Chapter Text
The workshop buzzed. Peter pushed open the heavy metal door, backpack in hand, expecting the usual chaos of genius in action—Tony tinkering with some impossible device, Stephen hovering nearby with that characteristic smile, perhaps cracking a joke. But the air hit him first, thick and heavy, like the prelude to a storm. Altered voices echoed off the walls, sharp and venomous, cutting through the mechanical hum.
Peter froze in the doorway, his spider-sense tingling not from danger, but from the raw human fracture unfolding before him. Tony stood rigid beside the holographic screen, his face flushed, his eyes blazing with that unbridled fury he usually reserved for threats of world destruction. His Iron Man suit hung half-open on a nearby hanger, forgotten in the heat of the moment. On the other side, Stephen loomed like a dark sorceress, his cape billowing slightly even without wind, his fingers clenched into fists that crackled with contained energy. They were married—for over twelve years, a partnership Peter had always seen as the unshakeable foundation of his makeshift family. Tony and Stephen weren't just mentors; they were fathers in every sense that mattered, the ones who pulled him from the wreckage of his old life, taught him to swing between skyscrapers and to cast spells alongside armor. Seeing them like this? It devastated him.
"You arrogant, presumptuous idiot!" Tony's voice thundered, his hands slamming hard on the workbench, scattering the tools slightly. A wrench fell to the floor, spinning. "You think you can just come here with your hypocrisy and rewrite everything? I've been keeping this family together while you were out there playing God in the multiverse!"
Stephen's laugh was a bitter bark, devoid of humor, his eyes narrowing into slits. "Controlling yourself? You? The man who can't go five minutes without drowning himself in whiskey or sarcasm? You're the one who's been distant, Tony—hiding in this damn cave, pretending your little toys solve everything. I saw the way you looked at that intern last week. Don't try to manipulate me into thinking I'm the villain here!"
Peter's heart pounded in his chest, his heightened senses picking up every uneven breath, every tremor in their voices. He wanted to retreat, pretend he hadn't heard anything, but his feet wouldn't move. The workshop, usually a sanctuary of safety and comfort, now looked like a battlefield—crushed plants on the floor, a broken mug on the ground, remnants of some past frustration. Stephen's hands trembled, not from magic, but from the excruciating pain of betrayal, his wedding ring reflecting the light as he gestured wildly.
"Psychological manipulation? Me?" Tony retorted, moving closer, their faces inches apart now, the air between them crackling like static. "You've been distancing yourself for months, Stephen—ever since that dimensional rift nonsense. 'Oh, I have to save reality again.' Meanwhile, Peter keeps asking about you, wanting to know why his other father is a ghost. And now you're accusing me of looking for him? Fuck off! You're the one who can't commit to anything that doesn't involve glowing portals!"
Peter's throat tightened, a knot forming as he watched Stephen's face contort for a split second—a flash of vulnerability before the sorcerer's mask returned to its place. "Peter? You involved him in this? He's our son, Tony, not a pawn in your ego trip. If you cared half as much as you care about your legacy, maybe we wouldn't be here, screaming like animals!"
The words weighed like a punch to the gut, echoing Peter's own fears. He wasn't blood-related, but he had been theirs since the day Tony donned the suit to rescue him from the wreckage of the Vulture, since Stephen had woven protective spells around his dreams to ward off Uncle Ben's nightmares. They had legally adopted him five years ago, in a discreet ceremony that still warmed Peter's heart on quiet nights. But this? This fury, these accusations—all of it shattered the illusion. Peter's hands clenched at his sides, adrenaline surging. He should intervene, say something, but the sheer force of their rage paralyzed him, a boy caught in the crossfire of the gods.
Tony turned abruptly, running a hand through his disheveled hair, his back arching with his panting breath. "Our son. Is that so? The one you barely see because you're too busy being the caped wizard. I love him, Stephen—I love you, you irritating mystic—but if you can't see how this is killing us, then maybe it's time for us—"
"No," Stephen growled, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper, the Cloak of Levitation fluttering aggressively as if sensing his master's anguish. "Don't you dare finish that sentence. Ten years, Tony. Ten years fighting side by side, building this life from the ashes. And now you want to throw it all away because you're afraid? Because I confronted you about your wandering glances?"
Peter took a hesitant step forward, his sneakers crunching on the grated floor, but the sound was lost in the growing roar. Tony turned sharply, pointing an accusing finger. "Scared? I'm terrified, Strange! Terrified that the man I married is becoming a stranger, that every time you step out of a portal, you might not come back. And yes, maybe I looked—maybe I wondered what it would be like if you really cared—but I didn't do anything about it. I wouldn't. Not with us. Not with him."
Stephen's eyes softened for a moment, pain etching wrinkles around his mouth, but the flame reignited as quickly as it had appeared. "Then prove it! Stop hiding behind your suits and sarcasm. Fight for this—for me, for Peter—like you fight for the world. Or admit it's over, and let's end it all at once before we poison everything we've built."
Peter's vision blurred, hot tears stinging the corners of his eyes. He couldn't take it anymore—the shouting, the crumbling of the only stable thing in his chaotic life. "Guys," he whispered, his voice cracking like thunder in the sudden silence that followed his interruption. They both turned abruptly, shock widening their eyes, anger fragmenting into something more raw: guilt, love, despair.
Tony's shoulders slumped, the struggle ebbing from him. Stephen's hands went limp. Peter stood there, his backpack sliding to the floor with a dull thud, his young face a reflection of their turmoil—pleading, heartbroken, but unyielding. He stepped completely into the light.