blood on my hands

(✉️ ➡️ gramps): [UNSENT] do you ever wonder- (✉️ ➡️ gramps): [UNSENT] did i shock up by sticking around here? i know i didn’t choose to get stuck in this time period, but do you think i should’ve left new york? do you think i’m- (✉️ ➡️ gramps): hey, on a scale of one to ten, how bad do you think we’ve shocked up the future at this point? (✉️ ➡️ gramps): i mean, apparently i currently exist, but what do you think the rest of it looks like?

[📱to Iron Dude ] don’t [📱to Iron Dude ] don’t, what is this? pre-flirting? are you pre-flirting with your girlfriend right now? [📱to Iron Dude ] I didn’t even know pre-flirting was a thing [📱to Iron Dude ] you’re like eighty, go actual flirt with your girlfriend not in my text messages

(✉️ ➡️ mi amor ): you have, maybe not in the traditional sense, but you added to your family in other ways, FRIDAY and DUM-e (✉️ ➡️ mi amor ): a shame that FRIDAY knows i called her a pet now huh :/ (✉️ ➡️ mi amor ): and i’d gladly corrupt you again :) (✉️ ➡️ mi amor ): img.jpg [it’s a picture of zee with drawn on whiskers] (✉️ ➡️ mi amor ): are you sure those cats arent magical? (✉️ ➡️ mi amor ): LMAO only if we have a rat infestation and we do not (✉️ ➡️ mi amor ): do we? (✉️ ➡️ mi amor ): actually don’t tell me i don’t want to know (✉️ ➡️ mi amor ): depends on how nice (✉️ ➡️ mi amor ): and how long i get banned i like the library (✉️ ➡️ mi amor ): you are my baby, yes (✉️ ➡️ mi amor ): tony (✉️ ➡️ mi amor ): tony stop talking. (✉️ ➡️ mi amor ): i adore you but I’m closing my eyes to that whole last bit (✉️ ➡️ mi amor ): otherwise, we have to face my daddy issues and I’m not doing that today

[📱to Iron Dude ] [image attachment: a quick photo Kate snagged with Tony all covered in alien goo] [📱to Iron Dude ] this is it, this is the whole reason I wanted your number, to immortalize this moment right here [📱to Iron Dude ] I think it’s a good look on you, personally, the goo matches your eyes

“There’s no line. They’re the same thing.” He made a face, shaking his head. “God, don’t make me agree with Captain America here.” In all honesty, Miguel kind of liked Steve. He was probably the first person in history who thought Miguel O’Hara was all right and gave Spider-Man disapproving glares, and that meant something. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy for you. It’s just the logistics of the thing that kind of gross me out.” Nobody wanted to think about their grandparents in that way, even when time travel shenanigans meant their grandparents were either their age or not much older. “If you want a baby shower, though, I’m sure I could throw you a real rager.” It would raise plenty of unanswered questions, but Miguel had never been someone who particularly cared what anyone else thought of him. He figured he’d probably gotten that from Tony. “Oh, I’m not telling Zee anything. I’m looking to keep all my limbs here, man, and giving Zee bad news seems like a bad way to do that.” Would it be bad news? Zee being ‘outnumbered’ in their little family wouldn’t do anything to lessen her joy, Miguel knew. He was pretty sure nothing could manage that. Not with how happy she’d been. Not with how much she’d wanted this. “Come on, you know that’s bull.”

The idea of Thor being in charge of his burial made Miguel snort, images of the Thorites clear in his mind. “You know, I know a couple of cultists at the turn of the twenty-second century who’d kill for a chance like that.” And they’d probably think it was fitting for Miguel to get such a treatment, given the way they figured Spider-Man was close to the same level as Thor himself. “Never had the pleasure, no. Might be more fun to wait until I’m an ash spitball sticking to his head before I make my introductions.” He rolled his eyes at Tony’s statement, waving a hand. “Gotta put a name on a copyright. Spider-Man’s all about the secret identity shit. And they’re less worried about the copyright, more worried about trying to dissect me. And that’s why the spider is still cooler than the arc reactor. Nobody trying to dissect you, is there?” Miguel hoped not, at least. That would put a damper on his general existence, he was sure. “All bad choices. Feels familiar.”

///

“Tacky’s cheap. Bourgeois is more expensive than tasteful. Look it up in the rich people dictionary, kid. You have so much to learn.” After all, they didn’t exactly come from a line of people who treated wealth as something to be humble about. Howard had exotic animals on every well-treated lawn of every foreign mansion he bought, his mom thrived only when she was shocking people with her fashion choices, and Tony … well, he flew around in a gold and red metal suit saving the world from imminent doom. “I’m pretty sure baby showers are meant to be calm and relaxing and, you know, lame,” Tony said, “but you’re getting me there. You want the job, you’ve got it. Miguel O’Hara, event planner for the stars. Just don’t piss Zee off too much with the cannons, if you get some.” A pretty subtle hint to have cannons and fireworks, in Tony’s humble opinion. “Not bull,” Tony replied, tapping the side of his nose. “I have an elite brain. I remember everything. The things I know would terrify and amaze you. To say I’m wrong is like spitting in the face of God. You’ve been warned.”

Tony raised an eyebrow, as if to ask only a couple? but the thought of cultists in the future was something even he didn’t want to touch with a ten foot pole (at least not this early in the morning, and definitely not when pumpkins were talking to him). Cultists were weird enough in this century. “Not necessarily,” he said. “You could put my name on it. I could hire you like a franchisee, you know? We could have different brands, but you all choose your management style. You’re giving up your right to some very lucrative movie deals, you know.” As far as Tony was aware, there was no one trying to dissect him, but … “I wouldn’t put it past Hydra,” he said with a shrug. “They probably dug up Dad and have him floating in a tank somewhere. FRIDAY? Remind me to scan Dad’s grave.” FRIDAY didn’t reply, so Tony was left to assume she totally agreed with the plan. “Then pick the least bad, I don’t know,” Tony said, giving one pumpkin a neat kick away from his feet. “I’m not a life coach. Just come up with a plan, Spider-Man. See that? It rhymes!”

A part of John would not have minded banishing Tony, but, as he had already ruminated, he was going to give him the benefit of the doubt for now. “Yeah, I figured not. Can’t imagine you’d wanna banish him after bein’ reunited. If that’d been my brother, I'da probably tried ta reach out ta him on th’ other side.” He had tried to reach out to his mother, but had never been able to connect, which was always one of the biggest regrets of his life. John nodded in agreement that Tony was indeed usually doing something sketchy. “No lie there, mate. Glad you both agree.” Then again, John was usually up to something sketchy too, so he probably needed to refrain from throwing stones.

Bonding…as uncles? John gaped at Tony for a moment, not entirely sure what to say. Not about bonding with his ghost brother, but about Tony considering John an uncle to his child. “Uncle? Yer considerin’ me an uncle?” He was flattered, certainly, but he would have expected Zee to say something like that to him, not Tony. “I appreciate that, mate,” he said quietly, before clearing his throat and taking in Tony’s request. 

“Yer not th’ first one ta ask fer somethin’ like that, an’ I’ll confess ta have looked into it even before that, fer me own reasons.” Again, because of trying to contact his mother. “Granted whatever’s goin’ on here is makin’ th’ ghosts a lot stronger than I’ve ever seen, but…I still don’t know if'n I can make it stick. I’d definitely be willin’ ta give it a shot though, fer both o’ you.” He nodded at both Stark brothers in turn, amazed to find himself actually hoping he could do something to make Tony happy.

///

Arno’s eyebrows immediately knitted together, and Tony was more than a little surprised at the display of emotion. He tended to keep his feelings – at least, his irritation – a little further down, hid it below layers of sarcasm and humour because if someone knew they were pushing his buttons, then they had a way to hold something over him. (Tony hated being the underdog.) Arno didn’t seem to get the memo, though, and the personal offence he’d taken was written all over his face. “You think I should’ve tried to reach out?” he asked, jabbing his thumb towards Tony once more. “You realise how much energy that takes, right? I’m dead. He was the one still kicking around. He created a suit that moulds to his brain before he even thought of talking to me, so I don’t know why I’m the one you’re–”

“Mom and Dad neglected to mention your existence,” Tony said, waving his hand dismissively. He didn’t bother looking back to see the expression on his brother’s face after that little fact, instead choosing to focus on Constantine. “Of course I am,” he replied, as if that should’ve been obvious. “What’s the other alternatives on Zee’s side? Zach? Please. I’d rather have an uncle who can banish demons than a cousin with little-brother syndrome.”

Of course, Tony had a habit of talking a lot more than he intended before he fully scoped out the terrain – and he was surprised to find, when he shut up, that Constantine almost seemed touched by the epithet of uncle. (He’d have to get him a cake specially made with the word in frosting, for when the baby was born.) “I mean, you could put him back in his box until March, if you wanted,” Tony offered. “He is getting a little annoying.”

“Who says I even want to come back?” Arno asked, but the way he crossed his arms against his chest immediately read of false irritation. There was something flickering in his eyes (his ghostly, slightly translucent eyes) that said he wanted nothing more. “If I was coming back, it’d only be to see the kid. She’ll be pretty cool if she takes after me.”

“He,” Tony corrected.

“Of course you have,” Tony muttered, moving his head slightly to the side so he could press a kiss to Zatanna’s stomach. “It’s because you’re a fetus, kiddo. Your options are loving me or that weirdo OB-GYN, and I’m much more–” A thought occurred to Tony, and he looked up from his conversation with the baby, taking in Zatanna’s somewhat amused expression. “Oh. You’re talking. I thought it was…” He gestured vaguely towards her stomach, then pushed himself up on his elbows so he could meet his fiancee’s gaze instead.

It took a moment of looking at her for the words to settle in (of course, looking at her always brought Tony clarity, long before they were this). “Metaphorically, or … Either way, I’m into it.” Into her, which he proved by leaning forward, a grin forming on his face. “I know we’re not talking literally. If your dad knew–” He feigned a shudder, arm going around Zatanna to pull her closer. John knew him better than almost anyone else did when he was an angry teenager, but it was one thing to understand that rage and grief; another thing entirely to trust it with your daughter. “Sometimes I wonder,” he muttered, “if he’d be happy. If he’d give his permission, you know? For your hand in marriage.”

Things were going better than they ever had. He had a great girl, his company was doing better than ever, he was trampling Viastone into the mud. Tony Stark’s name was synonymous with superhero, the Avengers hadn’t dealt with a planetary threat in at least five years, and there was a baby on the way who might have his eyes and his penchant for engines and his insufferable sense of humour. There was so much to look forward to, so much worth working for, and yet–

He still couldn’t sleep.

At least this time was better than the last. He wasn’t rattling around an empty compound or Tower. He had company, at least, to be awake and pathetic at three o’clock. Unfortunately, company also came with opinions. Tony paused, his glass halfway to his mouth, and then set it down on the island counter. “Zatanna commented on it too,” he said, in place of the defence that he could already find building. “She’s never mentioned it before, you know, as something she was concerned about, never acted like …” He cleared his throat, looking at how the dim lighting reflected through the liquid. “Why can’t I have this?” he asked, looking up at Miguel. “It’s not affecting me. It’s not stopping me. I’m functioning, I’m excelling. And I know we have our problems–” Tony, Miguel, but Howard too. His legacy hung between them, always, “–but mine … it’s not the same. It’s never been the same.”

Existential crises were something Tony, despite his vast collection of doctorates and accolades from some of the greatest universities in the world, was insanely underqualified to deal with. He’d much rather bounce that kind of thing over to the interpersonal experts of the team – Natasha or Steve sprung to mind first – rather than dealing with them clumsily himself, but Illyana would only speak to someone she trusted. Over the past few years, inexplicably, that began to include himself.

“Are my dinners that bad?” he quipped, sending her a half smirk as he finished serving up the single pasta dish that he’d managed to finesse in the last few months. It would be a while before the baby could eat things that required teeth, but when his kid was ready, Tony would be too. “What you just said is entirely inaccurate, you know,” Tony said, moving to sit beside her, nudging his shoulder gently against hers. “You expel carbon dioxide that feeds trees. You’re not entirely useless." A beat passed as he pushed his food around the plate. "What's going on, kid? You okay?"

There was a time when, upon hearing an unexpected voice in the morning as he poured some kale smoothie, Tony Stark would’ve blasted a neat hole through his guest before he even got to open his eyes. (He’d been jumpy. Sue him.) Since moving to Shadowcrest on a full-time basis, that had to change. Hassan wasn’t going to forgive him for another singed bandage, and it was pretty much expected that a kid would jump up on him now and again. Zatanna’s wards protected the house, his own security systems didn’t register any threats, so he had to tell himself he was safe, the world wasn’t falling down around him, everything was good.

It was a lot easier to convince himself than he thought it would be, and when a somewhat familiar voice broke in, Tony didn’t even threaten him with bodily violence once. He turned to him, eyes still heavy with sleep, and reached for the top pocket of his dressing gown to slip on his glasses (he truly was turning into Jarvis). “Zee took a donut craving,” he explained. “Very intense. She’s been gone for an hour. Apparently Walmart didn’t hit the spot, so I think she’s hopping over to Paris.” He raised an eyebrow. “You are here for Zee, right? For your book club?”

When you brought a child into the world, you were supposed to do so with the promise that things, while not perfect, were at least getting better. You were supposed to look around and think, ‘yes, I’m bringing this kid into something worth fighting for.’ Most days, Tony did feel that way. All the suffering, all the battles, all the emotional damage he’d taken over the years, all of it faded away when he had just one shining moment in the middle of all the bullshit.

Today, that shining moment came in the form of an archer decked out in purple, wearing sunglasses, taking one of Zatanna’s special brand of space aliens down with one well aimed arrow in the neck. Tony pushed the body of the alien to the side so he could get out from under him, wiping at the goo on the front of his visor before he opened it. “I had that under control,” he said, getting to his feet, “but I gotta admit, your best wasn’t that bad. Where’d you learn to do that?”

She could see him weighing the option in the back of his mind. The thought he had put forward wasn’t an unfair one for the situation they were in, but for the two of them? It was the least likely path that they could go down and still be happy. They had wealth and they had influence, but their lives brought a certain amount of danger - and Tony was right. At the end of the day, he was right. Even if she argued that they could convince someone to give them a child, it was highly unlikely. Because whoever they brought into their lives, they were knowingly bringing them into danger. (And potentially, a life without parents at a much earlier stage in their lives. Just as Tony and Zatanna had suffered that same loss themselves.)

“Me either,” she admitted softly. As much as she wanted to, it would be them putting on a show for adoption agencies and it would be a very temporary thing. Zatanna smiled weakly, placing a hand on his back and rubbing in a circular motion, knowing that she wasn’t going to be able to provide him any comfort in this. This motion, this useless motion, it was for her. “I don’t want to start this off with a lie either.” Because that’s what it would be, if they pulled back from all of this, temporarily or not, they’d be attempting to close a door on something that they both, for better or worse, needed. “The last thing I want is to let our kids believe that we’re someone we’re not. And really,” she huffed a laugh as she spoke, “we’ve never been very good at hiding who we are, anyway.”

They both had too many questions about their parents. Tony had come face to face with both of his in their prime and realized that he only knew a fraction of what he thought. And Zatanna? She’d like to claim that she knew her father, but that betrayal still burned in the back of her mind. “Shut up,” she said firmly, but not cruelly. Her arms tightened around him, holding him close as she shook her head. “Let he without sin cast the first stone,” she whispered. Zatanna hadn’t been one for stringing biblical verses together to prove her point, but there was no better way to prove her point here. “Everyone deserves a place to land, someplace where they’re not judged for all the bullshit - we both deserve that.” She knew he’d argue that he was talking about his sin and not her own, that he’d try to weave it into her being this being that was so far above him she couldn’t possibly be stained in the same way. (But in the same thought, she knew that he’d know he was lying.)

Zatanna worried at her lip, having told herself that she wasn’t going to be the wife that pushed him - wasn’t going to be the friend that crossed her arms on the side and judged him for partying as hard as he did or for the glass in his hand. But she would have been lying - and she was lying - that it didn’t bother her. That his serenading at the gala last year hadn’t worried her, that waking up in Vegas and believing that she was just a drunken mistake of his didn’t cut her to her core. “Start with the drinking,” she suggested directly. “Do what you can. I can’t make you change. And we can’t change the past - the only thing we have is right here. If you want to make that first step, if you’re ready, I’m here.” And she would be either way he went.

Their hands were together, and it seemed like Tony had heard her, but there was still a heaving feeling sitting on her chest, like this was just the start. They had fought side by side before; they had been a team, but this, as Tony had said, wasn’t a tangible enemy. This was internal. This was a personal demon. “We’ll make it work,” she agreed with a gentle hum. “I think we’ve been doing a pretty good job so far.”

///

They’d tried, a few times, before college and after college (because while Tony had been only twenty-one years old when his parents died, he already had a couple of doctorates under his belt) to make things work. They’d tried because Maria had made them try, because she maintained an utterly stubborn belief that Howard and Tony had the potential to be the best of friends, that her husband was capable of being a great role model, that her son was eager to learn from his elders.

It was as if she never knew them at all.

They went to therapy twice. They tried drinking together, which went well until it didn’t. They went to business meetings, attempting the one-two punch, and only found that they stepped on each others’ toes. The workshop was as close as they ever got, the only time Tony even knew what love looked like on his father’s face, but it lasted for a painfully short time before it was stripped from them.

Parents and children, as far as Tony was concerned, were always overshadowed by falsehoods. Anyone who truly cared for their father soon found themselves disillusioned as an adult, and he couldn’t decide what would hurt more; knowing that your father never wanted you to exist, or living with the disappointment that came from a godlike parent falling down into humanity.

Zatanna knew what the latter was like. Her soul was doomed because of the man she adored and idolised. What were they doing, bringing a child into a world like that? “I’m pretty sure every parent talks like this before the kid’s here, right?” Tony asked, giving a slight sniff. No one would purposefully ruin someone’s life. The road to hell was paved with good intentions, but …

But his mother had been his saving grace. Far from perfect, Maria was still there. She still held him, still whispered mio tesoro, still gave him something like heritage in Sicily. Zatanna was a million miles ahead of Maria Carbonell, so if his child was half of her, then that would win out against the others.

“You’ve never said that before.” His voice was quiet, so much so that it barely sounded like his own. “You never…” Drinking used to be fun. It was a way to let off steam, a way to celebrate, a way to bring the team together – and over the years it was associated with happiness in a way few other things were. “You’ve never implied it was a problem.” Until she was standing in front of him carrying his child. Until they were building for the future, and she obviously looked at him and thought, in some capacity, he turned up short.

It was a simple thing to ask. He was already moving homes. He would’ve given up almost anything if she’d asked – the suit was the only exception. But now … Now, it felt like the bottle had joined that list. “What if I don’t want to take that step?” he asked. “What if I … I don’t know who I am without it. At least now, I think I’d be, you know, good at this. I think if I worked, if I was … if I tried, I could be a good dad. But that other me might not be. You know what people are like for the first year of sobriety, and I …” Tony sucked in a breath. “No one’s liked me sober before. Not really.”

“Tacky,” Miguel confirmed, because he was good at nothing if not doubling down on things he probably should have thought twice about saying. In this case, at least, he was confident that his words were true. Halloween decorations in general were pretty tacky, if you asked him. (People very rarely asked him.) “Okay, first of all, we’re bordering on territory I don’t want to talk about. Miracle of life, I’m very happy for you, but I would rather not think too long or hard my grandparents’ pregnancy.” Things tended to spiral into no thank you territory pretty quickly when Tony got to talking about his girlfriend who. It was the lovestruck fool in him, and it might have been endearing if not for the age-old genetic tendency to be disgusted at the thought of the generations who brought you into existence being actual people with one another. “Second… the kid isn’t actually here yet. He’s not gonna know how many skeletons you had this year. Or next year, for that matter! It’ll be, like, six years minimum before he’s conscious of the fact that he’s alive. Kids are just shocking there for the first few years.” Granted, Miguel knew next to nothing about kids, but he was confident on that fact. He certainly didn’t remember life in those early years. (And, given the issues in his home life, that was probably a kindness.) 

Snorting, Miguel rolled his eyes under the mask. “What do I care? Strap me to a bottle rocket and cremate me that way. Not like I’ll be able to protest it.” It was a subtle slip, one he wasn’t sure Tony would pick up on. He’d figure it out, Miguel figured, when the time came and Lyla read out the instructions Miguel left for her. Tony was in charge of the arrangements, after. He and Zee would get Lyla, too. And the suit, if they wanted it. “Pretty sure I’ll have no way of knowing if it’s an ordeal. If you wanna wear black, wear black. It’d make the suit look pretty cool, I think. Though, really, you should just adapt my color scheme. Blue and black suit, spider logo over the arc… If I’m getting an ordeal, I want that.” Glancing back to the plastic skeletons, Miguel considered the question. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Would it be morbid to use them as décor if we kill them? I mean, it does kind of go with the holiday theme.” Wasn’t displaying plastic skeletons to begin with at least an imitation of putting corpses on display? After a moment’s pause, he added, “You did not get these at Target. You’re a shocking billionaire, man. Tell me you don’t shop at the same place I get my cereal.” 

///

“You know there’s a pretty fine line between tacky and bourgeoisie. I was going for the latter. Rogers hates that kind of thing.” It wasn’t the first time Tony had copped to going overboard purely in an attempt to piss someone off, but after what happened in Siberia, he felt it was somewhat justified. “Why not? It’s kind of imperative so you can, you know, exist. I thought you’d be throwing us a baby shower by now. I’m a little disappointed.” Of course, explaining on the invites – and to the press – who Miguel was and what their relationship might be would be somewhat complicated, but Tony lived for complicated. He always had. When things were simple, they were boring, and he was so easily bored already. “So you think it’s a boy too,” Tony said, a grin coming over his face as he pointed at Miguel. “Tell Zee that. She’s outnumbered now. We’ll be the three stooges. Also, we have a sense of self from the first moment we get pushed out of the birth canal. Just because we don’t remember the trauma doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.”

Tony shook his head, holding up both hands as if slowly developing a picture in the air before him. “No, we’re calling Thor for you, giving you a proper Viking burial. Though he does it in space, so that’s even more intense. We’ll burn you down and use your ashes as ammunition in spitballs to throw at his brother. You ever met him?” Tony pretended to think about Miguel’s suggestion for only a moment, then shook his head. “Arc reactor’s a cooler motif. Spiders are a little old hat. There’s too many of you now. Is that a copyright issue, in the future? Feels like one’s just waiting to pop up.” Using corpses of animated plants shouldn’t feel morbid considering plants were always dead when they were the centrepiece at Christmas, but it felt a little worse when they were out there playing pranks and trying to communicate with rats. “Target decor or dead pumpkins who were just trying to live out their dream,” he deadpanned. “Those are your choices. Pick one.”