Work Text:
“My Spider-Man suit is more comfortable than this,” Peter muttered, pulling at his starched white collar.
Harley rolled his eyes. “Tell me something I don’t know. Anything spandex and skin-tight is going to be more comfortable than this.” Looking as at home in his own tux as ever, he tugged on his tie to straighten it, then licked his fingers and attempted to smooth down his hair before relinquishing his position in front of the mirror. “Your turn.”
Peter stepped in front of the mirror and sighed. “I can’t believe Dad is making us go. I mean, if he really loved us, he wouldn’t make us go, would he?” He was whining and he knew it. But I still don’t want to go.
Shrugging, Harley mussed a hand through Peter’s locks, eliciting a growl of annoyance. “If he really loved us, he wouldn’t make me share a last name with you.”
Peter grabbed a comb from the drawer and swiped it through his hair. “What are you doing in my bathroom, anyway? Don’t you have your own?”
“Yeah, but yours smells different.”
“Different how?”
“I dunno. Somewhere between a caveman and…” He sniffed the air. “A wet dog, maybe?”
“Are you sure you’re not talking about your room?” He wasn’t in the mood to deal with this. He was already tired from finals at MIT, and spending the last few days at home with Morgan and doing festive Christmas break things with the energetic eight-year-old had nearly sent him into a mental breakdown. He wasn’t convinced that insanity was very far away; in fact, probably the only thing keeping him sane right now was his regular outings as Spider-Man—but Tony had put the kibosh on that as soon as Peter had come home for Christmas. He claimed that even superheroes need breaks every now and again, but Peter wasn’t sure that this was the now and again that he needed.
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure.” Harley’s voice broke him out of his reverie. “Every time I start to lose my confidence, I just come take a look at your life and realize that maybe I’m not so bad after all.”
Peter stared at him, done with the conversation. “You’re not even making sense.” A vision of Harley’s disaster of a room flashed through his mind. Yeah, I’m definitely not in the mood for this.
“Pshh, lighten up. I don’t think I’ve seen you smile all week. I just want to make you laugh. ” He drug out the last word as he held his hands out in a placating gesture. He jutted out his lower lip and widened his eyes, batting his eyelashes for effect. “Is that too much to ask?”
“No comment.” Peter forced a small smile to appease his brother. Harley was insufferable ninety percent of the time, but Peter knew that he had a good heart beating in his chest. Somewhere. Buried. Like, really deep.
“Give him time, Peter. ” Pepper’s words from their phone call a few weeks ago echoed in his mind. “Your dad was a lot like Harley once upon a time. He acts harsh, but he’s been hurt so many times that it’s a natural coping mechanism. Be patient; he’ll come around.”
Peter swallowed. He’d lost plenty in life, too. His parents, Aunt May…and he’d nearly lost Tony in the battle with Thanos. The amount of patience it took to put up with Harley, while resisting the temptation to act the same way, was overwhelming.
I miss you, May. She always saw the best in people. Always. She’d know exactly how to deal with Harley, and yet, here he was, forced to deal with his brother’s issues as well as his own. He loved the Starks; he was so grateful that Tony and Pepper had officially adopted him, even after having a daughter of their own. And yet—and he felt horrible admitting it, even just to himself—he sometimes wondered about their wisdom in adopting Harley, too.
After Tony’s near-death experience, something had changed. Or maybe, rather, something changed in the five years of life that Peter missed. The Starks had already started the adoption process with Harley when his mom had disappeared in the snap, and Peter couldn’t deny the twinge of jealousy that wormed its way into his gut every time he thought of it. Tony and Pepper Stark were wonderful people with hearts bigger than New York, and he was grateful; that’s all he should feel.
Harley interrupted his train of thought with a shrill whistle. “Did you hear that, dimwit? Time to go. Dad’s waiting.”
Peter blinked past the headache forming between his eyes and followed Harley out of the room. It would be fine. He would be fine.
******
Tony tossed the Audi keys to the valet and sauntered toward the door. “Double park it for a doubled tip. There’s a good fellow.” His tailored suit hung open, and Peter watched the buttons flap with each step.
“Wow.” Harley looked genuinely impressed with the venue—a feat that didn’t happen often.
“Yeah, wow.” Tony headed toward the elevator, where a red-clad operator waited. “One might even call it… boujee. ”
Harley let out a strangled chuckle. “Did you just say boujee, old man?”
“Keep that up and I’ll write you out of my will.”
The elevator doors closed, and the machine hummed. Peter’s stomach dropped with the sensation, and he took a deep breath. It was fine, he was fine. They were just going to attend a fancy— boujee —Christmas gala, and then they could go home. Pepper would be there, waiting up for them and demanding to hear all of the details. She somehow always knew exactly what to say or do to make him feel at home. Just like May.
He swallowed past the lump in his throat. Nope, don’t think about it. He couldn’t afford to think about May tonight; his emotions were already all over the place.
Christmas was in three days. He should be bouncing off the walls in excitement like Morgan, but all he could think about this year was the traditions they wouldn’t be observing. They wouldn’t be decorating the angel tree at May’s latest philanthropic project. They wouldn’t be taking a shopping trip to Macy’s to find things to fill each other’s stockings…
Stop. May’s accident had been tragic and had rocked his world like nothing else. Three years should have helped him distance himself from the pain. But it was so hard. Especially on nights like tonight, when his thoughts were practically uncontrollable. You have Tony. And Pepper. They’re your mom and dad now. You have an older brother and a little sister that’s sick with the flu. It’s normal, it’s happy, it’s…
He swallowed hard and looked around for something, anything, to distract himself. Pretty decorations. Shiny. Good vibes.
His internal monologue halted when they stepped out of the elevator and into a ballroom that would swallow the Starks’ entire lake house whole. He rubbed clammy hands against his dress pants. Women in elegant evening gowns sipped from glasses of what Peter could only assume was champagne, while men that matched Tony in style—and attitude—chatted about everything but politics.
“Um…” He swallowed hard. “Why do I feel like I’m the youngest person here?”
“Probably because you are.”
“So…maybe we shouldn’t be here?” He knew better than to hope that Tony Stark would turn around and march them back home after realizing they were under the unwritten age requirement, but then again…
Tony snagged a glass of wine from a passing waiter’s tray and downed it in one gulp. “I could’ve brought the Pope if I wanted. But congratulations, you two yahoos drew the lucky straw.”
Peter rubbed sweaty palms against the legs of his pants. “Yeah, but…shouldn’t Mom be here? We could’ve stayed home to watch Morgan.”
“As much as it may surprise you, that would’ve been my choice too.” Tony glanced around until he found a table to set his empty glass. “But instead of a smoking hot wife on my arm, I get two kids that can’t grow anything on their faces but peach fuzz. The disappointment is overwhelming.”
I’m a disappointment? He knew better than to take Tony’s words as a personal attack; it was just another one of his flippant remarks. The past three years had conditioned him to the man’s sense of humor and taught him that Tony didn’t mean ninety-five percent of the insults he handed out on an hourly basis. But there’s always a grain of truth.
No, I’m not a disappointment; he adopted me, for crying out loud.
But what if?
No. He swallowed hard. He wasn’t a disappointment. He wasn’t. He was loved.
Tony scanned the room, oblivious to the inner turmoil in the teenager next to him. “I’m hungry. Are you boys hungry? Let’s go find the food table.” He took off across the center of the room without waiting to see if they followed, weaving between the people with the confidence of a man that was completely comfortable in the limelight.
I’m not hungry. I want to go home.
Peter still wasn’t sure how to act around one Tony Stark, much less a room full of them.
Harley grabbed his elbow and turned to follow. “Are you coming?”
That’s a lot of people.
Peter’s throat tightened. “Couldn’t we just go around the outside of the room?”
“Shut up, you’ll be fine.” They dove into the throng, Peter nearly tripping over his own feet while Harley dragged him along at a merciless pace.
“How many people do you think are here, anyway?” He couldn’t see the wall. A desperate glance around him revealed nothing but people, people, people …
“I dunno.” Harley had to nearly shout to be heard above the live orchestra and the din of conversation. “I read online that they can fit, like, three hundred people in here.”
Three hundred people? The swishing skirts blended together in a whirl of color, and the air seemed to close in around him. Sweat beaded on his upper lip, and he brought a shaking hand up to loosen his collar. His skin went hot, then cold. “Harley, I don’t…”
Harley glanced back at him, and his eyebrows shot up. “Whoa, you good?” The words seemed to come from the end of a very long tunnel.
Peter opened his mouth to reply but couldn’t form the words. “Um, I…” His vision narrowed, his breath coming in gasps. Don’t panic don’t panic don’t panic, it’s fine, you’re fine, you’ll be fine, it’s a Christmas party, fun, all good…
I want to go home.
He was going to pass out, he was going to throw up, he was going to scream, he was going to—
Rough hands clamped on both of his shoulders, and he focused enough to see Harley’s nose a mere two inches from his own. “Peter! Look at me.” He waited until Peter’s eyes raised to meet his gaze. “If you puke on me, I swear I’ll come unglued. We’re gonna go find a bathroom, okay? Hang on.” He put a hand on the back of Peter’s neck, pulling his brother close against his body, and began to shove through the crowd again.
Peter heaved in gulps of air, oblivious to the looks sent his way. Breathe, breathe, breathe, breathe, breathe breathe breathe breathe breathe breathe—
The carpet of the ballroom gave way to a white tiled floor, their footsteps echoing off the ceiling. The door closed behind them, muffling the din of the party. His chest eased slightly.
Harley shoved him against the wall, pinning his shoulders with the palms of his hands. “You good?”
I’m good, I’m fine, I’m good, I’m fine—
“ Peter , look at me . ”
He snapped his head up. “I’m fine,” he managed.
“Dude, what happened out there?”
“I don’t—I don’t—” Peter clamped quivering lips shut. So many people…so many…I want to go home…
“Okay, Panic at the Disco, you stay here for a sec.” Harley led him to a toilet stall, put the lid down, and shoved Peter down onto the seat. “I’m gonna go get Dad, okay? You’ll be fine. Just…just don’t go anywhere.” He held out a pleading hand as he backed out of the stall. “Close the door behind me, okay? I’ll be right back.” And he was gone.
Peter swiped the back of a hand across his mouth and pulled in a shaky breath before swinging the stall door shut and flipping the lock. He stared at the floor. The white tile swam, and he shut his eyes, leaning against the stall’s wall. The metal cooled his feverish forehead, and he tried to pull in gasps of air. His chest hurt, and goosebumps broke out on his arms. He shivered, hugging his torso in an effort to both keep warm and stave off the heat threatening to overwhelm him.
I want May, I want May, I want May, I want—
He heard the bathroom door open.
Please be Tony please be Tony please be Tony—
“Make sure no one else is in here. Lock the door.” The words came through a fog.
Someone pounded on his stall door, vibrating the wall. Peter jerked his head away. Leave me alone, please—
“Peter, c’mon, open up.” It was Harley. “Dad’s with me.”
Dad’s with me. The words registered, and he managed to unlock the door, letting it swing open.
Tony shot forward and knelt in front of him in the cramped stall. “Good grief, kid, you look like death warmed over.” His eyebrows drew together in concern, but his tone remained light. Peter felt a hand on the back of his neck, and before he knew it, his ears were brushing his knees.
It’s okay, you’re okay, you’re fine, it’s fine, everything’s fine.
“C’mon, kid. In through your nose, out through your mouth. Deep breaths; that’s it.” The scent of Tony’s cologne tickled Peter’s nose as he leaned closer, his warm breath tickling Peter’s ear. “If you have to know a secret, I hate crowds too,” hHe muttered, so quietly that Peter wasn’t sure that he heard right. “And if you don’t stop having this little episode, I’ll probably have one, too, and that’s gonna leave us both in Harley’s hands. I don’t know about you, but I’m just not about that life tonight.”
Peter managed a small smile, finally managing to pull in gulps of air. His head began to clear, and his breathing evened out. You can do this. You can go out there, be the son of Tony Stark, shake hands, put some dirt in their eyes. You’re Spider-Man. You can’t let a little panic attack slow you down.
Finally, he raised his head. Tony still knelt in front of him on the polished tile, Harley leaning against the wall across the aisle with one ankle crossed over the other. The reality of what just happened finally hit. I just had a panic attack. At an important gala. As Tony Stark’s son. Tony Stark is kneeling on a bathroom floor because of me. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry, I—”
Tony stood up, interrupting. “Harley.” He didn’t take his eyes off Peter. “Go tell the valet to get the car.”
Harley shoved off the wall without a word and disappeared.
Peter’s stomach dropped. Stupid, stupid, stupid. “It’s okay, I-I’m fine now. We can go back to the party.”
“No, you’re not.”
No, I’m not. His hands were still shaking, his hair still damp with a cold sweat.
“I’ll be okay—”
“Sure, you will. But we’re leaving.”
“No, I can—”
“Quit arguing with your father. I believe the correct response is, ‘yes, sir.’” His playful tone took any sting out of the words.
Peter pressed his lips shut, stomach in knots. “Yes, sir.” He couldn’t deny the relief that coursed through him, but at what cost? He’s ashamed. I know he is. I really am a disappointment.
After waiting a couple more minutes, Tony ushered Peter back out to the ballroom and to the waiting elevator, keeping the boy between himself and the wall, giving noncommittal responses to anyone that tried to strike up a conversation along the way.
Finally, they joined Harley outside just as the valet pulled the car around. Peter’s shivering had finally almost completely subsided, and the fresh air was like a balm to his lungs.
The valet handed Tony the keys, and Harley moved to open the passenger door when Tony stopped him with a hand on the shoulder. He dangled the keys in Harley’s face. “Your wheels tonight.”
Harley stared at him in disbelief. “You’re serious?”
Tony rolled his eyes. “Don’t make me hold my arm up all night. Just don’t get us killed—or, more importantly, don’t get a scratch on the baby, capiche?”
Harley grinned and snatched the keys, vaulting over the hood of the car to hop in the driver’s side.
Tony opened the backseat door and ushered Peter in, and, to Peter’s surprise, slid in beside him. “Aren’t you going to sit up front?”
“I decided I needed a change of scenery.” He leaned in conspiratorially. “And, just between you and me, I don’t want a front seat view of your brother’s driving.
“I heard that,” Harley called, smirking at them in the rearview mirror. “And I can see right through you, Anthony Edward Stark.”
“That’s Dad to you. Although I don’t know what ailed me to bestow such a title upon myself where you’re concerned.”
“No one can resist this charm.”
Peter relaxed into his seat with a sigh, closing his eyes and enjoying the normality of the exchange between Tony and Harley. It’s fine. We’re fine. I’m fine.
“So…what happened back there?” Tony’s voice was low, barely perceptible.
Peter didn’t answer right away, hoping that Tony would take it as a sign not to pursue the matter. He wanted to talk, needed to talk, but words didn’t come easily.
“You haven’t had a panic attack in a long time.”
He swallowed hard. “Yeah.” Eight months and five days. Give or take.
“Too many people?”
Peter shrugged. “Pretty much.”
“Pretty much?”
“I’m really tired.”
“Oh, really? I didn’t notice you nearly falling asleep at the lunch table today.”
“And…” Peter opened his eyes and rolled his head to stare at Tony’s gray-and-black striped goatee. “I—” his voice cracked, so he cleared his throat and tried again. “I miss May.”
“Bad time of year to be missing someone.” The tone was light, but the expression in his eyes made Peter realize that the man understood far more than he let on.
“Yeah.” Peter’s throat constricted, and he bit his lip and squeezed his eyes shut tight to keep the tears at bay. “She, uh, she really loved Christmas.”
An arm snaked around Peter’s shoulders. “So you’ve said.”
Peter winced. “Sorry.”
“No, kid, don’t be sorry.” Tony let out a long sigh, rubbing gentle circles on Peter’s shoulder with the pad of his thumb. “I’m sorry that this world took so much from you.” He guided Peter’s head down to rest on his shoulder. “But you want to know what I’m not sorry about? You.”
Me?
“Out of all the Peter Parkers in this world and every other universe, I’d still pick you. You’re my son for a reason, kid. Got it?”
Peter wanted to respond, but he was just…so…tired …
I’m not a disappointment.
******
They were greeted at the door with a blast of eight-year-old energy.
Home.
Tony scooped her into his arms and inspected her face before planting a kiss on her cheek and setting her back on the floor. “You’re awfully bright-eyed and bushy-tailed for someone’s who’s supposed to be sick.”
“Momma gave me the grape medicine.”
Pepper gave a soft chuckle, walking forward to greet Tony with a kiss. “She’s drugged and feeling really good.” She turned to look at Harley, then Peter, who stood in the doorway, blinking sleep from his eyes. “What are you guys doing home so early?”
H arley practically dragged Peter over the threshold. “Somebody’s a chicken.”
Peter shoved Harley’s shoulder, sending his brother stumbling into the wall. Tony let out a strangled chuckle, and a look at the man revealed his lips quirking with a compressed smile. Peter returned the look with a smirk of his own, then turned to help Harley off the floor. “Sorry, but you kind of deserved that.”
“Shut up.” Harley shrugged away from Peter. “After what I did for you tonight, you ought to be kissing my feet.”
I know. “I dunno, I had everything pretty well under control. Didn’t I, Dad?”
“What happened?” Morgan demanded, hopping on her toes.
Tony stepped back with his hands raised. “Leave me out of this.”
“What happened?"
" Morgan, stop. Everything is fine. Why don’t you go find a movie for us to watch?” Pepper watched her daughter disappear into the den, miraculously following instructions, before she frowned in concern. “Is everything okay?”
“Just fine.” Tony wrapped an arm around his wife. “We just decided that drinking with a bunch of windbags wasn’t the way we wanted to spend the evening.” He leaned close and whispered something in Pepper’s ear that Peter couldn’t catch even with his enhanced hearing, but whatever it was, she dropped the subject and gave them all a winning smile.
“Well, I can tell you one person that is extremely happy that you’re here to join in our Christmas movie party.” They could hear Morgan chattering excitedly to herself in the other room.
Tony raised an eyebrow. “Oh, really? ‘Cause I was thinking that there’d be more than just one.”
“Well, I guess you’ll just have to find out, won’t you?”
Harley made a gagging noise in the back of his throat and grabbed the back of Peter’s coat collar. “Let’s get out of here. This is turning PG.”
“News flash, your parents are right here.” Tony gave them a wink before turning to lay one on his wife.
My parents. Peter fought a smile. “Let’s go before I barf.”
The two shrugged out of their coats and hung them in the entryway before making their exit into the den, flopping onto the couch on either side of Morgan. She gave them a wary glance before returning to the task at hand, flipping through the titles displayed on the screen faster than her brothers could read them.
“Why don’t we just watch Elf ?” Peter suggested.
“I’m more of a Home Alone guy, myself,” Harley put in.
Morgan rolled her eyes. “We’ve already seen both of those a million times.” She ignored their protests and clicked on Barbie’s A Christmas Carol.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Harley groaned. “I am not watching a Barbie movie.”
“Mom said I get to pick the movie.” Morgan’s tone brooked no argument. She gave them each a haughty look. “Besides, you’re not even dressed cozy. You know the rule.” Her self-proclaimed no-movies-allowed-unless-pajamas-are-involved rule had somehow become an established household practice.
Harley glanced down at his now-wrinkled suit. “It’s a dumb rule.”
Peter was inclined to agree—more for the sake of convenience than comfortability—but when it came to siding with Harley or Morgan, there was no contest. “Let’s go change, Harley. Maybe by the time we come back Dad will have her talked into something else.”
Harley rolled his eyes with a dramatic sigh, but complied and shoved himself off the couch. “Dad loves Barbie. He sings along to every single song.”
“I heard that,” Tony’s voice called from the other room.
“I said what I said,” Harley retorted.
The two were just starting up the steps when Pepper emerged from the kitchen and caught Peter’s arm. “Can I talk to you for a second?” She waved a dismissive hand at Harley, who looked ready to eavesdrop on their whole conversation. “Go change, Harley.”
When he finally complied, Pepper led Peter back to the kitchen, where Tony waited, hip propped against the island, eating straight out of a carton of ice cream. “Sorry, I’d offer you some, but then there wouldn’t be enough for me.”
Pepper ignored him, immediately pulling Peter into her arms. One hand rubbed his back while the other cradled his head to her shoulder. “You okay, honey?”
He swallowed hard. I’m fine. He tried to say it out loud, but the words lodged in his throat. He licked his lips and clung to his mom, fighting tears. My mom.
Pepper’s head moved, and Peter wasn’t sure if it was some kind of a signal or a muscle spasm, but before he knew it he was surrounded in an embrace by both of his parents. He soaked in their warmth, like a blanket from heaven itself. He was crying, and he couldn’t stop, but it was okay.
They weren’t disappointed. They loved him. They wanted him. Just like he’d known all along.
He was home.