Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The house was quiet. Too quiet. The kind of silence that made Tony Stark's thoughts too loud, echoing in the empty spaces of his mind.

It had been weeks since the snap, weeks since Peter had come back from the blip. Weeks since the world had started to piece itself back together, and yet, Tony couldn’t shake the heavy feeling in his chest—the guilt that gnawed at him, the emptiness that had settled inside him like an unwanted guest.

Peter was back, but Tony couldn’t ignore how close he had come to losing him forever.

He had promised, hadn’t he? Promised to keep him safe. Promised to protect him from the world. But that promise, made in the heat of the moment, felt like a betrayal now. How could he have promised that, knowing the world was full of danger? Knowing he wasn’t invincible?

Tony's fingers drummed nervously on the edge of the table as he stared out the window, his thoughts drifting to Peter, sitting in his room upstairs. The kid was resilient—Tony had always known that. But there was something different about the way Peter had been since his return. He was quieter, less animated. As if the weight of everything that had happened had taken some of the light out of him.

Tony had tried to talk to him, to ask how he was feeling, but Peter always shrugged it off with that all-too-familiar awkward grin. "I’m fine, Mr. Stark," he would say. "Really."

But Tony could see through the act. He’d raised Peter to be a fighter, but he was still just a kid, a kid who had been through hell and back. Tony had always been the one to shield him from the worst of it—until that ay.

The day he couldn’t protect him anymore.

He closed his eyes, the memory of Peter’s face as he disappeared still fresh in his mind. That desperate, terrified look when Peter had vanished, and Tony hadn’t been able to stop it. Even now, he could hear Peter’s voice in his head: I’m sorry, Mr. Stark. I’m sorry I failed you.

Tony’s chest tightened. He should’ve done something. He should’ve—

“Hey, Mr. Stark? Are you okay?”

The voice cut through his thoughts like a breath of fresh air. Peter stood in the doorway, his eyes wide with concern, his shoulders a little slumped.

Tony forced a smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah, Pete. I’m fine.”

Peter didn’t buy it. He never did. He stepped closer, tentative, his gaze searching Tony’s face.

“You know,” Peter began, his voice soft, “I—um, I didn’t want to say anything before, but I’m really glad you’re back. I missed you, you know? A lot.”

Tony felt the lump in his throat grow larger. He cleared it, wiping a hand over his face, trying to hold it together. Stop being an idiot, Stark, he told himself. You’re not the one who needs to be fixed here.

“I missed you too, kid,” Tony said, his voice unsteady. “More than you know.”

Peter gave him a small, uncertain smile, but it was the kind of smile that said more than words could. Tony felt a pang in his heart—he should’ve been there for him more. He should’ve been the one to pick up the pieces when things fell apart, not just after everything had already been set in motion.

Tony swallowed, forcing his breath to steady. He couldn’t fix the past, but maybe—just maybe—he could make sure Peter knew one thing for certain: He wasn’t going to let go of him now.

He wasn’t going to lose him again.

“Come on,” Tony said, pushing himself up from his seat, trying to shake the heaviness in his chest. “Let’s go grab some food. I think I owe you a burger.”

Peter’s eyes brightened, his usual enthusiasm coming back to life as he followed Tony out of the room. It was a small step, but it was enough to remind Tony that even if he couldn’t fix everything, he could still make sure the kid wasn’t alone.

As they drove to the diner, the weight of the past few weeks still pressed heavily on Tony’s chest. He kept stealing glances at Peter, who sat beside him in the passenger seat, staring out the window. The kid was always quiet in the car, but this time, it felt different—like he was holding something back. Tony didn’t want to push, didn’t want to make it worse, but the silence between them felt too loud.

Peter shifted in his seat, finally breaking the stillness. "Mr. Stark?" His voice was tentative, and Tony could feel the uncertainty in it. He wasn’t sure if Peter wanted to talk about what had happened, but he also knew that ignoring it wasn’t going to help either of them.

"Yeah?" Tony responded, keeping his eyes on the road. He tried to sound casual, but he could hear the rough edges in his voice.

Peter hesitated for a long moment. "I, uh... I just wanted to say thank you. For everything. I—uh, I know I didn’t get the chance to say it, but... you really saved me. Back then. Before everything happened." His words were slow, like he was carefully choosing each one.

Tony’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. He wasn’t ready for this, wasn’t ready to talk about the snap. Not yet. But he couldn’t avoid it forever, could he?

"Peter..." Tony started, then trailed off. He didn’t have the right words, not for this. He wanted to say something to make it all okay, to erase the guilt that had become a permanent fixture in his chest, but he didn’t know how.

Peter continued, oblivious to the internal war raging inside Tony. "You... you promised me you’d protect me, and you did. You gave me everything. I didn’t think I deserved any of it, honestly. But you—"

Tony’s breath caught, and he felt his throat close up. *No. No, Peter. You didn’t deserve to feel like that. You never deserved to feel like that.

He had to cut him off. "Kid, I—" Tony swallowed hard, struggling to keep his composure. He didn’t want to cry, didn’t want to show how much it hurt. He wasn’t sure what was worse: the fear of losing Peter, or the knowledge that he’d almost lost him.

Peter's words faltered. "I... I just want you to know that I—I don’t blame you. Not for what happened."

Tony’s eyes flicked to Peter for a second, the vulnerability in those young eyes sending a fresh wave of guilt crashing through him. He could feel the ache of it all over again—the loss, the weight of his own mistakes.

Peter’s hand rested on the door handle, and Tony noticed how stiff his posture was, as if he was trying to keep a part of himself locked away, hidden. But Tony saw it—saw that little crack in the armor that Peter had been building up, that layer of defense he wore to protect himself.

“Pete, I...” Tony’s voice trailed off as he searched for something to say, something that might reach him. "Look, I—I should’ve been there more. After the snap, after everything. You didn’t deserve that. You didn’t deserve to be alone.”

Peter turned to him then, his face serious but soft. "Mr. Stark, you were always there. You were just... you were just doing what you had to do. I get it."

“No, you don’t.” Tony’s words were sharp, almost painful. He couldn’t help it. "I should’ve been there, kid. I should’ve been there for you when you needed me. Not just as a mentor, or as—" He broke off, squeezing the wheel tighter, as if the force of it could push the words out. “But as someone who cared. I failed you. And I can’t—” He paused, his voice breaking. "I can’t fix that."

For a moment, Peter didn’t respond. Tony almost thought he hadn’t heard him, but then, Peter spoke quietly, without a hint of reproach or anger.

"Mr. Stark, you were the first person who made me feel like I could be more than just some kid with a suit. You taught me how to be better, how to be strong. You made me believe that I could handle it... even when I didn’t think I could."

Tony’s heart skipped a beat, his eyes burning as he glanced over at Peter. The honesty in those words made him want to cry, but he bit it back. *Peter had grown so much... But so had Tony.*

"I know you’ve been through a lot, Pete," Tony said quietly, voice hoarse. "And I know I haven’t exactly been the best at this whole 'father figure' thing. But I need you to understand something. You’re not alone. Not now. Not ever."

Peter’s eyes softened, and for the first time in a while, Tony saw a glimmer of that old Peter—the kid who laughed a little too loud, who wasn’t afraid to ask questions, to be vulnerable.

"Thanks, Mr. Stark," Peter said, his voice almost shy now. "I’m... I’m still learning too."

Tony chuckled, trying to shake off the emotion that threatened to spill over. "We all are, kid. We all are."

By the time they reached the diner, the mood in the car had shifted—slightly lighter, though still heavy with the things they hadn’t said. But there was an unspoken understanding between them now, a promise: they weren’t going to let each other go. They had both lost too much to let go now.

They walked inside, the small bell above the door jingling as they entered. The waitress gave them a nod as they slid into a booth by the window. Peter immediately started scanning the menu, his usual enthusiasm creeping back in, though it was tempered by the weight of their conversation.

Tony looked at him, his chest tight with the knowledge that they were both still healing—still trying to figure out how to move forward after everything. But for the first time in a long while, he felt a little less alone in that process. And that made all the difference.

“You think you’ll ever get sick of burgers?” Tony asked, a playful edge to his voice, trying to lighten the mood.

Peter grinned, the tension in his shoulders finally easing. "Not a chance," he said, already picking out what he wanted.

Tony leaned back in his seat, watching him for a long moment. There was a lot they still needed to talk about, a lot they needed to figure out. But for now, they had today. And today, they weren’t going to lose each other.

And that, for Tony, was a start.

Chapter Text

The days blurred together, a slow rhythm of moving forward without fully letting go. Tony had never been good at sitting still—he always needed to be doing something. Fixing something, building something, or, in his case, tinkering with the hundreds of projects he couldn’t seem to stop starting. But lately, even the sound of his machines didn’t comfort him the way they used to.

It wasn’t that the weight of the world had suddenly returned; no, it was more personal. More rooted in the tiny moments—Peter’s quiet laughter, his awkward attempts at pretending everything was okay. Tony couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more Peter wasn’t saying. And Tony wasn’t sure he was ready to hear it, either.

But today, things felt different.

Tony had been at the lab, elbow-deep in wiring and recalibrating an old suit, when Peter knocked at the doorframe.

"Mr. Stark?" Peter’s voice, soft but hesitant, broke through Tony’s concentration.

Tony barely looked up. “Yeah, kid?”

Peter shifted awkwardly, leaning against the door with his hands tucked into his hoodie pockets. “Can we talk? I... uh... I think we need to talk.”

Tony’s stomach dropped. He didn’t know why, but hearing that from Peter—it didn’t sound like the usual “we need to talk” conversations they’d had. He set his tools down, wiped his hands on a rag, and looked up. There was something in Peter’s eyes, a vulnerability that Tony hadn’t seen in him since... well, since the blip.

"Sure," Tony said, trying to keep his tone casual. "What’s on your mind?"

Peter stepped inside the lab, but instead of sitting on the stool beside him, he just stood there, fidgeting with the hem of his hoodie. "It’s just... a lot, y’know? I’m not really sure how to say it."

Tony raised an eyebrow, a little confused but more concerned now. "Kid, you can tell me anything. You know that, right?"

Peter nodded, but his lips pressed into a tight line as if the words were stuck somewhere deep inside him. There was a long, uncomfortable pause. Tony didn’t rush him. He waited, watching the boy he’d tried so hard to protect, the one who had ended up saving him in more ways than Tony ever could’ve imagined.

Finally, Peter spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. “I... I keep thinking about the day you—when you—when you weren’t there anymore.”

Tony’s heart clenched. He hadn’t expected Peter to go there—not yet, not so directly. But he didn’t want to shy away either. He had to let the kid speak.

Peter continued, his eyes darting around the lab like he wasn’t sure where to land. “I know you tried. I know you would’ve done anything to save me, to bring me back, but... I still can’t help but feel like I—"

“Hey,” Tony interrupted softly, stepping forward, his hand resting gently on Peter’s shoulder. "You didn’t fail me. Don’t think like that. What happened wasn’t on you."

Peter’s eyes flickered up to meet Tony’s. For a moment, the tension in the room thickened, the weight of all they had been through pressing down. Tony felt the pull in his chest, the gnawing ache that had been building between them, a space neither of them had fully acknowledged until now.

“I know,” Peter said quietly, nodding, but there was a sadness in his voice that Tony couldn’t ignore. "But I still think about you. About us. About everything. It messes with my head sometimes." He shifted uncomfortably, clearly struggling with something much bigger than himself. "And I—I don’t know how to say this... but I want to. I need to."

Tony could feel the walls Peter had built between them—those walls of strength and resilience and youthful pride—cracking. But what really struck Tony was how much the kid was willing to admit. He had never seen Peter so raw before, so vulnerable. And that terrified him.

“What do you need, Pete?” Tony asked gently, his voice barely above a whisper now.

Peter took a shaky breath, and in that breath, Tony heard everything—the weight of grief, the ache of loss, and the hope that still flickered in his heart. "I need you to know that I... I need you. More than just a mentor. More than just someone who’s trying to fix me or teach me or keep me safe."

Tony’s heart pounded in his chest. He knew what Peter was trying to say—he could feel it in the air, in the quiet tremor of his voice, in the way Peter was suddenly looking at him like he was trying to say something that had never been said before.

Tony swallowed hard, his throat dry, suddenly unsure how to respond. His mind raced, his thoughts jumbled, but there was one thing that was clear: he didn’t want to mess this up. He didn’t want to lose this moment, this fragile opening between them.

Peter stepped closer, his eyes searching Tony’s face like he was looking for something. Maybe permission. Maybe understanding.

And then, Peter whispered the words that Tony never saw coming.

“Dad.”

It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t tentative or unsure. It was just—there. The word, simple and weighty, hung between them like a promise. A revelation. The first time Peter had ever called him that.

Tony froze. The word echoed in his mind, repeated over and over, and for a moment, the world around him seemed to fall away. All the guilt, all the fear, all the things he hadn’t known how to fix—vanished in that one word.

He couldn’t breathe for a second. His throat tightened, and the lump he’d been carrying in his chest for so long rose to his throat, threatening to choke him. He couldn’t speak. He didn’t know if he could even move. The kid had just... given him a gift.

But Peter wasn’t looking for a response. He was looking for acceptance. And in that moment, Tony knew that his answer didn’t need to be spoken.

He pulled Peter into a hug, firm and tight, holding him like he never wanted to let go.

“I’ve got you, kid,” Tony whispered, his voice rough with emotion. “Always.”

Peter buried his face in Tony’s shoulder, his body shaking slightly, but his grip on Tony was strong. It was enough.

It was more than enough.

And as they stood there, the world outside the lab seemed a little less heavy. Because sometimes, the hardest part wasn’t building the armor or saving the day—it was allowing yourself to be the one who needed saving.

And in that moment, Tony realized that maybe, just maybe, he didn’t have to do everything alone.