Chapter Text
Tony was having a decent day, which was saying something. He had been engaged to Pepper for nearly a year now, his coffee pot was filled to the brim and designated entirely to him, and underoos was coming by after school for his twice-a-week internship thingy. That's what they were calling it, anyways, since Peter was technically too young to be an intern at Stark Industries, but hell, he was the boss. He and Tony had decided to give the internship-label a try, and although Stark was a bit iffy at the beginning, he now genuinely couldn't get through his week without seeing Pete.
Oh, and Tony had officially cleared the rouges to come home without signing the Accords, and the US government was mostly okay with it.
Point for Iron Man, absolutely zip for the higher-up shitbags!
(Though if anyone asked, Peter coming over to the Tower on Tuesdays and Thursdays made him more excited.)
Tony was working through the coffee pot, phone in the back of his jeans, sunlight hitting his desk behind him, when Happy walked in, looking pale.
"Tony."
The way Happy said his name made Tony freeze, his stomach dropping.
"Yup?"
"There's been an accident," Happy said, phone wedged between his fingers, looking shaky.
"What kind of accident?" Tony asked, mind switching to that of an Avenger, thoughts flipping through the possibilities. "Extraterrestrial? Weird sea creatures? Hydra? SHEILD that's secretly Hydra?"
"No, Tony--" Happy took a deep breath in. "A car accident. Midtown Manhattan."
Tony was barely fazed. Yeah, those types of things suck, but like, it's not someone dropped a nuke or shit. "How bad?"
Happy grimaced. "Seven-car stack-up. A cement-driver ran a red and slammed into Volvo 240 wagon, and it slammed all the way down." He let the words sink in before adding, "The Volvo is May Parker's car."
Jesus, is she hurt?" Tony stood up and felt the room spin around him. Happy winced and said;
"Yes... and Peter. The kid was riding shotgun. They're both in the hospital--"
But Tony was already running. Shit shit shit--
Okay, someone dropped a fucking nuke.
°°°
"Hey, bambino," Tony said carefully, watching Peter's chest rise and fall. He was sedated to let his bones heal, and was decently scratched up, but otherwise alright. "Yeah, just keep breathing." The nurse who was checking the boy's blood pressure gave him a look but said nothing, pity in her eyes.
Tony stood up, feeling like he might puke for the third time today. The words that the doctor had told him nearly an hour ago still rang in his ears, fogging his thoughts to an oblivion.
I'm terribly sorry, but May Parker passed away on arrival to the hospital.
Shit, what was he going to tell the kid? Peter only survived because of his genetically mortified body, absorbing the brute force that should've sent him off with his aunt. God, Tony wanted to cry. My poor underoos. He's fucking sixteen. Holy hell, kid, I'm so sorry.
Suddenly, Tony's phone buzzed. He checked the caller ID, furrowing his brow when he saw Alyssa's name. Alyssa was the head lawyer of his legal team, and a damn good one at that. But why was she calling? Stark was a little preoccupied at the moment. Still, he knew better than the let it go to voicemail.
"Hey, Alys, what's the latest?" Tony's voice sounded horse and thick, but the professional lady on the other end did not call it out.
"Tony," she addressed as her way of a greeting. "I just got a will delivered to my desk, and it's--well, it's rather absurd, but I thought you'd like to hear it, all the same." A slight twinge of a British accent leaped across her words.
"Hit me with it," the man responded, wiping his eyes.
"It's that of a Ms. May Parker, and it's listed you as her kid's legal guardian. Isn't that crazy? It says, and I quote; 'If anything is to happen to me while my nephew, Peter Benjamin Parker, is still a legal minor, then I request Anthony Edward Stark as his guardian, being we have no surviving family.' I mean, there's a first for everything, right?"
Tony went still. "And If I were to accept it, what would the process look like?"
"Mr. Stark." Alyssa's tone was laced with disbelief. "You cannot take in the child of some--some over-hyper fan and her dying wishes; I know you are a tad bit reckless, but honestly--"
"She's not a fan," Tony snapped, "and the child in question is currently lying in a hospital bed next to me. So I repeat, what would the steps to making that a reality look like?"
There was a beat of silence where Alyssa was undeniable flabbergasted.
"Well then, Tony," she said at last, an air of professionalism returning, "there would be many court dates where child service would see if you'd be a good fit for..."--a rustling of papers on her end--"...Peter. Then there would be a period where you'd be named temporary guardian to insure it's what you want. It would look like months of paperwork and fees and deadlines, and you would have CPS up your ass." She paused again. "I would also suggest asking Mrs. Potts about this decision, too."
So Tony swiped out of the call and clicked the messages app, drafting a question without hesitation.
Hey Pep, how do you feel about a kid?
*** ~~Eight Months Later~~ ***
"Peter! Breakfast!"
Someone this whispered harshly, and Peter jolted awake to Clint Barton hanging out an an air vent, peering at the kid with witty eyes. Peter yelped and sat up, whacking his head on the headboard.
"Geez, Clint, what the hell, stop doing that," Peter muttered, rubbing his head. More to himself, he added, "I told Tony to reduced the size of the air vents."
"And see, I asked him to make them big enough for a person to fit," Clint said with a grin, flipping down, balancing arrows in one hand.
"The only one who crawls around in those things are you," the kid pointed out.
"I've offered to give you a lay of the land," Clint said in a fake-hurt voice, clasping a hand over his chest, "but you declined."
"I've never regret it," Peter agreed, rubbing his eyes. "For real though, why have you felt the need to be my alarm clock?" His phone worked fine, and when Pete glanced down, he saw there was still ten minutes before he had to be up for school.
Hawkeye gave the boy a modest smile. "I'm heading home until Sunday night, but I couldn't leave without saying goodbye to my favorite Avenger."
"Don't let Nat hear that," Peter joked, but hugged the man all the same, only a tiny bit groggy.
"Eh, she already knows." He flipped up to the vents once more, sliding the grate shut. "Catch you 'round, spider-ling."
"See ya, Clint."
But before the man had completely clattered down the cooling unit, he added, "but seriously, breakfast is ready, and you know how Cap gets."
Peter yawned. "Yeah, yeah, I'm going..."
He stumbled out of bed, stretching as he did so. The kid threw on a ratty t-shirt, rinsing his mouth and leaving the room. On the way out, he snagged a green, battered composition notebook, knowing now to always go down to breakfast with it.
The Tower gleamed around him, looking spotless and well-furnished, curtesy of Pepper. If it had been up to Tony, the whole place would've resembled an old garage. Peter internally chuckled at the fact, thanking Pepper in his mind.
Peter followed the smell (and promise of food), lost in his brain. Today marked eight months since May died. Eight months since he moved into the tower.
Three months since Tony Stark legally adopted him.
Okay, yeah, the last thought made his heart speed up, every damn time. To be honest, Peter still couldn't believe it. When he woke up in that dingy hospital bed, a distant nurse informing him of his only guardian's passing, his first thought was that he didn't want to go in the system. Ned would take him in, or he would grab his Spider-man suit and flee to DC or something.
But then Mr. Stark pulled out an actually, yeah no, and imminently signed paperwork to become his legal guardian. Five months later (perhaps it went smoothly due to the fact that it was Iron Man, the philanthropist billionaire), it was official. Underoos was his.
And Peter had never been more grateful. He still missed May like hell, but it made the pain more dull around the edges, less of a stabbing and more of a throbbing.
"Morning, kid!" Tony said cheerfully, giving a short wave, looking away from Bucky at the same time. "I'm guessing you got Clint's message?" He was sitting at the massive oak table, surrounded by Bucky, Rhodey, Vision, Wanda, and Sam... but still had an empty seat next to him.
"Yeah, it's hard not too," Peter muttered, stifling a yawn. He tucked the notebook under one arm and sauntered over to the counter, his eyes marveling over the array of eggs and sausages, hash browns and bacon. "Wow, Steve, you went all out."
"What can I say," Cap said with a smug grin, giving a sideward look at Rhodey as he did so. "I'm totally winning."
"Hey, it hasn't been my turn to cook yet," Rhodes argued, crossing his arms.
"Is this about the stupid bet?" Peter asked, eyebrow raised.
"When is it never?" Pepper called out from the kitchen, and everyone laughed at that.
Everyone loved to place bets; Tony quite enjoyed tossing thousands of dollars in the pot for the fun of the game, a move that Pepper did not appreciate. The current bet was whoever could cook the best breakfast would get to pick the movie for an entire week, and both Steve and Rhodey were in it to win.
Nat walked in then, ruffling Peter's hair as she did so.
"Доброе утро, маленький паучок." Good morning, little spider.
"Доброе утро, учитель Паук," Peter said back carefully. Good morning, teacher spider.
Black Widow let out a huff of pleasure and added, your Russian is mediocre, which was a massive compliment coming from her.
The week after May had died, Peter moved in. The rogues, who had been just cleared to come back to the Tower, were hesitant and still standing on old grudges. Natasha was the first to push aside the past, appearing at the kitchen table the week Peter's world shattered.
"You're Black Widow," Peter gasped, slack-jawed, staring at the dark-cladded figure sitting at the counter, looking like it was the most natural thing in the world. "You fought against... well, you switched sides... what are you doing here?"
She chuckled, a trace of an accent in some words.
"I know it's weird, but I'm choosing not to focus on the airport right now. I'm here because you're grieving and Tony doesn't know the first thing about helping someone through it."
"What?" Peter managed to say. "He-He told you that?"
"No." She like that like it answered the question. The lady held out a green, dollar-store composition notebook, the spine crisp. "I'm here to teach you Russian."
Peter stood rooted, his brain not really understanding. "Huh?"
"I don't know the words to make your aunt's death wane," she explained, "but I do know how to distract you from it."
Slowly, Black Widow became Nat, Peter's honorary, kick-ass (and absolutely terrifying) aunt who taught him Russian from ground zero.
And even slower than that was the rogues, trickling back into the Tower from Nat's influence. First came Wanda, then Clint, then Steve and Bucky. Even Scott came over for dinner sometimes.
The Avengers gradually stitched themselves back together. They became a family again. The meals became less awkward, until they were all filled with inside jokes and harmless pranks, wagering bets and food-fights. Peter fit in the middle, everyone absolutely dotting on him.
"Oh, Pete, I need help in the lab after school," Tony said absentmindedly at Peter sat down, chewing on a bit of egg. "The repulsors are acting up and I don't have the mental willingness to dissect them again."
"'Course," Peter echoed. He grinned, joking, "you're lucky to have me."
Stark ruffled the kid's hair, nodding quickly. "Damn right I am, bambino."
It was the small gestures that made the pain feel all the less.
"Oh, speaking of which..." Peter stood up and walked over to the counter, rifling through papers. "I have a field trip form I need you to sign... It's due today, actually, but I forgot about it."
"Bring it over," Tony said automatically, making a hand gesture. "I'll sign while you and Nat do dishes." It was Spider-man and Black Widow's turn; everyone had a week, and skipping meant you were targeted for pranks, no mercy.
"Make sure to write Edward Parker," Peter added sternly, grabbing a stack of dirty dishes from Nat.
"But what if I want the world to see Anthony Edward Stark?" Tony asked innocently. Officially, it was Tony's name on the adoption papers. That's what it said on doctor forms and all the other important government doccuments.
But as far as the school (or any extracurricular activities) was concerned, Peter moved in with Ben's estranged brother, Edward Parker. It was better security-wise, and it was easier for Peter socially.
"Dad," Peter whined, testing the waters. The name didn't really feel right yet, but Pete loved to pull the card when Tony was being difficult. Pepper smirked into her dish, knowing what Peter was doing, and Tony froze like he did, every single time.
"Right, right, I'm a dad now," Tony said, mostly to himself. "Gotta be all adult-y, yadda yadda. Jesus, the font is small."
"Or maybe you're just old," Rhodey commented.
Tony rolled his eyes, ignoring his friend's quip. "There. Official enough for you?" Edward Parker was scribbled on the parent/guardian line, looking natural as ever.
"Yup! thanks, Tony." Placing the paper on the table, Peter carried the messy dishes to the sink, Nat on his heels.
The pair washed the plates with an effectiveness they mastered, Nat pounding him in Russian while they did so.
Natasha handed him a sopping-wet dish, asking a question. "Как вы спали?" How did you sleep?
Peter grinned. "Я хорошо спал, спасибо." I slept well, thank you.
"Что тебе снилось?" What did you dream about?
"Никаких снов, никаких снов." No dreams, no dreams.
In reality, Peter had a vivid dream that he was flying a plane, but he had to crash-land it down in the water. However, he didn't know half of those words, and he knew the word for dream, so it was easier than stumbling his way through a sentence. "Как вы говорите plane?" How do you say plane?
"самолет," Nat responded, wiping a fork dry. "And to fly is лететь."
"Я это запишу," Peter said slowly, tapping the notebook with his pencil. I will write that down.
Nat smiled approvingly, the dishes all clean.
"You are getting pretty good," she said, "though the accent needs some work."
"Don't I know it," Peter shrugged. Glancing at the time, he swore in his brain and added, "I have to get to school, see you later!" He tore out of the kitchen and grabbed his backpack perched by the front door.
"Peter! The form!" Pepper yelled, right as the boy was sliding into the elevator.
"Right!" Peter said, running back and taking the paper from the lady's hands. "Thank you, Pepper!"
She nodded and pushed him slightly, urging him on. "Hurry, traffic's bad this time of morning."
Peter hopped back into the elevator, yelling an ever-chipper bye everyone! as the doors closed. Pretty much everyone echoed him, Tony the loudest of all.
In the elevator, Happy kept glancing at the form in the kid's hands, craning his neck slightly. "Did you even check to see where you're going?"
"No," Peter said, folding it into fourths and putting it in the front pouch of his bag. "Why does it matter, it's probably some museum or something."
Happy shrugged but didn't respond, watching the numbers decrease as the little cart zoomed back down to earth.
"And anyways," Peter continued as the two walked towards the car in the personal, underground car-garage, "it's not like we're going here or anything. I'll check when I get to school."
Happy muttered something about why he couldn't just check in the car, before following up with, "whatever you say, kid."