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It started like this.
He’d been in the city for the day; Manhattan if one wanted to be more precise. His old stomping ground as he’d come to think of it. But that was all before of course. Before he went to space. Before the blip. Before five long years of turmoil in which he increasingly found that he couldn’t bring himself to gaze upon the city skyline without a gut wrenching anger and grief he could not fully place. Before he proved Cap wrong once again – this time though very nearly biting the bullet once and for all in the process.
He avoided the city now, or rather, as much as he could considering his line of work. Turns out retirement doesn’t mean much when your name is still plastered on the face of a multibillion dollar corporation and your only blood successor hasn’t yet entered the double digits. Which is how he found himself stuck in a boardroom of tedious corporate suits on that particular Thursday morning. To say he was bored would have been an understatement, but he flashed his signature smile and shook hands hoping none would be the wiser to his utter lack of attentiveness. With the meetings concluded by the midafternoon and his freedom restored, he promptly thanked everyone for their time and dedication and hastily made his way to the exit.
And that’s when it happened.
He’d been midway across the entrance hall, a cup of crappy office coffee for the road in hand, when everything went black. Thoughtless. Empty. As if his entire conscious existence had been snapped out like a light.
Not a sound.
Not a sight.
And then he was back, gasping for air without knowing why he lost it in the first place. It was almost as if he had blinked; a temporary brain freeze had it not been for the screams outside and the emergency sirens wailing in the distance.
That and his crappy cup of coffee had gone cold.
“FRIDAY, what the hell was that,” he gasped, squeezing his eyes shut and shaking his head as if it could reset some sort of normal and make sense of his sudden blackout. Blinking his eyes back open he chanced a glance up at the clock in the wall.
2:37
Thirty minutes later than it should be.
“Boss, there appears to have been a major unidentified energy surge originating from a Department of Damage Control facility on Roosevelt Island. Everything within a mile radius was struck ” FRIDAY responded.
“Is the situation ongoing?” he murmured. There was panic now. He had a suit of course, housed in the smallest of nanotech devices hidden under his expensive suit and tie. He always had it, despite the promises he’d made to his wife that he’d put Iron Man to bed for good. It was more to settle his own mind, he told himself. Turns out years of anxiety and PTSD and all that shit make retirement hard too.
“Negative boss. First responders are on scene and the threat appears to be neutralized.”
“Wonderful,” he muttered, releasing a breath he didn’t even realize he’d been holding.. “That’s… great. Splendid. Crisis averted. Uh…baby girl, be a dear and text Pep that I’m on my way home.”
“On it boss. Reminder that you have 5 missed calls and 12 unread messages from Pepper Stark.”
“Right... Scratch that then I’ll just call her from the car,” he responded, massaging his temples as the beginnings of a headache started to make themselves known.
‘Just another reason to leave this blasted city in the past’ he thought to himself.
————
It continued with movie night. He’d barely made it through the door of their quiet lakeside home before he had an arm full of his giggling daughter to greet him.
“Hi Morguna,” he smiled, lifting her into a hug and carrying her towards the kitchen. “Miss me that much did you?”
“Mommy was worrying because she said there was an ‘incident’,” his daughter said, wrapping her arms around his neck.
“Was she now?”
“Your wife was worried because you weren’t answering your phone,” Pepper corrected, leaning against the kitchen island.
“In my defense, I kinda blacked out,” he tried.
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”
He shrugged, knowing there was no bite behind her words. Gently he set Morgan down, kissing the top of her head and excusing himself to go shower and change. When he returned the smell of homemade pizza wafted through the house and he found Morgan sitting expectantly on the living room couch.
“How are we doing, little miss,” he asked, lowering himself on the couch next to her.
“Daddy, are we still going to do movie night?” she asked.
“Is it movie night, already?"
“Yes. You promised!” she huffed, tossing a couch pillow in his direction.
Tony smiled. “I did promise, didn't I? And what were we thinking of watching this fine lovely evening?”
“The next Star Wars movie, remember? You said this one had snow machines in it!”
“I think that’s an excellent choice. That one’s Pete’s favorite, you know.”
It slipped out almost without him noticing; and to be dreadfully honest, he may not have even caught it himself had it not been for Morgan’s innocent, albeit confused question of “who’s Pete” that followed. And then he knew he was staring at his daughter with a wild expression, breath fully knocked out of his lungs and an intense bout of nausea threatening to drown him because…
…because…
because he hadn’t thought about Peter in years - hadn’t even known to think of him - and with a horrible sense of dread the sinking feeling that he seemingly forgot the kid entirely settled over him..
“Morgan, go find your mom.”
“Daddy, are you okay?”
“Go, now!” It came out harsher than he’d intended, and god knows he was scaring her, but he couldn't even think. There was panic overwhelming him again, but this time coupled with a guilt so crushing he could feel it to the bone.
‘Peter… oh god how did I forget Peter?’
For a moment he wondered if it could have been some phantom symptom of his nearly year long coma - a temporary lapse in memory - but no that couldn’t be right either because the kid hadn’t been there. Not when he woke up in the hospital or when he moved back home. And there was no mention of him by friends or family. Not a single photo of him in the house though Tony knew he framed them.
Didn’t he?
“Friday, call Peter Parker,” he choked out.
‘I have no records of a ‘Peter Parker’ in your database,’ the AI responded.
“That’s not possible… that’s not…call Karen”
‘Boss, I have no indication of a ‘Karen’ in my system either.’
“The Spider-Man suit damn it, connect to the suit now,” he hollered, head in hands.
He could hear Pepper in the room then, kneeling in front of him with a hand gently draped on his knee.
“Tony what’s going on?” she pressed at the same time that FRIDAY responded.
‘The Spider-Man suit is offline.’
Tony looked at his wife. He wasn’t sure what to say; how to convey to her the sheer and utter terror he felt at the moment.
“Peter,” he whispered, searching for some sort of recognition to wash over her face. Praying for a sign that he hadn’t lost it or worse. Instead he found her narrowing her eyes in confusion.
“Honey, who’s Peter?”
“He’s…” he tried again, but found the words got caught in his throat. His wife stared back at him, fear painting her expression and he became faintly aware of Morgan lurking in the corner of the room with tear tracks coursing down her cheeks.
‘You’re scaring them’ he thought, but damn it he’s scared himself.
“FRIDAY bring up what you have on Spider-Man,” he managed to choke out.
‘Spider-Man: enchanted vigilante. Location of origin: Queens. Identity: unknown. Currently being treated by medical staff in Manhattan after today’s incident at a Damage Control facility. Reports say he is in critical condition.’
Tony felt the blood drain from his face. Pepper was talking to him again, but he didn’’t register a word she was saying because all his brain could seem to do is loop between three distinct facts:
Critical condition.
Spider-Man.
Peter.
Oh god.
————-
It finds him barreling into the too small ICU unit a few hours later after a hasty explanation to his wife and an adrenaline-fueled apology to his daughter. He’d ruined movie night of course - something the back of his mind told him he’d have to make up to her eventually - but right now all he could focus on was finding whatever hospital unit housed the kid.
His kid.
His kid that he didn’t remember existed until just a few hours ago.
A kid who, according to the news reports he listened to the entire drive back to the city, was half-dead.
When he pulled up to the hospital, he was quick to notice the crowd; adorned with Spider-Man memorabilia and holding signs in support of the local hero. A vigil in every sense of the word, and boy did that make him want to throw up because there shouldn’t be a reason to hold vigil over the kid. The kid shouldn’t be here. He should be safe.
Keeping his head low he pushed his way through the crowd into the building and to the front desk.
“Mr. Stark,” a receptionist greeted, recognizing him instantly. “What can we do for you this evening?”
“Spider-Man,” he ordered, trying hard to mask the anxiety in his demeanor. “I’m here for Spider-Man.”
“Sir, I’m afraid I am under strict orders not to allow anyone other than our designated team into his care unit at this time. For privacy reasons,” she said apologetically.
“Right,” he responded with a curt smile, and then started making his way down the hall anyway, privacy be damned. The receptionist was quick to follow.
“Mr. Stark, I really must insist –”
“FRIDAY, which room is his?” he cut her off.
“Second floor, third room on the left.’
“Sir, if you don’t stop I will have to call security.”
“And then I’ll have to call my lawyers.”
He was already in the elevator by then; the second floor button pushed.
“You can’t be serious! Sir, this is outrageous.”
“Spider-Man is one of my team members, I think that gives me the right to see him.”
“Mr. Stark the Avengers haven't been around for years.”
“My case still stands.”
And then he was out of the elevator, pushing his way past alarmed nurses until he found his destination.
“I’m calling security,” the receptionist barked, but he paid her no mind. The door handle opened without resistance, and with a deep breath he pushed his way into the room. What he was greeted with took him by surprise.
The kid was awake, sitting up in the hospital bed, wearing a hospital gown that looked a size too big and bruises on his face that made Tony’s heart skip a beat. The spider-man suit - or what’s left of it - was flung haphazardly along the railing of the bed, though Tony is quick to notice that it bears little resemblance to the technology he once gifted the boy. Next to Peter was an older man; gruff looking and seemingly none too thrilled by his sudden entrance. Without missing a beat the grumpy man was on his feet, shielding Peter from his sight.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he shouted at Tony.
“What the hell does it look like I’m doing? I’m here for the kid!”
“I’m so sorry sir, I tried to stop him. Security is on their way,” the receptionist pleaded.
“Damn right, they are. I don’t know who you think you are, but Spider-Man is on a strict no visitor schedule, got that?” the man responded. Tony huffed in surprise as hands were suddenly shoving him back, trying to push him out of the room.
“Oh I think you know exactly who I am and I think he can make an exception,” Tony bit back, standing his ground.
“Oh yeah? I think I’ll agree to disagree there pal. Guy’s got a real thing about his privacy.”
“Frank, stop!” a third voice chimed in, rough but assertive.
Peter.
The man - Frank - didn’t break eye contact. “You don’t have to entertain him, kid. Even the great Tony Stark needs to be told ‘no’ once and a while.”
“Frank, please.. It's fine. Just…stand down,” the kid pushed back, sounding more exhausted than Tony had ever heard him.
“You heard the kid,” Tony smirked, staring Frank dead in the eye. There was a moment of hesitation then in which Tony momentarily wondered if the man would outright ignore Peter’s order, but then with a snarl he backed away, stalking back towards the kid’s bed. Tony watched as Peter tore his eyes away from him to address Frank as the older man bent down to whisper something in his ear. Tony couldn’t hear any of the exchange, so instead he turned to the hospital staff that had gathered behind him.
“As you can see, we’ll take it from here,” he smiled before promptly shutting the door behind him. He took a breath then, steadying himself. The air suddenly felt heavy in the room and he became aware of Peter’s gaze returning to him; watching him hesitantly. It was then that Tony got his first real good look at the boy. His hair was longer, curlier than he last remembered it; his cheekbones sunken in too much for his liking, and most notably that youthful glimmer in his eyes was gone.
In other words, he looked miserable.
There was a terrible silence then. Peter watched him expectantly; as if waiting for Tony to make the first move. In all his life, Tony Stark prided himself on knowing exactly what to say, or at least coming up with something. Always. Every time. Until that moment, for the first time, he truly felt at a loss for words. So instead he didn’t say anything. He just moved to sit on the side of the bed next to his kid.
His kid who is alive and alert.
There was an emotion playing across Peter’s face that Tony can’t read - something careful and reserved - and he’s distinctly aware that they are studying each other.
“Mr. Stark, if you’re here about damage control I…” Peter started.
“I’m not here about damage control,” Tony murmured. There was a beat then as Peter slowly brought his eyes down and nodded in confusion.
“Okay… then um.. What can I do for you, sir?”
This is the moment when Tony should probably say something intelligible. Something along the lines of… ‘what the hell has been going on?’
‘Why couldn’t I remember you?’
‘Are you okay?’
‘Why did you disappear from my life… again…?’
“I’m here because you’re grounded,” he settled on.
“I… what?” Peter’s head snapped back up, eyes wide.
“And I thought I told you enough with that Mr. Stark crap.”
Tony watched as an array of confused emotions danced across Peter’s face; this time more discernible. He could see the red of unshed tears building behind the kid’s eyes as he sucked in a shaky breath; almost as if Tony was watching a battle between intense grief and hope play out in real time.
“Peter?” Tony said softly. The kid looked at him again, dead in the eye, searching; wet eyes betraying the gradual loss of the guarded composure he bore when Tony had entered the room.
“How do you know my name?” the kid whispered.
“Better question. Why did I forget it?”
And then the dam broke as tears began their free fall across the boy’s bruised cheeks. He didn’t move yet, though. Instead he sat staring into Tony’s soul with a depth of misery that made Tony’s heart want to give out completely.
“I swear to god if this is another trick,” Peter’s voice caught. “If this is another damn illusion or some mind manipulating bullshit I can’t…”
“Language,” Tony chided, lightly. “Seriously kid, I’m already fighting a losing battle with one potty-mouth inclined kid at home, I don’t need two.”
It could almost be comical if it were any other circumstance: Peter, with his mouth open at a loss for words, regarded Tony as though he had grown a second head. Tony vaguely thought of that fateful battle five years prior; the last time he saw the kid. And with a twisted sense of irony, he realized that the roles were now reversed. Where he had once looked speechless upon the rambling miracle that was Peter Parker back from the dead, he now found himself the subject of the same scrutiny. Again, it could almost be comical, but that levity was undercut of course by the intense sadness behind the boy’s expression. Tony wished he would say something; anything.
“Underoos,” he prodded. “Come on kid, give me something to work with here because I’m kinda two seconds away from freaking out right now.” Tentatively, he reached a hand out to rest on the boy’s knee. To his dismay the kid flinched hard at the contact. Guiltily, Tony drew his hand back.
“Look, man you’re freaking the kid out. Why don’t you just back off for a second, alright. He’s been through enough shit in the last 24 hours he doesn’t need whatever this is added on top too,” Frank suddenly cut in, reminding Tony of the third presence in the room.
Frustrated, he snapped back, “I’m sorry did I ask for input? We’re having a moment here. This is a moment.”
“This is bullshit, that’s what this is. Kid just got shot. He needs to be resting”
“You got shot?” Tony choked, turning back to Peter.
“I… yes?” Peter mumbled.
“He’s in the hospital moron, what, did you think he was here for a little r&r?”
Tony fixed him with a glare. “Oh gee, my apologies for assuming something more supernatural was involved, or were you not aware of the supersized blast that hit a good chunk of the city. Gave me one hell of a headache I’ll tell you that.”
“You were there?” Peter asked, startled.
“Yeah, kid. I was there,” he responded, gently. “And whatever it was must have reset something in the old noggin because I’ve had no memory of you for the past five years. Pep and Morgan looked at me like I was crazy when I asked about you. Hell, my AI couldn’t even pull up your files. So I really need you to find that voice of yours again and start explaining some things before I convince myself I’ve lost my mind for real this time.”
With those words it was as if a switch was flipped. The silent river of tears that had been flowing down the boy’s face became a sob as he all but flung himself towards Tony; arms wrapping around his neck in a firm hold.
“Oh my god,” Peter cried, wincing at the effort but holding onto Tony nonetheless.
“Careful, Pete. You’re hurt,” Tony soothed, bringing his arms up to hold the kid back. He felt Peter bury his head in the crook of his neck. Almost instinctively he rested his head against the crown of the kid’s head in response.
“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry… Mr. Stark…Tony…I didn’t…I just…I’ve been wrong about this before so I didn’t…I didn’t want to…I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay Pete. You’re okay.” Tony had held a sobbing Peter before; back on an orange planet with nothing but dust left in its place. He’d been haunted by the memory of those terrified tears for years; and now he reckoned with his memory back he would be again. Yet, somehow, someway, those pleas for help were nothing compared to the absolute broken sobs Peter let out now. His entire body shook with the effort, hand clenching just as tight to Tony as they did that fateful day all those years before.
“I’m so sorry,” the boy cried again.
“Peter, stop. You don’t have to apologize for anything, kid. Okay? You’re going to be okay. I’ve got you.”
Somehow those words only made Peter cry harder.
“I’ve got you, Roo. It’s going to be alright,” Tony repeated, pressing a gentle kiss to the kid’s head.
And then he just held him. Whispering reassurances as the kid cried himself out. He was vaguely aware of the third presence in the room, watching them with deep seated concern and confusion, but he could deal with those explanations later. At that moment his only care was his kid.
His kid who was breaking his heart with each gut wrenching sob.
‘What kind of sick world is this to hurt someone as pure as Peter Parker,’ Tony thought.
‘A cruel one,’ his own mind answered.
Eventually Peter’s tears subsided into shaky breaths.
“I probably should sit back now,” he whispered, letting go of Tony to rest himself against the headboard of the hospital bed. Tony didn’t miss the grimace of pain as he did so, a few more stray tears revealing themselves.
‘We’ll get to that later.’
Reaching forward, Tony cupped Peter’s cheeks, gently catching the last of the tear-streak remains on his thumbs.
“Hey kiddo, long time no see.”
Peter leaned into the touch. “Hi Mr. Stark.”
“God, look at you. You’re all grown up,” Tony said, continuing to trace his hand along Peter’s face.
“Yeah.. that tends to happen.”
And then finally… finally… Peter smiled. It was small, and didn’t quite reach his eyes, but Tony saw it. It wasn’t the first time he’d thought about it, but he found himself with the same delusional thought that he wanted nothing more than to bottle that smile and keep it forever.
“I missed you,” Peter whispered, soft like he was afraid to say it.
“I missed you too kiddo.”
Peter shook his head. “You couldn’t have.”
“Not then,” Tony corrected. “But before. When you were gone the first time. I never really did get the chance to tell you that did I?”
“Don’t worry, I was well informed.”
With heartbreaking clarity, it settled on Tony then that this truly was the first time he’d spoken to the kid in almost ten years. The first five were lost to Peter’s death. The next to his erasure. They’d had a moment on that battlefield, and like an idiot Tony had said nothing. He’d let Peter ramble and he’d hugged him. He’d told him to be safe, and then he lost him again. He woke up from his coma a year later, and Peter was already gone.
“I should have been there. I would have stopped whatever did this to you,” Tony said.
“I know,” Peter replied. “But it’s okay. Sometimes… sometimes Spider-Man has to do the hard thing even if it breaks Peter Parker’s heart.”
Tony stared at him with mouth agape. No…He didn’t like that implication. That Peter had chosen this. That he’d felt like he had no other choice.
“That’s a stupid line,” Tony stammered.
“It’s true though. You’d do the same.”
Tony nodded solemnly, bringing his hands down from the kid’s face but leaving one to rest on his knee. This time Peter didn’t flinch.
“Have you been okay, Mr. Stark?” Peter said softly.
Tony rolled his eyes. “Oh no, we’re not deflecting this conversation onto me. You’re the one in the hospital gown right now Mr. ‘I Got Shot’.
When he looked back at Peter though he saw the genuine concern on his face. With a sigh he gave in.
“I’m fine Pete. Prosthetic arm took a little getting used to, but I’m okay.”
Peter nodded again. “That’s good. I… I saw what the news had said, but I wasn’t sure…”
“You’ve been keeping tabs on me via TMZ?” Tony quipped.
“That and other things,” Peter smiled back.
“Should I be offended or grateful?”
And then Peter laughed and Tony’s whole world fell back into place.
‘How could I have forgotten.’
“Alright move over kid, my back can’t take sitting like this for too long,” Tony sighed as he maneuvered himself to sit along the backboard of the bed next to Peter, arm draped over the kid’s shoulder pulling him against him.
“So are we going to talk about how you ended up in this fine establishment?” Tony asked.
“He shot me,” Peter stated, nodding to Frank.
“I’m sorry what?”
Frank for his part, had been standing off to the corner of the room helplessly for the better part of the conversation. Tony noticed how the man looked totally out of his depth watching the two of them.
“Oh no…Correction, you took a shot that wasn’t meant for you. I was just trying to save your ass,” Frank bit back, though Tony saw the distress written across his features.
“Of course you would,” Tony mumbled. Peter shrugged.
“Now that you’ve had your little heart to heart, can someone please tell me what’s going on? What are you like his secret love-child or something, Spidey?”
“Worse,” Tony answered before Peter could say a thing. “He’s adopted.”
The ring of Peter’s laugh that followed was enough to hang a thousand stars.