoulder. Her jaw has dropped and shock is written all over her face. 

She knows. Of course she does. She’s old enough to have seen the headlines all those years ago. The manhunt was broadcast nationwide. Hell, even people overseas had seen Tony pleading for information. She’s apparently quick enough to put all the clues together.

“Holy shit,” she exclaims when she breaks free from the stunned state. “Thomas Stark.” Hearing the name sets Tony’ on edge. 

The kid releases a high pitched hum, “Uhhh, It’s Tony Stark, May.” 

The woman barks out a sound that’s reminiscent of a laugh, but not at all filled with humor. Or maybe it is funny. The kind of funny that’s dark and reeks of twisted irony. “Not him. You.” She huffs out a breath and rubs the bridge of her nose. “Christ. This is… crazy.”

“I’m sorry,” Tony doesn’t hide the snide tint in his tone, “Who are you?” 

The furrowed brow fades off the kid’s face and his stare turns sharp. Defensive on her behalf, the teen whips back, “She’s my aunt.” 

Tony wants to argue. Point out that it’d be impossible considering both him and Miranda had no siblings, but he resists the urge. 

“Mr. Stark.” The third person in the room, a man in a button up and slacks, steps forward to stand between Tony and the kid. Between Tony and his kid. A surge of annoyance and anger runs through him. “Peter-”

Huh. “Peter?” Tony says as his head whips back around towards the kid.

“Yes?”

The woman snorts. “Smartest kid I know and he’s acting like a dummy.” The insult comes out affectionately. “Kiddo, Tony Stark is your father.”

Realization settles over Peter and his entire body jerks like he’s been slapped. His feet move him back, but with the woman behind him he only makes it half a foot before he’s stopped. She sets both hands on him, one on each shoulder. If Tony didn’t know any better he’d say the kid is afraid . Terrified.

Tony follows, taking one large step towards him. Towards Thomas. Peter. 

“Oh. No. No, this isn’t right. There must be a mistake.” He hadn’t thought words could hurt like this. The denial is a punch to the gut. And Tony’s had enough of those to find it an apt comparison. 

“The mistake was thinking you were dead.” For never looking. For living his life without his son and putting everything about Thomas on a shelf where it gained dust and was forgotten. Frustration and sorrow well up in his chest and throat, threatening to spill out. He’s going to lose it. Probably go through another reboot. Or scream.

“Tony.” A familiar voice sounds at his back and Tony twists to see Rhodey. The sudden sight of his friend’s face helps beyond words. It’s support. Comfort and backup all in one. “You should have waited, Tones. They wanted to give you some information on… on Peter.”

“Oh my god. You’re Colonel Rhodes. You’re Warmachine.” 

“I am. It’s good to see you.” Pause. “Again.”

The kid blinks. Long and slow. At first, Tony thinks he’s just startled about seeing Rhodey, but after a moment there’s exhaustion showing on the kid’s face. He’s tired . Tony’s suddenly aware that it’s past one in the morning and Peter has been at the station long enough to have blood taken and tested.

Before he can mention it, the woman -May?- is tugging Peter back and using both hands to guide the teen to the sofa. Once he’s seated, she kneels down and takes one hand in hers while the other brushes back a few of those dark locks of hair. So familiar with him. Comforting the kid like a mother. Her voice is soft and quiet as she murmurs, “You alright, kiddo?”

Watching the exchange feels intrusive, yet it's impossible for Tony to take his eyes off the boy. 

His son. His son who looks scared and concerned and quietly asks, “Can we go home?” 

Home. A place that isn’t with Tony. Because Peter spent 15 years of his life with another family.  The ache in his chest returns full force. 

Quick taps come from the hall and Tony’s saved from another onslaught of emotions as he recognizes the sound. Heels hitting the floor. Pepper’s heels to be exact. Her voice reaches him a moment later, “-speak to the social worker. Send me a list of documentation you’ll need.” 

A man responds, “We won’t be able to finalize anything for at least two days. No judge will grant custody-” 

“Not a conversation for today,” she says, cutting off any other words the man has. “Just work on getting the paperwork started.” 

When Pepper Potts steps into the room, all eyes turn to her. She looks at Tony first. Then Rhodey. The detective comes next. And finally, May and Peter. She’s the most put together person in the room, back straight and not one hair out of place. In her hands are a tablet and some folders. She passes them to Rhodey and walks forward until she’s standing in front of Peter. 

She puts her hand out, “Hello, Mr. Parker. I’m Pepper Potts.”  He’s slow to respond, but after a moment of staring he reaches out and slips his palm against hers. When he’s done, Pepper turns to May and shakes her hand too. “Mrs. Parker.”  

After a moment, Pepper tucks her hands against her skirt just below the knees and kneels down, putting herself level with the Parkers. “I went through some options with our attorney on the way here.” Her tone is direct, but laced with understanding. “Legally, Thomas Stark is dead. Reversing that is going to take time. At this point, Tony has no right to custody. But, as he is now identified as a kidnapping victim, neither do you. The state wants to take Peter to a group home until a court comes to a decision.” 

Peter shakes his head, “No. No, I won’t go. May, tell them-”

“It’s alright,” May’s quick to soothe, one hand giving a light squeeze to Peter’s. “Let’s hear it out, okay?” 

“Another option is to come to a mutual decision that’s approved by the social worker.” Tony’s never been more grateful for Pepper than at this moment. She’s done all the research he was supposed to do. Made the plans on his behalf so that way he could be free to just take in the sight of his son. She’s allowing him a moment to breathe and working through the details because she’s just so damn good at it. 

It’s why she’s the CEO. It’s why he loves her. 

“You can go home, back to your apartment in Queens. It’s not ideal for Tony, considering he just found out that his child is alive and I think reassurance that he isn’t going anywhere would be helpful. But asking you to come to the property upstate isn’t fair either. So, it seems like neutral territory is the best solution for the next few days.”

“Neutral territory?”

“There’s a hotel a few blocks away. We rent some rooms there. You’ll have your own space, be close to home in case you need anything, and Tony and I will be down the hall. And we can take all the police interviews there as they work through the investigation.” It’s a good plan. Tony’s hopeful for it. If he can’t take the kid home then at least he’ll be there. Separated by just a few walls. 

His kid. It’s unthinkable. 

“How’s that sound, Peter?” 

“You didn’t do anything wrong. They can’t… they can’t just take-” The kid’s breath is loud, coming in quick gasps as his stress mounts. Tony’s been in that same spot. Has shoved his hands in the snow to ground himself in any way possible.

May Parker’s much better at bringing someone from the bring. Or at least Peter, anyway. She  puts her hands on his cheeks and turns his face towards hers. “Hey. Look at me. Family, right? We’re in this together. And you know I larb you. I larb you so much,” she stops and waves a hand towards Tony. “They’re working with us here. And Stark… think of what he’s going through. I couldn’t even imagine losing a child. Losing you and then getting a second chance. So, we’re going to listen to Miss Potts. We’re going to go to a nice hotel and get some sleep. Okay?” 

“Okay.”

Pepper stands and holds out her hand to May, waits patiently for the woman to take it so she can help guide her to her feet. She places a gentle hand on her arm and gives her a nod of gratitude.  “Thank you.” 

“Peter.” The name escapes, bubbles up and out of Tony’s mouth before he can stop it. A small, miniscule, part of him feels the desire to call the teen by his birth name, but another part realizes that it doesn’t matter. No one calls Tony by his birth name anymore. He hasn’t been Anthony in decades. A name is nothing compared to the simple fact of existence. Be anyone. So long as they can be .

He steps towards the kid. Peter’s standing now, but he doesn’t back away. He looks at Tony. Really looks at him with questions in his tired eyes. There’s no expectations. Not exactly. But it seems like the boy knows what Tony wants because Peter moves closer to him. He meets Tony half-way until they are both standing in the center of the room, face-to-face. His voice is small as he asks, “Mr. Stark?”

It’s another punch to the solar-plexus. God forbid the kid ever call him Sir . He’d get flashbacks to Howard and freak out. Despite his internal panic, Tony’s able to piece together a request. “You can call me Tony. Or ‘hey-you’. ‘Asshole’ if you’re feeling particularly rebellious. Pretty much anything but Mr. Stark.”

In the end, the kid doesn’t call him anything. Instead he just nods and turns back to his aunt and away from Tony…

Peter lays on the queen bed, eyes focused on the ceiling of the hotel room. In the neighboring bed is May, fast asleep. Once they left the precinct they were escorted back to the apartment by Miss Potts and Detective Holton. He packed a bag with some clothes, chargers, and his algebra book. 

The Spider-Man suit was left behind. No way in hell is he taking chances when he’s in close proximity to one of the smartest men in the world. One who’s a superhero as well. May would freak out if she learned of his extracurriculars. But Tony Stark… there’s no telling what he would do. 

Tony Stark. Genius. Billionaire. His father.

It’s insane. Absolutely crazy. He’s been a Parker his whole life. No one important, until six months ago when he’d been bitten by a radioactive spider and came down with a case of super strength and wall crawling. Even still, that identity is a separate part of himself. It lives outside the realm of Peter Parker.

The thoughts become too much and Peter rolls off the bed. The need to escape fills him, but there is nowhere to go. Well... nowhere far anyway. 

Peter grabs the keycard for the room and slips it into his pocket. He’s in pajamas, but changing would require digging through his bag and he doesn’t want to risk waking May when she’s finally sleeping. A second later and he slips out into the hall, carefully closing the door so it makes no more than a soft click. 

The hallway is well lit. At the end of the corridors are directional placards. Peter has no idea where he wants to go until his eyes land on the arrow that says ‘vending’. Two turns down the hall and he’s standing in front of the vending machines, staring at options. The choices are few, but at least they are his to make. 

He reaches into his pocket and scowls. Or not. He didn’t grab his wallet and the machine is so ancient that it doesn’t have a card reader.

A frustrated curse leaves him and he curls his hand into a fist, fingernails digging into his palm.

“Here.” Peter flinches, startled, and his wide eyes land on the man behind him. Tony Stark stands at the doorway, crisp dollar bills held in his outstretched hand. An offering. 

Peter just stares, unsure of what to do. What does one do when faced with their hero? When that hero is also the man who held him as a baby. A man who grieved a death that never happened.

Words pour forth, “I saw you once. At an Expo.” The hand holding the cash drops and Tony’s head cocks to the side. All his attention is on Peter. It’s almost disconcerting how intensely he watches him. As if he’s going to vanish. Considering the circumstances of Thomas’ presumed death, Peter can’t blame the man. “I was nine. You were flying the suit and there was…”  Gunfire. Drones. He’d been a boy and hadn’t understood the danger, but for every future Expo Ben took him to, they always seemed to miss the opening show. Which was just fine. He always liked the booths more anyway.

Peter watches as realization dawns on Tony’s face and suddenly he regrets bringing it up. He rushes on to add, “I built a robot for the next one. A little spinner battlebot.”

Though it takes a few moments, Tony loses a bit of that previous tension and shifts towards curiosity. He asks, “You place?” 

“Not even close.” The corner of Tony’s mouth pulls up and Peter feels a flutter at being able to make the man smile. If he can’t make him proud then he’ll at least make him happy, right? Isn’t that what sons are supposed to do? He never knew Richard and he failed Ben in a way. Was this fate allowing him a chance to prove himself? Of all the potential father figures he could have gained in life, he’d never anticipated anyone like Tony-freaking-Stark. 

For the first time since Tony arrived, the man looks away, breaking that intense stare that threatens to put Peter on edge. The man’s eyes close and he sighs. It sounds as tired as Peter feels. “I’ll be honest, Kid. I’m flying blind here. I don’t want to put this on you, but I gotta know what’s going on in your head.”

Oh. That’s all? Peter wouldn’t even know where to begin. His life has been a lie. Then again, so has Tony’s. What happened in his first year of life after the kidnapping? How had the Parkers come to adopt him? Questions and fears and the fracturing of reality. 

So he settles on, “I just wanted some doritos.” 

Tony accepts the answer with another light smile. Because he understands. He’s just as much in the deep end as Peter.

The man buys two bags and guides Peter out of the vending room until they eventually end up between their two rooms. Tony waves at the wall and leans against the opposing one before sliding down to sit on the floor. They sit across from one another, each munching on chips. 

Tony’s the first to break the silence, “Pepper said you packed textbooks?” 

“Just one. I have an algebra test soon.”

“And you attend Midtown, right? You like it there?” 

“Yeah. It’s challenging. Plus, the STEM programs are some of the best.”

“What’s your favorite subject?”

“Physics.” A satisfied hum leaves the man and Peter feels a flash of pride. He doesn’t expand on his love of that particular science because a large reason he’s so invested is due to his work as Spider-Man. He has to rely on more than just instincts at times. Swinging through New York requires quick calculations and an innate understanding of gravity. His one abrupt meeting with a wall left an impression that took several days to recover from.

He shoves some more chips into his mouth at the same time as he shoves those thoughts aside. “I like most of my classes, though.”

“Have you thought about college?”

Peter shakes his head. “Not a lot. I’ll have to get some scholarships. Can’t really afford MIT, you know.”

“Can’t relate.” Peter stills. Of course the man can’t relate. He’s Tony Stark. He’s probably never had to worry about money a day in his life. Peter, on the other hand, is a Parker. Ben and May saved all they could to afford Midtown, even with the scholarship assistance. He’s ignored his enhanced metabolism at times just so a grocery bill wouldn’t cause May any stress. When she worked extra hours to afford rent, he made sure to keep the apartment clean and did his best to have a meal ready for her. 

It wasn’t bad exactly. But the struggle occasionally made itself known. He and May survived together. 

And now…

“We won’t take your money.” He doesn’t know why he says it. A handout isn’t something to be ashamed about. May would scold him for thinking so. May, who served food in homeless shelters several times a year. May, who carried pamphlets for public assistance to give her patients should they need it. 

“Thomas Stark-” there’s a tremble in Tony’s voice that Peter wouldn’t have heard if he wasn’t enhanced, “-had a college fund before he was a week old.”

“Had?”

“It was repurposed for scholarships a long time ago.” Peter wonders how many children went to college from that fund? He asks as much. “Probably a thousand over the last decade. The interest on the trust is enough to cover most public universities. I honestly haven’t looked at those accounts in a while.” 

Peter wonders if it’s odd to feel gratitude that at least one good thing came from the tragedy.

“I’m just a freshman. College is a ways off.” He doesn’t think about it as often as some of his peers. Aside from the money issue -that no longer is an issue but will still be a thing - there is Spider-Man, who protects Queens. And he wants to stay close to May even after he graduates and moves out of the apartment. A flash of fear hits him as a new concern spawns. “You’re not going to make me move, are you?”

For a second, Tony doesn’t move, hand stopping halfway to his mouth with another chip. Another beat and he lets the limb drop, food forgotten as all his focus returns to Peter.  “I’m not going to make you move. Do I want you to live with me? Sure. But, I want a lot of things that aren’t possible. I want 15 years of birthdays back. Christmas mornings and fireworks in July. I want time that I lost.” Another one of those trembling waivers bleeds into Tony’s words, “At this point, I just want to be a part of your life. Whether that means I get a weekend once in a while or just dinner at you and your Aunt’s place then I’ll take it.” 

With Tony’s confession, the constricting weight on Peter lifts. He hadn’t realized how much the unknown had weighed on him until he was free of the pressure. Tony wasn’t going to take him away from May. He wasn’t going to force Peter into a new life. Or the mold of Thomas Stark. The idea of being the son of Tony Stark is less daunting now. Not when it means he just has to spend some time with Mr. Stark. Not when  the man is asking for so little. 

Peter nods, unsure of what to say or what promises he can make. After a bit, he settles on the truth. “I’d like that.”

Chapter Text

The bell rings and Peter jumps to his feet, backpack on his shoulder before most of the class has even stood. There’s a ten minute window between algebra II and chemistry where he can track down Ned and tell him everything. It’s only been a couple of days, but with all that’s happened it has felt like ages. 

He spots MJ first, scribbling in her notebook with a scowl on her face. Typical teenage angst radiates off her to the point where students give her a wide berth. A moment later he sees Ned beelining towards her. The group forms with ease, MJ putting away her book and Ned slinging an arm over their shoulders to draw the trio together.

“Sup, loser,” MJ says as she leans forward to see Peter on the other side of Ned. “Heard you were sick yesterday.” Peter has no idea where the rumor originated from since May had emailed about his absence and claimed it was for a family emergency. Then again, the rumor mill runs fast and loose at Midtown.

“Family stuff.”

Ned halts, surprise and concern flashing across his face, “Is your Aunt May okay?”

Peter nods, trying to find the best way to explain the situation. There’s several students around them and Peter knows that the second he says Tony’s name someone is going to start listening in. He ducks out from under Ned’s arm and snags his jacket sleeve, pulling him towards an empty computer lab. In turn, Ned grabs hold of MJ. The chain of teens ducks into the room and Peter quietly shuts the door behind them. 

“Okay,” Peter starts, hands up and folded together in a plea, “What I’m about to tell you can’t leave this room.”

“Dramatic much?” MJ says, brow raised and arms crossed. When he doesn’t immediately start, MJ gives an exaggerated sigh, “Well, get on with it.”

“I touched a knife and my fingerprints were checked by the cops and they came back as a match to a kid who went missing as a baby and the DNA test confirmed it.” The words rush out in a single breath.

“Missing baby?!” “A knife!?” “The cops?!” “DNA?!”

“ Shhh !” Peter waves his hands frantically in the air. The two are practically shouting, loud enough that Peter looks through the narrow window on the door to make sure no one outside heard them. “Can you keep it down?” He hisses out. 

“Sorry,” Ned whispers back while MJ rolls her eyes. 

“Start at the beginning,” she demands, “and don’t leave anything out.”

He leaves out the fact that he’d just finished patrol. Keeping Spider-Man a secret from not only his aunt but also his two friends seemed like the smartest move when he’d first started swinging. There was no reason to bring it up now, not when he was dropping this particular bomb. He does talk about Derek and the blood and his fear that the other kid wouldn’t make it. He tells them about the detective at Delmars and the FBI agents. 

The interruptions are few and far between. When he gets to the part about Mr. Stark showing up at the police station, Ned, predictably, lets out a high pitched squeal, “No way!”

“It was pretty weird. May mentioned the baby who died. Thomas? Well, didn’t really die, since I’m here.” He glosses over a few more details. How exhausted he was. The fear of the unknown. Those twenty minutes that he sat in the hotel hallway with Tony Stark and had the first real conversation with his father. 

He can’t help but be intimidated in his presence, yet Peter finds he’s too curious about the man to back down. 

Peter finishes long after the late bell has rung. The three of them are tardy, but with their grades they know they can afford the absence. “Yesterday we only saw each other for lunch. It was a little awkward since the social worker was there the entire time.” 

MJ asks, “What are you going to do?” 

Peter shrugs and shakes his head, “I don’t know. Miss Potts is with the lawyers. I guess they’re trying to work with the state to figure out custody.”

“Are you moving in with Ironman?!”

“No! What? I can’t leave May.”

“Is your aunt in trouble?” MJ, astute as she is, hones in on one of Peter’s biggest worries.

“They’re still investigating, but I don’t think so. Nothing came up when they looked into the court paperwork after my parents… after the Parkers died. Even Miss Potts said my birth certificate passed every fraud check.”

“Tony Stark is your dad,” Ned, master of the obvious, stares at Peter with wonder in his eyes. “Dude, that’s insane.”

“Yeah. I wanted you guys to know since I won’t be able to do after school stuff for a while. Mr. Stark is staying in the city and wants to do dinners with me and May.” 

“Ugh, you have a rich dad and now you’re ditching AcaDec. Lame.” Though her words are flippant, Peter can tell she’s understanding. Her usual glare has softened and she’s inched closer, as if to provide support. It’s a rare display of affection and Peter gives her a soft smile of gratitude.

They sneak back out of the computer lab, arriving late to their classes. Peter’s able to talk his way out of detention by claiming a stomach issue. Throughout the rest of the day he gets texts from Ned, question after question. 

‘Is your dad still doing Avenger stuff?’

‘Will you meet the Avengers?’

‘Do you think Mr. Stark will make you change schools?’

I don’t know. I don’t know. No.

He fields every question as best as he can until the last bell of the day. One more text to Ned and he tucks the phone away. ‘ Going radio silent for this afternoon. Will let you know if anything crazy happens. Anything else I mean.’

There is normality in taking the usual route home. He walks to the subway station. Rides it all the way to the edge of the Forest Hills neighborhood. A siren sounds when he’s a few blocks away from the apartment and he twists to face the direction it comes from.

He’s not carrying his suit, but the webshooters rest in the front pocket of his backpack. The urge to slip them on and start swinging is almost too much to resist. But he manages. Peter knows he’s impulsive sometimes. That he doesn’t think everything through.

But with this the ice is so thin that he can see clear to the bottom.

It’s a risk he can’t take. Not with all the eyes on him. Not when one set of those eyes is Tony Stark. So he clenches his jaw and turns away from the sirens. A firetruck. He can smell the smoke in the air. 

Queens has a great fire department. They’ll be fine. 

Someone screams and Peter stops dead in his tracks. A person slams into his back and lets out an annoyed, “Watch it, kid.” He ignores the New Yorker, his entire focus honing in on the rising ash almost a mile away. 

A beat later and he’s weaving through a mass of pedestrians while simultaneously digging through his backpack. The webshooters are slipped around his wrists, tucked under his long sleeve shirt in a single move. It’s a slight of hand that would be missed by anyone near-by, one he’s perfected over the past six months. 

He doesn’t have a suit, but he does have a hoodie. Peter ditches the backpack behind a dumpster and slips the hoodie over his shirt. He pulls the hood up to cover his ears and hopes it’ll be enough to hide his identity. 

The battle inside him wages. Reason telling him to stay out of it. That he’s risking far too much. But his heart demands he intervene. He let his Uncle die. He won’t let anyone else. 

Peter follows the screaming. Screaming that eventually shifts into hacking coughs. The smell of smoke thickens and when he rounds a corner he’s facing an inferno. It’s a brownstone apartment building, but doesn’t look like it contains too many units. 

Ten families at most. 

Peter doesn’t do a count of the people standing outside.

All he cares about is the one he knows is in the fire. There’s suited up firemen creating a perimeter around the building. Peter runs up to the closest one, “There’s someone inside!” He points to the top corner, voice breaking with how loud he has to shout over the roar of the fire and water.

“All the residents are accounted for!” The fireman yells back. 

“I’m telling you there is someone in there!” A shrewd glare is thrown his way, but the fireman pulls up his radio.

“Got a kid out here that  claims someone is inside.”

A response comes from across the radio, “ We’ve accounted for all the residents, plus two guests. It’s unsafe to send in another rescue team.” 

Unsafe for a non-enhanced human. Peter turns away, teeth clenching together as he races away from the crowd and towards a nearby alley. He makes sure no one is watching, tightens the drawstring so his hood won’t fall down, and begins the climb up. 

The hacking cough is all he has to follow and every moment that passes by the sound turns weaker.

He shouldn’t have wasted time arguing with the fireman. He should have just done his job . 

The heat on the roof of the apartment is all consuming. Peter’s lungs ache with it the moment he drops down into the stairwell. Walls are failing, wooden support beams crashing down where the worst of the fire lives. He opens a door to an apartment and there’s a sudden rush of flame into the space. 

In his stupid and ignorant inexperience, Peter realizes that he’s created a backdraft. The second that realization dawns, there is a loud explosion and he’s thrown to the ground by the concussive force of it. 

The coughing in the distance fades into heaving breaths. They’re dying. He doesn't need to hone in on their slowing heartbeat to know it. Even his own breaths are slow to come now that the oxygen in the room has been sapped. 

Suffocation. 

Peter pushes forward, gasping in air and smoke all at once. The heat turns his hands and face red. Still, he pushes forward. Past a bedroom. To a small bathroom on the far side of the apartment. 

He kicks open the door and instantly sees a woman in the bathtub. She’s under a soaked towel, breath coming in small gasps as smoke fills the room. There’s no way out of the bathroom except the way he came. 

Or maybe…

Peter launches a web towards the door and yanks it closed as soon as it connects. It halts some of the smoke from pouring in. He’s going to have to go through the barriers. Through the walls. His brain is screaming at him, every fiber of his being tugging him towards one of the walls. He listens to that sense and puts his fist through the brick. 

It’s weakened from the fire, which is probably why he’s able to burst through to the open air in just a handful of punches. Something cracks in his hand, pain lancing through his knuckles, but he keeps working at the hole, doing everything to get it wide enough for the woman to pass through. 

He gulps in lungfuls of fresh air before returning to the bathtub to grab the still form resting inside.

She’s covered in soot. Stained with it. He strains to hear her heart, but as he climbs out of the apartment, he picks up the faintest beat. Thump. Thump.

He carries her down and makes his way to a paramedic. The uniformed EMT stares at Peter, eyes wide as he takes in the way the kid holds the woman and the redness of his face and hands. 

“Help her.” Peter says, setting her as gently as he can on the ground. Then he’s running. There’s camera crews, too close and too many for him to stay any longer. He darts between buildings, picks up his backpack along the way, and finishes the walk home. 

Adrenaline keeps him moving, coursing through his veins and causing his heart to hammer in his chest. 

There’s no one at the apartment when he gets home, which he is beyond relieved about because it allows him a chance to toss out his clothes and shower. He sets the water to as cold as it’ll go, hissing as it hits his face and hands. The rest of him seems okay. Well… mostly. It’s hard to take in a deep breath and hard coughs hit him every few minutes. 

When the hands go from red to a light pink, Peter finally drags himself from the shower to stare at himself in the mirror. His eyebrows are singed. Just a touch on the corners. Most people wouldn’t notice, but he’s trying to find any detail that could cause someone to ask questions. 

The hand he’d used to punch his way out of the apartment is still bruised along the knuckles. When he flexes it into a fist he can feel the sting of fractures. They’ll be healed by morning so long as he doesn’t further aggravate the injury and makes sure to eat a hearty dinner. 

His healing, for the most part, is predictable. He broke his wrist once while trying to catch himself during a fall after his webbing snapped. It only took a couple of days to return to normal. A stabbing involving deep muscle had taken a little longer. Shallow cuts and bruises were almost always gone by the next morning. Peter finds himself amazed every time he can wake up and feel 100 percent in no time. 

He’s rubbing aloe on the burned skin when the front door opens and May calls out, “Peter?”

“Bathroom!” Peter calls back then goes through the mental checklist to make sure he hadn’t missed anything. 

The clothes were tossed and he sprayed some de-scenter to get rid of the smoke smell. Probably an unnecessary move since May tended to burn food at least once a week and that particular scent lingers. His web shooters are back in the crawlspace above his closet, right next to his suit. 

Satisfied, Peter finishes getting dressed and greets May as she flips through the mail. She glances his way, head cocked to the side, “You get dirty at school or something?” 

“Found a radio in the dumpster.” That was last week but he didn’t tell her about it then so Peter uses the excuse with ease. 

“Oh? Got a science project?” 

“Always. How was work?” As May talks, Peter lets thoughts of Spider-Man slide away. He’s invested in the present now, leaning in as May tells him of nameless patients and hilarious co-workers. Once more he feels normal.

‘They’ve been picked up. Heading to Manhattan.’ Tony reads the message, furrows fading as worry leaves him. He hadn’t heard from May, but they hadn’t established any sort of schedule yet when it came to Peter. Rough plans for dinner had been briefly discussed after the less than ideal lunch the day before, but no confirmations had ever taken place. 

He tucks the phone back into his pocket and heads towards the penthouse elevator. Pepper would be with the lawyers for another hour which meant he was navigating this encounter alone.

Tony thinks back to sitting in the hall with Peter.

There were no files in the world that would tell him as much about his son as he learned in that half hour. He learned his son was smart. Maybe not adept in engineering, but at least interested. The kid was kind and patient, never once rushing Tony. And he demonstrated that he was willing to work on a relationship. 

Peter showed up to the lunch and he’s showing up to dinner. Putting in an effort so he could meet Tony part of the way. 

There’s also the money . Tony doesn’t want to force the issue, but he’s been tempted to help. He saw the broken phone the kid carries and the way his clothes were a touch threadbare in places. As if the kid wasn’t going to replace them until they were in pieces. 

His kid. On a scholarship when he should be the one giving out the funding. He’d write a check in a heartbeat if he thought May wouldn’t be insulted. And she would be, he had no doubts about that. The Parkers weren’t overly proud, but they made their way in the world with their heads held high. Tony had no right to pull them up when they weren’t sinking. 

Or maybe he did? It’s his son. If he’d been the one to raise him then Peter would have wanted for nothing. Is it so terrible that he wants to make up for lost time? That he wants to alleviate that singular source of stress?

He’s still thinking about it when he arrives at the restaurant. Costa’s Cucina. Italian.

May and Peter arrive less than ten minutes later, escorted to one of the back tables that’s partially obscured by a wall. It’s private and Tony’s sat in the booth enough to know that it’ll be a quiet space for conversation. 

As always, his gaze lands on Peter first. The sight of the teen brings with it an ache in his chest. Tony tries to keep his perusal quick. Checks to see if he’s smiling. Checks to see if his expression is strained.

Peter does smile and Tony hopes it’s genuine. The kid gives him a small wave. “Mr-” A flush appears on the kid’s cheek as he quickly corrects, “ Tony. ”

Tony’s mouth lifts in a partial grin, “Well, I don’t get that often, but I’ll take it.”

May, however, is decidedly not pleased. She takes a seat opposite of Tony and hisses out, “Jesus, Tony. You could have warned us. This is not casual.”

He hadn’t thought about it, but once May mentions the dress code, Tony can’t help but cast a look around the room. Most of the men are in suits. The women in dresses. May’s in slacks and a more casual shirt and Peter’s in jeans and a sweater. 

Tony could have been in pajamas and there wasn’t a restaurant in the city that would turn him away. Still… It seems there’s a learning curve and Tony’s nothing if not studious. One special word will get him far with these two, so he says,  “Sorry.”

She continues to scowl a little as she picks up a menu. Peter follows suit, eyes scanning the page. The earlier smile drops and Tony’s breath catches in his throat. Peter lifts his head and meet’s Tony’s stare from across the table. “It’s in Italian.”

“Like father, like son. You’re both idiots,” May mutters. She sets her menu down with a sigh and points to Peter’s. “This dish. You’ll like it.”

Tony uses the special word again and both May and Peter slowly shift into better moods. It’s especially apparent once the food arrives. Perhaps her irritation was a combination of hunger and a full shift at work. Either way, Tony keeps that to himself and enjoys his own pasta. 

“How was school?” The question comes out tentatively. Uncertain. Tony’s still working out the boundaries of what information he’s entitled to, but school feels like a safe subject. “You had that test today?”

“Good,” Peter says between bites. “Nailed it.” He flicks his fork for emphasis and Tony’s eyes lock on the hand holding it. 

Concern lances through him. He’s reaching out as soon as he spots the purple, grabbing Peter’s wrist to bring the hand closer. A voice in Tony’s head screams, ‘ Boundaries!’ . It’s ignored in favor of getting a better look at the injury. Bruising across three knuckles. No broken skin, though. Tony’s punched enough bags, and people, to know that it can leave a similar mark. He tries his best to keep his voice light. “I’d hate to see the other guy.”

May leans over to look, frown tugging her mouth downwards, “Peter, you didn’t get into a fight, did you?”

“No! No fighting. I just… I fell at school. Hit a wall on the way down. That’s it. I’m fine.” The kid jerks his hand free and puts it in his lap, hiding it under the table. The concern in Tony’s chest shifts to include a trace of dismay. Tony isn’t sure what triggers his skepticism, but something about the explanation rings false. Maybe it’s the way Peter avoids meeting Tony’s eyes. Maybe it’s the way Peter stumbles over his words. 

Whatever the case, Tony knows he’s at a crossroads.

Push the kid for the truth and risk pushing him away. Or let it go and trust that the teen knows what he’s doing. Tony steels himself to do the latter and shoves down his curious nature as far as it’ll go. “I’ve got a small medical wing at the compound if you want to get it looked at. Just say the word, alright?”

“Yeah. Okay. It’s fine. Doesn’t even hurt.” Peter flexes his fingers as if to prove it. As close as Tony’s watching, he can’t see any flinching or signs of pain. At least this sounds like the truth.

Tony may have overstepped, but the teen is quick to demonstrate forgiveness. Peter digs back into his food and takes his own turn for questions. “What, uh, did you do today?”

The day had bled together all the way up until Happy had texted. Back to back meetings. With lawyers. With a judge. Police statements. Between all of that he was working on the accords and an upcoming launch for the Stark prosthetic division. He’d had to install FRIDAY in the penthouse and remove what remained of his outdated coding. He hated to think of JARVIS that way, but he didn’t have room for any more grief. 

Tony skips over the legal stuff and the investigation, instead telling Peter about the changes within Stark Industries. The kid keeps up with ease, even when the conversation slips into more scientific territory. 

“Are the cybernetic systems powered by miniature arc reactors?” The question isn’t new, but Tony’s still surprised that Peter’s asking it. The SI board has begged him time and time again to patent the device for monetization, but by patenting it he risks more men like Vanko rising from the Earth. 

“Most will be kinetic powered with a backup battery.”

“But they could be, right? Like your suit?” So far Peter hasn’t once mentioned Ironman. Tony’s been pleased about that. Of all the people who look up to him as a hero, he didn’t want that of his son. He wanted… he wanted him to look to him as a father. 

There’s a beat before Tony answers, “There’s not enough reactors in existence. They’re either too cost prohibitive or too volatile.” In the wrong hands anyway.

“Oh.” He doesn’t sound disappointed, which is a relief. Instead, Peter gives a nod of acceptance and goes back to his pasta. 

Silence descends, but it’s pleasant. May has a couple glasses of red wine, the only sign of her nerves. The end of the evening draws near and Tony clutches at anything to keep sitting at the table a little while longer. 

“What are you doing this weekend?”

May’s the first to answer. “I have a night shift on Saturday.” 

Peter follows. “Um. Homework mostly.”

Tony stares. “Homework? You’ve got straight A’s and you do homework on the weekend?”

“I have straight A’s because I do homework on the weekends.” 

“I remember highschool being a lot different,” Tony mutters under his breath. 

It must not have been low enough because Peter snarks back, “Maybe it’s because you’re old?”

For a second, Tony’s heart beats loud in his ears. There’s something to be said about the ease with which Peter counters. The kid had shown an effort of holding back before, but with the single remark Tony realizes he’s comfortable. Comfortable enough with Tony to throw shade his way. He can’t stop a grin from forming. Can’t stop the bit of joy that spreads in his chest. “Are you sassing me?”

From behind her wine glass May smiles and laughs, “I’ve seen your press conferences, Tony. Best not throw those stones when you’re a constant smartass.”

The bill comes and Tony’s handing over a credit card before an argument could be had. When they’re left alone once more, Tony asks, “So, this weekend, if you’re not too busy with homework , how would you feel about coming by the penthouse?” 

“Don’t you live at the Avengers compound?” 

“Most of the time, yeah. But I have property here in Manhattan.” He has property scattered all over the world, really, but this particular penthouse is one he’s lived in from time to time. He and Pepper had spent almost a year there after the Malibu house was destroyed and before construction of the tower was complete.

The kid shifts in his chair, glancing over at May in question. She just raises a brow, as if to say, ‘up to you.’ Finally, he gives Tony a nod. “Yeah. That sounds good.”

Tony exhales in relief just as the waiter returns. A bag is placed in the center of the table and Tony pushes it towards May. She tilts her head in confusion. “Tiramisu. Saw you salivating at the other table when they got some.” 

Her fingers clutch at the handle of the bag. “I’d be angry, but that would just taint the flavor.”

Together, they head outside. It’s chilly enough to where Tony’s glad he has his suit jacket. He helps May with her own, holding it up and open so she can slip her arms into the sleeves. Behind him is Peter, who has his arms wrapped around himself. The long-sleeve fights some of the cold, but it isn’t going to keep him warm for long. 

Tony ushers him into the car. When May goes to follow, he calls out, “You got a second?” 

He doesn’t know what he’s doing. That much is obvious. It’s not something where he can run before walks. He has to take it slow and steady and hope that Peter’s willing to join him on the journey.

Tony can’t risk this. So he has to go to the source. Has to talk to the woman who has raised Peter for most of his life.

“What does he like to do?”

She’s kind too. Tony knows that’s where Peter gets it. Her compassion is present as she reaches out a hand and pats him on the shoulder. “He likes what most teenagers like. Sleeping in late. Sugar and Pizza. New movies and Legos. He’ll talk your ear off about Star Wars.” She trails off, looking towards the closed door of the car where Peter sits on the other side. “He’s been quiet lately, though. Ever since Ben passed he’s had moments where he looks lost. When he gets like that, just let him know you’re there, okay? Remind him that the world doesn’t rest on his shoulders and it’s okay to stop and breathe.” 

Tony had read about Ben Parker’s death, though he hadn’t put into perspective how recent it was. May had lost her husband within the past year and Peter had lost his uncle. May, intuitive as she is, seems to catch on to Tony’s train of thought. “He loved Ben. But, Peter’s heart is big. He’s capable of loving more than one father.”

For the past four days Tony has been immensely grateful to be able to see his son. At this moment, he’s just as grateful for May…

Chapter Text

Tony’s slicing through a bell pepper when FRIDAY alerts, “ Boss, Miss Romanoff has entered the elevator. ”

The knife stills against the cutting board and his head snaps around towards the TV. “Get me the feed.” FRIDAY pulls it before he’s finished asking. 

Nat’s standing in the elevator, arms crossed and head cocked to the side as she glances at the small lens in the top corner of the lift. Her fingers poke out from the corner of her elbow and she gives Tony a little wave. 

“ You weren’t answering your phone. ” Her voice comes through the speakers. 

A light click sounds as FRIDAY patches him through. “Because I’m busy.” Tony glances at the clock, scowling at the time. Peter is supposed to arrive in the next ten minutes. He’d wanted to put off tossing the kid into the deep end of the Avengers drama, but it looks like their paths are about to cross. The second she catches a whiff of a secret, she’s going to start digging. It’s best that he gives her the news himself. Maybe if he makes it quick then she will leave.  

Tony sets down the knife and heads towards the elevator. It opens directly into the living room, allowing Nat to waltz right inside the penthouse. She gives the space a quick perusal, eyes glinting with approval. “Pepper missed her calling as an interior designer.”

“How do you know she didn’t pay someone to furnish the place?”

“Her touch has a more homey feel.” Nat doesn’t elaborate any further as she walks towards one of the couches, a gray Dresden that Pepper indeed selected, and takes a seat. “So, you missed the meeting, you didn’t answer my calls, and you’ve been in the city for several days. What’s going on?” 

“Would you believe me if I told you I’m having a mid-life-crisis?”

She doesn’t take the bait. “Tony,” her tone is soft. A deception, of course, but it does the job and sets Tony more at ease. “We’re worried about you.”

He inhales, braces himself for it, and looks up to the ceiling. “FRIDAY, give her the rundown.” 

The image on the TV changes from the elevator to a picture of Peter. Teenage Peter with wide brown eyes and those tousled locks of brown hair. Beneath his picture is his name. His birth name. FRIDAY reads off a portion of the police report. The DNA match. The fingerprints. There is a reference to the day that the remains of an infant were found in a shipping container. The FBI’s case file now shows that one victim is unidentified. 

The odds are high that they will never know who was mistaken for Thomas Stark.

When it’s over, Natasha has her hand over her mouth. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen her stunned before. After a few moments, she finally says, “When does he get here?”

“ Young Boss is currently with the concierge. ”

“Welp. Looks like this is happening,” Tony says with a huff. “Scrub the TV FRI. Put on the news or something.” 

A local station replaces all of Peter’s files, two news anchors detailing a local vigilante’s attempt at stopping a bank robbery. He gives it some attention for a handful of seconds, taking in the damage left behind from the criminal’s burglary. Maybe later he will look into the details. See what kind of weapons would be responsible for slicing buildings in half. For now, it’s a problem for the locals.

Tony sets the volume to low and heads back to the kitchen. Behind him Natasha calls out, “This Spider-Man seems to be popular.”

“No shop talk. I’ve got pizza toppings to prep.” 

Natasha takes a place at Tony’s side, grabbing another knife to start slicing mushrooms. Tony’s in rare form tonight. Nervous. It’s unusual to see him that way. Still, the man powers ahead, task focused as he quickly puts together bowls of veggies.

It’s a surprise that he hasn’t told her to leave. Especially when FRIDAY alerts them of the child’s impending approach. 

Thomas Stark.

Though Natasha hadn’t actively watched the manhunt all those years ago, Tony’s SHIELD file had included all pertinent information. It had been a topic that came with one warning. Do not discuss. Don’t even hint at it. So much as breathing the name would have been enough to pull her from the mission. 

And now… the teen is stepping out of the elevator, bag in one hand and backpack slung over his shoulder. He looks remarkably similar to Tony. Not only in his physical features, but also in the way he hesitantly moves forward, eyes darting around the room in caution. He’s just as nervous as his father.

At her side, Tony stills. She tilts her head to see him from her peripheral, taking in the smile on his face and the way his eyes crinkle. Genuine happiness. None of that put-on facade that he manages during team bonding events.

Tony’s invested. He respects this child. Natasha can see it in the way he steps around from behind the island and approaches the kid. He holds himself back from physical affection, but there’s a tensing in his shoulders that tells of how he wants to hug Peter. Tony Stark resisting what he wants is a powerful sign. A sign of personal growth and maybe even love.

Tony takes the bag from Peter’s hand. “Hey Kid.”

“Tony,” Peter greets back even though his surprised gaze is on Natasha. “Uh, I didn’t know there would be… Hi... Miss Black Widow. Ma’am.”

“Yeah, the spy just dropped by for some updates. Sort of unexpected.” Unexpected meaning uninvited. Nat can’t help but smirk at Tony’s quick glare.

“Hello Peter,” Nat says as the teen steps further into the penthouse, still hesitant and wary. After a moment, Tony leads him down one of the halls towards the bedrooms, presumably to set down his bags. Peter cast one final glance her way before following. His steps are slow. Strides uneven. Natasha would have missed it if she hadn’t been watching so intently. 

The kid is limping, using the flat of his foot for each step to prevent putting weight on the toes. From the way he’s moving, she’d guess that he has some kind of knee injury. Odd. She makes a mental note to mention it to Tony later. 

For now, she understands that she’s intruding on a delicate bonding experience. Natasha finishes up with the vegetable slicing and makes her way over to the elevator. From down the hall she hears Tony. “Figured you can decorate it how you want. I know it’s a bit… plain.” 

“Can I put up posters?” Excitement bleeds into Peter’s voice. 

“Yeah. Whatever you want, Kid.”

There’s more low conversation that follows, but Natasha stops listening in. She’ll leave Tony to his weekend with Peter and then resume bothering him on Monday. He may be a father again, but there’s work to be done. 

The room is massive. While Tony sets Peter’s bag down by the dresser, he takes in the different pieces of furniture. A queen bed with nightstands on each side. A dresser. A long desk with a window right above it. Despite all the stuff in the room, it doesn’t feel cluttered. Not with its overall size. If this is the guest room then Peter’s curious how big the master bedroom is. 

Tony mentions decorating and Peter realizes that the walls are mostly bare. There’s a mirror above the dresser, but that’s it. No photos or portraits. Once he has approval for posters, Peter’s already picturing a few spread out in the room. 

It surprises him how easy he accepts that the space is his.

He goes back into exploring mode, checking out the still closed door. Upon opening it, he sees that it’s a bathroom. Beyond it is a walk-in closet. Peter expects it to be empty, but when he steps in and triggers the auto-light, he’s met with a handful of clothes already hung up. It’s mostly t-shirts. Peter pushes apart some of the hangars and stares at one of the tees. The front of it reads, ‘May the mass times acceleration be with you’. 

It is a simple thing, the fact that Tony got him clothes that he could actually wear. His size and his style. They’re not even designer clothes. Nothing beyond what May could have bought him. They feel… appropriate. Not a gift or an attempt to buy him. 

Peter had been worried that he wouldn’t fit in with Tony’s world, but these options before him tell Peter that Tony’s aware of that. His father is trying to show he can make his world be one that Peter can live in. 

He’s smiling when he rejoins Tony in the hall outside his bedroom. “I like it. Thanks, Tony.” 

“Anything you need, just say the word.” 

When they return to the living room, Peter is surprised to see that Natasha is gone. Tony, however, doesn’t miss a beat as he sends a grin towards Peter, “Spies, am I right?” 

“Was she here for something important?” 

Tony shakes his head at the question. “Nothing that can’t wait a few days. Now, come on. You have to show me what you want on your pizza.” 

The time passes by with ease. They make four pizzas. Peter eats two by himself, feeling more sated than he has in a while. It’s not May’s fault that his metabolism has skyrocketed, but it is nice to know that he won’t cause Tony any undue financial stress by eating extra. The third pizza is split and the fourth is put away for a late night snack, according to Tony. 

They clean the kitchen together and Peter finds that it’s not that much different than an evening spent with May. Dinner. Cleanup. That awkward inbetween where they try to find something to do. May usually turns on some kind of reality TV. She’s partial to the show Survivor, which Peter’s watched enough of to understand the game. 

Tony is decidedly not a TV person. He suggests a movie that Peter’s familiar with, but hasn’t seen. Some kind of 90s action flick that takes place in space. Though Tony stays off his phone, he doesn’t seem entertained by the movie. As each scene passes, more implausible than the next, Peter can see a light twitch forming in Tony’s jaw. They’re about forty minutes in when Tony finally snaps, “I’m never taking movie recommendations from Rhodey again.” 

Peter can’t help but laugh, “You mean to tell me that NASA wouldn’t find an oil rig worker instead of training their astronauts how to drill? Say it isn’t so.”

“I feel personally offended.” Peter laughs even harder at the genuine outrage on Tony’s face. 

When he’s finally recovered from the fit, Peter sighs and says, “We don’t have to watch anything. I’ve got some homework-”

“You’re going to give me a complex, Kid. Homework?”

“It’s physics.” At that, Tony’s head cocks in interest. “You can help… if you want.”

“Yeah. Okay. Screw it. Guess we’re doing homework.”

Peter jumps off the couch and races to his room for the backpack. When he leans down to pick it up, he realizes that he didn’t feel any pain. He pulls up the leg of his pants to see his knee is no longer covered in purple. Just a light yellow now. He’d underestimated how important nutrition was to his healing. 

He puts those thoughts away as he rejoins Tony. Spiderman isn’t on the schedule for the weekend. At least not until he knows this new environment better. 

The living room lights have been dimmed. Not so much that he’d have to strain to read, but enough to clearly see the blue lights floating in the center of the room. A square device rests on the coffee table, projecting schematics of the ironman suit above it. 

“So, what are you studying?”

“Thermodynamics. Chapter 15.” Peter hands over his textbook. Within moments, Tony’s flipped to the unit and has begun tapping on his phone. The projected image changes from schematics to the Maxwell Model of phase transitions. He’s filled with awe at the floating holograms. “Cool.”

Tony’s too busy reading through the textbook to do much more than nod. He occasionally taps in more data for the hologram. Hess’ law. Entropy. Peter pulls out a spiral journal from his backpack and starts jotting down notes. 

The evening activity turns out to be far more enjoyable than a movie. Peter works through calculations on his assignment and Tony builds physical representations of the theories. The fact that Tony Stark is a genius is not new information, but seeing it in action is amazing. Peter’s mind scrambles to keep up.

There are only a couple of errors in Peter’s formulas as the night goes on, but Tony spots them almost immediately, pointing out how the mistake has occurred. His voice isn’t sharp. He doesn't sound disappointed. It’s nice to have someone who understands the mathematics of it all. May, wonderful as she is, would not have been able to guide Peter through advanced physics. 

Before either of them know it, it’s closing in on midnight and Peter’s yawning while trying to write out a formula using the Boltzmann constant.

He blinks and someone’s shaking his shoulder. “Peter? Peter, Pepper would kill me if I let you sleep on the floor instead of the mattress she picked out. Come on, kiddo.” There’s a tug under his arms and Tony’s helping him to his feet. His head feels stuffed with cotton and he’s maneuvered to lean against a warm wall. 

No. Not a wall. 

He’s leaned up against Tony.

For a moment he can’t even hear the man breathe, then two arms band around him, hugging him tight. Peter’s face is pressed against Tony’s shoulder and the man puts his cheek against the top of Peter’s head. A broken sigh escapes the man, brushing up against Peter’s hair.

Ben used to hold him like this. When Peter had a hard day at school or Ben had a rough day at work. When they needed a reminder that they had a family who loved them. Perhaps it’s because Peter’s in that vulnerable state between sleep and wakefulness that he’s hit with an intense burst of melancholy. His fingers come up and clutch at the sides of Tony’s shirt, grounding him to reality as he fights the urge to cry. 

The sleepiness fades, along with that brief yet mounting sorrow. Tony’s hold loosens and though the hug had been long it didn’t become uncomfortable. It was… it was perfect.

They part and Peter goes to pick up his books and schoolwork. Tony waves him off, “It’ll be fine. Let’s get you to bed.”

Tony doesn’t tuck him in, but he does wait until Peter’s crawled into bed, holding sentry at the door as long as it takes for Peter’s head to hit the pillow. The man whispers into the room, “Goodnight, Kid,” and turns off the light. 

Peter’s back asleep before Tony finishes shutting the door.

Peter stares down at the phone in his hand, flipping through the contacts. There are a few new names that have been added. Miss Potts. Mr. Rhodes. Happy. Tony. The device gleams, sparkling in its newness. He’s almost afraid to hold it, worried that he’ll get startled and accidentally crush the thing.

“You don’t have to take it, but it would make me feel better to do this for you. Consider it back-pay on child support.” Tony’s request had been a fair one. They had spent a portion of their Saturday setting up the new phone. Tony shared his location with Peter, but never asked for the same. Which Peter can’t help but be relieved about. It would be hard to explain how he travels so much through the borough. Or why he’s out and about at one in the morning. 

“Woah. Is that the new release?” Ned leans over Peter’s shoulder, mouth open wide as he takes in Peter’s new tech. “Did Mr. Stark get it for you?” 

“Yeah. The other one wasn’t in great shape.” Newton’s first law had quite an impact on his last phone’s screen. A small smile tugs at Peter’s mouth as he recalls going over the laws of physics and thermodynamics with Tony.

Ned spots the smile as he sits with a food tray across from Peter. “You have a good time at your dad’s?”

“News flash, Leeds. Penis doesn’t have a dad.” Flash’s voice carries from two tables over.

A new voice jumps in. “You have nothing better to do than eavesdrop?” MJ, expression a perfect mix between bored and judgmental, waltzes between the tables, passing Flash to get to Peter and Ned. 

Flash sneers, “Kind of hard to ignore when loudmouth over there won’t shut up.” 

Ned’s mouth pinches closed, cheeks flushing in irritation. Peter leans forward a touch, knowing what’s about to happen. Ned can’t help himself. His need to defend his friends is always greater than the need to consider the domino of blurting out information that no one has a right to know. It’s one reason that Peter finds him such a great friend. It’s also the cause of insane levels of frustration. 

“He does have a dad! The FBI found him last week.” The neighboring tables go quiet, heads turning to stare in Peter and Ned’s direction. 

“Ohmygod, Ned,” Peter hisses out, trying to keep his voice down despite his rising panic, “Stop. It’s not public yet.” 

Flash snorts in disbelief, “Making up stories now, Penis? The Feds? Biggest load of crap I’ve heard all day.”

“I doubt that,” MJ argues with her usual bored drawl. “I heard Liz tell you this morning that she likes your smile.” 

Peter lets MJ intervene, unbothered to correct Flash himself. The teen’s been an annoyance for as long as Peter’s known him, but he’s harmless. And Peter was raised to not sink to a bully’s level. Ned, taking Peter’s request to stop seriously, has turned back to his food. The way he shoves his fork into his mashed potatoes tells Peter how frustrated he still is, though.

“It’s fine,” Peter says, doing his best to set Ned more at ease. “We know the truth.”

“Yeah, forget that loser.” With MJ’s words, Ned finally relaxes a touch. His anger is bright, but it burns out fast. Peter does his best to distract him by telling him about his weekend with Tony. By the time lunch is over, Ned is no longer scowling or sending death glares towards Flash.

The rest of the day passes without any more incidents. A couple of students who overheard Ned during lunch ask Peter about it, but he just shrugs them off and mumbles something along the lines of, ‘Can’t talk about it yet.’ 

Which is kind of true. All the investigations are still on-going and the lawyers are in the middle of compiling an agreement between Tony and May. It won’t be put in front of a judge until there is a finalized recommendation from the state though. There’s other factors in play, but Pepper is managing it. From what May has told Peter, she’s a godsend when it comes to navigating delicate situations. The exact reason for that praise is still unknown to Peter. He just assumes that there is constant communication with May…

“Come with me and together we will build the perfect weapon.” Out of the corner of his eye, Peter spots a Lego Vader. Ned wiggles it and hands it over for Peter to inspect.

“No way,” Peter says appreciatively as he bends the arm of the Lego Vader. It’s one of the specialty models with silver lines across the armor. “New kit?” 

“Death Star.”

Excitement bubbles up in Peter’s chest, but it’s quickly squashed. He needs to patrol. He hasn’t been out as Spider-Man since the day he found Derek in the alley. With Tony busy working on the accords and attending a meeting in DC, there was a rare opportunity for Peter to get out of the apartment. No dinner meant that May would be on a late-night shift. He could easily get a few hours in after school to try and follow up on those weird weapons the bank robbers used. 

Spider-Man is far too important to Queens to neglect in favor of Legos. But it isn’t just Legos, his mind argues. It’s also Ned. If he continues to sacrifice his time with friends in favor of Spider-Man, then he could lose those friendships altogether. 

Ned would understand if he knew, but it wasn’t a risk Peter was willing to take. Ned could barely refrain from telling the school about Tony. Throwing Spider-Man into the mix would push the teen’s self control to its breaking point. 

After a moment, Peter asks, “Can you come by later? Like 9? You can stay over and we’ll walk together in the morning.” There. Balance. 

Ned gives a quick nod. “I’ll let my mom know! See you at your place.” 

When school’s out, Peter launches himself through the doors and finds an abandoned alley within minutes. The webshooters go on his wrist, the makeshift suit is slipped on over his clothes, and his backpack finds a temporary home webbed up high under a fire escape landing. 

Once he’s airborne, all thoughts of his life fade into the background. Adrenaline courses through him, his body moving with instinctual twists and turns as he navigates between skyscrapers. He hears a car alarm and stops a thief. The snip of a bolt-cutter and he returns a bike. A tourist snaps a picture of him as he cartwheels on a roof’s ledge. He wants to do more but there is a satisfaction that comes along with an old lady thanking him for directions and a smile given in gratitude. 

He’s been on patrol for a couple of hours when he sees purple smoke billowing in the distance. The color of it reminds him of the weapon used by the bank robbers. A sort of neon otherworldly glow that’s unnerving and unnatural. Not of this World. 

One flick of his wrist and he starts the journey towards it.

“We found him.” Steve announces as he drops a photograph in front of Tony. It lands on the coffee table and his eyes are immediately drawn to the man pictured there. Bucky Barnes. Cap’s been searching for over a year now, with no luck. Tony wonders if the Winter Soldier hit the point where he wanted to be found. It seems the only reason they were finally able to spot him. 

“Where is he?”

“Romania.” A beat of silence passes between them before Steve states, “Sam and Nat want to go with me.”

Tony cocks a brow and leans back against the couch. Steve’s already prepared to go, a bag slung over his shoulder. Tony doesn’t hide the fact that he disapproves. “The Accords are still in progress. If you want to have any authority there then they need to give it the go-ahead. Plus, I need Nat for the Vienna summit.”

“I’m not looking for permission.”

“You want to go into Romania, three Avengers, and try to take the Winter Soldier down? Did you think about what can go wrong there? Who will get caught in your crossfire?”

“We will be careful.”

“Oh? Like you were in Lagos?” The barb must hit hard because Steve sucks in a quick breath. 

“You and I both know that was an accident, Tony.”

“It’s always an accident. And when we have accidents, people die. That’s why accountability is important. That’s why This-” Tony taps the stack of documents on the table, “-is important.”

Steve shuffles on his feet and gives a sigh before dropping the bag off his shoulder. He digs through it and pulls out a familiar packet. The entirety of the Accords. He hands it over to Tony. There’s scrawls in the margins and red marks through various paragraphs. The notes range from specific to general. Commentary of execution of duties and concerns about extenuating circumstances. 

“I want your support on this,” Steve finally says. “If you get them amended and we all agree after this mission, then I’ll sign.” 

The concessions that Steve asks for are fair… for the most part. There are a few that Tony knows will never be approved by Ross. Tony’s prepared to tell the general to ‘screw himself’ if it means he can get all the Avengers on board. This is bigger than one man’s ego.

“I’ll call the council. Let them know you’re inbound. But… you cannot have an incident. If you do then we risk losing our hold on the wheel. ” As it is, the car is on a track being built by others. Steve slings the bag back over his shoulder and nods in agreement. Before he makes it out the door, Tony calls after him, “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

When he’s left alone once more and finished reviewing Steve’s notes, Tony finds himself reaching for his phone. The lock screen is a picture of May and Peter, taken shortly after he dropped the kid off on Sunday. He stares down at it and sighs. 

He’s had to cancel dinners this week. There’s a trip to Vienna where several countries are coming together to discuss the proposed legislation. He has to be there… has to be the face of the Avengers. Steve might be their tactical leader, but Tony’s been the de-facto glue that holds the team together. And he’s also the most networked.

The picture of Peter looks back at him, a smile on the kid’s face. 

Tony wants to take everything about the accords and shove it into a hole and bury it. There’s so much time lost already and even how he’s missing out. He swears under his breath and puts the phone back into his pocket. 

The Accords can sit tabled for a little while. Tony heads down to the lab, shrugging off his jacket and vest along the way. He’s eager to sink his fingers into metal. Eager to let his mind get lost in equations and code. 

“FRI, pull up Project Spider Mark One.” A holographic image of a red and blue suit appeared in the center of the lab, rotating to show the front spider stretched across the chest. 

The vigilante came back on Tony’s radar due to a recent explosion right outside of Queens. Tony became acquainted with the borough considering his son lives in the center of it. Attached to the project file are news reports and the occasional youtube video. FRIDAY has run a few algorithms to determine the vigilante’s identity, but so far he’s still above four hundred possibilities. 

Every new article and spotting cuts that number down, though. It’s just a matter of time before Tony can get his hand on the man. Bring him into the fold so long as he’s willing to sign. New blood can be a good thing. There’s other vigilantes there, of course, but this one has a clean track record. No one has been put in intensive care. No signs that he’s out to hurt anyone.

Tony pushes at the hologram, shifting the image to the material blueprint. He’s already calculating the fiber strength needed to withstand swinging. A brief recollection of sitting with Peter comes to mind, a memory of flipping through the physics textbook. Maybe he could draw him in on the project. Put the kid’s mind to use.  Once Tony’s finished with the Accords and it’s been a couple of weeks, he can bring Peter to the compound. Show him around and introduce him to the bots and FRIDAY’s full database. The kid would love it. 

The idea of working in the lab with Peter has his chest filling with tentative excitement.

He can’t wait.

Chapter Text

Peter twists in front of the mirror, head turned to look over his shoulder at the length of his back. From the top of his left shoulder to his hip is a mass of purple, pink, and red. Blood and clear fluid has seeped across the expanse of skin, making it hard to see where the worst of the damage is. The entire wound stings as he runs a rag across it. He cries out against the cloth between his teeth, not even attempting to stop tears from leaking out the corner of his eyes.

Road rash.

It’s one of the more painful injuries he’s sustained. Not just because of the sheer size, but also because he’s spent the entire evening trying to remove debris that is keeping it from healing. The edges of the wound are pink and itchy, the early stages of repair. Peter grits his teeth and reaches for the center with the wet rag, dragging it down in the direction the injury travels. Gravel works its way out and drops to the bathroom floor.

To add insult to injury, his left webshooter is gone, laying in pieces along the road he was dragged across. He had deflected a hit from one of the energy pulse weapons and it’d caused a series of malfunctions in the device. One such malfunction led to him being attached to a van and being forced to follow along. Flat. On the ground. Just thinking about the whole ordeal makes him more determined to get to the bottom of these alien weapons deals. 

Peter hums from beneath his makeshift gag as he stops rubbing against the wound and begins to apply a handful of antibacterial lotion across his damaged skin. It’s a soothing cold and a few more tears escape at the damn-near pleasant contrast. 

There’s not enough gauze in the apartment to cover it so Peter tapes around the worst of the gash and slips on a brown long sleeve shirt. Thankfully, the damage to his cheek had already healed so at least May won’t be asking any questions. 

He sits at his computer, an ancient machine that’s barely able to stay connected to the wifi, and starts searching through news articles. It’s what the heroes always do first in the movies. They encounter the bad stuff in person, then do follow up research and eventually bring down the entire operation. 

There’s not many reports on strange weapons, but there are three different articles that cover unexpected and strange explosions around the city. Billows of purple clouds were photographed on the outskirts of the bronx. Another report mentioned several buildings leveled in Staten Island. Everything points to it being a local operation. Peter pulls out a notebook and starts writing down the locations and dates. 

Peter stops when one of the articles mentioned that there were bodies found at two of the sites. 

The thought of people ending up dead echoes in his head. His back will heal. Within days. Every injury he gets fades to nothing and leaves no scar behind. But these people… they’re gone forever. 

What is the right thing to do? Should he push and push until he gets to the bottom of it? Even he has a limit to what he can take. A bullet to the head or heart. Ben. How long can he hope to rely on that sixth sense? Roll the dice on odds he doesn’t even know?

Someone has to stop them. But does it have to be Peter? There’s other vigilantes in New York. Ones that have taken on bigger bads than Peter ever has. 

He starts typing again, searching for anything he can find on Daredevil. Articles suggest the man works in Hell’s Kitchen. Peter stays away from there, stays away from most of Manhattan really. Crossing the river has never really been a part of Spider-Man’s mission. 

But… maybe he should. 

You’ve got another resource. It’s a whisper in the back of his mind, but it’s loud enough to drown out everything else. 

Tony. He could tell Tony. Peter pulls out his phone and is scrolling through his messages a moment later. ‘Let me know if you need anything.’ It’s the only text he’s gotten from Tony and Peter wonders if it’s fate because he does need something.

He puts the phone away and sighs. He’ll have to fix his webshooters before doing anything. That alone will take a couple of days for part sourcing. The project will give him time to think of his options. Daredevil or Ironman? A man not known for his restraint and a man who has the power to control Peter’s life… to some extent anyway.

Peter sighs again and shuts his computer. The problems will keep til tomorrow…

“Something’s up with Peter.” MJ announces as she falls into step with Ned. For months she has been watching her friend slowly drift away from the people who love him most. He sees Ned less after school. He dropped out of band and left his position on the robotics club. Even his attendance for academic decathlon dropped.

And… he limps sometimes. He covers bruises with long sleeves and moves slower than he should on occasion. Normally, MJ would attribute the way he’s acting with abuse. But she knows May. So does Ned. Neither of them would even consider the woman capable of hurting Peter that way. There’s also been no mention of a girlfriend… or boyfriend.

“Well, he did just find out that he’s… you know.” Ned trails off, eyeing the other students that pass by. He’s gotten better at not mentioning Tony by name. 

MJ shakes her head. “Whatever is going on with him, it started months before that.” Not immediately after his uncle died, but enough to where there might be a correlation. She’s considered it a great deal over the past few weeks. 

“Maybe we should talk to him?” She’d tried that route. One day she ambushed Peter right after school and demanded to know what was wrong with him. He’d become so defensive that he’d tried gaslighting her. MJ swore more at him in that moment than she had in all the years she’d known him. 

Since then, she refrained from the direct approach. Now, she just watches. Until today. During lunch, Ned had looped his arm over Peter’s shoulder and for a moment his entire body went tense and he jerked away like he’d been burned. He’d smoothed it over with Ned, making up some story about how he was startled, but MJ knew it was a lie. 

The tipping point has come. 

She asks Ned, “What are you doing after school?”

“I’ve got an English pap-”

MJ cuts him off, “I’ll help you with that if you help me with this.”

“Help you with what?”

“We’re going to see what Peter’s doing after school.”

 The next few hours of school drag by. MJ finds herself staring at the clock more than usual and her pencil taps loud enough against her notebook to draw glares from the students around her. She glares back but puts the pencil aside anyway. 

When the final bell comes, she finds that she’s more anxious than usual. Her friends are the only family she really has. Her support group. The idea of losing Peter to the unknown hurts . MJ refuses to let that happen. 

Ned’s waiting for her out front, pointing south. Apparently that’s where Peter headed. She lets her eyes drift that direction and spots the mop of brown hair in the distance. He’s wearing a brown sweater today, a polo collar peeking out from beneath it. It’s not the easiest color to track, but they do their best. 

Peter’s moving fast. Occasionally switching to a light jog as he navigates the streets of New York. MJ drags Ned along. He’s huffing out heavy breaths, but he doesn’t complain. About a hundred feet ahead of them, Peter darts in between two tall buildings and they lose sight of him. 

MJ knows what she’s going to find the moment she turns the corner. 

Nothing. 

Which is crazy.

She looks at the tall brick wall in front of her and the two tall buildings at her sides. Unless Peter picked up parkour as a hobby there’s no way he could have gotten over that wall. There are fire ladders from the second floors of the buildings, but both are retracted and are at least twelve feet off the ground. She’s seen Peter in gym class. His vertical is two feet at most….

“Where did he go?” Ned’s surprise is present in his voice.

“I guess we’re going to phase two.”

“Phase two?”

“A stakeout.”

They end up perched on a roof that overlooks Peter’s apartment. There’s a direct view into the living room window, but only because they’re looking downward into the slits of the blinds. Peter’s room is also visible, though they can only see one corner of the room. For the past two hours there hasn’t been anyone in the apartment. 

May must still be at work.

But where is Peter?

“Do you think he got a job?” Ned eventually asks.

“I don’t know. If he did, they aren’t treating him right,” MJ finishes with a scowl. 

The night turns cold. MJ works on a laptop, typing away to help Ned finish his English paper. They alternate watching the apartment until it’s late enough to where Ned has to lie about sleeping over at Peter’s and MJ is reminded that she has no one she needs to give an excuse to.

When May gets home from work, it’s almost two in the morning. From what MJ and Ned can see, the woman opens the front door as quietly as she can in a bid not to wake Peter. 

Except Peter still isn’t home.

They call it a night only thirty minutes later. MJ and Ned head to her house. The door’s unlocked and her dad is passed out in the recliner in front of the TV. She tries not to feel shame as they pass by his empty beer bottles in the hall. No. She refuses to feel it. Not with Ned, who places a hand on her shoulder and follows her into the bedroom. He’s her friend and he won’t judge her. Not for the sins of her father.

When the morning comes, they wake up far too early. Running on just a few hours of sleep. Ned goes home to shower and change and MJ goes straight to school. 

“We could track his phone,” Ned suggests during their shared second period class.

“Yeah, and how can we do that?” 

“Leave it to me.”

The mission starts again after school, except this time they don’t have to chase after Peter. They watch the dot on Ned’s phone from their perch across the apartment. 

“How did you do it? I thought Starktek wasn't hackable.”

“I’ve known Peter since we were in pre-k. His password was easy to figure out. I logged into his phone while he was showering after gym and just shared his location.”

Peter doesn’t come right home after school. His location pings at a pawn shop first. Or just near it. They write down the address and wait. After ten minutes or so he’s on the move again. The dot traverses the map so fast that MJ asks, “Does Peter have a bike?”

Ned shakes his head.

MJ continues to map out Peter’s path and she’s faced with the same impossibility that she was faced with in the alley the day before. Peter travels almost ten miles in the same amount of minutes. From the path he takes, there is no corresponding public transportation. And a cab…. A cab wouldn’t even move that fast across the city.

How is he moving so quickly?

How does he scale an impassable wall?

How does he seem injured one day and fine the next?

MJ snaps the computer shut and stares at her friend. “Ned. I think Peter is a mutant.”

“No! He would have told me.”

“What if he isn’t telling anyone? Because of the laws being passed. There’s the new accords thing. His own dad was on the news about it!” 

“The Accords are supposed to be for the Avengers.”

“Avengers and enhanced individuals.” MJ opens the computer back up and points to the map. Markings span all across Queens. Miles of travel in a fraction of the time it would take a normal person. “This… this is fast, Ned.” She writes down the distance. Writes down the time. Then she does the math. It’s not her best subject, but she’s not in a STEM school due to her looks. “He’s traveled a mile in less than two minutes. 

“Maybe a car?”

“He went across the East River. It’s rush hour.” They both look at Ned’s phone, watching the dot move across the screen. She can see when Ned finally accepts it, his shoulders dropping in a type of defeat. No, that’s not quite right. It’s sadness . And MJ feels it too. Peter’s hiding whatever this is. Doing it alone. Either it means he doesn’t trust them enough or he thinks it's too dangerous. Both reasons aren’t fair to Ned or MJ. 

“So what do we do?”

“We keep digging until we get the truth.”

Tony’s ears ring as he blinks away spots in his vision. Dust hovers in the air, clinging to everything, including his lungs. He coughs, chest aching and fist covering his mouth as he looks around the destroyed room. The entire wall of windows are gone along with the podium and the King of Wakanda. Tony lets out a small groan as he turns to try and get a view of the other attendees of the Vienna Summit.

From behind someone grips his suit vest and tugs at his shoulder, pulling him to his feet. They’re shouting, but the words blend together, “Tony! Tonywehavetoevacuate.” Natasha’s face comes into view, breaking his focus from the chaos around them. Then her hands come next, placed on his cheeks. She yanks his face close and stares at his eyes, bare without his glasses. It would be more intimate if she wasn’t scowling so hard. “You’re concussed.”

“I could have-” Tony winces as his own words echo loudly in his head. “-told you that.” His head is pounding and the vertigo that washes over him as he takes a step almost brings him down again.

Drops of water land on his head, the only warning of the downpour to come. The fire suppression system activates and soon he’s drenched. Natasha’s trying to drag him towards the exit, but Tony resists, pulling out his phone and shouting, “FRIDAY, get me Mark 46 and a legionnaire!” The legionnaire can help with rescue and Mark 46 will come in handy should he need to bring out the big guns. 

“ On the way, Boss. ”

“You said you didn’t have the suit,” Natasha says, yanking at him once more to get him moving. He shrugs her off, turning back to where he had been unconscious moments before. Where are his glasses?

“It’s on my plane.” A four minute flight if FRIDAY pushes it. Tony drops to his knees when he spots a glinting object half buried by a dropped ceiling tile. The frames are bent, but the screens on the lenses still work. Tony slips them on and turns to Nat. “What happened?”

A bombing. He knows that much. From what he can see of the destruction he can also tell that it came from below rather than above. Natasha confirms the theory. A few messages flicker onto the glasses, but Tony forces them aside with a gesture. FRIDAY will respond on his behalf if needed. 

As his vertigo fades, Tony starts searching for people. Natasha, finally understanding that Tony has no intention of evacuating, assists in the effort. They push aside debris, helping other people to their feet. Some are dead. Maybe five or six. Several more are injured.

The legionnaire arrives and it does the heavier lifting. It moves some large I-beams to create structural support. Fire and EMS arrive.

Now that first responders have arrived, Tony follows Natasha outside. While she heads over to the on site police, Tony takes a moment to breathe.. His lungs fill, grateful for fresh air. Not too far from what remains of the front entrance, his suit arrives. The eyes shine as it enters sentry mode, waiting for Tony’s next command. Its presence causes an immediate rush of relief. At least now he won’t be unprotected should another attack occur. 

“Tony, we’ve got a problem,” Natasha says as she returns to Tony’s side. She holds out a photograph.

Tony swears as he looks over the image before tapping his glasses. “FRIDAY, get me Cap. Push it through if you have to.” The line rings six times before FRIDAY does exactly as he asks and activates the call from Steve’s phone.

“ We’re in the middle of something here, Tony. ”

“Your buddy just bombed the Vienna Summit.”

“ That’s not possible. ”

“Maybe you’re putting too much faith in-”

“ No, Tony. It’s not possible because I’m looking at Bucky right now. In Romania.”

Tony grabs the photograph and holds it up so FRIDAY can scan the image. It takes less than a microsecond for FRIDAY to determine that it isn’t fake footage. Either there are two Bucky Barnes’ running around or someone is pretending to be the Winter Soldier. “Put me on video. Show me.” 

Steve exhales, long and loud on the other end, but acquiesces to Tony’s demand. When the video finally starts he sees Cap first, dressed in civilian clothes and looking more ragged than usual. Probably because he’s been chasing a ghost for the past week. The camera is quickly switched around and Tony’s looking through a narrow window.

Sure enough, he can see the side profile of Barnes in the distance. Sitting at a table and reading a newspaper. There’s a red baseball cap on his head, but enough of his face is showing to verify it’s him. 

“Screenshot it. Timestamp and location.” FRIDAY complies. To Steve he says, “Why haven’t you brought him in yet?”

“ Sam just located him last night. We don’t want to move too fast and risk spooking him. ”

“He’s not going to be easy to convince,” Natasha warns. 

“We don’t have time to convince him,” Tony returns, fingers rubbing at the bridge of his nose as he fights back the steady headache. “He’s being framed for a crime that could start a war.”

“Or end the Accords.”

“ Shit ,” Tony swears as he thinks through his options. His brain can’t help but prompt, If you want something done right you have to do it yourself. He turns to Natasha, “Let’s get approval to operate in Bucharest. Neighboring cities too. Vision wouldn’t be able to get here for hours, even at top speed.”

“It’s just the four of us then?” Natasha’s voice is steady, but he can sense the underlying  concern. It’s a small roster, but Tony’s banking on the Ironman suit and Cap being able to take down the Winter Soldier. Natasha is good at hand-to-hand, but a super soldier could lay her out if they weren’t holding back. Wilson’s air support will be a good distraction and could help them maintain visual. 

They’ve gone in with worse odds…

The phone, almost forgotten, sounds with Steve’s voice, “ I’ll stand by until you get here. But keep a low profile. ” The call disconnects and Tony feels his earlier fatigue and headache return full force. Nat’s there immediately, holding out two pills. He doesn’t ask where they are from, just swallows them dry and prays they work fast.

“Do you want me to make the call to Ross?” 

Tony shakes his head. “No. I’ll do it. Best to keep his focus on me.”

The conversation that follows isn’t pleasant. Talking with Ross never is. Tony ends up giving concessions with regards to Avengers oversight. Annual inspections of the facility will now include a personal detachment from the General’s staff. Once all the signatures are in place on the Accords, Tony won’t have to bend the knee any longer. He’ll grit his teeth and bear it until then.

He has tentative approval after an hour. The council’s yay should follow shortly. The entire affair is informal, but necessary. Steve would balk at how much Tony’s giving in, but Tony understands the balance between freedom and responsibility. He’s learned that lesson the hard way. 

The flight to Bucharest is long enough for Tony to get that council approval and a short nap. Halfway through the route, Natasha wakes him with a hand on his arm. “The bombing is all over the major networks. You were mentioned.”

Tony looks at her through the slits of his eyes, trying to go back to the rest he won’t get later. He waves her off and mutters, “Pepper handles PR. She’ll make a statement.” 

“Tony, you’ve been getting texts.” As Natasha points it out, his phone vibrates on the side table of his seat. He’s about to ignore it, but the spy doesn’t move. 

“I’m always getting texts,” he says as he grabs the offending device. One glance and he’s kicking himself for not getting to it sooner. 

Peter’s number still sits on the display screen. Five missed notifications.

‘Are you okay?’

‘Tony?’

‘May says you’re probably fine.’

‘Just let me know.’

‘Please.’

How long has it been since he was accountable to another person? Even Pepper would have deferred to FRIDAY before reaching out to Tony - though that was due to the concern that Tony would fib about his health and wellbeing while FRIDAY would give her a straight report.

He hits the call button right about the same time that he realizes it’s the middle of the day in New York. During school. 

The timing apparently doesn’t deter the kid because as soon as the line connects Tony hears, “Mr. Parker, no phones in class!”

Peter’s voice, a bit high and shaking, returns, “Sorry. It’s a family emergency.” Family. Tony grips at the seat’s armrest, fingers digging in a quick squeeze. As if the act can stabilize him…

“Step out. See me after class.” 

There’s the sound of doors opening and closing. When it’s mostly quiet on Peter’s end, Tony manages, “Hey, Kid.”

“Are you okay? You weren’t answering.” It’s soft, but the accusation is present. 

Tony gives an apologetic sigh, “Sorry. I’m fine. Plus, Natasha’s with me. She won’t let me get into trouble.” The aforementioned spy rolls her eyes. 

“The news said it was bad.” He doesn’t want to talk about it. Not with the kid. His child shouldn’t have to hear about death and the threat of war. He also shouldn’t have to spam Tony’s phone just to know he’s okay. But Peter’s concern is plain in his voice and Tony doesn’t want to lie. Not to him. 

“There were a few casualties. The King of Wakanda. A Parliament member from Australia. A few others.” 

“Were you hurt?”

Don’t lie. Don’t lie. “Mild concussion. Mostly recovered now.”

“Oh.” A long pause follows. Long enough to where Tony draws the phone away to see if he’s still connected. The seconds still tick by so he puts the phone back to his ear. “I, uh.. I have to go. I just wanted to check… sorry for all the messages.”

A tightness squeezes his chest. “Don’t be. Send me all the messages you want, Kid. I’ll do better. Have FRIDAY set up a bypass to make sure I won’t miss anything.”

Overhead, a recorded voice sounds. “ Please fasten your seatbelts. We will soon begin our descent. ”

It must have been loud enough to hear across the call because as Tony clicks his belt shut, Peter asks, “Where are you going?”

“Romania.”

“What for?” There’s a hint of interest in the Kid’s voice.

Tony’s mouth pulls up at the corner in amusement. “I thought you had to go.”

“Well, I’m already getting detention so I figure it’s not a big deal to-”

“Wait, you’re getting detention?” Peter goes on to explain the process for family emergencies. Call the front office. Be on the approved list of contacts. Apparently texting is the preferred method now simply because it’s less disruptive. Tony scoffs at the notion. How is Peter going to know Tony’s fine from a text alone? How would Tony know if Peter was okay without hearing his voice? After the crash course is done, Tony says, “Need me to email the teacher?” 

Peter laughs, light and open. Tony finds his chest constricting once more. Is it terrible that it’s already one of his favorite sounds? Of course not. It’s his child. Happy. “And give Mr. Del a heart attack?”

From her seat, Natasha announces, “Tony, we’re entering garrison airspace. We have to cut communication.” 

“Damn. I got to go, Kiddo.”

“Yeah. Just… be safe. Okay?”

He promises to be safe. Promises to come home soon. The call ends and Tony realizes that he’d forgotten three words. Words his father never said. Words he gave to Thomas night after night. 

But Peter is not Thomas. 

Yet, he wants him to know. Wants Peter to never doubt Tony’s dedication to him as his father no matter what name he goes by or the person he’s become.

He types the words and hits send just before they enter restricted airspace. 

‘Love you, Kid.’

He’s being followed. It’s taken a few days for Peter to figure out what his spider-sense is telling him, but he’s finally nailed it down. Someone is following him. Whoever it is, they aren’t dangerous. Danger has its own special form of warning and it feels nothing like what he currently feels. This is a warmth on the back of his neck. Like a constant touch.

Despite knowing that he’s being followed, he cannot pinpoint where the culprit is. He searches the space around him. High and low. His enhanced vision allows him to see clearer into dark corners where people could hide. Yet he finds nothing. 

It’s frustrating, but he pushes it aside to focus on his mission. Nothing’s allowed to distract him as he watchings a man unlocking the trunk of his old white sedan. 

Aaron Davis. 

It’s the only name he’s gotten so far and it was by luck alone. He’d gone back to the area where the explosion had occurred, the same area he’d been dragged from, in an attempt to gather the remaining pieces of his old webshooter. During the search, Peter found a wallet. And with it, a single name. Well, a name and an address. What kind of criminal takes their license with them while buying illegal alien weapons?

Aaron has his hand on the trunk when Peter jumps from his perch, wrist flicking as he lets a web fly. The fall is fluid, a singular twist of his body and he’s touching the ground, facing his opponent before they have a chance to run. Well… not that he could run considering he’s stuck to the car.

Peter stands, eyes narrowed behind his goggles. This man is his biggest lead so far and he can’t waste it. He has to concentrate. Has to find every avenue to get the truth. Among the noises of the city around him, Peter hones in on one. 

A steady, but fast, thumping. Aaron Davis’ heartbeat. 

“You were trying to buy weapons the other day.”

Davis stares, “Nah. You have the wrong guy.” The thumping skips, a subtle change that even a lie detector might not pick up. 

But Peter can.

“Those weapons cut a building in half.” A building near his home. A place he went to on a weekly basis. The same place that Detective Holton found him. “People have died .” The thumping skips again. Not from lying. From fear ? Peter hasn’t used this skill enough to know the difference. 

But practice makes perfect so Peter holds on to the sound with everything he’s got.

“And what are you gonna do about it?” It’s a taunting tone, but between Davis’ heart and breathing, Peter knows the man’s not as calm as he’s trying to portray. 

“I’m going to stop them.” Davis looks skeptical. “You can help me. You saw the damage these guns can do. Do you want that in your neighborhood?” Guilt. That expression is clear. Peter doesn’t need any other tells to see it on Davis’ face. He can use that. “Think of your family. Do you… do you have kids or a wife?” An Aunt or Uncle?

There’s a heady pause. Another strong thump of his heart. “A nephew.” Davis’ glances down to where his hand is firmly stuck to the trunk’s lid. He tugs at it once. Then again. “You’re strong, right? You’re gonna have to be if you want to face this guy.”

Peter gets his second name of the night. 

The Vulture.

Chapter Text

“Need support here, Cap!” Tony shouts into the comms, arms straining under the pressure of holding down Barnes’ metal arm. It’s a work of engineering genius that Tony would appreciate more if it wasn’t the reason two of his repulsors weren’t working. 

The Ironman armor withstands a kick to the knee. He hopes that the soldier isn’t pulling his figurative punches because if so he might not walk away from this should Barnes really try to hurt him. They’re figurative at this point because the only part of Barnes that’s free to move are his legs, which he does with a passion. Across Bucky’s flesh arm are two magnetic cuffs that are helping to keep his upper body restrained to the steel floor beneath them.

Tony curses, “Damn it, Barnes. We are trying to help you.”

“Let me go. Let me go. I’ll walk away.” There’s not a chance in hell they can let that happen.

A flash of blue enters Tony’s peripheral and when he tilts his head down he can see Steve holding down one of the soldier’s legs. Even Steve is straining, using all his strength to keep Barnes pinned. “Nat!” Cap yells into his comms. “Where are you?” 

The spy arrives moments later, holding a syringe. She’s sporting a bruised jaw, a bloody lip, and possibly a broken wrist, but she’s still standing. “At least he didn’t shoot me this time,” Natasha says as she kneels down next to the magnetic cuffs. 

“Stop! Stop!” The soldier’s voice breaks as he screams and Tony’s shaken with how much despair he can hear. It’s as if he doesn’t comprehend that they are on his side. Well… it’s going to be a job for a therapist later to unpack that distrust. Tony’s main job is to get Barnes to Berlin for questioning. Later they will take him to the compound. There’s rooms there designed to hold the hulk and even the Winter Soldier won’t stand a chance against that security.

Beneath the Ironman suit the metal arm whirs and twists, but without leverage all Barnes can do is press against the restraints. Natasha moves in swiftly, knee on the soldier’s shoulder as she drives the end of the needle into the meat of his arm. It’s the same sedative that could be used on Steve if needed, developed for a medical emergency by Banner himself. Tony’s trust in the concoction is absolute. 

“Can’t…” Bucky gasps out, the strength fading from his limbs with each second that passes. “Hydra. Hydra can’t…” Whatever Hydra can’t do, they won’t know any time soon because the drugs kick in and Barnes goes limp. Tony pushes off the man a second after FRIDAY confirms the soldier’s unconscious, falling to his back in the armor as he takes a deep breath. He aches all over, courtesy of being thrown by the super soldier assassin. The side of Tony’s face throbs and he cares less about an orbital fracture as he does a second concussion. 

“Your war buddy is psychotic,” Tony announces to the air. Something kicks at his foot -Steve- and he grunts at the retaliation. He takes another deep breath and waves his hand in command, “Load him up if you could, please. I don’t think I can move yet.”

The desire to go back to New York hits hard. Maybe it’s because they’re one step closer to signing. Maybe it’s because Steve’s one mission is a little closer to being accomplished. Maybe it’s because he knows that his son is there and Tony’s missing more time. Whatever the reason, Tony wills himself to stand. Muscles and bones protest against the motion, clearly not wishing to be bound by gravity.

He steps out of the suit, stumbles once only to be supported by Natasha the rest of the way to a car. Whose car it is, Tony has no idea. More pills are shoved in one hand and a bottle of water is shoved in the other. He downs both and leans his head back against the seat, eyes closed as he tries to block out the world. 

But the world will not wait and Natasha eventually says, “It’s a two hour flight to Germany.” 

Tony huffs at the thought. “Do they need me there?” Want something done right-

“No. I can handle it. Have FRIDAY send me everything.” This is why they’re a team. The ability to lean on one another after the fight is almost as crucial as their ability to take down the bad guy. Tony’s eyes glaze over and he throws an arm over them to hide any potential tears born of relief. His emotions are haywire. Have been since that phone call from Agent Loreant. “Go home.” Natasha commands. “See Peter.” There’s a pause and Tony can hear the small smirk in her voice. “Maybe put on some concealer though. You look like you went toe-to-toe with a super soldier.”

Everyone convenes at the airport. Wilson, Steve, and an unconscious, restrained Barnes in their own car. Natasha and Tony in another. Everyone loads up on Tony’s plane. Everyone except Tony, who ignores the questioning stares that are sent his way. He doesn’t need to justify it and Nat will field any questions about his departure. 

The next plane scheduled to leave files a new flight plan and Tony drops enough money that the original passengers won’t complain about being bumped. 

A skeleton crew operates the plane and Tony’s grateful that no one bothers him for most of the flight.

When he lands on the other side of the Atlantic, the first person he sees on the tarmac is Pepper. Those tears he’d held back for hours sneak out of the corner of his eyes, but she can’t see them because he buries his face against her neck and holds her tight. The familiar scent of her shampoo washes over him and for a moment he finds himself in a suspended state of peace.

“Oh, Tony,” she says softly when they part, fingertips tracing the edge of a bruise that spreads from his eye and down to his jaw. “What do you need?”

“Think you can get me a ride to Queens?”

For the first time in four days, Peter doesn’t get that sensation that he’s being followed. Unfortunately, he’s also behind on all of his school work so instead of darting down an alley and following up on his lead from Davis, he heads straight home.

A handful of people are crowded in front of the apartment building, cooing over a car that’s far too nice for the neighborhood. Peter briefly admires the audi with them before continuing up the stairs. 

He can hear May inside, talking about her recent shift at the hospital. She hadn’t said anything about having someone over, but there’s definitely someone else inside. Just as he pushes the door open, he picks up the sound of a familiar chuckle. 

Tony. 

Peter drops his backpack and twists around to look towards the living room where Tony and May are both watching him. His father is in the most casual attire he’s ever seen him in, simple jeans and a tee. He looks tired, but still… Tony’s smiling. Well, it’s an attempt at a smile. The left side of the man’s face is a mottled purple and there’s recent cuts across his forehead and along his cheek. The swelling probably makes it hard to keep up the positive expression.

Peter can’t stop himself from saying, “Wow. You look awful.” 

“Peter!” May hisses in admonishment. 

Tony’s smile shifts into an amused grin, strained but present. “He’s not wrong. I passed plenty of mirrors on the way over.”

“Are you okay?” Peter recalls that Tony had a concussion the day before. He hopes that he’s still not suffering from it. From the sharpness of his stare, the man seems alert enough. Peter lets his vision hone in on Tony’s brown eyes. Pupils look okay. No signs there either…

“Doc hasn’t put me on bed rest.”

Peter can’t help but be suspicious. They’d just talked the day before and that was when Tony was on his way to Romania. The news of the Avenger’s fight against the Winter Soldier already hit the mainstream media that morning. Has Tony even had time to go to the hospital? “Did you actually see a doctor?” 

“Fine,” Tony admits with a grin, “The nurse hasn’t put me on bed rest.” 

His father gives a slight wave in May’s direction, who confirms, “Tony let me check him over. It doesn’t seem like anything’s broken. And he’s responsive enough.”

“See. Flying colors.”

“Yeah, black and blue.” At that, Tony lets out a barking laugh. The man winces after and Peter can’t stop the reflexive need to apologize. Tony just shakes his head and tells him it’s fine. 

A few moments pass and then Tony stands. It’s slow and measured, but whether it’s due to injury or exhaustion, Peter isn’t sure. All he knows is that Tony’s hurting and he’s hit with that same feeling that caused him to text Tony after he saw the news. 

Worry, laced with fear.

He’s not allowed to dwell on it for long, though, because Tony asks, “Want to get some burgers?”

“Yeah. Yeah, that sounds good.” Peter turns to look at his aunt. “May?” 

She waves them towards the door. “You two go. Bring back something for me if you can?” 

Tony, already closer to the door, tosses a jacket towards Peter before slipping on his own hoodie. There’s a baseball cap on the kitchen counter that Peter doesn’t notice until Tony’s got it in his hand. What Peter considers casual changes as Tony slips on a pair of glasses and the baseball hat. It strikes him that Tony wasn’t simply trying to be informal. He was being incognito.  

Which makes sense. 

Tony Stark is, without a doubt, one of the more recognizable people in the city even with half his face painted in bruises. Peter tries not to watch the crowds that come and go around them, but he finds himself anxious anyway. Waiting for that moment where someone will see Tony beneath the disguise. 

Will they question what Tony Stark is doing with some kid from Queens?

Tony must pick up on Peter’s stress because he pat’s his shoulder and murmurs, “Relax, Kid. I’ve done this hundreds of times.” Maybe it’s the confident tone, but the words are enough for Peter’s anxiety to fade a fraction, the tension in his body ebbing with it. 

After a bit of walking, and no one recognizing them, they end up at a small pub on the edge of the neighborhood. Tony slips some cash to the hostess and gets a table in the back that isn’t in a busy section. The cost of privacy is roughly equivalent to a week’s worth of groceries. Peter tries not to think too hard about that, otherwise he risks thinking about all the other things that put him and Tony in two different worlds. 

Right now… they’re just two guys getting burgers. 

When Tony feels comfortable with the seclusion, he takes off the hat and glasses, all his attention turning to Peter. The intensity remains, as it always does when Tony looks his way. It’s less unnerving than it used to be as Peter has acknowledged Tony’s need to stare. Like he may disappear should he look away for too long. 

When the man seems satisfied that it won’t happen, he asks, “How’s school?”

“Good.” Boring. “Aced a Physics quiz.” Failed a Spanish test. “Keeping up with homework.” And patrols, which explains the boredom of daily life and the failed test. When asked, Peter goes into detail about the next Physics unit. 

The food comes and Peter’s salivating the second he has eyes on the burger. He’s been injured more as of late. A broken hand. A torqued knee. Burns and the road rash. Everything inside him is working overtime just to keep up. 

Tony’s brow rises when Peter demolishes half the food before he’s even started. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think your aunt was starving you.” Cheeks going pink, Peter forces himself to slow down. The last thing he wants is for Tony to think poorly of May. 

“So, there’s something else I wanted to talk about.” Mouth full, Peter hums. Tony takes it as a cue to keep going. “There’s a hearing scheduled for next week. Custody arrangements.” Peter’s face must show his distress at the thought because Tony quickly adds, “I’m not fighting with May over it. But there are some-” a pause as Tony tries to find the right word, “-stipulations.

Peter swallows, throat tight. “Stipulations?”

“The lawyers are petitioning that I get unhindered visitation. You’re free to come see me at any time and I can do the same. Obviously, I’d work out specifics with May if it involves any travel. And I won’t interfere with your education.” Like joint custody. Peter had expected it. Tony was his father. Even if Peter wanted to fight it, there’s no platform for him to stand on. May wasn’t the one responsible for his kidnapping, but she wasn’t his rightful guardian either. 

But… he’s 15. At 16 he could legally file for emancipation.Peter’s thankful that Tony hadn’t forced him into that situation.

“Another stipulation, one I spent the last hour hashing out with your aunt, concerns money.”

“But we-”

“It’s done. I’ve worked it out with May. You’re getting an allowance.” 

“I already have an allowance.” Good grades and chores finished and Peter gets $10 to $20 bucks a week. Pocket money, May calls it. He’s used a fair share of it lately on new backpacks at the thrift shops.

“She’s made me promise not to overwhelm you so I’ll just keep the number to myself and give you this.” Tony pulls out a card from his wallet. It’s an ATM card. He’s about to argue, but the determined look on Tony’s face tells him it would get him nowhere. Peter silently slips it into the case of his phone. “In any other circumstance she would get child support. Just… take it. Use it if you need to. Or want to. Take your friends to the movies or something.”

He could do that. Ned already mentioned wanting to see the new Jumanji. And it’s not taking advantage of Tony, right? Parents give their children money for things like this all the time. Even May’s slipped Peter cash so he can have fun with his friends once in a while. 

Peter nods in agreement, even though he’s still considering his options. 

“The last thing isn’t so much a stipulation as a necessity.” The man takes in a breath and slides his hands flat across the table, arms out in a move that shows he’s bracing himself. “The press is going to find out. It’s just a matter of time. It might be two months or two years. Really it depends on being spotted at the right place and right time by a reporter. Pepper has a PR plan in place. If she calls you, I want you to do exactly what she says, okay?” 

Peter nods again. “That doesn’t sound too hard.”

A smirk pulls at Tony’s mouth as he resumes eating, “Yeah, well, you haven’t been on the business end of Pepper Potts.”

Peter can’t help but think of how kind she’s been and how she managed to take control of a situation and also provide comfort at the same time. “But she’s such a nice lady.”

There’s a softness that settles over Tony, smirk fading into a smile and eyes relaxing. “Best one I’ve ever met.”

“Are you going to marry her?” There’s a flash of regret about the question when Tony starts choking, having swallowed too large a bite of burger. “MJ would lose it if Miss Potts was my step-mom.” More choking ensues. 

When Tony’s regained control of his breathing, he huffs out, “ Jesus , Kid.”

“What? MJ says Miss Potts is an icon of feminism.”

“Yeah, yeah, she’s an inspiration to all mankind.” Tony’s smirking again. “You concerned about my love life?”

“No more than Entertainment Weekly.” Within seconds, Peter is able to pull up one such article featuring Tony. It’s several years old and speculates as to why Pepper was given the role of CEO. 

Tony just rolls his eyes at the title of the feature. He pushes Peter’s phone down to the table, covering the screen, and waves his hand towards what’s left of the kid’s fries. “Finish eating. You start reading that crap and you’ll lose your appetite.” 

Peter, less concerned with obedience and more concerned with getting the calories, does what he’s told. He even polishes off half of Tony’s fries too. Not long after, they’re making the return back to the apartment. Peter carries a bag of takeout for May as he matches Tony’s stride. It’s still slow and a little bit staggered so Peter makes an effort to not bounce around too much. 

“So, next weekend, what are the chances you want to work on your homework at the penthouse?” At Tony’s question, Peter runs through a mental list of things he has to do. 

He has to follow the lead on the Vulture and manage some early morning patrols since school keeps his hours limited. Ned’s been trying to hang out with him more and Peter feels more and more like a jerk for blowing him off. 

But… Tony is important . Spending time with the man is a priority too. For a moment, Peter’s struck with a long list of obligations and a short list of opportunities. 

Another thought comes to him, but Peter’s hesitant. He could go to the penthouse later in the day on Saturday and use Sunday to bond with his father and his friend. 

“Can Ned come over on Sunday?” Peter watches Tony carefully, trying to find any sign that he isn’t okay with the idea. They’ve only had one weekend together and a handful of meals so it may be unfair to ask for Tony to share the time together. 

But Tony just smiles and nods, voice light as he says, “Sure. I think I can manage another teen.”

“We’re pretty sure it’s Chitauri tech. It’s worth an investigation at this point.” While the DODC agent gives a briefing, Tony frowns as he reads through a report detailing missing materials from one of the containment units. His company had been hands-off with the efforts for over two years, but considering his expertise on the technology he’d gotten a call requesting advisement. 

Tony’s presence, unfortunately, is of little help to the department of damage control. “I can send over the information we have on the radiation signature, but you’ll have to implement it. Stark Industries sold the contract back to the DODC on their request.”

“Would you be open to a consultation as we construct a scanner?” It’s impossible to miss the hopeful note in the man’s voice. 

Tony doesn’t bother being gentle, “You can’t afford me.”

“We could reopen negotiations for Stark Industries to receive access to the acquired materials. Perhaps even allow a bid for possession.” It’s tempting. Tony had been eager to get his hands on the Chitauri energy cores all those years ago. Time, however, hadn’t been on his side. Between upgrading his suits and dealing with enemies that popped up faster than daisies, SI had sold the contract and the opportunity passed by.

By the time he had a moment to breathe, there was Ultron. Following that, Pepper left. 

And now there’s Peter. 

Tony reads over the report again noting another problem staring him in the face. Several incidents involving these weapons are less than twenty miles from where his kid lives. Hell, one of them occurred just blocks from the apartment complex. He recalls the news report that he’d seen when Natasha was at the penthouse. It’s too close to home for him to ignore, yet he’s spread so thin already.

He rubs the bridge of his nose and pushes the papers over to the DODC agent. “I’ll give you some names. If they can’t help you, reach out again.” Between the Feds, the DODC, and a small team of radiation experts, Tony shouldn’t get that second phone call. Someone else can handle the job of taking down weapons dealers for once.

He’s only a few steps out of the briefing room when his cell rings. Across his glasses he sees Natasha’s name. He taps the temple to answer. “What’s up?”

The spy’s voice sounds across the line, less soft than usual. She’s in work mode now. “We have a psychiatrist coming in to evaluate Barnes.”

“Vetted?”

“By the UN. Dr. Theo Broussand.”

“Sounds like you have it covered. What do you need me for?”

“The HCU isn’t linked to FRIDAY. Steve’s concerned-” 

Tony pulls out his phone and switches to video in a beat, not bothering to hide his annoyance at Steve’s sudden concern. “Remind Cap that he’s the one who insisted I remove the AI from most of the compound.” Everywhere, to be precise, save for Tony’s suite and Tony’s lab. 

On screen, Natasha’s brow furrows. For a while now, she’s been the de facto peace-keeper and Tony knows she’s getting tired of it. But like all the rest of them, she sucks it up and does what she has to. Playing messenger and mediator, she hedges, “He’s worried we’re vulnerable.”

“Well, he can live with it. I believe his exact words were, ‘I’m not asking, Tony.’ Which, gotta say, I’m getting tired of hearing that.” A look of frustration flickers on her face and Tony switches tactics to try and smooth things over, unwilling to cause Natasha more stress than she’s already under. The team is braced on the edge of the proverbial fault line with the Accords and Tony, just like Natasha, doesn’t want that fault to cause a quake. “Even if I wanted to install FRIDAY again, we’d have to take down critical security. The entire system would have to go offline for two days during integration. Unless we did rolling changings.”

“What’s the timeline if we do it in pieces?”

“A week.” She gives him a sharp nod at that and lets him know that she’ll talk to Steve. Tony won’t be holding his breath. Cap will probably consider it for a minute or two and then compare FRIDAY to Ultron, which will ultimately lead him to decide against the idea.

He flies from DC to New York, feeling like he’s spent more time in the air than on the ground. It takes its toll on him and he’s tempted to call the suit and say ‘screw-it’ to air control. 

But he doesn’t act impulsively these days so Tony makes it to the Manhattan penthouse several hours later via regular plane and a regular car.

When he steps off the elevator he’s surprised by the scent of marinara. Just one inhale and Tony finds himself relaxing a touch. He spots Pepper a second later, leaning over a cutting board and slicing into a stack of lettuce. He’s been here before. Years ago. A smiling Pepper Potts who laughs at Tony’s attempt to make an omelet. Candlelight illuminating a shared meal. 

He looks at her. Looks at the food on the kitchen island. And then looks to the bedroom. She follows his gaze and gives him a classic ‘are you serious?’ stare. He joins her at the island and helps her assemble a side salad.

“Peter asked me if you’d be his step-mom,” Tony blurts out.

Pepper stills, eyes widening in shock. “That is the worst proposal I’ve ever heard.” The laugh that follows is light. The meal, however, is heavy. Too heavy for them to consider a night of love-making and relearning one another. Not so heavy that he can’t review documents that Pepper brought with her. There’s only a handful of SI updates concerning new developments but most of it consists of legal proposals concerning Peter. 

He signs what she tells him to sign and reads what she’s highlighted. It’s everything he’d already mentioned to Peter just a few days prior, plus some legalese that he’s discussed with May.

Afterwards, Tony settles down with Pepper on the couch, one arm over her shoulder as she rests against his side. “I’ve missed you,” he whispers against her hair. 

She kisses his cheek. Then captures his mouth with her own in a typical Pepper act of aggression. When they finally break apart she sighs against his shoulder, “I’ve missed you too, Tony.”

In that moment… he feels whole. A feeling he hasn’t known in a long, long time.

Chapter Text

Peter has a single lead on the vulture, but the information he gets can’t be used until later in the week. Between another Aaron Davis interrogation and a few overheard conversations, Peter has pieced together that there’s supposed to be a weapons deal happening on the Staten Island ferry. 

It’s just his luck that the exchange will be in the middle of the day and he’ll have to skip school. His grades, fluctuating as they are with his chosen extracurricular, are finally up to passing but he’s one missed quiz away from needing extra credit. Ben would argue that school is more important. But Ben is also gone because of how easy it is to get guns these days. 

The thought of his uncle comes out of nowhere and it stings as Peter makes his way home for the start of the weekend. Maybe it’ll get easier as time goes by, but lately Peter’s found himself thinking of Ben more often. Would Ben like Tony? Would he feel replaced? Or would he smile at seeing Tony reach out and ruffle Peter’s hair just like he used to do?

He’s jerked from the dark place his brain wants to go as his neck goes warm and that sensation of being watched returns. The muscle in his jaw aches with how hard he’s clenches his teeth as he whirls around to try and find the culprit. As usual, he can’t see anyone actively watching him. But he knows it’s a lie. Knows it with every fiber of his enhanced being. 

Peter scowls, pace adjusting to a normal walk as he navigates the path to his apartment. He needs to get to the bottom of this. And fast. The last thing he wants to deal with is his senses going haywire when he is faced with The Vulture. Rumor has it that the man -possibly a woman because women can be supervillains too- is ruthless and if Peter stands in their way that ruthlessness can be aimed his way. 

The apartment is quiet when he gets home since May’s still at work, so he’s able to drop his backpack off and dart into his room. He’s got a two hour window for patrol and he’s going to use every minute of it to figure out who, or what, is following him. 

Peter slips on his webshooters and targets the attic panel in his closet. There’s a soft thud as the web pushes the secret space open. A second shot is fired on reflex to retrieve the suit as it drops down from the attic. 

Except the web doesn’t attach to cloth.  Instead it attaches to a piece of paper that ends up in Peter’s hand a moment later. His heart beats fast in his chest as he reads the note. 

Rooftop. East-Side.  

There’s a buzzing in his ears as he tucks the paper into his pocket. His gaze goes to the window of his bedroom. From his position he can see the neighboring apartment complex as well as the top parapet wall that surrounds the room.

Then, Peter does something he rarely allows himself to do. He lets go. Lets go of the tight hold he keeps on his senses. He inhales, takes in the air of the city and lets the taste of exhaust and people and food settle in his mouth. He listens, hears the traffic and the chatter and the cacophony that exists around him. 

A familiar sound echoes beneath it all. The beating of a heart he’s heard before, but can’t exactly place. A cadence of typing joins the steady thumps. Peter knows who it is when the typing stops and a scratching noise begins. 

Pencil dragging across paper. 

Peter launches himself towards the ceiling. The window opens and he briefly checks to make sure no one’s watching before he dives through it and lands against the wall of the neighboring building. It’s easy work to crawl upwards, nothing compared to the effort of ensuring he isn’t seen while he does it. 

He reaches the top, places his hand on the ledge of the parapet, and flips over. 

“Took your time, Parker.” MJ sits, back propped against a wall that leads to the stairwell. In her lap is the Spider-Man suit. 

“It’s not what you think.” The denial is as automatic as it is useless and the look on MJ’s face tells Peter that she doesn’t buy it. At all. Unable to take her judgmental stare, Peter looks towards the pebbled cover of the roof. “How did you find out?”

“Well, you’re not very subtle. You come to school hurt at least once a week and you’ve dropped every club you were a member of. Something was going on. I thought maybe it was drugs or abuse, but that didn’t fit with what I know about May. Since you were already blowing off your friends it didn’t seem like we could just ask. You were already lying about so much.”

“I didn’t lie!” 

MJ glares. “We’re your friends and when we asked you what was wrong, you said you were fine. Every. Single. Time. But this-” she holds up the suit, fingers finding holes and tears and remnants of blood, “-isn’t fine! This is… this is dangerous. You’re too smart to be this dumb.” The laptop is set aside and MJ stands. After a moment she holds out the suit. Peter takes it with a small huff, eyes finally finding hers again.

A picture of Ben flashes through his mind. Thoughts of how he failed him. Thoughts of all the people who have died just within his reach. But… There are other people too. A woman covered in soot. The nephew of a criminal. Cats returned to owners and old ladies who thank him as he helps them cross a busy road. The smallest smile. A heart that continues to beat.

He has the strength and the speed and all these abilities. If he doesn’t use them, then the bad things that happen are his fault. 

“I have to do this.”

MJ’s voice is soft, but steady, filled with conviction as she says, “But you don’t have to do it alone.”

“This is my worst nightmare,” Tony mutters as he stares at the image in front of him, a life-size cutout of Steve Rogers in full Captain America regalia. In front of it, centered at the cutout’s midsection, is a shield that can rotate. It’s decorated like a clock, but only goes to 10. Tony gives it a spin and flinches when it makes a grinding sound. He can’t help but to lean over the unlubricated gears and glare.

“We need the code.” From across the room, Peter and Ned are searching through a drawer that was recently revealed through some kind of magnetic release. “Oh!” Ned lets out a gleeful noise, “It’s on the bottom.” 

Ned fires off the series of four numbers and Tony rotates the shield. It acts like a large combination lock and clicks when Tony finishes the code. To his left is a fake Ironman that opens at the chest, right where the arc reactor would sit. Peter’s shoving his hand inside the cavity, only to pull out a key a moment later.  

They’re not actually trapped in the room, which is the only reason he hasn’t gone crazy for the past fifteen minutes. Tony’s pretty sure losing his mind in an Avengers themed escape room would follow him into the after-life. 

“ Quick! We have to find the Hydra spy! ” The announcement has varying responses. Peter laughs. Ned gets serious. And Tony considers burning the building to the ground on principle.

Despite his distaste for the theme and the overall cheesiness of it, he finds that Peter’s enjoyment makes the perfect compensation. The kid is running around, searching for a lock to fit the key he recently discovered. It’s juvenile in the very best way.

Carefree.

As he so often is, Tony’s struck with the thought that he could have taken a young Peter to one of these. Could have joined him for all the other juvenile activities that parents do with their children. Pizza at an arcade. Teaching him how to swim. Building robots in his lab. 

All the dreams that died alongside Thomas bloom back to life in a single moment.  

Tony turns knobs. Gives Peter numbers. They solve riddles and press secret bricks. Someone pretending to be a SHIELD agent congratulates them on finding the spy and a click sounds to signify their freedom. 

Soon, they’re out the door into the too-bright hallway and there’s arms wrapped around Tony in a quick embrace. Time ceases to be a factor in his life as his son, almost as tall as he is, gives him a celebratory hug. At least until he hears the familiar click of a phone camera. A quick turn of his head and Tony sees that it’s just Ned, capturing the moment for all eternity. Tony’s smile is wide and genuine and it hurts his cheeks a little because he hasn’t used the muscles near enough lately. “Send me that.”

“Yeah, of course, Mr. Stark.” 

In continuation of the celebration Ned and Peter shake hands, though the gesture becomes an intricate dance of hand motions until it ends with finger-guns. They’re good kids. Tony’s glad they have each other. 

He checks the clock and realizes it’s a good time for dinner. “You two want some Thai? There’s a place around-” The phone in his hand gives a series of beeps, cutting him off. Tony frowns down at it and pulls his glasses from his pocket, slipping them on to display the alert. 

‘ Perimeter breach. ’

“Get me footage.” Active surveillance feeds appear in the corner of the lens. It’s not a person he sees triggering the balcony alarms, but a drone . One of the small quadcopters that hobbyists use for fun. Something hangs beneath the drone, attached by a thin rope. “Trace the signal.” 

“Tony?” Peter’s voice is laced with worry. 

Tony places a hand on the teen’s shoulder and gives it a reassuring squeeze, though he doesn’t direct his attention away from FRIDAY’s report.  The unique RF signal is found coming from almost two miles away. In an act that’s not entirely ethical, Tony lets FRIDAY access the closest surveillance camera. A traffic system. From there, it’s a very quick game of where’s Waldo. The Waldo in this instance is a man holding a remote control. 

When FRIDAY zooms in, Tony realizes that the man had no intention of hiding. It’s not Barnes. Can’t be. Barnes is currently locked up in the HCU at the compound. But the person is wearing a prosthetic to look almost exactly like the soldier and is staring straight at the camera. 

Tony knows that the police won’t intercept in time, but he has FRIDAY forward them the information anyway. 

He could use the suit. Claim that the man’s threatening him and operate outside the accords. It’s personal enough that he could win that argument with Ross or the Council. As soon as he’s resolved to call the Mark 46, the Not-Barnes drops the remote and walks away. Two other cameras catch him before he disappears inside a parking garage. 

“FRIDAY, sweep the penthouse. Get security to check the package.”

“Tony.” Peter’s voice, still with that concern, is firmer now. 

He doesn’t want to worry the kid. Not when they just had a nice night out. So he does something that Natasha’s fantastic at. He hedges , “Security system went off at the Penthouse. It looks like it’s just a package. I want to make sure it isn’t dangerous.”

Peter’s brow furrows, “Do you need to go?” 

What he needs to do is call Natasha. But that can wait a few minutes while he figures out what to do with the kids. They’re at an age where he can send them off for a bit.

“You have your card?” Tony taps the back of his phone. 

Peter nods. “Yeah.”

“Good. Why don’t you and Ned find something to eat? I’ll catch up.” The teen hesitates, mouth pulled tight like he wants to argue. He must decide against it because he gives Tony a quick nod and starts towards Ned. The two talk in hushed whispers and head towards the door. Peter’s steps falter as he casts one last glance towards Tony, who promises, “I won’t be long.” 

Once they're gone, Tony secures an empty room and drops his phone to the first flat surface he finds. Natasha’s voice fills the small space just moments later. “ Heard you had a security breach. ”

“It was the bomber. FRIDAY is going to send you everything she’s got. Are you at the compound?”

“ I am. Sitting with our guest now actually. ” A picture follows. Barnes sits behind Nat on his bed in the HCU, looking about as happy as Tony is if his scowl is anything to go by. 

“Tell him that someone’s still wearing his face.” She gets her own series of pictures. Still shots from the traffic camera. Based on the way Barnes swears, Tony can tell that she shares the news.

A brief silence falls across the line, broken only by the hiss and click of doors opening and closing. She’s left the HCU. Probably hovering near the elevator. “ Anything you need me to do? ”

“If this guy is operating in the city, it may help to have you here.” 

“ Pepper won’t mind? ”

“Pepper would commend me for not sending five hundred suits at the problem. She’ll be fine with you staying at the Penthouse while we figure this out.”

“ You sure you don’t want to stay at the compound instead? ” He doesn’t answer, thumb and forefinger rising to rub at the bridge of his nose. She knows about Peter, but he wonders if she would understand his need to be close. The compound is leagues away compared to where he needs to be. 

He needs to be close enough where Peter could get to him, needs to be able to pick him up from Midtown should the kid ever want a ride. He can’t be the father he needs to be if he’s not in the same city… There’s still lawyers and signatures and court dates. The feds are finalizing reports and the press is going to find out. And… And Peter… Thomas…

All of 45 seconds in a park and a burned body…

“ Breathe, Tony. ” He sucks in a lungful of air at her command, not sure how long she’d been repeating the phrase. Long enough for her to figure out that he was spiraling. When she has his attention again, she finishes, “ Let me check in with Vision and Wilson. Once they’re briefed I’ll head your way. ”

Tony hums his thanks and cuts the call. His heart pounds in his chest, thudding hard enough that he puts his hand to his sternum in an attempt to calm the out-of-control muscle. 

The phone vibrates against the shelf it sits on, a loud burr that’s impossible to ignore. He checks the screen. ‘At the Thai place.’ Peter sends the message along with a picture of him and Ned and two large plates loaded with noodles. The picture is an immediate balm to Tony’s inner turmoil.

It takes him over ten minutes to get to the restaurant. It’s only a five minute walk but the other half is time spent composing himself. Peter deserves the best version of Tony Stark. Not the anxious mess he was.  

Before Tony knows it, he’s tucked into the booth next to the Peter ad stealing pad thai off the teen’s plate. The kid shoots sideways glances his way, curiosity and nervousness in his stare. Tony doesn’t want to address it. Not until they’re alone, which will happen soon enough. 

Peter must have understood because the moment Ned is out of the car and walking up to his own house, the teen moves from the back seat to the front, taking his place beside Tony. “So… did they find out what the package was?” 

They did. During dinner, Tony received an update from security. It’s a VHS tape. He’s tasked Natasha with finding a way to watch it. When he tells Peter, the kid frowns and shakes his head. “Why would someone use one of those?” 

Tony says three words he hates using. “I don’t know.”

“Is it safe for you to be at the penthouse?” The question throws him. Enough so that if Tony had been responsible for steering the car he may have swerved a little. The Kid’s asking about his safety? Not his own? 

He sends an incredulous look towards Peter. “You think I’d let you stay if it wasn’t safe?” 

“I… I just meant that you live there. I’m only around for a weekend.” It’s a fair point. Peter’s only staying one more night and going straight to school the next morning. Still, he doesn’t like the idea that the Kid thinks Tony would allow him to be in any danger. 

“I wouldn’t let you stay if it wasn’t safe. For either of us.” 

And, if safety had been a concern before, it isn’t when Tony and Peter return to the penthouse. Natasha’s already there, lounging on the couch with Pepper. Both women turn to watch them step from the elevator. 

Tony notes that Nat’s in full tactile get-up. Either she’s being overly cautious or she already has plans to go out hunting. 

At his side, Peter waves to the women, “Oh. Hello, Miss Potts. Miss… Romanoff ?”

“You can call me Nat,” the spy says with a wink. “Most of my friends do.”

“And Pepper. Please.” She stands, moving gracefully around the couch. She’s not wearing any shoes and Tony has to tamper down on the desire to ask if she plans on staying.

He clearly doesn’t taper down hard enough, circling closer to press his lips to her cheek. After the quick kiss, he whispers, “You wanna have a sleepover?” The back of her hand gently swats his chest in reprimand, joined by a hiss of his name. It isn’t a no…

He whispers once more, “I’ve got to check on something with Nat. You good to stay with the kid?”

Pepper tosses a glance towards Peter, smiling at the boy who’s furiously texting on his phone. “Sure. I’ll let him know all the updates from the case.”

They break apart and Tony follows Nat into the office. Well, it’s half office and half guest room. A duffle bag sits on the small pullout couch. Tony’s attention, however, is on the box television centered on the desk. An old Toshiba model that likely hasn’t seen the light of day in a decade. 

He doesn’t bother to ask where she got it, just picks up the VHS tape and pushes it into the player. 

It’s nothing compared to the crisp surveillance footage of today’s systems, but Tony has no difficulty recognizing the area. It’s a road he’d traveled often enough as a child and well into his adult years. The primary route that led out of the Stark estate. Property that Tony still owns, but has long since repurposed.

The bottom left of the screen reads: DEC. 16 1991

“I know that road.”

“The date- Tony .” Natasha reaches for the player, fingers just millimeters from hitting the stop button. She’s not faster than Tony, though. Not this time. For once he’s able to catch her wrist and pull her away from the television.

From the way her body shifts, she’s facing him, watching his every reaction. He doesn’t care. All his attention is on the screen. A minute passes and a car appears. Just as he knows that road, he knows that car. The vehicle slams into a pole and Tony’s whole body flinches. The angle of the camera captures Howard as he opens the driver’s door and drops out of the seat. It also captures a secondary vehicle. A motorcycle.

Someone dismounts the motorcycle and approaches Howard. The footage isn’t great, but Barnes’ metal arm is on full display. It gleams under the streetlamp as he swings it towards Howard. Tony flinches again and closes his eyes. No matter how much he found his father lacking, he doesn’t want to watch as he’s murdered. 

“Howard.” It’s faint. The only voice he’s heard above the car. Probably because his mother’s screaming it into the night. Desperate. In shock as she watches the Winter Soldier put Howard back into the car to stage his death. 

A hand closes around his upper arm and gives it a quick squeeze. His eyes open up to see the killer walk around the car. 

He can’t watch this either. 

Feels sick at the thought.

Sick with his own grief. And sick with rage . 

The Winter Soldier kills his mother. 

Tony stops the video. He doesn’t need to see anything else.

“I’m going to end him,” Tony manages, already turning for the door. “FRIDAY, get me a suit.” 

The hand on his arm drops down to his wrist and pulls. “Tony. Tony, you have to think about this.” He yanks free of her grip, but she’s back in a flash, cupping his elbow to force his arm back into a quick armbar. 

The urge to fight her overwhelms every other sensible thought. Tony twists against the tension, jaw clenched tight as he resists screaming. He wants to wreck everything in his path. Neurons fire and memories bleed together, matching the agony inside. 

“...we regret to inform you that your parents were in a car accident. Neither of them survived the crash…” 

“...we found his remains in the container unit. Along with those of two other children...”

Pain erupts along his nervous system and Tony lets out a low groan as his body seizes. Above him, Natasha grits out, “Damn it. Get your shit together.” When the world comes back into focus, he sees her holding the widow bites. He’s about to ask if she seriously shocked him with his own invention, but she drops down to his level, knee on his thigh to keep him pinned, and says, “Your son is down the hall. Someone is trying to fracture the avengers. We are this close to finalizing the accords. We cannot do this. You cannot do this.” 

Tony’s prepared to tell her to get the hell out of his home, but all that comes out instead is a broken “He killed her.”

He absolutely hates how nonchalant she is when she shrugs and says, “The Winter Soldier-” Not Barnes, “-killed a lot of people.”

“Did you know?” 

“No.” A pause. Long enough for Tony to know she’s hiding something. When he presses, she admits, “If anyone knew it would be Steve. He read all the files.” He will never forgive Rogers if it’s true. For two years he used Tony’s resources to bring in Bucky Barnes and not once did he say anything. Not once did he admit what he might have known.

The feeling slowly returns to his limbs as the effects of the widow bites fade. After she determines that Tony isn’t going to keep fighting, Natasha helps him to stand. His rage has dimmed to a low angry simmer. Part of it is aimed at Nat, but most of it is aimed at Rogers and Barnes. He’ll deal with them. In time. After he’s, as the spy put it, got his shit together. 

Tony moves towards the door, but she blocks it and puts a hand against his chest to hold him in place. “Sit down,” she orders. “Let me get you some water.”

“Get Peter. I need to see him.” To prove to himself that there’s something good in his life. 

He thinks she’s about to refuse, but instead she just nods and leaves. It’s a few minutes before the door opens again and Peter’s standing in the threshold, holding a glass full of ice water. 

The kid’s got that nervous look again, like he doesn’t know what to do or say. 

Tony takes the glass from his hands and sets it on the desk. He moves slowly. Telegraphs every gesture and intention. He wants to give Peter the chance to refuse. But the kid doesn’t shy away. Peter just tilts his head as if Tony’s a puzzle and he’s trying to solve it. 

“What was on that video?” Peter asks.

Tony will never tell him. He won’t outright lie, but this is a topic he won’t bring up with his son. “History lesson.” 

Tony’s about to step forward and wrap his arms around Peter, but he can’t. He can’t because the kid is the one who moves. The kid is the one who puts his arms around Tony and embraces him in a tight hold. 

Peter’s voice is filled with certainty as he says, “They say that you have to hug for at least twenty seconds to get endorphins.” Whoever ‘they’ are, they haven’t been hugged by Peter Parker. It only takes five before Tony relaxes. It only takes ten for the anger to fade away. By twenty, Tony’s gone through a whole reset of emotions.

A part of him is still grieving, born of a renewed sense of loss while his mind processes that his parents were murdered. But that part is small . Small and buried beneath the reminder that he has his child back. Vengeance is not worth the loss of his son a second time.

No… nothing is worth that. 

“Dude… are you saying that the Winter Soldier assassinated your grandparents?” Ned’s whisper is loud in the quiet corner of the coffee shop, but a quick glance around tells Peter that no one’s listening. Still, he pulls his chair in closer so the trio won’t have to talk loud to be heard. 

“That’s what it sounded like. I mean, I didn’t actually see anything. I just heard some-” too much, if Peter’s being honest with himself, “-of the video and then Tony and Nat-”

In typical Ned fashion, his eyes go starstruck and glassy as he blurts out, “I can’t believe you call the Black Widow by her first name.”

“Ned,” MJ huffs. “Let him finish.”

“Right… Tony and Nat got into it.” Listening to that had been excruciating. Pepper was actively talking about the recent court hearing and how Tony was granted unrestricted visitation. He was also guaranteed specific days throughout the years. Peter can’t even remember what they were because he’d been too focused on the way Tony’s voice shook as he talked to the spy. 

‘The Winter Soldier killed a lot of people.’ Including Peter’s own grandparents.

Not that he had any connection with them. But… but Tony grieved. Considering how recent Peter’s own loss was, he understood the way it could tear a person apart. So when Tony asked for Peter and Natasha interrupted Pepper and him in the kitchen, he was ready. Prepared to hear whatever Tony needed to say. 

“Ironman and the Black Widow started fighting?”

“More like arguing. They were being pretty quiet. But it sounded like there might have been some pushing. Or tasing. I don’t know. It’s enhanced hearing, not x-ray vision.”

“So not only are you trying to handle the weapons dealers, but someone’s also trying to mess with the Avengers? This is a lot.”

You’re telling me, Peter thinks. “Speaking of the weapons thing. I have to skip school Wednesday. Think you guys could get me notes?”

MJ reluctantly agrees. Ned, however, is far more enthusiastic, though not about the notetaking. “I could skip, too! Be your guy in the chair.”

Before Peter can figure out what Ned’s talking about, MJ rolls her eyes and gives a patronizing sigh. “Don’t be stupid. If any one of us is failing it’ll be the kid with superpowers. At least he has career options outside of the path of institutionalization.” Her expression turns serious as she shifts to Peter, “You don’t do anything stupid either. You end up with another hole in your suit and we won’t be friends anymore.” 

Peter gives her a rapid nod, “Got it. I’ll be safe.”

“This isn’t safe!” Peter shouts as he twists in the air, hand clutching a string of web that’s attached to the mast of the ferry. A purple beam of light splits the web and he’s flying out towards the Hudson. Another twist with a flick of his wrist and he’s reattached to the ship, circling back to face his attacker. 

Make that attacker s . 

Peter rarely considers himself out of his depth, but today he knows he’s sinking. A ferry is a disastrous place to fight. Passengers have nowhere to go. Innocent people are caught in the crossfire. He can’t even run because then he leaves at least a thousand people defenseless against the alien weapons. 

Weapons that he intends to keep trained on himself. 

Someone fires another blast of purple and Peter dives out of the way, instinct taking over as he sends webs towards the man’s feet. A second later he’s stealing the weapon from the stunned man’s hands. 

It’s lighter than Peter expects it to be considering the destruction it’s capable of. His fingers dig into the material and rip the casing open. The power source, a glowing purple orb, is all that’s left when he’s finished tearing the gun apart. He webs it to the mast for safekeeping and turns to face the closest goon. 

Feet. Gun. Repeat. 

“Stop! Hands up!” Three more men file onto the open air deck, guns pointed at Peter. 

“Woah! I’m one of the good guys.” From the way the guns don’t move, Peter suspects they don’t believe him. 

“You’re interfering with a police investigation. Turn around and put your-” A mechanical whirr sounds, loud enough to drown out whatever the officer, maybe, was saying. Peter spins around and looks up. 

Metallic wings block out the sky as the creature advances. 

No… not a creature. 

The Vulture. 

Just a man in a suit. A strong, fast, alien-powered suit.

This person is the one responsible for all this death and destruction. Anger bubbles inside Peter, wrist flicking to shoot a web at the wings. The compound sticks across the fan of metal feathers and the Vulture drops altitude. There isn’t any time for Peter to celebrate victory because the other wings swipe through the webbing and he’s free once more. 

Fear prickles in the back of Peter’s head. His webs aren’t enough.

The Vulture dives forward, two feet extended towards Peter. The claws one one foot attempt to rake down his chest, but Peter dodges, ducking under the man to get to his back. He frantically examines the system. Spots the power source and the way it connects to the exoskeleton. Blades rotate within the wings to generate lift. A vulnerability. 

Peter shoots a series of webs but the strands are ripped apart. He thinks back to when he tore apart the gun and opts for a closer approach. 

He’s in the air when his senses scream at him to move. Before he can fire off a web, a fist hits him in the chest. The exoskeleton is no weak system. The impact against his sternum forces all the air from his lungs and he’s sent flying backwards. 

A copper taste fills his mouth and the entirety of his chest feels like it’s been split open. 

That kernel of fear blooms into terror. 

But he can’t leave. If he’s hurt by the Vulture, then he can only imagine what it would do to the other people on the ferry. Peter exhales and pushes aside the pain, honing in on his singular goal. 

Take down the bad guy. 

“You don’t know what you’re messing with.” A voice sounds from inside that mask, echoing with some kind of amplifier. “Stay out of my business, spider boy.”

Peter launches himself forward, dancing in the air as the Vulture attempts to get another hit in. He deflects several punches and snaps back, “It became my business when people started dying.” 

Purple beams light up the sky and Peter fights to stay focused on a single objective. Someone screams and he loses the battle, attention shifting away from the Vulture and back towards the ferry. A woman clutches a child in her arms, one hand gripping the railing as the floor beneath her gives way.

Pain explodes in his side and Peter snaps back around to see one of the claws on the foot of the exoskeleton is now decorated with a ribbon of red cloth.

MJ’s going to be pissed , Peter thinks as he jumps away from the Vulture and aims a web at the woman and child, catching them just before they drop into the water below. 

An explosion rattles the ferry and Peter’s off again, swinging through the air to locate the source of the noise. Except a crescendo of metal groans reverberate in the air and he’s suddenly surrounded by noise . A sliver of the sky appears above him and Peter’s eyes go wide behind his mask as he realizes the ship is slowly parting down the middle. 

“Oh, no.”

Archimedes' principle flashes through his mind. Laws of buoyancy and everything he knows and understands about how boats stay above the water instead of sinking.

Peter breathes in deep, ignores the pain that sparks as his chest expands, and then he moves. The mechanical whirr of the Vulture’s wings fades away as he escapes, but Peter’s priority is sending webs from one side of the ferry to the other. The canister on his left wrist goes empty first. If his math is correct, then he’s got enough to finish the job. 

He flings himself from one railing to another, pulling a web taut before moving on to the next. Instinct is telling him to run but he ignores it. He has to. Children are crying. People are screaming. The boat wails in protest as Peter fights against gravity to keep the ship together. 

The canister of fluid on his right wrist hisses and Peter drops to the decking below. 

It’s not enough. 

Snaps echo around him as the webbing is torn asunder by the weight. “No. No, no, no.”

A roaring cuts through it all, followed by systemic thuds. Peter’s neck twists around and he sees something red and gold slam into the side of the Ferry. The roaring… It's a repulsor. No. It’s multiple repulsors. 

Peter jumps, grabbing one of the ceiling beams so he can flip forward until he’s on the deck that’s exposed to the sky. 

He’s met with the sight of Ironman. 

Who’s staring straight at him, eyes lit up with an unnatural glow. “Well hello, Spiderling.” Tony’s voice blends with the mechanical system, almost booming compared to his usual tone. 

Peter says nothing. Can’t. One word from his mouth and Tony would know it’s him. 

Tony’s head cocks to the side, “The criminals you web up report that you’re quite the chatterbox. What’s the matter? Oh, I get it. My greatness is overwhelming.” Peter steels himself against the urge to do anything . A single wrong move and FRIDAY would put the pieces together. When the silence is louder than the repulsors, the faceplate of the Ironman suit flips up. Soft brown eyes rove up and down his homemade suit. “Looking a little rough there, kid.” 

The endearment has Peter flinching. Tony doesn’t miss the movement, the corner of his mouth turning down. The man must misunderstand Peter’s reaction because he says, “Oh. You are on the young side, aren’t you?” 

A long pause stretches and then it’s as if Tony’s accepted that the conversation is going to be one-sided. “Alright. If that’s the way it’s gotta be, I can deal. Why don't we use standard human gestures and get this show on the road? You understand that you interfered with the DOD and FBI just now?” 

He picked up on that when the officers pointed handguns at him. Peter gives a short nod.

“Good. From now on, leave this stuff to the professionals.” Really? Peter bites the inside of his cheek to keep from biting back, the professionals haven’t done anything. “Going to need confirmation, Spiderling.”

“Spider-Man.” It escapes in a rush of air, deepened by his own annoyance. And thank god for that simmering frustration. Tony’s right brow rises, but aside from that there’s absolutely no indication that he suspects it’s Peter. 

“Okay then.” Peter sighs in relief when the man continues, “Spider-Man. Still need a yay or nay.” Peter wills himself to nod. “Great! Now, you do realize you’re bleeding all over the place, right?”

Sure enough there is a trail of blood that leads from the wound on his side and all the way down his leg. A small puddle has formed by his foot. Peter peels aside the torn fabric of his suit and sees that the gash is already clotting. It hurts less than his chest, but there’s no way he’s checking that injury in front of Tony. 

A hiss comes from the Ironman suit and the next thing Peter knows he’s being handed a small cylindrical vial. “Blood clotter. Pain reliever. Use it.” He palms the device and manages another nod. At that, the faceplate closes back up and Tony’s voice is mixed with the mechanical once more. “Stick to Queens, Spider-Man. Prove you’re up to stuff and maybe we can make an Avenger out of you.” 

Before Peter can respond, Ironman launches up and into the sky. 

When Tony vanishes from sight, Peter stumbles forward and drops to one knee. Examining the small cylinder, Peter finds a button on the side. He presses it once and a nozzle appears. Another press and a spray comes out. He suspects it’s a mixture of lidocaine, antibiotic, and some kind of quick clot foam. Whatever it is, once it’s smeared across his skin it instantly soothes the gash on his side and does exactly as promised, sealing the wound.

Later, when he’s standing in the bathroom and staring at the bruises that span across his chest, he thinks of how stupid he was. Well, not necessarily stupid. More… naive. 

He could have ruined a police investigation. Could have made any evidence useless. Even if the police had caught the Vulture, or his minions, the case might have been compromised. He wishes he could say that the concern was his own, but really it was MJ who brought it up. MJ, who criticizes a corrupt system.

Peter pulls on a sweater and crawls into bed, careful not to further aggravate his cracked sternum or the five inch gash on his side. 

When sleep takes him, the last thing on his mind is his father saying, “Maybe we can make an Avenger out of you,” and Peter thinking he doesn’t deserve it.

Chapter Text

“And then a grizzly bear came in complaining of a stomach ache.” Wait… What? Peter catches the tail end of May’s story, eyes darting from his food to her face. She’s giving him an amused stare. “Oh, are you with me now?”

She’s not wrong about his lack of focus. Since the ferry, Peter has felt off . He hasn’t patrolled for a week. The weapons are still being dealt with according to the news, but based on what he hears they aren’t making quick progress. 

The one person who may have information on the investigation is Tony and Peter won’t touch that with a ten foot pole. If Tony were to find out… he’d flip. And then he’d most definitely tell May, who’d freak out. Which means Peter would freak out. And be grounded forever. Or she’d cry which would be even worse than all the rest put together. 

“Peter?” May’s amusement has shifted into a soft concern. 

“Sorry,” he mumbles, pushing around Thai noodles with his chopsticks. “Just distracted.”

“Yeah. We’ve had a lot going on, huh.” They kind of have. The criminal case has dropped May from being a suspect, but she still gets calls from Detective Holton or Agent Loreant once in a while. They’re mainly trying to figure out how Richard and Mary created an entirely new identity for Peter. Or if that was the work of some kind of networked, and illegal, adoption agency. “I’m going to take some time off for the holidays.”

He perks up at that. She usually doesn’t get much time off. “Thanksgiving?”

“Yep. Taking a week off.” She points her fork at Peter. “And so are you. We’re taking a vacation.”

“Where?”

“Wherever you want.”

Peter grins, “What if I want to go to Alaska?”

“Peter, you sleep under four blankets already. You want to go somewhere even colder?” She laughs, but her eyes shine with seriousness, “No, really. Where would you like to go?”

He actually considers the question then, mind filling with possibilities. He remembers May telling him a story about her and Ben by the ocean. How he proposed to her in front of a sunset. It’s one of those memories that he looks back on and imagines for himself one day. Not necessarily the proposing part, but just being in awe of the sheer openness. No skyscrapers or planes overhead or lights that drown out the stars. Just the sun and sand and the sound of waves.

“I think…” Peter trails off, worried for a moment that he’s going to bring up sad memories. But she’s asked for honesty and on this Peter thinks she deserves it, “I want to see the beach. Like with palm trees and stuff.” 

“Okay. We’ll go to the beach.” 

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

“You packed, kiddo?” May calls out from the hall as Peter finishes shoving clothes into his duffle bag. 

“Almost!” He looks down at his bed where a small cylinder lays. He’s resolved not to take his suit with him -not that it matters because the suit’s falling apart again - but his webshooters and the quick clotting system are almost too useful to leave behind. He thinks of that day where he came across the fire. Of how the woman in the tub might not have made it if he didn’t have the shooters with him. 

And it’s not like someone’s going to be rifling through his stuff. He shoves the tube and cuffs inside the bag, tucking them deep into the bottom just in case. 

A knock on the door echoes in the apartment and Peter’s head cocks as he listens to their guest. 

“You guys ready?”

Peter grabs his bag and runs out of the room, stumbling over a backpack that’s been left in the hallway. Right. It’s his backpack. Once he regains his balance, he stares at Tony. He hasn’t seen him since the ferry. The sight of him isn’t as emotion inducing as Peter thought it would be. He doesn’t feel shame for his involvement in the FBI sting nor does he feel scared that Tony’s figured out his secret. He just feels as he usually does. 

Happy. 

“Easy, Kid,” Tony says with a smirk, “Don’t need you to break your neck before the vacation starts.”

“Teenagers,” May comments, as if that word alone explains why Peter’s tripping all over the hall and running around without shoes. Aforementioned shoes are thrown at him a few seconds later while May scrambles to get all their luggage together. “Sorry. We haven’t done this in a while.”

“What? Been to the beach?”

A beat passes and then May admits, “Been anywhere, really.”

Tony’s grin falters, just a fraction. But it’s back in place a moment later, “Well you two are going to love it.” 

Peter hopes so. He needs a change of pace. A reset. And aren’t vacations supposed to be good for that? They used to go out as a family now and then. A road trip to the Carolinas when he was ten. The great lakes when he was twelve. Not exactly the annual trip that some families get, but more than some others ever got. 

They load up everything in the back of the car and from there Peter's left with nothing to do but enjoy the ride. 

He’s never been on a plane before. Well… not that he can remember. He imagines the typical experience is nothing like the one he gets.

For one, it’s a private plane. The car rolls up all the way on the tarmac and they’re escorted up a set of stairs. Peter drops his bag onto the first open seat and explores the interior. May sinks into one of the beige seats with its own table. Tony taps on a panel located near the front and a TV slides down from an overhead compartment. 

It’s all very… surreal. 

A stark reminder that Tony Stark is a billionaire. 

Peter continues to the end of the seats and checks out the secondary section. “There’s a bedroom back here!” 

“You know we could have flown coach,” May murmurs from her reclined seat.

Tony grins, “I’ll eat fast food or ride the subway any day of the week, but it’ll be a cold day in hell before I fly commercial.” To Peter he calls out, “Snacks are in one of the cabinets.” 

Peter finds the cabinet and, as promised, sees a variety of snacks inside. It’s mostly junk food, which will never get a complaint from him. He snags a candy bar, a bag of doritos, and a protein shake. 

All the injuries from his fight with the Vulture are long healed, but he’s worked to develop a new habit of shoving calories into his body any chance he gets. Peter eats the candy bar and searches through the rest of the back room. A lower cabinet has a series of amber colored bottles. Some kind of liquor. He checks the next storage space. Wine.

A beep sounds through the cabin, followed by a short announcement that takeoff will begin soon. Peter takes it as his cue to return to the front section with May and Tony. 

From there, he spends most of the flight in the seat beside Tony, flipping through the TV channels until May’s had enough and firmly tells him to just pick something. Survivor plays in the background as Peter texts Ned and MJ about the trip. 

One nap later and they’re at another airport, rolling to a stop a thousand miles away from New York City.

It takes less than an hour for them to reach their final destination. When the building comes into view, Peter can’t stop himself from saying, “Woah.” It would be described as a villa if it weren’t so massive. The ‘villa’ alone would fit at least six of their apartments. Even Tony’s penthouse is smaller than the place. 

But what really stuns Peter is the view beyond the home. 

It’s just an open beach. Sandy and sun covered.

“Go on, Kid.” Tony doesn’t have to tell him twice. 

“He’s been to the New York beaches, but it really isn’t the same,” May says as she leans against a porch post and sips at her wine. 

“I took him to the beach all the time,” Tony’s voice is barely more than a whisper. It’s strange how it still hurts, even as he watches his child run across the sand. “Thomas couldn’t even sit up, but I’d hold him so he could put his feet in the sand. When he reached the age where he could grab stuff, he’d squeeze so hard I swore he was going to make quartz.”

There’s a gentle clink of glass on glass and Tony turns to see May walking into the Villa. She waves for him to follow. “I brought something for you.” She kneels down next to where all the luggage sits. The suitcase she brought is old. Based on the embossed letters beneath the handle it had once belonged to her husband.

Tony watches as she opens it and pushes aside a few blouses sitting on top to reveal a photo album. She pulls it free of the clothes and holds it out. “With the investigation hitting dead ends I went through some boxes in storage. Ben didn’t get much after Richard died, but I found some paperwork and this album. I guess we could call these the lost years. The ones between the life you had with him and the life I did.” Before the world fully entered into the digital age. When photos could still be printed. 

Tony ends up on the couch next to May, flipping through photograph after photograph. As most albums tend to be, it goes in chronological order. The very first picture is of a toddler in overalls. He’s standing by a couch, one hand on it for balance. Tony peels the picture up to see if anything had been written on the back. All it says is Peter.  

The toddler grows in little increments. Brown hair comes, a little curly and more than a little wild. Smiles begin to fill with teeth. The toddler becomes a child and personality shines through. A cheeky grin. Paint covering his hands and face and part of a living room wall. The young boy plays with a robot. A man and woman sit with Peter between them. She’s kissing his cheek and the boy’s smiling. 

Always smiling.

He was loved . 

Tony can’t stop the sound that escapes him. Something between a gasp and a sob. His hands clutch the album. A gift that he never could have hoped for. A soft hand curls around his own, urging him to loosen his fingers. Once he no longer has a death grip on the album, that soft and gentle hand slips palm to palm against his own. 

May intertwines her fingers with his and flips to the next page. The last page. A six year old Peter sits in front of a birthday cake. There’s a few presents on the table. A modest amount. Next to the boy is May Parker, lighting a single candle. It’s dated for August 10th, 2007. Not his real birthday, but the one he’s always celebrated. 

“He was obsessed with transformers. Ben found this large model of Optimus Prime.” May taps the photo, pointing to one particular wrapped box. “He’d always loved robots and building things. Took it apart within ten minutes, but it took the better part of the day for me and Ben to put it back together.” 

She closes the album and squeezes Tony’s hand. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to make you cry.” 

It’s then that Tony notices the wetness on his cheeks. He wipes it away with the back of his hand. “No... no it’s good.” And it is good. The hurt is a small one. Growing softer around the edges every day. Every moment spent with Peter dulls that sharp ache Tony hadn’t realized was there in his absence.

Shrapnel in his chest that no surgery could touch. 

He gives her hand a gentle squeeze and lets go. The album finds a home on his nightstand. Later he’ll take in every detail, will have FRIDAY download each image and store it away.

The Lost Years. 

It takes him a good half hour to recover. During that time he changes into shorts and a tank. It’s the most skin he’s had on display in years and it feels fantastic when he’s standing under the sun. 

For the next few days it’s just Tony, May, and Peter. They fill the days with lounging on the beach, dining on Jamaican cuisine, and playing board games. Tony answers his phone as little as possible. Stark Industries can wait. The Avengers can wait. The World can wait. 

Peter is an unlimited well of energy. He swims in the ocean. Does cartwheels on the beach. Tony hadn’t realized that the kid had a knack for acrobatics, but when Peter does a few flips it becomes clear he’s got the talent. 

The night before Thanksgiving, before everyone else that Tony considers family arrives, he sits in the living room with a tired May and a sleeping Peter. And he just watches him. Much like he did when Thomas would sleep in his bassinet as a newborn. The rise and fall of his son’s chest, proof that he’s alive. 

Once more, he feels whole. 

Alarms sound, smoke billowing in the room. Peter’s the first to act, slipping on a pair of oven mitts and pulling the flaming turkey out of the oven. Tony shouts for him to put the pan down. Rhodey’s already opening the back door. And May’s looking down at the floor, guilt all over her face. 

Peter tosses the beyond fried bird into the sand, where it continues to burn. The roasting pan follows. 

A woman’s laughter carries in the open outdoors and Peter turns to see Pepper standing on the porch. “You know you can just shut the oven door and the fire will go out.”

“Yeah,” Peter says with a small smile as he heads back to the villa, “But then the whole place would smell like smoke.” 

“Sounds like you know your way around a kitchen fire.” 

“I love May, but she’s a terrible cook.”

Pepper gives a sympathetic nod, “Tony once spent three hours making me an omelet. The one he gave me wasn’t even edible.” 

“That’s an exaggeration. One half of it was just fine,” Tony joins them on the porch, sharp gaze on Peter. “Let me see your hands. You get burned?” Before Peter can comply, Tony’s tugging off the oven mitts and turning Peter’s limbs for a quick examination. 

There’s a three inch pink line up the side of his right forearm. Probably from brushing against the pan on the way outside. Peter hadn’t even noticed the sting at the time. Now, though, he can feel the burn. He hisses out through his teeth when Tony’s thumb touches the edge of the injury. 

Tony ‘ tisks’ as he looks it over. “Second degree. Let’s get some cream on it.” 

“It’s not that bad,” Peter argues. Well, it won’t be in a few hours. He can already feel the itch growing beneath his skin. Tony, however, doesn’t take Peter’s word for it. He waves for him to follow and leads them to the master bedroom of the villa. Tony’s got a first aid kit in his hands a moment later. 

Of course Tony would know how to treat a burn. Across his knuckles and on the back of his hands are tell-tale scars. Skin that’s just a touch shinier than the rest. From soldering maybe. Or welding. Even electrical burns perhaps. 

His father applies cream along the length of the burn and then wraps it with some loose gauze. Even after the wound is covered, Tony holds on to Peter’s wrist. After a moment, voice quieter than Peter’s ever heard it, Tony says, “Let me have one rule, Kid. Can you do that for me?”

“What is it?”

“Don’t get hurt.” Tony gives a gentle squeeze to Peter’s wrist, an emphasis on his request. “I’d rather have this whole building go down in ash than see you hurt.”

It’s an impossible task. Even when Peter’s doing his best not to get injured, it still happens sometimes. “But-”

“One rule. Things do not take priority over your health. Ever.” Things. Okay… Peter can do that. He never gets hurt over things. It’s barely even a concession at this point. Peter nods and he can sense Tony’s relief as the man lets out a small exhale. A cautious smile spreads across the man’s face. “Good. Now let’s find another turkey.”

There is no turkey to be had, but Pepper does manage to get some Jamaican style chicken from a nearby restaurant. It’s not like any Thanksgiving dinner Peter’s been to, but it’s wonderful in it’s own right. 

Colonel Rhodes tells stories of Tony in MIT. Of how a young, arrogant, teenager bested professors and ran circles around the engineering teams. Pepper occasionally steals a kiss from Tony, cementing their newly re-formed relationship. May shares tidbits from Peter’s youth that has his cheeks burning red.

They eat far too much and go to sleep far too late. 

Before Peter knows it, he’s waking up and it’s time to get back on the plane. He’s still happy though because his phone is filled with photos that will help him remember these days for years to come. 

He’s curled up in the bed in the second cabin of the plane, drifting between sleep and wakefulness, when someone shakes his shoulder. “Peter?” 

As he blinks, Tony’s face comes into view. “T’ny?” 

“We’re diverting to the compound. I need you to come sit with your aunt.” 

Huh? Peter sits up, rubbing away the sleep from his eyes. When his gaze is back on Tony he sees that the man’s brow is furrowed and his mouth is pulled tight. “What’s wrong?”

“There was a FOIL request concerning the Thomas Stark case. Every news network is covering the story. We’re taking you and May to the compound. It’ll keep you out of the public eye until we get the press statement together.” 

Peter follows Tony into the front cabin, strapping in as instructed. Across from him is May, who looks just as worried as Tony. Peter knows he’d be a little more freaked out if he wasn’t on the tail end of sleep. Instead, he’s only a touch concerned as he obeys orders. 

The overhead speakers activate. “ Mr. Stark. We have the launch pad ready. ” 

“What?” Peter’s eyes snap to the ceiling, as if it holds all the answers. “What launchpad?” 

Tony sends a grin his way, but even Peter can tell it’s a little strained. “I’ll see you when you land.”

Then Tony’s heading towards the back of the plane. Not even two minutes later and he picks up the sound of repulsors. 

Natasha’s waiting for Tony in the receiving bay. The moment his feet touch the ground, she’s falling in step with him “I cleared out the east wing.”

“Where’s Rogers?” 

“He’s with Barnes.” Tony doesn’t hide his scowl. “Vision is leaving with Wanda. They’re going to head to the Barton home for the next few days.” Despite the rocky ground their relationship has been on lately, Tony’s glad to have Natasha on his side. She’s so in tune with the way people perceive one another that she already knew Tony wouldn’t want the witch anywhere near Peter. 

He circles back to the Barnes situation. “You talked to Cap about FRIDAY?”

“He’s against it.” 

“Of course he is,” the words are forced out through clenched teeth, carrying every ounce of Tony’s disdain. “Short sighted prick.” 

“Tony,” Nat’s voice is low and reprimanding. He shoots her a sideways glare and shakes his head. She shouldn’t defend Rogers. Not right now. Not if she wants to stay on Tony’s good side. She gets the message and softens her tone. “Okay. What do you need from me?”

“Keep Rogers out of the east wing. He sets one foot near Peter and I won’t be held responsible for what I’ll do.” The spy pulls out her phone, presumably to forward his request. Tony doesn’t stick around to check, already stalking off to head towards the east wing. 

“You’re going to have to talk to him eventually,” she calls out after him.

“Not today!” Not ever if he had the choice. 

Tony makes it to the lab in record time, dropping his phone on the desk and pulling up a diagram of the compound. FRIDAY analyzes the map and breaks apart each primary section. The living quarters. Training areas. Equipment storage and testing. Research and Development.

The HCU. 

She cannot access the security systems beyond the lab or his suites, but she can request that the security system provide her with general updates via the power grid. Small fluctuations indicate when doors are accessed or keycards used. It’s the closest Tony can get to monitoring the property with the AI. 

The other system is basic in comparison. Keycards. Facial recognition. Lockdown procedures based on failures.

He’s just wrapped up the security tie-in when he gets an expected call. 

“Tomorrow, 6pm. We’re getting four representatives from the major networks. I’m sending you the list of questions they want to ask.” 

“Any pushback from the board?” Not that Tony would care if there was. He’s just in the habit of being well-informed these days. 

“Nothing we can’t handle. Just get settled in, review the questions, and I’ll handle the rest.” He can hear her take in a breath on the other end of the line. One of those steady withdraws that means something he won’t like is coming. He braces for her next words. “They want you in the city for the interview.”

“We have a perfectly constructed press room here. You know how I know that? Because I approved all the architecture plans myself.”

“There’s concern that it’ll be tied to the Avengers and the interviewers want to keep this ‘Tony Stark’ focused.” 

“Do they not know that I am Ironman?”

Another one of those slow breaths. “Please do not say that during the interview.”

“Well, now that's all I can think of to say!”

“Read your questions.”

“As you wish, Miss Potts.”

“I love you, too, Tony.” 

The line disconnects and Tony gets the list of questions almost immediately after. Before he can start the review, FRIDAY announces, “ Your plane has landed, Boss .”

If Peter’s stressed from the situation, he doesn’t show it. The teen freely explores the compound, asking Tony questions about the tech and the size and pretty much anything else that pops into his mind. 

“Is there a cafeteria?” “Is there one of those cool intercom systems?” “Do you have blast shields?!” “Are the air ducts big enough to crawl in? They look pretty big, Tony. Is that a security concern?” 

Tony sets May up in the guest suite neighboring Rhodey’s room. It’s interconnected, but he warned his friend in advance. Peter’s room is linked to his own. Even though he’s lived in the penthouse since finding out about his son, he still had the room ready for Peter. Just in case. 

He’s glad to have planned ahead when Peter steps into the suite and the kid smiles. “Awesome.” Tony can’t help but feel a flush of pride at the exclamation.

“Want to see the lab?” Peter’s smile turns into a wide grin.

“ Welcome, Young Boss. ” FRIDAY greets Peter as he and Tony step into the lab. It’s amazing. One of the most beautiful places he’s ever seen. The glass around the room goes opaque with a press of a button and holograms pop up in the center of the room. Project files float until Tony taps on one. 

It’s nothing compared to the system in the penthouse.

Several robots whir in response to Tony’s presence, singular mechanical arms rotating to face him. As if awaiting instruction. Tool boxes span a wall across the entire length of the room. On the other side is more lab based equipment. Centrifuges and microscopes. Peter turns a questioning glance towards Tony. “I didn’t think you were into bio-sciences?” 

His father gives a half smile and shrugs, “Most of that is for Bruce.”

“Bruce? Bruce Banner? Dr. Banner worked here?”

“You a fan?”

“I read some of his papers.” Radiation had been the reason for Peter’s powers to begin with. It only made sense for him to read what experts had published. And Bruce Banner was a leading scientist in the field of Gamma radiation. 

“Heavy stuff. Feel free to use anything you see.”

Peter checks the stores of chemicals, seeking out familiar ones. If he can make the web formula in a place like this then he may even be able to work on improvements. But he has to be careful.

FRIDAY watches everything in the open spaces of the penthouse and she likely watches everything within the lab. He doesn’t have to be secretive about it, but he does have to prepare a reasonable explanation for why he’d be recreating Spider-Man’s webbing. 

How does he-

All thoughts flee as he catches sight of a folder floating in the air. It’s buried within a mass of other folders, but the symbol that decorates the file stands out in his eyes. 

A single red spider.

Peter’s feet carry him to the folder and he reaches out to touch it before he can stop himself.  Every other file vanishes and the project opens, diagrams and details popping up into the air. Videos from youtube spring to life. Moments he hadn’t even realized were captured on someone’s camera. Catching a car before it hits a bus. Webbing up a pair of robbers. Guiding an elderly lady across the street. 

Statistics populate some kind of information card. Estimated strength. Speed. Notes on if he has a healing factor. Guesses on how he sticks to surfaces. 

“I met him not long ago,” Tony’s voice cuts through Peter’s focus. “He operates in your borough. Figured I should keep tabs on him.” The memory is so fresh in Peter’s mind that he can still feel the flush of shame from being the cause of so many people almost dying. It takes everything in him to keep his face neutral. He must succeed because Tony continues, “He seems like a good kid. Bit prone to getting hurt, though.” 

“How do you know it’s a kid?”

“Hours of operation mostly. FRIDAY has been running an algorithm to narrow down a list of potential identities.” Oh no.

“And… and how many are on that list?” 

“We were down to four hundred, but the most recent sighting threw off the numbers. Either we had bad information or he purposefully changed his schedule. Once all this-” Tony waves to the space between him and Peter, “-gets settled then I’ll work on updating the search. It's a low priority at the moment.” 

Peter turns back to the files. He reaches for one that has a person shaped icon. 

Everything fades away and a large diagram takes center stage. It’s a suit. A very detailed Spider-Man suit. 

Peter’s mouth goes dry. “You’re making him a suit?”

“Just some tinkering. Nothing in production.”

Just some tinkering has far different meanings to Tony than it does to Peter. The schematics are thorough. There’s notes on flexible materials. Web shooter systems that include multiple options. Peter taps on a dark spot around the chest area and a scrawled note appears. 

‘Kevlar for heart protection?’

Another dark spot located near the lower back. ‘Heater source. Spiders cannot thermoregulate. Mutate applicable?’

Upper back, between the shoulder blades. ‘Parachute?’ Why would he even need a parachute?

It’s too close to home. The more he sees the more he wants to open the files and start annotating. If someone takes any time to look at the pieces at all then it’s just a matter of time before they put the puzzle together. It only took MJ a week and the only resource she had was Peter’s own phone and a pair of working eyes.

Then again, her sight was aimed at Peter. When people look at Spider-Man, the possibilities are too numerous. Even an AI hasn’t pinned down his identity. 

Yet…

Peter waves a hand and all the files close, folding into one another until he’s left looking at a singular PROJECTS line. He turns his back on the hologram, unwilling to take any risks. Not when the focus is already on his entire family. 

He glances around the lab, eyes searching for anything else he can do. Some kind of suggestion that wouldn’t be out of place. In the corner stands one of the older Ironman suits. Peter points at it, “Can we look at your suits?” 

Tony’s grin returns full force. “You bet, kid.” 

They spend hours taking apart one of the older models. The Mark 30. It’s a blue model and Tony explains how it’s the precursor for the RESCUE suit. The RESCUE, much like the Spider-Man suit, is still in the design phase. Peter’s excitement builds as he realizes he’s working on an entirely new suit. Every suggestion he makes is noted in a new file created by Tony, even the ones that will probably be dead before production. “I’ve scrapped ideas halfway through hardware mode, Kid. Sometimes, you gotta learn the hard way if it works.”

Tony teaches him how to use the lift systems in the lab and several of the safety measures he has in place. Life experience has led to Tony Stark being a tad more trepidacious. He tells Peter as much as he shows videos from the Mark Two trials. “I really hate flying into walls or getting soaked in fire retardant by DUM-E over there.”

Peter can’t help but laugh when DUM-E whines in response.

Around three in the morning, FRIDAY shuts down the lab and enacts a protocol that forces them out. Peter goes to bed happy and tries to hold on to the feeling for as long as it takes to let the world drift away.

Chapter Text

Natasha stands ready at the front entrance when Dr. Theo Broussand arrives. He’s already familiar with the route that leads from the front doors to the HCU, but Nat likes to greet him anyway. For one, it allows her the chance to read the man before he begins his treatment of Barnes. Natasha tracks his gait with her eyes. It’s a touch unbalanced, probably due to some arthritis. Despite that, he walks with his head up and eyes keen and sharp with intelligence. 

The second reason she meets him outside is that she likes to see what he’s carrying into the compound each visit. 

Today he just has a singular notepad. Not even a briefcase accompanies him, which she’s learned isn’t uncommon with the doctor. It’s convenient to not have to search any bags for this session, but she doesn’t scoff at the task should it be needed. 

He affixes his badge to his breast pocket, straightens his glasses, and sends her a small smile as he walks up the stairs. “Hello again, Miss Romanoff.”

“Dr. Broussand,” she replies, falling into step at his side as they begin the journal towards the central elevator.

“How is our guest today?” He asks the same question every time, though Natasha always has a different answer. 

She’d been the one to deliver Bucky’s breakfast that morning so her memory of him is fresh. He’d been lying on the bed in the HCU, staring at the opposing white wall that resided beyond the glass of the cell. He hadn’t even rolled over to take the plate of eggs and bacon, just gave a sigh and asked her to leave it on the table. 

She settles on, “Depressed. He spends a lot of time sleeping. Sometimes he writes what he can remember, but I don’t think he’s touched a pen since your last session.”

The journal had been an early suggestion by the doctor. A way to organize what was reality and what could be misremembered flashes of the past. 

At the news, Dr. Broussand’s smile falls. “Ah. Perhaps we should begin a medication regimen. I know his unique physiology may make it difficult, but surely there is research pertaining to Mr. Rogers that is applicable.” 

“We can reach out to Dr. Cho, have the two of you meet and discuss your options.” Dr. Cho had developed a sleep aid for Steve at one point. Nat only recalls seeing him use it twice, but both times had resulted in his ability to sleep without nightmares. Pain medications were more complex, but they’d learned that a high enough tranquilizer dose could act as a temporary relief. 

She  glosses over what Steve’s used, just to give the psychiatrist a baseline. 

“It is a place to start.” They make it to the elevator and Nat places a badge against the access panel. The ride is silent while the doctor uses the time to make some notes. From the corner of her eye she can see that it's a reference to the sleep aid. Helen’s name follows. In bolder print at the top is the date, followed by ‘ Session 7’.

Soon, they’re stepping into the sublevel that holds the hulk containment unit. It reminds Natasha of the glass cage on the heli-carrier. Just larger and with far more amenities. 

The transparent walls mean that they can see Bucky as soon as they step off the elevator. He’s wearing gray sweats and a black t-shirt. Simple. It’s a marked improvement from this morning when he didn’t even bother putting on pants.

While Dr. Broussand takes a seat, Natasha activates the intercom.

“Hello again, Mr. Barnes.” 

The soldier makes his way over to his own chair, rotating it so he can sit directly in front of the doctor. They’re separated by no more than five feet and a glass wall that can withstand a punch from the Hulk. “Hey Doc.”

“Miss Romanoff tells me you’re not feeling well today. Perhaps we can use the session today to focus on methods that can help you regain your sense of purpose.” 

Barnes sends a sideways glance towards Natasha. With a quick dart of his eyes, he indicates towards the elevator. She takes the cue. 

To Dr. Broussand, she says, “I’ll return in thirty-minutes.”

He’s not opposed to shrinks. In fact, he could see himself registering for some sessions on his own some day. But he’s tired of people trying to get in his head. He’s exhausted by the mere idea that someone’s going to stare at him and pick apart everything that’s wrong. 

There’s not enough time in the world for that kind of work.

Still, he’s under detainment for the foreseeable future. Until Steve gets a pardon for him or he’s moved to a prison that could actually hold him. He may as well use the time to make heads or tails of his fractured psyche. 

What better way than to sit with an expert and have them talk at him for half an hour. 

Should you have a nightmare, I want you to write down everything you can remember. He’d never stop writing if he did that. Learn to accept your role as a weapon, but also understand that you did not pull the trigger. It doesn’t feel that way when aforementioned nightmares tell a different story. 

Are you eating? Whatever they give him. Three squares a day. 

Do you find enjoyment in hobbies? He’s got access to a television, but everything is crap -except cooking shows because that hasn’t changed much in the past eight decades- and he can’t stand commercials. 

Steve brings him books and newspapers. It’s enough to keep him occupied between bouts of sleep and insanity. 

Bucky blinks and the doctor’s staring at him, head cocked to the side as he says, “I asked what you believe your purpose is Mr. Barnes.” 

His purpose? “Survive, I guess.” 

Dr. Broussand adjusts his glasses. It’s a gesture he does often. Bucky believed it to be a nervous tick, but this time something about the way the doctor pushes at the temples strikes him as odd. As if the man doesn’t like the way they sit on his ears.

The thought is shoved to the side as quickly as it comes. Bucky doesn’t want to spend every moment analyzing. Doesn’t want to have to read people non-stop. He looks away, finding a spot on the far wall to stare at in an attempt to let his mind go blank. 

“Do you know who this child is?” 

What? The strangeness of the question has Bucky’s head snapping around. There’s a photograph in the doctor’s hand. It features a boy… a teen really. Brown hair and brown eyes. A small dimple near the boy’s smile. He’s never seen the person before in his life. 

…That he can remember.

He swallows past a forming lump in his throat. “Is… is this someone I-”

“No,” the doctor says with a shake of his head. Bucky lets out a quick breath in relief, but it stutters when the man continues, “Not yet anyway.” 

Not yet. 

Not yet. 

The doctor waves the photograph. “This is Thomas Stark. Also known as Peter Parker. He is the son of Tony Stark.” Tony Stark. Son of Howard and Maria Stark. Bucky knows him . Knew Howard. He’s had nightmares about Howard. “Thomas is currently upstairs in this very compound. Hiding from the world while his father takes a press conference. What if I told you that your purpose was to eliminate this child?”

Bucky rises to his feet. Adrenaline pours through his system as fear begins to settle into his stomach. 

The next word out of the doctor’s mouth turns the knot of fear into terror. 

“Longing.”  His metal arm whirs and he’s swinging before he can process what he’s doing. He has to get out. The limb strikes against the reinforced glass, but the only thing that gives is one of the plates in his elbow. “Rusted.” 

Pain shoots through his head as the words are said, lancing everything that connects him to his own autonomy. Bucky howls. Screams for Natasha. For Steve. He hits the wall again. Again. Praying for the tiniest crack to begin. Praying that the sounds will drown out the man’s voice as he continues.

Meant for the hulk. Reinforced glass and steel beyond what he’s capable of destroying.

“One.”

No. No, he can’t do this. Bucky’s eyes land on the man. Not a doctor. An imposter. He memorizes every feature, lets that part of himself that analyzes every minute detail take over for just a fraction of a second. “I’m going to make you regret this,” he swears. 

The man’s expression turns to satisfaction as those final words leave his mouth. “Freight Car.”

“ What time will it start? ” Ned asks, voice carrying through the room as Peter puts him on speaker. 

May’s already settled in on the couch, gaze darting between the TV broadcast and her phone, but she’s not so invested that she can’t answer, “Should be soon. Pepper said six.” 

When it happens, there is no mistaking it. The feed switches off of two news anchors in their studio and focuses on a Podium. “ Looks like it’s about to start, ” MJ this time. Peter can’t see her face, but he can picture the bored expression she always wears. All of them, though separated by distance, watch as Tony walks up onto the stage. 

He’s well dressed, as always. Full suit and tie and fancy shades. Despite the circumstances of the press conference, he seems at ease. There’s notecards in his hand, but all he does with them is place them on the podium. When Tony’s positioned right behind it, he swings his stare across an audience that Peter can’t see. At least not until the first question is asked. 

The camera is turned to show the first interviewer. A woman reporter holds a recording device, arm stretched out to get it as close to the podium as possible. The very first question is, “When did you find out that your son was alive?” Throwing a softball to start it seems. 

“It’s been just over four weeks.” Peter swears it felt longer. His entire life was upended and redirected in the course of less than a month. 

“Records show that his aunt has primary custody, do you intend to take him away from the woman who raised him?”

Tony shakes his head. “I have no intention of taking him away from his family.”

Most of the questions are tame. They dive into the details of the case. If new information has come to light. If Peter is able to assist in future investigations of the trafficking ring. 

One of the reporters asks, “ Will you expect Thomas to take over Stark Industries when you retire?” 

The slightest twitch at the corner of Tony’s eye, barely perceptible to the human eye. But Peter sees it. Knows it’s the precursor to Tony’s frustration. He almost feels bad for the reporter that asked that one because they won’t be invited to the next press release.  “My son’s name is Peter. And he’s free to pick whatever path he wants.”

“Do you plan on filing a lawsuit against the FBI for their negligence in the way Peter’s case was handled?”

“I will not be-”

Tony’s attention breaks from the journalists, brow furrowing as he looks up and to the right. The glasses. He’s looking at a message display. Whatever Tony sees causes his eyes to widen and his mouth to pull tight. 

A buzzing sounds in the back of Peter’s skull. It starts low, but quickly ramps into an insistent pulse. “Something’s wrong,” he whispers. 

At his side, May starts, “What are-” 

The screen of the TV goes dark as the room’s power flickers. There’s barely a delay when the arc powered generators come online, but it seems that the television isn’t considered a priority to the system. Half the lights remain off. 

“Holy shit,” Ned exclaims on the phone, “ Mr. Stark’s calling his suit. He’s telling everyone to back up. ” 

“Gotta go, Ned. There’s a situation.” Peter cuts the call and turns his attention to May. But her attention is aimed at the entry to the living quarters, her entire form vibrating with dread. He follows her stare and lets the spider instinct take over. 

He moves faster than he’s ever moved before, leaping over the couch to land between May and the threat. Hiding who he is, what he can do, is no longer a thought in his head. He refuses to lose another loved one. Protect her, a voice in his head screams. At his back, May gasps, “Peter?” 

The Winter Soldier advances. Peter has little time to process that there is a gun in one hand and a knife in the other, but once he catches sight of both, he understands that this is not a fight where he can pull his punches. He saw video footage of the take-down in Romania. Saw brief glimpses as Captain America and Ironman using everything in their arsenal to subdue Bucky Barnes. 

“Peter, do not even think about it,” May hisses out. 

“Mr. Barnes, sir, what do you say we-” His entire body jerks to the side as every sense lights up. His ears ring with the bang of the gun. His mouth and nose fill with the scent and taste of gunpowder. Wind rushes past his arm and he sticks his hand to May’s shoulder, yanking her out of the path of the first bullet. 

A strangled cry escapes her mouth as Peter pushes her down to the floor on the second gunshot. He hears a crack, the distinct sound of a snapping bone, but he doesn’t have the luxury of feeling bad about any broken limbs when the alternative is a bullet to the head. Not right now, anyway.

On the third shot, originally aimed at Peter’s chest, realization dawns that the soldier is not aiming for anyone . He’s aiming at Peter and only Peter. 

He can use that. Has to. 

Peter darts to the side, away from the couch and May. As expected, the Winter Soldier follows him, pistol trained on Peter as he continues to fire.

A sharp burning cuts through the skin of his upper arm and Peter’s jaw tenses as he withholds a shout of pain. What he does manage instead is, “Getting rusty are we?” The Winter Soldier says nothing, as if the joke doesn’t even compute. Peter covers his fear with a scoff and takes a flying leap.

Not towards Barnes, but towards the window. 

He’s bringing the fight outside on the quickest path possible. Away from May. Away from all potential casualties. It’s part instinct, part calculation. He doesn’t have his webs, but he can jump. Peter flips up to the ceiling, sticks just long enough to generate momentum, and swings with both feet aimed at the glass. 

The window shatters and Peter’s eyes are trained on the small section of ground he’s about to impact. Green manicured lawn approaches and Peter’s body twists to prepare for the second his feet hit the ground.

Toes touch, knees bend, shoulder to the grass. Peter rolls once and he’s back on his feet, gaze already focused on Barnes as he lands just a few feet away. Peter is harshly reminded of the skill level difference between himself and the soldier when the man spins the knife in his hand and goes in for the kill. 

Peter dodges, weaving beneath a metal arm and a sharp blade. The Winter Soldier compensates swiftly, throwing feints to push Peter in specific directions. He likely cannot comprehend Peter’s sixth sense and the way it guides his body away from the true threats. If the soldier experiences any building frustration about his lack of progress, he isn’t showing it. All he does is counter Peter any way he can. 

He’s strong. But Peter is stronger.

A kick lands against Peter’s knee, hard enough that a normal person would likely be disabled for the rest of their life. Peter ignores the sprained muscle and goes to punch the man. The strike is deflected, metal forearm slamming against his own. 

Barnes may not be as flexible as Peter, but he moves with deadly grace and fluidity. He redirects momentum when he can and wastes no energy on needless maneuvers. And his aggression… it’s endless. A ruthless machine that’s swinging a knife towards Peter, or a fist, or a high powered kick straight to his lower ribs. Attacks intended to debilitate. Attacks intended to kill.

Peter closes the distance, going for the knife in the soldier’s hand. If he’d been holding it in his flesh hand, then Peter might have had an easier time breaking Barnes’ hold. Unfortunately, the metal fingers refuse to loosen their grip even with targeted strikes. 

He’s going to have to pry it out of the soldier’s hand. 

Peter latches on to the arm with both hands, curling around the limb and sticking his fingers to the metal digits. The metal creaks and groans as he works his thumb into the divot of the palm. The downside of focusing on a single objective is that it leaves him vulnerable to attack.

The Winter Soldier does not pass up the opening, sending a fist towards Peter’s exposed back. Pain flares just to the right of his spine and even though Peter cries out from the hit, he doesn’t let go. 

Not until he has the knife in his own hand. Peter forces his head up, ignoring the way his body aches. Fire across his arm. The ache in his knee. A sharp sting in his back. Flesh wounds he knows will fade to nothing in days. Physical pain is temporary.  He flips the blade, mimicking the spin the soldier threatened him with earlier. “Now… you want to reconsider this mission Mr. Barnes?” 

It’s a very clear ‘ no’ when the soldier bares his teeth and jumps forward once more. 

The suit crashes through the ceiling roughly fifty seconds after Tony calls it. Cameras are flashing and every reporter and journalist in the room is witness to Tony Stark responding to a crisis. 

His glasses flash with warnings. Power fluctuations at the compound. FRIDAY, still connected to the lab, relays all the updates. “Where’s Natasha?” Without the AI embedded within the other parts of the security system, FRIDAY cannot answer. Tony grits his teeth and snaps, “Send the recon drone. Search everywhere until you find them.” 

The recently arrived suit opens and Tony sheds his glasses and his suit jacket, dropping them near the podium. “Auto-flight to compound. Push it, FRI.” He’s launched into the air, faceplate filling with the drone’s feed before he’s even cleared the building. 

Images in front of him show the lab first, but the drone swifty moves from room to room until it’s entering the elevator. A thin arm drops from the drone and activates the security system to go down. 

When the doors reopen, he’s met with the sight of Natasha and Rogers inside the HCU. Rogers is trying to break through the door, fingers digging at the near seamless hinges. Natasha, however, has her eyes on the drone, mouth moving. The intercom system is down, but FRIDAY interprets what she’s saying.

“Tony, he’s after Peter.”

The flight from the city to the compound is the longest three minutes of his life. On the way he uses the drone to bypass the HCU protocols with his own unique codes. Once the door opens, Natasha and Rogers race towards the elevator. Tony activates the speaker system on the drone. “Where is he?” 

“ They were in the living quarters. ” Of course. Watching the interview. 

The drone catalogs damage done along the way. Damage caused by the soldier as he took down parts of the security and power system. Holes in the wall with exposed wiring. Cameras with bullet holes through them. 

Tony’s terrified of what he’s going to see.

“ Peter?! ” May’s voice sounds and the drone spins to center on her. Tony takes in the way she’s cradling her arm and how she’s tucked up against an overturned couch. Natasha’s already kneeling next to her, helping her to stand. Rogers stares at a smashed window. It was a ballistics reinforced glass, which means that the soldier must have been responsible for what remains of it. 

Tony’s breath catches in his throat as he asks, “Where is he?” 

“ Outside. ” It’s the only thing Cap has said so far. The drone does another spin and Tony gets just enough time to see Rogers begin to run towards the open window. He leaps through it and is out of sight a moment later. 

Tony’s heart pounds.

He can’t spiral. Not now. He has to be ready to kill Barnes.

The drone feed vanishes and FRIDAY says, “Auto-Systems going off in three, two, one.”

The repulsors come back under Tony’s control and he aims for the front of the compound. Three figures stand on the lawn. Diagrams flow across the HUD. Bucky Barnes. Peter Parker. Steve Rogers. A weapon is registered, highlighted on screen. Yet, his brain cannot compute what he sees.  Blood runs down Peter’s arm, soaking the sleeve of his white t-shirt. The teen holds the knife in his right hand, facing off against the Winter Soldier.

What the hell is his kid thinking? 

Tony redirects the suit to intercept. A handful of seconds. 

But seconds are all that the soldier needs. The metal arm swings, fist balled and aimed right at Peter’s head. Tony wants to scream at him to run. To duck. To do anything but allow himself to be a target. All he can do is shout, “Peter!” 

The kid’s head jerks up, eyes laser focused on Tony. The kid’s open and vulnerable and the arm is still swinging. 

It’s as if time stops. A moment burned into memory. Peter stands solemn, accepting of fate. Brown eyes that are one shader darker than Tony’s own focused on the sky. On Ironman. The kid’s gaze never leaves Tony, but his left arm moves coming up to block a hit that will obliterate the bones in his hand. 

Except… that doesn’t happen. 

Peter’s fingers close around the metal fist and stop the soldier’s punch mid-swing. Even the Winter Soldier betrays his shock, his once narrowed glower now a wide-eyed stare on where the two hands meet. 

A heartbeat later and the distance between Tony and Barnes is gone as he hits him with the suit in a full body tackle. They roll across the grass, each one throwing unrestrained punches at one another.

The Ironman armor takes most of it. Barnes, however, does not have that luxury so when Tony lands hits, it does a fair share of damage. Tony doesn’t care about restraining the man. Doesn’t care about his innocence or his guilt. All Tony knows is that the Winter Soldier tried to kill his son and the only justice for that is an e xecution . 

He puts a repulsor against the metal arm and yells, “Divert all power, gauntlet!”

The blast is blinding and sends out a shockwave, rattling Tony in his very bones. What he sees left behind is exactly what he expected. Everything below the shoulder joint is gone.  Disintegrated with the force of the percussive attack. 

The same gauntlet is forced down against Barnes’ chest. Barnes, who is staring vacantly at the sky. Either ready to die or unaware that he’s about to. 

Somewhere in the background, he can hear shouting. “Tony! Tony, stop!” It’s muffled beneath the roaring in his ears. Muffled beneath the sizzling skin under his palm and the hum of the reactor. “Tony, stop, you’re killing him!” The voice begs, but Tony’s on a trajectory that cannot be stopped. 

Barnes murdered his parents. Barnes was trying to kill his son. There is no way this ends without putting the assassin six feet under.

“ Dad, please!” 

The word cuts through him like a razor, slicing through his rage. He’s ripped off course, head whipping around to see Peter. Peter, who is running right at him. Screaming at him to stop. 

Tony doesn’t know how it happens, but one minute he’s kneeling over the soldier, prepared to put a repulsor beam directly into the man’s heart, and in the next he has an armful of Peter Parker. A living, breathing, Peter.

He has to get them out of there. Barnes can be left to Rogers and Natasha, both of whom are on their way. 

He wraps two arms around the teen and quickly launches into the sky, taking them away from the threat. “Boss, power systems are failing. The diversion to the gauntlet compromised energy stores. ” Shit. Tony takes them back down to the ground, right next to the steps of the compound. Just when the Ironman armor lands, the power system gives out. Emergency releases snap open in a series of hisses and he’s free from the metal suit.

Strong lanky arms catch Tony before he can fall face first into the ground. 

Tony’s brain may be misfiring, but his base instincts demand that he check on the kid. His hands grip Peter’s shoulders, pushing him back an arms length, far enough to where he can see the kid from head to toe. He touches the boy’s face, his shoulders. Puts one hand on his chest to feel the rise and fall and the rapid beat beneath his palm. Proof that his son is alive .

“I’m okay,” Peter says. 

But Tony knows that's a lie. There’s bruising on the kid’s jaw. Blood all over his arm. Blood that’s smeared on Tony’s hand from when he’d checked over all the skin he can see. “He hit you? He cut you?” Tony grits out through clenched teeth, fighting the urge to stalk right back over to the disoriented man with one arm so he can finish the job. 

“I’ll be fine. But… if you happen to have one of the blood clotters on you, I could use it about now.” 

Blood clotters? What is he talking-

Blood clotter. Pain reliever. The emergency first aid vial. He typically carries three in the suit, but he’s down to two because he gave one away. Put it in the hands of a kid on a ferry. In Spider-Man’s hands. He sees the blood smeared down Peter’s arm and pictures the blood that was pooling beneath Spider-Man’s foot that day. He thinks of bruised knuckles and a limp that Natasha pointed out, both injuries vanishing before Tony can even muster up concern.

Spider-Man who’s strong enough to catch a car. Spider-Man who’s strong enough to catch the Winter Soldier’s fist. The kid hadn’t said a word… Well, only said the one correction. Because he didn’t want Tony to know. The clear lack of trust is a punch to the gut, but Tony ignores the hurt and focuses on the boy in front of him.

Because what else can he do except make sure his son is alright?

Tony reaches for the hem of Peter’s sleeve and pulls it up, the need to see the wound warring with the need to be gentle. It’s not a knife wound, Tony assesses quickly. The skin looks as though it was ripped apart, blackened edges indicative of a hot item passing through. A projectile wound.

A bullet graze. 

“He fucking shot you?”

“Kind of why I’m hoping you have the… um, the thing,” Peter makes a squeeze motion with his hand, then winces. The minute display of pain is enough for Tony to return to the armor at his back. He has to pry open the panel, but he gets out one of the cylinders. 

Peter reaches for it, but Tony yanks it out of the way. “No. Show me. Every injury.” They’re still making a trip to the med-bay, but Tony can’t wait. He has to see it now. Has to make sure that the kid won’t be hiding anything else. 

The teen sighs and pulls his sleeve back up to expose the bullet wound again. It’s not gushing but a steady trickle of red runs down to Peter’s elbow and drips to the grass. Tony sprays it liberally with the coagulation compound. He doesn’t miss Peter’s exhale of relief. “Where else?”

“Back hurts, but there’s nothing we can do about it. It’s all internal.”

Tony twists the cylinder and a small needle pops out. Peter looks surprised to see it. Tony guesses he hasn’t discovered half of the kit’s resources. “Ketamine. Show me.” 

When Peter lifts his shirt and turns around, Tony can’t help but take a sharp inhale. Bruising the size of a basketball spans the middle of Peter’s back, centered around where his kidney would be. They need to get him an MRI. Immediately. Tony sticks him with the needle and lets the battlefield dosage do its job. 

“FRIDAY,” the suit at Tony’s back beeps to demonstrate FRIDAY’s still connected and listening. “Contact Dr. Cho. And Wu if he’s available. Put them on standby.” 

“On it, Boss. Though I will remind you that Dr. Wu’s expertise are-”

Tony snaps back at the AI, “He’s on a short list of surgeons I trust.”

“I’m fine, To-”

“You say ‘I’m fine’ one more time and I’m going to lose it!” It’s the closest Tony’s come to yelling at the boy, tone sharp and reprimanding. When Peter flinches, Tony feels a flash of shame and has to remind himself that he’s not Howard. Has to remind himself that it isn’t anger that causes his voice to rise, but it’s fear, born out of love. With forced calm, Tony asks,  “FRIDAY, can you scan him?”

“I am unable to access those processes.”

Tony sighs and tucks himself against Peter’s side, carefully looping his arm around the teen’s back to bear some of his weight. Off the injured knee that Peter has yet to mention. “We have to get you to the medical wing.”

Peter nods. Together, they head back into the compound. Natasha and Rogers have restrained Barnes, but he can’t even bring himself to look at them. The second he does, he’s going to voice every dark thought he has. And that would take ages. Ages that Peter doesn’t have. Tony’s not that kind of doctor but he knows there’s damage inside his son that needs to be addressed immediately.

It isn’t until Peter’s lying in the MRI unit that it hits Tony. If it wasn’t for him being Spider-Man, he would be dead . His kid has a severe renal hematoma, one that’s miraculously repairing itself even as the scans load. It’s amazing and terrifying. He wants to grab the kid and shake him. Demand that he never do anything like that again. Praise his powers for keeping him alive. 

He’s using FRIDAY to analyze the results, at least until a specialist can arrive, when the door to the MRI control room opens. 

In the threshold stands Rogers. 

“I just wanted to-”

Tony cuts him off, tone icy, “This better be the last time I ever see you.” 

Steve seems surprised by the amount of fury that bleeds into Tony’s voice because his blue eyes go wide, “Tony, you can’t-”

“You have two hours to leave this property. I suggest you find a hole to hide in because the next time I have a free minute to spare, I’m coming after you and your war buddy, who, by the way, murdered my parents and just tried to murder my son.” 

“He wasn’t-”

“I don’t care!” Tony’s shout echoes in the room. The MRI scans fluctuate as Peter attempts to sit up. Tony grits his teeth and presses the intercom unit to the MRI room, not that it’s even necessary as the kid’s enhanced hearing surely picks up everything.  “Keep still.” To Steve, he continues, “I’m done. Done with you. I’ve got nothing but lies and distrust and look what I’m left with. My kid… the one I grieved , was shot and almost ended up with a ruptured kidney. Because of you. ” 

The man has the nerve to look devastated, eyes downturned in a pitiful sadness. Tony doesn’t buy the kicked puppy act. Will never buy another word out of the man’s mouth again. “I won’t ask a second time. Leave.”

Tony doesn’t know if it’s self preservation or a courtesy, but he doesn’t see Rogers again. By the time the compound’s power is fully restored, there’s no sign of Wilson, Rogers, or Barnes anywhere. Natasha’s still on site, but she’s wise enough to keep her distance. 

May’s fractured arm is set in a cast and Peter’s on ordered bed rest. 

And Tony… Tony sits in the room, chair pulled up next to the bed that Peter sleeps in. They’re close enough to where Tony can reach out and touch his hand. Can hold it after he drifts off and is woken by images of Peter bleeding out on the grass or a metal hand around his son’s throat. 

“Hey,” A soft voice pulls Tony from one such nightmare. He blinks, takes in the sight of a glass hovering in front of him. May gives the glass a tiny shake. “Drink.” For once, he does as he’s told and doesn’t complain about being handed things. While he gulps down the cool water, May turns to Peter. The kid’s still out. From what Tony’s been able to tell, sleep and food are the best method for him to return to full health.

“I’m guessing you didn’t know about his-” Tony searches for the right words, settling on, “After-school activities.” May’s brow lifts, head cocking to the side. He’s seen that exact same look on Pepper’s face. Are you serious, Tony? “Yeah. Didn’t think so.”

There’s no lack of affection on her face. May looks at Peter with a tender gaze and reaches for the same hand that Tony’s been holding on and off all night. “He’s been fighting bad guys for months. Running into burning buildings. I saw clips of him swinging around New York. It’s crazy.” 

“Almost as crazy as having Tony Stark for a father?”

“Oh no, this is a seven out of ten. You rank higher. About a nine.”

Tony gives her a wan smile. “He’s good at it. Untrained, but he has heart.” 

“I’d rather he have brains.” 

A beat and then Tony admits, “He’s got those too.” 

“What a deadly combination.” The scariest part about it is that she's not wrong.

Chapter Text

“You’re grounded.” May’s tone is even. It’s the firm voice she uses when she wants Peter to understand that what she’s saying is non-negotiable. The same one she’d use when telling him the rules of the subway or how to reach her in an emergency. Peter shifts to stare at Tony, mouth open as he begins to protest. 

“Don’t look at me. I agree with her. Grounded.” 

Peter’s never been grounded a day in his life. “What does that mean?” 

“Yeah, what does that mean?” Tony says as his eyes dart to May.

“School and Home. That’s it. Absolutely no-” she makes motions with her free hand, the one not in the cast, like she’s shaking a maraca. It takes Peter a second to realize she’s pretending to shoot webs. “None of that. And…” she trails off for a second, less sure. A moment later she continues, “And no TV.”

Tony leans in to whisper in her ear, but Peter picks it up anyway, “But we have movie night on Thursday.” 

May’s brows furrow, but then she rolls her eyes. “No TV unless it’s with me or Tony.” 

“How long?” 

“Two months.” The two adults share a glance with one another, May tilting her head and Tony giving a quick nod. It’s a silent conversation that spans several long seconds before she turns her attention back to Peter. “We’re willing to reduce sentencing on one condition.”

“Okay.”

Tony reaches behind himself to pull something from his back pocket. A small box is thrust in Peter’s direction. “You wear this.” It’s about nine inches long and rather narrow. Peter pulls the lid off to see a silver watch, trimmed with red, nestled within silk packaging. He glances up to see Tony watching him, as if trying to determine if Peter likes it. 

He doesn’t know many people who wear watches anymore. Well… Tony does. The man always has a fancy watch around his wrist and he changes them out as often as he changes suits. 

When Peter isn’t sure what to do with it, Tony sighs and steps forward, pulling the box from his hands. He gently tugs at Peter’s arm, snapping the silver and red band around his wrist. Something inside the watch clicks and the band shifts to rest flush against him, tightening to the perfect grip. 

“It’s a tracker and a biometrics reader.” Of course it is. He’s practically on house arrest. 

And this wasn’t even his fault. 

Then again -Peter’s eyes dart to the cast on May’s arm- he isn’t wholly innocent either.

He glances back down at the watch, turning his arm to look at the clasp on his wrist. It dips low on his wrist, curving slightly downwards. It takes him a moment before he realizes that Tony’s modified the location of the band for a specific purpose.  So he can wear it and his web-shooters at the same time. His gaze snaps up to Tony, though the man's expression betrays nothing.

Peter isn’t sure what to say, but he settles on, “I’ll be careful.” 

Hours later he’s in his bed at the penthouse, fingers absently stroking at the watch as he listens to the whispers coming from the kitchen. They’re trying to be quiet. Peter hadn’t been intending on eavesdropping, but his name had triggered his heightened senses and no matter how much he tries to distract himself, he finds it almost impossible to tune them out. 

“He’s not going to stop,” May says. 

Tony’s response is softer, almost defeated, “No. I don’t think he will.”

“What do we do?”

“Teach him how to do dangerous things safely. Give him resources.”

“You don’t think that will encourage him?”

“We don’t have much of a choice here.” Tony sighs. “You know him best. How’s his rebellious streak?”

“A week ago I would have said it was non-existent, but I didn’t realize he was sneaking out almost every night and breaking the law.” There’s an unlady-like snort from May. “I’d rather it had been drugs.” 

Tony laughs, long and hard. Footsteps follow, slow taps around the kitchen. A fridge opens. A cabinet. Tony tisks, “Nuh-uh. I’ve got juice.” More shuffling. The sound of something being poured into a glass. “Not while you’re on medication.” 

“Well, aren't you all parental?”

“I’ve been practicing.” 

More whispers. Back and forth that’s no longer centered around Peter. Eventually the conversation fades to the background and Peter curls up in bed, fingers still touching the watch. A tether to Spider-Man. A sign that it won’t be taken away from him. 

A gift from his father. 

The stares last the entire school-day. People that Peter had never talked to before are suddenly walking at his side, or sitting at his table, or waving at him in the hall. Ned and MJ act as buffers, treating him no differently than before.

There is no peace to be found in any of his classes. By the time lunch rolls around, he’s tempted to text May or Tony and ask if he can go home. Well, to the penthouse anyway. The apartment is still swarmed by the press. 

Peter sits down with a lunch tray and a girl he doesn’t know sits across from him. He doesn't have time to get any words out before he hears MJ, “Move it, Deb. He may be loaded now, but he isn’t spending it on you.” 

‘Deb’ makes a face as if she’s sucked a lemon, huffing once before grabbing her tray and moving to another table. MJ glares at the girl’s back before taking the previously occupied seat, muttering,  “Vultures.”

“Hey, vultures are actually really cool birds,” Ned says in defense as he plops down beside Peter, “They’re really smart and important to the ecosystem.” 

“Fine. I’ll leave your precious birds alone.” MJ turns to Peter, “So, how’s May?”

“She’s okay. The arm will take a while to heal, but she gets to use a split in a month or so. Tony convinced her to let him cover rent so she could take time off. He blames himself for it.” Peter digs into his mashed potatoes with his fork, trying hard not to think about how it wasn’t Barnes who hurt her, but himself. 

The two teens don’t let Peter dwell on it. Ned gives Peter a light elbow to the ribs, “Do you think your dad would let you come over after school this week?” 

“Can’t. I’m sort of grounded.” 

“What!” Ned asks, disbelief bleeding into his tone, “What for?!” 

MJ snaps back in a quiet voice, “Probably because he’s a vigilante, Ned.”

“You can’t ground someone for that,” Ned argues.

“Pretty sure parents can ground their kids for anything.” 

Peter sighs. “May’s reasoning is that I lied. And snuck out a lot. And put myself in danger.” None of what May had said was untrue. It’s one of the reasons that Peter accepted his punishment without argument. He tells MJ and Ned as much and the two seem to take his word for it and let the topic drop. 

They move on to catch Peter up with the coursework he missed and a sense of normality returns for a little while. People still stare in the halls, but he has a stack of assignments and a few paper prompts that’ll keep him busy when he’s stuck in the apartment and penthouse. 

On the last bell, Peter gets a text from Tony that reads, ‘Principal's office.’

While a swarm of students head out the front doors, Peter goes against the wave and steps into the attendance office. The front admin just points towards the hallway that leads to Mr. Morita. He’s not surprised to see Tony sitting in the far chair, though he does find it surreal. 

Peter sits next to him, eyes darting between the two. “What’s, uh, going on?”

“Mr. Stark stopped by to update some of your emergency contact paperwork. And to discuss a plan for the press situation.”

Peter can’t help but ask, “Did you get the business end of Pepper Potts?” An amused smile tugs at Tony’s mouth, but the man refrains from laughing outright.

Mr. Morita, less amused, says with a resigned sigh, “As a matter of fact, we did. The current plan is to allow you to leave from the south entrance should the front area be unsafe. We’ll just adjust the normal roving route to include those doors for now. Mr. Stark says we can trust your judgment on any perceived safety hazard.”

Peter gives a nod. He hasn’t felt anything off lately. Not even MJ’s stalking -she and Ned admitted they check his location from time to time- triggers his extra sense anymore.

“Sounds like we’ve covered all the good stuff,” Tony finally says when Mr. Morita finishes. He shakes the man’s hand, “I’ll be in touch, Jim.” 

The whole encounter shifts from surreal to domestic . This is what May would do if she could. If she didn’t have to spend so much time at work. If she had the means to bend an entire school to her will. It’s just Peter with his father talking to his principal like it’s the most natural thing in the world. 

He thinks back to when he was standing in that field, watching as Tony prepared to kill the Winter Soldier. As justified as it might have been, he couldn’t let it happen. He hadn’t . He’d screamed for Tony to stop. Getting through Tony’s rage had taken Peter tugging on the one bond between them and yanking for all it was worth. 

Dad.  

Tony had likely imagined being called that by Thomas all those years ago. 

Peter’s desperation had led to him voicing the word and he wondered if Tony wanted to hear it again. He wondered if he should say it again. Is it a conversation that someone has with the father they were recently reunited with? Are there rules on the timeline to develop that kind of trust?

Peter has no idea. 

All he knows for sure is that Tony’s got an arm over his shoulder, relaxed and casual. He’s always touching Peter, reminding himself that he’s there. And Peter doesn’t mind. He enjoys the warm affection just as much as he’d enjoy May’s hugs. 

They dodge the press by slipping out the previously mentioned south exit. When they’re settled into the Audi, Tony asks, “How would you feel about a field trip?” 

“I thought I was grounded?”

“Doesn’t apply when you’re with me, Kid.” 

“Where are we going?” Tony just grins in answer. 

They end up in front of a massive building, several stories high and at least 200 feet deep. . The signage on the side leads Peter to believe it’s some kind of gymnasium. Based on the lack of cars outside, he’s pretty sure the facility is closed. Tony isn’t deterred. He parks directly in front of the doors and waves for Peter to follow. 

Once inside, Peter realizes it isn’t exactly a gym. It’s more like an obstacle course. There’s ladders and ropes and mats on rollers. Tony flips some switches on the wall and several lights come on. A large red timer shines in the center. 

“People train here for that show… what is it… ninja something.” Oh! Peter knows instantly what Tony’s talking about. Contestants race through the course, trying to beat each other’s time. “We have the building for a few hours.”

On the wall is a television that loops the introductory video, demonstrating parts of the course. They watch it together. Tony distractedly asks,  “What’s your vertical?” 

“I don’t know. I’ve jumped pretty far.” Peter tries to calculate the distance. At least three stories. He’s never pushed it as far as he could. “Jumping spiders can launch themselves a distance a hundred times their size.”

Peter positions himself on the starting mat while Tony sets up the clock. There’s a palpable excitement in the air. Tony’s grinning and Peter finds himself mirroring the expression. “Alright, Kid. Three, two, one - Go!” 

He kicks off the platform, gripping the first rung of the starting obstacle. It’s like a ladder. He’s maneuvered through his fair share of fire escapes that it’s second nature to swing himself upwards one arm at a time. 

He tries not to skip sections, even though he could leap across several barriers.

One bar rolls the second he grabs it and he twists with the rotation, flipping up to land on the rotating beam. Spotting the next stage becomes the only thing on his mind. Jump. Twist. Lift. Grip. 

He races up a ramp that becomes almost vertical and launches himself on the final ledge. 

A buzz sounds. 

Peter looks over at the clock. It is stopped at 54 seconds. He doesn’t know what a good time is, but he’s fairly sure that 54 seconds falls into that category based on Tony’s impressed expression. 

Tony stares at the timer then makes a note in his phone before he turns back to Peter. “Again.” 

Salmon Ladder. Rolling Wheel. Beams. Boards that flip from his weight. He skips an obstacle this time, but only due to a misuse of strength. Peter’s tampering down on it as best he can as he doesn’t want to damage any of the equipment. 

It’s exhilarating, focusing his senses on nothing but the next step.

When it’s over, the new time reads 43 seconds. Tony writes that down. “Are you tired? Need water?” 

Peter shakes his head. “No. I’m good to go again.” He runs the course seven more times. Shaving off seconds from each attempt. He finishes the last set at 29 seconds. He could go faster, he tells Tony. But he would definitely break something. Tony glances at the course as if he’s considering it. In the end he decides against it. He takes Peter to the climbing wall that's tucked into one of the corners of the building. It leads all the way up and to the ceiling. 

“So, how does the sticking thing work?” 

“Oh, electrostatic forces. I haven’t figured it out a hundred percent, but that’s the best guess.” He touches a hand to the climbing wall and tugs himself upwards. Tony grabs his wrist and pulls, though Peter’s hand never leaves the wall despite the man’s best effort. “You’d sooner break the wall than break the grip.” 

“How strong are you?” 

Peter shrugs. “I don’t know. I punched through a wall once. And there was the ferry. I’ve never tested it. I just… get a sense about whether or not I can do something.”

Tony guides him down the wall and they walk towards one of the several empty tables near the closed concession area. While they sit, Tony catalogs it all.  “So. Speed. Strength. Climbing. Healing. Do you get sick?”

“No.” Peter shakes his head. “Not since the bite.”

“I’m sorry, the what ?”

“The spider bite. I got bit by a radioactive spider.” 

Tony’s eyes widen, “Are you serious? Where?”

“Yeah. On the neck.” Peter pulls down the back of his collar, head down so Tony can see the small scar that remains. There’s a brief touch to the area, a press of Tony’s fingers to the skin beneath the two puncture marks.

“ Christ , I meant where did you encounter a radioactive spider?”

“Stark industries. We had a field trip to the biolab for chemistry. Spider’s dead now, though.” The expression Tony’s making isn’t one Peter can identify. It’s as if he’s angry, or upset. Peter just pushes forward, “I did some research after and it may have been an offshoot of the super-soldier serum. Dr. Banner’s papers were the closest I could get to understanding what happened.”

“That’s why you read his papers.”

Peter shrugs, “I read some of his other work before the bite, but it’s what got me invested in his gamma research. It also led to some of my focus in biochemistry.”

“The webbing. You manufacture it?” That negative expression on Tony’s face shifts to something more akin to pride. “The tensile strength is off the charts. What lab were you using?”

“Uh, the midtown science lab.” 

“You made a long-chain polymer with lab equipment in a high school?” Tony goes quiet, pulling out his phone and tapping at the screen. He’s focused on it for so long that Peter’s about to ask if something’s happened. Before he can, Tony’s head whips back up, “Second field trip. Let’s go.” 

The second car trip is filled with more questions. “How’s your healing? I know the bullet wound is repaired and your kidney is operating in peak condition.”

“I have to eat a lot to keep up with it.” Tony puts the pieces together, confirming that the reason Peter was a non-stop calorie machine was due to injuries. He follows that question up with, what else.  “All my senses. Dialed up to eleven. Input can be a lot if I’m not careful.” Peter explains his goggles and why he has to limit visual input more than anything. It’s been at least a month since he’s experienced a meltdown due to overstimulation. Peter’s hoping the streak continues. 

They stop in front of a well lit office building. There’s a man with curly blonde hair wearing an expensive looking suit and standing right outside, head cocked as he looks at Tony. A second later and he shifts his attention to Peter “Well, this is a first. Didn’t think I’d ever get the Tony Stark asking for a favor.” 

Tony grins, “I’m glad you could accommodate. You have one of the leading labs in the city.”

The man gives a nod as if he’s well aware of that, but doesn’t expand on it. Instead he asks,  “This is your son?” 

“He is. Peter, meet Daniel Rand. Heir to Rand Enterprises. ” They shake hands, a brief contact that causes Peter’s nerves to tingle. It’s not bad, but almost unnatural . The sensation is gone just as quickly as it came and Peter doesn’t have time to dwell on it before Mr. Rand guides them into the building.

“Danny, please.” 

“So what’s the favor going to cost me, Danny?”

“Oh, I’m sure there’s a humanitarian division of SI that could do with a few public partnerships.” Danny’s still smiling, a friendly expression that’s infectious. Peter can’t help but to smile back. “I’ve cleared the lab out for an hour.” He pulls two passes out of his back pocket and hands one to each of them. “Access to the inventory. Records will update automatically. My team will bill yours.” 

It’s a brief introduction, but it sticks with Peter for a few minutes as Tony orientates himself to the lab. Peter does the same as he asks, “Was that weird?” 

“He’s a billionaire. We’re all eccentric in our own ways.” Tony opens a fridge compartment with the access badge and pulls out several chemicals. “He was also presumed dead for ten years, supposedly orphaned in the himalayas.” 

“Woah.” 

“Yeah, woah. Now come over here and put these polymers together.”  Peter does as he’s told and walks Tony through the process of the webfluid. There’s no canisters for him to use, but he demonstrates how he narrowed down the formula through trial and error. Tony’s visibly impressed when the compounds react exactly as Peter predicts. “Can you improve it?”

“I could probably get it to last longer, but then I encounter issues with using it on people. As of now I have a thirty minute dissolving compound and a two hour one. The thirty minute won’t last as long in the cartridges and I’ve, uh, had some surprise failures.” 

“What’s a surprise failure?” 

“Being a hundred feet up and not having webs left. I stick with what I know since… well I have the math down and can calculate what’s left on the cartridges. Less change-outs during patrol.” Peter’s suddenly enveloped in a hug, arms banded tight around him. 

“I gotta say, Kid… I don’t think I like it. This idea that you’re out there. Pushing all the limits. Running into danger head first. I don’t like it. I won’t stop you. But… let me have this.” Tony’s arms briefly squeeze in emphasis. “It’s a new rule. Rule number Two. I get a hug when I’m freaking out. It’s the price for building you a suit and texting other billionaires so we can use their lab. Can I have that, Kid?” 

What kind of life did a person have where they feel that a hug is something they need to ask for? Peter’s suddenly saddened by the thought that Tony’s so clearly starved for affection. His own father having to barter for this. Peter determines that he will give it freely, just as he’d done after Tony watched that terrible video.

He tightens his arms around Tony and says, “Yeah… yeah. Of course you can. Twenty seconds, remember?” 

When the endorphins kick in and Tony’s firmly reminded that Peter’s alive and breathing and well, they go back to the lab. Peter moves on from the web formula to other synthetic nylons. He’s been working on a version that could act as a blood clotting agent. For himself he can use the standard webs, but if he runs across another teen like Derek he wants other options. 

The hour goes by and before the two of them know it there are scientists returning to the room. Tony and Peter incinerate their creations and leave the badges with the lab manager. 

It’s the best field trip Peter’s ever had. 

“Dad, please!” Peter cries out, tugging at Tony’s arm as he wraps his hands around Barnes’ neck. His fingers dig into the skin, tightening to the point where blood vessels burst in the man’s eyes. “Please, you’re killing him.” 

Tony turns away from Barnes, looks towards Peter. Blood runs from the kid’s mouth, trickling down his chin and dripping to the dying grass beneath them. Dread fills Tony’s chest and he sinks under the weight of his despair. 

Peter whispers, “It’s too late.” 

Tony shouts in the dark, breath coming in rapid pants as his entire body is seized with fear. The nightmare’s hold is broken just a few moments later and he’s suddenly aware of a hand on his shoulder, warm and gentle against his skin. 

He blinks, eyes adjusting to the dark, and sees Pepper sitting up at his side. She briefly rolls over, flipping on the bedside lamp. The illumination does wonders to bring Tony all the way back to reality. 

Though the image of Peter’s face remains burned in his mind. 

He runs a hand across his mouth, muttering towards the ceiling, “Christ.” Pepper doesn’t ask for details, just tucks herself against his side and runs a soothing hand up and down his chest. His heart jackhammers beneath the touch. “FRIDAY, what’s the time?”

“ It is 2:04 AM. ”

“Can you get me the PETE-Vitals?” 

“ Based on the readings, he is currently asleep at the Forest Hill residence. ”

Pepper’s voice is soft, a touch sleepy, “How often do you check on him?” 

He doesn’t want to admit exactly how often he uses the Peter Emergency Transponder Equipment system, so he says, “Often.” Twice a day at a minimum . Even if he’s seen Peter he will still request an update. 

He wants to see him now , but settles for the voice in the ceiling telling him that Peter’s fine. That he’s safe and sound with his Aunt. 

When thirty minutes pass and he realizes he won’t be returning with Pepper back to sleep, Tony slips on a pair of pajama pants and heads towards the living space. It’s a mess. The floors are covered in plastic as they’re between construction projects. In the corner of the room, a segment of flooring is entirely gone. Future stairs will replace it. For now there is just a ladder that leads down to the unit below the penthouse. Tony climbs down, eyeing the empty space that will be his new lab. No… his and Peter’s lab. 

He can’t stay at the compound. Not anymore. He’ll go for training and recruitment and the occasional Avengers meet, but he won’t live there. In truth, he hasn’t had a home since Malibu. The only other place where he had memories of Thomas. Idly, Tony wonders if that’s the reason why he was never able to settle in at any of his other suites.

For the next few hours, Tony works on diagrams for the future work space. There’s equipment in boxes already delivered. Some of the pieces are identical to what Tony and Peter used in Rand’s lab over a week ago.

He is still making changes to the blueprints when the construction team arrives. They adapt to Tony's demands, in no small part due to the very lucrative contract he’s signed.

When the crew starts the day’s work, Tony retreats back upstairs to find Pepper making coffee. She’s already dressed, heels clicking as she walks through the kitchen.

Maybe it’s because he’s learning to be in tune with the way he feels. Maybe it’s because Tony’s constantly reminded of how quickly life can change. Maybe it’s the way the light catches across her reddish-blond hair and creates a halo that highlights just how devastatingly beautiful and angelic she is. 

“I love you.” And because Tony Stark’s brain to mouth filter has been defective since birth, he adds, “Do you want to be a step-mom?”

Chapter Text

“His name is Helmut Zemo. He was a Baron in Sokovia,” Natasha says as she hands Tony a photograph. Tony stares down at it, then stares at the spy. 

“I know.” It isn’t often that he stuns the Black Widow, but based on the very slight raise of a brow he realizes he’s succeeded at it. “I’ve been looking for the bastard ever since Barnes was triggered.”

Her stare narrows as she lets her irritation shine through. “If you knew, then why didn’t you share that with the class, Tony.”

“Be cause I wanted you to have plausible deniability when he turns up dead.” Though Tony’s rage is less of a boiling fury now, the simmering anger remains every time he thinks back to the fight at the compound. Thinks back to how helpless he felt as he watched the Soldier swing at Peter. Just as helpless as when Thomas had been taken and lead after lead got him nowhere . 

Natasha voices her displeasure, “That’s not how the team works.”

Tony snorts, “You mean hiding information? That’s the modus operandi these days.” 

She looks away, foot tapping in an unusual display of nerves. Then again, nothing Natasha does is casual. She clearly wants Tony to know she’s frustrated with him, but she’s choosing to redirect it in a way that’s not towards him. A moment passes as she takes a breather. When she finally speaks again, her tone has softened, “Give me two weeks. Clint’s willing to jump in on this one.”

Tony’s brow lifts in surprise. “Mr. Retired?”

Natasha shrugs, “He has a soft spot for kids.”

Tony hasn’t had much luck with tracking down Zemo, despite issuing FRIDAY to scour every source she has access to. Natasha may not have that much technological reach, but she and Barton have a surprising ability to find those off the radar. She did manage to track down the Bruce Banner all those years ago.

Tony pulls up a file on his phone and sends it to her. “This is everything I have.” And he means everything. Down to dental records. “Fourteen days. Then I’m back to work.” She nods in agreement then leaves. If she planned on saying anything else, it is pushed to the back-burner with her new mission. 

He goes back to what he was doing before she came to the penthouse, assembling parts for a hydraulic press system. 

Peter’s supposed to stop by after school and Tony’s been battling a hundred projects in the spare time he has. Zemo. Accords amendments. Alien weapons. Spider-Man. The latter takes up more attention than all the rest put together. Work on the suit, establishing patrol guidelines with May, burying the terror that threatens to come when he thinks of the kid swinging around skyscrapers and stopping armed robbers. 

He’s strong, Tony has to remind himself of that fact every time he puts an upgrade into the suit. He’s strong and he heals.  But he’s untrained. Raw power. The only finesse he has is instinctual. And that can fail. 

Tony knows it can fail and every failure has to be planned for. 

Tony won’t allow Peter to go out into the world as unprepared as he himself had been. Falling out of the air due to an iced up suit. Parachute. Stuck in the middle of nowhere and not knowing if he’d be rescued. Tracker. Shrapnel to the heart. Reinforced Kevlar fibers. Crashing in a frozen wasteland. A heater. 

His phone rings as he finishes tightening a bolt on the press. FRIDAY connects it when Tony gives a quick twist of his hand. “Talk to me.” 

Happy’s voice comes across the line, “ We’re closing in on the final inventory checks. During the last batch we found some spare parts for DUM-E that were mislabeled. Do you want me to send them to the penthouse instead since you’re taking him? ”

There’s likely several boxes that will have to be relocated from the compound. Another task that Future Tony will have to take on. He glances around the almost finished lab. There’s an empty space in the corner where DUM-E and U will end up. The bots are large, but Tony worked them into the plans during the first sketch. “Yeah. Send them to me. What were the parts?” 

“ Tracks. Some wiring. And his fire extinguisher adapter. ”

“Changed my mind. Send it to the compound.”

“ I can’t tell if you’re joking or not.” 

“And this is why I pay you the big bucks.” 

“You don’t pay me, Tony. In fact I wasn’t going to mention the parts, but your fiance, who does pay me , insisted that we give you a courtesy call. Oh, Congratulations by the way. I love being the last to know. ” Okay, Tony screwed the pooch on that one. Of course Happy would be hurt about not being informed of Tony’s change in relationship status. Then again, just three people know about the proposal. 

Still, Tony sighs in apology, “We’ve been keeping it quiet until we can tell Peter.” It’s only been a few days and he hasn’t seen the kid. Tony doesn’t want to share the news over the phone either. Not when it comes with a request attached. 

“ Yeah, yeah. Use the spawn as an excuse. Back to work, then. I’ll send a driver with the parts. ” 

“Thanks Hap.” At least that’s one thing Tony doesn’t have to worry about. The last bits of equipment being moved from the tower to the compound has been entirely handled by Pepper and Happy. Tony’s main job had been upgrading the plane and making space for everything at the compound. Most of his things had been shipped years ago when he set up the upstate lab, but there’s always redundancies.

The elevator beeps and all thoughts about moving day are shoved aside as he sees the kid. 

Something’s wrong. 

Tony immediately notices that Peter’s less vibrant than usual. “Kid? What’s going on?”

Peter lets out a dramatic groan, dropping his backpack on the floor before he comes to stand by Tony. He practically flops down on the table, head supported by his hands. “There’s this girl.”

“Oh.” Lady trouble? This is a first. Even Rhodey wouldn’t think to ask Tony for advice. But Peter… Peter doesn’t know the train wreck that was Tony’s love life. Tony scrambles to figure out what to say next and settles on, “Um, tell me about her?”

“She’s pretty! Real pretty. And smart. I mean, I wouldn’t like a girl just because she’s pretty, you know? But, we run in different social groups. She hosts parties and I don’t go to parties. Or when I do, it’s lame.” It goes on. Peter lamenting the crush he’s had and the unrequited affection. At least until recently, it seems. “She asked me if I'd go with her to the Winter Formal.” 

“Just like that?” Tony can’t help but be a little impressed at the societal shift. Women asking men out and being the pursuer. Ballsy.

“I don’t know if it’s because of…” the kid trails off, waving a hand between them to indicate their connection, “Well, this. She wasn’t one of the people who talked to me about it right after it happened so maybe it just put me on her radar?” 

“If you like her, then you should go.” Tony knows what Peter will face. How he will have to be vigilant of his circle of friends. How there will be some people who are only interested in his money or his name. But… Tony also knows it can’t stop the boy from living his life. “We should get you a suit.” 

“I thought you were still working on it?”

“What?” Tony’s dumbfounded for a moment before he puts together that Peter’s talking about the Spider-Man suit. He laughs and corrects, “No. I mean an actual suit. To wear. For the formal.” 

“Oh, I already have a suit.” 

“Can’t have too many,” Tony argues. He’s got a whole walk-in wardrobe of jackets, ties, and pants to prove it. “And when you get fitted for that-” Tony pauses, carefully watching Peter as he adds, “Maybe you can get fitted for a tuxedo. For the wedding.” 

“Wedding? Who’s getting marrie-” The kid cuts off, eyes going wide. He’s quick witted enough to work out the details. “Are you-?” Tony grins. “And Pepper-?” Then he nods. “Oh my god!” This is the Peter Tony knows. A bundle of energy and excitement with bright eyes as he smiles and says, “That’s amazing.” 

“How do you feel about being my best man?” 

Sweat breaks out on his forehead, the first sign that he’s approaching his limit. Peter’s shoulders ache with the effort of keeping his arms from dropping from their outstretched positions. Pressed against each palm is a flat tungsten surface attached to two hydraulic pumps. Tony operates the press, carefully watching Peter with each minor calculation. 

There’s a subtle mechanical buzz and the weight against his palms intensifies. Peter draws in a deep breath and grits his teeth at the new pressure. The ache in his arms shifts to a burn. 

“Check-in?” 

Peter huffs with the strain, “Not… not as easy anymore.”

“Yeah, I’d think not. We’re at 13 tons.” Tony frowns, glancing between Peter and the readings on the computer. He taps a few times and decides, “I’m calling it.” 

“I’m holding,” Peter argues. They’ve been adjusting the weight in low increments and it’s taken forever to get this far. “Just… need a second.” He lets his eyes close, trying to block out everything but the pinpoints of force against his palms. Narrowing in on his senses can often help. 

In this case, his effort encourages the opposite effect. Peter’s suddenly aware of the way the top layers of the skin on his hands splits beneath the immense weight. The ache and burn are forgotten as sharp stings rip through his nerves. A regular human would never feel such a microscopic injury, but Peter’s locked in to his sense of touch now and he can’t ignore it. He can’t ignore anything . The bright lights of the lab, stabbing his retinas.The thick smell of motor oil, filling his lungs and choking him. The whirr of machines, vibrating through his head. 

He jerks to the side, a reflex to put his ear against his shoulder and block out one half of the stimuli. It's a barely-there motion, but with him recently exerting 13 tons of force, the flinch is enough to cause damage. A loud popping sound hammers his eardrum and Peter’s entire world shifts. Everything goes silent and dark and all he can feel is a pair of hands guiding him to the floor and resting him on his back across the hard tile.

His left shoulder feels wrong and hurts. He clenches that hand and finds it’s not very responsive. The act of creating a fist sends a new burning up the entire arm. Peter thinks he should be more concerned about the lack of noise and light, but the darkness is the most soothing part of his world right now. 

Something taps his right hand. A quick on and off of a finger in the center of his palm.

Press. Tap. Tap. Pause Tap. Tap. Pause. Tap. Tap. Tap. 

The cycle changes moment to moment. Then it repeats. In his disorientated state, Peter takes a while to comprehend what’s happening. Messages in dots and dashes.

“I don’t know morse.” He can’t hear his own voice, just feels the vibrations run up and down his jaw in a distorted mess.

A hand touches the space by his ear and fingers tuck under a material that’s pressed flush against the upper side of his cheek. Some kind of mask is covering his eyes and ears. The hand pries enough to create a miniscule gap. The noise that floods in causes Peter to flinch.

Tony whispers, strained and quiet, “Your shoulder is dislocated.”

Oh. “That…” Peter gasps as he attempts to bend his elbow. “That explains why it hurts so bad.”

“I have to set it.” Whatever Tony’s put over his eyes and ears is set back in place and Peter’s once again suspended in a dark and quiet existence. Tony grips Peter’s left hand and shifts the arm into a right angle. He braces the elbow with his free hand and slowly torques outward.

Peter tries to keep quiet, but the pressure and fire that builds in his shoulder draws out a low groan of pain. Tony doesn’t falter, though, continuing the slow downward push to force the bone back into place. Simultaneous to the signifying pop, Peter feels a rush of relief, the sharp burn vanishing to leave behind a bearable ache. 

Tony’s presence at his side vanishes and returns only moments later. Something cold presses against his left shoulder and Peter can’t hold back a hiss of surprise. The freezing temperature sinks in and feels almost as painful as the injury had. “Hurts,” Peter murmurs, though he doesn’t fight the way Tony keeps it in place. 

A thumb slides up the side of the mask allowing a faint echo of noise to return. “Icing it will help to keep down inflammation. Hoping it’ll speed up the healing.” 

Peter, still unable to see, reaches up and touches the fabric covering his eyes. “What’s this?”

Tony whispers, “Modified sleep mask. For spider-kids with enhanced senses that get overloaded.”

“Oh. It’s nice.” It really is. Nice and quiet and dark. 

Tony gives a pleased hum and lets the mask fall back into place. Though he can’t see or hear, he’s connected to the world by a warm hand that remains tucked in his own. 

Peter continues to lay on the floor while his senses return to normal. When he’s confident that he won’t have a relapse, Peter reaches up to push the mask off his face. Tony grabs his fingers and guides them to the back of his head where a button rests. One press and the tension in the mask releases. It drops down to rest loose around Peter’s neck. 

Coming into view is a worried Tony, eyes drawn tight in concern as he looks down at Peter, “You alright?”  Peter rolls his shoulders and nods. There’s an ache in the left one, but it’s mild. He’s had far worse injuries. He goes to lift his arm and Tony stops it short with a firm hand, “Let’s get a sling and set it. Let it heal up tonight before going crazy.” 

The smile on Tony’s face is a little strained, but he’s trying. 

Trying not to freak out while Peter just walks away from a sensory overload attack and a dislocated shoulder. 

Tony’s quiet as they go upstairs and head for the kitchen. His father points to a chair and starts pulling food from the fridge. Within minutes Peter has a plate of hot leftover pasta. If anyone else was just standing there watching Peter eat, it would be weird, but with Tony he knows the man’s ensuring that Peter gets the calorie boost needed for healing. 

“We can’t do that again.” The fork pauses halfway to Peter’s mouth. He’s about to argue, but Tony waves his hand, “Not like that. We can do strength tests, but we’re just going to have to find another way.” When Peter doesn’t immediately resume eating, Tony makes a pointed gesture at the plate. “Can’t send you back to May with an injury. She’d kill me. Eat.”

While Peter polishes off the pasta, Tony leaves the room. When he returns he’s carrying a blue sling. It’s a little frayed along the cloth, clearly well used, and Peter’s caught staring at it. Tony answers his silent questions. “The first suit, the Mark One that I made in Afghanistan, had its bugs. I caught a wall. Then a missile. After that, my arm acts up every now and then.” 

Peter’s eyes dart to Tony’s left arm, as if he can see the invisible injury that still plagues the man. He holds out his own limb, letting Tony slip the sling under his elbow until it sits snug. When it’s finally strapped in place, the device actually does help to take the pressure off Peter’s shoulder. Tony gently squeezes the forearm. “Need any tylenol?”

Peter shakes his head, “Doesn’t work. But I’m fine. Barely hurts.”

In a tone that asks for compliance, Tony adds, “Let me know if that changes.” Peter nods in agreement.

By the time Peter’s getting ready for bed, he’s able to remove the sling and do a full rotation of the shoulder. There’s some muscle tenderness, tightness in certain positions and aches in others. If he was back on patrol then he’d wait another day at least. Since he’s still grounded, Peter doesn’t worry too much about the chance for re-injury. 

What he is worried about is getting May’s permission to go to the dance. He’s grounded pretty much all the way until Christmas break, but she used to always push him to do more social events. 

Maybe he can work out some extra chores. Maybe Tony can- No. Peter stops that train of thought. He’s not using Tony to get his way. If he wants to get a yes, he needs to convince May himself.

After Happy takes him home that Sunday, he finds his Aunt in the kitchen working on the meal prep for the week. He steps in to put away clean dishes and wash the dirty ones, a task that’s been hindered by her cast.

She pins him with a stare, “What did you do?” Peter shouldn’t be amazed by her keen intuition, but he finds that it’s hard not to be. When he doesn’t immediately respond, May continues, “Out with it.”

“I didn’t do anything. I just wanted to ask something.” 

“Is this about…” she makes the maraca shaking gesture, “Because we agreed that a month was-”

“I got asked to a dance!”

May’s hand drops down, mouth opening in an oh. She’s stunned for just a moment before she sets down her food supplies and sits down at the table. She points to the chair across from her. “Sit. Tell me about her.” 

Peter does just that. Tells her what he told Tony. Liz is beautiful. Smart. That this is the first time she’s paid attention to him all year. How it’s normal and going to the Winter Formal would be a reminder of how important high school was to his growth. A reminder that Spider-Man isn’t the only priority in his life. 

May’s brow lifts, “Laying it on thick aren’t we?” There’s a beat and then she nods. “Alright. You can go.” Peter lights up. “But, no after-parties!” The stipulation doesn’t stem his excitement. He’s already pulling his phone out to text Ned and MJ.

“Thankyou, thankyou! You’re perfect.” Even with the clear reason for his praise, May smiles anyway.

He’s not allowed to go out for much more than a trip to Delmar’s, but May isn’t cruel so she lets Ned come over a couple of times a week. 

While Ned unpacks an R2D2 lego set that Tony bought Peter as a belated birthday gift - fifteen years, Kid, let me have a few? - Peter leans over his desk and fiddles with a new set of web shooters.

The pair that Tony’s building will work seamlessly with the new suit once completed, but Peter mentioned wanting a simplistic set that was comparable to his first shooters. Tony sent him home with some parts and schematics the previous weekend. By the time the project is done he would have at least three sets and come Christmas, he’d be back in the air. 

The older models sit on the edge of his desk. They’re not compatible with the new system. Different cartridges prevent them from having use even as cannibalized parts.

A shadow over the workspace causes Peter to look over his shoulder to see Ned. He’s looking at the two sets of webshooters, brow furrowed as he examines the problem. After a moment, he nods and says, “You know what could work? An adapter for CO-cartridges.” 

Ned typically leans into his ability to code, but they’ve worked on enough robots together for him to pick up a knack for engineering too. 

Peter taps a screwdriver against the edge of the old shooter. “Didn’t have anything like that in the lab. If we did, it’d probably be too large.”

“I’ve got a box of parts from my paintball days.” A fun, yet painful summer two years prior. “Might be able to find something to model it after. I’d need to take one of the shooters for comparison.”

“You’d have to take the set. The left one was replaced and has some variance.” Peter doesn’t tell the story of the van dragging him, content not to dredge up memories of scrubbing gravel from his back. “Not like I can use them right now anyway.” 

A knock at his bedroom door sounds and Peter jumps away from the desk in a quick flip, fingers digging into a plastic bag of legos. Ned drops to the floor across from him just as May opens the door and peeks inside. All she does is announce, “Dinner’s almost ready.”

“We’ll be right there.” 

As soon as May’s gone, Ned’s asking, “Dude, are you not allowed to work on Spider-Man stuff?”

“I am . It’s just… she’s been freaking out. She doesn’t know that I can hear her when she’s talking to herself. And she’s just processing .” He sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “I don’t want to shove it in her face, you know?” Ned, understanding as always, nods. Still, Peter adds,  “I’m trying to be normal . Just until she can relax a little.”

Normal means not working on the shooters when she’s there. It means he goes to dances and hangs out with Ned. Peter’s grades are up and he’s back on AcaDec.

Normal.

He’s fitted for a suit within a week of the winter formal. For most people that wouldn’t be enough time, but Tony just shrugs and tells him not to worry about it.

“Questo è tuo figlio, no,” the tailor says when Peter and Tony step into a room with ceiling to floor mirrors. Peter has no idea what he’s saying, but he does recognize that it’s Italian. Whatever is said, Tony gives a quick nod in response. The man eyes Peter carefully, then quickly pulls out a cloth measuring tape. “What did you have in mind, Mr. Stark?” 

“He’ll need a dinner suit. Something sharp, slim fit maybe?”

The tailor smiles, “Brunico?”

Tony’s returned grin is sharp, “You’re the professional.” Though that’s what Tony says, he continues to make commentary on what he wants Peter to have. Jackets. A tux for the wedding. More brands that Peter’s never heard of. The two switch to Italian, fast paced with a few moments where they raise their voices, and Peter finds it hard to keep up after that.

The experience is rather strange. Someone brings Peter water and juice and snacks. Then someone else brings out samples of cloth. He gets the opportunity to touch the softest sample and realizes why people drool over cashmere. He has no idea what he’s supposed to be doing. But… It seems to be an event that Tony’s enjoying. His father sits in a chair and watches as Peter slips on a jacket that’s marked with white lines. 

As if this is some kind of right of passage. 

A question forms before Peter can stop it, “Did  you do this with your dad?” 

Tony stills at the question, an unreadable expression flashing across his face. Peter realizes then that he has never asked about them. His grandparents . Maybe it was a subconscious thing as he knew that the VHS tape Tony saw brought up old wounds. Wounds that are possibly raw to this day. Or maybe all of Peter’s focus had just been on Tony. Either way, he can’t help being curious. 

After a beat, Tony sits back in his chair and manages a small smile, “I did. Almost every year. He made the tailors cry more times than I can remember. I think I had more suits than any other clothes back then.”

“What were they like?” 

A slight fondness softens the corner of Tony’s eyes. “I think mom understood me more than anyone. She taught me to play piano and speak Italian. When I went to MIT, I was younger than anyone there. She was the only one who told me that I deserved to be accepted.”

The fondness fades into sadness. “Dad was… he was a revolutionary. Always thinking about the future. His legacy. He was ruthless about it though.” Tony’s gaze drifts away from Peter, towards one of the tall mirrors. “The man criticized everything. Wanted me to have direction. I never lived up to the image in his head of what a son should be. Sent me off to boarding school when I pissed him off. But… he helped to create SHIELD. He was a good man in some ways. Shit father though.”

Peter’s voice is small as he says, “You’re not.”

Tony’s gaze snaps back, landing on Peter. The man’s brow furrows, whether in concern or confusion, Peter can’t tell. “What?”

His voice is stronger now. “You’re not a shit father.”

“Yeah?” Most people would never detect the way Tony’s tone waivered, but Peter can. He hones in on the shaking voice and feels a pang of empathy because it’s clear that Tony doesn’t hear enough how much good he puts into the world. “Howard set the bar kind of low. So…”

Before Peter can tell him that Tony’s raised the bar, the tailor returns and Peter’s back to trying on more jackets. And when Peter’s done, Tony walks up and gets his own measurements taken, even though he likely hasn’t had them taken in years. Just one more , his father says, for the wedding.

At that moment, Peter finds that he quite likes this particular right of passage. And, at least, no one ends up crying.

Chapter Text

Natasha kneels on the roof, eyes scanning the other buildings below, searching for any exits she may have missed on the initial recon. At her side, Clint does the same. Though far less quietly. “It’s cold as shit, Nat. You couldn’t ask me to  come out of retirement for a trip to Mexico or something? I’d settle for the Congo over this.”

“Need I remind you that it’s snowing where you live?”

“I also cut enough wood to last us four seasons and the furnace is ready to go.” He turns away from the building and tucks his back against the ledge of the roof, tugging his coat tighter around him. “I’m too old for this. Remind me again why I agreed to help you?”

“Because this man has fractured what’s left of the Avengers. Because he sent an assassin after a kid. Because you were so bored that you chopped enough wood for four seasons,” Nat finishes with a grin as she joins Clint in a small huddle. 

“Tell me about the kid,” Clint says as he pulls a thermos from a duffle by his side. “What’s the son of Tony Stark like?”

He pours them both some warm coffee, which Nat greedily takes as she answers, “Smart. Tony-level smart. More restrained, though. Very polite. He doesn’t have many friends, but the ones he does have are loyal. Protective.” There’s files for both Ned and MJ that FRIDAY has been keeping. And though her interactions with Peter have been limited, she’s seen enough to have a good sense of him as a person. That, combined with Tony mentioning him, creates a picture worth sharing. 

“Oh, and he’s a vigilante.” 

Clint chokes on the coffee. Between coughing fits, he manages, “Tell me that Tony didn’t encourage that?”

“It started before they were reunited.” Natasha pauses and sips on her drink as she thinks back to the attack at the compound. The Winter Soldier had played her and Steve with ease. Lured them into the unit under the pretense that he was injured. 

They were too complacent. 

She couldn’t let it happen again. She had to prove herself worthy of the Avenger title. Wipe out the red in her ledger. Red that was written in Peter’s blood. 

“I can’t imagine what Tony went through. Losing a kid. Finding him again.”

“He’s learning to be a father,” Natasha says. “I think it suits him. He’s surprisingly good at it.”

“You think? Impulsive and reckless Tony? Tony, who pissed in his suit in front of a crowd?”

“The protective and kind Tony.” Despite Clint’s general wariness of Tony, he nods in agreement. The two had never been close and some of that was due to Clint believing that Tony had no sense of core values. As he’d mentioned, he considered Tony reckless and impulsive to the point of hurting those around them. Ultron had left its scars on Clint. 

Framing Tony’s relationship with his son was a way to connect the two men. And it hadn’t hurt when Natasha requested his help. 

“He’s getting married, too. Said your invitation is in-” her phone vibrates and Natasha’s attention snaps to the building to their left. Clint’s in position at her side, flipping open his compact bow. It’s smaller than his compound, not designed for long range or thick-shafted arrows. He preps a thin restrainer bolt.

Helmut Zemo saunters out the door, unaware that the two Avengers were able to find him in northern Ontario. 

Clint shifts, nocking the arrow, gaze focused on the man heading closer to their building. 

A blur of black jumps between them and the target. Natasha swears at their ruined surveillance.  Then she swears again as she recognizes the black suit. “It’s T’Challa. Damn it. He’ll kill him.” No one would argue that justice is due. But there’s more they need to know. 

Zemo’s plan to infiltrate the compound had been perfect. He’d walked in and out for weeks without them knowing. He’d caused distractions and sent that video to Tony, creating the crack that resulted in the recent fracture of the team. 

What else had he set into motion?

Natasha leaps off the ledge of the building, dropping down onto the fire-escape to grab the cable they’d placed earlier. She snaps it to her hip and twists the rope around her side to repel the rest of the way. She barks into the comms, no longer concerned with keeping attention off them, “Take down the black panther.”

They’d have to deal with the aftermath, but at least if they remove T’Challa from the current equation, they could bring Zemo in alive. Clint releases his arrow. The shaft splinters apart in the air releasing cables designed to wrap around limbs. Claws cut the cables in half, littering the streets with what remains. 

“Do not interfere!” The king shouts as he turns back to Zemo. One swipe of his hand and the man’s shirt splits into segment pieces. Blood wells across the three new gashes. Not deep enough to be life threatening.

“We’re taking him in!” Natasha returns, racing towards the two men once her feet touch the ground. She leaps past the panther, tackling Zemo and yanking him out of the path of another swipe.

Clint jumps in the fray next, using the compact bow as a makeshift barrier as he fights T’Challa. A near miss of those razor sharp claws has Clint grumbling, “You wouldn’t hit an old man would you?”

“I would if he was standing between me and justice.” T’Challa proves that statement in the next second, punching Clint in the face before shoving him to the side.  

Natasha already has Zemo partially restrained, quick cuffs locking his ankles together. She’s trying to get the wrists together when the panther yanks her away from the Sokovian. “Stop! You’re not the only one who needs justice.” At that, T’Challa falters, claws raised and stilled in the air. She sees the opportunity and pushes forward, “He tried to kill Tony Stark’s child.” 

“Then Mr. Stark can thank me when I pull the man’s heart from his chest.” 

“We can’t let you kill him without questioning him first,” Clint says as he gets back to his feet. His lip is bleeding and his jaw is bruised, but he brings the bow up and prepares to fight again. Natasha shares a quick glance his way. One that reads, he’s too strong. The quick tilt of his head returns, we’ve taken on stronger.

T’Challa’s hands come down, fingers curling into fists at his side. The black panther mask pulls back and he glares down at the man who killed his father. “For what you have done, you will pay in blood.” To Natasha he says, “I will come with you for the questioning. After you are finished with him, I will get what is owed.” 

What happens to the war criminal will be out of her hands the moment she turns him over. It’s either the wrath of the King or a lifetime in the raft. She doesn’t care so long as justice is done. 

So, Natasha agrees and they join together for a common goal.

Zemo remains silent as they escort him into an empty warehouse. There’s a sort of familiarity as she cuffs him to the chair. Though in that particular memory Natasha was the one in the chair. Still… she was the interrogator all the same. 

Clint takes the first watch as she pulls out her phone and dials Tony. Not far from the small group, T’Challa rifles through the bag that Zemo had with him. 

As soon as the call connects, Natasha says, “We have him.” 

“ Where? ”

“Ontario. I’ll send you coordinates.”

“ Damn. Okay. I have to- ” murmurs across the line. Natasha can’t make them out, but she picks up Happy’s voice. And Pepper’s. Something about Peter. “ I have to swing by Queens. I can be there in an hour. You have him secure?

“I do.” A pause passes before she adds, “We also have royalty with us. I’ll catch you up when you get here.” 

Silently, they wait.

A knock at the apartment door pulls Peter from his bedroom. He runs a hand through his still damp hair and pulls open the door for Tony, who is carrying a garment bag in one hand and a handful of flowers and a gift bag in the other. The man looks as harried as Peter feels as he rushes inside.

The flowers end up on the counter and the garment bag ends up in Peter’s arms. Tony waves him towards the bedroom, “Go. Put that on.”

May passes Peter in the hall, giving the bag a quick courtesy glance before joining Tony in the living room. At his back, Peter hears her exclaim, “Oh, you got everything!” 

“Pepper, mostly,” Tony responds. “They didn’t really do the boutonniere thing unless it was a wedding. Or prom I guess.”

The voices fade as Peter tries to calm his nerves, breathing deep as he slowly opens the garment bag to reveal the black dinner suit. He runs a hand across the collar of the jacket, astounded at how perfect the material is. There’s more pieces than he’s used to dealing with. A vest. A folded cloth that’s supposed to fit into the breast pocket of his jacket. 

When all that’s left is the tie, Peter comes back out of his room. 

May lets out an immediate, ‘awwww ’ that’s followed by, “Tony, that must have cost a fortune.” 

“Best not ask about these then,” Tony says with a grin as he snags the edge of Peter’s long white sleeve. He maneuvers the arm up and out and gently twists to have Peter expose the cuff holes. With his other hand, Tony reaches into his breast pocket and withdraws several silver pieces of metal. 

Silver, lined with red trim. Just like Peter’s watch. 

Tony slips the item through the shirt cuffs at Peter’s wrist and pins them in place. Cuff-links. Peter stares down at them. In the square center there are two letters. PS. He jerks his head up to see Tony staring down at him, eyes softened at the corners. Hesitant. Unsure. But… something else too. A touch of pride, maybe?

PS. It doesn’t take a genius to guess what the initials stand for. 

“Peter Stark?” Peter asks, holding up the cuff. In response, Tony opens his hand to reveal the other silver cuff-link. Peter spots the difference immediately.

PP.

“Whoever you want to be, Kid. I’ll support it.” Peter Parker. Peter Stark.

Peter offers the other arm. “Tonight… I’ll be both.” Tony’s gaze brightens and he slips the second cuff-link home. When he’s got his jacket on and tie in place, Tony straightens the lapels one final time and flicks imaginary lint off Peter’s shoulder.

The man assesses him quietly before he says, “You look good, Kid. How do you feel?”

He doesn’t think there are words for how he feels. The suit is fantastic, fitting perfectly against his form. The silver cuff-links glint in the light, a glaring display of wealth. For a moment he thinks that this is exactly how Tony must feel all the time. Powerful. Ready to take on the world. 

Peter grins, “I feel like a million bucks.”

His father’s smile is distinctly amused, “You’re worth a helluva lot more than that, Kid.”

“Okay, picture time!” May’s already taking photos as she corrals them together. Tony loops an arm over Peter’s shoulder. Another long awww leaves her. More photos follow. Tony snaps a selfie with him, then takes another with May.  

A buzz sounds from Tony’s phone and he spares it a single glance. Something’s going on, but it must not be important because Tony’s putting the phone away and giving Peter a quick, firm hug. 

The embrace comes with the words, “Have fun. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” A beat. “Or some of the things I would do.” Another pause. “You know what, just make your own choices and go from there.” 

Peter’s face is starting to hurt from how much he’s smiled already. “It’s just a dance, Tony.” 

He looks like he’s about to say something else, but May snaps her fingers. “Oh, we have to go get Ned! Time’s ticking.” May ushers Tony towards the door. “You’ll see him tomorrow for lab time.”  

Before Peter knows it, he’s in the car with May and Tony’s long gone. Ned’s chattering in the back seat, fawning over Betty and their blooming love. Though Peter’s crush on Liz is obvious and has been going on for quite some time, he’s hesitant on the love part. He’s willing to just see how things go from the formal. 

They pull up in front of a nice house and May hands Peter the gift bag holding the corsage and boutonniere. May still has to drop Ned off at the school, but Liz insists that her dad give them a ride the rest of the way. Peter’s grateful for the opportunity to meet her family and have some one-on-one time. Well… sans-Ned time.

“You’ll be home by midnight?” 

“Yep,” Peter confirms. 

“Alright. Go get her, tiger.” He gives an exaggerated roll of his eyes, but he’s grinning anyway. 

He adjusts his watch. Fiddles with his cuff-links. When he accepts the fact that the nerves won’t just go away, Peter rings the bell. A buzz travels up his spine and settles in the back of his head. The instinct to run hits him as the door swings open to reveal a middle aged man in jeans and well-worn button up. 

The man standing in front of him is as familiar as he is a stranger. Peter doesn’t remember his face, but something screams at him that he’s in peril. That this man is dangerous. His fingers tighten on the paper handles of the gift bag, clutching at the only thing he’s got for stability. 

“Honey! Pedro’s here!” The voice booms, overlaying with memories that Peter can’t yet place. 

Liz appears behind the man, a blur in Peter’s peripheral vision. He’s so focused on her father that he can’t even make out the beautiful dress she’s surely wearing. “Daddy, it’s Peter.”

Liz’s father cocks his head, mouth pulling tight. The stern expression is there for only a moment before it shifts into a grin. The man is almost jovial as he shrugs and says, “I’m just messing with him. Ain’t that right, son?”

Fear wraps through him, cold tendrils that join the buzzing in his head. Instinct tells him to run. Or, to fight.

Messing with.

You don’t know what you’re messing with.

His side aches, a phantom pain from when claws ranked down his side all those weeks ago. His chest feels tight.

“Well, bring him in, Adrian.” A woman calls out from the kitchen. It takes everything in Peter not to flinch when the man reaches out and clasps his shoulder, guiding him into the house. The door closes at his back and this time Peter does twitch. He’s trapped. Trapped in a room with the Vulture. With Adrian Toomes. 

Don’t stare. Head down. Peter struggles to pull himself together, trying to appear non-pulsed and casual. His hand shakes when he holds out the gift bag. If anyone notices, they’ve chosen not to mention it. Hs isn’t sure if it’s Liz who takes the flowers or her mom, but the bag ends up on the counter. 

A hand lands on his shoulder again and Peter jumps. “Easy.” Adrian commands with that ever present grin. “So, you’re Stark’s kid, huh? Must have been wild to find that out.” There’s an underlying bitterness in his words. A sort of twisting curl of snideness. “Daddy alright with you slumming it?” 

“Be nice,” Liz chastises, though her tone is filled with affection.

Peter has no clue how to answer that question so he just nods and manages to get out a handful of words, “Tony, uh, got me the suit.”  Adrian lets out an unconvinced hum. For a moment he looks ready to send another barb Peter’s way, but Liz’s mom interrupts, telling Peter and Liz to line up for a photo. 

Smiling suddenly becomes the hardest thing Peter’s ever done. 

He can’t think. Can’t process. He has to do something, but he’s stuck on what that something is. He can’t fight. Not in front of the family. And the dance is coming up and Liz looks so pretty. 

And maybe he’s wrong about this? Maybe this man isn’t the villain that Peter thinks he is? After all, he never actually saw the vulture. Maybe his mind is playing tricks on him? It wouldn’t be the first time his sense failed him.

Mr. Toomes pins Peter with a hard stare as the two teens get in the back of the car. 

They’re halfway to the school when it hits Peter that he isn’t alone. That he has resources now. He pulls his phone from his pocket and swipes to Tony’s name. His finger hovers over the digital keys. 

What  can he say?

I found the vulture. I think. Maybe. 

None of it sounds right. None of it sounds like it’s-

“Mom’s going to pick me up?” Liz’s voice at Peter’s side draws his attention. 

“Yep. I’ve got a job tonight. Last minute, but I’ll make it up to you sweet-pea.” 

A job tonight. 

Peter’s grip tightens on his phone, just a hair, but the metal gives. And the glass too. The screen is shattered, but the backlight tells him the phone is still on. He sends a quick look to Liz and then another to Mr. Toomes to see if they saw him, but they are both engaged with each other now and barely pay him any mind. Peter slides the phone to his pocket near the door. 

An idea hits around the same time that the car rolls to a stop. The first idea he’s had since his spider brain demanded he run. Liz opens her side of the car and Peter uses the sound to cover up the soft thud his phone makes as he slips it between the door and the back seat. 

Liz leans into the front window of the car, kisses her father’s cheek. Adrian stares at Peter before grumbling, “Have fun. But not too much.”

Peter’s left staring at the tail-lights of the car long enough to have Liz start tugging on his sleeve. “Hey,” she whispers, confusion tinting her voice, “let’s go inside.” 

Yes. Inside. He has to go inside. Has to find Ned. 

He looks at Liz, tries to convey all the apology he can muster and says, “I’m so sorry. I have to go.”

Then Peter runs, darting between students who are making their way to the gym that’s decorated with snowflakes and balloons and hanging icicles. He lets instinct drive him, pull him towards a familiar pair of voices. 

Ned, with his fedora, and MJ, with her sketchbook, stand off to the side as they sip punch.  

Peter lands in front of them, hands reaching for Ned’s jacket. For the phone that's tucked into the inside pocket. 

“Peter, what’s going on?” MJ asks, picking up on Peter’s frantic energy. Ned, however, stands still, arms out while Peter digs into his clothes. Like he’s accepted this as his fate. 

“The Vulture. It’s Liz’s dad.” Peter snags the phone and yanks it out before holding it out towards Ned to unlock. “Bring up my phone’s location.” Peter’s suddenly very grateful for his friends and their sleuthing abilities. Ned hadn’t turned off the tracking even after they discovered Peter’s secret. 

“What are you going to do?” MJ asks.

“I don’t know. I have to stop him, but.. I don’t have anything. No suit. No-”

“Webshooters!” Ned exclaims, loud enough to draw the attention of another group of teens. MJ glares at him while Peter starts shoving them further into the corner of the room. 

“Yes. I don’t have those either.”

“I do. I have yours. In my locker. Here.”

“Oh my god, Ned,” MJ hisses. “Why do you have Peter’s stuff in your locker?”

Ned snaps back, “Because some of us don’t have a billion dollars and need to borrow tools from the science lab.” 

Peter glances down at Ned’s phone, watching the dot that represents Toomes getting further and further away. He has to go. Now. He grabs the sketchbook from MJ’s hands and opens it, scrawling a series of numbers with the pencil inside. One of the few phone numbers he’s ever memorized.

The notebook is back in MJs hands a second later and Peter takes off towards Ned’s locker, yelling over his shoulder. 

“Call Tony!”

Tony lands in front of the warehouse that’s dead center of Natasha’s coordinates. FRIDAY picks up her voice from inside and he starts walking that way. There is a kaleidoscope of emotions that run through him, but the one he feels the most is rage.

It’s not an emotion he particularly enjoys. Rage is all consuming. It takes pieces of him and reshapes them into a man that’s unrecognizable. One who will kill. One who wants to hurt .

And, by god, does he want to hurt someone. In an act of incredible foresight, Tony opens the Ironman suit and steps out of it, leaving the armor behind as he approaches Natasha, T’Challa, Clint, and the Sokovian . 

He drops his jacket. His phone. His gauntlet watch. Anything he could use to kill the man that isn’t his bare hands. 

The man’s not smiling or showing any sign of amusement, but there’s a glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes as he watches Tony approach. Tony wants to wipe that look right off his face. His fingers curl into a fist, but a firm hand around his wrist keeps him from following through with the first attack. 

Natasha’s at his side, her back to Zemo and gaze on Tony. Soft and calculating. “You don’t want to go home with his blood on your hands.”

Tony doesn’t spare her even a sideways glance, “Oh I don’t know about that.” Picturing the man with a few missing teeth sends a mild joy through him, an unusual streak of sadism that should cause more concern than Tony currently feels. He addresses Zemo next, “Who died? Who was it you lost during the attack?” 

“Everyone.”

“And what? You want revenge against me?”

Zemo’s head tilts to the side. He looks between Tony and Natasha and Clint before saying, “It was never about you.”

The pieces fall into place in Tony’s mind. 

The first step had been framing the Winter Soldier. To draw him out and pit him against Rogers. No… to pit the two of them against Tony. Tony, who was known for being volatile and was struggling with the accords and getting the Avengers to agree. Tony, who brought more enemies to his doorstep than salesmen.

But there was something Zemo couldn’t have accounted for. That no one would have accounted for.

Around the same time that the Sokovian set his plan into motion Tony had gotten a call from the FBI. He’d been reunited with his son. His focus was shifted onto someone that required every ounce of his patience and an even temperament. In a domino effect, Tony gave more leeway to Steve as he searched for Bucky Barnes. 

So, when the first part of his plan failed, Zemo had to get closer . The man infiltrated the compound and waited to strike. Disrupted the team initially by sending the tape. Again, Tony couldn’t allow himself the luxury of revenge because he was too invested in being there for Peter.

Then, the media presented the perfect opportunity when they learned about the resurrection of Thomas Stark. The one person that Tony would burn the entire world for. The one person that should they be threatened, Tony wouldn’t hesitate to shove any thought of mercy to the bottom of his soul. 

Except, Peter had mercy. 

Dad, please! 

Tony stares down at Zemo. “Look around you. Three Avengers and a-” Tony can’t help but give T’Challa a double-take, “a- What are you exactly?”

“A King.”

“Okay. Three Avengers and a King. Still standing. Oh, Cap is gone. And Wilson is going to lay low. But at the end of the day we’re still here. Hell, we are stronger for it. Accountability and new blood.” Tony steps forward, far into the man’s personal space. He sets his hand on Zemo’s shoulder and squeezes, reminding the man that he is alive and well and all Zemo’s subterfuge was for nothing. 

Dad, please! 

Show mercy, even when none is due. 

Tony inhales deep, braces himself for the commitment he’s about to make, and announces, “So, here’s what's going to happen. I’m going to leave you with the best spies I know and then you’re going to the raft. And you’ll live there for the rest of your miserable life.” His hand drops from the man’s arm and he turns, exposing his back to the man. 

Because he’s not worth Tony’s caution any longer. 

“Should I go to the raft,” the warning rattles behind Tony and his steps falter as he picks up the gravity in Zemo’s voice. “There will be no one to stop the announcement to the world that Peter Parker has his own secrets.” 

There is only one secret that could disrupt Peter’s life. One secret that Tony will help him keep. He has no doubt that Natasha already knows about Spider-Man. He didn’t explicitly tell her, but she’s quite adept at finding hidden truths. Which means that Clint knows too. The King… Well, he has bigger problems than Tony’s family drama. 

Tony looks over his shoulder, tries to assess if Zemo is lying. When he’s unable to tell, he glances at Natasha. She gives a barely-there nod. So the man isn’t bluffing. Tony tampers down on the impulse to swear. 

“I’ve negotiated with far better than the likes of you. If you’re looking for terms, you’re going to have to do better than that.” The first glimpse of hesitancy flickers across Zemo’s face as he realizes his bargaining power is not as valuable as he expected. 

“You’re willing to let your child face the wrath of the public?”

No . “If it means you spend a lifetime behind bars, then yes.” Tony steadies himself, forces one foot in front of another to take him towards the door. 

“Wait!” Tony stills, but doesn’t turn. The suit is just a few more steps in front of him now. He could ignore the man. Pick up all his tech and step into the armor. Wait for the fallout. Brace himself for Peter’s life to be forever changed. 

At least they would have one another. He could take care of him. Take care of May. Take care of everything. And the man that caused it would be gone. Locked up and left to think about the people he lost and the failures…

A silence stretches between them before Zemo finally breaks, “I will give control of the message over to the King of Wakanda, along with myself, in exchange for leniency.” A final play of his hand. 

Tony looks at T’Challa. Zemo’s attempting to pit them against each other now. If the King refuses leniency then the blame is shifted to Wakanda . An entire nation against Tony Stark. 

It’s a shitty play. 

Tony is not the young man he used to be. He’s not as easily manipulated. He doesn’t call enemies to his doorstep or announce to the world every secret he has. He also doesn’t hold it against people when they’re forced into a corner and choose themselves. 

He opens his mouth to tell Zemo to shove his offer where the sun doesn’t shine, but a baritone voice cuts through the room. “I accept the terms.” Tony’s head snaps around towards T’Challa. The man meets Tony’s gaze, “Release the Baron to me and I will ensure that your son’s secret is safe.” 

The relief that floods through Tony is overwhelming, but he steels himself against showing it. He won’t allow the Sokovian to feel an ounce more of satisfaction. Not at Tony’s expense. 

“It wouldn’t violate the accords,” Natasha’s concern wasn’t Tony’s first, but he’s glad she brought it up. “Wakanda is a full member. They’re due justice.” 

“We are. I will have my guards prepare the quinjet…”

Whatever negotiations begin to follow, Tony blocks them out as he stares down at the ground. Next to his foot his phone vibrates, bumping up against his watch to make a soft clanking sound.

The screen shows two missed calls and one voicemail. 

The device is in his hand a heartbeat later and the message starts playing in his ear. 

“You reach him yet?” He knows that voice, even if it’s not the number that called. Ned. 

The second voice that follows is one he’s rarely heard. Maybe once or twice on speakerphone when Peter passed through a room. Michelle. MJ. 

“I’m working on it,” the girl snaps back. Her voice becomes crisp and clear and Tony realizes she’s talking into the phone. “Give us a call when you get this. Or call Ned’s phone since Peter took it. He’s after the vulture.”

“It’s Liz’s dad!” Ned adds. Liz. Peter’s date for the formal. 

“Shit,” Tony swears, slipping on his watch and taking those last few steps to the suit. “Give him to the King. We’ll talk later.” Before Natasha can respond, Tony’s in the air. 

“FRIDAY, auto to Peter’s location.” He lets the suit auto-pilot take over as he reviews the PETE-Vitals data. The transponder shows he’s in Brooklyn, not far from the bay. His altitude is climbing. Alarmingly high. Higher than any building on the coast. Heart’s BPM above typical levels. Rapid pulse. 

“FRIDAY, connect with Ned’s phone.” All he can hear is a dull roar as soon as the line opens. He orders FRIDAY to filter out the noise. To see if there’s any hint of Peter’s voice amidst the static. He talks as if Peter can him anyway. “Kid. Kid, I’m heading your way. Your vitals are off the charts-” So are Tony’s according to the HUD. “- I’m going to need you to hold on for a bit.”

“-a plane. ” FRIDAY isolates Peter’s voice just in time to catch the tail end of whatever he’s saying.

“What plane?” That explains the altitude. “Why are you on a plane?” 

“It’s your plane. ” Supplemental information flashes across the HUD. There is only one of Tony’s planes near the city. The moving day cargo jet. Tony’s mind races to fill the gaps of why Peter would be anywhere near that plane. He comes up blank until Peter adds, “ He’s trying to steal your stuff. ”

“What was rule number one?!” Don’t get hurt. Not over things. The first rule he ever gave Peter. 

“ He’s hurt people. People have died. We have to stop him. ” Tony is well aware that can’t argue with this side of Peter. He’s known the kid for all of eight weeks and he has learned that Peter’s sense of right and justice isn’t something he can turn on and off. But… he can redirect him.  He can work with righteousness all day long, a skill he picked up from years of handling Rogers.

“Okay. Okay, we will. We’ll stop him. You’ve done your part. Now, go to the back of the plane. There’s a backpack. It’s an auto deployment chute.” Stay calm , Tony’s mind whispers as he continues to walk Peter through the steps to safely get back to the ground. “I need you to put it on. The launchpad system should open the door when you take it off the wall.”

“I’m not technically inside the plane. ”

Tony’s breath catches in his throat, almost blocking the words he growls out, “Then, get inside it and get the chute.”

“ It’s… the navigation system is messed up and the engines… I have to… I have to turn it. ” There’s shouting. The sound of wind takes over once more. Tony’s eyes are laser focused on the fluctuating altitude from Peter’s transponder. Focused on the tracker and the dot that’s changing course. 

How the hell is his kid controlling the plane? It’s a closed system. How…

“ Tony .”

It’s suddenly the past and they’re sitting in a hotel hallway, bags of doritos in hand and trying to contemplate that their lives are forever changed. Peter says his name for the first time and he thinks of Thomas Stark and how he would have never called him that. Another part buried forever. But… It's okay because his son is breathing across the hall from him and telling him about school and his friends. Peter smiles at him and Tony burns the image into his memory to cherish forever.

“ Dad. ” Tony closes his eyes, lets the word wash through him. It doesn’t soothe his soul like he always thought it would. Not when it’s said low and quiet, filled with messages that remain unsaid. I love you. I’m scared. “It’s going to crash. ”

Chapter Text

The plane is going to crash. Peter looks down at the phone currently webbed up at his feet. He can barely hear Tony over the roaring in his ears. His father is talking about a water impact. Something about jumping. The words run together and are almost frantic. 

All of Peter’s focus goes into pulling his webbing and lifting the wing higher. One thing after another. The scientific rules of aerodynamics. Newton’s law of motion. Bernoulli’s principle. Metal groans and Peter feels the shift in direction. 

The plane is still going down, but at least it’s facing away from the homes that are pressed against the border of coney island. Sleeping families will be spared a catastrophic end. 

Somewhere in the belly of the plane he picks up the sound of metal cutting through the hull. The Vulture’s wings, new and improved, are slicing apart what remains of the interior. Whether it’s from a fit of anger or he’s being thrown around by the sudden movement of the cargo, Peter has no idea. 

Peter stands, feet stuck to the top of the jet, and braces for the inevitable impact.

His black suit jacket is long gone and his vest is open. His white button-up is torn and bloody. The shoes are somewhere far below. Two pieces of silver glimmer at his wrists. Somehow, in all the chaos, the cuff-links have remained. Their shiny surface reflects the fire from the engines, creating pretty red glows on each wrist. 

Go limp, his brain suddenly screams. 

Peter obeys, allowing gravity to take him down just as the nose of the plane collides with the sandy shore. For a brief second, his entire consciousness goes offline. His body moves on its own, twisting and rolling across the sand. Sand that’s no less forgiving than concrete. He flicks his wrist and tries to slow his momentum. Tries to form a netting for debris. Reflex and conscious thought attempt to intertwine. 

He feels like he’s gone toe-to-toe with a cheese grater when he finally stops rolling, skin scraped raw in patches all over his body.

But... he can’t rest. 

A shadow flies overhead and Peter’s barely back on his feet when he feels claws dig in around his chest and middle, lifting him up into the air only to pound him back down into the sand. The air is driven from his lungs and Peter fights for air. Fights to orient himself as he is thrown around.

“You want to know what happens to people who interfere in my business, Pedro?” 

Does he want to know? Not really. But he already has a pretty good idea. 

Peter gets his breath back and searches for any vulnerability he can find. Spotting one, he swings his arm, web aimed at the connector between the wing and the power system. The Vulture loses control of his flight stabilization and his grip on Peter falters just enough for him to pull apart the claw’s grip.

He drops back to the ground and scrambles out from under the Vulture as he dives back down. One set of claws clutch at Peter’s ankle and he’s yanked back into the air. Metal digs into the flesh there and he can’t help but cry out at the piercing agony. 

His fear and pain shifts into a desperate anger. Peter curls up, fingers clasping once more on the metal talons. He pulls, lets go of the tight hold on his tempered strength, and yanks the barbs right off the exoskeleton. Before he can drop, Peter reaches out and snags the leg braces. A wing flies towards him and Peter catches it one-handed, letting it dig into his palm just so he can flex his fingers around the blade and twist it. Twist it until it snaps right at the base of the power system. 

Sharp weapons aim for him, but Peter grits his teeth and swings himself to land on the Vulture’s back. The glowing purple core is there. Buried beneath alien technology. 

He doesn’t think about the fact that they’re hundreds of feet in the air. Doesn’t think about the fact that once he’s ripped the flight unit apart then gravity will take over. 

Peter slams his fist into the bulk of the exosuit. The wings seize, the suit screaming in a way that Peter can’t. And the fall begins, stomach turning as he goes weightless. His fingers curl around whatever they can and he wrenches out pieces of metal and wire. Again. Again. Gutting the core until he can put his hand around the purple power source. 

It pulses in his palm and his eyes are transfixed on it. Better the purple glow than the ground rushing up at him. 

A boom echoes in the sky, a broken sound barrier, and Peter’s head snaps around just in time to see a rapidly approaching red and gold figure. He moves immediately, wrist coming up to take aim as he makes back to back calculations. Tony can’t intercept him at these speeds so Peter’s going to have to do his part. 

It will hurt, but nowhere near as much as a sudden stop enforced by the sand beneath him.

When Tony is close enough, Peter fires a web and catches the Ironman suit around the ankle. He braces for when the tether goes taut, muscles tense against the strain as he’s suddenly jerked to the side. He’s pretty sure his organs will complain later about receiving the same treatment as a magic 8 ball. Nausea swells in his stomach, but he clamps down hard to keep from throwing up mid-air.

Once Peter is sure that they’ve slowed down enough that the momentum isn’t enough to cause injury, he lets go of the web and allows both himself and Toomes to fall the rest of the way. He hits the sand with a grunt, twisting to prevent Toomes from taking a full impact. The Vulture, trapped in the broken exoskeleton, doesn’t move from his laid out position on the beach. 

Unmoving. Bleeding across the crystal sand. 

An image of Ben flashes through Peter’s mind, blood pooling on a dark street, and he forces himself to stand and walk the short distance between them.

Peter drops to his knees beside the exosuit and reaches for the chest brace. He peels it apart to gain access to Toomes’ sternum and lays his hand there, resting until he feels a steady thump that confirms the man isn’t dead. The positive sign of life brings tears to Peter’s eyes. Tears that blur his vision as he looks up and sees a blob of red and gold. 

What else could he have done?

What else?

His great power comes with a great burden. Stop the bad guys, but make sure you don’t become one in the process. 

On shaking legs, Peter stands, stumbling towards the Ironman armor as it opens. Tony launches out of it, eyes wide and panicked. “Peter!”

He makes it a few steps before collapsing, the prior flood of adrenaline leaving a mess of exhaustion in its wake. Before he can faceplant into the sand, Tony’s there, kneeling in front of him and putting two arms under his own to catch his weight. 

“T’ny,” he slurs. 

“FRIDAY, scan him.” A hand rubs across his forehead, pushing his hair back. Peter blinks and is met with Tony’s brown gaze staring down at him. The man is doing that thing where he’s trying to stay calm. Where his heart beats faster than it should and he forces his voice to that quiet tone that doesn't rake along Peter’s nerves. “Keep talking, Kid.”

“M’tired,” So very tired. 

“Stay awake. Peter… Peter, don’t close your eyes,” Something taps the side of his face. A gentle pat against his cheek. He blinks again and realizes he’s lying on the sand alone amidst burning debris. Everything hurts. His wrist. Most of his exposed skin. Cuts across his back. The punctures along his leg. Bruises surely litter most of his torso where the Vultures claws slammed him down. 

“T’ny?”

“Right here, Peter. I’m right here.” There’s a thud in the sand next to him as Tony kneels in his armor. A metal arm slips under his knees and another under his shoulder. Peter grunts in pain as his body is jostled. “Sorry. Stay with me.”

Sirens sound in the distance. Fire and police and EMS. He doesn’t have to focus long to know they’re heading their way. 

It’s okay. Everything is okay.

He lets the darkness take him.

“FRIDAY, scan him.” Tony’s voice shakes as he puts a hand across Peter’s forehead, rubbing away dirt, sand, sweat, and blood as he pushes Peter’s hair from his eyes. The disturbance causes the kid to open his eyes and Tony lets out an exhale of relief that they are focused on him. Clear. Not glossy or unfocused. Not Concussed. 

“ There is no imminent threat to life detected, but Young Boss does have significant contusions, four fractures, and puncture wounds below the knee. You should keep him awake until you are able to seek medical care. ” 

“Keep talking, Kid,” Tony begs.

“M’tired,” Peter says, eyes drifting closed once more. 

Tony taps his palm against his cheek, asking him to stay awake. Then he’s telling Peter to hang tight while he gets the suit. He doesn't know if the kid’s processing his words, but he’s still awake and staring up at the sky when Tony returns in the armor. 

The wreckage is left behind, along with Peter’s webshooters. Tony will deal with his portion of this mess later. Will deal with Toomes later. All that matters now is getting the kid to the hospital.

Tony lands at the closest ER unit and from there every moment blurs together. Peter’s pulled from his arms and set on a gurney. Nurses and doctors begin triage. Later, a team of lawyers will come in and obtain NDAs. Will inform every soul working on that floor that any violation of medical privacy will result in not just a job lost, but a career burned to ash. 

He waits in the lobby, ignores the stares of people who come and go. His phone is practically glued to his hand. Messages to Pepper, May, and Happy. He’s even called MJ and Ned. 

May, of course, is the first to arrive at the hospital. 

He doesn’t know if it’s the fact that she’s freely crying, but he suddenly lets go of the tight rein on his own emotions and feels the tears track down his cheeks. Relief and fear flow out of him in an unstoppable torrent.

When he’d been in the air, watching the HUD that tracked Peter’s watch, he’d seen the dot disappear at the same time the call cut out. It was the longest four minute flight of his life after that. He pushed FRIDAY to divert as much power as possible to get him to Peter’s last known location. 

By the time the wreckage came into view and he spotted the Vulture and Peter falling, he knew he would overshoot the landing. But Peter, the smartest kid he knows, anticipated it and used the tools he had to survive . Not only did Peter survive, but he also saved the man who caused it all. 

Miraculous. Kind. 

God, those admirable traits are going to be the death of him…

He doesn’t know how long he sits with May in the waiting room. Has no idea of the time anymore. All he knows is that his eyes feel like they’ve been rubbed with sandpaper and his face is redder than when he’d crashed in the desert all those years ago. A lifetime between then and now. 

“Dr. Stark?” A man says as he comes out from a set of double doors leading to an employee only area. Tony and May are on their feet in an instant, following where the white coat leads. Past nurse stations and gurneys and beeping machines. They’re ushered into a hospital room with a single bed. Even Tony knows that the privacy is unusual with a public hospital, but he doesn’t mention it. Won’t dare ask questions. 

In the bed is Peter, hooked up to an IV and a few other monitors. There’s bandages that run from his ankle to his knee. More white gauze covers his shoulder. On his left wrist is a blue brace. His kid looks small and fragile in the oversized gown, lying among crisp white sheets. 

“Oh, Peter,” May whispers as she closes the distance between them. Her free hand goes to his head, fingers running through messy brown locks.

“The most significant injury from the-” the doctor pauses, eyes shifting between Tony and May. Without words, he’s communicating an agreement. “-Car crash was to the muscle tissue on his leg. Even with his uniqueness , he will have to be careful. I recommend a cane for at least a week to support the healing muscles and tendons. The bone does not show any signs of fracture or crush injury. The bruising on his chest may look extensive, but I don’t believe it will cause much discomfort for long.” 

Most of the discoloration is covered by the hospital gown, but Tony sees the black and blue peeking out above the collar. A gentle tug at the neckline and he can see more purpling across the entirety of Peter’s chest. May gasps at the sight while Tony sucks in a deep breath. 

Extensive is an understatement. 

The doctor continues, “Multiple hairline fractures were found in his wrist, though they don’t pose a concern so long as the joint remains in the brace. I give the fractures the same timeline as his leg. The other lacerations were closed with liquid bandage. For future injuries I recommend not using staples or sutures for anything that would heal within a day or two. If there are any signs of infection -fever, excess fatigue, or vomiting- then you should consult someone who has experience with individuals who have high metabolism. Any internal injury that needs surgery will require sedation and he does not respond to typical anesthesia.” 

Tony nods, the only form of agreement he can manage. He’s grateful for Dr. Green. For his obvious discretion. For the implication of the records he’ll be submitting. A car crash will inspire far less questions than a plane crash.  

He waves a hand towards Peter’s still form. “When can we take him?”

May shakes her head, asking, “Tony, do you think that’s a good idea?”

“I think he’ll heal better at home.” Somewhere private. Not as loud or bright or sterile. A controlled space. 

“You mean the penthouse?” 

“I mean with you or me. I can stay at the apartment. I just… I can’t leave him. Not right now.”

“No, I suppose your place is better. Bigger. And you have the elevator.” He hadn’t even considered that. May, being a nurse, was already thinking three steps ahead in terms of convalescence. No stairs would be preferable if he’s restricted to cane. 

Not like the kid is going anywhere, though.

Still, Tony will take the win. He turns to Dr. Green, who finally answers, “I will get you the discharge papers and write up after-care instructions.”

They don’t get to leave until after Peter wakes. He takes his time with it. Refusing to enter the world of consciousness for over an entire day. The staff that comes in and out of the room is made up of three people. None of them ask questions. None of them even breathe a hint of Peter’s enhanced healing. They don’t even chart anything more than whether he’s sleeping or when an IV is changed out. 

Tony makes a mental note to donate a lot of money to Dr. Green’s charity of choice…

Tony sleeps on and off in the chair next to the hospital bed, trading out with May when his hunger or need for coffee can’t be put off any longer. He returns from one such errand to the sound of whispers coming from the room.

He’s met with the sight of two additional teenagers. Ned’s in the chair by the bed, hand on Peter’s wrist in a gesture of unrestrained affection. MJ  is scowling by the window in typical teen angst fashion. They two are in the middle of explaining to May what happened at the dance. 

“-was freaking out. He didn’t have a phone or anything. As soon as he left we tried calling Mr. Stark. But…” Ned trails off. Tony hadn’t answered the calls. And it had cost precious minutes. MJ’s number wasn’t on the bypass list so FRIDAY hadn’t alerted him to the attempt. A mistake that has since been rectified. 

They stay for a couple of hours, long enough to determine that Peter isn’t going to rejoin the land of the conscious during their visit. The only sign of their social call is a box of chocolates from the giftshop and a small lego figurine left on the rolling tray.

Tony’s reclined in the chair, one arm resting on Peter’s hospital bed and eyes shut as he listens to the ambient noise of the room. At some point May had thrown one of the spare white blankets over him. Though it’s mildly uncomfortable, he can’t find the energy to push it to the floor. He’s more than a touch exhausted.

Someone taps the back of his hand. He flicks away the touch. “Better have coffee if you’re waking me, May.” 

Not-May responds, “Sorry, don’t have coffee.”

Tony’s head whips around, gaze landing on Peter’s face. On his open eyes. Tony moves lightning quick, joints popping in protest as he shoots out of the chair and leans over the bed to look down at the teen. Alive and well and awake . A hundred questions pop to mind, but he doesn’t voice any of them. Instead, he says, “Hey, Kid.” 

The reply he gets is small. Quiet. Very unlike the Peter he knows. “I’m sorry.” Sorry for scaring Tony. Sorry for putting himself in danger. Tony’s heart thunders in his chest, nerves shot after days of waiting. Peter soothes it all by saying, “You can… rule number two.” 

Rule Number Two.

Tony gets a hug when he’s freaking out. 

He’s careful not to jar the kid’s wrist or put too much pressure on his chest, but he’s got his arms around his kid a second later. There are few things that calm Tony more than this simple affection, nothing more wonderful than the affirmation that Peter looks at him and sees him as family worthy of this simple embrace.

When he gets the promised rush of endorphins and dopamine, he forces himself to let Peter go.

Footsteps sound at the door and the two of them turn to see May rush inside. She shoves a cup of, thankfully cold, coffee towards Tony, black liquid landing on him and the floor. She’s also a little less gentle in her hold and Peter hides a wince that Tony can’t help but mirror. Neither of them are willing to risk retaliation by telling her to take it easy. Not when she’s been holding it together by a thin thread.

She starts in on the yelling immediately after she releases Peter. “Grounded! Grounded until college. Grounded until the sun explodes. No more riding planes or, or, fighting flying crazy men. Grounded!”

“The trial against Adrian Toomes, the man suspected of running the largest illegal weapons trade on the eastern coast, will begin in three days. Almost four months ago, Authorities took Toomes into custody after finding him amidst the wreckage of a Stark Industries jet in what appeared to be an attempted hijacking. Fortunately, there were no other casualties discovered from the site of the crash. Statements from SI and Tony Stark concerning the event have been limited…” The two news anchors continue to recount the case against Adrian Toomes. Tony spares the television a handful of minutes before powering it off and returning to the kitchen. 

He’s just finished assembling sandwiches when the elevator opens and Peter steps inside. The teen drops his backpack by the door before bounding into the kitchen and hopping into the tall chair at the island. Tony sets a plate in front of him, giving the meal on top a pointed wave. “How did the midterm go?” 

Peter hums around a mouthful of food. Despite watching the kid scarf down meal after meal over the past half year,Tony’s still astounded by the speed that Peter inhales the sandwich. At least he has enough manners to swallow before saying, “Aced it.”

“ Nice .” Of course he did. He and Tony studied the material for a week straight just to ensure the kid was prepared. It meant borrowing time from May, but she seemed grateful for the reprieve considering how swamped at work she’s been. 

There’s a standing offer for her to take time off and let Tony handle the details but May’s refused anything more than the occasional fine wine or allowing him to spoil Peter with new tech and clothes. Maybe one day, after she retires, she’ll let him front the cost of a cruise or something. Anything to give back for her years of loving and raising his son. The one time he’d even hinted at his need to repay her, she’d used a phrase that Tony himself was fond of. You can’t afford me.

Tony’s drawn from his thoughts when Peter slips off the barstool and heads to put his plate away. He watches the teen’s steps, catalogs his gait and tries to determine if he’s favoring one side over the other. There hasn’t been any significant injury since the fight with the Vulture, but Tony’s always checking. Always trying to make sure the kid isn’t hurt. 

At least he asks FRIDAY for the PETE-Vitals less. A few times a week at most…

“I guess I’m 16 today.” The words come with no hesitancy. No pause or stuttering to indicate that it was a hard fact to admit. No. Peter just says it and Tony can do nothing but reach out for the island and hold on. If Peter can hear Tony’s heart thundering in his chest, he doesn’t mention it. Instead, the teen asks, “Does this mean you’ll start teaching me to drive?” 

He stares at the kid, then stares down at his phone. Bright letters and numbers stare back at him.

March 3rd. 

He hadn’t even thought about it. For the first time in over 15 years he didn’t dread the date. Hell, it didn’t even register on Tony’s radar. There’s no scotch to be had. No locked boxes of memories. FRIDAY hadn’t sent out a warning to Pepper or Rhodey or anyone else on Tony’s short list. The day had come and all meaning to it had seemingly vanished the day that Peter reappeared in his life. 

“Tony?” Peter’s face betrays his concern and Tony realizes he’s just been standing in the kitchen, one hand clutching the countertop for at least a handful of minutes. 

“I’m afraid Peter Parker isn’t 16 until August.” Tony’s grin is forced for as long as it takes Peter to laugh, which is almost immediate. The sound causes his muscles to relax and the smile to turn genuine. “Guess you have to wait to get your hands on the Audi.” 

“Worth a shot,” Peter says with a half-smile.

“There’s ATVs upstate. We could do some riding.” Natasha loved taking the spyder out for the occasional ride. Peter must like the idea because he gives Tony a quick nod, mouth full once more with a protein bar. Just like that, Tony’s heart-rate returns to normal. A simple scene flooding his chest with warmth.

His kid is here. Alive. Leaving his stuff on the floor and crumbs on the counters. Peter’s mark is all over the penthouse now. Posters in his room. A TV left on every now and then, playing a movie that Tony’s never heard of. Occasional legos that find their way under Tony’s feet when he’s grabbing a late night water. There’s a scored test hanging on the fridge by a magnet for all his guests to see.

He chastises Peter when he drinks too much coffee. Congratulates him on his successes. They spend hours in the lab, building and learning and... and… and Peter’s going to change the world. Tony can already see it. 

“Dad?” Tony can’t help but exhale at the word. He knows it doesn't come natural to the kid, but Peter tries it out every now and then. As if he’s also seeing how it feels. Tony sometimes wonders if it makes Peter as happy as it makes him.

“Yeah?”

“May said I could have a late night.” Oh. So that’s why he said it. Peter’s emphasizing Tony’s right to say no. To be ‘dad’. He’s not denied the kid anything in his entire life. 

But that doesn't mean Tony won’t set conditions. He can’t afford not to. Tony sets his hip against the kitchen island, leaning against it as he folds his arms in front of him. “What’s the night going to look like?”

Peter’s grin is wide, already knowing he’s going to be swinging within the hour. To the ceiling, he says, “FRIDAY, pull up the Queens grid.” The lights dim in the living room and the hologram system activates. For the next thirty minutes, Peter breaks down a rough patrol schedule. There’s highlighted zones on the grid, areas that FRIDAY determined were heavier in crime. Burglaries are coded differently than assaults. 

In a way, it helps to know that his kid isn’t going into areas blind. He always has a link to FRIDAY if needed and his HUD is updated with threats as they’re detected. Fire. Weapons. The same things that would show up in Tony’s suit. 

When the presentation is over, Peter looks up to Tony, “What do you think?” 

“It’s great.” Honestly, it’s better planning than some of the Avenger missions Tony went on. “I’m impressed, Kid.”

“Soooo, can I go?” 

Tony crosses his arms again, attempting to be stern. “What’s the magic word?” 

Peter counts off on his fingers, “Abide by the curfew. Alert you if anything makes it through the suit. Update FRIDAY if I need to leave Queens.”

“And?” Tony waits, watching Peter roll his eyes a little at the more recent rule addition.

“And no accepting invitations to join other vigilantes in their hunt for revenge.” 

“That’s right. Leave the other red suits alone. You’ve got enough on your plate with being-”

“I know, I know. A friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.” 

He lets his arms drop, one hand clapping Peter on the shoulder. It’s a quick squeeze, a replacement for a hug he wants but knows the kid is too excited to think about. “Alright, spiderling. You’re free to go.”

Tony doesn’t track him during patrol. Not since Peter resumed a regular schedule. The restraint isn’t easy to come. FRIDAY has so many protocols in place that Tony’s alerted to any concerns before Peter is even aware of them. But… he doesn’t track the kid. He’s learned to trust him. Trust that spider sense that tells Peter when he’s in danger. Trust in Peter’s strength and his instincts. 

That doesn’t mean he won’t pace around the Penthouse when it’s closing in on midnight, one hour before Peter hits curfew. 

He sends a text to Pepper, who is halfway across the world handling business for his company. ‘ Sorry I kept you awake at night when I was doing Avengers stuff.’

He gets a message back within seconds, quick and direct. ‘I’m sure Peter is fine.’

Tony sighs and responds, ‘ How many times did you tell yourself that about me?’

‘Too many.’

He’s not exactly retired from Avengers work, but with the team focused on rebuilding he gets a much needed reprieve. All missions will have a roster that he can easily keep himself off of. For Pepper. For Peter. Being present is his priority now. So, Tony codes. He builds. He fixes things. Natasha has new widow-bites one patrol at a time. Barton gets arrow upgrades.

Tony’s in the living room, blankly flipping through channels, when the speakers above sound. “ Young Boss has returned. ” FRIDAY’s announcement is joined by a pulsing light at the elevator. A hatch within the lift opens on the ceiling and Spider-Man drops down through the gap a moment later. 

Peter rips the mask off and immediately starts talking. “Oh my god. You would not believe what happened. There was this wizard….” 

“Aren’t bachelor parties supposed to have drinking and stuff?” Peter asks as he looks at the Las Vegas pamphlets that are spread out on the hotel room table. They’re those little trifolds that someone could find in a visitor’s center. Peter picks up two. One with information about the Hoover Dam and one that features Caesars Palace.

Rhodey plucks the casino one from Peter’s hand, replacing it with some kind of zipline attraction.  “You’re like 12, Pete. It would be messed up if you had the full experience.” 

“I’m 15!”

“Last I checked that means you’re not entitled to titties and beer.” Peter’s shock from his uncle-in-name’s crudeness is evident and Rhodey just laughs, “Your dad just wants you to live a little.” 

“But it’s his party.”

Rhodey’s laughter trails off and he leans in, as if he’s about to share a secret. “Listen, if you want him to have a good time, then you need to have a good time. Pick a bunch of things to do and we’ll go. You, me, Happy, and Tones.” 

Rhodey leaves Peter to the task, returning to his own room across the hall. He picks out a few close attractions. Ziplines. A magic show. A museum and Meow Wolf. New York City has their own distinct flavor of entertainment, but Peter’s excited to experience another major city. 

Almost two hours later Peter hears a knock on his door.

Before he even opens it, he knows who is on the other side. The familiar heartbeat is steady and calming. Tony’s in his incognito mode, baseball cap and casual clothes. As soon as the door is cracked, Tony’s slipping into the room. 

“Forgot how many cameras there are in Vegas,” he mutters by way of explanation. His attention shifts away from the door and onto Peter. “Sorry, I’m late. Board meeting went long.”  Peter can tell him it’s fine, Tony saunters further into the room and leans over to look at the trifold pamphlets. “Find something you want to do?” He picks up the Caesar Palace ad that Rhodey snatched from Peter earlier, brow rising in question.

“I know, I know. Too young for titties and beer.” 

Tony’s eyes go wide, “Wow. Just a few hours with Rhodey and you start sounding exactly like him. Yeah. Too young for gambling too. Which is a shame because I throw a mean set of dice.” Tony pretends to be tossing dice, grinning wide as he does it. 

The man’s enthusiasm is infectious and Peter smiles, handing over the few pamphlets he picked out.

Tony raises one, amusement slowly giving way to horror, “Oh, surely you can not be serious.” 

“Of course I’m serious. And don’t call me Shirley.” 

“This… this is hell,” Rhodey whispers as he kneels down next to a fake control panel. Tony’s crouched beside him, reading off numbers scrawled by the dials while Happy and Peter type them into another console across the room. 

“He can hear you,” Tony mutters back before standing. It puts him eye to eye with a cardboard cutout of Loki. 

“I don’t care.” From the pure exasperation in Rhodey’s voice, Tony believes him. “There is a lifesize poster of me on the wall, Tones. And someone drew a dick on it.”

“It’s very flattering.”

“It’s on my face.” 

“At least you don’t have to reach into your own chest and pull out a key.”

“Are you saying -it’s inside the pipe, fourth one down- that you’ve done this before?” 

“He likes it. And I love him. So I like it. Now… shut up and help us get out of here.”

Rhodey helps. And because he’s also an MIT graduate, it’s a significant boon to solving the puzzles scattered through the escape room. Peter laughs so much that his eyes are watery and he says his cheeks hurt and Tony would subject himself to a hundred Avengers themed escape rooms if it meant Peter could always be this happy. 

Happy is the one to input the final code and get the last key. He’s surprisingly the most excited of them all, boasting about their end time as they begin to filter into the hall. 

The kid snag’s Tony’s sleeve before they can leave the hellscape. Peter’s still smiling, but it’s shifted into something soft and affectionate rather than amused. He’s staring at Tony and the gaze is so intense that he wants to ask what’s wrong. 

But before Tony can, Peter says, “I love you too, Tony.”

A thousand escape rooms or legos on the floor or late nights worrying about Peter would be worth those five words. 

The world is right and good and Tony finds it hard to remember a time when he felt such insurmountable loss that the alternative was at the bottom of a bottle or a barrel. He hugs the kid hard enough that it would surely leave bruises on a non-enhanced individual. Buries his face in Peter’s hair and tries not to cry. 

Peter stands on the ledge of the Skyline Tower, scanning the streets below. These days he’s less likely to use his sight to find trouble so when that subtle buzz in the back of his head draws him towards the west, he follows. 

He jumps, lets gravity take over, and flings a web towards the building in front of him. It feels like it’s been forever since he’s experienced this kind of freedom. Cambridge is so far from New York that travel to the city isn’t feasible, even with Tony’s offer to fly him in any time. 

The buzz in his head intensifies. He doesn’t always know what he’s drawn to. Doesn’t always understand the danger until it’s right in front of him. But he’s well trained and protected and it means he can face down whatever comes his way. 

“ Peter, you have an incoming call from Tony. ” Karen’s voice sounds in Peter’s mask, soft spoken so she won’t distract him as he swings from one structure to another. 

“Patch him through.”

“ Kid, they need you in Manhattan. Turn on your comms. ” Oh. So that’s where he’s heading. He’s halfway there already and tells Tony as much. “ Cap’s there, but he’s taking a beating. ”

Karen’s feeding Peter the information in time with Tony. A cluster of doom bots are terrorizing central park occupants. Victor must have stepped up his game because last time Captain America went against the bots it had been no contest, the shield alone carved through a row of bots like butter. Peter skims the roster. Wanda. Cap. Natasha. 

They’re short on bodies for the same reason that Tony isn’t there. Half of the Avengers are on the other side of the world, dealing with a different threat.

“ Hope this doesn’t interfere with Spring Break plans. ” The trace humor mixes with Tony’s honesty. He very likely didn't want to involve Peter in this but Spider-Man's a big hitter in the area and even Tony isn’t going to ignore that fact.  

Peter’s grinning beneath his mask, “Best Spring Break ever.” 

“ Adrenaline Junkie. ”

“Yeah? Who do you think I got that from?”

“ Smartass. ”

“Got that from you too, Dad.”

“ I don’t know about that. May is pretty snarky- Shit. Gotta go, Kid. ”

The call cuts right about the time that Peter crosses into Manhattan. In his ear he can hear Rogers giving orders and in the distance he can see a glow of red as Wanda attempts to corral flying autonomous robots.

Just another day in paradise.

That night, long after the fight and several hours of patrolling, Peter lands on the roof of the Manhattan Penthouse, one of the many places he calls home. He changes clothes in the elevator and checks himself over for any injuries that Tony may see. There’s nothing more than light bruises on his arm. No cuts or punctures or head injuries. Nothing that would trigger his father into getting out a first aid kid. 

Or cause Pepper to start fretting. The last thing she needs is another person to take care of. She has her hands full enough as it is with-

The elevator opens and tiny feet patter on the floor. “Petey!” A toddler, brown hair and brown eyes, races his way with arms outstretched towards him. He scoops her up, giving the child a quick spin in the air before letting her settle on his hip. 

“Hey, Mo’. Isn’t it past  your bedtime?” Across the room, standing in the kitchen, is Pepper. She’s putting together a late night meal for one. “You didn’t have to-”

“Nonsense,” Pepper cuts him off with a wave of her hand. “Tony said you were on your way and I was still awake with the terrorizer.” The plate she makes is loaded with protein and carbs. Peter, still with Morgan latched on his side, starts digging in as soon as the food is in front of him, fighting one handed to keep her from stealing noodles. Pepper smiles at the scene and leans on the counter to face Peter. “How’s MIT? I’ve heard the masters program is brutal.”

It feels so natural now, engaging in casual conversation that isn’t filled with half truths or hesitancy, that it’s hard to remember a time when it was just him and May. His family is full . Complete in a way he hadn’t known was possible. 

And that feeling intensifies when a steady heartbeat filters through Peter’s ears. He turns to see Tony step out of the master bedroom, towel across his shoulders and freshly showered. The instant he sees Peter, the man begins an immediate assessment, sharp gaze roving over the skin he can see. 

He must be satisfied with the result because he smiles and closes the distance. Affection comes naturally. Tony leans in and gives Morgan a kiss on her temple then repeats the action with Peter, tousling his hair as he pulls away. 

Peter finds himself often thinking about life. How it changes on a dime. How it becomes empty and full within moments. Loss and love.

He is the son of Tony Stark. He is Spider-Man. An Avenger. A student. An inventor. An orphan. A man. 

And more than that…

He is surrounded by people that love him.