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Peter hadn’t stepped foot near anything labeled with the name Stark in almost three years. The mere mention of it usually had him looking away with haste.
The first time he allowed his tired eyes to linger on it, the name was in neon lights above his head and Peter was wearing a thrifted suit and a pink tie- his best attempt at cleaning himself up for a night.
Stark Industries Annual Charity Gala. It was way too formal and entirely unfamiliar for a guy like Peter. Glass walls, gold and silver lights, far too many cameras for comfort, too many people who knew exactly how to look like they belonged here.
Peter Parker found his place along the edges of the room.
He adjusted the camera strap on his shoulder and took a slow breath through his nose as the doors slid open.
In and out. Just keep your hands steady enough to take plenty of photos and get your job done. Find the crime boss and learn whatever information you can, and leave.
That was the plan. In and out. He repeated to himself, as if it could calm his nerves.
The lengthy lobby floors bloomed into polished marble as the sound of harsh clicks of heels against the hard floors mellowed and blended into soft orchestral music. Stark Industries always leaned into this benevolent futurism vibe that had always made Peter feel incredibly small- it was sleek, bright, and hopeful in the way only geniuses and billionaires could pull off. It still made something in his chest ache in a way he hadn’t quite trained himself out of, not that he’d had much time to even think about it.
He lifted his camera automatically, watching the room through the lens. He walked around taking a myriad of candid shots just as he had been hired to do, a style that made it oh-so-easy for him to get away with not talking to anyone. His camera’s card slowly filled with pictures of people laughing at things that weren’t funny, clusters of stone-faced investors near the bar and on the patio, a woman in a silver dress playing coy and pretending not to recognize a senator.
And then-
There.
Jordan Stellings. The one and only reason that Peter agreed to do a job like this, in a place like this.
Publicly, the man was a venture capitalist, a green-tech investor, and an annual donor to several New York children’s hospitals.
Privately, he was the quiet financial spine of an illegal weapons and enhancement research facility that Spider-Man had been dismantling piece by piece for almost six months.
Peter tracked him through his lens.
Stellings stood near one of the more impressive holographic displays, talking to a small group of engineers. They were far too relaxed. There were no bodyguards in sight. Peter didn't know if that meant that they were too confident or too careful, and he really didn't want the attention of any undercover security.
He took a deep breath, impelling his senses to ignore the sounds of music and partying, concentrating on the voices of just the one group of men in overpriced suits.
He drifted closer, snapping a few harmless shots for cover. Reflections of satisfied grins off glass, shadows forming perfectly in the gaps between people on the floor, Stelling’s toothy smile.
Peter just needed proximity.
He was lining up a tighter shot when a familiar weight settled into the air behind him.
“I was starting to think you’d ghosted the entire state of New York.”
Peter froze.
He didn’t turn. He didn’t look- couldn't.
The voice was older than he remembered it. Quieter, too. There was an air of maturity in it that was so acutely unfamiliar to Peter that it might've made him angry, had he not been too busy being anxious instead.
It was still unmistakably Tony Stark.
“Just me, then.” He spoke up again. It was surely a joke, though not a very funny one.
Peter lowered the camera just enough to keep it from shaking noticeably in his hands.
“I’m not here to bother you,” he said as soon as he got his bearings, eyes fixing on the display in front of him that he truthfully was noticing for the first time. “I’m just here to do a job. And I can’t be seen with you, you draw too much attention.”
There was a pause.
A soft huff of breath.
“That part hasn’t changed,” Tony said.
Peter’s jaw tightened.
Of course he’d found him. Of course. As a Parker, he should've known better than to foolishly trust that Lady Luck wouldn't smack him in the face. She’d always hated him. He hated her too.
He felt Tony shift closer, just enough to place them side by side, both facing the hologram as if discussing arc reactors and funding initiatives like two normal professionals. The reality was anything but normal.
From the outside, they probably didn't look out of place.
From the inside, Peter’s chest felt like it was trying to fold in on itself.
“You still shoot for Midtown Monthly?” Tony asked casually. That was the Tony that Peter knew. No, Peter obviously didn't still shoot for his high school paper. Maybe it wasn't meant to be a dig but it felt like one, considering the reason they'd parted in the first place.
Don't think about it.
“No.”
The word came out sharper than intended.
“…Freelance,” Peter corrected quietly. “Mostly. I get steady offers.”
Tony nodded, as if he’d expected that.
“You always hated being boxed in.”
Peter swallowed thickly, and tried hard not to literally choke on his nerves. That would be embarrassing. And just his luck.
The silence stretched; It wasn't awkward, exactly. Or maybe it was. But it was intentional, carefully maintained on Tony's end.
Three years.
It'd been three years since the fight.
It had been three years since Peter had stood in the middle of a half-repaired training bay in the Avengers compound, hands shaking, voice breaking, telling Tony he was tired of being treated like glass.
He remembered his exact words.
You don’t trust me.
And Tony, exhausted and terrified and trying very hard not to show either, firing back-
I trust you to be brilliant, kid. I don’t trust you not to get yourself killed.
It had spiraled after that.
Peter accused Tony of holding him back.
Tony accused Peter of not understanding the true cost of leadership and the responsibility they hold as Avengers.
Both of them were too angry to hear what the other was really saying.
And then Peter had gone home.
Two days later, he’d mailed back all of the suits that Tony had made him, that they'd worked on together, directly to Stark Towers. The case was labeled like any other Stark Industries product return and it was addressed to Virginia Potts, not Tony Stark.
In a childish way that Peter would never dare to admit, for fear of proving Mr Stark right about him, it felt sickeningly satisfying, like getting the last word. He was ridding himself of any evidence that he needed Tony Stark, that he was below him, and throwing it right in Tony's face.
Including the Iron-Spider suit. Especially that.
In the present, outside of Peter’s sick and spiraling mindscape of the past, Tony cleared his throat.
“You look… taller.”
Peter almost laughed.
Almost.
“People do that,” he said. “Grow.”
Tony’s mouth twitched. “…Yeah.”
Peter shifted his weight. Stellings was still in his line of sight, now talking to some big shot investor wearing a disgusting cologne that almost made Peter’s nose wrinkle even from several feet away.
His mind shifted back and forth between that and Tony.
This wasn’t the moment. If there was going to be one, this couldn’t be it.
“I really need to get back to work,” Peter said softly.
“I know,” Tony replied.
And to his credit-
He let him go.
Peter moved through the crowd again, camera lifting and lowering, muscle memory carrying him while his thoughts buzzed far too loudly.
He turned around for just a moment, watching the way Tony lingered at the holographic display, staring at it like it interested him- as if he didn't create it. To anyone else in the room, he would've looked normal, just thoughtful. Peter, however, could tell how hard he was trying not to let his gaze follow Peter as he walked away. He couldn't tell if he was still visible in the man’s peripheral vision or not. Either way, he huffed shortly and lifted his camera again, capturing the moment. Tony Stark was surrounded by people yet completely alone in the middle of the melancholy shot; It was a rare sight to see nobody in the room fighting for his attention.
Peter finally turned away again, and didn't dare look back for even a second this time.
He took his rightful place back at the edge of the room, getting a few wide shots of the main floor and a slow pan of the upper balcony.
Then Stellings broke from the group. Peter followed behind instinctively, stealthily moving along the natural flow of people.
The man slipped toward a quieter side corridor lined with interactive projections- company history, research initiatives, humanitarian programs. All the glossy things that made it impossible to believe what often moved behind the money.
Peter lingered at the entrance, photographing a group analyzing one of many displays about clean energy storage.
Stellings spoke quietly into an earpiece.
Peter’s camera turned, then zoomed.
Not on his face, but rather on the watch in his hand. Then on the faint reflection in the polished wall beside him.
A projection flickered briefly in the glass. A series of numbers. Peter exhaled slowly through his teeth.
Gotcha.
“Careful.”
Peter startled.
Tony stood behind him again- closer this time.
Too close.
“You’re shaking.”
Peter lowered the camera.
“Please stop doing that.”
Tony frowned. “Doing what?”
“Showing up behind me, watching me like you’re… like you’re still-”
He stopped himself.
Still what?
Still watching his six?
Still responsible for him?
Peter closed his eyes for a moment, and steeled himself to look Tony in the eyes. He wasn't really looking, his vision was half blurred with nerves as he put all his energy into faking confidence.
“I’m fine,” he said. “I don't need any help.”
Tony studied him. There was a familiar look in his eyes. A private one, the one that catalogued Peter’s posture and breathing and tension like a reflex he’d never quite been able to shut off.
“You’re running hot,” Tony said quietly. “And your sleeves keep riding up. You're covered in bruises.”
Peter instinctively tucked his hands neatly behind his back, letting his camera hang off the strap.
“…It’s nothing.”
Tony’s mouth flattened into something unimpressed, fond, and reminiscent in some way.
“I used to hear that a lot.”
That one landed. Peter’s throat tightened, his eyes losing their careful confidence and darting away from Tony once again.
Stellings disappeared through a private elevator at the end of the hall.
The moment slipped.
Peter had what he needed.
He should walk away.
He didn’t.
“Why are you here?” he asked instead.
Tony blinked.
“…It’s my company.”
Peter winced, his cheeks blooming pink with embarrassment. “That's not what I- Right. Whatever. Sorry. It was a stupid question.”
Tony hesitated. Then-
“Because...”
Peter waited. Tony sighed, a heavy and exhausted sound. Even though he knew this wasn't true, it still felt like the only real thing he'd heard out of Tony's mouth the whole night.
“Pepper made sure I’d show up tonight. There was a staff list and she was adamant after reading it that I have to be here. I-” His voice broke, and he cleared his throat to cover it up. “I guess I know why, now.”
That felt real too. Almost too real, in fact.
The two of them drifted together toward a quieter alcove without consciously deciding to. A curved wall blocked most of the crowd noise. Soft blue light washed over both of them. It was the only place in the venue where the windows were wide open, allowing a cool breeze to flow through. The proximity to his former… friend? Mentor? Occasional-pseudo-father-figure?
… The proximity to Mr Stark kept his nerves up at a certain level, but stepping away from the loud room and into somewhere with less harsh lighting allowed his shoulders to relax a fair amount, and he let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
For the first time since Tony had spoken- really, the first time in years- Peter finally, really looked at him.
The changes were subtle. Tony was more gray at the temples. There were lines at the corners of his eyes that hadn’t been there before. The lines underneath his eyes were slightly more pronounced, but the shadows were a much lighter color than they were the last time he'd seen him.
He still looked like Tony Stark.
He just also looked like he'd survived something new. He kind of looked like shit but also like, for whatever reason, he'd been taking better care of himself. Or someone else had been taking better care of him.
Peter felt an old, unwanted surge of guilt.
Tony broke eye contact first.
“You still use the web shooters we worked on together?” he asked carefully.
Peter stiffened.
“How would you-”
“You used one of my old designs in a fight last month.”
Peter’s eyebrows shot up.
“…You don't still track my-”
“No,” Tony said quickly. “No, of course not. I don’t track you.”
A beat.
“I monitor anomalous tech signatures in the city. Your polymer profile is… distinct.” Of course it was. There was a brief pause as Tony hesitated. “And, y’know, I pay more attention to the news these days. That’s all.”
Peter rubbed his thumb over the camera grip.
“Not the same ones. I returned those,” he swallowed, like he was rehashing an old wound. But Stark didn't react outwardly. “I still use some of your equations, though. Sort of. They're modified.”
“I figured.” Tony’s voice carried a quiet, unmistakable note of pride that echoed before he could stop it.
Peter heard it. Tony felt it.
It hung in the cool air between them.
“You shouldn’t be doing this alone,” Tony said finally.
Peter tensed. He clicked his tongue, glancing back at the entrance like he was thinking of fleeing.
Tony closed his eyes.
“Kid-”
“Don’t,” Peter said quietly. “Please, just don’t.”
Tony opened them again.
His expression shifted- no longer defensive, just careful.
“... Peter.”
That was new.
It wasn’t that Tony had never said his name before. Never in that tone, though. It never felt like this before.
“I’m not saying you can’t handle yourself,” Tony said.
Peter waited, not quite patiently, not quite impatiently.
“... I’m just saying you shouldn’t have to do everything on your own just to prove that you can.”
Peter laughed once under his breath.
“You taught me that.”
Tony flinched.
Peter hadn’t meant it as an attack.
But it… sort of was.
“You built an entire training program around pushing me,” Peter continued softly. “Around making me better. Faster. Smarter. Stronger. You can’t be surprised that I kept going after I stopped doing it under your roof.”
Tony stared at the light reflecting off the curved wall.
“…I am surprised,” he admitted.
Peter looked at him again. Tony swallowed, feeling halfway under scrutiny.
“I didn’t think you’d cut me out completely.”
Peter’s chest tightened.
“I-” He swallowed, making a quiet gulp sound that would've been almost comical if it hadn't made his throat sting. “I didn’t mean to cut you out,” he said.
Not exactly.
“I just… couldn’t keep feeling like I had to earn your trust back at every turn. Every step I took, right or not, felt like it took me backwards.”
Tony’s breath hitched. Just slightly, quiet enough that someone without enhanced senses might not have noticed.
That had hurt him.
Peter could see it.
“I trusted you,” Tony said hoarsely, trying not to sound like he was arguing. His voice was thick enough that, to his credit, it did work. It wasn’t a voice Peter could hear and get defensive over.
Still, Peter shook his head.
“No,” he whispered. “I really don't- I don't think you did.”
Tony looked up. Peter met his eyes. It was easier now, but it still strained him.
“I know you cared- I do, I know that now. For a while, I wouldn't really accept it. I was stubborn, and I thought you were treating me like an employee or something. I know it wasn't that, it was-” He let out a breath, unwilling to say the quiet part aloud. “Something else.”
There was a heavy silence, thick with sincerity.
“I just needed you to see me as… already capable,” Peter said.
His voice shook now.
“I needed you to stop waiting for the day I would mess up badly enough to prove you right.”
Tony’s eyes went glossy before he could hide it.
“That’s not-”
He stopped. Recalibrated. His voice was quieter by the time he started again.
“…That’s not what I was doing.”
Peter’s shoulders sagged.
“It’s what it felt like.”
Tony nodded slowly.
“I believe you.”
The words were simple. They didn't make all that much sense or clear anything up. Somehow, they meant everything.
A faint murmur rippled through the gala behind them. Applause. Someone announcing a new partnership.
Life, continuing.
“I sent the suits back,” Peter said quietly.
Tony’s jaw tightened. The wound was right there, staring Peter in the face as if daring him to prod at it. Whether it was wise or not, it was his only chance and he took it.
“I know.”
“I didn’t want them to feel like… a leash,” Peter said.
Tony flinched again.
“I never meant-”
“I know,” Peter said quickly.
And he did.
That was the worst part.
“I just really needed to know I could still be Spider-Man without being Iron Man’s project.”
Tony let out a long breath.
“I guess I always sorta knew you felt that way. I never knew if I could do anything about it, but I guess that’s exactly what you didn’t want. For me to just… fix things.”
Peter smiled faintly, feeling seen for the first time in a long time.
“Yeah. It’s fine. I just needed space. Maybe, uh- Maybe not as much as I took, but still.”
Tony hesitated.
Then-
“You're very bad at staying on the ground, y’know.”
Peter’s smile faded into something gentler, a hint of humor in it now.
“You were the one who showed me the view from space.”
Tony laughed weakly.
“That is… totally not on me.”
Peter shifted his weight.
The clock in his head ticked forward.
Stellings was gone.
But not finished.
“I’m tracking someone,” Peter said reluctantly.
Tony’s posture changed immediately. It didn't feel like dominance like Peter might've clocked it to be a few years ago, but Tony was definitely readying himself for something. He looked as if he wasn't surprised at Peter’s words, but rather the fact that he’d said them.
“Bad?”
“Very,” Peter said.
He debated with himself for a moment.
“He’s here tonight. Or, he was. He runs a smuggling network tied to enhancement tech. I think Stark components are being reverse-engineered somewhere upstate.”
Tony’s face darkened. Something like recognition and then resignation flashed in his eyes. Peter recognized the emotion in them, something he’d seen in both Tony and Pepper many times in the past. Nobody was ever shocked to hear that a famous, respected billionaire was doing something evil. Tony was the last person to be surprised at that, though Peter could tell he still felt the same disappointment he always did.
“…That explains a few things reported missing.”
“You’ve noticed it?”
Tony nodded once.
Their eyes met.
Not as mentor and student.
Not as a billionaire and a kid in a mask.
Just as two people who understood the same problem from opposite ends.
“I don’t want back in,” Peter said quickly. Not right now, he stubbornly didn't say. I’m not ready for this.
Tony inhaled sharply. Peter could tell he hadn’t heard the silent words Peter didn’t say, or at least didn’t let himself believe it. Didn’t let himself hope.
“I’m not asking you to be.”
That surprised them both. Tony seemed to realize it as he said it.
He searched Peter’s face.
“…But I’m….” He closed his mouth, clenched his jaw, scrounging for the right words. “I’m still here. I don't want you to pretend I’m not anymore. That’s all I ask of you.”
Peter exhaled slowly.
“I can do that.”
There was a beat of silence, short lived.
Tony hesitated.
“And if you ever need resources,” he added carefully, deliberately. “Not orders or oversight, just tools. I’m here.”
Peter considered it.
Really considered it.
“…I’ll think about it.”
Tony nodded. He didn’t push.
That was new, too.
A voice called Tony’s name from somewhere nearby.
Pepper.
He turned slightly, then stopped. He looked back at Peter with a soft, unguarded expression he recognized and would never in a million years admit might have made something inside him soften too.
“You’re doing good work,” he said quietly. “I’ve seen it.”
Peter’s throat tightened, but it didn’t hurt anymore.
“…Thanks.”
Tony hesitated, which seems to be a habit of his nowadays, and something unspoken flickered across his face.
“I miss you,” he said simply.
Peter froze.
The words cracked something open in his chest.
He hadn’t let himself think about that.
About missing Tony.
About missing the late nights in the lab, the way Tony always pretended not to watch him work, the long drives where Happy would pretend to be annoyed at how loudly Tony played his music in the car, and the relief in his eyes every time Peter came to the tower uninjured.
“…I miss you too,” Peter admitted, ducking his head ever so slightly.
Tony offered a small, genuine smile.
“Try not to get shot tonight, will you?”
Peter huffed.
“Eh. No promises.”
Tony turned.
Halfway back into the crowd, he paused.
Without looking back, he said-
“And, Peter?”
Peter stared after him, not daring to say a word.
“I think you were always ready. I just never let myself believe it.”
Then he was gone.
Peter stood there for a moment longer, camera resting against his chest.
The ache was still there. But it wasn’t hollow anymore. It felt livable, at the very least.
He lifted the camera again, and took one last wide shot of the gala floor, just barely capturing Tony’s retreating form in the center back.
And then slipped back into the crowd, once again letting his eyes lose Tony.
Spider-Man had work to do.