Archive of Our Own ^beta

Peter Parker was cursed to be well acquainted with death. 

When he was four years old, he met the specter for the first time. His parents had planned a vacation for the family of three, but the young boy had come down with something the night before, and he had been taken to his aunt and uncle’s house instead of the airport. That was the last time he’s seen them. 

Apparently the universe wasn’t done with him.

When Peter was bitten by a radioactive spider on his eighth grade end of year field trip, he’d felt like death warmed over, fever so high May and Ben weren’t sure he’d make it through the night. On the bright side, he’d come out of it with wicked cool superpowers, plus an end to his asthma and glasses, which was pretty sweet. 

For two months, life was good. Peter had survived middle school and was awarded a scholarship placement in one of the best STEM high schools in the city, and with the freedom of summer break, he was able to get a handle on his new abilities. Peter would later come to regard those two months as the peak of his life. 

Because after that, everything went to shit. They were out, May, Ben, and Peter, making a late night milk run, when some asshole decided to rob the place. Peter didn’t remember how or why, everything happened so fast, but May and Ben both ended up dead. That, Peter remembered too well. He remembered holding them both as they bled out, the sound of sirens in the background as the ambulance came too late to save them. He remembered hearing their hearts stop, and knowing they’d never start again. 

Peter remembered what Ben used to say to him, “with great power comes great responsibility,” and he had taken it to heart ever since. 

Peter was sent to a group home the very next day, the same day he put a name to his Parker Luck. 

His first real placement, the Riveras, were alright, but everything was a little too raw for him to really get along with them and their upbeat cheerfulness. He hadn’t been told why — he guessed it had something to do with the fact that a silently mourning teenager wasn’t what Gloria and Esteban were expecting when they signed up to be foster parents — but Peter was transferred away after a few days. 

A few places after that was the Turners, and they were pretty average, a little strict but nothing Peter couldn’t handle, at least when he followed their rules. It was after they caught him sneaking out for patrol that there were problems. Belt shaped problems. No matter how many times Mr. Turner ‘taught Peter a lesson’, he refused to stop being Spider-Man. May and Ben had died on his watch, and compared to that, Mr. Turner’s belt buckle was nothing if it meant he could save people. Unfortunately, the Turners disagreed, and he was kicked out.

Peter’s bad luck came back in full force when he was placed with Steven “call me Skip” Wescott. Unfortunately for Peter, Skip had a golden record and Peter had been tossed out for “discipline issues” before, so when he broke Skip’s nose, no one had bothered asking why. Apparently, Peter was lucky the man was kind hearted enough not to press charges. 

His current placement, the Youngs, wasn’t the worst, but it wasn’t great either. With five other foster kids and two biological ones, it was more like the initial group home than any of his previous placements, always crowded and noisy, and there was never enough food around to satisfy Peter’s enhanced metabolism. He was overstimulated and hungry all the damn time, and there was absolutely no one he could vent to about it. 

The one upside was that, with activity in the house 24/7, sneaking out was child’s play. Other than keeping his grades up at Midtown (because yeah, he still ended up going there even after everything) Spider-Man was really all he did. 

Ned and later MJ, his best friends (his only friends) had tried to get him to join Academic Decathlon when they first started high school, and the nerd duo became the nerds plus MJ trio. To his credit, Peter had gone to a couple practices, and it was pretty fun, but he’d come back to the house after practice one afternoon to news of a robbery downtown. One bystander had been killed, a mother of two, and Peter knew he could have saved her if he hadn’t been wasting his time playing glorified Jeopardy. He’d quit the very next day. Ned and MJ hadn’t been happy, but they’d kept hanging around with him anyway, which was a nice surprise. 

Ned at least understood. Peter’s best friend since kindergarten was the only other soul in the world who knew of Peter’s secret identity, and as his self proclaimed ‘guy in the chair’, Peter couldn’t do half of what he did without Ned. From his letting Peter stash some spidey gear at his house, to the moral support when everything got too scary and overwhelming, Ned really was the glue holding Peter together. Though he didn’t approve of the way Peter threw every spare moment and scrap of effort into his alter ego, at least he understood. Most days, just having someone else to share the burden with was enough. 

Things started to change the night Spider-Man met Iron Man. Peter may have bitten off a touch more than he could chew — turns out mutated sewer creatures are a lot stronger than they look — and Iron Man had swooped in and bailed him out. Peter had curtly thanked him with an embarrassing crack of his voice (May and Ben raised Peter to be polite, after all) and assumed it was a one time thing. Sure, he was enhanced and a vigilante, so obviously he was somewhat on the Avengers’ radar, but he was still a small fry, and he wasn’t hurting anyone. Really, the Avengers’ resources were better spent on someone else. 

But they weren’t. Instead, every couple of days, he would ‘coincidentally’ run into Iron Man on patrol. At first, he just swung away and avoided the man, but, no surprise, the billionaire superhero in a kickass flying mech suit didn’t appreciate being ignored. He cornered Peter on a rooftop one night, and Peter was sure he was done for. Still, Spider-Man was not a wuss. He wasn’t afraid of Iron Man, of any of the Avengers, and he certainly wasn’t afraid to have his secret identity exposed, never to see Ned or MJ again. Nope, not at all. 

“Hey kid, isn’t it past your bedtime?” sounded from the suit.

Oh shit, that was worse. That was so much worse. If Iron Man had already figured out Peter’s identity, he was already screwed, even if he managed to fight it way out. And that was a big ‘even if’. 

“What about your bedtime, old man? I’m pretty sure most nursing homes have a curfew” Peter smirked under his mask, an air of false confidence toning his voice. He hoped it was confidence, at least. 

“Oh yeah? I can’t believe you managed to escape your crib and crawl all the way out here, real impressive,” Iron Man cut back, before sighing. 

“Full disclosure kid, I haven’t gone after your identity yet, cause as long as you’re not a threat it’s really none of my business, but I could if I wanted to. Just, keep doing what you’re doing and you’ll be fine, don’t give me a reason to dig deeper, yeah?” 

That… wasn’t what Peter was expecting, but he wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. “Sure thing, old man,” Peter replied, turning to shoot a web. 

Before Peter could swing away, Iron Man tossed a briefcase his way, declaring, “The onesie’s cute, but why don’t you try this on for size?” before taking off, leaving Peter standing there stupefied. 

“Stark, are you sure about this?” Romanoff asked, pretty much as soon as Tony returned from his chit chat with the young vigilante. 

“Yeah, I am. He’s not dangerous, so he’s not our problem,” Tony replied, dismissing the spy’s concerns with a flippant wave of his hand. 

“If he’s not your problem, why did you give him a suit?” she pointed out, and Tony tensed up. 

Why did he give Spider-Man a suit? That was a difficult question. If Tony were an honest man, he’d say it was because he had a hunch that the kid needed it.

“Kid does good work, clearly got some major enhancements. Can’t have a future Avenger fighting crime in sweats, can we?” 

“Future Avenger, huh?” Romanoff asked with a quirk of her eyebrow. 

“Yeah.” Tony affirmed, closing the door behind him to end the conversation. 

He wasn’t really lying, about the future Avenger thing that was. The kid did have some serious enhancements, that much was obvious, and Tony didn’t doubt he’d be seeing the kid’s prowess grow exponentially, especially now that he had decent gear. Spider-Man would be Avengers material in no time, mark Tony’s words, but that was only half the reason he was interested in the young hero. 

When the hoodie clad vigilante had first appeared, Tony had looked into him. He hadn’t gone after the kid’s identity, but he had looked into the leading theories online. It seemed the consensus across forums was that, based on his mannerisms, Spider-Man was a college kid, but Tony had a hunch he was younger even than that. See, the kid very obviously spent every available moment as Spider-Man, as evidenced by the patrols into the wee hours, but those hours fluctuated severely. An adult in charge of his own schedule would set aside a consistent schedule to fight crime, but a minor under the authority of his parents? Furthermore, the Spider-Kid was only seen between the hours of 7:30 and 2:30 over the summer, on the weekends, during some notable public holidays, and all the rest of the times that school would be out.

Tony’s suspicions had been confirmed when Spider-Man had thanked him after their run in with the sewer monsters (ick). The kid’s voice had majorly cracked, which told Tony his voice was still changing. Tony didn’t know many college kids, other than himself back in the day, who were still in the middle of puberty. 

If Tony were still a betting man, he would say that, judging by his physique, the kid was around sixteen or seventeen, which made the fact that he was fighting crime in pajamas all the more distressing. Still, Tony knew that the kid would be an asset one day, and if he tried to meddle in the kid’s affairs, the kid would never trust him or the Avengers. So, Tony had done the one other thing he could think of that might keep the kid safe, he’d built a high tech super suit with an AI in it. 

Duh. 

Setting thoughts of Spider-Man aside, Tony turned his attention to his other major preoccupation, Vivian Reynolds. She’d been babysitting Tony’s baby son fourteen years ago — the worst day of Tony’s life, he shuddered at the memory — when he disappeared, taken from right under her nose, or so she’d said. The woman was on her deathbed now — brain cancer. It would be very sad, except she’d come forward with a confession regarding Tony’s son that made any sympathy for her impossible. According to the police tape taken in the hospital, she’d been hired by Stane to take Jamie, as apparently the boy was taking up too much of Tony’s attention away from the lab and the company. Tony had refused to leave Jamie in the care of a nanny unless absolutely necessary, so yes he was spending a lot of time away from work, but Tony had never suspected Stane would resort to kidnapping to get his golden goose back to laying. He really should have, in hindsight. 

Reynolds, in her oh so gracious mercy, had agreed on the condition that Jamie go to a good family. How kind. Tony would strangle her if the brain tumor wasn’t already doing the job for him. 

At first, the FBI had been skeptical. Tony didn’t blame them, Reynolds did have a brain tumor after all — there was a possibility she was having a delusion, or simply lying for attention. But Tony had remembered how weirdly dispassionate Stane had been while Tony was breaking down, how fiercely the man had pressured Tony to return to his work, how sure he was that no demands were coming, that Jamie was gone for good. So, Tony had pressed the FBI to investigate. 

It had taken the FBI months to track down Stane’s co-conspirators from that time, and longer to get them to crack, but the other day they finally called Tony with the whole story. Jamie had been adopted out to a couple, Mary and Richard Parker, who’s had the utter audacity to rename him Peter. They’d unfortunately passed away in a plane crash when Jamie was a little kid. From there, Jamie was sent to Richard’s brother and sister-in-law, Benjamin and May Parker, who were killed in a botched robbery last year. 

In the fourteen months since, Jamie had been through twice as many foster homes, and god how Tony’s heart broke at that. His little boy was in the system, getting passed from house to house with no security, probably having a miserable time of it, and all Tony could do was wait. It was late at night, had Jamie eaten dinner? Did he have a comfy bed to sleep on? Jamie’s fifteenth birthday had been a couple months ago, had he gotten any presents? Did anyone even wish him a happy birthday at all? 

In a bid to ease his nerves, Tony had made some quite sizable anonymous donations to charities for foster kids. He doubted any of the money made it back to Jamie, but Rhodey assured him that the sentiment was what counted. 

Tony was able to get a court order which included a gag clause. The FBI would be taking “Peter Parker” from his current foster home to do a test against the sample taken from Tony’s Jamie, just to make sure that they were right. Until the results came back positive though, the only ones who would know what was going on were himself and the FBI. The last thing this kid needed, even if, by some stroke of bad luck, he wasn’t Jamie, was a massive scandal. 

Tomorrow. 

By this time tomorrow, Tony would have his boy home. 

They came for him out of nowhere. That night, everything was normal, and the next morning, Mr. Young was shaking him awake saying something about the FBI. It was like an out of body experience, as Mr. Young dragged him downstairs and he was loaded into the Agents’ car. They didn’t cuff him, didn’t sedate him either. Clearly, the FBI had no idea how to deal with an enhanced. The Agents (Castillo and Byrne, Peter thought they’d said) even tried to make small talk. Peter knew better than to talk to cops without a lawyer though, so he stayed silent.

The teen noticed though that neither agent had read him his Miranda rights or even told him what the charge was, which meant that this wasn’t a proper due process case. Peter knew what this was, he was being disappeared, if incompetently, but the worst part was that Peter knew they didn’t have to be competent, because no one would look for him. 

Still, the vigilante knew if he jumped out of the car now he’d be immediately recaptured, so instead, he resolved to wait until he had a good opening. Obviously they had underestimated him, so he needed to be careful not to overplay his hand. Right now, even if he was the one in the back of their car, Peter still had the advantage. 

Only, they weren’t driving out to a blacksite in the middle of nowhere, in fact, it seemed they were going deeper into the city. Eventually, they arrived at a normal ass police station, and Peter nearly scoffed at the incompetence. Seriously, did these bozos even know who they were dealing with? 

Peter’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. He needed more information, and so for now, he would cooperate. 

Peter was lead into the station, Byrne on his left and Castillo on his right, and they brought him to what might have been an interrogation room, though again, no cuffs were featured. Instead, they sat him down on a flimsy plastic chair, and a middle aged woman, wearing scrubs and carrying medical equipment of some type, entered the room. 

“Hi Peter,” she greeted, voice sugar sweet, “my name’s Amy, I’m a nurse. I’m going to take your blood now.” 

They really thought he was slow, didn’t they? 

“Why?” Peter had the wherewithal to ask. 

The agents grimaced, and there were obvious nerves in Amy’s continued smile. 

A look of panic flashed across Amy’s face before Byrne cut in, talking as much to her as he was to Peter, “A court order prevents us from releasing any information at this time.” 

Amy’s jaw tightened, and that pleasant but ever creasing smile strained to keep its place on her face.“Of course, right, well I’ll just draw the blood now,” she said. 

Peter looked past Amy and the agents, and saw that the door wasn’t locked.

Peter was tempted to hiss, an urge which he’d had since the bite, but he restrained himself. The agents were looking at him, but they were relaxed, hands away from their guns. Truly incompetent, just like Peter thought. 

At once, Peter was in motion. He sprang up from his chair and knocked the door clean off its hinges before sprinting down the hall. He, unlike these agents, wasn’t an idiot and so he didn’t head for the front door. Instead, he took a sharp right towards the side door he’d spotted on the way in. That one was locked, but if a locked door could keep Spider-Man in, they wouldn’t need to trick him like this. In the blink of an eye, Peter had disappeared down an alleyway. 

Peter was able to beat the agents back to the Youngs’ place, and since his roommate was out for the day, he was able to climb up to his second story bedroom and retrieve his Go Bag. It had everything Peter needed to survive on his own, plus his web shooters, fluid, and suit. He left the new suit behind, feeling something in him break when he realized it was obviously only ever a ploy to track him down.

From there, the teen donned his roommate’s ratty gray hoodie, and since the older boy was much taller and broader than Peter, the hoodie absolutely engulfed the lanky teen. It covered up Peter’s Star Wars t-shirt which he’d worn to bed, and his jeans and sneakers were generic enough, so at least he wouldn’t be recognized by his clothes. 

He made his way through the city, sticking to side streets and allies, and eventually found himself at what he had been calling his hideout. It was a condemned apartment building, most of which had been destroyed during the Chitauri invasion and never repaired. Peter had discovered one day on patrol that one of the bedrooms on the top floor was somewhat intact, with the resident’s stuff left behind to boot. The floors below had been thoroughly obliterated, so the only way in was via the window. In other words, it was the ideal place for a wall crawling vigilante to make his den. 

The door was split in half and now hung off its hinges, and a number of the floorboards had been cracked and now lay splintered and out of place. The room contained two twin beds in disarray, destroyed in the attack, one covered in a dinosaur themed bedspread, the other covered in an outer space themed one. The scuffed hardwood floor was littered with children’s toys, finger paintings were haphazardly tacked on the bland beige walls, some having fluttered to the floor in years long past, and two report cards from a local elementary school lied strewn on the nightstand. The two children were apparently named Aiden and Mia, the sister being the older of the two, having received high marks in her fourth grade classes. She’d be in highschool by now, only a year younger than Peter. If the pink ribbon around the neck of a stuffed cat lying there was anything to go by, the space themed bed had belonged to her. 

Peter wondered morbidly if the family was still alive, or if they’d been killed in the attack. If they’d left all these personal belongings behind, Peter’s first instinct was to say they’d died, but it could just as well be the case that they simply didn’t have the money to pay for their belongings to be retrieved from the inaccessible tenth floor. Even if that was the case, Peter doubted they were doing well. Losing everything as they had would’ve destroyed them, and now Peter would be taking up residence in what was once their children’s private sanctuary. 

He tried not to feel too guilty about it. 

Peter set his Go Bag on the floor, and contemplated. The stench of rotten food emanated from somewhere inside the rest of the destroyed apartment, and Peter did his best to block it out, but it was overwhelming. He held his breath as he braved the rest of the apartment. The floor was completely blown out, but the walls were intact enough to navigate without much difficulty. Peter salvaged various non-perishables from the kitchen (mostly non-acidic canned goods which he knew had a good chance of still being safe to eat) and organized them in the bedroom along with his own stash of granola bars and jerky that he’d built up for this very situation. Peter didn’t like venturing out of the hideout so soon after making his escape, but the smell really was killing him.

As Peter made his way back from the dumpster, hood up as to hide his face, someone’s phone in the coffee shop he’d been passing by went off. “Amber alert,” the man remarked, “some teenage runaway named Peter Parker.” 

Peter picked up his pace. 

Even after he returned, the smell wasn’t completely gone, but that was quickly remedied with some lemon scented cleaning spray and paper towels found under the sink. The spray tickled his nose in a weird way, but it was better than the stench of rot, so he ignored it. 

It was getting close to noon and Peter hadn’t had anything to eat since… well since lunch the previous day. He’d skipped dinner since there was a new foster in the house, a two year old, and if there was one thing Peter hated more than heretics who said that Greedo shot first, it was little kids. They were sensory nightmares- their high pitched screams constantly piercing his ears and the smell, dear god the smell. He’d told himself he’d grab a snack once Mrs. Young put the baby to sleep, but by the time Peter got around to it, the last granola bar had vanished, along with the last bag of chips. So Peter had told himself he’d scrounge up something for breakfast, but then the FBI had come and well…

Yeah, Peter was hungry. He felt like an idiot dipping into his stash so soon, but his stomach was screaming at him, so he reluctantly tore open a granola bar and before he knew it, the whole thing was gone, along with two of its fellows. He’d had a half formed plan to eat half the bar now and half for dinner, but that was out the window, though he’d managed to not open any of his bottled waters. Oh well, at least it had taken the edge off his hunger. 

After thoroughly going through his clothes and suit to make sure the no one had covertly planted any trackers on him — it wasn’t likely, as neither Iron Man nor the agents had ever actually touched him, but Peter couldn’t be too careful — he found himself with nothing to do. His hand twitched for his suit and web shooters, since at this time of day he’d either be at school or on patrol, but he knew he couldn’t without risking getting caught. Not so soon, anyway. He needed to lie low, at least for the next few weeks, to give the investigation time to start cooling down. For now, he grabbed Mia’s blanket and tucked himself into the least destroyed corner for a long overdue nap. 

“What do you mean he ran away?!” Tony shouted into the phone. Pepper would probably be expecting him to apologize to the poor agent (Byron or something, Tony thought his name was) but right now Tony was too panicked to think about anyone else’s feelings. 

“I mean that he ran away, Mr. Stark, just bolted out the door. You wouldn’t know it lookin’ at him, but the kid’s got muscles. Took the doors right off their hinges like it was nothing,” Brandon explained, hollow amazement ringing in his voice.

“Why?” Tony asked, trying to collect his scattering thoughts, “What did you say to him?” 

“We said as much as we could, Mr. Stark, but we couldn’t even explain that he wasn’t in trouble thanks to the court order,” Bailey complained, and Tony detected a hint of frustration, “With respect, he’s fifteen, grew up in the bad part of Queens and has been in the foster system for more than a year. He was probably scared of us, of having his blood tested without being told anything given any choices.” 

Tony sighed. He hated to admit it, but Bower had a point. “Alright, what’s the bureau doing to track him down?” 

Brigham hesitated a moment before explaining, “an Amber alert has been put out for him, and we’re in the process of obtaining footage from any security cameras that may have picked him up. We have agents interviewing his foster parents, the other children living in the home, as well as his social worker to see if they have any idea where he might have gone. Other than that, all we can do is wait for a trace of him to turn up.”

“Anything?” Tony asked the other FBI agent assigned to Jamie’s case (Costello maybe? Tony had always been bad at names) for what felt like the millionth time. 

It had been a week since Jamie’s second vanishing act, and Tony had slept maybe three hours total. He suspected Pepper was on the verge of dosing his coffee full of sleeping pills. She’d done it before and something told the man she’d do it again if she thought it was necessary. 

“Nothing yet, Mr. Stark. We’re doing all we can,” she curtly promised. 

Tony got the sense that the FBI was fed up with him, and honestly, fair enough. He would be fed up with himself by now too. It’s not like Tony was oblivious, he knew full well that he was an obnoxious sonovabitch, it’s just that he didn’t have the brainpower to be nice and charismatic at the moment.

Tony hummed for a moment. 

“Hypothetically, is there any way you could get a warrant for every security camera, private and public, in all of New York City?” 

The silence on the other end of the line was quite judgmental. 

“Hypothetically, we could get a judge to sign off on almost anything with how… ahem, high profile your case is,” Carson admitted, “I have to ask though, what would that get us? It would be like looking for a needle in a haystack.” 

Connor’s reasoning was sound, for an FBI agent that was. The thing was, the FBI wasn’t trained to utilize a state of the art AI with high powered facial recognition and more computing power than Tony had dollars. If Jamie’s face had been caught on a security camera at all, even just the corner of a frame, FRIDAY could find him. 

Peter had tried to ration his food, he really had, but he had enhanced metabolism and nothing to do stuck in his hideout except playing solitaire with Aiden’s suspiciously sticky jumbo sized dinosaur playing cards. 

Lamest super hero base ever. 

So there Peter was, his eighth day in the hideout, food long gone and curled up on the floor, shivering and starving. All in all, not the worst Monday morning ever. No, he noted, that honor belonged to the day when aunt May and uncle Ben had made him pancakes and told him that his parents weren’t ever coming home.

Damn Parker Luck.  

Peter knew, on some level at least, that he needed to keep his identity a secret if he didn’t want to get shipped off to some super-prison. Thing was, it was getting harder and harder to care about all that now that he didn’t really have a life to go back to. If he starved to death in this abandoned apartment, that was it. The end of the line. However, even if he got himself caught, even if he was locked up in some goddamn super-prison, he was still fucking Spider-Man. He had super strength, super senses, a sixth sense, and he was fucking sticky. If anyone could escape, it was Peter. 

He’d considered going out the past few days, either to patrol Spider-Man, or just to take a walk and get some fresh air. He actually had ventured onto the roof a couple days ago when it was raining just to see if the water would make him feel less gross. It hadn’t worked, and the wetness had only made the October cold that much more unbearable. Peter had spider sense, not common sense. 

So, food. Peter needed some. He’d shoplifted before — being sticky helped with that, and a spider-guy needed to eat — but he’d never shoplifted as a wanted man before.

His stomach squirmed with anxiety as he made his way out of the window and down to the street. A twenty-four hour convenience store a few blocks down was the perfect target, as even at the early hour, there were still people inside. It wouldn’t be ideal, since Peter stunk to high heaven having been unable to bathe since his getaway, and with his hood up, he looked like a proper delinquent. 

Still, he was goddamn Spider-Man, and so long as no one figured out that crucial fact, he could evade the authorities long enough to make it back to the hideout. If everything went to plan, even that would be unnecessary. All he needed to do was get in and out.

Peter entered the store. An exhausted mother was calming her young child who was screaming over candy in line at the checkout, while an older couple compared tea prices. Peter slinked through the aisles, surreptitiously slipping protein bars into the massive pocket of his hoodie. After about ten minutes, Peter decided not to test his luck, and made his way out of the store and back to the hideout.

His stomach clenched at the thought of going back into the cramped bedroom he’d spent the last week in, so against his better judgment, Peter passed the window and made his way up to the roof instead. The cold wind whipped through the teen’s unwashed hair, deepening the chill in his bones, but blowing away some of the stench of his body. Peter breathed in the cold, clean air, letting it wash over him as the sounds of the city enveloped him. The blare of car horns, the chatter of people, and… the unmistakable sound of Iron Man? 

That wasn’t right. 

Peter’s heart rate picked up as he looked around, enhanced eyes scanning for the superhero’s signature flash of red. He didn’t have to look for long, since the man’s suit  really did stand out even at night, and Peter spotted it speeding towards his location. Time seemed to slow as the mech suit touched down on the roof, but instead of a fight, the suit retracted, revealing its pilot. 

“Jamie”, Stark breathed, “Peter, I’m sorry for sending the FBI after you without explaining first, I made a mistake. You’re not in trouble, Ja- I mean, Peter, you’re my son, my long lost son, and I just want to bring you home.” 

Needless to say, that hadn’t been what Peter was expecting to hear. Still, he wasn’t falling for it. 

“You’re a good actor, I’ll give you that, but damn you’re one underhanded son of a bitch,” the teen pointed out, too tired to beat around the bush. “I mean seriously, making up some story about your dead kid just to pull my heartstrings after your pals at the FBI couldn’t do their jobs? I thought a so-called ‘Hero’ would have more scruples,” the vigilante accused. 

Stark only stared, apparently speechless. Peter shrugged, finishing off his granola bar and sticking out his hands, palms up and wrists together. 

“Well, Stark? Chickening out now?” Peter taunted, sharp grin curling his lips even in the biting cold, “Wasn’t this the whole point of this entire Charlie-Foxtrot? C’mon, I’m handing myself to you on a silver platter, c’mere and drag me off to whatever cozy little cell you’ve got picked out for me.” 

Stark seemed to find his mettle again, as he managed to get out, “Peter, I’m not lying, I don’t know what you think I’d want to bring you in for, but I swear I only want to bring my son home.” 

And it really seemed that Stark… wasn’t lying. Or, if he was, he was really freaking good at it. Even Peter’s spider sense seemed to trust the man. Which was weird, since his spider sense didn’t really trust anyone ‘cept Ned and MJ, and May and Ben. Well, his sense hadn’t lead him astray yet. 

Peter returned his arms to his sides, relaxing his stance slightly. “Alright, say I believe you. What happens if I ‘come home?’” he put in air quotes. 

Stark considered for a moment, “well, first we’d do a DNA test to confirm that you’re really who I think you are, and so I can take custody. It wouldn’t have to be a blood test, a cheek swab would work too. Then, well, you move into the Tower, we try to be father and son. I know you had adoptive parents, and an aunt and uncle-“ 

“Shut up Stark,” Peter cut in, “just shut up and let me think.” 

Stark nodded. It could all be one big lie, his story was so far fetched, any sane person would just dismiss it outright. Peter had dismissed it outright. But the thing was…

The thing was- 

Stark wasn’t a liar, tactics like this weren’t his MO at all. Stark, genius he may be, was really straight forward when it came to his superheroics. He flew the nuke through the wormhole, and he gave the Mandarin his home address. Stark was essentially a really smart dumbass. A really smart dumbass for whom this whole web of lies thing was entirely uncharacteristic. 

So, logic would dictate that Stark wasn’t lying, that the billionaire really did think that Peter Parker, the nobody orphan from Queens, was his long lost son and heir. 

Peter had always known he was adopted, and it used to be really weird to Peter that he was the same age as the missing Stark kid. James Stark’s birthday was never made public, but it was always assumed to be some time around the second week of August, the same week as Peter’s birthday, and Ned always said he kinda looked like Stark. The other teen had joked once that Peter was the missing boy — the ‘American Anastasia’, as he had put it — but he’d dropped it once Peter snapped at him. It wasn’t Peter’s proudest moment. 

“Alright,” Peter decided, there were too many coincidences to ignore, and Stark’s head snapped to him, “I’ll do the DNA test, the cheek swab. If I’m your missing kid, we can talk about the rest of it.” 

Tony had his kid back. Oh God, he had his kid back, and his kid didn’t trust him. Tony tried not to feel his heart grow and shatter at the same time. Luckily, he’d had the wherewithal to call for a car to be delivered to the curb before he left the Tower, so all he and Jam- Peter, he should really start calling him Peter, since asking the fifteen year old to change his first name was probably unrealistic. Anyway, all the pair had to do was get in, Tony sending the suit back to the Tower by itself. 

Peter was silent, scowling and tense the whole way back to the tower. The kid stunk, and if Tony’s heart wasn’t in tatters before, it was now at the thought of his kid living on the streets or in some abandoned building or alleyway. Jamie was the heir to SI, should’ve grown up sucking on a silver spoon, and instead he had spent his formative years just barely getting by. 

Tony tried not to resent the Parkers — they hadn’t stolen Peter, that blame lay solely on Reynolds and Stane — but it was difficult. They had raised his kid. His kid, not theirs. It should have been Tony there for Jamie's first day of school, playing catch, teaching him how to ride a bike. It should’ve been Tony raising his kid, like he always wanted to do — like his father hadn’t done for him — but instead, it was the Parkers. The damned Parkers, all four of them, who were more like parents to Jam- Peter than Tony ever was, who only had him because Tony had failed to keep his boy safe. 

Tony took a deep breath as he pulled into his private garage. Throwing himself a pity party wouldn’t help anyone, least of all J- Peter! What would help was getting that DNA test done, and soon. Then maybe the kid would stop looking at Tony like he was going to stab him as soon as he turned his back. 

The elevator ride to Bruce’s lab was just as awkward as the drive had been, possibly more so. Once FRIDAY had picked up Peter on the convenience store surveillance cameras, Tony had sent a message to Bruce, still awake at the late hour, as he rushed to his suit to catch Peter before he moved out of the range of the security cameras on the building next to the apartments. 

Tony was expecting Peter to be just as distrusting of Bruce as he was of Tony — they were both Avengers and it was well known that Bruce was Tony’s personal friend as well. What actually happened when the kid laid eyes on the physicist was much, much cuter. Peter lit up like a kid in a goddamn candy store. 

“Oh my gosh Dr. Bruce Banner sir!” the kid damn near squealed, “It’s an honor to meet you sir, you’re my science hero!”

Bruce got this surprised look on his face, probably remembering Tony’s warning about Peter’s skittishness he’d discretely sent from the car. The scientist quickly got over it though, smiling back at Peter and offering his hand to shake, which the kid took with glee. 

“You must be Peter right? It’s nice to meet you.” 

“It’s nice to meet you too! More than nice, I mean, it’s awesome! I love that gamma cascade study you did a couple years back, and I’ve read your paper on synthetic biopolymers at least like ten times!” 

If Peter’s excitement hadn’t shocked Bruce, this certainly did. Tony surmised that most overexcited teenagers the Doctor met were fans of the Hulk rather than the mind under the green skin. Tony knew how it felt. Most fans of his were only interested in the suit or more broadly, his exploits as an Avenger, which was fair. Tony had really only become a man worth being after Afghanistan, after becoming Iron Man, and even then, his work as an Avenger was decidedly the biggest thing he’d ever done. He couldn’t exactly fault the public for knowing him for saving the world from an alien invasion. 

Tony knew it was worse for Bruce, as the man had always viewed the Hulk as a burden or a monster. That, and he couldn’t get rid of Hulk the same way Tony could take off his suits. So, as adorable as Peter’s smile was, Bruce’s might have been more so. 

Seeing his son fanboying over his crush was a unique but beautiful experience for the tired hearted mechanic. He dared to see a glimpse of his future there, but tempered his hope for now. He needed to focus on getting his son to trust him and working up the courage to actually tell Brucie about his feelings. 

Tony had been nursing that crush since basically the beginning, since they’d met during the invasion. He’d been enchanted by Bruce’s mind first, later learning to appreciate his stunning appearance as well, coming to the conclusion that every single thing about the scientist was utterly and completely perfect. 

Yes, even the Hulk. 

Everyone else might’ve seen the big guy as a monster to be contained, but to Tony, he was just another aspect of the man he loved. Granted, a big angry aspect stronger than a literal god, one that was definitely dangerous and Tony wasn’t stupid enough to ignore that, but not a monster. What’s more, Brucie definitely wasn’t a monster just ‘cause he had the Hulk in him, and anyone who FRIDAY found saying so — Tony had set up a scrubbing protocol for that express purpose after a headline to that effect had made Bruce sad — received a terrifying letter from Tony’s lawyers. 

“Well,” the physicist slapped his palms on his trousers, “on the topic of genetic sequencing, I believe Tony dragged you here for a reason. Shall we get started by taking a cheek swab?” 

Peter’s face fell dramatically at those words, his expression souring faster than milk. 

“Alright, yeah let’s get on with it I guess,” the teen muttered. 

Bruce broke out the swabbing kit, and as he took Peter’s sample, Tony took note of the kid’s prominent, sharp canine teeth. Huh. 

Once the sample was taken, Bruce and Peter fell back into a comfortable rapport, and chemistry seemed to be the science de jour. It was clear by now that Peter was a true genius, probably smarter than Tony, and the man couldn’t be prouder. He knew then that even if Peter wanted nothing to do with him, he would do everything in his quite considerable power to make sure the kid was taken care of. 

Genius like his — genius like theirs — needed to be nurtured. If Tony hadn’t been Howard Stark’s son, hadn’t had access to all the resources he did, what would the world be like today? It seemed an egotistical thought, but not an unreasonable one, in Tony’s opinion. A better question would be to ask what the world would be like in thirty years, once Peter’s genius was given the time and opportunity to flourish. 

Eventually, Bruce gave Tony the head tilt that probably meant ‘you can go, I’ve got this’ as he and Peter began to test the DNA against the sample taken when Tony’s son was born, the kid absolutely beaming as Bruce extended the invitation into the lab proper. Tony nodded, not wanting to leave his son, but recognizing that the kid would probably be more comfortable alone with Brucie than with Tony lurking in the corner. 

Tony had an hour or so to kill, but he couldn’t spend it idle. Instead, he made his way up to the penthouse, where he’d spent the last month converting one of the guest rooms into Peter’s bedroom. He’d learned from Peter’s social worker that the boy was a nerd; a fan of science, Star Wars, Lego, and — Tony’s jaw had dropped at this one —Iron Man. 

Now, Tony wasn’t quite vain enough to put posters of himself up on the kid’s walls, but everything else was fair game. The comforter on the bed was a giant periodic table, with a smaller poster version in one of the dresser drawers. A couple Star Wars posters hung on the wall, along with a detailed star chart. Lego sets were stored in the closet along with the veritable mountain of the clothes Tony had bought for the boy. 

Looking at it all, Tony thought he might’ve gone overboard, but honestly, how was he not supposed to fill his son’s room absolutely to the brim? There was so much lost time to make up for. 

Tony looked over every detail of Peter’s room, making sure everything was in its place. He hoped the kid would like it, though honestly if he absolutely loathed the entire setup, Tony had zero qualms scrapping the whole thing and just giving the kid his credit card and letting him decorate it himself so long as Peter lived in it at all. 

So long as Peter stayed. 

Because even if when the DNA test came back positive, there was always the chance that Peter wouldn’t care. The kid was a genius, and he could obviously take care of himself, and Tony had no doubt that if he wanted to, Peter could disappear. Not for long mind, Tony still had FRIDAY and the FBI on his side, but Tony probably wouldn’t chase Peter if he ran for a second time because then, Peter would mean it. 

Really, he wouldn’t blame the kid. As much as it killed him, Tony knew he wasn’t the most likable guy. Besides, the kid already had two sets of parents, if Peter decided he didn’t want another father figure, especially a famously shitty one, Tony would…

Tony would- 

Oh God, Tony might actually die. 

If his little boy, his bambino, hated him, Tony didn’t know how he could go on. 

By the way, when did it get so hard to breathe? 

Better question, did it matter? If his son hated him, did Tony really deserve to breathe? No, he didn’t think so. 

FRIDAY’s voice barely registered as Tony’s vision became spotty and dark, until there was a hand on his shoulder and Bruce’s familiar timbre cutting through the ringing. 

“-it’s alright Tony, just take some breaths alright, try matching my breathing pattern.”

Tony did as he was told, and slowly, the world came back into focus. He found himself curled up on the floor, Bruce’s hand on his arm helping him back up. Jamie — fuck, Peter — stood away, marveling at the room. As soon as Tony looked at Peter, his gaze snapped to meet Tony’s own. 

“Is this all supposed to be for me?” the kid asked, voice just above a whisper, disbelief quite evident. 

“Yeah, it is,” Tony tentatively answered, “but we can change anything you don’t like, I’m sorry-“

“No, I… I love it.” 

At that, Tony couldn’t help but smile.

“The DNA results came back positive by the way,” Bruce interjected, “he is in fact a match to James Edwin Stark. Congratulations Tony.” 

Bruce’s warm smile sent something fluttering through Tony’s chest, and he suppressed the urge to kiss the other man on the spot. 

He’d known since he laid eyes on the kid that Peter was his son, but it was good to have confirmation. Tony took a deep breath and blew it out, steadying himself. 

“Alright Peter, now that we have proof I’m your biological father-“ Tony hated to add that word where it didn’t belong, “- what do you want to do? Just say the word and I’ll wake up whatever agent’s on duty and send the test results their way. That would grant me emergency custody, which would be made permanent once the judge in charge of our case clocks in in a couple hours.” 

Tony hesitated, but decided to be fair. Peter needed to hear all of his options, and Tony wasn’t going to take away his son’s choice in this, even if the thought of it threatened to steal his breath again.

“Or you could go back to your foster home. I won’t stop you, if you’d rather stay away. I won’t use the courts to force you back here. I’ll pay for your college and we never-“ Tony’s voice broke, “- never see each other again. Ball’s in your court, kid.” 

Peter had a family. Not the Parkers, the family who had chosen him, but a biological father who wanted him. Peter thought he’d never have that, and it hadn’t really been a problem. His biological family hadn’t wanted him, but he hadn’t cared. He had had the Parkers, and that was always enough. Now though, now he had a biological father who actually wanted him, had wanted him all along, and that was weird. Cause seriously, who would want Peter? Superpowers not withstanding, he was a skinny nerd with nothing to his name. Why would Tony Freaking Stark want him? Biology be damned, it just didn’t make sense.

But Peter looked at Stark — Tony, Peter should probably say, since he was technically a Stark as well, and wasn’t that a thought — and he saw genuine hope and fear. Hope and fear for what Peter didn’t know, but his spider sense was quiet.  

Peter considered his options. He could take Tony up on his offer and forget this whole mess ever happened — having his college paid for without any hassle sounded sweet — but it just didn’t feel right. Maybe it was the fact that Peter couldn’t totally dismiss the idea that Tony could know about his alter ego, but Peter was involved, and he was going to stay that way. 

“I’d like to stay, if you’ll have me.” Peter awkwardly stated, to be rewarded with the older man lighting up like a damned Christmas tree. 

“Yeah? That’s great, that’s… ok, yeah, well it’s late but do you want something to eat? I don’t have much on hand but we can order something?”

“God yes,” Peter agreed immediately, “I’m starving! Can we get Thai?” 

Apparently, with Tony Stark, he absolutely could get Thai food delivered at three in the morning. Peter tried to pace himself, tried to make it seem like he had a normal human appetite, but when Tony didn’t say anything about Peter’s third carton of pad Thai, the hungry teen abandoned all decorum. 

When Peter finally ate through all but Tony’s small portion, he excused himself to the enormous decked out bedroom that was apparently supposed to be his, and Tony offhandedly mentioned that the bathroom was stocked. A slight blush tinted Peter’s cheeks as he was reminded of his poor hygiene, and he went straight for the shower in his own personal bathroom that was freaking attached to the bedroom! Honestly, it felt more like a ridiculously fancy hotel room than an actual living space, in spite of the decorations. 

And they were some sweet decorations. Somehow, Tony had tastefully packed the bedroom full of everything Peter always wanted but could never have. Once in elementary school, he’d had to draw his ‘dream bedroom’, and he was pretty sure Tony had somehow tracked it down and used it as a blueprint. 

The bathroom was equally as swanky as the bedroom, if not more so. It had both a bath and a shower (seriously, Peter hadn’t even known that was an option) along with marble countertops, fluffy towels, and shelves stocked with all sorts of toiletries. Peter picked out the least expensive looking shampoo, conditioner, and body wash, and opted for a nice hot shower. As luxurious as the bathtub looked (it had freaking jets!) the bed looked better and he was freaking tired. 

Peter stepped out of the shower smelling like sunshine and roses, wrapping himself in the softest towel he’d ever touched. He walked back out into the bedroom proper, drying himself as he looked through the frankly way too large walk in closet. The lanky teen pulled a soft red and blue sweater over his head, absolutely swimming in it (so comfy!) and tied the drawstring of a pair of gray sweatpants so they wouldn’t fall down.

Finally feeling clean, satisfied, and warm, Peter crawled under the blankets of the impossibly nice bed. It wasn’t long before he was out. 

The first thing Tony did after Peter went to bed was pour himself a drink. He knew that he probably should follow his son’s example and head to sleep as well. He certainly needed it. But his thoughts kept going back to something the kid had said, and he knew that if he didn’t settle this now, he wouldn’t be able to sleep. 

Tony headed down to Bruce’s lab, knowing the fellow scientist wouldn’t be asleep yet either. Once FRIDAY let him in, Tony just straight out asked, “Bruce, is Peter Spider-Man?” 

Because that was the only thing that made sense to Tony. The kid seemed to think that he’d made an enemy of Tony, got spooked and ran and hid from the police with a level of competence that Tony wouldn’t expect from an average teen, even a genius like Peter. Then there was that comment from Bryan about Peter’s strength, the fact the Spider-Man had coincidentally vanished the same day that Peter had been found, and the fact that Tony had already theorized that Spider-Man was in high school. Sure, he was off by a year or two, but the rest lined up. 

Living with a series of inattentive foster parents meant lots of opportunities to sneak out, but going through a lot of households also meant constantly changing rules and expectations, which would explain why the only regularity in Spider-Man’s schedule was the late nights; no foster parent in their right mind planned anything for three in the morning. Even Peter’s apatite and his strange teeth — his fangs — made more sense now. Tony wondered idly if his son was venomous, and wasn’t that a thought? 

Spider-Man was obviously enhanced, and odds were that would show in his genetic code, which Bruce had spent an hour analyzing. A scientist of his caliber would have noticed anything amiss in the kid’s genes. 

Bruce looked up from his experiment, sighed, and simply said, “I can’t release any of Peter’s medical information without his consent.” 

The fact that Bruce didn’t say no was enough. Tony’s son was Spider-Man

Shit. 

Tony’s son was Spider-Man, a vigilante risking his life every single night, only fifteen and yet he was already a hero, sticking up for the everyday people of Queens. 

Fuck, ok.

Tony’s son was enhanced, and with the Accords still in negotiations, he suddenly had a whole lot more to fight for. Yes, the Avengers were Tony’s team, his chosen family, but Peter was his son who he had already failed to protect once. Peter was also a minor and a vigilante, and that meant he didn’t exactly have a seat at the table, so Tony would have to advocate for the kid’s interests above his own. 

At least Tony had already built him a suit. 

Tony finally called up the FBI and relayed the events of the night, and a plan was set up to put things in motion as soon as Peter woke up. First up was getting the ball rolling on Peter being legally alive and Tony’s son, which, while the process would be expedited  to the highest degree, would still take time. 

After that, Peter would need to collect his stuff from the foster home, which probably included his new suit come to think of it. Tony would have liked to be there personally to make sure that the kid’s secret didn’t get out, but that in and of itself would reveal Peter’s other secret identity as his son.

After getting off the call with Costa, Tony could barely keep his eyes open, and after his third glass of scotch, fell asleep on the couch.

Peter woke up confused. Warm, not horribly hungry, and very, very confused. It took only a cursory glance at his surroundings for it all to come rushing back though, and Peter nestled back into his blanket cocoon. The outside world could wait. 

Eventually, Peter failed to fall back asleep, and so instead he extricated himself from the gigantic bed. After a quick once over in the full length mirror, Peter decided that his pajamas, or whatever one would call the comfy clothes he’d picked out in his sleep deprived state, would do. 

Peter found the living room empty, and made his way to the kitchen. He was halfway through his third bowl of frosted flakes when the elevator dinged, revealing Tony Stark, Peter’s biological father (Jesus Fuck that was going to take a whole lot of getting used to) in all his glory, complete with unbrushed hair and a grease stained band shirt. For the first time since he’d laid eyes on the man, an echo of familiarity flooded Peter’s mind. 

// Warm light streamed in through a giant window. Peter was sitting on a lush carpet floor, stacking blocks. The boy sighed, he’d had this dream before. It was always the same, always warm and safe. 

Peter let the dream continue, taking in the light, weightless feeling. As always, his head turned to the left, where he saw a vast expanse of sparkling blue ocean. A seagull soared up towards the window, and Peter heard himself babble in joy, knocking over his block tower with a flailing hand. 

Peter’s dad laughed as well, deep voice startling the baby. Peter knew the dream would end soon, he never saw his dad’s face. His head turned towards his dad, and the man approached. He picked the tiny Peter up, hoisting the toddler up, and-

That was Tony Stark, in the warm light of day, and it felt just right. //

Peter hadn’t had that dream since he was a kid, really since before Ben and May died. Since then, his dreams had been filled with blood and screams, and he’d always hoped that that soft, warm dream would return. Never in Peter’s life had he seen Tony in that dream, but seeing the man’s disheveled look, it felt like his face had always belonged at the end of that sequence.

Maybe this whole ‘father and son’ deal wouldn’t be so bad.