Work Text:
Peter Parker finds the folder by accident.
This is not unusual. Peter Parker finds most things by accident — hidden panels, forgotten subroutines, the exact right wrench when someone insists it isn’t there. He has a knack for being in the wrong place at the right time.
This time, the wrong place is a Stark Industries terminal that definitely does not belong to him.
Peter knows this because it opens without asking for a password.
He freezes.
“…Okay,” he murmurs. “That’s not ideal.”
The screen doesn’t flash a warning. No alarms. No urgent AI voice asking him to step away from the workstation. It simply loads, clean and quiet, like it’s been waiting.
A single folder sits in the center of the screen.
PARKER, P. — DEFAULT CONFIGURATION
Peter doesn’t touch the mouse for a long moment.
His first instinct is to back away slowly and pretend none of this happened. His second instinct — louder, more curious — is already leaning forward.
“…This is probably fine,” he says, unconvincingly.
He clicks.
The first file is deeply, profoundly boring.
It’s a checklist.
No ominous phrasing. No dramatic language. Just systems and toggles.
Access & Safety Defaults
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After-hours building clearance: enabled
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Medical monitoring: passive
-
Suit integration priority: secondary
-
Emergency escalation: manual review
Peter scrolls.
There’s no mention of temporary. No expiration date. No footnote clarifying that this is conditional or subject to review.
There’s just a timestamp.
Initialized: 7 months ago.
Peter stares at it.
Seven months ago, he was still apologizing every time he showed up at the Tower without a clear reason. Still asking if it was okay to stay late. Still assuming everything had an invisible clock attached.
“…Oh,” he says quietly.
The second file makes his chest feel strange.
Environmental Preferences
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Lighting: low, warm spectrum
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Noise suppression: adaptive
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Preferred work zones: Labs 3, 5, 7
-
Rest thresholds: enforced if vitals decline
Peter frowns.
He didn’t fill out a form for this.
He clicks deeper.
Adjustments made gradually. Tiny changes over time. Someone noticed when he squinted under harsh lights. When he flinched at sudden alarms. When he stayed up too long and started making stupid mistakes.
Not all at once.
Incremental.
Patient.
Peter swallows.
“…You didn’t have to do that,” he whispers to an empty room.
The room, unhelpfully, feels like it’s disagreeing.
Pepper finds him because Pepper always does.
She doesn’t startle him. She never does. She just appears at the edge of his awareness, leaning lightly against the counter.
“Hey,” she says. “You look like you fell into something.”
Peter startles anyway. “I didn’t mean to— I was just— it opened.”
Pepper glances at the screen.
Her expression doesn’t sharpen or harden. It softens, just a fraction.
“Oh,” she says.
Peter hugs his arms around himself. “Am I not supposed to see this?”
Pepper considers that carefully.
“No,” she says at last. “I think you were.”
“That’s… worse,” Peter admits.
Pepper smiles, fond. “Usually, yes.”
She doesn’t close the file. She doesn’t step in front of the screen. She just stays, grounding and present.
Tony walks in mid-sentence.
“…and if you reroute the load through—” He stops.
Sees the screen.
Freezes.
Peter turns fast. “I’m sorry. I didn’t go looking for it. It just—”
Tony raises a hand. “Hey. Breathe.”
Peter does. Automatically.
Tony rubs his face. “You weren’t supposed to find that like this.”
Peter winces. “Like… accidentally?”
Tony grimaces. “Yeah. That.”
Peter huffs a quiet laugh. “That tracks.”
Tony leans against the desk, suddenly very interested in not making eye contact. “You okay?”
Peter hesitates. “I think so.”
“That wasn’t an answer.”
Peter glances at the screen again. “I just— I didn’t know I was… default.”
Tony finally looks at him. “You weren’t.”
Peter blinks.
“You are,” Tony clarifies. “Now.”
“It’s just planning,” Tony says, like that should settle it.
Peter gestures vaguely. “This is… extensive planning.”
Tony shrugs. “You spend time here.”
“I didn’t mean to.”
“I know,” Tony says easily. “That’s kind of the point.”
Peter frowns. “I don’t understand.”
Tony exhales. “Everything in this building assumes people leave. Go home. Clock out. Stop existing in the system.”
Peter nods slowly. “Okay.”
“You didn’t,” Tony continues. “So things broke.”
“…I break a lot of things.”
Tony snorts. “Not like that.”
He taps the screen. “So I fixed the assumptions.”
Pepper watches Peter’s shoulders relax without him noticing.
Peter hesitates before clicking the third file.
Continuity Planning
He doesn’t read all of it. He doesn’t need to.
It’s boring things. Logistics. What happens if Tony’s off-world. Who Peter should talk to if something glitches. Where he should go if the Tower locks down.
Not emergency plans.
Just… tomorrow.
Peter sits down slowly.
“You planned for me,” he says.
Tony blinks. “Yeah?”
“…Like— long term.”
Tony shrugs. “That’s what planning is.”
Peter laughs softly. “You’re bad at explaining things.”
Tony grins. “I’m excellent at explaining things. People just panic.”
Pepper coughs. “You’re terrible at explaining feelings.”
Tony scowls. “Unfair.”
Peter smiles anyway.
“What if I mess it up,” Peter blurts suddenly.
Tony tilts his head. “Mess what up.”
“This,” Peter says. “Being here. Being— accounted for.”
Tony’s voice stays calm. “Kid, this isn’t fragile.”
Peter searches his face. “…It’s not?”
Tony shakes his head. “If it was, I wouldn’t have built it like this.”
Peter lets that sit.
Peter leaves the Tower later with his head full and his chest buzzing uncomfortably.
He doesn’t call May right away. He walks. Lets the city noise reset him. Tries to decide if he’s allowed to feel this steady, unfamiliar warmth.
Halfway down the block, he pulls out his phone.
“Hey,” May says. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah,” Peter says. “I think so.”
“That wasn’t a yes.”
“It’s a soft yes,” he says. “Like… ninety percent.”
“You’re not bleeding.”
“No.”
“Good start.”
He hesitates. “I found something.”
May waits.
“There was this folder,” Peter says. “At the Tower. With my name on it.”
“Mm.”
“And it wasn’t creepy. Or bad. It was just… there.”
“What was in it.”
“Stuff,” Peter says, then winces. “Okay, bad explanation. It was like— systems. Things that assume I’ll be there.”
There’s a pause.
Then May laughs — soft, delighted.
“Oh,” she says. “Tony.”
“You’re not freaked out?”
“I’ve met Tony Stark,” May says. “Of course he did this.”
“It’s been there for months.”
“That tracks.”
Peter slows his steps. “I thought I was visiting. Like— temporary.”
May stops walking on her end.
“Peter,” she says gently. “Tony Stark does not build temporary.”
Peter exhales shakily.
“He showed you,” May continues. “He’s bad at saying things. He’s very good at making them true.”
“…Yeah,” Peter says.
“You don’t have to decide anything right now,” May adds. “Just let it be.”
“And if it ever stops feeling right,” she says more firmly, “you come home. Always.”
“I know,” Peter says.
They hang up lighter.
The next day, the Tower greets him like nothing has changed.
The doors open. The lights adjust. FRIDAY’s greeting is neutral and familiar.
Tony glances up from a hologram. “You eat?”
“Yeah,” Peter says.
Tony nods and goes back to work.
No follow-up. No questions.
Peter drops his bag at the table he always uses.
Later, he works on something pointless — a gadget that spins colored lights and does absolutely nothing useful.
Tony notices.
“You’re not optimizing,” Tony says.
Peter grins. “I don’t have to be useful today.”
Tony blinks. “…Did I say that?”
Pepper smiles. “Apparently.”
Tony considers correcting it.
Doesn’t.
That night, Tony checks the logs.
Everything steady.
DEFAULT CONFIGURATION: STABLE
He closes the file.
Across the Tower, lights dim automatically as Peter gets tired. Not because anyone told him to sleep. Just because the system knows.
Peter curls up somewhere safe without thinking about it.
And somewhere between Queens and the Tower, between planning and default settings, Peter stops wondering how long he’s allowed to stay.