Chapter Text
Peter knew he wasn’t their favourite, he wasn’t even considered an equal and he knows that he probably never will be. He’d long since accepted it, or so he told himself. That’s just the way it’s always been, and seemingly the way it always would be.
———
Peter Benjamin Parker was born into a happy home, one warmed by the love between Mary and her husband Richard Parker. However the foundations of this loving home were built on a lie; one that caused its inevitable destruction.
Richard was a caring husband and a good father. Mary, an amazing wife and loving mother. Together the two were the top scientists at Oscorp, an unbeatable team and to complete their perfect home there was Peter; their beautiful baby boy.
To the world they seemed like the perfect family, the real American dream, and for a while they were, but of course Parker luck wouldn’t allow it to stay that way.
Over time Peter grew, and the more Peter’s features developed, the less and less he looked like Richard.
By the age of five, it was clear that Peter did not share much resemblance with either of his parents. His light brown curls and dark doe brown eyes, a stark contrast to his parents’ with their similar straight dark hair and respective blue and green eyes.
His nose didn’t have the same shape as his father, nor were his little lips quite as full, in fact if you looked at the two together there would be little to no indication that the two were related at all.
Peter had some of his mother’s features, subtle yet clear; her smile, her freckles, her dimples when he grinned… yet nothing of his father.
Richard loved Peter more than he believed possible, but that love could not blind him from the truth.
The love shared by the family didn’t mean they were oblivious to the whispers of those around them. The ones who would gossip behind their back or the ones bold enough to say it straight to their face. The ones who didn’t say a word, but their thoughts shone through their judging gaze.
Everyone knew, how could Richard not?
This, of course, caused a lot of conflict between Mary and Richard. The once happy couple could hardly spend ten minutes in each other’s company without arguing. Their conflicts grew more and more serious by the day, screaming matches that spanned hours, not stopping until their voices faded completely.
The only time the two could be silent and at peace in each other’s company was with their beloved little boy.
The one thing and only thing they could forever agree on was their adoration for Peter.
A fact which only served to make this situation all the more devastating.
Eventually the day came that Richard demanded a paternity test, Mary tried to refuse but Richard was persistent.
With almost no other choice, she relented and that’s when it was all revealed.
Peter was the product of an affair between Mary and the one and only Tony Stark.
—————
Around 9 months before Peter was born Mary had been sent to a meeting on behalf of Oscorp, one which took place in Shanghai.
Many representatives from different tech companies attended, including Stark industries. It was a rather boring meeting, nothing truly special about it. Perhaps the best part of the trip were the drinks served at the party she attended afterwards.
Mary can't recall much of the events of the night, all she knew for sure was that the drinks were strong and her urges were stronger. She remembers dancing with him…well it’s a blur from there. Perhaps because she was too far gone, or perhaps because she doesn’t want to remember her infidelity but one thing most certainly led to another as the following morning she awoke sharing a bed with Stark, the man sprawled lazily across the slick sheets, entirely at ease, sleeping peacefully. That's when it all hit her.
She leapt out of bed and left immediately, regret flooding her mind and tears streaming down her face.
In one night of strong drinks and rich assholes, she had betrayed her husband. She betrayed the man who had stuck by her through it all. She had betrayed the man who had held her when she cried, danced with her when she was happy, the man who refused to leave her side when she was sick.
She felt ill, she couldn’t bear to catch her reflection in any mirror, all she saw was a traitor. She had failed the one person who had always been there. It was as if this horrible beast had replaced her that night, a terrifying hideous beast, one that didn’t care what it ripped apart so long as it got the temporary satisfaction it lusted after.
She got the soonest flight home she could, stuffing her suitcase and rushing to the airport the moment she could, she couldn’t bear being in the same country as her affair partner.
The logical part of her brain knew that it was her own choices that put her into this situation but the rest of her needed someone else to blame. Someone who could rid her of that pit in the bottom of her stomach. Someone to hold accountable. Someone that could make her believe that it wasn’t her fault.
She spent the entire plane ride contemplating how she would tell her husband about her infidelity.
She planned to tell him, she really did, but when she arrived home and Richard greeted her with flowers and a comforting hug, she just couldn’t.
She pushed it off, reasoning that she was too tired to tell him that night.
Then the next night it was still too soon.
Then the next weekend she couldn’t tell him because they had plans the following day and it would only stress him out. Then it was too close to his birthday, then thanksgiving and Christmas and so forth. Every day a new excuse, a new reason to procrastinate, a new reason to lie.
She had considered coming clean many times over the next weeks but ruled it not worthwhile eventually she gave up.
Mary swore to herself that she would be the best wife to repent for her mistakes. She would apologise through every method she could other than actually uttering the words her husband deserved to hear.
She wished she had the will, the strength to force herself to come clean, but she couldn’t and deep down she knew that she didn’t want to, not really. She didn’t want to lose everything the two of them had built together.
Everything she had was everything she ever wanted.
How could she bring herself to give it up? To give him up.
She could keep it a secret, she knew she could.
Sure, it would silently torment her for the rest of her life, but she had no other option.
She just had to keep lying to Richard and pray that there would never come a day that he would find out.
After all there was no way he would find out if she didn’t tell him.
No way at all.
Therefore, when she discovered her pregnancy a few months later she was just as shaken as that faithful morning back in the hotel. She had seen the symptoms; the missed period, the nausea, the fatigue, she wasn’t oblivious, but she’d prefer to pull the wool over her eyes than admit it, but it wasn’t long before it was almost undeniable, and so, she took the test and saw the truth she’d been trying to avoid.
She was well aware that there was a possibility this baby was a result of that night but she had just pushed it to the back of her mind. Still, it lingered, after all, the pair had been trying for a long while, and yet the timing of this was almost too perfectly aligned with… No, she refused to entertain the thought.
Ignorance was bliss, especially in this case.
She was sent into a panicked spiral, which only got worse over time, but for this, she couldn’t go to her husband for comfort, and that only further tore at her heart.
She spent many days, any quiet moment, internally debating whether or not she should tell Richard of her current situation, eventually she decided to.
She had to. There was already so much she had been keeping from him, he deserved to know at least this much, plus, she could see the change in herself, in her behaviour and it was clear in the slight bump on her stomach that soon, could not be concealed by simply wearing looser clothes or excused as simple bloating.
At first Mary planned to terminate her pregnancy, to get rid of any potential evidence of her drunken mistake but when she sat her husband down and confessed, she saw the way his eyes lit up at the possibility of being a father, of finally having the child he longed for.
The man had yearned to bring a child into the world, to be able to be a father, to raise a child, teach them, learn with them and then eventually, watch them make their own way in life, grow into their own person, maybe someday return with grandkids that he could spoil rotten. The man was a dreamer, an idealist and the moment she had mentioned the possibility of it coming true, he couldn’t help the way his heart warmed, but he knew his wife. He could see her hesitance, her worry and reluctance around the topic, and so, he dimmed his excitement, shoving his emotions down in favour of providing her comfort. He softly placed a hand on her knee in reassurance as he spoke.
“This is your choice Mary, yours alone. You know what I want, but don’t let that push you into doing something you’re not ready for. If you don’t want this- if you don't want this baby, you don’t have to go through with it”
Her eyes glassed over as he looked at the man she loved, seeing the way he looked at her, so genuine and gentle and excruciatingly earnest. In that moment, her love for him swelled so much that it hurt, it hurt to know that she was keeping so much from him, the confession physically burned in her throat, the words sitting right there in cruel punishment, a silent torment… and yet she didn’t dare speak them.
Her lips quivered upward in a halfhearted, bittersweet attempt at a smile, her hand drifting to his, squeezing lightly, as for the first time, she allowed herself to consider, really consider this situation without Tony Stark invading her mind. Just her and her husband. The way it should be.
If she was honest with herself she didn’t want to lose her baby either, but faced between losing the child in her womb or the love of her life, the decision seemed obvious, but, for the first time, she allowed herself to dream of a life where she could have both, and it was beautiful.
In the end, after a lot of internal conflict and gentle reassurance from her husband, she decided to keep it, because her child had a far higher probability of being Richard’s anyway. She only had one night with Stark, that was it, so she lulled herself into a false sense of security, ignoring any sign that their boy was not truly his.
——-
When the paternity test came back revealing the truth, Richard was heartbroken.
He thought he had prepared for it, he thought he had accepted the possibility, after all the thought had lingered in the back of his mind for a long time, although until now he had never dared entertain it, never dared give into the thought, never dared listen to that little voice whispering that it was all a lie.
He knew that the odds of him being Peter’s father weren’t in his favour but to be told that as a fact was agonising.
The piece of paper held no emotion, no kindness nor bias, only facts, and the fact was that things were not as he believed.
Mary spoke, sat beside him, her head hung and her voice hollow as she recalled the events of that fateful night years back, revealing her guilt, her doubts and her deep remorse and regret that she had kept this from him.
He sat by her side and listened, so silent you’d wonder if he was even still there. He didn’t yell, didn’t show his upset, you wouldn’t know the devastation the man faced behind the collected facade, but Mary did. He could see it, the way his shoulders were pulled back, body tense. She could see the devastation in his eyes, how he refused to even look at her. She could see the way his lips were pressed tightly, something he only did when trying to stop himself from speaking too harshly, or perhaps, to prevent the sound of pure despair he was fighting to hold back from spilling out.
He stood tall, calm and collected, as he rounded up his things, neatly folding them, his movements almost mechanical, as he packed his bag, and as he finished, he walked down the stairs to the door to see Mary and Peter waiting for him.
Upon seeing the boy, his boy, Richard was struck once again with grief, his demeanour softened, his shoulders dropped and his eyes filled with a mix of pure affection and deep sadness. He knelt to the boy's level, pulling him in and pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead, ruffling his already messy hair when the boy pulled back a little. He lets out a gentle breath, a soft sigh, forcing his lips into a small smile, hiding the tremble in his voice as he addresses him.
“Promise me you’ll look after your mom”
Peter looked up at him with eyes that are so clearly not from him, big and brown and entirely oblivious, furrowing his brows a little at the man, after all, his father left for business trips all the time and usually he wasn’t this dramatic. Still, he didn’t question it and nodded softly, smiling to match him.
The man stood, fighting to stay composed, looking down at the little boy he raised, unaware that this was the last time he’d see him this way. He swallowed his feelings down and spoke softly.
“I love you Peter, remember that”
He then turned to Mary, seeing the woman he loved shake slightly with barely concealed tears, turning away, simply trying to shield her son from the devastation of the situation.
Despite everything she had revealed, he still loved her, as deeply and truly as anyone could, and maybe some day they could work through this, come back stronger, after everything they’d gone through, he wasn’t willing to lose her over this, but he needed time. Time to process and time to reflect, time to figure their way forward, all he asked was for some time.
He saw her quiver, her body shaking with sobs she forbade herself from letting escape her being, not feeling deserving of crying in response to the mess she made. He stepped forward, hand lightly brushing her face, cupping her cheek and guiding her gaze to his, letting her see that he’s not angry, nor resentful, that no matter what, he cares for her, loves her the same as the moment he got down on one knee.
All he needed was time.
He smiled tenderly, pulling her into his embrace, holding her there, a harrowing realisation passing through them both; that things would never be the way they once were. He squeezed her tight one last time, taking a step back while clutching her arms. His eyes bore into hers as he speaks.
“I love you Mary, always will. And-“ He pauses for a moment, trying to figure out not only how to phrase what he wants, but what he actually wants overall. He lets out a sigh, lowering his voice so that the boy watching the two curiously doesn’t overhear.
“I love Peter too and I want to be in his life, but not as his father, not anymore”
He shares a bittersweet look with the pair, his eyes lingering for a little too long, as if trying desperately to remember every detail of the moment. He hesitates before strengthening his resolve and reaching for his bag, giving them a small final nod before he leaves, shutting the door behind him and forcing himself to walk away.
The moment he was out of sight, Mary could no longer stand, her knees buckled and she collapsed by the door as a fit of hysterical sobs wracked her body, a harrowing sound of pure misery.
Peter's little heart sank immediately, smart enough to realise that something was wrong, and that something was to do with his father, but too young to understand the true implications of the matter. He stumbled forward, immediately there to his mothers aid, kneeling by her and wrapping small skinny arms around the sobbing woman, the sight of her emotion setting him off too.
They stayed there for what felt like forever, time slowing around them to accommodate the moment of shared sadness, one profound and deep, the other hesitant and uncertain, a little boy just trying to understand what had happened, why the walls felt like they were closing in on him and why his mother was crying so much, much more than he’d ever seen her cry.
The crushing devastation was something Mary couldn’t bear, the consequences of that night years ago, the possibilities that tormented her, a nightmarish future she lived in fear of. She was living it. She had lost the love of her life, no matter how kind the man was, she knew things would never be the same, Richard would never look at her the same. Not her, nor Peter, the sweet boy who was crying into her shoulder, clutching her as if terrified that she’d leave too.
The loneliness seemed to amplify the emptiness of the small apartment, the place cold and dim, as if the walls themselves shared their sadness.
Their little place never felt so vacant, so dull and drab, it was like the moment he walked out he took any semblance of homeliness with him. The once comforting apartment no longer felt like theirs, eerie and unfamiliar without the warm, cozy light that was Richard.
Mary knew she couldn’t last the night, not in that place, not where every little detail of every little thing was just so Richard. So terribly, beautifully Richard. His atrocious mess of a desk, his clothes in the wardrobe, his socks in the wash, his toothbrush by hers, his goddamn stubble littering the sink. It was all him and she couldn’t face it. Couldn’t face what may now be forever lost.
Thus, with no other option, she stood, gently caressing her son's cheek with a sad smile before she set off, rushing around the house frantically gathering what they needed, only the essentials, just enough to get out for the night. It wasn’t long before she had the bag in her car and Peter buckled up in the backseat, the boy quiet, sniffling occasionally, little brows furrowed in that way they always do when he’s trying to figure something out. Shame fills her at the sight, but this time, she doesn’t allow herself to dwell on it, she simply handed him his favourite bear, the little one with the blue pyjamas that Richard bought him years back, it hurt to look at, but the plush was his pride and joy, and he most certainly needed a little comfort at that moment.
She cupped his cheek and spoke to him, her words soft and soothing, tender in the way only a mother could manage, simple words that would forever stick with him.
“Everything will be alright Peter, I promise. I love you”
The road was dark, rain battering down on her windshield as though punishing her, berating her for what she had done. Her hands gripped the wheel tightly as she tried to stop the tears from overwhelming her and further disrupting her vision. It was a bad night to be driving, she needed to focus. She couldn’t let her mind wander.
Still, it was difficult to keep it off her mind, to keep herself from getting thinking of him, but all seemed well, even with the conditions she was driving well, going a little slower than usual to account for the risk of driving in such weather, but it was going well.
Until it wasn’t.
Mary was careful as ever, but sometimes in life no matter what you dim fate will have its way.
It was no one’s fault really; the slip of a foot, acceleration at the wrong time sending the car skidding along the slippery road, hurdling fast enough to knock them off the road, and try as she might, Mary couldn’t gain back control, her eyes widening in terror, the last thing the boy ever heard from her was a harrowing scream, one abruptly cut off with the impact.
In the flash of headlights, Peter had lost everything, his mother and the truest love he may ever know.
Peter saw it clearly, far too clearly, such a horrific sight for young eyes, for any eyes really. It was quick, the blink of an eye, but it was like the moment slowed itself just to force him to watch, force him to watch him lose his mother, force the memory of her blood strewn across the wheel to cement itself within his mind.
He sat there, paralysed, his seatbelt tight and suffocating, forcing him to stay there as he awaited help, any help. He opened his mouth to speak, to call for her, but with the ringing in his ears, he couldn’t be sure that he was saying anything at all.
He remained there, motionless for what felt like forever, too numb to cry, too frightened to move, too horrified to think. Red and blue lights came flashing, an alarm sounding, people around him talking, he didn’t react, not until they had cut him free and made an attempt to move him, move him away from his mother, only then did he take action. He squirmed and fought and screamed, demanding that they help her not him, crying out for her again and again, even though deep down he knew she wouldn’t respond.
Eventually they wrangled him into the ambulance, just him, they had determined that she was too far gone, with her injuries and the time between the impact and her getting treatment, not even the best of doctors could save her. He lay on the gurney, hands gripping the small bear tightly, his eyes to the ceiling, wide and tearful, his sobs having gone silent, but he still trembled terribly. They checked him over, but found little evidence of significant injuries, a fracture to his right knee, minor lacerations from the glass that scattered upon the crush, and although one side of his glasses had fractured, there appeared to be no debris in his eyes.
Physically, the boy was alright, mentally, well that was another story.
The paramedics shared a doleful expression, exchanging looks with hidden meanings that Peter wouldn’t quite discern. One sat by him, a pitying hand on his shoulder, rubbing lightly in a pathetic attempt at comfort. The rest was a blur, he was wheeled in. It was too bright, too, and far too busy, yet he didn’t react at all, just emptily stared upward. The doctors checked him over once again, determining that he had not incurred significant bodily harm and so, he was escorted by an elderly nurse to a quieter area. A small corridor off the side of the reception, where he was allowed to sit, a little further from the hectic and stressful area of the ER and vastly more peaceful.
She crouched in front of him, her eyes filled with sympathy and heartbreak for the small boy, brows lifted in a compassionate way that only deepened the wrinkles on her forehead. She looked kind, her smile was soft in the same way his mothers was, and the crinkles by her eyes indicated that she wore it a lot, but it faltered, the lady struggling to hold back her own emotions when faced with a child in such a situation. She reached out, gently placing a wrinkled hand over his, her benign nature clear through her voice.
“Can I get you anything sweetheart? A drink? Maybe a snack? Is there anyone I can call for you?”
Her questions persisted, offering anything and everything she could, desperate to give this boy anything she could to lessen the burden even a little, but each suggestion was shut down with a halfhearted head shake.
“Are you sure honey? Alright then, what about Mr Bear? Can I get him something?”
That managed to get at least a little reaction, a slight upturn of the lips, but as quickly as it was shown, it was gone, the boy only looking more upset, glaring down at his hands as though he’d committed an act of horrible betrayal, and within his mind he had, he’d dared be happy with what had just happened.
“Okay dear, come to me if you need anything, alright? I won’t be far”
The woman’s expression fell and she squeezed his hand one last time before standing, her knees only able to handle being at that level so long. She lingered, hesitant to leave him, but the hospital was overrun and understaffed and if she didn’t do what she had to nobody would, so despite her despair at leaving the traumatised child all alone, she walked away.
The moment he was left alone, the silence hit him like a blow, and then it all hit him, his dad walking out, the crash, the sight of his mother draped over the wheel, still and lifeless, her blood flowing over the dash.
It was all too much.
Far too much.
The tears that had been falling steadily suddenly burst out of him like a waterfall, flooding his eyes and rushing down his cheeks. Little hands clutched the bear like a lifeline, knuckles turning white as he held onto what may be the last thing he had of his life with the Parker’s, a relic of a bygone era. His sobs echoed through the empty area, ragged and heavy and deeply sorrowful. He curled in on himself, knees coming to his chest as if to protect himself and Mr bear from the world.
Those nearby rushed to the sound, doing what they could to console the boy, but nothing worked, nothing could bring her back and he knew it.
He cried and cried till he had nothing left, till his eyes were dry and throat was hoarse and painful, rendering him unable to let out any more than weak whimpers and silently weep for all he’d lost.
—————
The kind nurse took her first free moment to scour the records for an emergency contact, her desire to bring the boy any semblance of solace strong and unwavering. She did what she could, found records of the boy's mother and traced her husband from that, but just before she called the man, she noticed something odd. The records had been recently updated following a paternity test, and rather than seeing the name she expected to be listed as father, she saw another name.
Anthony Stark.
She let out a gasp the moment she saw the name, the name of the famous (or infamous depending on your persuasion) billionaire playboy. The man who recently began flying around in a metal suit and had dubbed himself Iron-man.
She stood there, perplexed, double, even triple checking, but the facts remained clear, Tony Stark was this boy's biological father, as shown on a recent certified paternity test, which had led their records to be updated. The facts were indisputable, and regardless of how many times she or her coworkers looked it over, it remained the same,
This boy was the son of Tony Stark.
She hesitated to contact the man, trying to figure out the best course of action, after all this was for the good of the child, risks could not be taken. Several of her fellow workers were gathered now, equally disbelieving of the revelation.
She weighed her options, seriously considered contacting Richard Parker instead, after all he was listed to be the one Peter lived with previously and he had been married to the boy's mother for since before he was born. However, state law dictated that if there were no legal hindrances, the biological parent should be the first means of contact in a situation or emergency, and so, the small team that had now gathered got to work.
Unsurprisingly there was no private contact number left beside the name, and similarly it came without a shock that any internet searches for such came up empty. They’d anticipated that, after all, one of the most famous people in their world likely wouldn’t be the most willing to put their private contact information out there for anyone and everyone to find.
Therefore, they had to figure out another way to reach the man, and so, filled with determination (and a little curiosity) they persisted, not wanting to give up on getting this boy to his father. They would go through whatever means necessary to contact the man.
Despite spending a good while searching, the group encountered no phone number, nor emails, nothing private at all. The closest they got was a website online leading to an inbox dedicated to ‘fan-mail’ but that likely wouldn’t be read in a timely manner, if at all.
One keen-eyed intern offered the most plausible solution; Stark Industries. It was a long shot, but the only solution they had at the moment, and anything was better than nothing.
After many, many failed attempts they eventually got through to someone named Harold Hogan. A man who seemed awfully sceptical, spending a long while questioning them, checking their location and overall just giving them hassle, he (albeit very reluctantly) agreed to alert Mr Stark. But only after they had conducted a repeat DNA test to verify the results.
During the hassle, the same solicitous nurse was the one to escort Peter to another room to have a blood sample extracted. The boy remained frozen in his seat, as if asleep with his eyes open. Despite any efforts at conversation, Peter remained completely unresponsive, not even acknowledging the nurse at all. The only indication that he was conscious was the steady stream of tears down his small face.
This behaviour was highly unusual for a kid his age, normally they squirmed and kicked up a huge fuss at the mere glimpse of a needle; but not this one. He was in a trance, completely immobile. It was rather unsettling for the nurse, in all her years she’d never seen this expression on a child. She’d always wished that the children would be calm and compliant during the process, but at this moment, she wished for the kid to throw a tantrum. Yell, scream, cry, just something but Peter didn’t.
Due to Stark Industries adding additional pressures to get the process over quickly (likely before the media caught on) they had to work swiftly. The company had even supplied technology to ensure that the results were accurate and delivered promptly, not wanting to encounter any discrepancies or delays.
Within the hour the results were in, leading to a collection of staff and Stark Industry employees - who had been sent to supervise - standing gawking at the piece of paper.
It revealed that Peter truly, undoubtedly was a Stark.
While the rest were too caught up in their nattering, the nurse acted immediately, prioritising the boy above the gossip. She hastily picked up the phone, scrambling to type in the number that was left. To her surprise it was picked up rather quickly, by the same Mr. Hogan, the conversation was brief and to the point.
Upon delivering the news, the man hung up abruptly and within around ten minutes, a fancy black car had sped, screeching to a halt outside the main doors, parking somewhere it wasn’t permitted. Two men exited the car, one a huge hulk of a man, stone faced and skeptical, a man the nurse immediately matched to the voice on the call. The second smaller, overall appearing rather disheveled and looking as if he would rather be anywhere else, she knew who he was immediately, clumsy disguise aside, that man was most certainly Tony Stark.
Mr Hogan walked alongside Mr Stark, keeping a watchful eye, scanning over everyone with strong suspicion. He kept a strong hand clenched upon his bosses shoulder, likely to prevent the latter from sprinting the second he got a chance.
My Stark looked like he was scheming exactly that, eyes flicking around, scanning and lingering a little too long on the exits. His head was hung, expression concealed, eyes hidden behind sunglasses (despite it now being well into the night), regardless it wasn’t hard to read him, the anxiety practically radiated off of him, but nobody dared comment on it.
The pair were led by the nurse to a rather sad looking corner, obnoxiously bright overhead lights illuminated the small boy, who sat still on the chair, not bothering to lift his eyes despite registering the presence of new people.
The second Tony laid eyes on that kid, he knew.
He knew that the boy was his.
He saw it immediately, saw himself, almost an exact replica of a younger Tony; a Tony from a time he wanted to forget. The same sad eyes. The same messy dark hair. The same scrawny build.
It was like looking upon his younger self and it terrified him.
Tony wasn’t ready to be a father. He knew it, and if you asked anyone in his life, they’d vehemently agree.
He’d only recently begun weaning himself off of the alcohol that used to lord over him, but the temptation still haunted him, and to say he’d never once relapsed would be like claiming himself to be a virgin, so painfully untrue it was laughable.
His wild party days may be in the past, but he had bigger problems, no time for a kid. He couldn’t deal with some snot nosed brat running around messing with his stuff in the lab.
He had a company to run - when Pepper was absent or otherwise occupied - but regardless it was a huge responsibility.
He was constantly hounded by the media, followed everywhere with the paparazzi. He remembered dealing with it when he was young; the flashing lights, the yelling of reporters, the inability to go anywhere without ambush. He hated it, and he wouldn’t want to put a kid through that.
He was a target for some of the most dangerous groups on the planet. He was Ironman for gods sake, he’d made countless enemies already and he had no intention of stopping.
He was reckless, impulsive and hot headed at the best of times. Hell, he’d even publicly invited a terrorist group to attack him at his home address.
There were countless reasons that he’d fail, countless excuses he could give for falling short and not being what the boy needed.
Regardless, Tony knew that in this moment he was all this kid had.
If he didn’t take him in, no one would.
This kid was his responsibility.
This small, fragile, traumatised child - oh god he couldn’t do it, he truly couldn’t.
——————
Although the nurse had informed him of everything, of this man who was supposedly his ‘real father’. Peter was very reluctant to go anywhere with them, but he didn’t really have a choice, where else would he go? His dad had walked out, and if he wasn’t here by now, he almost definitely wouldn’t be coming. Peter knew him, his dad was never not on time, unless he wasn’t going at all.
Peter knew he had to go with them, whether he wanted to or not. After a long while of internal debate, he begrudgingly stood and silently followed this man - his ‘father’ - to the car, cradling his teddy close to him.
The car ride was entirely silent, uncomfortably so. Tony made a few halfhearted attempts to converse with the small child, even cracking a joke or two - to no response of course. He tried to ask the boy about school, his interests and even the small toy he seemed to hold dear, but… nothing. No response, nothing at all, the boy just stared forward, sniffling softly, eyes glistening with tears.
Tony was clueless as to how to communicate with kids, particularly deeply traumatised ones. Tony wasn’t one for physical contact either, a result of his upbringing, so he would not offer comforting hugs, nor pats on the shoulder or affectionate words either.
Tony was nothing like Mary or Richard, that was something Peter knew for sure.
They arrived at a huge tower, a complex piece of architecture Peter would have marvelled at in any other circumstances.
He was led into an elevator, and spooked a little when it began speaking to him. Tony tried again to talk to him upon seeing the boy go from startled to silently marvelling at the AI, hoping to engage with the boy, but still; no response.
The elevator ride was only a minute or so, but the silence seemed to drag time to a halt. They reached a penthouse, a huge floor decorated with riches and technology beyond what Peter had ever seen in his shabby little house in Queens.
Tony led the boy into a bedroom, one clearly suited for adults if the raised king size bed and minimal decor was anything to go by.
The man was quick to figure out the issue and kind enough to help Peter onto the massive bed, and awkwardly -but very gently - pull the covers up. He looked him over, wavering as if he wanted to say something or maybe even stay to provide comfort but seemed to decide against it, offering him a stained goodnight and veering towards the lab to tinker his anxieties away.
The light was switched off and Peter was left to his own thoughts, as his little mind tried to understand all that had happened.
___ ___ ___
This distant relationship continued over the years, somehow the two never connected as father and son, they remained strangers who shared a home.
Peter was raised by a revolving door of nannies and so-called ‘childcare experts’ and once he was deemed old enough to be somewhat self-sufficient, he was left entirely on his own.
The nannies took care of his baseline needs; making sure he was fed, well rested and presentable, but beyond that he received the bare minimum. Some doted on him more than others, fussing over every cut and bruise - although he believed that was more out of fear of losing their job rather than genuine care for him. Most were kind, yet kept their distance, after all emotional attachment was unprofessional and none of them really stuck around long enough for them to bond in any ways. He had gone through dozens of carers, but not one had supplied him with the comfort the little boy yearned for.
Despite this, Peter was thankful for what he got from them, it wasn’t their job to be there for him emotionally. That was supposed to be his father’s responsibility, one that he seemingly didn’t feel particularly obliged to fulfil.
The way Peter saw it, his father hardly acknowledged him as a son at all.
Peter wasn’t a priority in the schedule of the great Tony Stark, and on the rare occurrences they spent time together, Tony never seemed interested in anything he said or did, so eventually he stopped making any effort to engage with the man at all.
When the pair were together, it always seemed like Tony had something else to be doing, something more important than Peter. When Peter needed someone to talk to, Tony had a business call. When Peter wanted to play, Tony had work. When Peter wanted to watch a movie, Tony had a meeting. When Peter wanted to just spend some time in his dad’s presence it seemed like Tony always had some whacky experiment to be conducting. Something ‘dangerous’ that Peter couldn’t be in the room for.
The avengers didn’t pay Peter much mind either, most didn’t even bother to feign interest when he was around. They were kind to him, but always in that formal way that people do when they don’t really know someone.
He didn’t resent them for not being particularly close with him, he’d expected nothing less.
Their distance wasn't the problem.
Well, at least it wouldn’t be a problem if he hadn’t seen the way they all adored their golden boy, his perfect big brother, Harley.
—
Harley was everything Peter wished he could be.
He was sporty, popular and outgoing, on top of being a complete genius.
Harley had the ability to talk to anyone, he was never awkward, never lost for words -an ability Peter once had but lost over his years of isolation.
Peter was jealous of Harley in almost every way, but the thing Peter was most jealous of was his relationship with Tony and the avengers.
It was clear they treasured him, while Peter was simply an afterthought; the other Stark son.
Tony and Harley would spend hours down in the lab together, while Peter was only allowed to work in the old one a few floors down, alone as usual. Tony used that justification that due to Harley being the older of the pair, he was more responsible and that’s why it was that way, but Peter had long surpassed the age that Harley had begun working in the lab, and yet still didn’t receive permission to join him or Tony on any of their projects.
Harley took part in all of the avengers game nights and team bonding activities, while Peter stayed up in his room. It wasn’t that he was excluded entirely, the boy could attend if he so desired. However, when Peter did join them, they always found a way to alienate him; talking over him, interrupting him or just outright ignoring his words. So eventually, he began avoiding it entirely, excusing his absence with a need to study or some other halfhearted excuse.
Peter wasn’t sure if their exclusion of him was on purpose, but their feelings toward him were clear. He wasn’t the one they wanted to spend time with. They didn’t need him nor want him. He wasn’t one of them.
Eventually Peter realised that it was better to remain cooped up in his room alone. That way, at least he wouldn’t witness his family blatantly favouring his brother. Though in doing so he only became more of a recluse, more distant from them and the divide grew.
He would reassure himself that he was happier alone, but deep down he knew that wasn’t true. He dreamed of what his life would have been like had he and Harley been treated the same.
A dark part of him sometimes dreamed of being the one to take Harley's place, make the golden boy face the isolation he had his whole life, but Peter wasn’t like that, not really. He didn’t want Harley to suffer though his mundane reality. No, all he desired was for them to be equal, in everyone’s eyes, including his own.
___
Tony took in Harley not long after Peter, a similar situation from his own; Harley could no longer stay with his biological mother - for reasons Peter never discovered - and so, a paternity test was done and Harley was revealed as a Stark and taken to live with them as he had nowhere else to go
Peter had heard about the new boy coming to live with him the day before it actually happened. His father at least had the decency to sit him down and discuss it with him before the boy arrived.
Part of Peter was weary, but most of him excited. He’d never had a brother, but he’d always wanted one, and it would be nice to have someone to be close to around here, someone who he could confide in or just have fun with. He was looking forward to it, already planning ways that he could befriend the boy; maybe show him the Lego he’d built or the tiny robot figure he’d made from scrap metal, maybe they could make cool things together.
The boy spent plenty of time thinking of things they could do together, dreaming of having a brotherly bond, someone he could be close to in his new home, but when Harley arrived, the plans fell through.
The boy wasn’t left on his own like he was, on the contrary, he initially seemed to be fighting to stay by Tony’s side, following him around and constantly talking his ear off and somehow, it worked, they bonded.
The pair became close, inseparable even, and Peter was pushed even further onto the side lines, forced to watch as his father cared for this boy in the way he’d never done so for him.
It hurt, it really did. He had long since accepted his fathers excuses of being too busy or whatever else made him unable to take care of him, yet when Harley came along that all changed. Tony made time for the boy in a way he’d never done for Peter. He made an effort to get to know him and took an interest in him, listening to him and even partaking in his hobbies.
Peter didn’t know what made him less worthy of that love and attention.
Why was he left in the care of nannies while Harley was given all the love and attention he desired?
Peter craved the love and attention that Harley received, so he tried his best to be perfect, but somehow his big brother always outdid him, almost effortlessly superior in every way.
If Peter got an A, Harley got an A+. If Peter built something, Harley had built something cooler. If Peter learned a new skill, it always seemed to be something Harley had already practically mastered. Even upon hitting any milestones, significant or not, Harley had already passed them two years prior, so the need for celebration didn’t seem as significant in the eyes of his family.
Over time Peter learned that there was no point in running himself into the group in a desperate scramble to close the gap, he would never be Harley’s equal in the eyes of his family.
So he gave up. His grades slipped, his motivation disappeared and he sunk further into his isolation, accepting his role as the other, forgotten stark son.