Archive of Our Own ^beta

In every Alternate Universe, Tony Stark attended MIT. His genius never wavered no matter the different reality he came from and in each Universe, at the tender age of 15, the child prodigy was pushed out of the cold nest and sent off to College by his father. And in every Universe, he always reacted the same: short quips and sarcastic remarks swallowed down by a bottle of whiskey he managed to swipe from the elder kid’s dorms.

In every Universe, Tony Stark had a MIT hoodie. Just the standard black one with the logo printed on the front and his name stitched on the inside by his neck (done delicately by the housekeeper the first— and last— Christmas he came home for). It was nothing special, just a heap of fabric that Tony fell in love with and refused to part from no matter how old he got. Even decades after he graduated, the hoodie stayed in his possession like a keepsake— which he would never admit to because Tony Stark was not a sentimental man.

And in every Universe, that hoodie made its way into Peter Parker’s adoring hands.

——————

In one Universe, one where the fate of the Galaxy was not left to Tony Stark’s fingers but instead Carol Danvers, the sun was setting on a beautifully cold day as small flakes of snow slowly fell down to the ground. Christmas was quickly looming with stockings already hung and trees decorated to full extent. Not for the first time, Peter Parker was laying on the makeshift bed in Morgan’s room, excited to spend the Christmas holiday with his extended family.

As per (the new) tradition, the Parker’s always came down to the Stark’s lake house for Christmas, excited to celebrate the holiday and the New Year together. Despite Tony and Pepper’s house being smaller than their usual penthouses or mansions, the cosiness of the lake house only seemed to add more to the Christmas mood.

With Happy and May camping out in Peter’s room, Rhodey taking up the guest room and whichever Avengers decided to pop in at random using the sofa, Peter always used the makeshift bed that they pitched in his honorary sister’s room. Neither young adult or child seemed to mind, the both of them taking the opportunity to spend more time together and giggle until the early hours of the morning when Tony finally had enough of it and banged on Morgan’s door to shut the hell up.

This tradition of coming together for Christmas had been pitched by Tony the first year after Thanos’ army had all been destroyed and Earth had been saved. The joy of getting the kid he’d lost back had made him never want to miss another second, so instead he’d come up with the idea of Peter and May travelling down to their for the holidays. At first, May had been dubious but after her relationship with Happy moved forward, she’d warmed to the idea of spending more time with her boyfriend and the people he considered family.

With their tradition going on 6 years now, everyone still enjoyed it like it was their first Christmas together.

“I can’t believe it’s Christmas Eve tomorrow!” Morgan squeezed as she climbed into bed, wearing Hello Kitty pyjama bottoms because she’d seen a picture of 15 year old Peter in them once and demanded she dress like her older brother. Tony hadn’t been able to hide the smile on his face as he’d brought her pyjama bottoms identical to the ones he’d once brought Peter as a punishment.

“You excited for Santa to come Morg?” Peter chuckled, turning his head on his pillow to watch as the 10 year old seemed to exude excitement. Even at 22 now, Peter still felt the buzz of excitement for Christmas to finally arrive. He didn’t care about the presents, he just couldn’t wait for dinner where they all sat around the table like one big, happy family. Which they were, Peter guessed.

“Ya-huh!” Morgan nodded, her brown hair bobbing up and down. She’d recently cut her long locks from where they’d once reached her lower back to now resting just below her shoulder. Tony had pouted when he’d told Peter about the sudden change in hairstyles for his daughter but Peter thought it suited the young girl more. “I’ve been a good girl all year!”

“Well, Good Girl,” Tony appeared at their door, smiling down at them as he crossed his arms. 11 year ago when the worst day of his life occurred and Peter had turned to dust in his arms, he’d never imagined that this day could ever come. He’d never allowed himself to even possibly get a whiff of hope that one day he would watch as his two kids— two fragments of his heart— climbed into bed, both safe under his roof.

When Tony had held Morgan for the first time, the fear of dropping her flying out of his head the second she was secured in his arms because he knew as he stared down at her face that he would never, ever hurt her, an epiphany had hit him. The warmth his heart felt as he’d looked down at the crying, red face of his newborn daughter and the way he just couldn’t help but smile when he looked at her, was the exact same way he’d felt about Peter. Back before Morgan had been born, Tony had attributed his feelings and the way he knew without a doubt in his heart that he would do all he could to keep Peter safe, down to simply just being the kid’s mentor.

He’d told himself it wasn’t love and that Peter was just his intern. He was his kid, sure, but he wasn’t HIS KID— if that even made any sense. But then Morgan had been born and Tony’s third eye had been opened on what unconditional, parental love felt like and it felt the exact same way as to how he’d felt about Peter.

That day had been the most bittersweet for where Tony gained a daughter, he also realised he’d lost a son.

“You better go to sleep— and actually sleep— if you don’t want to tarnish that record,” Tony carried on, trying to ignore how his heart swelled up at the sight of Morgan and Peter both under their duvets with almost identical looks of mischief on their faces. Even though Peter was an adult now, past his 22nd birthday and turning older with each day, he was still just a kid in Tony’s eyes. He would always be his kid.

“Dad!” Morgan whined, pouting at her father. “It’s too late for Santa to put you on the Naughty list now!”

“Is that so?” Tony raised an eyebrow, a smirk pulling at his lips. It often baffled Peter when he watched Morgan and Tony banter because the little girl was honestly like a clone of her mother, adopting all of Pepper’s arguing techniques.

“Yeah! Because he’s already made all the toys!”

“Then Santa will just throw them all away if you’re Naughty,” Tony shot back.

“But that will be a waste of supplies, Dad,” Morgan gave her father a look she’d no doubt stolen from her mother. “And Santa doesn’t seem like the type to be wasteful.”

“You’d be surprised— bed, now; chop chop before i sic Uncle Rhodey on your ungrateful asses!”Morgan let out a fake gasp, “Daddy, you said a swear! Petey, Dad said a swear!”

“Tut tut,” Peter tried to contain the chuckles that were surfacing. He had half of his head underneath the duvet, the amusement clear in his eyes as he watched the pair bicker. “Looks like Dad might be on the Naughty list now.”

The first time Peter had called Mr Stark Dad had been two months after the final battle, the world was no longer in peril and the dust had settled over the blipped being brought back. Life was trying to return to normal, families were figuring out how they could possibly move on and the entire world was just grateful that everyone was back finally. After 5 long years, it had felt like a lifetime to those who had survived Thanos’ initial snap.

There was no jaw-dropping moment where one of them was hurt or any good news which caused the word to burst through Peter’s lips. It had just been a casual slip of the tongue that had just felt so right to be said despite so weird to be heard. All Peter had done was ask if Tony would pass over the cereal one morning after he’d slept over at the lake house. When Tony had done so, letting Peter pour as much second helpings of cereal into his bowl, Peter had just dug his spoon into his bowl and said: “Thanks Dad,” before shoving the spoon in his mouth without a second thought.

Perhaps it might’ve been awkward if anyone else had been around to witness the moment but Morgan had been upstairs getting her hair brushed by Pepper, leaving the two boys downstairs to eat. Tony hadn’t even batted an eyelid, the word just seeming so right as he’d carried on reading something on his tablet. “You’re welcome, Pete,” he’d just replied casually, only half registering the fact that had been the first time Peter had called him by such a name.

Now, it just seemed like second nature. And it seemed perfectly right.

“Har har har,” Tony rolled his eyes as Peter let out the chuckle he’d been holding in. “Bed you two— now.”

“You do know i’m 22 years old, right?” Peter, ever the troublemaker, continued on. “I don’t have a bedtime anymore.”

“You do know you’re under my roof, right?” Tony shot back, quirking his eyebrow up. “You have a bedtime if i say you have a bed time. Now, go to sleep; you’re setting a bad example for your sister.”

It was only another few hours after that, the sun now completely set so only darkness could be seen and the entire lake house engulfed in silence as all the occupants slept, that Peter was shaken awake by a pair of small but insistent hands. He’d been having a nice dream about his first Christmas with Tony, back when he’d been 15.

Peter hadn’t slept over like he did every year now but on Christmas Day he’d found a fancily wrapped present under the tree, gifted to him by Mr Stark. Peter had begged May to drive him to the Tower so he could thank the man in person for even thinking about him for the holidays and in the end, they’d ended up staying over for dinner (it was that or May’s cooking and despite all his recklessness as Spider-Man, Peter had wanted to live until the New Year).

“Petey, wake up,” Morgan’s voice broke him out of his dream, shoving his arm again as she kept her voice low so not to alert her parents or Uncles that she was currently awake. The sky outside was pitch black, small tufts of snow falling down in an increasingly fast pace. Even inside with Tony’s heaters blasting on full, Peter still felt the cold shiver down his spine.

“Morgan?” Peter’s voice was drowned in sleep, making it break as he yawned. “What’s wrong?” It wasn’t unheard of for the 10 year old to have nightmares and whilst her go-to person was normally Pepper or Tony, on occasion she had been known to go to Peter for some cheering up. Tony said it was something about the protective big brother type that made Morgan both in awe and felt safe around him.

“Petey, it’s snowing,” Morgan whispered the words like they were the most exciting thing in the world. “Let’s go outside and play!”

“We can play later,” Peter grumbled, resisting the growing urge to turn over and carry on sleeping. The alarm-clock on Morgan’s bedside table read that it was almost 4 in the morning, meaning not only was it now Christmas Eve but that it was far too early for 10 year olds to be up.

“Petey, let’s play now!”

“Later, Morgan.”

Peter didn’t need to see her face to know she was pouting. “But i never see you anymore! I just want to play with you before you forget about me again.”

That had Peter more alert and awake. The mere thought that he could forget Morgan was impossible. “What are you on about? I see you all the time.”

“You didn’t come to dinner last month, even though you promised Dad you would!” Morgan stated it like it was fact, her hands now crossed over her chest in and identical way Tony had crossed his earlier.

“I was busy,” Peter groaned, thinking back to the amount of work he’d been piled with last month. Coupled with being Spider-Man and planning how he was going to propose to MJ (because he was planning on doing that extremely soon), Peter had been forced to break his promise to his Dad and skip out on their dinner plans. “That doesn’t mean i forgot you.”

“You never call anymore,” Morgan sniffled, her enthusiasm for the snow having depleted. “You used to call every week and now you don’t.”

Peter sat up, acknowledging he wasn’t going to be able to sleep when sad Morgan was sitting on the edge of his makeshift bed, sniffling quietly. Back when the blip ordeal had been recently overturned and Peter and Tony had established themselves more officially as father and son, Peter had been thrilled by the idea of an honorary little sister. Being an only child, the thought of 4 year old Morgan being like his sister had been exciting. Peter had called every week, spending at least half the time on the phone with Morgan as they spoke about whatever the hell they wanted. It became their thing to have weekly calls. But as time went on the thrill of having a little sister wore away (having Morgan in his life became a normality and not a simple bonus once he got used to it) and Peter’s life got busier. Hence why the phone calls slowly progressed from once a week to once a month to never.

“I could never forget you,” Peter brushed a strand of hair out of her face, seeing the exact same insecurity in her as had been in him. Back when he’d been unsure of where he really stood with Mr Stark— he’d always seen the man as a father figure type and it had driven him mad sometimes to distinguish if he meant more to Tony than just being Spider-Man or an intern.

Now that he knew they were on the same page, both having declared their love and feeling comfortable to call each other Dad and Son, Peter felt far more confident in their relationship. He didn’t need to call or come over all the time to know that Tony loved him and would never stop loving him.

Morgan just needed that same reassurance.

“You’re my little sister,” Peter pulled her body into his arms, wrapping his arms around her torso as he pulled her in tight. “I love you; i could never forget you.”

“You promise?” Morgan sniffled, even in the dark Peter could see how her eyes shone with unshed tears.

“I promise,” he nodded. They sat like that for a few seconds before Peter decided he was done with the silence. “Alright, you wanna go play in the snow?” He knew he was being a pushover but Peter would do anything to make the little girl smile. Even if that meant going out in the snow when it was pitch black and all he wanted to do was roll over and continue sleeping.

Sneaking out turned out to be harder than either Peter or Morgan anticipated. Coupled with the fact that Tony seemed to have a sixth sense about whatever schemes his kids got up to and Happy being a light sleeper, they had to be deathly silent as they pulled on sweater after sweater after sweater in order to stay warm. At one point Peter thought they were going to be found out because Morgan tripped as she put on her wellies, making a loud thud that echoed across the lake house. Thankfully, no one woke up.

“Shh,” Peter reminded his sister as he inched the front door open, wincing each time it creaked. He held it open just enough for Morgan to slip past before following after her and closing the door without a sound. Once free, they were able to actually enjoy themselves. Morgan let out a squeal as she raced off into the snow, her red gloves already rolling little balls of snow.

Before she could even throw one of her perfectly rolled balls of snow at Peter, one was already hitting her in the face. Morgan spluttered as snow froze her nose and lips, feeling like ice was stabbing at her skin as she wiped the white fluff away. Peter was bending over with laughter, trying to commit the look on the 10 year old’s face to memory. He couldn’t wait to tell MJ about this.

“No fair!” Morgan pouted, throwing her own snowball at Peter but missing when he dodged out of the way. “You have powers!”

“I’m just playing the game Morg,” Peter teased as he threw a few more snowballs at her with lightning speed. They hit her in the face and torso, making her pout deepen into a frown. He knew it was unfair considering he had supernatural reflexes and was able to sense every snowball coming his way but from the way Morgan was pouting, he couldn’t help but find it funny.

“Let’s build a snowman,” Morgan changed her mind after several more failed attempts to hit Peter with a snowball. Where she was shivering as snow coated her jacket and hat, Peter was squeaky clean.

They ended up building a whole army of snowmen, with Morgan calling them the ‘Snow-Vengers’ with a smirk. They made a Snow Iron Man, completed with a rock in the middle of his chest to mimic the Arc Reactor and sticks lined around the snowman’s mouth to copy Tony’s iconic goatee. A Snow Spider-Man was next, with Peter cleverly making a spider emblem on its torso out of twigs and rocks. By the time they had finished making War Machine, Rescue, Hulk, Thor, a tribute to Black Widow and Old Man Cap (completed with sticks lining his face to look like wrinkles), the entire of Tony’s front garden was littered with snow people.

The sun was slowing starting to rise when they were finally finished. The black sky was turning a lighter colour, a crack of light breaking through the trees as Peter rubbed his hands together, his breath coming out foggy. His hands were shaking and every inch of his body felt like ice, having spent the past several hours outside before dawn had even had a chance to warm him up. The air was like ice, bitter and harsh as it froze Peter’s lungs each time he took in a breath.

He paused in playing with Morgan to wrap his arms around his shaking limbs, trying to feel even an inch of warmth. Underneath his many layers of coats and jackets, he was extremely aware of how much his body was shaking underneath. Peter stuck one freezing finger under his coat, ignoring Morgan as she kicked around a football she’d just found, and gently touched his torso— only to feel like he was poking a block of ice.

“Morgan, i think it’s time to go in now,” Peter’s teeth chattered, his cheeks feeling like they were burning from the cold and his nose no doubt red and splotchy. He’d never done well in the cold and Peter knew when it was time to head inside and have a nice, long shower. The only hard part of his plan was the fact that he had to convince an excitable 10 year old that playtime was over.

A 10 year old who was now missing.

“Morgan?” Peter yelled out, flowing as he glanced around. In the slight light all he could see was white. There was no small child running around, kicking a ball as she giggled. Peter could’ve sworn he saw her a second ago. “Morgan?”

“Peter!” A quiet, terrified yell came from behind him, making him turn around and spot the source of the noise. Panic filled him as he raced down from the front of the lake house to where Morgan was standing, the forgotten football a metre away from her as her lips trembled and her eyes widened with fear. She was standing about three metres away on the frozen lake, cracks forming at her feet. “Petey help!”

“Morgan what did you do?” Peter couldn’t help the panic that rose in his voice as he asked despite knowing what she’d done. It was clear the little girl had kicked her football out too far, having raced after it before realising too late that she was standing on frozen water, the weight of her body causing cracks to form. Judging by how terrified she looked now, Peter knew Morgan understood the dangers of the frozen lake.

Morgan tried to take a step forward, her left leg pressing on the ice before her. A cracking noise echoed around them, making the little girl tremble as she redacted her foot. Around her the ice seemed to break even more.

“Don’t move, okay?” Peter raised up a hand, indicating she stand still. “I’ll get you out of there. You just need to do as i say, okay?”

Morgan bobbled her head, looking at Peter like he was going to save the world she trusted him entirely to do it. As Peter internally panicked, he wondered if he was deserving of her trust. Normally, he would just shoot out a web and pull Morgan to safety but he’d left his web shooters in Morgan’s bedroom as he’d had no idea their little fun in the snow would lead to this.

“I’m going to come to you and i’ll walk you back, okay Morgan?” Peter waited for her slow nod of confirmation before slowly placing his foot on the ice and walking towards her. She wasn’t too far out that it was a trek to reach her but she was far enough out that if the ice broke, she would be plunged into icy water too deep for her to stay up in.

The ice was cracking around his feet, Peter could feel each chip and break under his toes as he forced himself to continue forward. He refused to look down, opting instead to keep his eyes on Morgan and let her know he was coming. “I’ve almost got you, okay?”

Morgan reached out her arms when Peter was close enough, their hands meeting and holding on like it was a matter of life or death— which really, it was. As Peter took the last step to Morgan, he felt the ice crack under his feet but it held strong enough for him hold onto her properly. “Come on Morg, we’ve had enough fun on the ice, let’s go back, okay? Walk with me now,” he tried to guide her, taking smile steps back towards the land but the second her feet reached where Peter was standing, the ice underneath them broke.

In the split second that the ice cracked and plundered into the freezing water below, Peter put his lightning reflexes to good use by pushing Morgan’s body away and toward the land. He watched as she screamed, skidding across the lake before rolling onto the land and to safety as his feet fell down, plummeting down into the water underneath. He didn’t even hear her screaming his name as he went down, his head getting swallowed by the lake.

Millions upon trillions of tiny daggers stabbed at his skin, their freezing cold blades unrelenting as they pierced his body again and again and again. Never in his life had he been so cold as the lake stole his breath, the water feeling like it was turning his muscles into ice. Peter tried to kick his legs and push himself back to the surface but he was already being taken by the current, his hands meeting only solid ice as he tried to break through back to the morning air. Even with super-strength, the ice was too hard and he was too tired. His limbs were turning to jelly as he tried his best to get through.

Peter wasn’t sure how long he floated, all he knew was that it was cold and it was dark. He couldn’t see anything and the last breath in his lungs was quickly being replaced by icy water, his insides feeling like he was being stabbed by glass. Peter’s head lolled to the side, his aching fingers falling down to his sides as he accepted defeat.

At least Morgan was safe— that was all that mattered.

And then suddenly Peter was colder. Fresh air licked at the cold water on his skin and clothes, making him shiver even more. He spluttered as water dribbled down his chin, his eyes blearing as Peter tried to get a grip of what was going on.

He was no longer under the lake, accepting his fate but now he was back on land, a crying Morgan beside his feet as an Iron Man suit gently laid him down on the ground. The faceplate went away, revealing a terrified looking Tony as he stepped out of the suit and wrapped his arms around Peter’s ice cold body.

“Let it out Peter,” Tony crooned, slapping his back to help with getting the water out of his lungs. “Cough it out. Come on.” Peter continued to splutter, vaguely hearing as Tony turned to Morgan and told her to wake up May and get Pepper to call Helen Cho.

“D-Dad?” Peter’s lips chattered, his eyesight still blurry from either tears or the water, Peter couldn’t tell.

“That’s right buddy, Dad’s here,” Tony pressed Peter’s head into the crook of his neck, wincing slightly as it felt like a block of ice was biting at his skin. Peter, for one, welcomed the warmth, trying to dig his head in even further.

“W-what h-hap-happened?”

“You fell in the lake,” Tony ran his hands through Peter’s hair, stepping back slightly so the Iron Man suit would attach itself to his body once more so he could lift Peter up and bring him inside. They didn’t even make it inside the house before May rushed out in only a pair of pyjamas and fluffy socks, a look of pure terror on her face as she took in Peter’s blue lips and shaky body.

“Peter!” May rushed over, stepping back so Tony could pass her and step inside the lake house, placing the young adult on the sofa. Before Peter knew it, he was being stripped of his wet clothing and shoved into a pair of baggy jogging bottoms and a black MIT hoodie, belonging to Tony. He snuggled into the warmth of the hoodie, grateful for it.

“Helen’s on her way,” Pepper appeared at the door with Rhodey, her hair a mess and Morgan was pressed into her Uncle’s stomach, sobbing loudly. “She’ll be two hours but she says to keep him warm and hydrated.”

Tony nodded, grabbing more blankets to wrap around Peter and drying his hair with a towel handed over by a worried looking Happy. “What the hell happened?” The driver looked between his friend to his girlfriend, the both of them sitting on either side of Peter as his teeth chattered and his skin looked a sickly pale.

“We were just playing,” Morgan hiccuped into Rhodey’s top, looking up a second to show the occupants of the room her blotchy face and red eyes. “I didn’t know i was on the lake— Petey came to save me and then he went under. He pushed me out the way and i couldn’t do anything but watch as he went in.”

Pepper shushed the little girl, getting down on her knees so she could properly hug her as Morgan moved from crying into Rhodey’s stomach to crying into her mother’s neck.

“W-would d-do it ag-again,” Peter mumbled, inviting in the warmth of Tony and May as they cuddled closer to him, keeping the blankets in place. Happy ran off to make some warm tea to help warm Peter up.

“God, you’re still a block of ice, kid,” Tony sounded worried a little while later after Peter had drunk all of the tea Happy made. The man pressed his hand to Peter’s cheek, the young adult still feeling like ice as the concern in Tony’s chest increased. “I’ll be right back,” he mumbled for racing off towards his bedroom.

“P-Petey, are you going to be okay?” Morgan broke free from Pepper’s grip, tentatively stepping closer to her brother with wide eyes and tear-stained cheeks. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s o-okay,” Peter tried to smile but a wave of shivers rolled off him. May sucked in a breath, rubbing Peter’s back as she tried to warm him up. “C-come here M-Morg,” he beaconed her closer, waiting until she was right in front of him to weakly pull her up into his arms. The little girl shivered as she touched his cold skin before melting into his embrace as May readjusted the blankets.

It was just then that Tony walked back in, a jumper in his hand. He watched as Morgan and Peter snuggled on the sofa, his heart constricting as he thought about how this was twice now that he’d almost lost the chance of this. First with Peter’s dusting and now with his almost-drowning. The kid always had a penchant for danger and Tony wasn’t sure how long his heart would be able to take the small heart attacks that Peter’s almost-dying gave him.

Tony had been woken up in the early hours of the morning that day to Morgan’s tumble as she’d tried to covertly put on her wellies. The loud thud that had echoed around the lake house had immediately woken him up but by the time he’d gotten out of bed, his two kids had already snuck outside and not wanting to be a party-pooper, he’d settled with sitting at the window and watching them play instead of busting them. It was like some sort of therapy (far cheaper and more rewarding than any other therapy he’d been to before) as he’d watched them throw snowballs and build him in the snow.

He’d been dozing off, his forehead resting against the window as sleep had taken over once more when the sounds of Peter and Morgan’s cries had broken through his subconscious. At first, he hadn’t really thought too much of it but then Morgan’s shrill scream and yell for Peter followed by the sound of something breaking and splashing in the water had bolted him upright with the sort of adrenaline that was bad for his heart.

Tony hadn’t even thought twice before calling the Iron Man suit, flying down to the line and using his blasters to shoot through the ice so he could pull Peter to safety. It brought a wave to fear to even think about what would’ve happened if he hadn’t heard Morgan stumbling around when they’d first gone out to play.

“Arms up kiddo,” Tony shook his head to banish the dark thoughts, stepping closer. Peter did as he was asked without questioning it, only looking slightly confused as Tony shoved the black hoodie over his head. The black fabric and MIT logo looked like a stark contrast to Peter’s pale skin.

“Thanks Dad,” Peter smiled as the elder man took up his position from before, one hand wrapped around Peter whilst the other rested on Morgan’s leg.

They sat there for a little longer, all waiting for Peter to warm up and for Helen Cho to walk through the door. May fell asleep against Peter’s shoulder around the same time as Morgan passed out whilst Rhodey, Happy and Pepper went into the kitchen to make coffee for when the doctor arrived.

That left Peter wrapped up in Tony’s jumper, half leaning on the man himself. He could feel the warm fabric of Tony’s MIT hoodie, filling him with security and chasing away the chill. It was soft against his skin, the material light yet comforting at the same time. It fit perfectly with the sleeves stopping at his wrists and sitting on his torso like it was made just for him. Being an MIT graduate himself, Peter for some reason found this hoodie, the one owned by his Dad, far more comforting and warm than the one he owned himself. Peter guessed it had more to do with the owner than the clothes.

“What you did was brave, Peter; i’m proud,” Tony’s voice was quiet but the pride was evident. He was moving his gaze from a sleeping Morgan to Peter’s less-than-blue lips.

Peter chuckled, nodding. He wrapped his arm around Morgan tighter, smirking when she shuffled more into his embrace. “Well, better me than her, right?”

“Peter— what?” Tony’s face pulled down into a frown. “No!”

“I didn’t mean it that way—“

“I don’t care what way you mean it,” Tony shook his head, face suddenly hard set. “No matter which one of you had fallen into that lake, the worry and the tiny heart attack i felt would be the same. I don’t care if you’re 22 and Morgan’s 10 or if you have super powers and she doesn’t; you’re both my kids.”

“I really didn’t mean it that way,” Peter sniffled, looking up at Tony with sad eyes. “I know you care about me the same way.”

“Good,” Tony wrapped his arm around Peter tighter. “And don’t you ever forget it.”

In this Universe, Peter Parker knew he was always loved.

——————

In another Universe, Peter Parker was never bitten by the radioactive spider that gave him his powers. The week of his trip, May had been working nightshifts at the hospital in order to gain some extra cash when a patient had come in with a serious case of the flu. Nothing life threatening or major but the poor girl had sneezed a lot, leaving some of her germs on May who in turn brought them home to Peter.

Bedridden and miserable, Peter Parker had been forced to miss his school trip to Oscorp, watching on snapchat as his classmates posted about wandering the cool scientific corridors and seeing all the tech. By the time the day ended, Peter’s flu symptoms all but clearing up, he was refined to being a normal boy for the rest of his life. He would never even know how differently his life would’ve turned out if he’d have just gone on the school trip, flu or not.

He never would know that in different Universes, versions of him were out swinging around the city and doing good just so they could help people. All Peter Parker knew was the life he was living, consisting of school and hanging out with Ned— nothing more, nothing less.

“You’re free to build the Lego Death Star with me tonight, right?” Ned asked eagerly as they walked down the Midtown corridors. They’d been talking about constructing the Death Star for months, the both of them saving up so they could buy it together.

“Yeah, totally,” Peter nodded, smiling at his best friend. The Death Star was going to be massive and neither could wait to get started on building it. It even had a miniature Emperor Lego guy who they could place at the top.

“This is going to be so awesome!” Ned yelled as Peter tried to shush him so all the people giving them weird looks would go away. His friend had a tendency to ignore using an inside voice when excited.

“Yeah,” Peter chuckled, Ned’s excitement making him even more giddy for the day to be over. He pushed his glasses back up his nose, his grin growing even more as he shared a look with Ned.

“Well well well, if it isn’t Penis and his boyfriend,” a snotty voice called from behind the two best friends. Peter immediately froze, knowing nothing was going to go well from this interaction. He closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath before turning around to face Flash and his posse.

“What do you want Flash?”

“I want you to get out of my way, Penis,” Flash narrowed his eyes. He wasn’t exactly taller or buffer than Peter but the bully had a confidence and mean streak Peter simply didn’t possess, giving him an advantage over the boy. In different Universes, the powers Peter possessed meant he was no longer fully victim to Flash’s teasing because he knew he had the ability to make him shut up if he wanted. This Peter, however, had nothing over the bully.

Peter stepped to the side, giving Flash room. “There you go.”

“What, you think you’re so smart or something Parker?” Flash spat as he walked past, giving Peter’s shoulder a painful hit as he went. Peter gritted his teeth, a hand going up to his shoulder knowing there would be a bruise there tomorrow. “You’re nothing special.”

Peter kept his mouth closed as Flash’s friends all laughed, chiming in as they walked through Ned and Peter, adding nasty comments to the pair. The two moved back together when they were all gone, watching as the bully and his friends disappeared down the next corridor.

“I’d love to beat them up,” Ned spoke up suddenly, glaring at where Flash had disappeared. “They’re all so horrible.”

“Well we can’t beat them up even if we wanted to,” Peter sighed, his hand dropping from his shoulder as they carried on walking to their next class. Thankfully, it was one of the only lessons he had without Flash’s looming presence to throw rubbers at his back or mouth nasty words across the room.

“I bet if we joined together, we could kick Flash’s ass!”

“I don’t know if you remember this,” Peter groaned, giving his best friend a bored look. “But i literally have no muscle on me at all. I couldn’t even beat up a fly. And i have asthma, so that’s a kick in the lungs right there.”

“I bet you Iron Man would be able to beat Flash up,” Ned mumbled as they entered their Maths class, taking up the seats towards the back so they had more chance of talking to each other without their teaching noticing.

“Well duh,” Peter rolled his eyes at Ned’s words. “He’s Iron Man, of course he could!” He thought to his idol, the man inside the suit: Tony Stark. For as long as Peter could remember, he’d been obsessed with Tony Stark. The man’s genius and his suave attitude had won Peter over from a young age, his idolisation only increasing when it had been revealed the billionaire was also a superhero.

Peter wondered what Tony Stark would do if it was him being bullied— impossible Peter knew, as if Tony Stark would ever get bullied by a small twerp like Flash. But Peter wasn’t as cool and untouchable as Tony Stark so he was reduced to the adolescent struggles of teasing from a high school bully.

He wondered if Tony Stark would take the teasing and mean words or if he would stand up for himself. Iron Man would just blast the bully to smithereens but what would the man inside the suit do? Would he fight the bully? Or would he find some other way to take him down?

In the end it didn’t matter, Peter was not Tony Stark and that fact could not be anymore glaringly obvious.

Across town, sitting in one of his labs at the Tower, Tony Stark was halfway through designing a new Iron Man suit, a bottle of whiskey empty at his feet. Ever since the Avengers had broken up and Pepper had left him, the whole in Tony’s chest had increased by one million. It was like a void he couldn’t escape, eating him up slowly as he realised just how alone he was.

The AC/DC blasting through his speakers was almost enough for him to pretend that there was someone else down in the lab with him, keeping his company at a time when he really needed it. But alas, he was alone.

He was reaching for another bottle of whiskey when FRIDAY’s voice cut through the blaring rock music. “I do not recommend another bottle, Boss.”

“Screw what you recommend,” his words were slurred and his hands shook as he uncapped the bottle lid, not even bothering with a glass as he chugged from the bottle. Even in his drunken haze, he could still feel as the liquid burned his throat going all the way down to his stomach.

“Col. Rhodes will not be pleased when he finds out what you’re doing,” FRIDAY tried to reason but unfortunately, Tony was too drunk past the point of feeling fear of Rhodey’s wrath.

“Screw Rhodey!” He yelled, looking up at the ceiling even though he knew the AI wasn’t actually there.

“I can do what i want,” Tony’s words sounded more like a murmur as he spoke to himself, nodding to himself. Yes, he could do what he wanted. His friends had left him, Barnes had killed his parents and Pepper had yet to accept him back so yeah, Tony believed he deserved a drink. Or two. Or maybe a whole bottle.

It was halfway through the second bottle, everything looking blurry and his brain feeling more like mush with each sip, that Tony stumbled into one of the lab’s shelves, knocking over several picture frames he’d had standing there. (Why was he walking around again? The last he remembered, he’d been sitting down at his chair.)

His hands shook as he reached down to pick them up, anger coursing through his veins as he realised he’d knocked over a few pictures of him and Pepper. There were even a smashed frame from the picture the Avengers had taken back in 2012 after the defeat of Loki. Why were these here? Tony didn’t want them anymore— the Avengers hadn’t wanted him so why should he keep their pictures?

“What are these doing here?” Tony roared up at FRIDAY, the alcohol in his system making him more mad. His skin was a pale colour, looking oily and ashen but with the anger, his cheeks tinged red slightly.

“I do not understand Boss,” FRIDAY spoke back ever so calmly, unfazed by Tony’s tone. He wondered if he’d programmed her to always act so calm or if this was of her own doing.

“I’m not a sentimental guy FRIDAY, i don’t want these pictures lying around— i don’t keep things like this.” It was all bullshit, words spoken with absolutely no truth but he didn’t care. He just wanted the constant reminder of his struggles to be gone. He wanted to come down to the lab so he could tinker and drink in peace without Pepper’s beautiful face and Steve’s betraying eyes staring at him.

“Judging by the amount of photos, memorabilia and fan-art you have stored around the Tower, i would have to disagree with that statement, Boss.”

“Screw you,” Tony spat, hating how his AI called him out on his lies. “I’m not sentimental— i don’t care about all those things.”

“Sure Boss.”

If it were anyone else, Tony would’ve gone off on a long rant, yelling and cussing out the person currently pissing him off. But FRIDAY was of Tony’s creation, meaning she knew he was full of shit and no matter what he said, he couldn’t hurt her feelings. He’d designed her protocol to withstand any slander his drunk self would spew.

“Don’t believe me?” Tony looked up at the ceiling with a smug expression. He put the bottle of whiskey down, reaching out to grab an empty box he had laying around. He threw the smashed Avengers photo in before stumbling towards the lab doors. As he moved, unsteady on his feet and almost falling over at certain points up the stairs, Tony kept muttering over and over how he wasn’t sentimental and he’d show FRIDAY, she didn’t know what she was on about.

It felt like years when he finally reached his bedroom, throwing open the door and walking around the room to see if he could prove to FRIDAY he wasn’t sentimental like she believed. He threw a few things into the box, like tickets from shows he’d gone to see with Rhodey back when he’d been a teenager and a few ties Pepper had brought him when they’d first started dating.

“I do not believe this act is proving you’re unsentimental, Boss,” FRIDAY spoke up just when Tony thought he had proven it to her.

“Well i’m not done yet,” Tony shot back, picking up the box and stumbling into the walk-in-wardrobe he had next door. He didn’t know what he was expecting to find as he ruffled through the thousands of designer clothes and crappy t-shirts he had hanging up but when his eyes spotted the hoodie toward the back of the room, he knew how he was going to prove his point.

“Does this prove it to you?” Tony lifted up the old MIT hoodie he’d saved for years, having kept it from his first semester to this very second. As a young teen away from home for the first time, this hoodie had been his only comfort and warming embrace. Embroidered on the back was his name, stitched in by the housekeeper of that time.

“You do not need to prove anything to me, Boss,” FRIDAY sounded sad all of a sudden. Lies, Tony thought as he heard her words loud and clear. He always had to prove something to someone: he had to prove to the world that he wasn’t a complete asshole, he had to prove that Iron Man was a hero not a weapon, he had to prove to the Avengers that he didn’t mean the harm he occasionally made and he had to prove to Pepper that he was worth being the man she spent the rest of her life with.

Tony had spent his entire life trying to prove himself to people, whether it be his father, the world or his ex-friends. Sometimes it worked and other times, it just blew up in his face.

He wasn’t sure why proving this to FRIDAY felt so important but it did.

Dropping the hoodie into the box with all the other junk, his heart heavy, Tony felt as if he won.

“I retract my sentimental comment, Boss,” FRIDAY acknowledged, understanding what the hoodie had meant to him.

“Send someone over to pick this up and send it away,” Tony ran a hand over his face, the warm buzz of the alcohol already rubbing away as he felt suddenly sick. He was sweating a lot more as he walked back down to the lab, the excitement of winning an argument over FRIDAY finished before it had even truly begun.

“Of course Boss,” if AI’s could sound heartbroken, Tony was sure he was the first douchebag to have hurt a computer’s feelings.

“Here’s twenty dollars,” May shoved a rumpled note into Peter’s hand as she dashed out the door. “Go buy yourself a new coat, okay? Yours has holes!”

“But May, i’m going over to Ned’s soon!” Peter whined as he watched her pause, one foot out their abatement, as she looked back on him.

“Then get one on your way,” she rolled her eyes like it was a smile solution. “There’s a nice Charity shop a few blocks from where Ned lives.” Neither of them acknowledged that a Charity shop was the only place they could afford buying from right now with May’s tight income.

“Fine,” Peter grumbled, waving her goodbye as she rushed off to pick up another shift at the hospital. It seemed like all May did lately was work, leaving Peter alone for hours in their apartment. With no hobbies apart from reading and doing homework, Peter had nothing else to do but wait for her to come home in the quiet apartment.

He pulled on his shoes, wrapping the deteriorating coat around him as Peter walked out the apartment to begin the walk to Ned’s. Just like May said, there was a nice Charity shop not too far from his friend’s house, the interior looking warm and homey despite being located in a rough neighbourhood.

“Can i help you dear?” A kind old lady smiled at him from behind the till. Peter was the only customer, the entire shop quiet enough that a pin could be heard dropping.

“I’m just looking for a new coat,” Peter spoke back, trying to hide the holes in his own coat with his hand as the lady smiled understandingly at him.

“Round the back dear, give me a shout if you need anything,” she pointed in the direction Peter needed to go, smiling at him as he walked away. Peter just nodded and followed her finger, making his way over to where the winter coats were located. There seemed to be a few nice ones and a few ones obviously having used to belong to someone back in the 50s from how old fashioned and grey they were.

Just when Peter thought he was going to leave empty handed, no doubt making May annoyed
later when she realised her nephew hadn’t done as she’d asked, Peter spotted the black hoodie sticking out between a bomber jacket and one of the old 50s coats. He picked it up, intrigued by it.

The hoodie was just a simple piece of clothing, the logo for MIT printed on the front in slightly faded letters. Peter ran his hands over the soft cloth, curiosity peaking out from him. This hoodie seemed more special than the other clothes on the rack.

It wasn’t until Peter saw the name stitched on the back of the collar that his chest suddenly felt constricted. Did that really say Anthony Stark in gold letters? Was this really THE Tony Stark’s old hoodie? Peter knew Tony Stark had attended MIT and he knew he used to own a hoodie just like it, he’d seen it in pictures of the man when he’d been younger. But what was Tony Stark’s hoodie doing in the back of a Charity shop in a dodgy part of Queens?

Peter didn’t care. He brought the hoodie before his mind could convince him it was a fake. The woman behind the till made a comment about the hoodie having arrived late last night by a nameless guy, stating he was dropping off his Boss’ belongings. Peter wondered if that meant it was true and he really was holding Tony Stark’s old hoodie in his hands. He really wished he was.

The second Peter left the store, he ripped off his old coat and threw the hoodie on over his head, immediately letting the warmth cover him and wrap him up like a hug. He tried to imagine Tony Stark wearing this, his arms in the same holes that Peter’s were now in and his hair touching the same hood that Peter was touching. The hoodie was slightly too big on Peter’s slim frame but he didn’t care.

May was going to be annoyed when Peter returned home not with a coat but with a hoodie, Peter knew for a fact but he decided to push all those thoughts back. For now, all he wanted to focus on was the gold stitching that was rubbing against his neck and how safe he felt inside the black hoodie.

It had been 7 years since the Stark Expo back when the Hammer drones had gone crazy, shooting at people and blowing things up at every opportunity. That day had been the best and worse of Peter’s life all rolled into one. It had been bad because people had gotten hurt and for a short while, Peter had been separated from his Aunt and Uncle, almost convincing himself they’d been hurt in the attack.

But then the entire bad events of the day were suddenly ignored when the Hammer drone had locked onto Peter’s helmet and he’d raised his hand, trying to be brave. A small part of Peter’s childlike brain had actually believed he could shoot down the drone in front of him just when Iron Man had dropped down behind him, shooting the drone with suave.

“Nice work, kid,” Iron Man had called before flying off again, leaving Peter in the dust. Those three words were forever stained on Peter’s brain, getting replayed at times when he needed them most. He heard them every time before a test or a class presentation; he heard them when he was scared and when he’d been grieving for Ben. Peter had only met Iron Man once but the mark left behind was bigger than he could ever imagine.

Peter wrapped his arms around his torso, the baggy sleeves of his new hoodie flopping down as he stretched his arms as far as they could go. “Nice work, kid,” the echo whispered once more in his ear. If he closed his eyes, he could almost pretend he was back there, chaos surrounding him and people screaming as they ran but then a moment of silence when Iron Man turned to him and spoke those words.

In this Universe, Peter Parker did a lot of pretending.

——————

In another Universe, Peter’s life was completely different; with a last name of Stark and money running through his veins, the world was his oyster. Born to the heir of Stark Industries, Peter Stark had never once lived a day where money didn’t flow freely through his fingers. No matter how much he spent or how much was spent on him, double seemed to get shoved in his pocket.

“Money is what makes a man,” Peter’s Grandfather would always say as he sipped on his Whiskey in one of the clear, crystal glasses that Peter knew better than to breathe near. His Grandfather had a very strict attitude when it came to money: that making it was more important than anything. Appearance and wealth were the only things Howard seemed interested in. If there was anything his Grandfather cared about more than how much green was in his pocket, Peter was left in the dark.

All Peter’s life he’d been exposed to money. He was pretty sure the first colour he was able to identify properly was green. But with the money came the added fame— which was not necessarily a bad thing but Peter had grown to hate the blinding flashes of cameras in his face and the nameless people shoving microphones towards his mouth. “How is school going Peter?” “Are you being trained to take over Stark Industries one day Peter?” “Are you as smart as your Father Peter?”

How was a child meant to answer those unrelenting questions when they were all being yelled at him at once and he didn’t even know the answer to half of them?

By the time Peter was 15, he’d grown to hate what having Stark as his last name meant. The never-ending wealth with his large bedroom and penthouse suite with constant maid service was nice, sure, but even without the reporters trying to deafen him, Peter was sick of it all. The Stark Pressure was the worst.

From a time that Peter himself couldn’t even remember, the executive decision had been made (no doubt by his Grandfather) that Peter was the future of SI. His Father, Tony, was Stark Industries’ heir but Peter was going to be the one who took the company further than either of the two previous generations could try. With undeniable advances in technology, Peter would have more opportunities to extend SI at his fingertips than Howard and Tony combined.

Not that Peter had been asked if he wanted the responsibility of an entire company in the future. It was unheard of for the youngest Stark to want anything else; he’d once confided in his Father that he really wanted to take pictures professionally but the second he’d said the words, Howard had walked in and shut the dream down. (Peter still found a camera at the end of his bed that night with a note written in his Father’s handwriting: Do What You Love — Dad).

But they both knew dreams were just that: dreams. Things would only ever go the way that Howard wanted, no more no less.

At times when it all became too much, Peter started to feel as if he was drowning. The world would just be one loud ball of fire that constantly took and took and took; words were yelled at him, lights were flashed in his face and people’s faces became blurs as he was shoved past them. It was like his senses were dialled to 11, everyone was yelling and he had no voice to communicate how he felt.

Sometimes, Peter felt like he was dying. The pressure weighed down on his chest so hard that it pushed all the air out of his lungs and he would just lay there . . . falling down, down, down into the dark pit of where his fears lay waiting. Shackles formed around his ankles, binding him to the ground— he was never able to be free; to break away and be his own person. Because at the end of the day, Peter wasn’t a person. He was a puppet his Grandfather controlled, weaving in stories about him to the press and making him into SI’s picture perfect future CEO.

Peter often lay awake at night, a suffocating fear nibbling at his heart, that one day the pressure of becoming someone he wasn’t would kill him. That the days when his breath would escape him, running off as his anxieties took control, the air would just never return to his lungs and Peter would be left to suffocate all alone— because his Grandfather didn’t care about Peter, he just cared about the hands he was leaving the company with.

“How was school, kiddo?” Peter’s Dad’s voice cut through the teenager’s thoughts, bringing him back to the present. He was standing in the middle of the entry to their penthouse, having just walked out of the elevator after a long day of High School. Peter wondered how he could’ve zoned out so much that he hadn’t even realised he was home.

Tony was standing by the kitchen island, looking at Peter with concern as he took a sip of whatever was in his glass. Peter hoped it was apple juice— he was probably wrong.

“It was good,” Peter lied, dumping his bag by the elevator as he walked over to where his Dad was standing. He poured apple juice into a glass of his own, his heart constricting when he had to open the bottle from brand new. “I aced my Spanish Quiz.”

“I knew you would,” Tony ruffled his son’s hair as Peter passed, looking every inch the proud Dad.

“Where’s Nonna?” Peter looked around but he couldn’t see his Grandmother anywhere; normally she was there when he came home from school. He didn’t expect to see his Grandfather until the sun went down and the man finally deemed it time to leave the office.

“She went to help organise some charity event,” Tony sighed, finishing his glass of drink. “I just came up to ask about school; i’ve got a project i need to work on tonight.”

Peter nodded, swishing the apple juice around in his mouth for a second so he wouldn’t have to reply. If his Dad had a project he needed to do then it meant Peter probably wouldn’t see him until tomorrow— if even that. Whilst having moved the workshop to their Penthouse was cool, the downsides meant Tony holed himself for hours— sometimes days— on end as he worked or tinkered. They’d moved the workshop due to his Dad and Grandfather’s increasing fights at Stark Industries, deciding it would be best for Tony to build the next batch of weapons from the comfort of his home rather than the New York office.

“Okay, see you,” Peter waved as his Dad walked off. The silence enveloped him, the eeriness making him feel suddenly sick. Not even blasting his headphones at full volume helped to tame the emptiness in his chest as Peter wandered the Penthouse alone. He was used to it by now, the depressing decor and minimalistic designs that made their home look more like a showroom than somewhere he felt the most safe.

Peter’s feet were moving towards his Nonna’s bathroom before he even realised it. He paused for one second, the angel on his shoulder screaming ‘NO, NO, NO!’

He ignored it.

It had been about four years ago that Peter properly understood why his Nonna was always popping pills. In his childhood, Peter had always thought they were sweets and that his wonderful, kind Grandmother just had a sweet-tooth she could never quite satisfy. Peter had understood the desire for candy, being a child it had been all he’d ever wanted to. But then, as Peter got older, he started to notice that the ‘candy’ wasn’t like the sweets his Dad brought for him. They came in a circular, orange tub with his Nonna’s name written on it. And they weren’t Tic-Tacs that he loved but called Xanax.

On occasion, Peter felt bad about sneaking into his Nonna and Grandfather’s medicine cabinet. He sometimes felt guilt force his hands to shake as he popped open the orange tubs and his mouth would be too dry to swallow the little pills. But then the high would hit him and Peter didn’t care about all that anymore.

The world just became dulled. Not silent but in a sort of trance. The flashing lights dimmed down and the yelling became slowed down, like everyone was dragging out their sounds. The pressure on Peter’s chest faded away and for the longest time, Peter was able to breathe. Just breathe.

He popped a pill in his mouth and exited his Nonna’s bathroom like nothing had happened. This wasn’t his first time stealing pills from her and he was sure it wouldn’t be his last. Peter’s own supply was non-existent right now, flushed down the toilet no doubt by his Dad, so he had to make do with what he could.

It was on his way to his bedroom, ready to spend the night binge-watching some crappy show or simply laying in the warm silence of his foggy mind, that Peter spotted the regular weekly maid piling together the laundry. Their eyes met for what felt like an eternity, shame filling every inch of Peter’s body as his cheeks flooded with warmth and his hands started to shake. The maid suddenly went pale, her skin going ghost white as her eyes widened until they looked like saucers.

Was he meant to say hello? What do you say to the person who found you passed out 6 months ago, vomit beside your body as your eyes rolled to the back of your head?

Peter didn’t say anything, opting to step around her and retreat to his bedroom as his heart raced and his stomach clenched like he was going to puke. The events of what had happened 6 months ago were left out of the press— of course. His Grandfather didn’t get to the position he’s at now without gaining a few favours from people working in the press and the hospital alike. The second he’d been made aware of Peter’s accidental overdose, he’d made calls to his friends in powerful places so no story or witnesses would surface when they raced the teenager to the ER.

Peter wondered if his Grandfather visited him in the hospital first before slapping a NDA into the maid’s hand.

He knew he should feel guilty— he knew he should hate himself as the small pill worked its way into his system and the high took away all the anxiety and the tightness in his chest. Peter had promised his Dad, two days after he’d woken up from his coma that he would never use again. Tony had looked like shit, his hair a mess and his lips quivering as he’d grabbed Peter’s face in a vice like grip and made him promise that Peter would never so much as look at drugs again.

Peter had crossed his fingers behind his back and said yes, Dad, i promise.

Things had been strained ever since then; his Grandfather had forced him to take part in an expensive rehab facility, everyone forced to sign NDA’s until it was clear that if they spilled the beans, even their children’s children’s children would feel the consequences. The media had been told Peter was on a retreat for buisness management when the reality was he was standing around in a circle everyday for 5 months going ‘Hi, my name is Peter and i’m addicted to painkillers.’

Peter had only been home a week, enrolled into a new school and pretending that the last few months had never occurred. One thing he had learnt were the varying ways his family coped with such events: his Grandfather had been stern and harsh, taking none of Peter’s shit when he kicked up a fuss about rehab; his Nonna had been silent, breathing no word or acting as if nothing had happened the second Peter had been released from the hospital— to this day, Peter still hadn’t heard her say one thing about his OD. And his Dad . . . Tony did what he always did: he ran away from the problem until it hit him in the face. He was overbearing and hovered when Peter didn’t want to him to, demanding random drug tests and questioning Peter for every little detail when he came home late some nights.

Dinner was an awkward affair. Peter was used to eating alone, his Nonna never being too hungry, his Dad working in the workshop and his Grandfather still at the office. But ever since Peter’s OD, for some reason, everyone had decided they could all spare 20 minutes to come eat together at the table. Not that it was fun in any sort of way, the silence was stretched thin and the only thing heard was the clinking of glasses and cutlery being used. But they were together; Peter guessed that was meant to be the point of it.

“Anthony said that you passed your Spanish Quiz,” Peter’s Nonna finally decided to end the silence when she put down her knife and fork, half of her food still untouched as she pushed the plate away. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks,” Peter cleared his throat, pushing his food around with a knife. It didn’t look particularly nice despite paying a private chef thousands to cook it for them.

“How are your other studies?” Howard’s voice was like steel; he didn’t sound like a doting Grandfather asking simply because he was curious. He sounded like a businessman checking up on a working progress, making sure it was going to be completed in time.

“They’re good,” Peter shrugged. He kept his eyes downcast so they wouldn’t see the dialled pupils of his brown eyes. The high was coming down now, the pressure was building up once more and Peter was starting to feel the itch of his relaxation wearing away. It didn’t help with the way Howard was glaring him down like a vulture watching his prey.

“Did you hand in your photography assignment?” Tony decided to speak up, veering the conversation off into territory he knew his son would enjoy. They both pretended that Peter’s camera hadn’t been sitting on his shelf for almost a year now, collecting dust as his dreams slowly wilted away.

“I quit.”

Tony made a choking noise, his eyes widening for a second. “What? Why? You love photography!”

Peter shrugged; although he didn’t say it, he knew his father understood. What was the point entertaining something he would never be able to do? So he wanted to be a photographer? Tough shit. His future was already planned out and judging by what Howard wanted, Peter was destined to be the one in front of the camera, not behind.

“I think that was a very wise choice,” Howard took another sip on his Whiskey as he eyed Peter down. Sometimes Peter wondered why he got so much shit for what he put in his body when it was clear his Grandfather did the same but with a different poison. “This gives you more of a chance to focus on your career.”

“Dad, shut up,” Tony snapped at his father, turning back to Peter. “I want you to reapply for photography.”

“Dad-“ Peter sighed, putting his fork down. He was way too high to deal with this conversation.

“I don’t want you to start giving up on what you love just because you don’t think it will play a part in your future,” Tony argued.

“I don’t think, Dad; i know.”

“Anthony, if Peter doesn’t want to do it anymore, you can’t force him,” Peter’s Nonna spoke up, her meek voice doing nothing to stop Tony from carrying on the argument. She looked rather pale, sitting back in her chair like she was exhausted. Out of everyone in his family, Peter understood his Grandmother the most. He, too, preferred to just sit back and let life slide by.

“But he does want to do it Mum,” Tony tried his best to keep his voice under control but the frustration was clear. “He just quit because of Dad’s ‘SI is your future speech’ he gave last week.”

“The boy needs to get his head out of the clouds and start seeing things for how it is,” Howard didn’t even seem fazed, speaking clearly as if every word was pure fact. “He will be taking over the company one day, he needs to be prepared. I believe he’s made a very mature choice.”

“He’s taking over the company one day— not today. Peter, you’re reapplying for photography tomorrow morning, okay?”

“Anthony—“

“No Dad!” Tony threw his fork down, the frustration seeping out of him. “Peter’s MY kid and if i say i want him to do photography then that’s what i say!”

“He needs to be prepared for being CEO one day!”

“He’s a fucking kid!” Tony yelled. Peter watched the argument ensue like a tennis court, the ball being thrown to and fro by his Dad and Grandfather. They never let things lie. Peter wasn’t even sure why they still insisted on eating together for his ‘benefit’: all they ever did was argue. As the shouting match continued, Peter wondered if this was where he and his Dad would end up. Would they not be able to stay in the same room with each other without arguing one day? Would they break out into yelling at the dinner table with Peter’s future kid squished between the pair?

He really hoped not.

It was easy to sneak away from the dining table since his Dad and Grandfather were too preoccupied and Peter’s Nonna seemed far too out of it to care. She was watching he husband and son fight with a dazed look on her face like she wasn’t really there. Peter wondered if thats what he looked like too.

Since no one was paying any attention to him, Peter decided it was safe to sneak into his Nonna’s bathroom once more and steal some pills. If she ever noticed that more was being taken than she used, she never said anything. Once he had them and was in the comfort of his own room, Peter pulled out a dollar bill, placing it over the small tablet and used one of his many credit cards to crush it into a power. He rolled the card over the bill before using the card to sort the powder into lines.

He’d just finished snorting the second line, a third eagerly awaiting him, when there was a quiet knock on Peter’s door. Peter was used to mad panics by now so it felt normal when his heart skipped a beat as he blew the powder away, threw the book he’d been leaning on to the corner of his room and unrolled the bill so it didn’t look suspicious.

“Pete?” Tony popped his head in as Peter wiped his nose, pretending he was sniffling and not trying to hide the fact he was about to hit by a massive high. “Hey buddy, you okay?”

Peter nodded as his Dad walked into his room more, “Yeah, why?”

“You left dinner,” his Dad spoke like that was an obvious red flag of weird behaviour.

“You were arguing with Granddad,” Peter shot back. His father took a seat in the desk chair, twisting it so he faced where Peter sat on the end of his bed.

“I don’t mean for things to get so heated,” Tony sighed, shaking his head. He even looked slightly regretful. “I just want whats best for you and sometimes your Grandfather takes too much control.”

Yeah, didn’t Peter know it.

They sat in silence for a little while— just long enough for it to be awkward. There never used to be such uncomfortable silence between them before Peter’s overdose. It used to be witty banter and smiling faces, a complete opposite of what Tony had with Howard (which was no doubt why he put in so much effort with his own son).

But then Peter had snorted too many painkillers, his skin had flushed and he’d collapsed on the ground only for the maid to find him in a pool of his own vomit. Tony had been down in the workshop when the maid had let out a guttural scream, rushing upstairs to find his son unconscious as the maid cried over his body.

Peter’s biggest fear, more terrifying and bone-racking than his fear of failing to hold the weight of the Stark Pressure, was that his relationship with his father would never be the same— especially since it would be all his fault.

Tony slapped his knees, forcing a fake smile on his face as he gave Peter a look. “Alright, i think it’s drug testing time.” He stood up, already walking to the door so he could grab his home testing kit. It was specifically made by Tony himself the day after Peter returned from rehab; that meant there was no room for false negatives in the slightest.

Peter felt his heart begin to race as he shook his head. There could not be a worse time for this right now. His mouth went dry as he opened his mouth to argue. “Dad, this isn’t necessary! I’m clean!”

“Well, we’ll see won’t we?”

“Don’t you trust me?”

(Peter ignored the voice in his head that sung about the irony.)

“Pete, it’s not that i don’t trust you-“ Tony sighed, looking exhausted all of a sudden. Whereas the cameras always saw Tony Stark at his best, hair styled and makeup covering his dark bags, Peter always saw his true Dad. The bags under his eyes were darkened by how pale his skin looked, his hair was a mess and when he argued with Peter, there seemed to be more lines decorating his face as he frowned.

“Then don’t force me into drug tests!” Peter screeched back; his brain felt like mush all he wanted to do was lay down and listen out for the warm silence that enveloped the world when the drugs kicked in. He wanted peace not his Dad’s stupid drug tests.

“Why? What are you hiding, Peter?” Tony glared, stepping forward so he was invading Peter’s personal space. The teenager tried to back away but the bed stopped him from taking a step back. “Are you high right now?” The words were no more than a whisper as Tony held on to Peter’s chin, twisting his face to the side so he could see every angle of his son’s enlarged pupils.

“No?”

“I don’t believe this!” Tony roared, letting go of Peter and taking a few steps back. Peter thought it was kinda funny how his Dad looked so pissed, pacing around the room as his hands shook by his sides. He kinda looked like an angry tomato with how red his face was getting, the vein on the side of his Dad’s face getting bigger as he silently fumed. “You promised, Peter!”

Peter felt woozy on his feet, his Dad’s pacing making him feel as if the world was moving like a boat. Warmth rushed over him, the silence wrapping him up as the pressure on his chest released. He could breathe. In out, in out, in out. What was going on? Oh yeah, his Dad—

“You’ve been out of rehab for a week, Peter!” Tony yelled, his voice seeming to get louder and louder as he paced. It was breaking through Peter’s silent warmth, cutting him up like a knife. Couldn’t his Dad maybe leave this until the morning? “You promised me 6 months ago when you fucking overdosed that you wouldn’t do drugs again, Peter! You lied to me!”

The sudden urge to yell back hit Peter like a bulldozer, his mouth opening before he even knew what words were going to come out. “Yeah well, shit happens!”

“I don’t believe you right now,” Tony scoffed, looking up at the ceiling for a second to try and control his rage. “You’ve been lying to my face this entire time; here i was thinking you were actually trying to stay clean!”

Peter rolled his eyes, the anger making his hands shake. It felt like every bone in his body was vibrating, every nerve was electrified. “I don’t want to be clean, Dad! Why can’t you just accept this is what i want?”

“Because you’re my fucking son! You’re going to kill yourself— you almost did 6 months ago!”

“So what? If it kills me, it kills me— if not, then it doesn’t. Just get over it.”

“I will not just get over it,” Tony growled as the door to Peter’s room was opened again and Howard stepped in with a frown.

“What the hell is going on here?”

“Granddad, tell Dad to fuck off,” Peter rolled his eyes. When the pressure was released from his chest, Peter suddenly felt able to say whatever he wanted. He was free with words and it felt good to just stand there and speak his mind, his words flowing freely without any censorship.

“Peter!” His Dad yelled at the same time his Grandfather yelled: “What did you just say, young man?” Normally, when faced with these two Stark men as they both gave him identical looks of outrage, Peter would’ve been terrified. But his mind was blank and he couldn’t hear the beating drums of the pressure on his chest.

“You know what? Fuck the both of you, fuck your expectations, fuck Stark Industries, fuck being your poster-boy—“ Peter went off on a tangent as his Grandfather stepped closer, ignoring how enraged the man looked.

The slap that hit him in the middle of the cheek was both as unexpected as it was hard. Peter fell to the floor, feeling like a million tiny needles had just stabbed him across the face as he looked up to where his Grandfather towered above him with a raised hand and a frown. Tears sprung to his eyes, the silence no longer feeling warm but cold and devoid of anything now. If anything, Peter was more scared of how broken off from the world he was when his Grandfather stood over him and his cheek stung like hell.

His Dad was yelling something, shoving past Howard to kneel above where Peter laid but the teenager couldn’t understand a word what was being said. Tony’s lips moved in a flurry of action but no sound seemed to be coming out. Peter’s eyes twitched, his entire body suddenly seeming ten times heavier as he laid on his carpeted floor with no ability to move. The pain in his cheek was starting to go away, a tinge of pain being felt in the back of his head instead.

Peter didn’t really understand what was going on or what was being said as his Dad knelt over him, a look of panic in his eyes. It wasn’t until Tony placed his hand under Peter’s head, bringing the palm back only for it to be covered in blood did Peter finally understand. Like a jigsaw puzzle being completed, he finally understood why he was still laying on the floor and why he didn’t seem to be able to move.

He’s hit his head. Something warm and sticky was flowing down past his neck, creating a pool by his left ear. The back of his head was starting to hurt even more, a tightness pulling and pulling as the pain finally showed itself. His cheek felt completely fine compared to how painful his head was throbbing now. Even the drugs couldn’t hide the head-splitting ache that was happening at the back of his skull. He must’ve hit his head on the end of his bed as he fell down.

“Pe— er— Pet—r—P—“ His Dad’s voice flowed in out, breaking off in random places, his concerned eyes filled with tears as he looked down on his son. His hands were grabbing Peter’s head, trying his best to keep Peter’s eyes open. “Stay— wake—“

Peter knew it wasn’t his first time disappointing his Dad as he closed his eyes, falling into the welcoming arms of darkness.

When Peter woke up, he felt a strong sense of deja vu. He was back in the hospital, dressed in a standard hospital gown with needles attached to his arm as IVs pumped nutrients into his body. The only difference from now and 6 months ago was the heavy bandage wrapped around his head that made him feel like one of those mummy’s on TV. The hospital room even looked the exact same, with cream walls and fancy equipment. A TV was playing in the background, some crappy show playing in Italian, meaning his Nonna must’ve been here at some point.

The only person in the room other than Peter himself was his Dad. Tony was snoring quietly in the chair beside Peter, a blanket wrapped around him as he slept in what seemed like a peace-less slumber. He stared at him for a little longer, feeling tears rise up and trickle down his cheeks. Before Peter knew it, his chest was heaving up and down as he sobbed, unable to stop or catch his breath.

“Peter, hey, hey, calm down,” his Dad woke up to Peter’s heart wrenching sobs, a hand immediately going to his hair as he tried to calm the teenager down. “It’s okay, i’m here; stop crying Pete.”

“I’m so sorry,” Peter couldn’t help but apoagise. The weight on his chest was constricting, squeezing harder and harder until it felt like he was going to pass out. All Peter wanted was something to take away the buzz of the world, wishing he was back at home in the penthouse so he could sneak into his Nonna’s bathroom yet again. It was just too much.

“Don’t apologise, just breathe,” Tony grabbed one of Peter’s hands and placed it on his chest. “Breathe, come on. In and out, just like me.” It took a few minutes but eventually, Peter was coping his father’s movements as he let his chest move up and down in a rhythmic, calm pace.

“I’m sorry we’re back here again,” Peter bit his lip as he calmed down, staring up at his father with sad eyes. It felt like only a day ago that they’d been in the exact same hospital when Peter was getting his stomach pumped from his accidental OD, laying in the room afterwards as an awkward silence settled over the lot of them.

“You say that,” Tony sighed. “But then you did nothing to stop being back here. You promised me Peter and you lied. You said you’d stop . . .”

“You don’t understand,” Peter sniffled, turning his head away.

“I don’t understand?” His Dad scoffed. “I understand better than you know, kiddo. You think alcohol has only ever been my poison? I used to do exactly what you’re doing now— and for a much longer time.”

“You did?” Peter frowned, looking confused as he stared at his father’s face. He’d always known his Dad was an alcoholic and he’d assumed the man had taken drugs before but he’d never known that the same dependence Peter had developed had been one Tony had suffered from before, too.

“Yeah buddy,” Tony looked sad as he brushed some hair out of Peter’s face.

“It’s just so loud all the time,” Peter decided it was time to open up. If anyone understood his reasonings then it would be his father. “The press’ questions and the flashing cameras— i can’t even step outside without one person recognising me and demanding i take pictures with them. I’m followed around by security everywhere i go. I don’t have any real friends because they all see me just for my last name, nothing more or less. And then Grandad . . . he wants me to be someone i’m not. He’s moulding me to become someone i don’t even recognise, creating this perfect CEO who will take the company further than imagined and i— i can’t breathe, Dad. It weighs on my chest and takes away my breath and the pills. . . they’re the only thing that helps.”

Tony carded his hand through Peter’s hair, taking in his son’s words as he sat in silence. It felt like a stab to the heart, finally understanding the full extent of Peter’s suffering. And for the first time in Tony’s life, he was lost. He was lost on what to do and what to say to help his son. From the second Peter had been born, Tony had promised to be better than Howard and now here he was, feeling like he’d failed.

“I know it’s hard,” Tony tried to keep the emotion out of his voice. “The world is suffocating and the press only makes it more unbearable. But Peter . . . this isn’t the way to drown out the noise. It separates you from the world— it alienates you. It drowns everything out for a short period of time before it wears off and the world come roaring back with such force that it’s even worse than before. I’ve been there, i know what you’re taking about. But you need to be better; i know you can be better.”

Peter wanted to believe him but he wasn’t sure if he could.

“Here, have this,” Tony reached for the nape of his neck, pulling off the black jumper he was currently wearing and placing it gently in Peter’s hands. Peter recognised it immediately as the MIT hoodie his Dad had some sort of emotional attachment too. He felt the fabric in his hands, rubbing the material with his fingertips for some reason feeling choked up that his Dad had given it to him.

“Your favourite jumper . . . why?”

“I want you to have it,” Tony smiled sadly, giving his son a look as he brushed some hair out of his eyes. “So you always know that i’m here, watching over you. Even when i’m not physically here. This is going to take time,” Tony sighed, looking like he’d suddenly aged 10 years. “You won’t feel like a new person tomorrow morning or the morning after that; this is going to suck and it’s going to be hard to get you to a place where you aren’t dependent on anything and can actually be happy. But i’m going to be here for all of it.”

Peter felt tears rush to his eyes as he pulled the hoodie closer into his chest, sniffing it so he could smell his Dad on the fabric. It made him feel safe and protected, almost as if he would be able to beat the addiction he’d developed. For the first time, Peter actually believed that maybe he could do it.

“We’ll move out of Granddad and Nonna’s Penthouse,” Tony continued. “We’ll find somewhere for just us, somewhere more secluded so the press isn’t hanging around all the time. There will be no more Galas and Interviews; no more photoshoots and selling stories to the media. I’ll tell your Grandad to take a step back— well, i’ve actually already done that but not in such nice words. We can do this Peter, i promise. We can fight this, together.”

Together; Peter liked that word. He pushed his face into his Dad’s hoodie before leaning to the side so he was laying against the man’s chest, both breathing in time and enjoying the moment of comfortable silence where they felt like themselves again.

In this Universe, Peter Stark finally let himself hope again.

——————

In another Universe, Peter Parker sat in the darkness of his room, two years to the day since Mr Stark had died on the fiery battlefield that had once been the Avengers Compound. He stared up at the clock, the loud ticking reminding him suspiciously like a heartbeat. Tears flowed down his cheeks as memories resurfaced of Peter begging Mr Stark not to go, gripping the ruined suit and listening intently for the sound of the man he loved like a father’s heartbeat. It had been slow, beating erratically and without rhythm before it had stopped.

Peter threw the nearest book within his reach at the clock, watching with satisfaction as it broke; the little hand never even being able to reach it’s 2 o’clock mark. The smugness and relief at the intense ticking coming to an abrupt stop only lasted a few seconds before something worse settled in.

Silence.

How Peter hated silence now. It was like a cloud that sat over his head, reminding him over and over of how bleak and broken the battlefield had become once Mr Stark’s heartbeat had come to a stop. Despite the falling debris and the fire’s roaring, no one had spoken or so much as moved after Mr Stark had sacrificed his life. Everyone just knelt, paying honour and respect to a man who’d deserved so much better.

Peter hadn’t even been able to hear his own sobbing as Rhodey had grabbed him, his arms feeling more constricting than reassuring. It was like being underwater in that moment, everything felt so far away and surreal as if it was nothing but a bad dream. A nightmare Peter was still waiting to wake up from.

The two years since Mr Stark’s death hadn’t been all bad. The first year had been tough, with constant anxiety attacks about the battle and nightmares where he saw Mr Stark die, Peter hadn’t been able to sleep or properly eat for a long time. May had been there every step of the way, giving him nothing but encouragement and a calming hand.

Going out as Spider-Man had been strange, as well. For the first time since Peter had gotten the Spider-Man suit, he realised how alone he was. There was no Mr Stark to call when he needed help or was injured. There was no Mr Stark calling to check up on him or pushing the calls through when he wanted to yell at Peter for something reckless he’d done.

The first time Peter had put on the suit a few weeks after Mr Stark had died, he’d realised that the man was really gone.

The grief had become less consuming in the recent year, with Peter’s grades going up once again and his relationships with family and friends no longer stretched thin to the point of breaking. He felt more like himself again, like the Peter from before the ‘blip’. Mr Stark was gone, yes, but he was still in Peter’s heart— and maybe that was enough?

But as the now-broken clock read that the time was in the early hours of the morning, all the progress and steps towards acting normal Peter had made in the past year went out the window. The grief was inside him as he sobbed into his pillow, the darkness of his room surrounding him as the acknowledgement it was two years ago today that Mr Stark had died.

Two years ago today, at this very time, Mr Stark had still been alive and had been working non-stop to try and bring the dusted people back. He hadn’t known that by the time night fell and the world went to sleep, he would no longer be with the people who loved him most. He hadn’t known that by time-travelling and joining the Avengers to fight Thanos, he would be giving up his chance to raise Morgan or be a husband to Pepper. He hadn’t known that his need to bring Peter back would result in him dying.

Peter could hear May fast asleep in the next room, Happy’s snores almost as loud as if Peter was in the room with them. At first, the relationship had creeped him out and he’d been against it but May and Happy made a pretty good team and if he was here, Peter was sure Mr Stark would’ve loved it. (Or at least loved to of made fun of it).

‘Hey dude, you okay?’ Ned’s message from three hours ago flashed up on Peter’s phone, bringing him out of his thoughts. Trust his best friend to know Peter would struggle today. Instead of replying, he just stared at the message a little longer until his eyes burned.

In all honesty, Peter was dreading what he was going to do today more than the actual day itself. Last year on the anniversary, Peter had sat on May’s couch and slept, eating when she forced him to and watching reruns of Fresh Prince because Mr Stark had once called it a timeless classic.

But Peter didn’t want to do that again this year. He didn’t want to just sit around and let the cloud cover over his head until he found it difficult to breathe. He didn’t want May and Happy to hover over him, sending concerned glances at him whenever they thought he wasn’t looking. Yet Peter also didn’t want to go out. He didn’t want to go hang out with MJ and Ned, trying to pretend everything was okay when it clearly wasn’t. He didn’t want to listen to Happy’s therapeutic stories about the man that had once been his best friend, smiling sadly as he relived stories of the old days.

Peter desperately wanted a change in scenery.

The decision to steal Happy’s car, the black Audi that he drove around everywhere in, was last minute and Peter did feel rather guilty as he swiped the keys but he also knew he couldn’t sit around in the apartment anymore. It was clear he wasn’t going to sleep that night.

Despite getting his licence before he’d been ‘blipped’, Peter hadn’t driven since then. Two years (7 years in reality) without getting behind the wheel had taken its toll so Peter decided to take it slow as he drove down the windy roads out of the city. He rolled the windows down so the cool air would hit his face when he started getting tired and played one of Happy’s rock music CDs so he was no longer stuck in a stuffy silence.

It felt freeing in a way being Spider-Man never could be.

When Peter pulled Happy’s car up at the lake house, it was already several hours later. The time had passed the usual morning routines and Peter’s phone was constantly buzzing with worried calls and texts from May and Happy. With the sun peaking out and the sky a light colour, Peter no longer felt tired as he climbed out of the car.

He knew what he was doing was wrong, it was a bad decision based on lack of sleep and grief but it was too late to back out now.

Walking towards the quiet lake house, that he’d only ever visited once, Peter suddenly got cold feet. He couldn’t just barge on in and disrupt people’s lives just because he was feeling a little sad. His left foot was hovering over the first porch step when he suddenly changed his course and made his way down towards the lake a few feet from the house.

He could remember standing here just over two years ago now, everyone dressed in black and their faces pulled into frowns as the sun shined down on them despite the gloomy atmosphere. Surrounded by all his childhood heroes, Peter didn’t take notice of any of them. How could he when the man who’d been his biggest inspiration was now dead?

Peter kicked off his shoes and socks, throwing himself down onto the dewy grass as he dipped his feet into the lake below. They’d sent off Mr Stark’s Arc Reactor in this lake, all standing beside each other as they watched it float away. Even just putting his feet in the water, Peter felt closer to Mr Stark.

“Peter?” A voice called out softly a little while later. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed but by the time Pepper had discovered him, his feet were all pruny and the sun was set in the sky.

“Oh Mrs Stark,” Peter shook the sleepy fog away, blinking several times as he focused on her worried face. She looked just like she had two years ago, her strawberry blonde hair hanging loose over her shoulders and the lines of ageing looking more prominent than he remembered from before the ‘blip’. Pepper was dressed in a pair of jeans and a cardigan, her arms wrapped around her torso as she stood barefoot in the grass only a foot behind him.

“I’m so sorry,” Peter shook his head, pulling his feet out of the lake. He ignored how cold the air felt now to his wet toes, the breeze making him shiver. “I didn’t mean to barge on in, i just—“

“What are you doing here, Peter?” Pepper frowned ever so slightly, confusion weighing out on her face over the anger. They hadn’t seen each other for almost two years now and the teen realised it must be strange to wake up one morning and see her dead husband’s ex-mentee sitting with his feet in her lake.

“I, uh, just. . .” What was he doing here? He didn’t want to be home, sure, but why had he chosen this place to drive through the night for? “I wanted to be close to him,” the words came out just above a whisper but Pepper seemed to hear them loud and clear.

She let out a soft sigh, nodding slightly as her eyes did the thing they did at the funeral where they went all glassy and shiny. Pepper swallowed harshly, slowly bending down so she was sitting beside him on the grass, wrapping her arms around her knees as she brought them close to her chest.

“I miss him too,” Pepper nodded, looking out at the lake. Peter wondered if she was seeing what he saw too: an Arc Reactor drifting out on flowers towards the unknown. It had been her idea to use the old Arc Reactor for the funeral; Peter wondered if sometimes she regretted that just so then she could still have a piece of Mr Stark with her.

“It was two years ago today,” Peter wasn’t sure why he said that. It wasn’t like Pepper was likely to forget. Today marked the day she became a widow— Peter doubted she could ever forget that.

“I know,” Pepper mumbled, her voice sounding more like a puff of air rather than words. She sniffed once, her eyes trained on the way the lake shined in the rising sun.

“Do you believe in Heaven Mrs Stark?” Peter spoke up suddenly, wrapping his arms around his legs tighter so his need where digging in to his chest. His feet were splayed out on the grass, his toes clenching and breaking the strands of green as he waited for her to reply. It took Pepper so long to answer that Peter was beginning to think she was ignoring him.

“No.”

“Really?” Peter rubbed at his nose, starting to feel cold despite the sun sitting low in the sky. His feet were like blocks of ice by now but Peter didn’t care. “Aunt May is really religious,” he wasn’t sure why he was telling her all this— he wasn’t even sure if she cared. Peter just wanted someone he could talk to, someone who understood what he was going through. Aunt May hadn’t been close to Mr Stark and Happy always retracted whenever Peter brought the man up (unless it was on Happy’s terms).

“When Ben died, May believed that he was watching down on us from Heaven. I’m not a hundred percent certain about it all, i like to think that those we loved are there watching us but you can’t be sure, right?”

Pepper hummed in agreement. “Tony wasn’t religious,” she mumbled shortly after.

“Yeah Mr Stark always refused to believe in Heaven and Hell,” Peter remembered back to when he’d asked Mr Stark the same question he’d just asked the man’s wife. Rather than Pepper’s soft no, his mentor had scoffed and shaken his head making a quip and calling Peter one of his infamous nicknames.

“I’d like to think he was looking down on us,” Pepper let out a loud sigh, turning her head up to look at the sky, something almost hopeful in her eyes as she searched the clouds. “I’d like to think he was watching Morgan; being there to see her grow up.”

A lump formed in Peter’s throat as he nodded like an idiot, his head moving up and down like he didn’t really understand what was going on. He always thought if Heaven existed like Aunt May believed then Mr Stark would be looking down on him, guiding him.

He’d forgotten, in his tiny bubble of grief that made it feel like only he could experience that sort of pain, that his mentor had lived a whole life away from Peter’s memory in the 5 years he’d been ‘blipped’. Mr Stark had had a daughter, a wife, a perfect life.

And all of that had been broken because Peter had been dusted and Mr Stark had felt some sort of obligation to bring him back. Peter sometimes felt like he may as well just writer MURDERER in big, red letters on his forehead.

“I’m sorry,” Peter turned his head to look at her, unshed tears in his eyes. It took Pepper a few minutes to turn her gaze away from the look and actually look him in the eye. “I’m sorry for everything.”

They’d never been that close, Peter and Miss Potts— now Mrs Stark. He’d always been Mr Stark’s protege, spending most of his time down in the lab with his mentor and it had only been a few times that Miss Potts had joined them for dinner if she was able to leave Stark Industries on time. They’d been friendly, yes, with her affectionately calling him Pete and smiling at him like he was one of the greatest people on the planet. It hadn’t been much but it had meant a lot to Peter and he’d considered Miss Potts to be in the small collection of adults he trusted.

But all of that was gone now. The days of being called Pete by the great Pepper Stark were over. The spark in her eye was gone now when she looked at him; she hadn’t even seen him for almost two years— it was like now Mr Stark was gone, their mutual tie had been cut and Peter was once again just a stranger.

Maybe it really had been a mistake for Peter to drive down to her lake house and disrupt her morning on the anniversary of Mr Stark’s death. Pepper deserved to heal in her own way, with her own daughter, without Peter breaking in.

“Happy phoned earlier,” Pepper ignored his apology, looking like she was stuck between wanting to cry and wanting to scream. Her cheeks were tinged with pink and her eyes looked bloodshot when they met Peter’s gaze. “Both him and May were worried, they said you left during the night and stole Happy’s car.”

Peter broke the gaze, once again looking out at the lake. For some reason he kept getting the feeling that if he stared long enough then the old Arc Reactor would come floating back to him. “I didn’t mean to worry them.” Guilt, an emotion he was more than familiar with, crept up on him once again.

Peter knew he was a tough job to handle. May had struggled looking after both herself and him after Ben had died, Mr Stark had struggled to look after him when Peter’s recklessness had shined and now both May and Happy were struggling to look after him now that Mr Stark was dead. It was like a sick game of jenga, never letting Peter stop for one-second before the next tragedy struck.

He tried not to think of Happy or May waking up that morning, going about their usual morning routine, to find his bedroom empty. He tried not to think of how May would’ve cried and Happy would’ve panicked when they realised his suit was still in his wardrobe and the car was gone. He tried not to think of how Happy must’ve called Pepper, no doubt waking her up and asking to check the impossible and see if Peter was there.

Only to find the boy sitting with his feet in her lake.

“I know,” Pepper’s voice was soft this time, more understanding than Peter had ever heard it. It was like she knew, deep down in her soul, that Peter really hadn’t meant any harm by coming here. He just hadn’t wanted to sit on May’s sofa all day.

“Happy also told me something else,” Pepper kept her voice light despite the obvious way she seemed to be struggling to get the words out. Emotion gripped her throat but ever the brave one, she powered through. “Some good news.”

She waited a second to see if Peter would jump in and save her from saying it. She gave him the chance to tell her himself.

Peter let the chance slide.

“You got into MIT, i hear,” Pepper smiled sadly, her lips turning up but the look in her eyes screaming the opposite. They all knew why the news was so bittersweet— beautiful in a heart breaking way. MIT had been Mr Stark’s College of choice and they all knew how the man had pushed Peter to at least apply. For months, all Mr Stark had talked about was Peter following him in his footsteps in the MIT dorms and how much Peter would love it there.

“Congratulations,” the word sounded strangled to Peter’s ears but he smiled anyway. You’re meant to smile when someone congrats you, even if all you want to do is cry. “Tony would be so proud.”

“I know,” Peter sucked in a deep breath, waiting several seconds before releasing it. He’d done this a million times at the funeral, willing himself over and over not to cry. At one point, he’d held his breath so long that Peter had thought he would pass out into the lake. At least then he could’ve floated away with Mr Stark’s Arc Reactor.

“Are you going?”

“I haven’t decided.”

“Tony would want you too.”

Peter wants to yell that Mr Stark isn’t here anymore to want things. He wanted to scream at Pepper and say she had no right to try and manipulate him into going to MIT just because it was what Mr Stark would’ve wanted when she hadn’t spoken to him in two years. He wanted to ask her why she had only met his gaze once and hadn’t called him Pete since Mr Stark had died.

“Do you blame me for his death?” The words left his mouth before Peter could even stop himself but the second they were out, he needed to know. He couldn’t dance around this answer anymore, he’d spent so long trying to overcome his own guilt about Mr Stark’s death that he now needed to know if the blame wasn’t simply internal. “Because i understand if you do, Mr Lang told me that the whole ‘Time Heist’ thing was only put into motion when Mr Stark changed his mind because of me. So i get it, really i do, and i am sorry Miss Potts— i mean Mrs Stark— Mr Stark would still be here if it wasn’t for me-“

“I don’t blame you Peter,” Pepper cut him off, once again meeting his eyes. This time it seemed more intense, like her eyes were trying to tell him something. “I could never blame you, you were just a child when Tony died— you’re still just a child. Tony made his decision.”

“Then why haven’t you spoken to me for two years?” The words were more like a whine than anything. “I haven’t even properly met Morgan.”

“I know,” Pepper sighed, placing her head in her hands for a few seconds. She took a deep breath before sitting back up and turning her whole body to face him, a look of seriousness in her eyes. Peter could imagine this was how she sat at Stark Industries, the CEO and now-owner, when she was making important decisions (minus the casual clothes and sitting on the floor). “I don’t blame you, okay. I just don’t want Morgan involved in all of . . . this.”

“This?” Peter held his breath.

“The superhero life,” Pepper clarified. “Tony was torn up about it for years, you came into his life at a time when he’d managed to somewhat control his anxieties and restlessness— you didn’t see him near the beginning. After the alien attack on New York in 2012, Tony was a mess; he hardly ate or slept. All he did was build: build new tech, build new suits— it never stopped. From the moment he became Iron Man and he saw the threat we faced, he simply couldn’t stop. And it killed him. His necessity to carry on going to build more and more suits and fight every single battle was what killed him.

I’m not saying his death wasn’t heroic and i love him even more because of his sacrifice but there is a little girl in that house who will grow up without her father and it was because of his restlessness that she’ll never see him again. I don’t want Morgan exposed to that anymore. Its dangerous and she’s all i have left now.”

“You haven’t been talking to me because of Spider-Man?”

“I care for you Pete,” tears were starting to build up in Pepper’s eyes as she let her true emotions show. She’d always been so stoic and strong; even at the funeral, Peter hadn’t seen her cry no matter how obvious it was she wanted to. “I really do but i need to think about Morgan and raising her in an environment free from danger. She’s lost so much at such a young age, i can’t let her get caught up in the superhero life.”

“I understand,” Peter nodded, cutting her off before she could say anymore. And he did get it. Morgan deserved a normal life; a life that Peter himself sometimes wished for, where the weight of the world no longer felt as if it rested on his shoulders. Mr Stark had struggled for years, something Peter recognised he was struggling with now, the incessant need to continue and do better. The feeling that if something bad happened, then it was your fault because you had the ability to stop it.

Morgan was just a little kid, Peter understood the last thing Pepper wanted was for her to copy her father and put herself at risk. Just like Mr Stark had, just like Natasha had and just like Peter was.

And whilst it did break his heart, Peter did understand. He could never be a part of the Stark’s lives because he could never break his ties to Spider-Man. He couldn’t put them in danger when they were finally free of the restlessness that had plagued Mr Stark. They could rest now.

“I think it’s time you went home Peter,” Pepper broke the spell, her wall coming back up with a tight expression almost as if it had never slipped. “Morgan will be waking up soon. And i think May and Happy will have your head if you stay any longer.” They both use the excuse of May and Happy’s worry for why he is leaving.

They both walked towards the lake house, leaving the lake behind them with the memories of Mr Stark’s funeral and the Arc Reactor that was long gone by now. Peter slipped his shoes and socks back on as he reached Happy’s slick car, awkwardly looking at Pepper as she wrapped her arms around her torso once more, standing by the porch steps like she didn’t know whether to approach or not.

“I guess this is goo-“

“Wait, i have something for you,” Pepper cut in, her eyes shining like she’d been hit with a brilliant idea. Peter watched as she turned quickly, heading back inside the lake house and leaving him alone by the waiting car. When she was gone, Peter pulled out his phone and finally checked the long list of messages he’d ignored. Several thousand from both May and Happy asking where he was with a few from Ned and MJ as they worried about not hearing from him. He sent them all an apology, letting May know he was leaving soon.

“Tony would’ve wanted you to have this,” Pepper’s voice broke Peter out of reading May’s reply, his eyes shooting up to see the woman approaching with a black hoodie clutched in her left hand. She held it out to him, keeping some distance as she stepped close enough for him to take it off her. Judging by the emotional look in her eyes, Peter guessed it wasn’t just any hoodie.

The front of the hoodie had the MIT logo, a little faded and chipped but still perfectly readable. Peter chewed his lip as his fingers shook, moving upwards towards the back collar to check the label. Just like he’d suspected, stitched to the back of the neck where the hood began were the words: ANTHONY STARK in gold thread. He ran his fingers over the name, a lump rising in his throat.

“I can’t take this,” he shook his head, handing the hoodie out for Pepper to take back.

“He would’ve wanted you to have it.”

“But Morgan—“

“He would’ve wanted you to have it,” Pepper’s tone showed she wasn’t ready for an argument about this right now. “Please Peter, take it. Go to MIT, wear it when you’re hanging out in your dorm— it was what Tony wanted. And then when you grow up, give it your kids. And they’ll give it to their kids and so on and so on. Don’t think you’re stealing from Morgan, this hoodie is and always will be yours.”

“I’m going to miss you Mrs Stark,” Peter clutched the hoodie close to his chest as the weight of what was happening sunk in. This was goodbye. It wasn’t a ‘see you next week Miss Potts’ that he used to yell when he left the Compound on designated lab days, it wasn’t a ‘bye Miss Potts’ that he used to say when she left to go on buisness trips. This was a proper, i’ll-probably-never-see-you-again goodbye. Even if their paths do cross in the future, he won’t be Peter Parker, the nerdy kid who wormed his way into all of the Stark’s heart and made the cut as their family; he’ll be Peter Parker, the ex-mentee who they haven’t spoken to in years.

“I’m going to miss you too,” a singe tear slipped down Pepper’s cheek as she stepped forward, wrapping him in a hug. Peter pressed his face into her collarbone, willing himself not to cry as he felt her left hand reach up and tug at his hair in the way Mr Stark used to do. And then Pepper was pushing him away, holding him at arms length as she smiled gently. “You’re going to do great things, Peter, Tony always said it. You always made him proud.”

For years, Peter Parker clung to the final words Pepper Stark ever spoke to him, the memory of Mr Stark’s pride shining bright each time he wore the MIT hoodie his mentor had once owned. Like a comfort, Peter wore the hoodie each time he missed Mr Stark, his heart swelling as he remembered all their good times. He thought, if Heaven did exist, and Mr Stark was looking down on him, then he didn’t have to guess if the man was proud of who Peter became.

In this Universe, all Peter Parker had to do was wear the hoodie and he’d know.