because i was one of them.

Tony’s musing was cut short by the ding of the elevator, which echoed throughout the quiet of his lab. Before Peter, he always had music blasting in the lab, but since the kid’s internship had become official at May’s insistence, Tony always ensured he could hear the kid’s arrival on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Saturdays. The only other sound was Dum-E’s quiet whirring towards the elevator doors. Tony suspected Dum-E liked the kid more than him.

The first time Peter came up to the labs by himself, after being issued all his security clearances, Tony had been so engrossed in his work and the music had been so deafening that he hadn’t noticed when the kid arrived. Peter, being too awkward to say anything, had simply started working at his designated bench on some homework from school. An hour later and Tony almost had a heart attack when he turned around, ready to yell at FRIDAY to call Peter to berate him for his tardiness, only to find the kid peacefully working away.

“Hey Dum-E,” he heard Peter quietly whisper to his robot friend as he entered.

“Hey, kid! Great timing – I have a new project for you.”

The kid walked in and dumped his backpack on the ground. Literally just right in front of the elevator.

“Woah, not cool, Pete. What if someone comes up here and trips over that? Throw it on the couch.”

“No one but us comes up here,” Peter muttered. Still, he picked it up and tossed it to the ratty couch pressed up against the wall, to the right of the now dim elevator.

“It’s about maintaining a standard. Workplace health and safety, huh, you ever heard of that?”

He frowned. Tony’s taunting didn’t seem to register. Instead, Peter came around to the other side of his workbench, eyebrows furrowed as he took in the mess Tony was tinkering with, and Dum-E following him from a respectable distance.

Normal Peter would have already sprung off a hundred and one questions about the project, trying to guess what this tiny circuit board, a jumble of wires, and bullet-proofing was meant to be. But this Peter just glanced at it, and then his eyes trailed off elsewhere, not saying a word.

Alright, maybe Happy was right.

“I’m trying to improve your suit,” Tony offered. “Of course, there’s that new one – that you turned down, might I remind you – but after your little fight with that eagle guy-“

“Vulture.”

“Yeah, don’t interrupt me when I’m talking, Underoos. Anyway, when that hawk thing kicked your butt-“

“He was a vulture, and I won!”

Peter was finally looking at him, and Tony laughed. Trust a teenager’s pride to win out against sullenness. Oh, he should share that tip with May – though, was it rude to assume he now knew more about parenting Peter than she did? Probably. He’d ask Pepper about this later.

“Sure, kid. What was the final count again? Three broken ribs or four? Anyway,” he waved a hand, taking delight in the indignation on Peter’s face, “I realised your suit’s too light weight if you’re going to be joining the big leagues.”

“I like my suit lightweight. Easier to swing in, and besides, I don’t need all that beefing because I actually have superpowers, unlike some people who are just old and rich.”

There was that Peter smile.

“Old and rich? Me being old and rich saved your ass from drowning, last I recall!”

“Wouldn’t need saving if your suit had deployed that parachute correctly!”

“Details, details.” He had already fixed that in the new designs anyway. Tony brought up the hologram screen on his workbench and ushered Peter around to join him on his side. “I know you want to keep it light, but we also need to give you some real protection, Pete. Your aunt made it very clear that she’d have my head if something happened to you, and I can’t let you run around Queens getting shot at. What if a bullet actually hit you? Then you’d be sorry you didn’t let this old rich man upgrade your suit!”

Peter laughed. “I’ve had like, ten bullets actually hit me, so I think I’ll be fine.” He leaned into the screen, examining the hasty ideas Tony had scribbled down, and some potential designs for the upgrade.

Tony stared in open-mouthed horror. “Please tell me that’s some youth slang.” Peter shot him a guilty look back. “Ten? Bullets?! How come this is the first I’m hearing about this? I’ve seen your medical records, kid, and I didn’t see anything about it then!”

“Well, you see,” Peter began, hands up in a placating manner, “I can’t exactly go to the hospital when it happens. With the no health insurance.” Tony’s face must have twisted more into anger, because Peter hastily added, “And mutated DNA! Super healing, can’t explain that, can I?”

Tony took a deep breath in. He pinched his nose. “So, how, exactly, did you manage to remove them?” A gut instinct screamed that he wouldn’t like Peter’s answer.

“Um, I didn’t- uh, never got a chance to. They’re all, you know, just chilling like villains… in there.” Peter’s hand gestured to his body.

Tony was going to have a heart attack. This was it. Helen kept trying to warn him- had told him to avoid unnecessary stress, said that his blood pressure was abnormally high especially for someone without a fully functioning heart, and here he was with a kid hell-bent on sending Tony to an early grave.

“But it’s not that bad Mr Stark! They’re not like, in any vital organs or anything, just the stupid ones. And you can’t even see any scarring!”

“Kid, I’m afraid to ask, but what organs do you consider the ‘stupid’ ones?”

“You know, like, the kidney-“

“Wrong.”

“Really?” Tony hated how genuinely shocked Peter looked. “Oh man, but I thought since there’s two of them…”

“We’ve got to get you to med bay. I can’t believe you. You’re supposed to be responsible!”

“It’s really not that bad, Mr Stark. The last time I got shot was months ago, No immediate danger, see?” The kid had the audacity to do a flip as if that would prove his point. Dum-E extended its robotic arm, giving Peter what looked like a high-five, of all things. “Can we at least work on the bullet-proofing for a little bit?”

“No!”

Peter turned those big baby-doe brown eyes on him.

“No,” Tony said again, extending a finger out.

“But then you’ll have to tell Aunt May, and she’ll want me straight home, and then you’re leaving my suit as is so the next time I get shot it’ll really be your fault.”

Tony cursed. When did his kid get so good at manipulation? He was spending too much time around Happy, that big softy. Tony knows all about the McDonald’s ice cream trips between school and here.

“Fine. But only for two hours. Your last hour will be spent in the med-bay, getting X-Rays.”

“What if the radiation makes me more spider-like?”

“I guess we’ll have to deal with it.”

Tony fended off Peter’s follow-up questions about radioactivity and the possibility of spiders in the med-bay getting mutated and going on a biting spree. Gradually, Peter fell into silence and began concentrating on the task.

They were testing different materials for flexibility, strength, and conductivity. Nothing worked well on all three parameters, and it was beginning to get frustrating.

“Let’s turn on the radio,” Tony suggested, noticing the kid flagging at the lack of progress.

The old metal box on his workbench crackled to life – something Peter teased him mercilessly for, because who had a radio in the age of phones, even though the kid’s phone was basically a brick – and jumped right into the middle of a news segment.

“-preliminary hearing tomorrow for his alleged attempt at stealing a plane from Avengers Tower, which crashed into Coney Island. It’s unclear whether Spiderman, a local vigilante who witnesses reported seeing falling out of the sky with the jet, was trying to help or stop the attempt.”

“Unclear?” Peter squawked. “I wrote a note!”

“It’s been reported that Toomes – known as the Vulture – has been offered a plea deal if he reveals the identity of Spiderman, who the state is considering prosecuting for charges of damaging city property, hijacking a plane, and attempted terrorism.”

Nothing new then, Tony mused as he switched the radio to something with actual music. They had been running that story all day. He had already investigated the plea deal claim himself to ensure it held no merit (and he didn’t bribe any government officials to make it so, although he would be donating to several of their kids’ schools out of the goodness of his heart). These reporters needed to get better at their jobs.

And as far as villains went, this was the best First Bad Guy a superhero mentor could ask for. The Vulture had been too preoccupied with stealing Tony’s tech to finish killing Peter (which, obviously, thank God and all that nonsense, Tony was petrified when Happy had called him in and he’d found Peter in the state that he was in – although that hadn’t stopped him from trying to make that point about a good First Bad Guy to the kid’s aunt when she inevitably found out).

Peter looked faint beside him. “C’mon, kid, they can’t charge you with shit if they don’t know who you are. And as if that eagle guy knew who you were.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you’ve been pretty good at keeping your little secret, I’ll give you that. I’m, uh, proud of you, Underoos.” Peter got quiet at that. Had he gone too far? Wasn’t praise good for kids? Or was that just babies? “I mean, it can’t be that hard. I wouldn’t pay you if you were the type to let these things slip to the villain of the week.”

“You don’t pay me, Mr Stark,” Peter muttered before going back to running conductivity tests on various materials.

Hmm. Well, he’d have to speak to someone about that. Who even officialised all this internship nonsense anyway? He’d throw in health insurance, too.

“I’ll speak to the head of HR and get that changed. Really, you should have said something. You do alright work around here.” Then, uncomfortable at how sentimental he was becoming, Tony said, “Though when I was your age, I was building real rockets, not messing around with toys.”  

The kid got all quiet again. These mood swings were going to kill Tony. How many months did puberty take, anyway? Five? Six?

Normal Peter would have pointed out that Tony was the one who built all these so-called toys. Where the fuck was Normal Peter?

Maybe he was being too harsh. The kid saw stars in Tony’s eyes or something, so he changed tactics again. “Kid, seriously though, listen.”

When Peter still didn’t look at him, Tony sighed. This got Peter’s attention. He looked annoyed. Almost angry.

“I am proud of you, obviously. You know that. I see a lot of myself in you. More than that, I want you to be better. I think you will be better. My dad never-“

“I’m so sick of hearing about your dad!” Peter exclaimed suddenly, throwing his materials down. Of course, super kid, super powers, and the table indented enough that Tony’s glasses – his special glasses that he designed himself with FRIDAY installed – flung in the air, onto the ground, cracking. Then, the piece of steel Peter had been messing with (and he should’ve known something was wrong because Normal Peter would never have even experimented with steel for this project, knowing its absolutely shit thermal conductivity) slid off the now off-kilter table and crushed the remains of his glasses.

Tony watched as Peter’s head whipped from the glasses, to Tony, then back to the glasses. Dum-E followed those movements in an almost comical, if not equally infuriating, manner.

“Mr Stark, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to- I’ll pay for new ones, I’m really sorry-“

“Great, that’ll be five thousand dollars’ worth of time and materials.”

“Five thousand! Mr Stark, I didn’t mean-“

“Oh, you’re so grounded, kiddo!”

At that, Peter looked angry again. Dum-E rolled towards him. “You can’t ground me!”

“I can. I am.” Dum-E spun around to Tony.

Peter stared back in a challenge. “It was an accident. An accident. You’re punishing me for an accident?”

“You screwed up!”

Peter rolled his eyes. “It was an accident-“

 “You should know better. Clearly, I was wrong,” Tony said, sarcasm dripping from his words.

Dum-E rolled back and forth between the two, whirring unhappily.

“Why couldn’t you just leave me alone? Today I just wanted to come in, do my work-“

“Oh, so this is my fault?”

“- but of course, you couldn’t just stop talking and leave me alone-“

“Now you know how I feel, kid.”

“Don’t call me that!”

“I’ll stop calling you that when you stop acting-“

Dum-E, reaching a new level of distress, flung its arm around in a circle. It knocked Peter’s steel, which was attached to all its wires and electrical source, onto the ground. From the table behind, Dum-E’s arm swept a vial of white foaming liquid onto the ground, too, and instantly, the mixture began to spark before fully igniting. An inferno roared around Dum-E, and Tony suddenly remembered that the kid had been messing with flammable webs.

(“In case we’re teamed up, and your laser beams can set my webs on fire, and then I’d have, like, flame webs, Mr Stark!”)

Tony, being the responsible adult, ran towards the fire extinguisher and fire blanket in the corner of his lab. God, that kid was really going to kill him. First, he’d melt his robot, and then he’d give Tony a heart attack. Just perfect.

He was gearing up to yell at the kid some more when he turned back to the fire.

Peter was standing in the middle of the damned thing, picking up Dum-E, and screaming like all hell.

“Peter!”

Tony barely had enough sense to keep a grip on the fire extinguisher as he ran over to his kid. When he got closer, he could see Peter’s arms already blistering, then re-blistering as the heat continued to scorch him because he wouldn’t let go of that stupid robot.

He aimed the nozzle at Peter, letting the foam spray everywhere to dampen the flames. Peter was still screaming and still, stupidly, carrying the robot. He flung Dum-E to the other side of the room and immediately dropped to the ground, as if that was all he had strength for. Tony’s heart stopped.

He grabbed the fire blanket and ran in, ignoring the still scorching heat as he wrapped his kid up, picked him up, and started running like never before to the elevator.

“FRIDAY, med-bay! Now!”

Oh, god, the kid, his kid, was still screaming. “It hurts, Mr Stark, Mr Stark, please-“

One peak showed the damage all up his forearms, trying to heal themselves but only making the issue worse as his skin blistered even though his arms were still hot to the touch, opening wounds all over again as his kid kept screaming.

He was trying to pry the doors open before they had even arrived at the floor, and he stumbled out into the med-bay wild-eyed. “Help! Helen- someone- help me! My kid needs help!”

Why didn’t he become a doctor like his mother wanted? Why didn’t he have any first-aid knowledge? Wasn’t that a workplace health and safety thing? Why the fuck didn’t he have first-aid training?

All these thoughts raced through Tony’s head at rapid speed as he carefully set his kid down on a spare bed. He yanked open draws, pulling at rolls of gauze, but it seemed wrong to put that on without treating the burns first. How do you even treat burns?

And all the while, Peter was screaming.

That brought Helen running, and she quickly took over with the calm of a practised professional. She forced Tony into a seat away from the bed, but the curtains separating them couldn’t block out Peter’s agony.

Tony had fucked up so bad. The kid’s aunt was going to kill Tony. He wanted to kill him.

Burying his head in his hands, Tony stayed like that until Helen had gotten Peter as treated as possible for the time being. She made Tony apply some burn cream to his arms (where he had grabbed Peter’s burning body) before allowing him in to see the kid.

He looked terrible—almost head-to-toe wrapped in white, like some awful mummy costume that was only scaring Tony.

“Kid, what were you thinking?” Tony said, devastated as he dropped beside Peter. He went to take his hand but decided against it. Were fifth-degree burns a thing?

Peter, who had been staring at the ceiling, let his eyes fall on Tony’s face. “I had to save Dum-E,” he rasped.

Some vocal damage, too, then. Perfect.

“Pete. Dum-E can save himself. I had to program fire procedures into him ages ago. I can’t believe I’m going to have to program you, too.”

Peter barely smiled at that. “I didn’t want him to get hurt.”

Tony had to screw his eyes shut for a moment. Deep breath, Tony. “Peter. You’re my responsibility. You’re not allowed to get hurt. You’re my kid.”

“Stop calling me that, please,” Peter said weakly. The kid stared resolutely down at his hands.

“Oh,” was the intelligent response Tony managed to muster up. “Of course. Sorry.”

God, what kind of moron would do that? Of course, the kid didn’t want to be seen as his kid. Tony was probably disrespecting Peter’s parents, or his aunt, or… Or maybe Peter just didn’t want Tony saying that. Which was fine. Tony did just get him severely burnt. He wouldn’t trust himself with anyone’s kid either.

His nose was itchy, his eyes burning. “Um, I’ll just- I have to call your Aunt May. Inform your legal guardian, and everything.”

He frowned at the reminder of paperwork hell he’d have to go through now that he was sure the kid was alive. Two separate incident reports, at least, and since this definitely qualified as ‘grievous bodily harm’, he’d have to immediately alert Peter’s legal guardian (already doing), Peter’s head of department (which was, luckily, himself), and the head of Stark Industries’ Workplace Health and Safety (which was, unluckily, not him).

The latter posed a problem. Some normal manager couldn’t know about Peter’s injuries because when they inevitably healed themselves, that would be far more difficult to explain.  Did WHS fall into Pepper’s responsibilities? Did a CEO count as a head of department?

After he informed Peter’s Aunt May, he argued that point with Pepper until she made up a new role for herself, specifically as Peter’s head WHS officer. It felt good to argue with someone who wasn’t Peter, even though Pepper was more worried than mad.

“I fucked up today. I’m a failure of a mentor. Do you think I’m turning into my dad, Pep?”

“I didn’t know your dad, Tony,” Pepper said. “I’m sure you and the kid will patch things up.”

“Patch things up? We never fight. You know that. I didn’t say we had a fight. Why would we? The kid loves me. Did he tell you about the argument?”

“Tony.”

“Got to go, love you.” Tony hung up the phone as he stared down death herself.

“Where is Peter?” Aunt May demanded, stalking up to him in her blue scrubs. “What have you done with my kid?”

Which, ouch. Salt in the open wound much.

“Hey, nice of you to swing by! Did you guys meet on the web? Just hang here for a bit while I round up your friends, okay?”

“Tony, does the kid ever shut up?” Steve said over his comms.

Tony had been anxiously hovering two blocks away from Spiderman, making FRIDAY look through the walls separating them to keep an eye on his kid as Peter swung around fighting bad guys with those awful jokes of his.

He told himself it was because the kid’s aunt had threatened to kill him if he didn’t return Peter safely to her from now on, and not because he was also worried about a repeat of the lab incident. That was several months ago now, and although Peter had been cleared for a week after the accident, Tony hadn’t let him patrol.

He kept reminding the kid that he was grounded. It hurt that Peter was starting to resent him for it, but Tony knew it would hurt more if the kid died. So, he’d let the resentment simmer, and Peter hadn’t talked to him for three weeks. Big deal. They were fighting aliens, and Peter was here too because he couldn’t take no for an answer. But, for whatever reason, Peter had amped up the hating-Tony-for-no-reason vibe.

“Aw, Captain Rogers, I thought you loved my jokes!” Peter called out over the comms. “Unlike Iron Man. Iron Man is just some rich old guy who hates fun. Like Ebenezer Scrooge.”

“What happened to ‘Mr Stark’?” Steve asked.

Tony tsked. “Yeah, real mature, Underoos. Unfortunately, my Christmas ghosts haven’t visited yet, so I’m not feeling particularly charitable. One more joke like that and you’re getting benched.”

“Woof, someone’s getting touchy,” muttered someone that sounded an awful lot like Peter, the kid he just told off.

“Alright, that’s it.” He started steering towards Peter’s location. Peter must have spotted him, because seconds later the comms crackled again.

“C’mon, it’s not my bedtime yet!”

The little shit swung out of reach, and before Tony could chase after him, the remaining purple aliens on their hoverboards dove for Tony.

“Kid, when I get out of this-“

“What, you’ll ground me?” Peter mocked.

“Sheesh, I’m sensing some family tension over there,” Clint said.

“Or, wait, you won’t come to my birthday party?” Came the next snarky remark.

Although Tony had already felt a pit in his stomach form.

“Oh, you forgot about that, huh?”

No one seemed to miss the venom in Peter’s voice. Tony was scouring his memories. Had he been invited? The kid hadn’t texted in weeks. He remembered, vaguely, being told something by his aunt, like once.

Shit, the kid was sixteen now? And he’d missed it?

“Must have been a big one, Tony,” Steve said.

“Yeah, like his tenth,” Clint chimed in.

“Yeah, it was a big one,” Peter huffed.

Tony’s mouth was moving before his brain could stop himself or, better yet, obliterate himself. “Hard to feel welcomed to a party when you don’t talk to me for three weeks, kid. Let alone finding out from someone else.”

“Oh ho ho,” Peter laughed bitterly, “that justifies it.”

Steve, ever the negotiator, tried to intervene. Which was real rich, considering the whole Civil War thing was entirely his fault. “Tony, maybe you should apologise. It sounds like it was pretty important to, uh, Spiderman.”

And maybe that big dumb soldier had a point, but Tony was so full of anger and hurt and his kid didn’t want to be his kid. Yet, when he tried to put distance between them, he was the bad guy.

“Oh, as if you wanted me there. You hate my guts these days!”

“I hate your guts? I’m the ‘screw-up’!”

“I never called you that.”

“But you said it!”

“You screwed up!”

“I didn’t even know you guys were close,” said Clint, the awkwardness dripping from his words at the silence that followed.

Shit. Tony reeled his head in. The rest of the Avengers team (were they still technically a team?) didn’t know Peter’s identity yet. As if Tony would trust those buffoons to protect a secret so precious. However, if they knew Tony knew Spiderman beyond the mask, they’d be sure to interrogate him. Or trail the kid, and raid his school. Or whatever murderous traitorous bastards did these days.

“We’re not close,” Tony lied.

“If you guys are finished squabbling,” Natasha said in a cool drawl next, “we’ve got action in the three-storey walk-ups to the east.”

“On it,” Peter said, then came the tell-tale click of the comm being turned off.

“Underoos, you better not have-“

“He can’t hear you, Tony,” Natasha said. “And we need you to head north. Some of the bigger guys are converging on the Empire State Building.”

Tony stared after the retreating red heatform of Peter and cursed, turning off the thermal vision. He would track that spider down later and… do something. Report him to May. Or ask May for advice on how to reconnect with a teenager. Or… he’d think of something when it got to that point!

Turning, he directed himself towards the Empire State. It was safer for the kid to be in the east anyway. What if this building came down? Anyone in the immediate area would certainly die. Surely there were people working inside who hadn’t yet escaped.

“Steve, report. How is the evacuation effort going?”

“Not as swiftly as we’d like. One hundred civilians are still in the tower, elevators are down, and it’s difficult convincing people to walk down eighty flights of stairs when explosions are going off every few seconds.”

“Well, do they know that the explosions are only going to get closer if they don’t start moving?” Tony snapped.

“Don’t take your argument with your kid out on me.”

“He’s not my kid.”

Clint sighed. “There goes one theory. Though, it’d be real cold to miss your kid’s birthday. Did you at least get him a present?”

“I told you, we’re not close. Spidey doesn’t need presents.” He had, in fact, planned out a present. He was going to give Peter a Stark phone, one that they had been messing with the coding for together during quiet hours in their internship. Tony had fed the kid some lie about an unnamed superhero needing a durable but private phone for patrols (who patrolled except Peter?). From memory, Peter hadn’t questioned it and had excitedly chattered about all his troubles with a phone (from it being too bright, to too loud, to too loseable-). “You know what? Why don’t you focus on taking out aliens so innocent people don’t die today, Clint?”

“That was a bit harsh,” Steve said.

“Yeah, not really a safe workplace environment,” Clint muttered.

Tony briefly considered playing the Civil War card when an explosion knocked him sideways. His suit quickly righted itself, and he found that some of the hoverboard guys had followed him. They were grosser looking the closer he got, with nasty little scowls and small heads on their big bulging bodies. He blasted them off their boards and grinned to himself. Little bastards.

“What do these guys want, anyway? A tour of New York City's tallest buildings?”

He was half expecting Peter to chime in with, “Actually, Mr Stark, the Empire State isn’t even in the top five!”

Of course, no sound from the spider came.

“Wreak death and destruction?” Clint guessed. “Isn’t that always their M.O.?”

Tony was collecting a large amount of bombs the alien bastards were dropping as they flew around the city, so he supposed Clint must be right. As long as they didn’t blow the newly repurchased Stark Tower, all would be well. That damn thing had cost him more than it was worth, especially when he had plans of retirement soon, but he needed to be close to the kid to monitor his progress.

And step in as a real mentor. Happy had done a terrible job, clearly.

“FRIDAY, do you know how long until these things are set to detonate?” He held up one of the purple globes for FRIDAY to scan.

“Judging by their pulses, approximately thirty minutes.”

Tony sighed. He really was getting too old for this. “Excellent.”

Relaying that information to the team, they began working double time. Clint’s arrows sailed overhead in rapid succession, clearing out the alien guys while Tony blasted their ship to pieces. He finished dumping its remains in the Hudson River while Natasha, Steve, and his unmanned suits collected the bombs FRIDAY’s scanner, now knowing what to look for, revealed. The group worked from West to East in record time.

They weren’t quite sure what to do with the bombs, and so far, dumping it in the river was their only viable option, with just a minute left to go. So off to the East River they went.

Hopefully the city wouldn’t be too angry with them, although Tony had little faith that anyone but him (and his distant acquaintance, the perfectly adult-aged Spidey) would stick around to deal with the consequences. So, what, they blow up some fish? Less important than the Empire State Building, surely.

“Boss, incoming,” FRIDAY’s voice alerted. One of the aliens was flying towards them full-speed, half-dissolved webs hanging off him.

Oh, Tony was not looking forward to the scolding he’d have to hand down later. He could understand – maybe – saving human lives when you could, even if they were straight up villains. But aliens? Really, kid?

With all their hands full of the tiny purple bombs, none of them could block the attack, but as suited up as Tony was, he really didn’t care. This guy would just bump into him and away, like an unfortunate bug splatter across your car windshield.

But he didn’t account for the alien to reach for one of the bombs out of Tony’s arms, and drop it straight below them.

Natasha and Clint had just deposed their loads in the river, and Clint had already let an arrow loose straight into the alien’s grotesque, elongated neck. The bomb seemed to be heading for a building top with just a bunch of aliens webbed onto it, damn kid, but he asked FRIDAY to double-check to be sure.

“No pure human lifeforms remain in the vicinity, Boss.”

“Great, job done.” He’d turned to give the all clear signal – again, some old brick buildings or the Empire State Building, the city can choose – when FRIDAY’s voice chimed on again.

“To be clear, Spiderman’s mutated human lifeform is resting in the building.”

Tony dove.

He didn’t look at the count down in the corner of his vision. He knew what it said. He knew what it meant. But he could see Peter’s tiny red heat-form in there, on the bottom floor, lying out casually as if nothing in the world could be going wrong right now.

His desperate voice ripped out of his throat. “Kid, Underoos, you have to get out of there-“

“Spiderman is not connected to the communication system at present, Boss.”

These explosions were larger than the tiny ones that had been popping off earlier in the fight. He distantly registered the spray of water from the East River, the boom ringing in his ears, but all he could focus on was the roof of the building his kid was in shattering. The windows blew, then the building sides buckled, and then it caved in.

All on top of his kid.

He landed on the ground, stepping over rubble, trying to get FRIDAY’s thermal vision to pick up his kid.

“Boss, the rock layers are too thick.”

Tony ignored it. He knew where his kid had been. He’d start there. He started carefully hauling off pieces of building, but each piece he moved sent more cascading down on top of where Peter had been.

“Kid? Kid, I’m coming, just stay there, I’ve got you,” Tony said, words spewing out of him even though he knew Peter wouldn’t be able to hear him, even if he- if he was-

Natasha and Clint had made their way over from the river. They both looked as worried as Tony felt.

He killed his kid. His boy.

“The surrounding buildings need to be reinforced before any of the rubble can be moved,” FRIDAY instructed.

“My kid can’t breathe in there,” Tony snapped back. “We don’t have time.”

“Any further movement risks more damage, which could harm Spiderman. I advise reinforcing these points first, and then slowly excavating from the top.”

“We don’t have time!”

Then he heard a click in his ear.

“Guys,” Peter’s voice came, very strained over the comms, “guys, I might, uh, I might need some help if someone’s free.”

“Underoos!” Tony could almost cry from relief. “Are you okay? Talk to me, kid.”

There was a long pause, and Tony feared Peter had lost connection or had passed out or-

“I’m okay, but I don’t know how long I can hold this up.”

“Hold what up? The building?”

“Yeah.” Another pause. “Mr Stark?”

He was holding up the building? God, this kid was something else. They’d have to do some strength tests at some point, find out his limit. Tony flew to the building supports FRIDAY had identified, and got his mini drones to help lift them up.

“It’s okay, kid, we’re going to get you out. Can you breathe okay in there?”

“It’s not like this is my first time getting a building dropped on me.”

What?

“What?”

“Vulture guy,” Peter explained, his voice quiet and his breaths sounding raggedy and loud in Tony’s ears. “Before he went to steal your stuff. Dropped a warehouse on me. That sucked. Didn’t have m’suit at the time, ‘cause you took it. Thought I was going to die.”

Natasha and Clint shot Tony a sharp glare. He deserved that.

“No one’s dying today, kid.”

He relayed some orders to Natasha and Clint, and finally Steve rocked up on scene. Seriously, the Empire State building wasn’t that far, and the man was a supersoldier.

Putting aside his animosity, Tony made Steve help him lift the debris, carefully moving according to FRIDAY’s words.

“Mr Stark?” came Peter’s small voice again after a few minutes of silent work.

“Yeah, kid?”

“Can you talk to me? For a bit? ‘M just struggling to, uh, keep awake, and everything.”

Peter was definitely hurt. He must be. The way he was breathing, the way his voice got quieter and quieter, his speech more slurred…

Tony didn’t want to think about the extent of his injuries. He focused on the work at hand.

“Of course. Cap and I are starting to lift the most of it now. All the surrounding buildings should be fine, so it’s just a matter of digging you out in a way that we don’t send more debris down on you. You’ll be okay. We’ll get you out, we’ll patch you up, and we can-“

Tony stopped himself. They can… what? Watch movies? Get ice cream? That was something you did with your kid. Which Peter wasn’t.

“Can you visit me in med-bay this time?” Peter asked. Then, quieter, “I missed you.”

“I- uh, sure.”

Steve shot him a look. You don’t visit him? He mouthed.

Yeah, Tony was a screw-up. He knew that. “Kid, listen, I’m really sorry about this whole past few months. I want you to know that.”

“I know, Mr Stark.”

“No, but, I messed up. I failed you and I’m sorry.” He didn’t care that the others were listening in. All that mattered was that Peter was on the other end of the line, and he was hurt, and it was Tony’s fault, and if he died today the last thing they did together would be to argue. And that would kill Tony.

Another long pause. Peter’s breathing picked up, and Tony heard a groan of pain. “I’m really hurt you didn’t come to my birthday,” Peter just managed to get out. “I know it’s stupid, I know-“ another groan of pain- “I know you said we aren’t close, but-“ Peter cried out.

“Kid, it’s okay, stop moving,” Tony said. It was hard to focus when his kid was hurt, his head clouding with the emergency of the situation. “That was stupid of me to say. I’ll make it up to you.”

The pile of rubble, now considerably smaller, began shifting by itself. Tony and Steve fell to the ground and just barely got out the way of falling buildings pieces when another large push gave way to Peter, his arms outstretched as he threw the last of the debris off himself, and then promptly collapsed where he stood.

Thank god the kid still had his suit and mask on, because the tell-tale buzz of news helicopters had begun to converge on their location. Now that the imminent threat of alien invasion was over, the news vultures would be fighting to get the best shot of the tentatively reunited Avengers.

Tony flew over to Peter. His suit was torn in several places, but his chest was rising and falling – albeit quickly. He wouldn’t be able to check his head until they were safely back at the tower so Tony scanned the rest of his body. His heart twisted when he saw the big metal rod impaling Peter’s right leg, the blood soaking the crimson fabric into a deep wine red.

He blasted the metal rod off from the concrete beam it had been attached to, picked up his kid rod-and-all, and made a beeline for the tower. Whether Steve and the rest followed was none of his concern. Mission completed. The only thing that remotely mattered now was Peter.

The med-bay was up and running, anticipating his return, and Helen quickly took Peter into one of the private rooms. He let the other doctors check him out while Helen worked, even humoured their requests to bandage various superficial wounds, but brushed them off when, after an hour, Helen finally came out and said he could see Spiderman.

The door clicked shut behind him and Tony stood awkwardly over Peter’s bed. The kid looked so small out of that suit. His head and leg were wrapped in thick gauze, and although Helen had wiped the dust and blood off his hands and minor injuries, the kid was in desperate need of a shower. His curls were flat on his pale forehead, and his eyes barely focused in on Tony.

They had kind of made up, but would Peter remember that? He was almost certainly concussed. And maybe he’d only forgiven him in the heat of battle.

Tony had fucked up again today. There was no forgiving that.

“Hey, Mr Stark,” the kid said, weakly smiling up at Tony, “d’ya think we could get ice cream?”

Now that Peter and Tony were back on talking terms, Tony’s life was a lot calmer. He finally gave the kid his new phone, although Peter had vehemently tried to reject it on the grounds that it was too expensive of a gift. Their Saturday internship, which on the books was scheduled for six hours, became three hours of messing around in the lab and three hours of movies.

(“Mr Stark, have you seen that super old movie with that weird looking alien?”

“E.T.? That’s not that old, kid. I was like, twelve, when it came out.”

“Exactly.”)

Aunt May had been informed of both building incidents (it seemed like neither knew about the first) and was incredibly pissed that first, Tony had taken Peter’s only means of protection against the Vulture who had been deliberately targeting Peter, and second, that Tony had let Peter work on his own.

For any future world missions, Peter was to be buddied or benched.

Their Mondays and Wednesdays continued as usual, bar random fires. The kid had returned to his normal, happy self. He even dared to ask if Ned and his new ‘friend’ (“She’s just a friend, Mr Stark!”), MJ, could come visit the tower sometime. Tony, not wanting to upset their newfound balance by denying his kid something, made Aunt May talk to Peter about the implications of MJ being near his spider tech.

That woman was a lifesaver.

Today was a Wednesday, and Tony was out on a walk with Pepper, passing time until he could finally see the kid again.

“I mean, he’s just so great, Pep, you really should meet him.”

Pepper wore an amused smile. “I know, Tony, I keep asking to meet him. He’s a good influence on you.”

“Yeah,” Tony agreed. “Talking to him makes me think that I could be a dad. Isn’t that crazy? Like, I barely keep that kid alive and here I am thinking that makes me worthy of fatherhood. But he’s just so great.”

“I don’t think it’s crazy. You’d be a great dad.”

“Really?” He caught Pepper’s eye. She seemed serious as she kept walking through the park. “Because, you know, I had this dream. And it was crazy realistic. Scary, honestly. Like dream-walking. Peter told me about dream-walking, the kid watches some crazy stuff online. Hey, Pep, slow down, slow down.”

“You’re totally rambling. You lost me.”

“You know how you’re having a dream, and in the dream, you got to pee.”

“Yeah.”

He proceeded to tell her about the dream he had last night, the one with their baby girl Morgan. Although Pepper confirmed she wasn’t pregnant, Tony was only a little disappointed because it was a Wednesday, and he still got to see his kid that very afternoon.

“And, I need this thing in my chest because what if the kid needed me?”

“Imaginary Morgan?”

“No,” Tony waved a hand, “I mean, yes, if we had a Morgan. But we don’t. I mean the kid. My kid.”

Pepper nodded in understanding. “Peter.”

“Yeah! He can’t just be swinging out there with no one to watch his back. What if a building collapses on him?”

“Buildings don’t just fall down, Tony.”

“You’d be surprised.”

Before he could argue his point further, another fucking alien invasion started in New York City. If he did have a kid, they were moving, that was for certain. Would this cut into his internship time with Peter? He had better wrap this up quick.

Just as the alien of the week geared up to punch him, his kid came swinging into the scene. Didn’t he have school today?

“Kid, where’d you come from?”

“Field trip to MOMA!”

Then they were in the heart of the city, and that stupid wizard was getting sucked up into a spaceship and so was his kid. So then they were in space. And then a planet, and then they were fighting another alien with a stupid glove.

And his kid was doing brilliantly, of course. But Tony was worried sick. He didn’t trust these random other aliens, who were apparently working on their side, led by that Lord guy.

Thanos got the glove, fucked off to Earth, so then, with no working way home, Peter and Tony began to help up their new tentative allies.

“Excuse me, ma’am?” Peter said, approaching Mantis. “How does your, um, power work? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“I touch and I feel. I can try it on you?” said Mantis, her weird alien antennas bobbing towards him.

“Woah, stay away from my kid,” Tony said, stepping towards them.

She already had her hands on him. “You feel excited, curious. And disappointed. Thanos is very hard to beat. You did a good job, Peter.”

“Of course he did.” Tony watched the exchange unhappily. He didn’t trust this woman for a moment, and he wasn’t going to take his eyes off this kid.

“You feel very happy. Like he is your father.”

Tony’s head whipped to Peter, who avoided his gaze as he stepped backwards from Mantis. “He’s not my dad.”

Mantis cocked her head, as if she didn’t really understand what Peter was saying. Honestly, Tony was surprised aliens could speak English, so maybe she had misunderstood Peter’s thoughts.

“Is that how you see me, Peter?” He asked, smile on his face as if he didn’t care what the answer was. As if this was a joke. His heart pounded in his chest.

“No,” Peter said, still not looking at him. Tony frowned.

“That is a lie!” Mantis said. She was back beside Star Lord.

Tony didn’t say anything else for a moment. This day had been a lot. He was exhausted and it was making him emotional. They hadn’t taken down the big bad guy, but the majority of the Avengers were on Earth, which was apparently where Thor was heading. If this ragtag alien pirate crew had managed to almost take him down, he was sure Earth would finish the job.

His only job now was to get Peter home safely.

Everyone tensed up.

“Something is happening,” Mantis said, moments before she disappeared.

Tony looked for Peter instantly, but the kid seemed fine. Just shocked, and confused.

But then one by one, their companions disappeared. Tony held out hope that it was confined to the alien-adjacent people up until the Doc also began to disintegrate.

“There was no other way,” he said, and then he was ash.

“Mr Stark?” Came an unsteady voice from behind him.

No. No, no, no. This wasn’t happening.

Tony felt like this forsaken planet they were on had stopped moving, the breath punched out of his lungs as he turned around to his kid, slowly wobbling towards him.

“I don’t feel so good.”

The kid looked at his hands, and then back at Tony.

“You’re alright,” he said. Because of course Peter was fine. Peter was- Peter was his kid.

He was fine. His suit had every upgrade imaginable, to fend off every possible injury. They’d go home and they’d laugh about this. The kid would tell him how cool it was to go to space, even if it had been entirely against Tony’s orders.

He’d get Peter ice cream, and then he’d scold him, and Peter wouldn’t listen because he was a kid, and kids don’t listen. And- and Tony would ground him again. For good this time. Because he’d be fine, obviously, but Tony was so scared right now and he felt like his soul was dying and Helen would get mad at him. His cardiograms!

“I don’t- I don’t know what’s happening,” his kid said, stumbling towards him until he was falling into Tony’s arms.

Tony gripped him with all his might. This wasn’t real. This wasn’t happening. Nothing was happening. They were just… hanging out. On a planet. Where everything was fine.

“I don’t wanna go, I don’t wanna go, I don’t wanna go.”

And still, Tony had nothing to say. Because his kid was fine. He could feel parts of his kid – his fucking kid – disintegrating underneath his hands but his kid was fine. They had ice cream waiting for them. He’d even let Peter force him into a Star Wars marathon. He wouldn’t even complain, he wouldn’t, he swore, because he’d do anything for his kid to be alright.

They dropped to the floor, Peter’s legs giving out. Tony laid Peter on his back, not letting go of his boy even as his panicked whispers gave way to silence, even as the arm that had been clinging to Tony’s shirt falls away into nothing.

And the kid looked at him. Even though it must have hurt. Even though he must have been so scared. The kid looked right at Tony.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. And then he was gone.

Tony’s hand fell to the ground, clenching dust that had once been Peter. But that couldn’t be true. This couldn’t be real. Peter was always fine.

The blue woman said something behind him. Tony didn’t care. He didn’t listen. Whatever she had to say wouldn’t matter. The world had ended.

He sat there, clutching his hand. Was the dirt streaked on it from Earth? From Peter?

Peter.

He closed his eyes, waiting for the dust to take him too. And he found he wasn’t even scared. He just sat there, waiting, and waiting, and waiting, and the dust never came.

And he was just stuck here, on this planet with a blue woman, without his kid.

Tony fixed things, of course.

Once he finally pulled his head out of his ass, he shook off the five-year long stupor and fixed things. He brought back his kid, introduced him to his other kid, spent months in hospital, lost an arm, built himself a new one, the usual.

The kid and his aunt had nowhere to go once they came back from what people were now referring to as ‘the Blip’, as if his kid hadn’t died in front of him, as if Tony hadn’t spent five years grieving, as if it was all just a silly little blip.

Tony had taken them in, moving Pepper and Morgan back into the city because that was Peter’s home, and he had two kids now. Pepper was angry, but understanding, and Morgan…

Well, she loved Peter.

Who wouldn’t?

He kept meaning to find Peter and his aunt a new apartment, but with the city suddenly overwhelmed with double the residents, space was scarce. And, well, it was nice to have the kid around.

Anytime Tony got that awful, tight, fearful feeling in his chest, he’d look up, and Peter would be playing Mario Kart with Morgan (and letting her win), or he’d be quietly studying at the table for when schools reopened, or he’d be looking for Tony with that awful, tight, fearful look on his face too.

Aunt May had started a charity to help clothe, feed, and rehome the blipped, and Tony poured copious amounts of money in as anonymous donations. He was fairly certain she knew who was doing it, but she never asked, and Tony never brought it up.

The kid’s friends had, and he couldn’t believe he was saying this, thankfully blipped with him, so they were the same age. He couldn’t imagine his kid coming back and finding out his friends had graduated, gone to college, and moved on.

Tony would never have moved on, at least.

He hadn’t gotten around to signing the paperwork to end Peter’s internship during the five years (he refused to read anything further on those papers than Reason: Employee death), so he was grateful he didn’t have to mess around with security clearances for Peter.

School went back, Peter and May found a place and moved out, and Tony spoiled his little baby Morgan (seriously, how was she growing up so fast?) to keep his mind off the gaping hole from his other kid no longer being within eyesight every second of every day.

There were more large scale attacks – Peter’s identity got revealed in one, but they dealt with it – and then Peter got rejected from MIT.

He was away with Morgan and Pepper when that happened, and he almost flew back when he saw the news about Spiderman fighting some robot-octopus-guy until he watched Peter win, and he thought that was that for the weekend.

And then he got the call from Ned and MJ.

“Um, Mr Stark, sir?” Ned said over the phone. Peter must have given him the number at some point, which was wildly irresponsible. Although, Ned had hacked into Happy’s phone before, so perhaps that was it.

Either way, it must have been important.

“Yeah, what is it? I’ve got an angry five year old waiting to make an igloo when all I have to work with is mush, so speak quickly.”

“Is Peter with you?” MJ asked, worried.

Tony was already sending for one of his suits, signalling to Pepper to get Morgan inside. “No, he’s not with me. We’re in Canada. Have you lost him?”

“We can’t find him,” Ned confirmed. “Peter was trying to get that Doctor Strange guy to do a spell and make people forget his secret identity, but it backfired, and now there are people from different dimensions trying to fight him, and his apartment blew up, and-“

“What?”

“It’s on the news,” Ned said.

Tony immediately got FRIDAY to pull the footage. Oh, no, kid.

They were replaying the scene – police converging on a burning building, blurry body cam footage showing Peter in his suit holding a woman –

His aunt. Oh, god.

And then Peter ran.

“Do you have any idea where he might be?” MJ cut in, impatient.

“No, he’s- he’s not with me. I’m coming back, hold on.”

Ned ended the call. He spun around to Pepper, who was holding onto Morgan and her pink snow jacket, and he was sure he was as pale and as unsteady as he felt, because she already knew.

“What’s happening with Peter?”

“I have to- Pep, I have to go. I have to find him.”

Pepper nodded, and Tony stepped outside into the waiting suit. It flew him down in record time, but it was still too slow, because it had been hours since May had died, and no one knew where his kid was. FRIDAY played the news over his suit speakers, listening as the police manhunt for Peter spread further into the city.

Tony checked his tower first – maybe Peter would be in his old room? But no, it was still made up for him, untouched. Tony cursed and flew off again. He was about to check the school when the skies began ripping open.

Figures made of light peered in through the rips in their universe’s fabric, reaching arms out. Tony followed their gaze to the Statute of Liberty, where Peter was conversing with Doctor Strange. Wasn’t Stephen the one who had gotten them all into this mess? God damn wizards.

He flew over in time to catch the end of the argument.

“-make everyone forget me! That would work, wouldn’t it?”

“No,” Tony’s voice cut in as he dropped beside the pair. “Are you kidding? Someone mind filling me in?”

Stephen grunted, holding a glowing magical cube in his hands. “These beings are from other universes, searching for Peter Parker. It’s going to rip apart our reality as we know it.”

“Well, why don’t we make other universes forget about this Peter Parker? And keep it so everyone who knew before Mysterio still knows.”

“It’s a complicated spell to pull off while our universe is dying.”

“Thought you were a grand wizard, or something,” Tony retorted, staring him down.

“Mr Stark, it’s fine, really-“

Tony held up a hand. “Shut it, kid. The adults are talking.”

“Mr Stark, this will fix it.”

“I’m not losing you again, Peter. Five years without you was hell, and I’m not going to pay that price twice.”

Peter snapped his mouth shut. Tony looked back to Stephen.

“We’re trying this. We try everything first before we resort to that, got it?”

The wizard must have grown a soft spot for Peter (who can resist?), because his gaze flickered to the boy before he nodded. He began weaving, the strain taking a noticeable toll on the wizard, as Tony pulled Peter into his arms and flew him down to the ground, then stepped out of the suit to hold him properly.

Peter fought him for all of two seconds, before his arms went limp beside him and he began to shudder.

It felt eerily similar to that planet, so Tony gripped his kid tighter. “I got you, Pete. You’re alright. Everything’s okay. I’ve got you.”

“Aunt May- she’s-“

“I know,” Tony said, ignoring the tears he felt burning into his shirt. “It’s okay, kid. It’ll be okay.”

“I screwed up. This is all my fault. I just wanted-“

“It’s not your fault,” Tony said firmly.

“You don’t know what I did,” Peter tried to protest, but Tony shook his head, his non-prosthetic hand pressing the back of Peter’s head into his chest again.

“You can tell me all about it when we get home, but I know enough. It’s not your fault. You were just trying to fix things. I can’t fault you for that. It’s okay, it’s okay.” Tony pressed a kiss to his hair. “I’m sorry I didn’t find you sooner. I should have come home as soon as I saw you fighting that damn octopus-“

“He was actually pretty nice,” Peter said. He laughed weakly, before sobbing again. “Aunt May- she, uh, she really liked him.”

Oh, how much had he missed in those two days? How had Tony screwed the pooch this badly?

At least he was here now.

He brought Peter back to the tower that night. He pulled the couch out and he held Peter while he cried himself into exhaustion. The kid had lost so much, all over again. He remembered the feeling, the soul-crushing, whirlpool feeling of so much grief.

“Your room’s still made up, if you want,” Tony said when the kid stopped crying and began to stare blankly at the ceiling, if only to get the kid to react and avoid the horrible numbness for a second longer.

“You kept my room?” Peter whispered, his eyes turning to Tony, although his head stayed put.

“Yeah, kid. You were always welcome to stay, you know.”

Peter nodded, then closed his eyes with the effort. “Can I sleep out here tonight?”

“Of course. Let me get you some blankets and pillows.”

When Tony returned, Peter’s breathing had evened out. Hopefully the kid wouldn’t dream tonight. He carefully tucked the blanket around Peter, and gently lifted his head to place a pillow underneath. He lingered for a moment, before turning to make his way back to his room.

A hand shot out to grip Tony’s shirt.

“Can you stay here? For a bit?” Peter asked, grip unrelenting. He looked so young and scared.

“Sure thing, kid.” Tony settled down next to Peter, back propped up against the couch, arm carding through Peter’s hair as he slowly and uneasily fell back into a slumber.

Only when he was sure that the kid was in a deeper sleep this time, Tony carefully used his left arm to twist his prosthetic out of place and set it on the floor beside them. Those tiny movements still caused Peter’s face to pinch, although he didn’t wake.

When Tony went back to carding through his hair, Peter’s face smoothed out.

The world forgot Peter Parker was Spiderman, which was fine and dandy until it came to explaining why a 17-year-old from Queens was frequently sighted with the Tony Stark, saviour of the world, ender of the Blip, et cetera.  Pepper and Tony spread the news that he was Tony’s personal intern, which was technically true.

Peter had been living with the Starks since Aunt May’s passing. Tony was happy that Morgan had accepted Peter moving back in with all the care of a six year old (“Peter’s gonna play Mario with me again!”), and even happier that Pepper had readily signed on to the guardianship papers. They were co-guardians of Peter, officially, until he turned eighteen in six months.

And then they were sending him off to MIT.

Now that the admissions team had forgotten about his controversial Spiderman antics, they had readily accepted Peter. Offered a scholarship, too, which Tony made sure to celebrate. Peter hadn’t wanted to make a big deal out of it, but when he came home from the last few days of school to Tony, Pepper and Morgan presenting him a homemade (and sloppily iced) cake, Tony hadn’t missed the way his eyes had teared up.

(“Seriously, Mr and Mrs Stark, you didn’t have to do this for me.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, kid. This was all Morgan’s idea.”

“And call us Tony and Pepper, Peter.”)

Tony had considered buying a place in Massachusetts, but Pepper had been against the idea of moving again, at least for a few more years. Peter had also adamantly protested, saying he needed to learn how to be an adult on his own.

The kid didn’t seem to understand that he had already grown up more than he needed to; that out of everyone, Peter deserved someone looking out for him, too.

Later that week, Tony, Pepper, and Morgan were dressed in sunglasses, hats, and large jackets as they made their way to Peter’s graduation ceremony incognito. He had told them they didn’t have to come if they didn’t want to, “but it could be nice- if, you know, if you guys are free.”

“I bought an apartment in Boston,” Tony confessed to Pepper as Happy drove them. “In case the kid needs it.”

“Tony,” Pepper admonished, shaking her head. She was smiling at him, though, so she wasn’t angry. “You don’t have to worry so much. He’ll be fine.”

Tony shrugged and avoided her gaze. “It’s just a precaution. What if his roommate is evil? I don’t want him out on the streets.”

“Tony.”

“I mean, obviously, the kid is going to keep Spidermanning. And he needs somewhere safe to go, right? What if he got hurt on patrol or something? You know how much he hates the hospital.”

“Tony.”

 “What, you think I should get a private doctor for him, too?” Tony turned back to her. Pepper grabbed his hand. Under her gaze, he acquiesced. “He’s our kid, Pep.”

She rolled her eyes, but her tone was affectionate as she spoke. “Which is why I know he’ll be fine. He has an overbearing dad looking out for him.”

Tony shifted uncomfortably, tugging at the sleeves of his jacket. “Don’t- don’t, um, say that stuff in front of him.”

“Who, Pete?” Pepper laughed, but she cut herself short at Tony’s glance. “Oh, come on, Tony. You’re telling me you’re not like his father at this point?”

“Peter- Peter doesn’t see me like that.”

“And what are you basing this off?” A pause. Pepper sighed. “That argument from like, seven years ago?”

“It was two years ago to him,” Tony reminded her, his head buried in his hands.

“Morgan, tell your Dad he’s being a silly-head,” Pepper whispered to their daughter, who lit up at the opportunity.

“Dad, you’re a silly-head!”

Tony chuckled. “Don’t you start, little miss.”

Happy pulled up to Midtown School of Science and Technology and fought his way into a car park. Their family bundled together and kept their heads down as they quickly walked inside, finding a place at the back to avoid attention, even though Tony desperately wanted to be right by the stage. Once inside the hall, Tony took his time looking around.

They’d never been to Peter’s school during the few months they’d been his guardians. Tony had been afraid of another media circus and wanted to respect the kid’s privacy as much as possible, just like he did with Morgan. But his graduation? No way was Tony missing that.

The hall was decorated with gold and silver streamers and a sparkly banner that read “Class of 2025”.

Tony teared up at the opening speeches, even though they were the boring, same-old recycled stuff from teachers who droned on and on.

“And, now, Midtown’s very own Peter Parker, for his valedictory speech.”

“That’s Petey!” Morgan exclaimed, jumping up in her seat. A couple heads spun around to them, and Pepper quickly got her to sit down.

Tony was clapping so loud his hands hurt, his eyes glued to the stage. Peter hadn’t told him about this. God, of course, his kid was a genius after all. He looked great in his robes, and the gold valedictorian stole draped around his shoulders was just the cherry on top.

“Tell me you’re filming this,” he whispered to Happy, who was seated to the right of him. When he didn’t get a response, he looked over to see Happy with his phone out already, his eyes equally as misty as his own. “You big softy.”

Happy sniffled.

“Thank you for this great honour, Mr Harrington,” Peter began, and a hush settled over the crowd. “As many of you know, the majority of our class was blipped. It wasn’t easy for us to adjust to our new classmates, our new world, but I know it was equally difficult for our teachers to catch us up to the new curriculum. Especially because some of us weren’t caught up on the old one, either.” That drew laughs from the crowd.

Peter’s speech continued, Tony hooked on every word as he drew in the sight of his kid, who was clearly nervous but settling in the more he spoke.

“That’s our kid, Pep,” Tony whispered as the speech wrapped up. He fought the urge to stand in his seat as Peter went to sit with his classmates. “I wish his aunt could see this. She’d be so proud.”

When Peter crossed the stage again to collect his diploma, Tony did stand up and clap. At least most of the other parents were also clapping and cheering, so they blended right in.

Happy and the Starks darted back to their car just as the ceremony wrapped up, and it took another half an hour until Peter joined them.

“Sorry, Mr Stark,” Peter began as he opened the car door, “Ned’s Lola was there and-“

Tony wrapped him in a hug. “I’m so proud of you, kid.”

Peter returned it. “I’m not a kid anymore,” he mumbled into Tony’s shirt. Tony just laughed, and ushered him in the back.

“What do you want to eat?” Happy’s gruff voice came from the driver seat.

“Me?” Peter looked around at Pepper and Tony, who nodded. “Oh, I’m fine with whatever. You guys don’t have to go out of your way for me.”

“Come on, Underoos, it’s your night. We’re celebrating you.”

Peter hesitated just a second before tentatively suggesting, “Thai? There’s a place in Queens that Aunt May and I used to go to.”

“Thai sounds great.”

It was such a good night. Tony should’ve known the next day would be shit.

He was in the penthouse, idly switching through TV channels as he waited for Peter to come back. He’d taken Morgan out to get sandwiches and it was taking longer than usual for them to return. Tony didn’t think much of it – Peter had probably taken Morgan to get ice cream, too. His little girl had Peter wrapped around her finger.

His fingers paused over the TV remote when Peter’s face flashed across the screen. The kid looked angry, and he had a hand out to prevent the reporters from getting closer to him; the other hand reached behind his back where Tony could just spy the pink ruffles from Morgan’s dressing peaking out.

The footage cut to a young, blonde woman holding a microphone standing out front of Joe’s Gelati. “People are speculating that Peter Parker, a seventeen-year-old graduate from Midtown School of Science and Technology, is actually the secret son of billionaire Tony Stark after a video from his graduation has gone viral.”

The footage changed again. It was obviously taken on someone’s phone, the film shaky and blurry as it zoomed in on Tony, in his glasses and hat, among a sea of people in a dark hall.

“Is that Tony Stark?” Said a boy’s voice from behind the camera. “Woah, that’s Pepper and their daughter too.” Sure enough, the phone turned to catch their whole family, even Happy, sitting down at Peter’s graduation.

The dingy speakers barely caught the announcement, “And now, Midtown’s very own Peter Parker, for his valedictory speech.”

The camera caught Morgan standing up and pointing at Peter. Then, it flipped to the stage to show Peter walking on for his valedictory speech. It then turned back to Tony, who was obviously tearful, clapping, and smiling.

The footage cut back to the reporter outside the ice cream shop. “We’re currently live outside Joe’s Gelati in Manhattan where Peter Parker has been spotted buying ice cream.”

The next shot was inside the ice cream shop. The crowd of reporters and paparazzi had swelled, bright lights flashing as Peter tried to block his eyes from it while simultaneously shielding Morgan. The poor kid looked frazzled from all the lights and the noise, holding onto Morgan’s hand as he tried pushing through the crowd to the outside. Morgan looked angry too, especially when two cones were knocked out of her hand, and it seemed like she was about to start yelling when Peter scooped her up in her arms and shoved outside.

“It’s okay,” Tony could just barely make out the words over all the shouts, “I’ll buy you another one, Morgy.”

“Peter! Peter!” one man yelled as he walked in front of the pair, shoving a microphone in his face. “Did your dad buy you into MIT?”

Peter’s frown intensified, pushing Morgan’s head further into his shoulder as he tried to brush past. Another reporter blocked his path. Morgan peaked out from Peter’s chest, scowling.

“Morgan! Why have your parents kept your brother a secret?”

Morgan stuck her tongue out at the man as Peter pushed his camera away from her.

“Leave her alone, man, she’s only six.”

Someone reached out to grab the arm Peter was using to hold Morgan. Peter’s other hand shoved him away, and the man fell backwards with a grunt.

On-screen, Tony watched as Peter’s anger twisted into panic. “I’m sorry, I’m really sorry-“

“Did you get your dad’s anger issues, Peter?” Came the next question from a snarky TMZ woman who shoved yet another microphone into Peter’s face.

“He’s not my dad!” Peter exclaimed, frustrated, just as Happy’s big build appeared in frame, blocking his two kids from the camera.

“Show’s over people,” his gruff voice called out as he led the two into his black car.

Thankfully, once his kids were out of sight, the news quickly moved to their next segment. Tony got up from the couch and paced in front of the elevator to the penthouse. Pepper joined him.

Someone had already reported the segment to her, as she was on the phone to what Tony assumed to be a lawyer.

“An assault charge would be ridiculous. Yes, I know they might go that route just so they can get their little story, but Peter’s a minor, the proceedings would be private anyway. Well, just have that counter-lawsuit ready in case they get any ideas.” Like him, she paced back in forth in front the elevator until it dinged.

The unhappy trio walked inside. Peter was still carrying Morgan, and Happy had his arm on his back.

“See, look, there’s Mummy and Daddy, everything’s okay now,” Peter whispered to Morgan as he gently set her down. Morgan held onto his hand though, still scowling even though her trembling form gave away her fear.

“I don’t like those people, Peter,” she said, stepping closer to him as Pepper rushed over to check her over.

Peter carefully pried her grip off him. “I know, Momo. But you’ve got your mum and dad here. They’ll look after you.”

He gave her a weak smile, ruffled her hair, and then brushed past Tony, face back to stormy.

Tony looked to Happy, who shrugged. “He’s probably just shaken up from everything. Give him some time, Tony.”

Not liking this, Tony knelt down to Morgan too. “You okay, Morgy?”

Morgan shook her head. “They were really mean to Petey. They said some mean stuff about you, too.”

“But are you hurt, Bambina?”

“He kept me safe.” Then, after considering for a moment, her lip wobbled. “I dropped our ice cream. Is Peter mad at me?”

Tony looked in the direction of Peter’s closed bedroom door. “It’s like Uncle Happy said. He’s just shaken.”

Morgan looked doubtful. Tony didn’t believe himself either.

Pepper laid a hand on her shoulder. “Why don’t we go watch a movie? Anything you want.”

Morgan’s eyes sparkled. “Frozen?”

“Sure, my love,” Pepper said as she lead Morgan into the next room. She shot a look back at Tony, and jerked her head towards Peter’s room. ‘Talk to him,’ she mouthed.

Tony’s hands sweated. He straightened up, and looked at Happy. “You heard the woman. Go talk to him.”

Happy rolled his eyes. “Don’t put this off. You’ll regret it.” And then he went back inside the elevator.

Tony knew they were both right. He had to put Peter first and make this right somehow, but…

It was Tony that had caused this situation, ultimately. Peter knew that. Had basically said as much on live television. He wasn’t fit to be a father of any sort, and here he was with two amazing kids that he kept screwing up.

He knocked on Peter’s door. The kid didn’t respond, so he slowly twisted the knob and let himself inside.

The room was pitch-black, so it took some time for Tony’s old eyes to adjust. It was also silent in here, the soundproofing blocking out the opening Frozen song and Morgan’s excited squeals. It seemed that she had already forgotten about the afternoon’s events.

“Pete? You got a minute?”

“Go away,” came a muffled voice from the bed. Peter had heaped the blankets over himself and curled into a ball.

Tony’s mouth thinned. “Kid, I think we should talk about this. Don’t you?”

“I don’t want to talk right now.”

Tony approached the bed. He sat down, and put a hand on top of the Peter-blanket lump. The lump shrugged his hand off. “Peter, seriously,” he sighed, “I’m just trying to help.”

“I don’t need your help.”

Tony reigned back in the firey response that leapt to his throat. Now was about Peter, he reminded himself. Even if Peter hated his guts, he’d try to make amends with his kid somehow. “What do you need then?”

“I want to move out.”

What? Where did that even come from? Did Peter really hate living with him so much?

“Well, too bad,” Tony huffed, standing up. “You’re seventeen, and like it or not, we’re your guardians.”

“I never asked for that.”

Tony pinched the bridge of his nose. He turned his back to the bed. “What other choice did I have? Let you sleep on the streets?”

“I can take care of myself.”

“I’ve yet to see any proof of that.”

“Believe it or not, Mr Stark, I did just fine before I met you.”

“If you call running around in those red pyjamas of yours, getting shot at with no one to watch your back, doing ‘just fine’,” Tony mocked, “then sure, kid.”

Peter’s voice, which had been icily calm for most of the conversation, suddenly turned angry. “I’m trying to do you a favour here! Morgan-”

“I don’t need any favours from you. I get that you don’t want me to be your dad or guardian or whatever, and if I could change that for you, kid, I would. But you’re stuck with me, because somebody has to be responsible for you since you’ve proven incapable of being responsible for yourself.”

Peter went silent.

Tony screwed his eyes shut. Now he’d stepped in it. How did they even get here? He had just wanted to check if Peter was okay.

He stepped towards the door, then paused. “Morgan thinks you’re mad at her. She’s watching Frozen, if you want to join us.”

There, an olive branch. He’d asked Peter to join him in family movie night.

He cast another guilty look behind him, and seeing the unmoving lump, sighed and opened the door.

Peter stared at his hands. They couldn’t stop shaking. His mind just kept replaying him shoving that man.

He’d never lost control like that, not since he got a grip on his powers anyway. He knew he was dangerous from almost the instant he’d woken up after that spiderbite, when he had ripped his bedroom door in his aunt and uncle’s flat off its hinges.

He had spent weeks practising how to pull his punches. He knew better than anyone what he was capable of, and even up against the worst of humanity, he knew he was worse.  Which was why he made the web fluid, made sure that he was only detaining the bad guys, made sure he was never the executioner.

Tonight could’ve been so much worse. He could’ve seriously hurt that man. He could’ve hurt Morgan.

And that was the worst part. Sweet, little Morgan, who saw stars in his eyes. What if he lost his control around her? Or Pepper, or Happy, or Tony?

Tony was right. He was incapable of being responsible for himself. Which was why he had to leave the Starks’. He’d already overstayed his welcome, he knew that, he’d known that for weeks. What kind of family wanted to take in some random kid?

He knew Tony felt obligated to shelter him. Had taken his generosity anyway, because Tony was right, ultimately. What other choice did he have?

But the more Peter mulled it over, the more his conviction grew. He would be moving out come September anyway. Why not bump it up a few months? He would learn how to take care of himself. He didn’t want- he didn’t need Tony looking after him anymore.

Not when it caused him so much trouble. Not when his issues were reflected on Tony. His anger was his own. His anger had been simmering in him since he was a little kid being told his parents weren’t coming back, since Uncle Ben had died, since Aunt May…

And lately?

It had felt like it reached a boiling point. Aunt May and Uncle Ben’s deaths were his fault. No matter how much he tried to deny it, he knew the truth. He was a curse, and he had to protect Morgan from that by any means possible.

It was better for everyone if they forgot about him. Ned, MJ… He had hurt them, too, that last battle with the Green Goblin and Doc Ock. MJ had almost died, and that was on him. He knew what the right move was: sever ties with the Starks, go to MIT, let Ned and MJ make their own college friends, watch them move on.

Spiderman was simply incompatible with relationships.

But he was so tired.

He shook the blankets off his head and stared at his closed bedroom door. He could picture the scene behind it as clearly as day—Mrs Stark on the couch holding Morgan, who would be croaking along with the Frozen soundtrack. Mr Stark would sit next to them, one arm around Pepper and one arm stretched out over the couch back, a space next to him reserved especially for Peter. 

His chest ached at the image, and his eyes burned with hot, angry tears. It was selfish to want this family as much as he did. But, god, he wanted it so badly.

The tight feeling in his chest made him sit up on the edge of the bed, one hand splayed over his heart in an attempt to ease the awful sinking feeling. He wasn’t cut out for family, he reminded himself, but even as he did, Peter was getting to his feet.

With a deep breath, he opened the door.

The lights were off, which was normal for movie night, and he could hear the movie playing in the next room. But he couldn’t hear their voices, which wasn’t normal. Especially when Anna was singing ‘Love is an Open Door’.

He paused, the feeling in his chest sharpening into a sense of dread. The hair on his arms raised, and Peter instinctively jumped up to the ceiling, pressing himself against it as he strained his ears further.

Closing his eyes, he could make out Pepper and Morgan’s rapid heartbeats further into the penthouse. Morgan’s room, he realised.

Focusing again, he could also make out Tony’s voice from the other side of the penthouse, by the elevators, as well as ten heartbeats surrounding him.

“Come back in an hour; it’s movie night,” he heard Tony quip. His voice was steady, but strained.

Peter crawled his way over, moving silently. Tony was standing in the kitchen, bowl of popcorn in his hands, as the ten people dressed in black pointed guns at him.

Peter cursed mentally. He didn’t have his webshooters on him.

“No sudden movements, Stark,” one of them said – a tall blonde woman, who wore a mask on the top half of her face. Then, to two of her companions, she said, “Go get that woman and the kid. We need something to ensure compliance.”

Peter scuttled back towards Morgan’s room. The door was shut, and he could hear their heartbeats huddling in the far corner. Likely under Morgan’s bed, he guessed as he dropped to the ground. He raised his hand down on the door handle, knocking it off. He felt bad as Morgan let out a small scream at the noise, but it was quickly cut off. Pepper must have put her hand over her mouth.

Before Peter could jump back up to ceiling, the two men converged on him with guns drawn.

“Hands up, kid,” the bigger one said.

Peter did as he was told, eyeing them both. He could maybe fight them, but then what? Someone would hear, and then they might hurt Mr Stark.

“I didn’t think the rumours were actually true,” the other man muttered, going in with handcuffs. “Why’d Stark hide you, huh?”

Peter let him cuff his hands. He could get out of them if needed, but if they were going to take someone, it was best if it was him. Peter watched warily as they approached the door. They tried pushing it, then shoulder-barging it, but it didn’t budge.

“Security’s probably already on their way,” Peter said. “You guys should just call it quits and head home, don’t you think?”

The big man drove the butt of his gun into Peter’s stomach.

The smaller man, frustrated, turned away. “Let’s just take this one. The sooner we get out of here, the better.”

They shoved him back to the entrance, and the woman frowned.

“Where’s the other two?”

“Locked in a room, boss,” Big Guy said, shoving Peter into the crowd of guns with Tony, who was also now handcuffed. The popcorn was strewn over the floor, glass shattered, and Peter winced as little shards embedded themselves in his bare feet. They were going to suck to pick out once the skin healed over them.

At the woman’s sharp look, Small Guy jumped in. “We tried to open it, but the door handle’s broken and it’s too sturdy to kick down.”

Tony shot Peter a look. He shrugged.

“Whatever,” the woman said after considering for a moment. “Bring ‘em to the roof.”

The twelve of them packed into the elevator, Peter and Tony side by side.

“You should’ve stayed in your room,” Tony whispered. “I had this handled.”

“Sure you did,” Peter retorted, nodding down at Tony’s cuffed hands. Tony gestured to Peter’s own bound hands.

Petty old man. At least Peter could break out of his handcuffs if he wanted to. The gun barrel pressed into Tony’s side reminded him why that would be a bad idea.

They were marched out to the roof, where two helicopters waited for them. The group split in half, and they began shoving Peter to one and Tony to the other.

Panic gripped Peter. Being taken to a second location was bad enough, but if they were split up?

“Peter?” Tony called out to him, violently shrugging off the hands grabbing him.

Peter bucked against his own captors, elbowing someone viciously. “Keep us together!” He cried out. “I’m not going with you unless we’re taken together!”

“I’m afraid you don’t have a choice, little Stark,” said the blonde woman, who shoved him backwards. Peter watched as another woman, this one smaller than the ring leader, shoved Tony to the ground. His head hit the concrete, and he groaned out.

“Get off him!” Peter yelled, watching as the other woman dragged Tony back up and to the second helicopter. Tony wobbled, and there was blood dripping down his head. “Leave him alone!”

He shattered his handcuffs, sent two punches flying, and raced towards Tony. A shot rang out, and Peter buckled.

“Kid!” he heard Tony’s voice scream, and even though his leg was on fire, he pushed himself to his feet and managed to stumble two more steps towards Tony before a second shot sent him back to the ground.

Both legs now screamed at him, and his spider-sense was going haywire. He barely managed to lift his head up to watch as they strapped Tony in, and the first helicopter lifted off. He reached out towards it, even knowing it was futile.

The blonde woman appeared in front of his swimming vision, her smile twisted and nasty. “Don’t worry, little Stark,” she said, “you’ll see him soon enough.”

She then raised the butt of her gun and drove it into Peter’s head, sending the world black.

He woke up in an empty room, bound with literal chains to a chair. His head hurt like all hell, and the fluorescent lights only made things worse. Squinting through the bright, Peter began to make out his surroundings. The floor was bare concrete, and the walls seemed to be tin. There were dust markings on the floor where it looked like shelves had once been.

So he was in a storeroom? Great.

He tested out the chains, but found he was unable to move at all. They were tight against his skin, and Peter could already feel burning pain where the metal had cut into him. His feet and legs were still killing him. At least they had bandaged the two bullet holes for him – one on each leg. The bandages had splotches of red where he’d been shot, but it didn’t look like he’d lost that much more blood. His skin had probably healed over them already.

That was, what? Twelve bullets now? They’d never gotten around to removing the others, as surgery had presented too much of a risk. They hadn’t known how much anaesthetic to use, for one thing, and they were also concerned about the risk of him starting to heal over while they were digging around inside him.

“Hello?” Peter called out.

When it became clear that no one was coming, he screwed his eyes shut and tried to listen out for Tony.

He found him soon enough, jabbering away as the man was.

“Don’t tell me you believe the tabloids! He’s just an intern, you know that, right? Just some lowly intern. A coffee runner, really. You should just let the kid go. Do you know how many forms I’d have to fill out because of this? I don’t even think there is a ‘my intern got kidnapped’ workplace health and safety report. I’ll have to draft that up myself, send it to his WHS officer to get it approved, and you bet there’ll be glaring errors with it. So then I’ll have to do it all again-“

“Do you ever shut up?”

That must be the blonde woman. There was a dull thud, and then Tony groaned in pain. Peter grimaced.

“What intern takes two bullets for his boss?” There was the small guy that had handcuffed Peter.

“An idiotic one,” Tony scoffed. “Which is what he is. An idiotic intern. You’d be doing me a favour by sending the kid home. Saves me from firing him, right? And then I can focus on your little project.”

“He broke through metal handcuffs,” said the woman.

“Adrenaline,” Tony answered quickly. “Makes you do crazy things. Like mothers lifting cars off their babies.”

“Or sons continuing to run with a bullet in their leg?”

“Maybe you just have crap bullets.”

“Maybe you’re right. Maybe we better test our guns on the little Stark, see which ones work best.”

Tony fell silent. Peter strained his ears. He could just barely make out the sound of metal on metal. Was he making something?

His mind raced through the possibilities. Tony wouldn’t. Would he?

Was he making a weapon? A suit? Something else?

Well, whatever it was, it couldn’t be trusted in the hands of these obvious villains. Peter strained against his bindings again, grunting as the newly formed skin on his legs ripped open with the movement. He slumped back against his chair, panting.

He had to think. If they were using Peter as collateral – which was ridiculous, really, since he wasn’t actually Tony’s son and Tony wouldn’t risk the lives of thousands just to save Peter – then they’d have to keep him alive, right?

His moved his legs again, letting the bullet wounds tear open even further, biting back a scream. Blood began to seep into the bandages again.

“Help!” he called out. “It hurts, it hurts!”

He became aware of two people outside his room, who whispered to each other. So that was four bad guys, total. That was nothing, Peter thought.

“Should we get the boss?”

“Please, someone, I need help!” For added effect, he even curled his toes, igniting several little fires in his feet as the glass ripped through again. He glanced down, and felt woozy at the amount of blood he’d managed to wring out of his lower body.

“You go,” grunted one to the other.

Peter settled down, and knelt his sweating head back against the cool metal of the chair as he waited. His head started swimming again, and he couldn’t keep his concentration enough to listen to what was happening in the next room.

He must have slipped back into unconsciousness, because he jumped awake as the door banged open. There was the blonde woman, who looked positively annoyed now. She came in with some bandages, which she wrapped tightly around Peter’s feet.

He meant to kick out, hopefully knock her unconscious, but he couldn’t get his legs to move. Everything hurt so much, even more so as her deft bandaging pressed the glass deeper into him.

Then she was dragging his chair, the awful scraping sound splitting Peter’s head open.

It felt like eternity, and all he could do was shut his eyes and try to block out the sounds. When they stopped, Peter forced himself to look around. The blonde woman was standing next to a bench of assorted tools and metal scraps, and there was…

“Mr Stark?” He couldn’t get his eyes to focus, which was bad. Maybe he’d under-estimated his blood loss.

“Perhaps you need incentive,” the blonde woman said to Tony. Peter wasn’t sure if he had progressed to hallucination, or if Tony really did look that pale. “I’m surprised little Stark has survived as long as he has. Every minute you spend fucking around,” she seethed, “is another minute he goes without treatment. Every two hours that pass? We put another bullet in him. Hopefully somewhere non-lethal, but, I’ve never been a good shot.”

She shoved Tony back to the bench. His hands were shaking as he picked up the tools.

“It takes longer than two hours to build what you’re asking.”

The blonde woman strode over to Peter and drove her gun into the wound on his left leg, sending his vision back to pure white. He was screaming, he was sure of it, but he couldn’t hear himself. Everything was focused on the awful burning fire spreading throughout his body, all his senses just screaming pain, pain, pain.

Peter clawed back his control bit by bit when the woman relented, forcing himself to focus on nothing but drawing in another breath, and then another, and then another. His voice was raw, and his head hurt, and he was crying. He felt someone touch his hands, and he tensed, bracing himself for the next round of pain, but it never came.

“-ete? Kid, you with me?” Tony’s hand came up to touch his face, and Peter leant into it, his eyes still shut.

He didn’t want to look at Tony. He didn’t want Tony to see him like this, either. He wanted to go home.

“It’s okay, Bambino, everything’s okay.”

There was that lie again. But Peter let it comfort him, forced himself to believe it even though it wasn’t okay, everything hurt.

He couldn’t let Tony build whatever it was they wanted him to build, so he had to be okay. What was a little torture? He’d heal. He always did.

Peter cut off a sob, forced it down, and opened his eyes to look at Tony. The man looked relieved to see that, his eyebrows unfurrowing just a fraction. Peter took in a deep breath. He could do this. He’d be fine.

“’M ‘kay,” he whispered.

Tony shook his head, his good hand coming away from Peter’s face all red and bloodied. Was that Peter’s blood? He squinted at it, but couldn’t make sense of it.

“I’ll get you out of this, okay?” Tony said, gripping his hands again. “No matter what it takes.”

“No,” Peter croaked out. “No, no.” He had a point to make, Peter was sure of it, but he couldn’t grasp the words. “Don’t do it,” he begged, looking up at Tony. The blonde woman was eyeing them.

Tony hugged him, pressing a quick kiss to his hair. It shouldn’t have felt as nice as it did. Tony did that to Morgan. Peter wasn’t Morgan.

Then, he felt something drop down the back of his shirt, where Tony’s arms were draped. He only just managed to catch it with his bound hands.

Tony pulled back, gave him a look, and then went back to his workstation.

Peter forced his throbbing head to focus. The blonde woman was supervising Tony, and no one else was watching Peter. Couldn’t be too much fun, watching a kid bleed out.

His hands fumbled around the object. A screwdriver.

So that had been why Tony hugged him. To give him a chance to free himself, so he could free the both of them. Peter glanced around again, and he carefully used his hands to feel the new cuffs he was in. There was a screw, he thought, on either end of the cuff, but he couldn’t exactly look to confirm.

He began to fiddle with the screwdriver, painstakingly trying – and failing – to get it into position. He kept his eyes forward, scanning to make sure no one noticed what he was doing.

Tony was hunched over the workbench, screwing metal together, connecting wires, and testing fuses. He was going fast- faster than usual, perspiration beading on his wrinkled forehead.

Shouldn’t Tony be buying time? Go slow so Peter could break free and get them out of here?

Every now and then, Tony would glance at something behind Peter, before his eyes would drop to Peter and his frown would deepen, his movements hastening. Peter painstakingly drew his head back, and spied a clock above him.

He didn’t get it at first. Was he waiting for something?

A long stretch of time passed, and Tony’s hands had seriously begun shaking. Peter had just managed to loosen both screws when the blonde woman tsked, and began walking towards Peter. Tony threw down his tools and raced between them, his back to Peter.

“I’m almost done,” he begged, hands out as she kept approaching. “Please, just give me another hour.”

The woman drew her gun.

“Stand aside, Stark. Can’t promise I’ll be as gentle with you as I will with the little one.”

Still, Tony didn’t move, and Peter realised what was happening. Two hours had gone by, and his punishment was due.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, voice still hoarse from his earlier screaming, “I’ll be okay.”

It would hurt, sure, but Tony was a normal human. A bullet like that could kill him. Peter would be fine. He could take it. He would.

“Shut it, kid,” Tony said, and he kept standing in front of him, infuriatingly.

“Listen to your son,” the woman mocked, staring down at Tony as she pulled the safety on her gun. “Last chance, Stark.”

Peter tugged at his handcuffs again, which slipped off now that the screws had come undone. He held it to prevent it from clattering to the floor, and slipped it underneath himself.

With his hands free, he tried tugging on the chains behind him, but any pull only constricted them tighter around himself, digging into his skin and his bullet wound, making his teeth grit to keep him from crying out.

“Mr Stark, move aside, please,” he pleaded. The woman’s hand twitched on the trigger, and Peter’s head exploded again with the sheer sense of danger, danger, danger.

Both hands gripping the chain now, he yanked, and he felt it break before he heard it. Everything seemed to move in slow motion then.

He jumped to his feet, chains still falling off him as he grabbed Tony and hauled them to the ground. He felt the bullet whiz over the top of his head, felt the burning fire licking at his feet and legs, and felt the gripping sense of move, move, move.

With Tony still in his arms, he jumped, legs almost buckling beneath him as his thighs protested, warm blood dribbling down his body, as he caught the ceiling with one hand. Another bullet, where they’d both been just a second ago.

The blonde woman gaped at them, then snapped her mouth shut as she readied her gun again, aiming up. Peter dropped, placing Tony down before he hauled himself towards her. Peter’s spidey sense wouldn’t shut up, but he couldn’t stop moving. The gun went off again between them as Peter tackled her. They wrestled for the gun, and if Peter wasn’t so woozy it’d be no contest, normally.

The woman jabbed a knee into his stomach, which shouldn’t have hurt as much as it did, but there was that whiteness again as all his other senses just shut off and all he could think was it hurts, it hurts, it hurts.

He sensed danger again, and his head screamed at him to move, but he couldn’t because everything just hurt so much. Another shot rang out, and Peter tensed, expecting to get hit again, but nothing hurt as much as his stomach and his legs.

Tony, he thought, and he forced his eyes open. Blurrily, he could make out two forms fighting each other above him, but even that was too much and his eyes closed on their own.

He fought against everything in his body to stay awake, to pay attention, but the best he could do was listen to the bits he caught in between passing out.

More gunshots, people running, nothing. Then people touching him, saying things to him, then nothing. A jet, monitors beeping, panicked orders, nothing.

Peter couldn’t tell if it was the fourth or the hundredth time he had tried to wake himself up when he could finally hear Tony’s voice.

“I don’t need treatment right now. Focus on my kid!”

And Peter wondered if that meant they were home, and if Morgan was nearby, and if she’d gotten hurt after all, when unconsciousness took him again.

Some undeterminable time later, he drifted back to the realm of the living, feeling someone grip his hand. Sensing no immediate danger, he kept his eyes shut, worried that when they saw him awake again, they’d shoot him another time just for fun. Slowly, he tuned in to each of his senses.

He was lying down, and he was no longer bound, which was a huge improvement. More than that, the bed he was in was soft, his aching muscles sinking into them. There was something in his nose, and his legs and stomach still hurt but the pain was duller than the previous sharp fire that had seemed to consume his whole body. There were wires in his arms – I.Vs, his mind supplied – and a soft beeping sound reflecting his heartbeat.

And the hand clutching his was calloused, but it held him so tenderly.

Peter peeled his eyes open, and groaned at the bright white beaming down on him.

“Pete?” he heard the person behind him say, and then the hand was gone. Peter groaned, grasping for it but unable to find it. The lights dimmed, and he heard quick footsteps approaching his side, and then Tony had grabbed his hand again. “You with me, Peter?”

Tony never called him that. He must be shaken up, Peter thought, as he blinked back his vision.

He looked shaken up. Huh. He was wearing different clothes to the warehouse, and he wasn’t wearing his prosthetic. Peter spied white gauze peaking out from Tony’s shirt, and he reached up a hand to pull the shirt away from the collarbone.

He was frowning, but he couldn’t form the question.

Tony chuckled, and shook him off. “What’s a bullet, right, kid?”

Oh. He got shot? When had that happened? He vaguely remembered being on the ground, waiting for the woman to shoot him again. Had Tony blocked it?

“I think I win the getting shot competition, Mr Stark,” he managed to rasp out. “One to thirteen. You’re behind, old man.”

Tony grimaced.

“What happened, anyway?” Peter asked, staring up at the ceiling as he tried to piece things together. Then, remembering what he heard earlier, he asked, “Is Morgan okay?”

“What?” Tony’s forehead creased, and he laughed again. “The only thing wrong with Morgan is that she’s worried sick about you, Pete. Thank you. For keeping her and Pepper safe.”

Peter nodded. “Of course.”

“But don’t you ever do that shit again.” Tony’s face became serious, and he shifted closer to the bed. “I’m the one that takes the bullets, kid. Got it?”

So he had taken the fourth bullet meant for Peter. Peter shook his head. “You have a kid, Mr Stark. I wasn’t going to let them kill you.”

“You’re my kid, too.”

The statement stunned Peter into silence. Tony looked down at the ground, hand still gripping Peter’s.

“I- I know that you don’t see me like that, but there’s no changing that you are my kid, Pete. I accepted that a long time ago, and I’ve also accepted that when push comes to shove, I’ll die for my kids. You and Morgan both.”

Peter blinked back tears. “I don’t want that,” he said before he knew what he was doing. Tony’s face fell, but Peter pushed himself to continue. “I don’t need anyone else to die for me, Mr Stark. My parents, Uncle Ben, Aunt May… I can’t go on like that. I need- I need someone to live. I don’t want to lose anyone else. I don’t want to lose you.”

Even just saying it felt like a jinx. Peter half expected Tony to drop dead on the spot, just so the universe could spite him. But Tony kept breathing, and so did Peter, and the world didn’t end just because he admitted Tony was important to him.

“I’m afraid you’re stuck with me, kid,” Tony said gruffly. And then, having apparently reached his limit for emotional conversations, Tony climbed into the hospital bed with Peter, draping his good arm around Peter’s shoulders. “But you’re banned from getting shot ever again.”

“Not sure how you plan to enforce that one.”

“Copious amounts of bubble wrap.”

Peter wanted to quip back, but the door was opening and in came Pepper. Morgan peaked out from behind her, teary eyed.

“Petey?” She called out, still clutching Pepper.

“It’s less scary than it looks,” he was quick to assure her, offering her a smile. Morgan returned it with more tears as she ran toward him.

Peter scooped her up, ignoring the twinge in his stomach as he shifted, letting Morgan sit by his head.

“I missed you,” she confessed, pressing a blubbering kiss to his cheek. “Please don’t leave again.”

“Seconded,” Pepper said

Peter looked at them both, a funny feeling forming in his throat. It was one thing to want a family. He was no stranger to that. He’d been left wanting most of his life.

But to be equally as wanted?

He looked back to Tony, who smiled. “Sorry, kid. You’re stuck watching Frozen with us three forever.”

Peter sniffled, and then he was crying. He tucked his head into Tony’s chest, who looked alarmed.

“Dad! You made Petey cry!”

“I’m sorry, kid, I didn’t know you hated Frozen that much! We can watch something else! Anything, your pick!”