Archive of Our Own ^beta

1.
(yet another mission, one Peter will dub the Dumb Drone Division to avoid talking about what happened)

The two of them duck behind the nearest building, and Tony holds up both arms over Peter’s head when another spray of bullets comes their way.

“Really wish you had taken the Iron Spider right about now, kid,” Tony says, gritting his teeth. He also wishes the original suit he’d made Peter was bulletproof. The one he’s wearing now, surrounded by a bunch of bullets flying everywhere. Tony wonders what the hell he was thinking, throwing that small, important little caution to the wind.

“Yeah,” Peter says, and he sways again, worrying Tony to fucking death. A car gets blasted, flips through the air like a bulky gymnast, and knocks a trashcan off kilter. It starts careening their way and Peter webs it up almost on instinct, and then he falls back against the wall, clutching at his head.

Tony panics. “Kid.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re obviously in pain. Your hands are shaking.”

“Yeah, they do that, I’ve got anxiety.” Peter says.

Tony scoffs. “Yeah, same, that’s another thing we’ve got in common.” He grabs Peter’s arm and straightens him up, tugging him away from the carnage. They’ve got Rhodey and the team on this. Tony doesn’t think about the old days when the team meant...the team...no, he doesn’t think about that, not right now, because something’s wrong with Peter.

“No, no, Mr. Stark,” Peter says, as Tony ushers him away from the strike zone where all the drones are. “I’m fine, I’m fine, it’s not—I’m not in pain, we need to help, we’re here for a reason.”

He’s shaking more now, not just his hands, and the eyes on the mask squint as Tony keeps backing him up to the closest alleyway. He isn’t really thinking about what all this is reminding him of, what he’s lost, what isn’t here anymore. Everything that happens here reminds him, and he wishes it didn’t.

But Peter needs help and that’s what’s important right now. Nothing else. Tony keeps both hands on Peter’s shoulders and tries to get his own head straight.

“Mr. Stark—”

“Rhodey,” Tony says, into his coms. “You got this? The kid—”

“No, yeah yeah, we’ve got it. They’re not even shooting anymore. Fucking moron drones.”

Tony smiles a little bit, and then retracts his mask, turning all his attention on Peter. “This isn’t anxiety. Are you hit? I didn’t see you get hit.” And he’d been watching. He’d been making sure. The kid had been a goddamn asset, flipping all over the place, taking drones down, webbing up bad guys. He made sure the perimeter didn’t stretch. He made sure civilians were safe. He was on top of everything until he just—stumbled away and tried to take cover.

“No,” Peter says, shaking his head. He holds his hands close to his chest like he’s trying to keep them from shaking. “No, I’m—Tony, I’m fine.”

Tony scoffs. “Tony,” he says. “Pulling that out, okay. Trying to be serious.” He thinks hard, staring at him, and Peter shrugs Tony’s hands off of him, crossing his arms over his chest.

Then it’s like a light bulb goes off in Tony’s head. He knows Peter, he knows how Spider-Man works, what bothers him. “It’s your senses, isn’t it? Jesus, with the drones flashing and shit, it’s so fucking loud—”

“No,” Peter says. Then he looks off. “Maybe. But it’s fine. This doesn’t happen a lot. This, it’s...it’s fine.”

Tony shakes his head. “It’s not fine, let’s go, Rhodey’s got this—”

Tony hears a buzzing behind them, and before he can even turn and look, Peter shoots one electric web, and then bombards whatever it is with about six web bombs. He falls back against the wall, and Tony finally turns (the slowest human being in the fucking universe) and sees the drone splintering on the ground, trying to fire, but completely wrapped up in Peter’s webbing. It’s still smoking.

Tony blows out a breath.

“Rhodey like, maybe doesn’t have it?” Peter says, shrugging. “Like, maybe, not completely.”

Tony sighs. He tries to think, tries to come up with a plan of action. “Okay, I’m gonna fly you through there, you’re gonna shoot webs in every fucking direction, with your eyes closed, and then we’re gonna head back to the compound and sit you in a dark room to recover.”

Peter scoffs. Stares at him for a second. “Fine.”

“Yeah,” Tony says, smiling a little bit. “Thought so.”

2.
(any weekend that goes unplanned will be stolen by Captain America and drenched in sewer water)

“Okay, repeat after me.”

Peter sighs, rolling his eyes. His feet are wet, but the water isn’t rising. His suit doesn’t do great with water. It won’t short out or stop working or anything like that, thankfully, but it gets disgusting. Tony’s gotten the Iron Man suit so advanced that water doesn’t even get inside of it anymore. They’re in a fucking sewer. Peter still has to wash his suit, and that’s a pain in the ass.

He should probably just be happy that Tony is here at all, considering that he almost died and all that. Peter tries not to think about it.

“Peter. Rolling your eyes? Right now.”

“I know the plan!” Peter says, throwing his hands up. “I know the plan! I don’t need to repeat it again. I don’t want to still be here standing in water like a flamingo.”

Tony’s got his dad-explaining-things hands up now, close to his face. “This is a terrorist cell hidden in America—”

“I know,” Peter says, gritting his teeth. “I know. It’s important. That’s why I remember!”

Tony stares at him. He’s got a slash across his forehead from their scuffle with the guards, and Peter wonders how much he bangs around in there when he’s fighting. Tony shouldn’t even be here, and Peter wants this to be over so he can go home and go back to being safe. “You’ve got a thing,” Peter says, reaching up and brushing his fingers across his own forehead, in the corresponding spot.

Tony’s face falls. “I’m leaving you here. In the sewer. I’ll do this by myself.”

Peter scoffs. “Repeat after me—no! I’ve got this, let’s—”

Tony looks like he’s about to laugh when there’s a big explosion, what looks like a mile or so down, leading up to the warehouse they’re supposed to be infiltrating. It’s big enough to knock the two of them back a bit, and Peter quickly puts his mask back on.

“Oh, great,” Tony says, replacing his face mask again. “I’m dealing with you and Steve goes and jumps the gun with the goddamn explosion—”

Peter runs past him, towards the new gunfire and shouting, his feet sloshing in the water. “Let’s go! C’mon! Repeat after me: Let’s! Go!”

Peter hears him take off behind him, and before he knows it he’s being grabbed up in Iron Man’s arms, the two of them rocketing towards the action.

So. New Plan.

3.
(a sunny march afternoon after three days of sickness for everybody in the cabin)

“No, that’s a downstairs window,” Tony says, taking the window off from where Peter had tried to shove it in. This is almost like a puzzle, in some places, and Tony wants to laugh when he remembers the box said kids could help assemble it. Yeah fucking right. Only if they wanted the thing to look like a Dali painting.

“How can you tell?” Peter asks, sitting cross-legged, beside him.

“They’re a little bit bigger and curved at the top,” Tony says. He holds it up next to one of the downstairs windows on the dollhouse for comparison.

“Okay, got it, got it, got it,” Peter says. “God, there’s barely any difference—why is this so hard? Why would they make this so hard?”

“We’re putting our brains to work,” Tony says. “That’s what they want.”

He keeps almost crushing the little pieces with his iron hand, and he’s gotta be more careful. Tony glances over his shoulder and sees that Morgan is passed the fuck out now, far beyond done waiting for them to finish this. Pepper is curved around her, already snoring.

“Alright, home stretch, home stretch, eye on the prize,” Tony says, turning back towards their work and trying not to be too loud.

“I’ve got it, here, here,” Peter says. He’s still got a little pile of things by his feet. He puts up two windows, including the aforementioned one when he takes it from Tony, and Tony makes sure they’re fastened in correctly so they won’t be destroyed with Morgan’s rough handling. Peter puts the thumb-sized pillows on the little living room couch, opens up the tiny laptop on the second bedroom desk, and adjusts the wall between the dining room and the kitchen.

“We need to customize this thing,” Peter says. “Get her some mini Spider-Man art for the walls.”

“I actually think they’ve got like, add-ons like that on the website,” Tony says. “We gotta look into that.”

“We can’t let it be basic,” Peter says, adding in the dining room chairs.

“What’s that hole for?” Tony asks, looking at a cut in the wall by the front door. He hopes they haven’t lost a piece. Morgan wouldn’t be cool with that at all, and they wouldn’t be able to hide it from her.

“Where’s the fire alarm thing?”

“The smoke detector, Peter?”

Peter glares at him and holds out his hand, palm up. Tony snorts and finds it on the floor between them, handing it over. Peter puts it in place and makes sure it clicks, looks around to see if they forgot anything, and then he sits back, nodding to himself.

“Good?” Tony asks, looking it over himself.

“Yup, think so.”

“Thank God,” Tony breathes.

It feels like it’s been years. Decades. Their life is a dollhouse, now. Where do they go from here?

“Maybe now we can go get that lunch I was promised?” Peter asks, grinning.

“We absolutely can,” Tony says. They both rattle to their feet and start heading for the door, and Tony looks back at him as Peter follows. “Now that the ladies are asleep, I think I see mozzarella sticks in our future.”

4.
(and drowning and drowning and drowning and drowning)

Peter sits on the roof of the building adjacent to where the Stark-sponsored carnival was taking place, watching the firemen put out the fires he caused and making sure there’s nobody else that needs Spider-Man’s help, even though Spider-Man caused the problems to begin with. Even though they told him that he’d done enough. Even though Sam pointed a finger in his face and told him he’d done enough.

So, Peter figures he’s done enough. Just like Tony told him, way back when, after the ferry incident. He’d done enough. Then, and now.

He didn’t mean to have done enough! Or too much! Or anything at all! It wasn’t like he’d done any of it on purpose. He didn’t! Why would he? Why would he possibly fuck up this badly on purpose? Why would he set a big top circus on fire? Why would he, Spider-Man, nearly crush a bunch of women and children with a Ferris wheel at a goddamn charity event? A charity event in Tony’s name? The worst. The worst. He was just trying to do some tricks, make them smile. Now he wants to disappear.

Maybe it was just a moment. A moment of doubt, a flash, a memory—for no reason. For no reason at all.

Ashes.

How long has it been since he came back? Since they all did?

He tries not to count the days anymore. The moments. The little things that remind him and send him off the metaphorical cliff.

He wants to be okay, but he’s not okay, and it bleeds into his life, sometimes. In moments it doesn’t matter, like math class or sitting on the train. In moments when it matters. Like tonight. Like now.

Peter crosses his arms over his chest and lays back on the roof, feeling like he should be way, way over this stuff. A lot of people that blipped away are moving on fine. He’s gonna graduate high school next year. He’s, like, basically an adult now. And as for Spider-Man—Spider-Man is an Avenger. Spider-Man is an idol for kids and adults alike. He shouldn’t be causing destruction at charity events. Or anywhere. But especially not at charity events.

“Karen,” Peter says, downtrodden. “Just. Let me know if anybody needs help.”

“All the civilians are safe, Peter. No injuries are serious.”

“Thanks,” Peter says, running a hand over his face.

“And you have a text message from MJ. Would you like me to read it?”

“Is it good?” Peter asks, wincing.

“It says ‘don’t worry, I still love you.’”

Peter sighs. “Still loves me. Gently acknowledging my massive failure.” He lays there and listens to the sirens and waits for the inevitable. Tony doesn’t exactly put on the suit for just anything nowadays, but this might be one of those occasions. To entertain the traumatized masses that Peter himself traumatized.

Peter hears the rooftop door opening behind him, and he winces. He hopes it’s Tony and not anybody else.

“This is a PR nightmare,” Tony says, shoes clicking on the roof as he approaches. He’s not in a suit—well, he’s in a suit, but not the suit. “And now I have to deal with it.”

Peter’s chest hurts. He sighs and sits up, pulling his mask off. He crosses his legs and stays sitting there, but when he gets a good look at Tony’s face, he doesn’t look too upset. Not even really disappointed.

“But this is what’s genuinely concerning me,” Tony says, and he points right at him.

“Me?” Peter asks.

“What’s wrong?” Tony asks, reaching him, immediately sitting in front of him. “That whole—display—wasn’t really like you. Usually you’ve got your reasons when you destroy a bunch of shit.”

Peter shakes his head and looks away. “I—” He chews on his lower lip. “I know you trusted me. With all that, the presentation, making—everybody happy. What happened, it was an accident. I’m sorry. I don’t know.”

Tony stares at him for a moment, and Peter glances back up at him, tentatively. He doesn’t understand the amount of understanding in his gaze. He should be in trouble, he shouldn’t be getting any understanding from anybody. But Tony is kind. “Pete, you know these things don’t have to have...a trigger, for lack of a better word,” he says.

Peter shakes his head. “Uh, huh?”

“When you get upset?” Tony says, widening his eyes. “Affected? Shit, after the wormhole I’d lose my mind every five seconds. Pepper brought me a muffin one morning and I lost my mind, spiraling.”

“But did you set the muffin on fire?” Peter asks, raising his eyebrows.

“Not that particular muffin, but as I’m sure you’re aware, I had some serious run-ins with more dangerous muffins down the road and I had a lot of problems.”

Peter scoffs, looking away again. “I just. I don’t know. Got too far into my own head and missed latching my webbing, which never happens, and the fire, that was—well—unexpected.”

“A PR nightmare,” Tony says. “Which, in the past, would have stressed me out, but right now I don’t exactly give a shit because I could tell something was wrong with you to cause all that to happen.”

“I guess I saw my own...metaphorical...muffin,” Peter says. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Tony says, reaching out and patting Peter’s knee. “I saved the world, I almost died, people pretty much have to forgive and pity me for a good like, maybe year or so? Until they start distrusting me again? So I’ll deal with the PR nightmare, and we’ll frame it and put it on the mantle with all my own personal PR nightmares. We have to wear them with pride so other people don’t use them against us.”

Peter nods, blowing out a breath. Tony gets up and holds out a hand to Peter, and Peter takes it, letting him pull him up, too.

“Let’s go, muffin,” Tony says, patting him on the arm. “I gotta go tell Wilson and some firefighters to stop being so harsh.”

Peter smiles softly at him, and he’s so, so glad he’s got him on his side.

5.
(Ned says homework is for losers but when May hears that Ned acts like he never said it)

“No!” Peter yells, trying to run after her, his book and papers starting to tumble out of his arms. “Don’t lock me in here! This is abuse!”

“Abuse?” May says, looking over her shoulder. “You’ve got the whole apartment. You’ve got food. This is not abuse.”

“Not being able to go out and save the world is abuse!” Peter yells, and then everything does fall, clattering to the ground in a heap. “For me and for the world! I’ve gotta go patrol, you know this, we’ve talked about this, we’ve had meetings about this, I’ve gotta—”

She whips around then, and stops walking. “Peter—”

“May! This is why I didn’t want you to know!”

He knows he shouldn’t have said that, with the look she gives him, and he goes quiet.

“You didn’t want me to know so you could go out and do God knows what every night, nearly killing yourself, and neglecting your schoolwork, which is important, and when I did find out, we had that whole meeting with Tony, and we decided the going out and patrolling completely hinged on getting your schoolwork done, and what did you not do? What did they tell me today, in our third parent teacher conference, that you didn’t do? That was due yesterday? That they, so nicely, granted you an extension on til Friday, because I begged?”

Peter sighs. He leans on the wall and looks down away from her. “The report. On The Metamorphosis.”

“Which you haven’t read,” she says.

“Which I haven’t read,” he repeats, wilting.

“So no, we’re gonna let the police take care of New York tonight,” May says. “I’m gonna go to work, you’re gonna pick up your shit, and you’re gonna read that entire book. You’re gonna go to bed at eleven, at the latest, and then tomorrow night we’re gonna do the same damn thing. Maybe you can go out on Thursday if you get it all done.”

Peter bends down to start picking everything up, and he sighs when May leans down after him to press a kiss to his hair. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he says.

“I love you. You’ll be fine. You’re not locked in physically, but you’re locked in metaphorically. Maybe you’ll have your own metamorphosis.”

And he tries. He tries to read the damn big cockroach book. But he just—he just doesn’t like it. It just can’t hold his attention, especially when he knows he could be out there patrolling. So many things could be happening that the police can’t handle and he’s here, doing school work.

He lays back on his bed and splays the book out over his face, sighing.

His phone buzzes beside him. Peter pushes the book further up his forehead and reaches over, grabbing it, expecting something from Ned.

But it’s from Tony.

“Alright. This is not a jailbreak. I’m here to help. Let me in.”

Peter gasps and nearly chokes on his own spit, tossing himself out of the bed and rushing to the front door. He doesn’t know if this is the kind of joke that Tony would play—he thinks it might be—and he whips the front door open to actually find the real, live Tony Stark standing there, adjusting his jacket sleeve.

“Jesus, we need to get you with a new phone provider, because I sent that message at least five minutes ago,” Tony says, sweeping his way inside.

Peter watches him, feeling half insane. “You talked to May?” he asks, shutting the door again, and relocking it.

“Yes, your Aunt yelled at me,” Tony says, sitting his bag down on the dining room table. “And told me you’ve been knocking Kafka to the wayside.”

Peter blows out a breath. “Do you…like...The Metamorphosis?” he asks, tentatively.

“Not really,” Tony says, shaking his head. “But, a couple years back, this high school commissioned me to do a reading of the whole goddamn thing, and I thought it’d be pretty funny to have you listen to it.”

“Oh my God,” Peter says.

“And I’ve got spark notes,” Tony adds, winking at him. “So let’s get to work.”

6.
(after mistake after mistake, he reminds himself he’s the one that’s supposed to do the protecting, no matter how weak he is, no matter how strong Peter is. It’s supposed to be him.)

“Tony. Tony, listen, just—it’s fine, it’s gonna be fine. We’re coming, we’re almost there.”

Tony should have known he's far past the point of fighting his own battles, let alone fighting Peter’s battles for him. Peter deals with shit that blows Tony away, that makes him feel sick, and he’s faced some real assholes in his life. But when that dickhead Gargan escaped after they’d gotten him in custody, Tony took it as a personal slight. He couldn’t let him get Peter again, like he did before, even though Peter had handled it well then, like he usually does. But Tony told him he had his back, and then they let Gargan escape. Which is not at all having his back. Exactly the opposite, in fact.

He had to make it right.

But now he’s stumbling around in some nightmare world, because the asshole fucking poisoned him. Of course. Of course he did. Nothing’s easy. Being a superhero isn’t his full time job anymore, and half the time he only puts on the suit to defend the kid or help when he needs him. He’s moved past being part of the team to being on Peter’s team, though he doesn’t exactly phrase it like that in front of anybody else. They don’t need him, but Peter needs him. Peter can take care of himself, but Peter still needs him. Needs his support.

That’s what family’s about.

Why did he have to take his helmet down? That asshole got him in the fucking neck.

Now he’s just in the way. Tony saved him from this prick before, sure, but Peter could have gotten out of that on his own. And now he’s drawing Peter to Gargan, because Tony got himself fucking poisoned. Now he’s gotta be rescued, and Peter would never send anybody else in on their own. He’s coming himself.

“Don’t come,” Tony slurs, stepping awkwardly as the walls start shifting, turning to sludge. “Kid, don’t.”

“You’re gonna be okay, alright?” Peter says. “Just stay on the line with me. You’re gonna be alright. We’re almost there, we’re gonna get you, we’re gonna fix this.”

“I’m not worried about me,” Tony says, almost running into the wall when he tries to go through the dilapidated doorframe. “I’m worried about you. Don’t come, don’t come, I’ve got this—”

Tony’s mind is going rancid, but he knows one thing. This guy—he’s not gonna touch Peter again. Whether Tony’s poisoned or not. Nobody is taking Peter away again.

The sky and the ground flip, and he nearly topples over.

“Oh Iron Man, this is so sweet. Love how you wanna die for him.”

“Tony!” Peter yells in his ear, because he must have heard. “Get out of there, get out of there now!”

Tony sees colors. Sees shapes, things that—aren’t really there. “I’m not gonna let him keep going after you,” Tony says. “Sorry kid.”

“No, no!” Peter yells. “I’m—shit, okay, I see it—”

Tony hears something skittering, like a giant fucking cockroach, and he tries to ready his hand to shoot a repulsor. But then there’s—the walls are collapsing, and something is dropping in through the ceiling, and he doesn’t know if he’s hallucinating it or what. He sways, the dizziness hitting him harder, and he falls to his knees with a grimace.

He hears what sounds like….Peter’s webs. It’s unmistakable, despite the poison making Tony quickly shut down, and he hears the skittering again, like it’s trying to get away this time. Moving further from him.

Crash. Splintering. Bodies rolling.

“Tony!” Peter’s voice yells, but Tony is faltering now, blue-screening out, losing his ability to think. He hears a ruckus, a fight, more of the kid’s webs. “Tony, hold on!”

7.
(no one is supposed to freeze to death on a Sunday, but nobody thought to tell Peter)

“Are you an idiot?” Tony yells, staring at Peter’s little friend and trying not to boil over. “Are you an idiot?”

Ned stands there, hands clutched in front of him. “I’d like to say no, but you’d just scream at me some more.”

Tony stares at him, and considers screaming at him some more. He tries to swallow down his anger—does he want kids? Does he really want kids? Peter is enough. Peter is too much. Peter is in high school and Peter is a superhero and he still gets into this shit. What would a toddler do? Wreak havoc. Tony doesn’t know if his heart can take it.

Tony reaches up and pinches the bridge of his nose. He tries to gather himself.

“Just don’t tell May,” Ned says. “Well. Please don’t tell May. Or kill us both.”

“I’m not gonna kill Peter,” Tony says. “And I’m not gonna kill you because Peter wouldn’t be happy.”

Ned has the nerve to look prideful about that. Tony knows he can’t kill a kid. It’s not in his blood, and Peter would never forgive him.

Peter. Who is inside Ned’s Uncle’s freezer.

All of the shit that was inside it previously is now languishing on the ground beside it, and Tony practically blacked out when Ned was telling him why they did this asinine thing to begin with, and he doesn’t fucking know why the latch broke or why there isn’t a key or why a fucking freezer can lock closed to begin with. Isn’t this how babies get killed? Locking themselves inside shit? Because a baby is currently in danger inside the goddamn freezer in front of him. Why isn’t he trying to get out? He could probably break it, with how strong he is.

Tony sighs. The freezer isn’t that goddamn big to begin with, so Tony knows Peter is curled up in there, probably cramping to death before he can freeze to death.

“Can you get him out?” Ned asks. “With one of your gadgets? I don’t think he knows we’re done with the experiment because he hasn’t been banging.”

Tony gives him a look and doesn’t answer. Peter’s been in there long enough, since the moment the latch broke until this very moment where Tony is finally moving past his panic attack. Thank God he was close by. Ned just unplugged the goddamn thing three seconds ago, because he and Peter share one brain cell and Peter took it inside the freezer with him.

Tony sighs, trying to focus. He just activates his watch gauntlet, lets it encompass his hand, and then he kneels down next to the broken latch, shaking his head.

He burns away at it until the whole thing falls to the ground, and the top of the freezer pops open, free from its entropy. Tony tries not to leap to his feet too fast, since Ned is watching, but he gets up and pushes the top the rest of the way up, peering inside. His heart is booming in his ears.

Peter’s eyes are wide, his arms wrapped around himself, teeth chattering. “Oh—my—my God, Mr.—Mr. Stark, oh—oh no—”

“Yeah, oh no,” Tony says, feeling a tightness in his chest that presents itself more often when Peter’s around.

“What—what happened?” Peter asks.

“Oh, nothing,” Ned says. “I definitely didn’t—break the latch or anything—”

Tony reaches in and grabs onto one shoulder, Ned grabbing onto the other, and they both haul him out. Tony wraps an arm around his waist, helping him step back onto solid ground.

“Jesus,” Tony says, rubbing Peter’s arms up and down as Ned gapes at him, like he didn’t expect him to still be there when they got the thing open. “You guys are morons. You’re morons.”

“Y—yup,” Peter shivers.

Tony shakes his head, stripping off his jacket and quickly wrapping it around Peter’s shoulders, rubbing his arms through it.

“It’s...it’s okay, Mr.—Mr. Stark, I’m—I’m fine, really—I thought we were still—I didn’t realize there was something—you know what, I’m—I’m fine—”

“Uh huh, you look a lot like that expired frozen ravioli on the floor over there,” Tony says, wrapping an arm around him and glancing back at Ned. “Does your Uncle have a heater, Ned? Or a goddamn heating blanket?”

“Uh, yeah, yeah!” Ned says, rushing ahead of them and moving back inside the house.

Tony shakes his head, rolling his eyes. “This is ridiculous,” he says.

“Don’t—”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tony says, leading him into the house after Ned. “Tell May. We’ll see.”

8.
(when Tony Stark pays your phone bill, then you’ll get unlimited texting)

MR. STARK: okay, I’m gonna stop answering you now.

PETER: NO you started this

MR. STARK: I certainly did not, you can scroll up, do you remember how to scroll up? It’s all there, all the evidence you need.

PETER: you messaged me! saying you were proud! and I took that as an opportunity to ask about that sunken ship and now it’s two am

MR. STARK: And that’s why I’m gonna stop answering you.

PETER: NO I STILL HAVE QUESTIONS

MR. STARK: I definitely won’t be answering if you start yelling.

PETER: okay okay okay just don’t go to bed yet I need to know more about the cargo and just how much gold they were carrying and the other ship that was chasing them don’t go to bed don’t go to bed

MR. STARK: Sometimes you just need to let people leave your life, no matter how much it hurts you.

PETER: YOU ARE NOT LEAVING MY LIFE

MR. STARK: I’m leaving this conversation. For now. Tomorrow you can jet on over here and look at Howard’s real live files on this event and maybe make some photo copies.

PETER: oh yeah that’s good that’s better

MR. STARK: Goodnight nutcase!

PETER: GOODNIGHT :)

9.
(Tony would go out for Halloween if wine drunk May wasn’t so entertaining)

“Where are they?” Tony asks, extending the footrest out as far as it can go. He stretches his arms above his head, the iron arm catching the light. “Honestly, how long can this take? It’s Halloween. All the good candy’s gonna be gone.”

May snorts, looking over at him. “As if we don’t have backup candy hidden for that exact scenario.”

Tony snorts, but doesn’t acknowledge how right she is. They’re holed up in May’s apartment, and he’s ready to sit back, watch The Exorcist or some shit, and let Peter take on big brother duties for the night. He’ll have Happy tailing them, sure. But like, from a distance. In his own costume. Whatever the hell he picked up, probably a pirate for the fourth year in a row. Always to be counted upon.

“What’s Peter gonna be?” Tony asks. “We being subtle or straight Spider-Man?”

May scoffs, taking a sip of her wine. “No idea. I doubt it’s Spider-Man. But he hasn’t told me.”

Tony hears both doors open, and everyone starts heading out into the living room, Pepper lagging behind, halfway covered in glitter.

“Alright, they need compliments,” Pepper announces.

Morgan is in her little princess outfit, which Tony knew about, and explains the glitter. Ned is Thor, which absolutely needs to be documented, and Peter is…

“What are you?” Tony asks, gesturing towards Peter with his chin. Morgan rushes over and jumps into his lap, covering him with glitter, too.

“I’m a spy!” Peter says. He’s wearing—a strange vest, and a beret, cargo pants that are too big and also camo, and every accessory known to man. Necklaces, bracelets, a pen behind one ear and a feather behind the other, he’s even got little dangly things on his shoelaces. He isn’t any discernible character Tony can imagine or remember, and he’s pretty up on his pop culture. Tony doesn’t know why he’s suspicious of him, but he is.

“Oh, forgot these,” Ned says, handing Peter two black strips of what looks like Velcro.

“Oh, thanks, man,” Peter says. Tony has no idea what he’s gonna do with them until he wraps them around his upper arms. So now he’s got black bands on his arms, because...why not.

“Cool,” Tony says. “The armbands are a nice addition to an already ambiguous getup.”

Peter glares at him.

“What are you?” Tony asks again. “A French solider? A mime? A beatnik poet? An alternate universe version of yourself that only discovered foreign film?”

“Didn’t I say spy?” Peter asks, exasperated. But even he sounds like he doesn’t know what the hell he is.

“I’ll give you all my snickers bars,” Morgan says, close to Tony’s face. “But Petey already claimed the milky-ways. We’re gonna trade for skittles.”

“Bartering already, okay,” Tony says, leaning down to kiss her forehead before she jumps off and runs back over to Peter. Pepper sighs and sits down next to May, and May pours her a glass of wine, which was surely earned. “We good?” Tony asks. “We got our routes planned out?”

“I have an actual map of all the best places,” Ned says, sweeping a blond lock of hair out of his eyes.

“Course you do,” Tony says, smiling to himself as Peter lifts Morgan up and puts her on his shoulders. “Alright. Bye, Princess, Thor. Uh. Spy Peter.”

“This is a curated outfit,” Peter says, still holding onto Morgan. “Curated.”

There’s a knock at the door and he walks over, answering it. MJ comes in wearing an outfit that nearly matches Peter’s, and suddenly, everything is clear. He matches her almost down to every detail, and Tony knows this girl likes weird, off the wall shit that nobody has ever heard of before, and this seems like something she came up with that Peter went along with to impress her. Some outlandish, forgotten character from the early 1900s or some shit. Some old comic book that was only released in the writer’s basement. Because of course this is something Peter would do for the girl he likes.

“Hey,” Peter says, and he’s already blushing.

“Hey, loser,” MJ says, with so much fondness that it’s almost criminal. “It looks good. You got the necklaces right.” They meet in a kiss. Morgan laughs and grins, and she’s not at all like most kids who say ew when older people show affection. Pepper’s already made her a hopeless romantic. “Ready to go?” MJ asks, grinning up at Morgan.

“I get it now, Peter!” Tony calls, trying to be as embarrassing as he can. “The outfit! I understand. Maybe next year you guys can be something people will actually recognize.”

10.
(a result of an arrest, a job well done, and a newly formed grudge)

Tony looks up, because Peter’s anger is radiating.

“It’s fine, kid,” Happy says, from the bed, his heart rate steadily beeping on the monitor. “It’s okay.”

“How is this okay?” Peter says, not looking at him. “You’re in the hospital.” His voice breaks, and it hurts to hear.

“He’s not in the hospital,” Tony says, trying to keep a gentle tone. “He’s in our med bay. Which is very comfortable. He has a favorite bed. You have a favorite bed. We don’t do public hospitals anymore.”

Peter visibly shivers, shaking his head. “They targeted him because they saw him with Spider-Man. They saw him pick me up and then they targeted him to hurt me. Soon it’ll be you, Tony. Soon it’ll be—random people they see me save. And if they—if they find out who I am—”

“They’re not gonna find May,” Happy says, before Tony can. Then he looks at him, meets his eyes as if he’s searching for backup, for reassurance. Tony doesn’t even know how much interaction Happy and May have had. But Tony knows Happy cares about Peter, whether he says it out loud or not.

Tony is tired of seeing people he loves in hospital beds.

“They’re not,” Tony says. “I’ll make sure of it.”

Peter looks up, and he looks like he’s on the verge of tears. “Happy,” he says.

“Kid, I promise,” Happy says. “I’m okay. You’re gonna take this guy down, and you know how I know? Because I trust you. Because he trusts you.” He nods towards Tony, and Tony nods at Peter.

“I trust you,” Tony says. “These people can’t take that away from you, Pete. You keep people safe and they know it.”

Peter nods, and chews on his lower lip. “Can I go keep an eye on the search Friday’s doing?” he asks.

“Of course,” Tony says.

Peter takes two steps towards the door, but then he stops and turns around. He rushes over to the bed and gently hugs Happy, trying not to jostle his shoulder. It makes Tony start thinking about family again, and what all this means, and his mind is already working on overdrive. He’s gotta fucking stop. Happy lets out a little laugh, patting Peter’s back. Then the kid rushes out without another word, closing the door behind him.

Tony looks at Happy, and they both sigh.

“It’ll be fine,” Tony says. “We’re gonna figure it out.”

“I know,” Happy says. “I wasn’t screwing around, saying all that. He’s just such a good person, that’s all.”

“Yeah,” Tony says. “He really is.”

11.
(Tony is a slave to laughter)

“I don’t want to hurt you!” Peter yells, standing a couple feet away from him.

Tony is half-sitting, half standing. His knee is bent horribly on the stair, and Peter can still hear Morgan giggling up in her room. She definitely has a role in this, Peter is sure of that, even if he doesn’t have specifics.

“You’re not gonna—Pete, if I do it, I’m gonna break it, with this arm—the angle, I can’t—I can’t see it properly, I’m just gonna break it, and I might hurt myself, yeah? But if you do it you’ll—you’ll be precise, you know how to distribute your strength, you can get me out of this.”

“Why did you do this to begin with?” Peter asks, crossing his arms over his chest. He knows he has the moral high ground.

Tony stares at him. His head is—caught, in the bars of the stairs. Peter doesn’t know how the hell he did it—he was in the living room working on the specs for his holo-decoys, listening to Tony and Morgan laugh. Then there were twin gasps, and Morgan’s little stomping feet heading up the stairs, Tony yelling after her.

He’s stuck. His whole head. Like a dumb cat.

“I was making her laugh, I was gonna call you over and make you laugh, but then I was—listen. Listen.”

Peter snorts, hanging his head.

“See, you’re laughing.” He groans, tapping on the bars with his iron hand. “I’m gonna break it, if I try.”

“I’m gonna break it too. There’s nothing to stop me from breaking it,” Peter says.

“I trust you,” Tony says, grinning.

Peter sighs. Then he starts approaching him, shaking his head, when something strikes him. “Alright, just—wait, wait. I gotta get a few pictures before I save you.” He pats his pocket, and pulls his phone out.

Tony groans. “No. C’mon.”

“What? Please. You had to have seen this coming.”

“Well, I got my head stuck to begin with, so not the brightest crayon in the box.”

“Nope,” Peter laughs, aiming his phone at Tony’s predicament. “Now say cheese!”

12.
(Tony flies faster when he gets the alert, because Peter’s vitals aren’t even taking this seriously)

Peter is hanging by his wrists in what are surely vibranium handcuffs. He doesn’t know how the hell some asshole off the street like Mac Gargan got a hold of vibranium, but that isn’t exactly his main problem right now. The main problem is getting out of them. Then figuring out how he got them to use on Peter in the first place.

Mac’s got something running on his computer, some kind of upload, and despite how much he’s doing that villain shtick, talking and talking and talking to Peter about nothing, he hasn’t said anything about his evil plan yet.

“Mac, when did you learn to use a computer?” Peter asks, swinging his legs back and forth. “I’m really proud of you.”

“Don’t make me gag you, spider.”

“Aw, c’mon, you know you love this back and forth,” Peter says. He grits his teeth, looking up over his head. He can see the place where he’s hanging from, and if he tries hard enough, he can totally pull the chains down. They’re not made of vibranium, just the cuffs. He can tell.

“You know what?” Gargan asks, turning around and raising his eyebrows at him. “I don’t think I wanna wait for the upload to finish and for everybody else to get here. I think I wanna take your mask off now. Yeah. We don’t need a big reveal. Maybe I’ll pull a couple of your teeth out before I gag you, and give you a nice dose of my own sort of medicine.”

“Wow, wow, that’s not very sporting,” Peter says, straining a bit as he grabs onto the chains above his cuffs, trying not to give away how hard he’s pulling at them. “And the last part, that’s—that’s pretty gross sounding, man, I don’t know. Like I’m not even worried, I’m just grossed out. And worried for you. I’m worried.”

“You’re worried for me?” Gargan asks, laughing to himself. “That’s cute. That’s where we’re different.” He glances back at the computer, and the green bar is almost filled up completely. Peter doesn’t know what the hell is happening there, but it’s making him nervous, and he’s gotta stop it.

He feels the chains beginning to give way. He glances up again, and he sees Karen take stock of the beam he’s connected to, already starting to crumble. He briefly wonders if it’ll take the whole building down, but Karen quickly alleviates that worry with a few projections.

“Yeah, that’s the difference between you and me,” Peter says, hardly able to keep the strain out of his voice now, his wrists throbbing. “I’m cute, and you’re a piece of sh—”

Gargan goes flying backwards as a result of what is clearly a repulsor blast, and then a reactor beam cuts across the chains holding Peter, breaking them in half. Peter drops down easily, the chains still attached to his cuffs coming after, hitting the ground hard and pooling like twin snakes.

Tony is hovering in the air like some kind of Iron God, his hand still outstretched towards Gargan. Peter can’t help it, and he smiles broadly.

“Tony, thanks, but I totally had that,” Peter says, rushing over to the computer. He stops whatever the upload was, and starts trying to decrypt the messages.

“Yeah, but the whole thing rubbed me the wrong way,” Tony says, gracefully descending and landing a few feet away. He retracts his face mask. “That guy is weird. You need to interact with like, better villains, bud. He’s greasy, he’s—his banter is bad, Peter, and he’s gross and almost...lecherous? It rubs me the wrong way, I don’t want you hanging out with this guy.”

Peter snorts and keeps typing. Hanging out. Dad joke supreme. “Okay, I’ll keep that in mind for next time. I’m sorry for disappointing you.”

“I’m not disappointed, I just gotta introduce you to some higher caliber villains,” Tony says. He gets close enough to tap an iron finger on one of Peter’s cuffs. “Well, he got some vibranium, so maybe I’m not giving him enough credit. Or maybe one of the assholes we’ve got outside got it.”

“Oh you got them?” Peter asks, looking at him fast. “That’s awesome. His gang is so big, like, unnecessarily big, I didn’t wanna deal with all that.”

Tony winks. “I got your back.”

13.
(and Peter is this close to saying ‘no ticket’ and pretending to be Indiana Jones, but they don’t have enough time and it doesn’t even really work, anyway)

They’re hovering in the supplies hallway, and Tony keeps listening to Friday’s alerts, just in case someone heads this way. He feels like his heart is going a mile a minute, and most of that is due to Peter. He didn’t want to bring Peter on this mission, because he’s too close to the whole thing, and this mission has a very high probability of going wrong.

But Peter, of course, insisted. The others gave Tony shit about being too protective and treating Peter like a child, and he had to relent.

Now they’re up to their ears in going wrong and Nat hasn’t responded in twenty minutes. There are more agents here than Tony could have imagined, and he wishes they wouldn’t have tried to do this the ‘stealth’ way. They tried to play this in the public eye, but Ross wouldn’t budge, he only tried to vilify them. It didn’t really work with the actual general public, because nobody likes anybody messing with Spider-Man - but they’re too close to figuring out who Peter is. Tony can’t allow that, not if he has a chance to stop it.

“What are you doing?” Tony hisses, trying to whisper and show urgency at the same time. He can still see Peter messing around behind the shelving filled with supplies, dealing with the guard they attacked, and he checks the display on his watch to make sure everybody is still where they’re supposed to be. AKA nowhere near them. “Kid. Are you trying to absorb him into the fucking wall or something? What are you doing? Leave him behind, let’s go, let’s go.”

Peter doesn’t answer him, and Tony is struck with worry for a second that the knocked-out agent somehow became not-knocked-out and is causing a problem. He’s just about to walk over there and see what the hell is going on when Peter steps around the corner.

He’s in full regalia. He’s wearing the agent’s whole getup, including the little hat and the stun gun on his belt.

“What are you doing?” Tony asks, throwing his arms out. “Dress up? It’s not the time.”

Peter narrows his eyes.

“You’re gonna impersonate a government agent?” Tony asks, hand on his hip. “Really?”

“I can go out there like this,” Peter says. “You can’t. They know your face, they don’t know my face. Not yet, anyway. I can get to the samples and...get them. Then we can link up with Nat and see if she got the files and then we can...be good! And leave.”

Tony stares at him.

“What?” Peter asks, throwing his arms out now, too.

“Peter,” Tony whispers. “You look twelve years old.”

“I do not! I’m gonna graduate soon!”

“From preschool.”

Peter glares at him and crosses his arms over his chest.

Tony sighs. “It looks like a Halloween costume that’s too big for you,” he says. “Look, you even had to roll up the pant legs.”

Peter glares even harder, and Tony sighs. “Okay, we don’t have time for this,” Tony says, approaching him. “What’s your play, huh? How do you get there? How do I help?”

14.
(Maybe if you had played as Cassie Cage, Peter, we wouldn’t be in this mess)

Tony walks back into the room where Ned and Peter are still playing Mortal Kombat. He’s carrying a tray of cookies and milk, like a goddamn grandma, and Ned turns around happily. His character gets kicked in the face and knocked back towards the edge of the screen.

“I hate you,” Peter says, clearly not talking to Ned. “Why are you here?”

Ned gasps and his character gets knocked around a bit more.

Before the phrase is even allowed to sting, Peter sighs. “I don’t hate you. At all. You’re the best. But I’m still mad.”

“You don’t even do mad right,” Tony says, laughing.

Peter growls angrily and starts attacking Ned’s character relentlessly. The words FINISH HIM come up on the screen, just like they did earlier, over and over, when Tony and Peter were facing each other.

“You’re just mad because an old man beat you eight out of ten times,” Tony says, walking over and setting the tray of cookies on the coffee table, purposefully standing in front of the TV. Both kids sway, trying to see around him, and Tony snorts, walking back out of the way. Slowly.

“Yes,” Peter says. “Well. No. But you were attacking me! I didn’t think you’d—go that hard on me!”

“You’re attacking Ned.”

“That’s different,” Peter says. And he does, finally, finish off Ned’s character, winning the match.

“You’re too competitive,” Ned says, putting down his controller. He takes a cookie and a glass of milk, glaring at Peter.

“I’m not,” Peter says. “I just thought it’d be more—”

“You just thought you’d have to let me win,” Tony says, leaning against the couch.

“You got too into it,” Peter says, grabbing a cookie. “You were absolutely destroying me and laughing about it and you’ve never even played the game before!”

Tony did pick it up pretty fast. But maybe that’s because he secretly figured the whole thing out last night without Peter knowing. He doesn’t say anything, and throws his head back, laughing maniacally like he was doing earlier.

Peter throws a cookie at him.

15.
(their phone calls are becoming part of the torture and he’s got homework and a squirrel outside to take photos of)

Peter lays on his back, the phone hard against his ear because he’s had it there for so long. He listens to them argue like an old married couple, and he knows Pepper and Morgan are in the room, having to endure their antics. He has his photo prints on his chest and doesn’t even bother trying to look through them anymore, because he can’t concentrate.

“It wasn’t like that, okay, I let all the ticket holders in and I was selling for the next event,” Tony says. He sounds way too close to the phone now. “Nobody was forced to wait outside.”

“He wasn’t letting people in with the rescheduled tickets,” May says. “From the cancelled event, the week before.”

“Yes, I was—”

Peter has no idea what the hell they’re talking about. He knows May has been holding some Stark events at the shelter, but usually people don’t have to pay for those. They just dove into this argument almost as soon as he got on the phone. Peter doesn’t know any real details and he doesn’t think he wants to. “You two are ridiculous,” Peter says. “Is this how much you argue all the time? Now that I’m not there anymore? God. Poor Pepper.”

“Yeah, that’s what she says all the time,” Tony says. “Poor Pepper. But May is essentially living with us—”

“Oh please, don’t even try it—”

Then Morgan’s voice comes on the phone, like she picked up another one of the lines. “Please come home!” she says. “We miss you!”

It sounds like a cry for help if there ever was one. Peter wonders if she hates her life now that it isn’t idyllic cabin landscapes every day, now that it’s city insanity and superhero shit and Tony helping May with the shelter. She’s been working there every other weekend, and of course, she dragged Tony in it, too. It’s like they were siblings in another life or something, and Peter really does worry about Morgan and her sanity. He can barely keep his and he deals with them over the phone most of the time.

“Come up here, Mo,” Peter says. “You’re smart enough for college.”

“Oh, no, no,” Tony says. “Both kids aren’t allowed to be gone at the same time.”

Peter sits up, grabbing his photos, and he feels like his whole damn life has been full of missing the people he loves. He’s already doubting college. But being away from them makes him doubt it even more. He lays the pictures out in front of him and sighs, trying to decide which ones he wants to show them.

“I wanna see all the pictures you’ve been taking, Petey!” Morgan says. “The ones you post are so pretty!”

That’s the only damn thing that’s been keeping him calm lately, and they all know it. He started out taking them on his phone, and then Tony and May bought him this expensive camera, and when he’s not in class or trying to get home to be Spider-Man, he’s taking pictures.

He thinks they’re pretty good, actually.

“I’m picking out the best ones to send to you now, girly,” Peter says.

“You sure you’re okay, Peter?” May asks. “You know, with juggling everything. Your work, your emotions, your—you know what—”

“We’re concerned,” Tony says. “Well. We’re always concerned.”

“But we were on a forum for blipped citizens and—”

“I’m fine,” Peter says, fast, swallowing hard. “I’m totally fine.”

He’s probably not fine. But they don’t need to know that. The only perk of not living there anymore. He doesn’t have to tell them everything. But that doesn’t stop the guilt. No, it...absolutely doesn’t stop the guilt.

16.
(and all he knows when the sirens wail is that Oscorp should be fucking dismantled)

Tony holds onto him with two hands, fingers vice grips around Peter’s wrists. The wind is sharp around both of them, and Tony is halfway out of the window himself, the broken shards trying to cut through his fucking Gucci belt. He can hear the party being ransacked behind him by those fucking Gremlin things, and he should have known a goddamn Oscorp event would wind up something like this.

Now Peter is hanging out of a window and neither one of them have a fucking suit.

Tony doesn’t call for help because he doesn’t trust anybody here. If Pepper was here he could call for her, and she could hold his feet and pull him back in, but all these morons are Osborn’s buddies and they’re running around screaming because they haven’t done shit in their lives except for wipe their asses with their millions.

He thinks, as if he’s not rich, too.

But he’s done shit. He’s been through shit. He’s been to other planets, for God’s sake. He shouldn’t be thinking about the end of the world here at Oscorp’s Financial District location.

Because if Peter falls out of the fucking 70th floor window with no suit, that would be the end of the world. Again. After every goddamn thing they’ve been through. No. Tony won’t allow it.

He holds onto him tighter.

But he’s fucking faltering. As he always does.

“Tony,” Peter says, and it’s so windy out where he is. So dark, with the city lights all around him. So far down, so many people, so many cars. Such a long way to fucking fall.

It reminds him of watching Rhodey plummet out of the sky.

“I’ve got you,” Tony says, gritting his teeth.

Peter shakes his head. “Listen. Let me go. I’ll be okay. I promise.”

Tony scoffs, his heart leaping, and he shakes his head. Is this kid trying to kill him? After he already nearly died? Unfair. “What the hell—are you talking about, you’ll be okay? You’re not—you know who, right now.”

He looks over his shoulder fast, to see if anyone notices him. But those things are still flying around and nobody is in this room anymore. Nobody is over here.

“Help!” Tony yells. “I need some goddamn help!”

Nobody hears. None of these assholes.

“Listen,” Peter says again. “I’ll stick. I’ll fall a little bit, but I’ll stick, and then I’ll—I’ll climb back up to you and we can go help everybody else.”

I’ll fall a little bit.

Tony can see it before he actually sees it, that image, and he feels ill, dizzy. “No, I can’t take that chance. C’mon.”

“I’m gonna fall eventually anyway,” Peter says, smiling sadly. “I love you but you can’t hold onto me forever. Even with an iron arm.”

Tony has been meaning to do upgrades to this fucking arm. Give it shit to do. Important shit, that goes past arm and hand shit. And he wishes he would have done that now.

“Tony, I promise—”

“Hey, assholes!” Tony yells, over his shoulder again. “Leave the Gizmos behind, somebody—”

“Tony,” Peter says, in a way that makes the world shift. Tony looks back at him again. “I promise. I’ll catch, I’ll—I’ll stick. Let me go.”

Tony’s heart aches. His whole face hurts, and he shakes his head. “No, goddamnit. No, I can’t let you go. I can’t watch you fall.”

He doesn’t know how long he’ll be weak from what happened to him. From what he had to do. He doesn’t know. This is one of his first events afterwards as a Real Person, and he clearly wasn’t at all prepared. But he has to be strong enough to save Peter. Every single time.

He grits his teeth and tries again. The iron arm is so much stronger than the other one, and his left feels like a fucking limp noodle as he tries to pull him up. Peter is strong, and fucking heavy.

“Okay, wait,” Peter says. “Wait, keep on—pull me up a little bit—a little bit more and I can get—a foothold, I can get my feet to stick and I—you can help me walk up—”

Tony hears him, but he’s pulling so hard he can only cry out with the strain of it. He pulls and he pulls, feeling like he’s doing next to nothing despite the fact that his body feels like it’s collapsing. He tries to get his knees under him and a shard of glass catches on the iron arm, making a horrible scraping noise.

But he’s moving. He’s—Jesus, he’s pulling him up.

“There, I’m—okay—” Peter says, as Tony gets a hold of his shoulder.

Peter scrambles for a moment, and then he’s—standing on the outside of the building. Tony’s seen him do shit like this before, and he knows it’s not easy in every kind of shoe, especially the dress shoes he’s wearing now. So Tony doesn’t wanna rely on it. He didn’t want to at all, with any kind of fucking falling.

He pulls him in a little further, and then when he’s close enough, Tony struggles to his feet, wrapping his arm around Peter’s middle and hauling him all the way back in.

They both tumble down to the ground, still in a spray of glass from where the window blew out to begin with, and Tony sits up on his forearm, glaring down at Peter.

“Thanks,” Peter says, smiling.

“Don’t ever tell me to drop you out of a window again,” Tony says. “Ever. Ever.”

“I was trying to—you know, not put so much pressure on you!” Peter says, widening his eyes.

“Yeah,” Tony says, scoffing. “A lot less pressure to pull you up than to let you fall. I just needed a moment, kid, Jesus.”

“Fine,” Peter says, still smiling. He gets up, too fast for someone that was just in their predicament, and holds out a hand to pull Tony up, too. “C’mon, let’s go help with—whatever those things are.”

17.
(Peter’s competitive streak is longer than his winning streak)

Tony pinches the bridge of his nose, the incessant ball against paddle noise drilling a hole into his brain. He doesn’t know how long it’s been. He doesn’t know what round this is. He doesn’t even know who’s here anymore. He knows he’s got a bowl of—he looks down at it—a bowl of something in his lap. Was this Doritos? Peanuts? Popcorn? He can’t tell anymore, from the dredges. It was so, so long ago. The taste is long gone.

“So how long do you think he’s gonna last this time?” Pepper’s voice asks, from beside him.

“Jesus,” Tony says, startling.

She laughs at him. “Were you sleeping?”

“No,” Tony says. Click click, click click, click click, click click. “No, I was just—rethinking my life. Wondering who body-snatched us.”

“It hasn’t been that long,” she says. “They both lasted...what, sixteen hours? Straight? With that little break? And now they’ve got a second wind.”

“Second wind,” Tony says, venom in his mouth. He looks over at her. She’s one of their small audience—Clint and Nat are here, watching avidly. Steve is sleeping, snoring like a goddamn buzz saw. Ned and Michelle are both in the corner playing some other game, completely ignoring the grudge match Peter and Sam have going on right now.

They’re playing fucking ping pong. Because Peter threw a ping pong ball at Sam’s head at least four days ago now and then someone made a bet or some shit, they were yelling at each other, pointing fingers, threats were made, Tony doesn’t know. He doesn’t remember. He just remembers standing in front of Peter like a shield, as if Sam would actually try to do something to him over goddamn ping pong, but Tony had to be safe just in case. But then Peter said something along the lines of I bet I could win the most games and then Sam said bet and they’ve been doing this since then and they’ll never stop.

Tony looks straight ahead and stares at the ridiculous game. They’re both hitting, every time, and they’re both sweating like idiots, like they’re in the middle of a battlefield.

“Peter,” Tony calls. “Please.”

“It’s fine!” Peter yells. “I’m winning!”

“You’re not winning, pipsqueak!” Sam yells back, his brows furrowing.

“I’m winning, Tony!” Peter calls, and he’s grinning now.

Tony sighs, and turns towards Pepper. “Where’s May? Is there still life outside?”

Pepper reaches over, running a hand through Tony’s hair. “She’ll be back in a couple hours, she has to work.”

“Okay,” Tony says, leaning in closer to her. “As soon as she gets back, the three of us just have to...tackle Sam. And declare Peter the winner. And then knock them both out or something if they bitch about it.”

Pepper raises her eyebrows. “Sounds good to me. This is the twentieth round, so…”

“Jesus,” Tony says. He looks back at the ping pong match, full of rage. “Pete! Twenty rounds!?

“Best out of fifty!” Peter yells.

Tony stares, and slumps back in his chair.

“That’s your kid,” Pepper says. “You love him.”

Tony shakes his head. “I don’t even know who he is anymore.”

18.
(and Clint deserves it, but this is ridiculous)

Tony doesn’t know how anybody can compete with the God of Thunder. Well, nobody can. It’s just plain facts, there’s no point in trying. And he knows the kid has been obsessed with Thor since he was little, so once all the metaphorical dust has settled and everybody knows who is who, Tony makes sure to set up a few hang-outs between them.

Which, inevitably, shows the clear difference between how lame he is and how cool Thor is. Even when Thor isn’t trying to be cool, he’s cool. Even when he sounds like a complete moron, he’s cool. When Tony sounds like a complete moron, he just sounds like a complete moron. Thor still maintains his God-like status and doesn’t lose any of his cool points.

Tony is waiting for the day when Thor takes his place as Peter’s favorite. It’s fine, it’s bound to happen, he won’t lose any sleep over it.

He will, but he’ll pretend he’s reading. Pepper won’t know the difference.

He’s just glad Thor openly enjoys his time with “the small spider”. He’s shocked by Peter’s strength and skill, and Tony has a heart attack every time he watches them train together through the security cameras. The medicine ball incident won’t leave his mind for a long, long time.

Today is a more relaxing day. For them, anyway. Tony listens to them laughing as he washes the dishes, and he tries to imagine telling Morgan Peter can’t come over for movie night because he’s in New Asgard or some shit. It’s gonna happen sometime. He needs to prepare.

“So how is fucking goddamn shitass?” Thor asks.

Tony looks up, narrowing his eyes. Is he...cursing at Peter? What the fuck?

“I mean, that’s fine,” Peter says, and he doesn’t sound offended. “It feels, like, a little bit, you know, harsh? Goddamn makes it harsh. Tony says that a lot.”

Tony snorts.

“Just don’t ever say the ‘c’ word,” Peter’s voice says.

“Cu—”

“Yes, that one!” Peter says, fast. “Ladies don’t like it. You should know that, just don’t say it. Who even told you that word?”

“I know plenty of things, small spider, don’t fret.” He clears his throat. “Alright, so when Barton tries to pull the same prank he pulled yesterday, I should say—how is—damn dick fucking asshole? How’s that?”

Tony sighs, hanging his head. “A child lives here!” he yells. “She’s not here right now but she has ears everywhere!”

“I’m sorry, Tony!” Peter calls, and Tony’s heart dips a little bit. “We’ll stop! Thor was just—he was just mad and when he confronted Clint I didn’t want to—I didn’t want him to sound, uh. Well.”

“Dumb?” Tony calls. “Well, combining curse words doesn’t make them more hurtful! It just confuses everybody involved!”

“Confusion is appropriate as well!” Thor yells back.

Tony sighs, bracing his hands on the counter and hanging his head. He knows the kid is just way too polite to tell Thor he sounds like a moron, or maybe he’s so blinded by how cool Thor is that he actually thinks his insults sound good. Peter knows how to curse. Tony has heard the kid curse.

“Tony,” Peter says, all of a sudden beside him.

“Jesus,” Tony says, jumping. “Did you teleport?”

Peter smiles. “Thor is cool, but he’s like—I don’t know,” he says, laughing. “Remember when you took Clint down with one word? It was like you—tasered him with your words. Word.”

Tony snorts. “I don’t remember. It’s really easy to take Clint down. There’s a lot to pick at. Thor doesn’t even need to curse.”

“Assistance,” Peter says. He puts his hands together like he’s praying. “Please.”

And maybe Tony won’t be replaced, at all. Not today, anyway.

“Let’s go, kid,” Tony says. “We’re gonna decimate him.”

19.
(and the next day it went off without a hitch, he had the nerve to do it perfectly when they suffered through burned asparagus and overdone roast beef)

“Babe, you look a little green,” May says, standing behind him.

Peter slowly chews on the piece of chicken, and he looks over his shoulder at the two of them standing there. He doesn’t know what his face looks like, but he knows it’s curled in some kind of grimace. He’s not happy right now. He’s really not happy.

They can definitely tell.

“Oh, that doesn’t look good,” Tony says, glancing at May. “I thought we were keeping an eye on the chicken—”

“Mrs. Mother Hen Stark—”

“Funny—”

“He’s supposed to be the one keeping an eye on everything,” May says, raising her eyebrows at him. “This is his practice Valentine’s Day dinner. He’s gonna have to do it all himself tomorrow.”

“Yeah, but we’re the guinea pigs here,” Tony says. “Today. Right now.”

Peter nearly gags. No, this is not good, this is not good, this is a bad piece of chicken, this is not the kind of chicken that he could ever put in front of MJ if he wants her to look at him again.

“That’s the puke face,” May says, and the two of them move away from him almost in time, shoulder to shoulder and towards the cabinets.

“If you’re gonna be sick, do it in the soup so we don’t have to suffer,” Tony says, holding his hands up.

Peter narrows his eyes, but he rushes over to the trash can and spits up the whole bite. He wipes off his tongue and turns around, to where Tony is handing him a glass of water. “Okay, first of all,” Peter says, taking the glass, “the soup is not as bad as the chicken. The chicken is raw, I almost just really messed myself up. Compared to the chicken, the soup is fine. I should at least be able to do mushroom soup. I should at least be able to do that.”

Tony and May are both silent now, and Peter leans back against the wall and stares at them.

“Fine,” he says. “We’re gonna scrap the whole thing and start over. I’m gonna do the roast beef.”

They both sigh audibly, rolling their eyes.

“Peter,” Tony says, pleadingly. “That’s harder.”

20.
(Friday nights are dedicated to Tony’s drama and Tony’s drama only)

“So how did you feel, when the armor first got the rebrand?” Peter asks, pencil brandished over his notebook.

Rhodey shifts in the chair in front of him. He takes a sip of his water like he’s on a talk show. “Well, at first, we were all happy with it, you know? I mean, who wouldn’t be? Reminded everybody of their favorite Captain, and I know for a fact it definitely was inspired by Mr. Rogers.”

Tony sighs even louder in the background than he was before, when they started all this.

Peter writes it down. “But you liked it, yourself?”

Rhodey shrugs. “Well, I wasn’t—let’s just say I prefer War Machine. Paint job and all. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.”

“That’s what I said, at the time, but he was singing his red, white and blue praises, weren’t you, honeybear?” Tony snaps. He tosses a pan in the sink, and he clearly didn’t want it to be that loud because he curses under his breath and shifts some plates around.

“Mr. Stark, I still want an interview with you about this,” Peter says, looking over his shoulder. Tony doesn’t say anything, and Rhodey snorts. Peter narrows his eyes and watches Tony walk out of the kitchen and right past them into the living room. He starts moving magazines around indiscriminately. Peter clears his throat. “It’s—it’s gonna be really important, to the—to the project.”

“What?” Tony asks, looking over at them like he’s startled that they’re still here. He sits down and starts...straightening the magazines. Putting them in a pile. “Were you talking to me? That’s funny. For a second there I thought you actually cared.”

“Not everything has to be about you, Tones,” Rhodey says.

“I know that,” Tony says, looking away again. “It’s perfectly fine. I just thought I knew where the kid’s allegiance was, that’s all.”

Peter’s mouth drops open, and Rhodey shakes his head.

“Tony, you know he said he got outvoted,” Rhodey says. “He wanted to do the report on Iron Man but the rest of his group wanted to do it on War Machine. As they should. So the kid is still on your team first, as always.”

Tony sits there on the couch, but now he’s smiling a little bit.

“You’re the worst,” Peter laughs. “I guess I gotta show him my Halloween costumes from age nine through thirteen again.”

“It’s because it’s me,” Rhodey says. “Always gotta one up with me, don’t you, Tony?”

“It’s fine,” Peter says, reaching for his sharpener. “Maybe I just won’t include his interview.”

“Hey now.”

21.
(this is as bad as Jerry Springer but without the chair-throwing, but it could get there)

Peter sits across from Happy, his arms crossed. Happy doesn’t look much better, and he’s trying to act uninterested, but Tony knows this is necessary. He’s dealt with break-up’s between people he’s close with before, but when Peter found out Happy and May were breaking up he said well, I’ve gotta fight him, that’s the rules and they’ve been treating each other like shit ever since.

Tony never had high hopes for Happy and May. Yeah, he set them up when he was recovering, because he was laid up and lost a goddamn arm and pretty much everybody with a working heart had to take his opinions into consideration. So when Tony suggested Happy and May hanging out, he didn’t really think it would blossom into anything serious, but then it actually did and they were both so hot and cold with the whole thing, hardly ever meeting in the middle. After a while he was just praying it would end, because it wasn’t his favorite thing and it sure as hell wasn’t Peter’s favorite thing. In fact, Peter acted like it was killing him.

Which is why Tony was so confused when Peter was so pissed about it ending. May couldn’t have been too crushed, knowing how she is and having heard a few particular details from Peter throughout the relationship, but Peter was horribly mad that it ended and it’s been a week and Tony can’t deal with either one of them anymore.

They’re sitting in Peter’s dining room. Happy grips the arms of his chair like he wants to break them.

“We need to talk,” Tony says, pointing back and forth at both of them. “I can’t take it. I’m also the mediator. And remember, I almost died, so take into account how I feel about this.”

“Well, see, what happened here is that he thinks I’m an idiot,” Peter says, still staring hatefully.

“Jesus Christ, kid—”

“Well!”

“I did not take her salt and pepper shakers, why in the hell would I—”

“Happy, they’re not here, and that’s just the kind of thing you’d do to irritate her—”

“Right, right, and who would plant that kind of idea—”

“See? You think I’m an idiot, because I can think for myself and she did not plant that idea, I thought of it myself—”

“Oh my God,” Tony whispers, running his hand through his hair as both of them continue to attack each other over salt and pepper shakers, apparently. “I just—Jesus Christ—”

“You know what, this is impossible,” Happy says, getting up.

“Hey, hey,” Tony says.

“No, forget it,” Peter says. “This relationship is irreparable. At least not until the salt and pepper shakers show up.” He shoves his chair backwards and it squeaks, and the two of them go in opposite directions. Peter into his room, with a slam, and Happy out the front door.

“Okay,” Tony says, staring at the wall. “Well. Now I gotta find the fucking salt and pepper shakers.”

22.
(it’s Thursday and nearly dinner time and Tony refuses to fall to his death, thank you)

“Stick your leg out,” Peter says, grinning, the wind whipping his hair around.

“No, you stick your own goddamn leg out if you wanna see what happens,” Tony says, shoved up against the wall, close to the door. But he’s got one hand stretched out, latched onto Peter’s backpack, like he thinks he’s gonna launch himself off the edge at any moment.

Peter always knew there was a special 103rd floor balcony on the Empire State Building, somewhere he’d probably never, ever get to go. Only celebrities and rich people are allowed up here, but now he has a mentor that is both a celebrity and a rich person. Tony didn’t really fight him too much about doing it, but now that they’re up here he’s acting like he’s on the edge of death.

“You’ve been up way higher than this!” Peter says, hovering near the edge. Tony tugs him back and Peter snorts at the look on his face. “Literally, you’ve been so much higher.”

“In a suit, lunatic, not tossing my leg out into the open air like a crazy person.”

Peter smiles at him, that crazy, wild-eyed smile he does sometimes on purpose, and he takes little steps towards the edge, even though Tony is still holding onto him. He lifts his knee up a bit.

“Peter. Parker.”

Lifts his knee up a little higher.

“You know what. I’m not doing anything special for you ever again.”

Peter puts his foot down. “Lies and deceit.”

Tony tugs him back more. “Let’s walk around it one more time and then go back inside where it’s fucking safe.”

Peter scoffs. “Fine.”

They start to maneuver around the balcony, shoulder to shoulder, and Peter gazes out at New York. All he wants to do is swing.

23.
(she calls the Stark secure server a week later with a brunch invitation for Spider-Man)

Peter has never seen a newborn baby before. Only in photos, and in movies, and usually the movies don’t use real newborn babies because, well, of course they don’t. But he’s been with this lady for six hours now and thank God that doctor showed up and thank God they were able to transport her to the hospital, but Peter didn’t think she’d actually want to keep him with her the whole time. But the doctors kept saying good luck to have a superhero with you when you have your baby! And after that she didn’t let him go.

He didn’t look, when Loretta was actually having the baby, obviously, but then there was crying and lots more talking and she finally let go of his hand.

“It’s a boy! It’s a boy!”

Peter stares, mouth agape, and the baby is bloody and writhing and screaming and he’s really glad he doesn’t have his mask off right now. Her husband isn’t here, not yet, apparently still stuck in Philadelphia because the baby is a month early.

“It’s a boy,” Peter breathes, because everyone else is saying it so he might as well say it too. He feels like a statue, and the only thing that snaps him out of his stupor is seeing Tony hovering around in the hallway. His heart leaps into his throat and he glances back and forth between Loretta and the baby and everything else.

“Uh, uh, ma’am,” he says, but she doesn’t respond, obviously, because she’s a little busy at the moment, and they’re cleaning up her baby and Peter quickly tries to scoot around them, rushing into the hall where Tony is.

He flexes his hand, because now he can really feel just how tight she’d been holding on.

“Geez Spidey,” Tony says, looking him up and down. He notices Peter flexing. “How’s the hand?”

“Like a pregnant woman was clutching at it for six hours of labor,” Peter says. “Even with my super strength, uh—Loretta gave me a run for my money.”

“Loretta,” Tony laughs, tugging Peter back towards the wall.

“Loretta Sinclair,” Peter says, nodding, watching as they hand her the baby. He can’t help but smile, because God, it feels like they’ve been waiting for this forever and there the baby is, he’s here, he’s actually here. Peter feels so invested. He massages his hand and glances up at Tony again. “Uh, she works at Macy’s and these guys were trying to steal her purse and it seemed like the stress made the baby start coming. So I stayed with her—”

“Yeah, I saw the Instagram stories,” Tony says. “But they stopped when you guys got to the hospital. They didn’t let the other people who helped out in, huh? But they let Spider-Man in?”

Peter smiles, strangely shy. “Uh, yeah,” he says.

Tony grins at him and pats him on the shoulder. “Well, maybe she’ll make you the godfather,” he says.

“Spider-Man!” Loretta calls out, and both Peter and Tony look up. “It’s a boy! What’s your name! I can name him after you!”

“His name is Anthony Edward Stark,” Tony calls out, tugging Peter against him and starting to lead him down the hallway.

“Congratulations!” Peter calls, waving over his shoulder. He looks at Tony as they go, and he massages his hand again. “You think she’ll be able to find me? I feel weird leaving after we’ve been hanging out for such a long time.”

“Hanging out,” Tony laughs. “If Pepper and I ever have a baby, I’ll call you over to hang out during the delivery.”

“Aw, Mr. Stark, that’s so nice,” Peter says, as they turn a corner.

“C’mon, kid. You and your injured hand deserve a cheeseburger.”

24.
(a quiet Monday, with too much blood in the lines of Tony’s palms)

Tony runs his hand over his face. He doesn’t think it feels long enough for him to start growing a goddamn beard, but he’s prickly and scruffy and he knows he needs a shower.

He’s been sitting here since they brought Peter in. Since all the blood. Since the kid was looking around wildly, and wouldn’t stop thrashing until Tony held his hand. Since you’re gonna be okay, Pete. I promise. I promise you.

Since Peter fell into a coma. Since May screamed and screamed and screamed until she collapsed in Tony’s arms, her anger flaring off of her like Peter’s does when something really gets to him. He’s hers through and through, her little best friend and partner, and Tony knows seeing him like this is torture. If it hurts him like it does, he can’t imagine how May feels.

Now she’s asleep in the chair on the other side of the bed, and it doesn’t feel like it’s been three days. It feels like it’s been a month. It feels like it’s been a minute. Either way, he’s growing a beard.

Silence doesn’t become Peter. Tony is used to his voice, he’s driven by his rambling, and without it, this just doesn’t seem like his kid.

Helen is ‘optimistic’. Tony doesn’t know what the hell that means, because when it comes to Peter, he needs cold hard facts. He doesn’t need doctors and their goddamn doctor speak. He needs he will wake up. He will wake up. He’s a teenager, he’s a child, he shouldn’t be doing this superhero shit but there’s no stopping him, but he sure as shit shouldn’t be in a coma. Not allowed. Not goddamn allowed. Watching May call the school and lie about what’s going on made Tony feel like was gonna puke.

Peter isn’t allowed to miss more than a week of school. Which means he’s gotta wake up today or tomorrow.

Tony sighs and scoots forward, clearing his throat. He wraps a gentle hand around Peter’s wrist.

“When are you gonna be back, huh?” Tony whispers. “Because you’ve got obligations, Pete. You’ve got the book report on Catcher in the Rye, which I know you actually read it so you could impress that girl. You’ve got pizza night this weekend, I’m actually coming over, and I can’t come over if you’re not there. May doesn’t even like me, so there’s no point.”

He blows out a wavering breath. This kid doesn’t deserve this. He doesn’t deserve it.

“Just come on back, Pete,” Tony whispers. “Just wake up.”

The door opens slowly behind him, and Tony turns, expecting to see Helen or one of the other doctors. Instead, he sees the kid’s not-girlfriend, the aforementioned girl, Michelle. MJ. He lets go of Peter’s hand and crosses his arms over his chest. Tony’s seen her a couple times, not nearly as much as Ned, and he had to deal with the whole bullshit of her figuring out that Peter is Spider-Man in the same way he did when he found out Ned knew. Pretending it was a lie. But Ned couldn’t be convinced so this girl, of course, couldn’t be convinced either. She’s smart and Peter turns into a whole mess of silly putty in front of her, and usually she’s got a very stony wall up when Tony is around.

But she’s...different, right now.

“Do you, uh—do you mind if I come in and, um. Sit?” She’s stepping inside before she gets an answer. “Because either way, I’m gonna. After that frantic message, I had to get over here, I guess. I—I didn’t think I’d ever hear Tony Stark that frantic.”

“Go ahead,” Tony says, wiping at his eyes. They called Peter’s friends this morning. It made Tony nervous, to do it. It had been days, and Ned was all weepy because Peter hadn’t been responding and he thought something like this would be the reason why. MJ didn’t answer at all. Tony worried that calling them felt like giving in, to something. Like giving them an opportunity to come say goodbye.

She shuts the door gently and stands there for a couple seconds. She’s got her arms wrapped around herself and she stares over at Peter, like she’s transfixed. She looks at Tony and sighs, shaking her head. “Sorry,” she says. “That was—I shouldn’t have said that...like that. I know you’re worried, I’m—I’m worried too. Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” he says. “I was never very good on the phone.”

She nods, almost looks like she wants to say something else, but she decides against it. She drags the second chair closer to Peter, tries to position it. She sits, and stares at him awkwardly, chewing on the inside of her cheek. Peter doesn’t look good and Tony wishes he could have warned her, wishes he would have known if she was actually coming. He didn’t want to start describing him on the answering machine. It was already bad enough.

“Uh—” he starts.

“Ned’s still on vacation, but he’s begging his parents to come back early,” MJ says.

Tony nods, and then the two of them are quiet again. He’s waiting for May to snore.

“I hope you don’t think I’m mean to him,” MJ says. She shifts a little, glancing back at Peter again. “I just—I’m not mean, I don’t mean to be mean. I do, I—I like him a lot. And I, uh. I’ve never liked—I’ve never liked anyone like I like him, so sometimes I don’t know—how to act. Because he’s different.” She sighs and shakes her head. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this.” She picks at the collar of her shirt and glances back at Peter again. He sees her eyes shining.

“He likes you too,” Tony says, clearing his throat. “I’ve heard plenty about it, but you didn’t hear it from me.”

MJ looks down at her hands in her lap.

“He’s gonna wake up, okay?” Tony says, talking to her and to himself. “He’s gonna wake up.”

25.
(Legend is Tom Cruise’s best movie, anyway)

“Okay, do you remember when Tom Cruise hung off the back of the airplane?” Peter asks, taking a big sip of his milkshake as they walk through the Midtown High fair. Peter seems to want to stay on the sidewalk, but Tony keeps veering off into the grass, taking them all over.

“Yeah,” Tony says, looking around, watching with pride as the idiots who doubted Peter’s internship stare over at the two of them. “You want a funnel cake?”

“Uh, yes,” Peter says, sucking at the milkshake faster. “Actually, that—it wasn’t exactly the same as Tom Cruise.”

“Most things aren’t,” Tony says, waving at a few of Peter’s classmates, including one that Tony is pretty sure is Flash. “Also, that reminds me of you-know-what with the you-know-who crashing the you-know-what at the you-know-where.”

“Yeah, yeah, it wasn’t like that,” Peter says, jogging forward a bit and trashing the empty milkshake cup. He runs back and looks around, and Tony can see the excitement in his face when he realizes people are looking. Peter isn’t normally one to seek extra attention, but Tony has noticed he hasn’t exactly been happy with people calling him a liar. So the fair felt like a good time to make his appearance and prove all the little shits wrong.

“Maybe it was like—maybe it was more like when Tom Cruise—”

“Just give me one good, non-Tom Cruise movie example,” Tony says, making a beeline for the funnel cake stand.

“Oh. That’s hard. I pattern everything I do after him.” Peter grins, sly.

Tony snorts. “Okay. We gotta get you into some more Jackie Chan movies.”

26.
(fresh air always made Tony’s sadness slow, when he was younger, so Peter needs lots of it)

Tony tries not to show it. How much he worries. Ever since the ‘showing up covered in blood’ incident, he’s been heavily anticipating Peter’s mission reports.

Mission reports. Which are sometimes there was a guy in the park being attacked by pigeons so I stepped in and saved him. Or this guy knocked this lady’s egg roll out of her hand so I ran after him and made him pay for another one for her. Tony tries to act put-upon by all that, like he’s receiving unnecessary information, but he secretly loves hearing about the kid’s every day antics. They usually illustrate what a wonderful, good-hearted person he is, and Tony is reminded of why he picked him. He never doubts his choice to mentor Peter, but shit like that just cements it. He’s practically a saint. A very dumb saint, sometimes. A self-sacrificing saint. A saint, through and through.

His updates are grim, sometimes. Usually those are only half reported, because Tony cuts him off immediately and makes him come in. He sold the tower but he’s been considering buying it back since he’s gotten closer to Peter, because hauling him up to the compound when he’s hurt usually isn’t feasible. Nowadays he drags him into his second Manhattan facility, unmarked, with living quarters Tony and Pepper crash in more often than not, when they want to stay in the city. It’s not as tall as the tower was, but it’s a good twenty floors with a nice view from the top.

Peter’s in the facility now, and Tony rushes into the med bay to find him. The ‘mission report’ was a five second conversation.

Can I come over there? I had a—a hard fight today, and I—I’m not really hurt, but—well, I am a little bit—

Yeah, I’ll send Happy to come grab you.

“Hey!” Tony says, when he catches sight of Peter, sitting on one of the beds. “You okay, kid?”

Peter doesn’t have that usual brightness in his expression and he smiles a little sadly. He’s got a Band-Aid on his forehead and a bandage wrapped around his upper arm. He’s already in sweats and just looks exhausted. It throws Tony off.

“What happened?” Tony asks, stopping in front of him and putting his hands on his hips. “You okay?” He knows it’s the second time he’s asking. But his nerves are rising up.

“Yeah,” Peter says, but his voice breaks a little bit.

“What’d you deal with?” Tony asks, getting more anxious now, his brows furrowing.

Peter hangs his head and chews on his lower lip. “Uh, it was just these guys that were messing with this older lady. She was like a grandma. I got rid of them but they, uh—they really hurt her and I had to take her to the hospital.” He shakes his head and swallows hard. “It sucked. I gave the nurses my burner phone number so they could update me, because I think she’d broken her hip or something. She was crying, it was…”

Tony’s chest goes a little tight listening to him, and Peter looks up, sadly.

“It just sucked,” he says. “Upset me, I guess.”

“That does suck,” Tony says, feeling like shit all of a sudden. “I’m glad you were there. I hope you knocked ‘em around a little extra.”

“I might have,” Peter says. “Unintentionally.”

He’s always good. Even to the worst ones.

“So yeah,” Peter says. “Happy called May and told her I’m over here. She’s working late tonight.”

“You can stay over,” Tony says, without another thought. “I’ve got a frozen pizza in the freezer, that margherita kind you like. We can make that.”

“Thanks,” Peter says, and he looks at him again, smiling a little more warmly.

Tony wants to do all he can do to make him feel better. The kid is too good. Tony knows he deals with the New York streets and all kinds of assholes, but he doesn’t like leaving him to stew in that.

“You wanna hang out on the rooftop? It’s nice tonight. I can put the pizza in, tell Friday to let me know when to come get it. We can eat it up there and try to relax a little. How’s that?”

Peter’s smile is wider, then. “Sounds good,” he says. “Thanks, Mr. Stark.”

“No thanks needed, bud,” Tony says, reaching out and patting his shoulder.

27.
(they get out a day later, through Peter’s ingenuity and Tony’s high pitched scream)

The cell is dank and smells like rotten eggs. It’s smaller than Peter’s room in the apartment, but the ceiling is high, higher than he can fucking see, like some ancient castle lockup. There’s no light, save for one dingy light bulb hammered to the wall a little ways up. One of Peter’s eyes is swollen shut, anyway. So light isn’t helping him stay sane.

The only thing that’s helping him stay sane is also making him go a little crazy. Tony, in the next cell over, close enough that they can hear each other. There’s a small hole that’s about six feet up, directly across from the light bulb, rectangular and enough to fit a hand through. It terrifies him, knowing that Tony is dealing with the same beatings he’s going through, the same goddamn torture. They can hear each other scream, can hear the same questions, over and over, about Carol’s location. But neither one of them give.

Everything hurts. Peter wishes they were tall enough that they could hold hands through the cut in the wall. He knows that would make him feel better.

Peter doesn’t know how much more either one of them can take. His body feels like a bag of bones, cuts and bruises and pain upon pain, but Tony doesn’t heal like him. Peter feels safer, with Tony close, but he hates it, too. He hates knowing he’s hurt. He hates hearing let him go and keep me. You don’t need him. You don’t need him. Thank God May wasn’t with them when the tear gas hit. Peter just hopes she’s safe. He can’t have them both hurt.

He doesn’t even begin to think about MJ and Ned. He doesn’t know how deep all of this goes.

These people don’t know he’s Spider-Man. Right now they just think he’s an intern, someone Tony trusts and works closely with. But they might know the truth soon. When they see the healing.

It’s been five days.

The fear crawls under his skin and he shivers, wincing to himself. It hurts to move, but he crawls across the brick anyway, and leans against the wall he’s sharing with Tony. There’s still blood at the back of his head and he reaches to try and touch it, crying out a bit when he over-extends his arm.

“Kid?” Tony asks, softly.

Peter listens, to make sure the guards aren’t walking their beat back and forth outside the cells. He doesn’t hear the footsteps, doesn’t hear them breathing anywhere close.

“They’re gone,” Peter says, shoulders sagging. “Are you okay?”

“Peachy keen, as always,” Tony says.

Peter smiles a little bit to himself, but it feels full of sadness. He’s been looking for a way out of this shit, and it’s—it’s not coming to him. He tried to climb to the top, the first day. But it was like there was no top. It just kept going and going and going.

And then he fucking fell. If he was anybody else, he would have broken his back.

“Hey, here,” Tony’s voice says.

Peter hears him groaning, shuffling, wincing. “What are you doing?” Peter asks, looking over his shoulder like he can see through the wall.

Then something flies through the hole in the wall, hits the far wall, and tumbles to the ground.

Peter stares at it.

A piece of bread, wrapped in plastic.

“Was I actually supposed to catch that?” Peter asks, starting to crawl over to it. “Because I didn’t.”

“I didn’t have a whole ton of faith, which is why I wrapped it in plastic,” Tony says. “They’re serving us full school fucking lunches, kid. Brownies in plastic, corndogs, the goddamn works. I think we’ve got a bunch of—disgruntled teachers pissed off at Danvers for some reason.”

Peter blows out a breath, finally reaching the bread and unwrapping it. They didn’t feed him today. “Teachers with lots of alien tech and that are really strong and that hate us.”

“Hm. Still tracks.”

Peter laughs a little bit, moving back over to sit up against the wall again. He takes a bite of the bread and tries not to get teary. “Thank you,” he says, voice breaking. “For, uh. The bread, you could have kept it.”

“I want you strong, bud,” Tony says.

Peter swallows hard, feeling sick.

“Hey. We’re gonna get out of here. I’m gonna get you out. I promise you that.”

Peter nods, even though Tony can’t see him.

28.
(Pepper does hate it. She kisses Peter on the cheek, but she glares at Tony, because she hates it.)

“But doesn’t Pepper hate surprises?” Peter asks.

Tony keeps blowing up balloons. He’s got about a hundred now, and he wants at least a hundred more. “Yes,” he says. “She does hate surprises. But it’ll be fun and you’ll be there and this whole deal has been a major pain in the ass for her, so I figure closing it deserves to be celebrated.”

Peter webs a couple streamers to the ceiling and sighs to himself. He acts like this is the worst thing in the world, like Tony is forcing him to do something wrong. “Maybe we should have just taken her to dinner, or something,” Peter says.

“This is way more fun,” Tony says. “And I’m having dinner catered.”

Peter webs a few more streamers and sighs again. “She’s gonna be mad.”

“She’s not gonna be mad, she’s gonna be surprised and fake stern but then she’s gonna love it, I promise.” Tony watches as Peter moves over to grab the banner, and then he literally flips up onto the ceiling and starts crawling around, using webs to hang it.

“And now, clearly, you’re my partner in crime, so smile a little and pretend you don’t hate this plan.”

Peter sighs, dramatically. He’s sighed more in the past thirty minutes than in the time since Tony first met him. Tony stares at him, and ties off the last balloon he was working with.

He claps his hands on his knees. “Guess what I’m getting?” Tony asks. “For the party?”

“What?” Peter asks, walking on his goddamn hands to the other side of the banner.

“Your favorite deep dish,” Tony says. “Extra cheese. Sausage, pepperoni and artichokes. You’re welcome. Are we gonna smile now?”

Peter doesn’t move, for a second. Then he webs himself onto the ceiling, hangs upside down by another web, and grins wide.

He does love his pizza.

29.
(what day is it? What day is it? Peter doesn’t know. He doesn’t know anymore.)

Peter is buzzing. Shaking tremors. He knows Tony can see but he doesn’t want him to see, and if he does, he’ll think it’s something else. He’ll think it’s something important. End of the world shit. And it’s not! It’s not. It’s just college. It’s just college. It’s fine, it’s fine, Peter doesn’t even know why he’s thinking like this, doesn’t even know why he’s losing sleep over it.

How much sleep has he lost? A lot. Between all this and Spider-Man he’s losing a lot of sleep. Acting like he acted in the beginning, when he was in high school, when the bite was new and the powers were new and he didn’t know how to juggle it all.

He should be past it. He should be past it, acting like this. He’s regressing.

College is harder, isn’t it? It’s harder.

Yeah, it’s harder. He’s been here for three months now and he feels like he’s dying.

But it’s fine. It’s fine. It’s just college and he’s fine and he’s had three Red Bulls in the last hour. He wonders if Tony can tell.

Tony stares at him over their shared slice of pumpkin pie. The diner is raucous and packed and Peter can hear everybody’s heartbeats. He can hear every hitch in their breaths and the way their knees jump and their nails scrape against menus.

“So, um, yeah, it’s fine,” Peter says. “I’m surprised you wanted to come to this place. I’m surprised you can even go out in public at all, you know, without everyone just like, mobbing you. Savior of the world!” He laughs awkwardly and tears sting in his eyes. He quickly wipes them away and takes a sip of water.

“Pete,” Tony says, softly. “Do you even hear yourself?”

“What?” Peter asks, heart slamming in his own ears now. How long has he been awake? How long has it been? Shit. Tony can see right through him. “Am I talking too much? I’m—”

Tony reaches across the table and gently takes Peter’s wrist. “You don’t even sound like yourself, Peter. I was worried, after our last phone conversation, but seeing you...this reminds me of when—”

“Yeah, I know,” Peter says. He grabs hold of Tony’s hand and leans forward, resting his forehead on the table. He can feel Tony ruffling his hair, and Peter sighs. “It’s just hard. I’ve been trying to be normal. Keeping up with everything, and coming home, and doing—you know what. And trying to. You know. Cope.”

“I know,” Tony says. “Trust me. I dealt with some shit in college and I’m nowhere near as active as you, with everything you do, the classes you’re taking, how much you care—you need a break. You need to reassess. There’s a lot going on and nobody expects you to be over what happened—”

Peter squeezes his eyes shut tight. “It’s been a while—”

“There’s no time limit,” Tony says. “Okay? On anything. And you ask for help, because May and I are fluttering around like a couple of wounded butterflies when you call acting like everything is okay and it’s obviously not.”

Peter sighs.

Tony brushes his hair back, and Peter’s surprised he’s being this affectionate in public. He wonders how many people think Tony is his dad. “I’ve got you, okay? I promise. We’ll figure this out. You with me?”

Peter nods. Willing his mind to slow down. “I’m with you.”

30.
(Peter considers it a mistake. Tony doesn’t.)

Tony watches Peter pace.

They’ve really gotta get out of this med bay routine—one of them in the bed, the other one worrying, back and forth back and forth into obscurity forever. But right now he’s the one in the bed and usually Peter is sitting stalwart, distracting him with stories to try and make the recovery easier, but this time he’s electric with fear and anger. Back and forth. Back and forth. Keeping his distance.

“Pete,” Tony groans. “You’re gonna make my eyes cross.”

Peter shakes his head but keeps pacing.

“It’s fine. It’s fine, Gargan is in real prison now, not Avengers prison, so he’s more secure—”

“I don’t care about him,” Peter snaps. Back and forth. Back and forth.

“Well,” Tony says, reaching up and covering his eyes. “If you’re mad at me, join the club. I’m mad at me too. Because I wear a fucking iron suit, I have a goddamn iron arm, and still I manage to get stuck with that dickhead’s poison fucking pointy tail.”

Then there’s silence. Just the air conditioner. No more sneakered feet, back and forth. Tony moves his hand back down, and sees Peter leaning up against the wall, hanging his head.

“Pete.”

“I just didn’t think you were gonna make it,” Peter says. “Again. Again. And this time, because of me. Morgan was in here crying, earlier, when you weren’t waking up, and I don’t want to be the reason why her whole childhood is littered with her dad almost...almost dying.”

Tony blows out a breath. “Well, you’re not. I am. I’m the reason.” He hates himself for that, too. But he’ll always protect his kids. That’s his real job. The most important job.

Peter shakes his head and doesn’t say anything else.

“Listen. That guy poisons people—”

“Yeah, you think?” Peter says, turning around.

“And I know you’re your own hero,” Tony says, getting louder, or as loud as he can in this condition. “But he’d kidnapped you, we took care of it, and then it was my fault he escaped. I was owning that. I’m not letting him gallivant around trying to grab you again and finish what he started. Sorry, bud. You know I love you.”

“I love you too,” Peter says, softly, almost begrudgingly.

“I’ll let you chase Rhino around as much as you want without interfering,” Tony says. “Until you need my help—”

“Until I ask,” Peter says, turning around. His eyes are watery, and Tony hates when he looks like that.

“Fine,” Tony says, trying to sit up a bit. “Until you ask.”

Peter lets that sit for a moment or two, and Tony just waits. Then the kid walks over and sits on the edge of the bed, taking Tony’s hand. Tony squeezes it. A reminder to both of them that he’s still here, despite it all. He knows Peter will be in a hugging mood later, once the anger wears off, but for now, this is all he gets. He’ll take it.

31.
(a fucking training exercise. Aren’t they already trained?)

“This is a cartoon,” Tony says, laying there, the netting of their bagged prison cutting into his elbow. “If I close my eyes it’ll stop.” They’re swinging back and forth from being recently caught, and the sun keeps peeking through the branches as they move. Tony stays still, and sighs. How many times has he seen this exact shit in movies? Stepping on a trap, getting caught up like a goddamn rat in a net and pulled into a tree? Why did they have to fall for it? Why did Steve even incorporate some shit like this?

He just lays there. Sits. Is he even laying down? Not by choice. But he stays still.

Peter, on the other hand, is thrashing and writhing, trying to climb to the top of the netting to get them loose. But he keeps stumbling, falling back down, and then he falls and bangs his head on Tony’s knee.

Tony winces a bit, but he’s sure it hurt Peter’s skull more than it hurt his knee. “You good?”

“I’m not good. We’re losing!”

Tony just lays there and tries to pretend he’s in a hammock. But hammocks don’t usually move this much. Nor are they—all encompassing. “Just. Keep on with what you’re doing, if you keep moving around like that we’ll probably fall.”

Peter sighs, and stops, and when Tony pops one eye open again he sees him sitting there with his arms crossed over his chest, angry.

“What?” Tony asks. “C’mon.”

“What?” Peter mocks. “C’mon?”

“Oh, we’re at the mocking me stage of the game?” Tony asks. He hears birds chirping in the tree somewhere close to them.

“You know, maybe if you actually tried, we wouldn’t be in this mess,” Peter says.

“I don’t even know why I allowed Steve to coordinate this little exercise,” Tony says, louder now that he’s been accused of something. “Team morale, goddamnit. This is just stupid shit they make you do in the army.” He’s barely on the team anymore, anyway. He’s sure they just included him on this because they thought they had to. He could have easily gone without.

“Tony,” Peter says.

His tone is different this time. Tony looks at him more intently, and now Peter’s got that open, honest expression on, one that he’s highly aware rips Tony’s soul directly in half.

“I chose you for a reason,” Peter says, gently. “I’m on your team. I knew if I had you with me, we’d—we’d win.”

Tony sighs. He’s too tired for all this, and he figures half of it is Pepper worrying, going to the others and saying he’s too lethargic, he’s getting fat now, all that shit. He’s moving around now, he should be doing things, he should be more active. All of them are worried about him.

But Peter is playing the right game, with that stupid, pleading face.

“Fine,” Tony says, drawing in a breath and trying to find his strength for this. He’ll show all of them up, if the kid wants him to. And Peter is taking it seriously. “If we both jump at the same time we should be able to pull it down.”

Peter grins at him. “Now that’s what I wanna hear.”

32.
(an invisible shadow can smother them both)

Tony hasn’t really seen Peter like this. He’s paranoid, he’s twitchy, he’s acting like he’s on fucking drugs. But his Peter wouldn't do drugs, no version of Peter would do drugs. Unless he was forced, unless someone grabbed him and made him and he didn’t remember. Suffice to say, Tony is worried. He’s more than worried.

Peter is sitting up against the wall in his bedroom in the facility, and his knee is bouncing, his fingers tapping, and he almost refuses to look at him. Tony walks over and sits right next to him, mimicking the way Peter is positioned.

“There was no explosion, kid,” Tony says. “I’m sorry to tell you. Well, I’m not sorry, because if that place had exploded we’d be dealing with a lot of death right now.” He doesn’t like thinking about the footage he watched. Peter was racing around that place grabbing at people who weren’t there. He was acting like he was on fire. He was running from something that wasn’t around.

“This is the third time this week you guys are telling me what I saw didn’t happen,” Peter says, still not looking at him. “The shooting, the robbery—”

“—which you nearly got arrested for—”

“And this,” Peter says. He finally looks at him and there’s a lot behind his eyes. Fear. “Everyone keeps saying this is all in my head. But I know it’s not. I know it’s real.”

Tony feels desperate. He doesn’t want to tell Peter he’s wrong, because the kid thinks something is happening, he thinks these things are happening, and that means there’s a fucking problem. He doesn’t know what to say. He wants to support him. He has to.

“But it might not be the kind of real I thought it was,” Peter says, swallowing hard. He tugs his knees in closer to his chest. “I mean. I think somebody is doing this to me. Tricking me. Like these are—hallucinations, or illusions, or something. And I don’t know whether they injected me with something or whether they’re following me but something—something is happening. And I don’t know how to figure it out.” His eyes are red and he seems like he’s on the verge of tears.

“I’m gonna track your movements for the week,” Tony says, formulating a plan in his head. “In and out of the suit. I’m gonna get witnesses that were around you when these things have been happening and see what they’ve seen, anyone watching you, anyone following, anything out of the ordinary.”

“Other than me,” Peter says, shaking his head.

Tony hates the resignation in his voice, like he thinks he’s gonna be like this forever. Tony wraps his arm around Peter and tugs him closer, and instead of fighting against it or going stiff, Peter lays his head on Tony’s shoulder.

“Something’s happening,” Tony says, resting his head on top of Peter’s. “I know. I believe you. I’m gonna find out what it is, okay?”

“Okay,” Peter says, softly.

33.
(early on, before he knows better)

Peter knows about Tony’s being-handed-things thing. He understands ticks and pet peeves, but he doesn’t know how Tony gets through his day to day life without being handed things, especially being who he is. They’ve got a for real internship, after all the Vulture stuff, and some days Peter goes over there and does days of work on the weekends, especially since Tony links up with Midtown to get Peter college credit.

But the not-being-handed-things thing sticks in Peter’s head one of those weekends, for some reason, and he decides to test how far it goes.

~

“Mr. Stark, this came directly from the intern pool, they think they’ve cracked the equation you set up for the next step in the bot project,” Peter says. He rushes into Tony’s office, wielding the piece of paper out in front of him like the most important thing he’s ever held.

Tony is staring at a projected screen, narrowing his eyes. “Alright, trash that,” he says, glancing over at Peter before focusing on his screen again.

Peter slows to a halt a couple feet away from him. “Uh, trash it?”

“You didn’t help them, right?” Tony asks.

“Uh, no, I went out and did the other thing like you said,” Peter says.

“Good, because the equation was complete bullshit and literally has no answer,” Tony says, typing a couple things into his special keyboard. “It was a test, and they’ve failed. I guess I’ll give them another chance, we’ll see.”

Peter’s face falls. He holds the paper out more forcefully. “Don’t you wanna see it?”

“Nah. Straight into the trash.”

~

Peter rushes down the hallway to walk alongside Tony, who’s already walking alongside some other guy that looks important. Peter doesn’t know who he is. He just knows about the apple he’s got in his own hand. That’s it. That’s all that matters.

He slows down once he’s right next to Tony, and Tony peers over at him, brows furrowed.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, interrupting his own conversation.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Peter says, staring up at him.

“Then why aren’t you working on the special project?” Tony asks. “I got it all set up. I thought you were down there.”

The special project is his new webshooter combo list, which is totally awesome that Mr. Stark is letting him work on that stuff here, during the day, while he’s earning college credit. “Uh, I am,” Peter says. “I am down there. Working on the special project.”

“Okay,” Tony says, eyebrows raised now. “Are you astral projecting?”

Peter holds the apple out towards him as they and the group of people surrounding them turn the left corner. Tony looks down at it like it’s got worms.

“What’s this?”

“An apple,” Peter says. He’s never anticipated someone taking an apple from him more.

“Uh, thanks buddy,” Tony says, with some degree of trepidation. “Why don’t you go put it on my desk? I’m going up there in like twenty minutes.”

“Aren’t you hungry now?” Peter asks, shoving the apple closer.

“Nah, just had a kale salad,” Tony says. “What—”

Peter sighs, turning back around and heading down the hallway. “I’ll put it on your desk.”

~

He tries to hand him a bookmark. A laser pointer. A coffee. A ruler. A socket wrench. All these things wind up on tables, in the trash, on the ground, or held by someone else. They work together in Tony’s workshop a good amount and Peter tries to think back—does he ever hand him things then? He could have sworn he has.

Tony corners him near the end of the day, and hands him back the apple.

“Stop trying to hand me shit,” Tony says. “I see you. I know what you’re doing.”

Peter’s heart dips. “Uh—”

“I go to a therapist regularly and there’s a good reason for it,” Tony says, raising his eyebrows. “It’s because I do a lot of shit I don’t understand and we’re still trying to figure it out.”

Peter immediately feels bad, when he hears that, and he looks down at his feet. “Mr. Stark, I’m so—”

“My first inclination is to not take things when people want to hand them to me,” Tony says. “It’s automatic, like a doctor hitting your knee and making your leg pop up. I still even do that shit to Pepper. But if I think past it, there’s a small group of people that I trust to hand me things.” He stops talking for a moment, looking at him. “Now hand me the apple.”

Peter looks back up at him. Shocked. Tony’s got his hand out, palm up.

“Uh.”

Tony raises his eyebrows. Peter puts the apple in his hand, and then Tony takes a bite out of it. “Alright,” he says, chewing. “Let’s go keep working on the combos, huh?”

Peter smiles wide, and follows him.

34.
(a Wednesday in January and Peter can’t even wear a coat right now because he barely has shoulders)

“Alright,” Tony says, hoisting Peter up with an arm around his waist as they shuffle into the apartment. “Just—it’s gonna wear off soon, right? That’s what you said?” He scoffs at himself, shaking his head. “Why the hell am I asking you? You’re flubber over here. You did this to yourself.”

“You helped,” Peter says, pathetic, falling like a sack of fucking potatoes out of Tony’s grasp.

Tony kicks the door closed behind him, and looks around like they’re breaking into the goddamn Raft. “Yes, I did. I did do that. Half of my mistakes these days are allowing you to do things that you consider good decisions. I’m gonna get us both killed, and not by some asshole wearing a costume, oh no, it’s gonna be May all the way, Pete.”

“She’d never kill me,” Peter says, when Tony deposits him on the couch. He tries to do it with some grace, but the kid is practically liquid right now, with no use of his arms or legs or—Tony tries not to lie to himself. The kid can only move his damn head, because they’re both dumb as shit and they’ve broken him.

“Nice, good,” Tony says, standing over him. “Lemme just call Pepper to say my goodbyes.”

“I won’t let her kill you either,” Peter says, laying there like a slug. “It’ll wear off.”

“Great, torture, torture’s worse, you’re right,” Tony says, his hands on his hips. His heart is hammering in his ears, and seeing Peter like this—Tony is trying not to freak out. “That is more her gig. Makes sense. Are you sure she’s not h—”

“Wow,” May’s voice says, and it sounds like it’s coming from all around then, like she acquired a fucking loudspeaker or something since he was last here. He jumps nearly three feet in the air. Peter looks like he wants to jump, but he can’t, because he’s basically boneless and pure silly putty.

“It’ll wear off!” Tony yells, and he turns around and sees her standing there, arms crossed, casual, as if she’s been there all along. Jesus.

“It’ll wear off,” Peter says, nearly slurring.

“I thought we said we weren’t going to do this,” May says, looking back and forth between them. “I thought I recalled a specific conversation about this exact thing. And the whole...not doing it.”

“Can I administer my own punishment?” Tony asks, wincing. “Because I’d rather be able to continue walking despite this unfortunate incident—”

“It’ll wear off!” Peter yells. “It’s fine. It’s fine. We’re...scientists.”

“Scientists,” May sneers. She looks truly disgusted, and Tony doesn’t really blame her.

Tony sits on the couch behind Peter. “I will. Stay and attend. You don’t have to deal with the puddle of goo that is currently your nephew. Which will soon be. Your regular nephew. Because—”

“It’ll wear off,” May says. She keeps her eyebrows raised high on her forehead. “Yeah. I’ve heard.”

35.
(it isn’t fair that they both get brain freezes)

Peter pads down to the workshop on bare feet, his arms cold with the multiple containers of ice cream he’s juggling. He’s got a bag full of toppings somewhere in the middle, and he’s afraid he’s gonna drop it. If that goes, everything else is gonna go, and then there’s gonna be Rocky Road and Mint Chocolate Chip everywhere.

He reaches the door and shifts from foot to foot. He can see Tony inside, still working on Peter’s new combat suit.

“Friday, I’m holding stuff, I can’t scan in,” Peter says, looking up and around.

“I’ll buzz you in, Peter,” Friday says. “You are on the emergency list and can take shelter in the workshop without any type of scan.”

Peter nods as the door opens automatically, his chest going warm. He wonders when Tony put that into place—before or after the end of the world. Tony doesn’t really talk about what happened to him during those five years, what he went through and what drove him to abandon the world and everybody left, but Pepper’s hinted enough times that Peter was the reason. The reason for the leaving, the reason for the coming back. The reason for everything.

That weighs on him in more than one way, and he can’t think about it too hard without feeling like he’s gonna pass out. He imagines talking to his younger self, the one more likely to be wearing an Iron Man costume than not, and telling him just how much he’ll come to mean to the real Iron Man. The real Tony Stark.

He walks inside the workshop, and Tony doesn’t even look up before he starts talking.

“What took you so long?” he asks, staring at one of Friday’s projected models of the suit and all its bells and whistles. “You go all the way to Timbuktu for a dial indicator?”

Peter walks over and sits the ice cream, spoons and toppings down on the steel table across from where they’re working, and Tony’s focus finally shifts. He looks at the ice cream, then at Peter, and narrows his eyes. “That isn’t remotely what I asked for.”

“But it’s what you need,” Peter says, hands on his hips. “Now I gotta go back upstairs and get the bowls and leave a note for Morgan and Pepper to come down here when they get home.”

Tony snorts, getting up as Peter moves for the door again.

“Fine. Grab some Oreos too, I wanna crumble them on the top.”

“On it!” Peter says.

“And the dial indicator.”

36.
(and nothing in the world is worse nothing nothing nothing he can still hear her screaming he can still hear her screaming)

Peter sucks in a ragged breath and stumbles over the rough terrain. He clutches at his middle, and two hot tears roll down his cheeks. His head is pounding and the slash across his temple is bleeding into his eyes.

No, no, he loves her. No, he loves her, this can’t be happening.

His mask is on the ground. It’s on the ground, and for some reason, that makes him feel insane.

“I can’t catch my breath,” Peter says, voice rough from the hands that were around his neck. Hands, hands, if he can call them hands. Tight and tight and choking until he was nearly gone. He hones in on his mask on the ground, in the dirt. There’s blood scattered around it.

They’re gone. He’s got MJ. He’s got her. He’s got her.

She’s gone.

Peter stumbles and Tony catches him around his waist.

“Alright, Pete, alright. I’ve got you.”

Peter’s whole body hurts. He can’t stop. He can’t stop. He has to go after that thing, he has to—he has to save her. He has to. He loves her, she’s—she’s his person, she is, he’s the only one who can bring her out of her shell and she actually said that to him and now she’s in danger she’s in danger because of him. She trusted him and he let her down.

And what if they get May? What if they know now? Who he is? Who he loves?

“I need—I need my mask,” Peter gasps. He reaches, nearly falls again.

“Alright, alright, just let me help you,” Tony says, softly.

Peter still reaches, and he collapses onto his knees, his own panic and sadness sinking him. “Help me,” he gasps. “Tony, help—help me, I have to save her. I have to.”

“We will,” Tony says, going down after him, still holding him, still supporting him. “Right now. We’re going after that thing right now.”

“I need to go—”

“We gotta take care of you now, Pete,” Tony says, close to his ear. He reaches over and snatches Peter’s mask, and now there’s blood on Tony’s hand now, too. His flesh and blood hand. Reminds Peter of the end. The close to the end.

Is this the end too?

Peter collapses against Tony’s shoulder, gasping. He knows he’s got plenty of broken ribs. A broken heart, maybe, too.

“I have to get her,” Peter breathes, sobbing. “Please, Tony.”

“I will,” Tony says. Then, he corrects. “We will.”

Peter catches that, despite his mind going dark. Tony is gonna try to do it without him. He’s gonna try to do it on his own.

Now Peter’s got more to worry about.

37.
(Tony does cry, and cheer, and May holds his hand the whole way)

“Can I just try?” Tony asks, standing behind him and wincing into the mirror. “Please? Because you’re having multiple problems here and I hate to watch you struggle.”

Peter sighs and throws his hands up, looking at the mess he made of himself. “May and I sort of learned how to do this for Homecoming way back, but I wore a bowtie to Prom and I don’t really, uh, wear ties all the time—but MJ maybe hinted that I should wear a tie to this and I just—”

“I know,” Tony says, smiling. He maneuvers around so he’s standing in front of him, and he quickly undoes the complete mess that Peter made of the tie. It’s a new one Tony got him specifically for Graduation, one that he and May, apparently, picked out together after Peter asked. It’s royal blue, and matches an old photograph of Ben they have hanging in the living room. Everybody is getting sentimental.

“I got to be practically an expert at this shit at a young age, because my mom was always dressing me up,” Tony says, making a loop, his brows furrowed. “And I’d tie the tie when she was putting her makeup on. When I was really little I liked to do that, too. Put her makeup on. Mostly the lipstick. Dear old dad wasn’t too thrilled about that.”

Peter snorts, trying to watch him, trying to memorize what he’s actually doing so he’ll know next time. “May actually said I should wear eyeliner when I walk across the stage so she can see my eyes better.”

Tony grins. “Of course she did.” He finishes off the tie and pulls the knot nice and snug and not too tight. He pats Peter on the shoulders and beams at him, wide and happy. It’s really rare to see Tony this happy. “Okay, let’s...the cap’s my favorite part, let’s—do not tell Ned that I’m the one asking for a selfie—”

Peter gasps, and snatches the cap off the table before Tony can grab it. “You’re—you’re asking—”

“Don’t make me take it back,” Tony says, grabbing for his own phone because he wants the photo on his own phone. He takes the cap from Peter too, when he’s distracted, and situates it on top of his head, trying to tame his hair down.

“High school graduate,” Tony says, shaking his head. “Jesus.”

“I know,” Peter says, maybe getting a little emotional. “I thought I’d be way dead by now.”

Tony narrows his eyes and glares at him.

“I mean, I’m not!” Peter quickly adds, laughing.

“That’s right,” Tony says, patting the top of the cap once he’s got it settled. “You’re not.”

38.
(like father, like son, except no shut up)

“You can’t be mad at me.”

Peter is sitting beside Tony in the back of Happy’s car. And of course, he’s bleeding, and he has a massive concussion, and he’s got his arms crossed over his chest and he’s being petulant and when did Tony become a father, again? He doesn’t remember when he officially signed up for this. Was it the moment he walked into Peter’s apartment to introduce himself? Was it the first time Peter almost died? When? When?

“I can be mad at you. I am mad at you.”

Peter scoffs angrily, and Tony tries not to look at him.

“You literally announced your location on a very badly made YouTube video, which was filmed by Ned, I could hear his voice so other people could too, to that group of thugs, so they could find you. You didn’t go and find them, but you told them exactly where you were—”

“This is literally the same thing you did when the Mandarin attacked at the Chinese Theater and you came out of the hospital and told him where you lived—”

“I did do that,” Tony says, pointing at him and briefly glancing at Happy, who’s watching in the rearview mirror. “But it was mostly an accident, so—”

“An accident?” Peter says, extremely sassy.

“Happy,” Tony says, gesturing towards him, “nearly died. I wasn’t in the right frame of mind. You, on the other head, planned this and thought about it and included in a fucking YouTube video.”

“We protected the IP address—”

“You gave out your location,” Tony says, hands flapping like an idiot.

“Listen to Tony,” Happy says, firmly. Listen to your father. “Nobody wants you dead, kid.”

“But it’s fine!” Peter says. “It’s fine. I thought we were trusting me, now? Like after the whole Vulture and saving the plane thing? Because I did good there? What’s the problem?”

“Listen, listen, listen,” Tony says, feeling crazy and out of his mind and worried, worst of all. “Let’s just—don’t do what I’ve done, in the past. Listen to me now, in the present, older and wiser.”

Peter sighs, chewing on his lower lip. “My brain hurts,” he says.

“Yeah,” Tony says, reaching over and gripping his shoulder. “That’s what I’m mad about.”

“You being mad makes it hurt more.”

39.
(a Sunday. No, a Thursday. No, a Tuesday. It doesn’t matter. Peter is still dead.)

Tony sinks a little further down the wall in the workshop, his vision already marred by the amount of tequila in his system. He locked Pepper out hours ago, and he doesn’t know how long it’s been since she stopped shouting at him. He can still hear her voice echoing in his ears. Angry, horrified, desperate.

He can still hear Peter’s, too.

Tony doesn’t know what time is anymore. He doesn’t know how long it’s been since the world ended. Since everything went up in flames, smoke, ash.

Ashes. Ashes in his hands.

He sways, hitting his head back against the wall twice, hard. He wants the pain, he needs it, he deserves it. He did this. All the things he didn’t do. Everything he did wrong. Every mistake in his path that led to that moment.

I’m sorry.

Tony shakes his head, hard enough to rattle his brain. His phone is still on the floor beside him, and he grabs it. He concentrates hard, finding Peter’s number a few down on his most recent call list. From the last time Peter called.

The day before that ship—before—

No, I’m not too worried. Ned should be worried, he got a zero on that pop quiz I told you about. Yes, I got a fifty, but that’s better than a zero.

It still hasn’t been that long, if it’s that high up. Tony doesn’t want anyone else to call him. He doesn’t want it to fall down the list.

Or maybe he can just keep calling. And calling, and calling, and refusing to let him go.

So he calls.

It rings. And rings. And rings. Tony doesn’t even know if the phone exists anymore. The kid probably had it on him, when he went. When he—when he—

“Hi! You’ve reached Peter Parker. I’m not able to get to the phone right now, so leave me a message and I’ll call you back when I can! Thanks!” Then there’s a little bit of shuffling, and May’s voice in the background that’s a sweet little message P—

Then the beep.

Tony is silent for a second. Tears in his eyes. Can Peter hear him wherever he is? Now, and in all his worst moments? Is it true, that the people we love are always with us? Or are they just memories? Are they just gone?

How in the hell can Peter Parker be gone?

“Uh, hey, Pete. Uh. Jesus. God, I—” He swallows hard, hanging his head. “I miss all your—rambling—anecdotes. Your texts with all the emojis. I should have appreciated you more, I should have—protected you better—and I—I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now—now that you’re not here. I just—I miss you, kid. I really—I really, really miss you.”

He feels like he loses his voice after that, along with everything else.

40.
(Peter definitely sees a tear when Tony opens it, and he’s not just imagining it)

“This is more expensive than drugs,” Ned says, watching Peter scroll.

“Shut up,” Peter says. “You don’t know anything about drugs. You’re not allowed.” Then he looks over his shoulder and glares at him. “Plus, no it’s not, you’ve seen movies, we’ve watched plenty of movies together where they buy drugs and it’s way more than this.”

“I’m just saying,” Ned says. “That you’re spending a lot on Mr. Stark. A rich person.”

Peter sighs, still searching through all of his options. They are...pricey, even if they’re the cheaper brands. But everything is pricey for him.

“But I get it, I get it, he’s your mentor, but he’s got a lot of money, Peter,” Ned says. “He’ll probably just be mad at you. He doesn’t need an engraved watch, he’s already got a hundred engraved watches.”

Peter spins around on the rolling chair and looks at him. “So what do you suggest? Because I need to get him something good this birthday. We’re way closer than last year, and we were even close then, and he’s done so much for me and made my life better and made May’s life better and even yours, Ned—”

Ned holds up his hands like Peter is attacking him. “I know, I know!”

“So I gotta do something good,” Peter says, quieter. He’s definitely nervous. He’s not the best with gifts. He wishes he could go back to when he was younger and when a simple, bad painting would suffice.

“Don’t spend a lot of money. He’d be mad. And then he’d just give you back whatever it cost.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Peter says, feeling dejected. He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Come on. You know I’m not good at gifts.”

Ned sits there for a minute or so, staring off, with his thinking face on. Then his eyes go wide. “Why don’t you frame that internship photo of you and him and give it to him?” he asks. “You have the HD file of it.”

Peter processes that for a moment and then looks up at Ned, grinning. “That’s perfect.”

“Understated,” Ned says, pointing at him.

“Sentimental.”

“He’ll love it.”

Thank God. Not expensive, and something that means something to both of them. He loves that photo. And all the outtakes of that photo. He loves the look on his own face, because still, to this day, being friends with Tony is just...crazy. Invited to his birthday parties? Insane.

Peter will never get over it.

41.
(Wednesday afternoon dinner, where the hell are those two morons?)

Ned and Peter stand there with their hands up, a couple alleyways away from the school. Peter can hear Ned’s heartbeat, wild and panicked, and he can hear the mugger’s, too, far too calm for something this risky. He’s leading them further into the alley so nobody can see, a gun pointed at their backs.

Who the hell does this shit in broad daylight? To teenagers? Peter is so tired.

“Just go real slow,” The mugger says, voice low and gruff. “Once we’re back in there, you’re gonna take your backpacks off and throw ‘em to me. Then I’ll take what I want and toss ‘em back, I feel like it’ll draw more attention if I’m running around with three backpacks.”

“Thanks for telling us your plan, man,” Peter says, cutting his eyes over to Ned to see how much he’s freaking out. “I’m glad we know what’s going on.”

The guy doesn’t answer and Peter sighs to himself. They were going to meet Tony for lunch. Ned was excited because he hardly ever gets to hang out with him out in public, where the press can inevitably get them on camera. They’ve been speculating about Peter’s identity for months, and Ned said he wanted to be the other secret son.

But now they’re being held up. Because, of course.

“Do you have your you-know-what,” Ned whispers, probably too loud.

“No,” Peter answers, something cracking under his feet. He’s been upgrading the suit at Tony’s facility. He was gonna get it back today.

“Of course,” Ned says, all pissy.

Peter sighs again. He glances up at the watch Tony got him for Christmas, and remembers Tony listing off all the voice commands. “Man, I wish Mr. Stark was here,” Peter says, loud enough for the watch to catch it.

“Tony Stark?” The mugger laughs. “Yeah. Me too. I’d love to meet that guy.” That annoys Peter, because this asshole doesn’t deserve to meet Tony, doesn’t deserve to even be thinking about meeting Tony.

They take another couple of steps and Ned looks over at Peter suspiciously. Peter knows he can deal with this. He’s just gotta be careful. No suit, no webshooters, just him. But Ned’s here and he can’t let anything happen to Ned, that’s the main issue. And Ned seems to know it.

“Alright, stop,” The mugger says. “Don’t turn around. Just take your shit off and toss it backwards.”

Ned groans, looks angry, and starts taking his backpack off. “I’ve got my graphing calculator in there, man.”

Peter narrows his eyes and thinks fast. Tony never likes his think-fast plans, but Peter doesn’t want Ned to lose his graphing calculator, because this guy will definitely take anything he can sell. Ned tosses his bag back, and then Peter does the same thing, but rushes back with it, like it’s a shield and not a Jansport.

He doesn’t yell, just tackles him, one hand on the gun and one pushing him to the ground. The gun goes off but it’s pointed towards the sky, and Peter puts pressure on his wrist until he drops it. He gets off one punch before the guy is kneeing him between his legs, and then he crumples down on top of him, pain shooting through him in horrible bursts.

Ned. Comes in screaming, like he’s rushing into battle. And when Peter looks over his shoulder he sees Ned with—a yard stick? And he stabs it into the mugger’s abdomen over and over and over again.

“Kids, off,” Tony’s voice says.

Peter looks up and sees him standing there, holding the mugger’s gun. The relief is palpable, and Peter pulls himself back, groaning.

“Ugh, he kicked me where it hurts, Tony,” Peter says, stumbling back.

“What the hell?” the mugger says, looking up and backwards. “You say you wish Stark was here and he appears? What kind of—”

“Kicking the kid in the nuts gets you this, pal,” Tony says. He stands over him and promptly knocks him the fuck out with one hit, and then he steps back, tossing the gun aside. “You okay, Pete?”

“Yeah,” Peter says, breathing hard. “That was fast.”

“I was close and wondering where the hell you guys were,” Tony says. He looks at Ned, and narrows his eyes. “Did you try to stab him with a—what is that, a yard stick? What is wrong with you?”

“Where did you even get that?” Peter asks, talking through his pain.

“It was in my pocket!” Ned is still holding it, and then he holds it higher, full of pride. “It’s retractable!”

42.
(Peter has already named her Ethel, of all things, and Tony is afraid for the babies)

“See! See! There she is!”

Tony stands behind Spider-Man, watching as he bends over and slowly approaches a dumpster. There’s a siren in the distance but other than that this New York night isn’t very bustling, and Tony feels like kind of a moron standing here, in an abandoned breezeway, in full Iron Man getup. But Peter told him there was something important he had to see. And what’s important to the kid is important to him.

Usually.

If it involves Legos or Star Wars then that’s a different story, but other than that stuff he’s all in with Peter.

But he came to Tony saying there’s something important I have to show you! And variations of that the entire way over here. He was anxious and freaked out but it didn’t seem like life or death, but Tony can’t quite pinpoint what the hell this might be. He looked up Spider-Man activity on twitter (because he’s trying to steer clear of hacking into the kid’s suit nowadays—privacy, all that) but there weren't any reports of a big crime that he was involved in.

“There who is?” Tony asks, retracting his helmet. “What is this? I feel like you’re trying to get me jumped.”

“C’mere, girl, c’mere. Oh, what, c’mon, don’t—don’t you remember me? C’mon, it’s me, I was here earlier! I gave you the hot dog! I know I’ve got a mask on now, but it’s still me! Promise! I’m not gonna hurt them!”

Tony sighs and takes a couple steps closer, and then he catches sight of—a pit bull. With about six or seven puppies. Peter is reaching his hand out gently towards the mother dog, and the puppies are all sleeping. The dog sniffs his hand and whines a little bit. She doesn’t look like she’s eaten a lot lately, despite the aforementioned hot dog.

“Jesus,” Tony says. “I thought you were gonna bring me to a dead body or something. Or an alien, the way you were acting.”

“No, Mr. Stark,” Peter says, waddling closer to the dog and gently petting her head. “I saw them earlier, on the way over, and I was super scared they weren’t gonna be here anymore by the time we got here.”

“Why the hell did we suit up, kid?” Tony asks. “Are there threats? A rival dog gang?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Peter says, looking over his shoulder. “I mean, you—you put on your suit, so I just...followed...suit?”

Tony sighs. He walks over, trying to be as non-threatening as possible, but the dog growls a little bit and steps more in front of her puppies.

“He’s not bad, girl, he’s good! He’s with me!” Peter says. He looks at Tony again. “Uh, I wanna—can we get them off the street? They need food and a safe place to sleep that’s not behind this dumpster.”

Tony sighs, but he can’t help but smile. “Yeah,” he says. “I’ve always wanted ten dogs.”

43.
(Rhodey makes fun of him for the rest of the night when they explain it)

“Is Rhodey gonna get mad?” Peter asks, jumping when another explosion hits down on the ground.

“I need a jump,” Tony says. “Only thing that’s gonna get me flying again is the simulation of flying and sadly, Friday won’t take jumping off the roof as that. As we...found out.” His head still fucking hurts, and he sighs. “This is the only way I’m gonna get over there and deploy the gas to take these things out. Trust me, I’m humiliated, but I know you can lift me and toss with the kind of force that’ll kick the suit into gear. If I run I won’t be high enough to get them all.”

“Why does Oscorp make this stupid shit to begin with?” Peter asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I’ve been asking myself for years, but you’re one of the stupid things they made and I like you, so,” Tony says.

“What a backhanded compliment,” Peter says.

“Just continuing on with your phrasing,” Tony says. “Are you gonna do this or not? Because I’m not telling Rhodey the suit fucked up. So if you wanna insist on that, we can just let these little green monsters eat up the whole city while I hold onto my pride.”

“He just knew it was gonna happen, that’s all,” Peter says. More explosions. Thank God they got people out of this area.

“Yeah, that’s why I’m not gonna tell him it happened,” Tony says, scoffing. “I’m not gonna let him win. He doesn’t dictate what my suits do and don’t do.”

“Except he did know,” Peter says.

Tony stares at him. “Peter,” he says. “Are you gonna toss me or not?”

“Fine,” Peter says.

The two of them walk over to the edge of the roof, and Tony makes sure his com is turned on, so he can easily switch between open and just Peter. He sighs, and then Peter picks him up—a bridal carry at first, and then he strains, lifting him up over his head like a goddamn barbell. Tony is horizontal and he sighs, sticking out one arm like Buzz Lightyear. “Alright, let’s—”

“YEET—” Peter yells, and he throws him hard. Tony doesn’t have enough time to be irritated or confused, because he’s rocketing through the air, and his flight ability kicks in after a moment of him spinning like a magic bullet. He changes his trajectory and starts deploying the gas over Oscorp’s latest mistake.

“Thank God that worked,” Tony says, through the com on Peter’s channel. “If not, I definitely would have had a hard goddamn landing. That would have been the first time anybody would have been actually killed by a meme. Yeet, Jesus, kid.”

“The meme wouldn’t have killed you, and I don’t exactly know if yeet can be considered a meme, I mean, I guess it is—”

Rhodey breaks in on the general channel. “Uh, did I hear Peter say ‘yeet’? Is that a code word?”

44.
(alright now that he’s safe let’s go level these guys)

Peter rubs at his nose and tries not to sneeze. All six Avengers are huddled around the table looking at the note, and he’s sitting there on a bean bag behind them, like a child. They keep occasionally looking over their shoulders at him and he doesn’t know why, because he just brought the thing to them, he didn’t write it. He’s not looking for attention. He just wasn’t really...sure. What to do.

Tony seems particularly stressed by this whole thing, which...Peter gets. Tony is like his dad, and seeing a note like that isn’t. Fun. Tony runs his hands through his hair, and Peter almost thinks he sees him shaking.

Natasha turns around and crosses her arms over her chest. “I’ve gotten a lot of death threats before, but this is very specific.”

“I thought so too,” Peter says.

“It’s all the details,” Bruce says, brows furrowed. “The details concern me.”

“They tell quite a story,” Thor says. “I think we should destroy it. It’s very concerning.”

“Done,” Tony says, immediately balling the paper up. He doesn’t throw it in the trash can. He actually leaves the room, so Peter has no idea what he’s really doing with it.

“I mean, I can handle it, whatever it is,” Peter says. “Even if it is...all that. I’ve made a lot of enemies since the end of the world and—the world coming back, but I can handle it.” They all stare at him. Tony comes back in and stares at him too. He seems like he’s looking at him like it’s the last time, and yeah, that is concerning. Peter shifts on his bean bag. “I mean. I’m pretty sure.”

Clint makes a face like he tastes something bad. “Did they really say they were gonna—”

“They did,” Steve says, cutting him off before he finishes the rest of his sentence. “That was the worst part. I didn’t like that.”

“Guys,” Peter says, brows furrowed.

“And the drawing,” Nat says. “Why was it so good? We need to track down artists who hate Spider-Man.”

“I don’t know why an artist would hate him,” Tony says. “He’s good with the creative types. It’s gotta be a hobby. Or maybe a commission.”

“Someone paid someone else to draw—that—on a death threat note?” Steve asks, eyebrows high on his forehead.

“I don’t know,” Tony says. He looks at Peter and points at him. “I want you in the bunker. It’s fully stocked. We’ll patrol. You can have visitors. A week.”

“What?” Peter asks, heart sinking. “A week? That’s my whole break! You’re that worried? That’s really worried!”

“You read it,” Natasha says. “I’m worried. I don’t get worried.”

“I’m worried,” Bruce says.

“We’re all worried,” Thor says. “We need to start running DNA tests and the like. We need to track this person down. Our Spider is in danger.”

Peter snorts and blushes a little bit.

“Let’s go,” Tony says, motioning for Peter to get up. “I’m not taking any chances.”

Peter scoffs, shocked, stumbling to his feet. “But guys, Tony, I’m—I’m Spider-Man, I just wanted to see what you thought, I know it’s weird but I can—”

“Nope,” Tony says, shaking his head and leading him by the shoulder. “I’m not even playing with that shit. Too many goddamn details, we’re not in a writing competition. That guy meant business.”

“Oh my God.”

45.
(it’s still like having a celebrity in his house when Tony comes over, even if Peter feels like he’s dying)

Peter’s had a lot of pain in his life. Pulling his arm out of its socket when he was four. Toppling off the fire escape when he was eight. Every bit of losing Ben was like someone was carving pieces off of him, and the amount of emotional scarring that followed in its wake was enough for a few lifetimes. Every time he heard May crying. Every time he knew why.

But everything since the bite has been. Different. In varying levels.

Including how much shit hurts.

He can still get hurt, and half the time it doesn’t hurt in the moment, but when all is said and done it feels like the ripples of the wounds, the bruises, the hurts flow through him more intensely than they would have had things been normal. But then again, most normal people don’t get hit by trucks and have...a normal reaction to it. Yeah, there’s...there’s no normal for Peter anymore.

Even after the Vulture and Liz incidents and all that shit, Peter still doesn’t like to let Tony know when things go wrong. He’s on Iron Man’s radar in a big way—no, more than that, Tony cares about him and what he does, which makes it all the more important that Peter does things right and when he doesn’t...well, he likes to keep the mistakes, the slip-ups on the down low. Especially from Tony. Especially from May. If it’s too bad and Tony finds out, he’ll be upset, he’ll helicopter around and give speeches and then...and then he’ll tell May. And that’s no bueno.

So when….the thing… happens to his arm...he tries to encourage Ned not to say anything.

“Stop,” Peter says, struggling to wrap gauze around the shredded skin with a shaking hand. “Ned. Stop. You’re not helping, c’mon, man.”

Ned is pacing back and forth, doing nothing except pretending to throw up. He keeps glancing over at Peter, covering his mouth and gagging. He makes a wide berth around Peter’s suit, which is in tatters on the floor, the corresponding arm to his fucked up one nearly destroyed. Peter only managed to get a sleep shirt and sweatpants on, and he’s already ruining the sleeve of the shirt with blood.

“Ned, please.”

Ned takes a couple steps closer to him then, brows furrowed, and gets a better look.

Peter’s arm looks like it’s been through a cheese grater. He doesn’t want it to look as bad as it does, but...there’s no changing that, no amount of gauze is going to change that.

Ned shakes his head. “Uh, shit. Okay, that’s an open wound. I can see bone. I have to fucking go.”

“Ned!” Peter exclaims.

Ned backs away like something is gonna jump up and get him. “I’m calling Tony for you. I’m calling him.”

“NO—”

“Yes! Yes!”

It goes on like that for like ten minutes before Ned covers Peter’s mouth and calls Tony, even though Peter kicks him and kicks him and tries to knock the phone out of his hand. Ned is rude enough to put it on speaker.

“What happened?” Tony’s voice asks. “Is this Fred?”

“Ned!” Ned screams, as Peter knocks him away. He starts rushing into the hall. “Mr. Stark, Peter is really fucked up, I’m sorry for cursing but he’s really like, he’s messed up, he’s dying—”

“I’m not dying!” Peter yells, getting up from the bed with a wince and chasing after him, gauze hanging from his arm in ribbons.

“Dying?” Tony asks, with emphasis. “Where are you? At home?”

“Home, yes, his apartment!” Ned says, a hand on Peter’s shoulder, holding him at arm’s length.

“Mr. Stark, you don’t have to—”

“I’m on my way,” Tony says, and the line goes dead.

Peter stands there in horror for a second, and then he pushes Ned away from him angrily. “I’m fine! You didn’t need to call him, I heal, I can handle it—”

Ned shakes his head and starts for the door. “I gotta—listen, I love you, but that’s—that’s, uh—I’ll be in the living room until he gets here. I’m sorry.”

He stumbles out, and Peter stands there, alone and bleeding.

He goes back into his room and struggles to do something to fix it for the next ten minutes or so, but he only winds up nearly stinging himself to death with bactine. Then he gives up, and collapses down on the bed in a pillow of gauze so the blood doesn’t get everywhere. He closes his eyes, angry and huffy, and before he knows it, he hears a conversation in the living room. Then footsteps coming towards him.

He tries to brace himself.

“Jesus,” Tony says. “Alright, your buddy was right. That’s—that’s something. That’s not good.”

“He had a big knife,” Peter says, defeated. “The bad guy. Not Ned.”

Tony walks over and sits next to him on the bed, and Peter tries his best to straighten up, but he is feeling a little dizzy now.

“Yeah,” Tony says, bracing his hand on his shoulder, and taking his wrist tentatively. “The world’s worst Swiss army knife. Christ.”

Peter sighs, leaning a little bit towards him.

“Stay with me, now,” Tony says, gently. He doesn’t tease him. “We’re gonna take care of it, it’s gonna be fine. Don’t sweat it.”

Peter feels like he’s giving in to the pain, now that he’s here. Like he’s a kid and he suddenly wants to ask for help and be taken care of. He’s angry and his face burns.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” Tony says. “The amount of shit I’ve done to myself, before I even became Iron Man? I can tell you some stories. C’mon. I’m gonna take you to the closest facility in Queens that’ll take care of this. All my people, it’s safe.”

Peter winces as he gets up, and he looks at Tony anxiously. “I took care of it, though,” he says. “The dude is...with the cops, and he was trying to hack into all these high profile people’s bank accounts and I stopped him.”

Tony smiles at him warmly as he leads him out of the room. “Course you did, Spider-Man. Let’s just take more care of you next time, huh?”

46.
(Tony doesn’t allow a conversation when it’s all over. He’s too pissed off.)

“What is the drone doing?” Peter asks, looking over Tony’s shoulder. He rests his chin there, because the quarters are so close. “Are you sending it to where Rhodey and Pepper are? What is it gonna do? Is it gonna bring you your housing unit? Can it bring me, uh, something?”

“What, like a soda?” Tony asks, not bothering to try and look at him. It’s too dark in here anyway, and they can’t even turn the damn light off. Everything’s cut.

Steve is standing against the wall, and he laughs, shaking his head.

“He knows who you are, kid,” Tony says. “They all do. You fought in front of literally everybody and their brother, without your mask on.”

Peter sits back and crosses his arms over his chest. “We haven’t said it out loud yet, so. I wasn’t sure.”

“Hey, Spidey,” Steve says. “Nice to meet you. Again.”

“Hi,” Peter says, in a huff.

It’s been less than a month since the goddamn world ended, since Tony lost his whole entire fucking arm, and this asshole, this asshole decides to show his face and send tear gas into the facility where he’s laid up. Steve and Peter had been visiting him when the attack hit, and the three of them are currently shoved into a closet with a pile of blankets at the bottom of the door, trying to keep the gas out. It’ll probably get in here eventually. Tony’s not looking forward to it. He’s sitting on the floor of a closet in sweatpants and a hospital gown. One fucking arm.

Thankfully, Tony has drones searching the facility to find out where the breach came from. Then he can deploy something to fix this. He doesn’t know. He wasn’t expecting to deal with this shit today. They’re still trying to perfect walking at the moment. He wasn’t planning on being attacked.

He only knows it’s Justin Fucking Hammer because the asshole is out there gallivanting around, wearing a gas mask.

“What if he knocks the drone out of the air?” Peter asks, from the corner.

“I’ll just send another one,” Tony says.

“I think Peter and I should just go out there,” Steve says. “Or one of us, so the other can stay here with you.”

“No,” Tony says, angry. He puts his tablet down, shaking his head. “He’s a moron. This is stupid.”

“When did he even get out of jail?” Peter asks.

“We’ve had a hard time keeping track of things since...everything happened,” Steve says. “There were a few missing from the Raft and Seagate, last I knew.”

Tony doesn’t wanna talk about all that, not right now. He’s too irritated. “Pete, do you have my phone still?”

“Yeah,” Peter says, pulling it out of his pocket. He hands it over. “You texting Pepper again? Is she okay? Thank God Morgan isn’t here.”

“I’m texting Hammer.”

“WHAT?”

Peter and Steve exclaim in time with each other, and Tony almost laughs.

“What? I can’t send a message to the enemy?” He looks up at Steve and Steve stares down, incredulous. “He’s a moron. I still have his number.”

“Tony…” Peter says, anxiously.

“It’s fine, bud,” Tony says, one-handedly scrolling through his contacts. He wonders if the dickhead has been able to hold onto the same phone number throughout a prison sentence, the end of the world, and five years later. Tony finds the contact, and narrows his eyes, starting to type.

“HEY YOU STUPID MORON.”

47.
(just wait until we discuss Lord of the Rings)

“What did you say?” Tony asks, stopping his work on the smoothies to peer over his shoulder. “Did you say what I thought you said?”

“What do you think I said?” Peter asks, still holding the TV remote control.

“I hope it’s not what I thought I heard,” Tony says, continuing to pour the smoothies into the glasses. He made strawberry and banana, and that’s only because the kid claimed he was sick of green stuff. So now he gets pink.

“Well maybe you need a hearing aid,” Peter says. “Or better taste in movies.”

Tony puts the pitcher down on the table and turns around, his hands on his hips. “Are we starting this fight where we ended it yesterday? Because I can school you on Indiana Jones, Parker. Just because you’ve got references up the wazoo does not mean you are correct on which Indiana Jones film is the worst one.”

Tony stares at him for a few seconds there, waiting, and Peter continues staring at the TV. He’s not saying anything, just wielding the remote and flipping through the guide, and Tony is just about to turn back around when Peter clears his throat.

“The Temple of Doom is the worst one, and you know I’m right.”

“Peter!” Tony yells, his voice breaking stupidly. He starts striding towards him, and Peter’s face is contorting trying to control his grin. “Peter Parker. I swear to God.”

“Last Crusade is the best one and you also know that.”

“We’re not arguing about that,” Tony says, moving close enough to stand over him. “Temple of Doom slander.”

“Just because you have good memories about a movie doesn’t mean it’s good,” Peter says, raising his eyebrows at him.

Tony stares at him. “I’m gonna drink your entire smoothie.”

48.
(Peter’s body is limp when they find him, after they all follow Tony into the fire. All of them come for Peter. Thor lights up the sky. And Bruce makes sure Tony doesn’t burn to death.)

“Tony, stop!” Rhodey says, holding onto him, and Tony is so fucking weak that he can barely fight against him. It took everything out of him to goddamn get here, and the iron arm is gone, left in the debris of their last battle with the fucking Goblin. The one that led them here, and the building is on fire, it’s on fire and Peter’s inside.

It feels like a trap. It feels like a fucking trap. No way Norman is in there anymore. No way he actually is. He led Peter inside to trap him. To finally take him out for good.

Peter would be out by now, if he knew. But the kid is too good, and he’s still in there. He’s still fucking searching for that asshole. No matter how many people he’s gotten killed. Peter is always his own last priority.

“Let go of me,” Tony says, trying to elbow Rhodey away. “Let go—”

“Tony, you don’t have a fucking suit, I don’t either—you don’t even have your fucking arm, Tones, we’ve gotta—”

Tony’s heart is failing him. He’s gonna have a heart attack. “Send Steve in, goddamnit, I don’t fucking care—”

“Tony,” Rhodey says, close to his ear, and the fire is so fucking hot now that no one could goddamn survive it, nobody, no one, not even—not even—

No. No. Not after what they’ve been through.

“My kid is in there,” He whispers, like a prayer, like a reminder that he’s gotten him back so many times, and this one is no different. He has to get him. He has to go get him. “My kid is in there,” he says, louder.

“Tony—”

Tony breaks free from Rhodey, and he can already feel the burns on his face as he runs towards flames. He can hear Rhodey screaming. This is insane, he’s insane, but he’s gotta get Peter. He can’t leave him. He can’t not try.

“Friday,” Tony says into his com, shielding his eyes with the one fucking hand he’s got to work with. “Find Peter. And fucking help me.” He grabs the top of a trash can as he heads inside, holding it up in front of him.

The flames roar.

“Peter!” Tony yells, coughing. “Peter!”

49.
(and Tony never really expected this to become an all the time thing, but then maybe, he wants it to be, because he wants the kid around. Covered in blood or not.)

“Where the hell are Happy and the kid?” Tony says, from beside Pepper on the couch. He’s trying to act like a normal human being, but ever since the whole Vulture-Spider-Man-Plane-Meets-Beach incident, which has been one whole week ago, his panic about Peter has reached new heights. He tries to keep it in check, he tries, he is trying. He would have felt better if the kid had actually taken his offer. He could have moved him and his Aunt in here. It wouldn’t have been a problem.

But kids will be kids. Is that what kids do nowadays? Disappoint adults? It’s probably good. He’d turn into a complete helicopter parent if Peter was here all the time, and he and May would start running on a similar wavelength, which wouldn’t be good for either one of them.

Tony sighs.

“When were they supposed to be here?” Pepper asks. “You’re working on his upgrades tonight, right?”

“Yeah, I was gonna order pizza, all that,” Tony says. He clears his throat.

Pepper actually laughs at him, reaching over and running her fingers through the hair at the base of his neck. “You’re cute,” she says. “I’m sure they’re fine.”

Tony huffs. “Yeah, I’m sure—”

He hears their voices down the hall, and turns to look. “There we go,” he says. “Almost on time. Nearly.”

Happy sounds perturbed. “Well maybe you need to dodge a little faster—”

“It’s not a matter of me dodging, it’s a matter of doing these upgrades and working on the new combos with droney that I wanted to—”

“Listen, he’s not gonna be happy when he sees you like this—”

“I know—”

Tony narrows his eyes, because he can’t see them yet and he wonders what the fuck they’re talking about. But then they come into view and the entire world tilts.

Peter’s got his mask off, clutched in his hand, and the suit is fucking covered in blood. Head to toe, streaks and splatters and Tony gets to his feet, nearly backing up and toppling over the coffee table.

“What the fuck?” he exclaims, eyes trained on Peter. Tony grabs onto the couch and the chair and everything in his way as he heads over there, so he doesn’t collapse.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Peter says, holding out his hands. “This blood isn’t mine.”

Tony shakes his head, wincing, gritting his teeth, and that only shifts his worry into another kind of worry. “Uh, okay—”

“Jesus, Peter!” Pepper says, cutting him off, and he hears her rushing over, too.

“Who did you murder?” Tony asks, stopping in front of him, his voice going stupidly high. “Are you alright? What the hell happened? Who the fuck is dead—Happy, am I gonna have to cover up a death, because I don’t know—”

“He’s got two broken ribs and a fractured collar bone,” Happy says. “Which he told Karen not to tell you—”

Peter scoffs at him and throws his arms up, looking betrayed.

“I told you I was gonna tell him,” Happy says, pointing at him.

“The blood?” Pepper asks, beside Tony now. “Is any of it yours, Peter?”

“Oh, maybe like, a little bit,” Peter says, glancing down at himself and looking around. “I got a couple like, normal fight cuts—”

“Explanation, immediately,” Tony says, closing his eyes and holding up his hands.

Happy starts talking. “He was nowhere near where he was supposed to be, went out Spider-Manning and got sent on a wild fucking goose chase, got into a fight with these assholes and it blew into this warehouse that we found out was a slaughterhouse and they were—slashing open the pigs that were hanging in there—”

“Got it,” Tony says, opening his eyes again. “Got it. Got the full picture.”

“They’re webbed up in there,” Peter says, crossing his arms over his chest. “And the cops are probably dealing with them now. And they can’t steal anything else. So.”

Tony blows out a breath. Despite everything, he’s proud of the kid. Also, despite the heart attack. Because he absolutely had a heart attack when he saw him...like this. Any normal person would. But he’s much more inclined.

Because...he’s attached. Maybe. Probably. Sadly.

“Next time, Hap,” Tony says, approaching Peter, “I’d like a heads up if the kid is gonna come in covered in blood.”

“I made him wipe his feet at the door,” Happy says.

Tony stares at him. “That’s...not why.” He shakes his head, and starts to take Peter’s arm before he thinks better of it. “C’mon, Carrie. Let’s go get you fixed up.”

50.
(a Sunday, on a rented Sanibel beach house, after a seafood dinner on the third day of vacation)

“It’s weird. It’s weird, I don’t feel right drinking with you,” Tony says, shaking his head. The breeze cuts through on the balcony, and the water shines in the moonlight, the waves calming down, finally. He’s always liked the beach, and he likes it even more when he’s on vacation. Coney Island has had bad connotations for years now, even though he used to like it there. But this is Florida. Florida is like an entirely different world. Tony can forget who he is in Florida.

“I'm twenty-two years old now—” Peter starts.

“Nope, you’re still twelve—”

“You didn’t even know me when I was twelve,” Peter snorts.

“If we count the Expo—how old were you there? Twelve? Eight?”

“Sometimes I forget you’re supposed to be a genius,” Peter says, and he takes a sip of his drink.

“Right back at you,” Tony says, unbearably fond.

“Just one drink, for both of us, and that’s it,” Peter says. “That’s not enough to really spaz you out.”

“I hope,” Tony says. He clinks his iron finger against the bottle and sighs. One drink is fine. He can do one drink. It’s been long enough now since he’s had a problem that he’s got it under control.

He looks back over his shoulder and sees Morgan, Pepper and MJ are still working on the owl puzzle, while May and Sam are still sitting at the table picking at the cheesecake.

“I still don’t understand that shit,” Tony says, deciding to focus on May and her new Falcon boyfriend instead of a crushing reminder that Morgan is eleven and Peter is twenty-two and sometimes that hits him and drives him insane.

“Happy’s doing pretty good with it,” Peter says, tapping his foot. “Surprisingly.”

“Rhodey’s reining him in,” Tony says. He turns around again and doesn’t see those two anywhere, and he wonders if they went out to cause trouble somewhere back in town. They’re in fucking Sanibel, so Tony doesn’t know what they could get up to, but he always worries. He sighs and sinks down further into his chair. “I’m surprised that asshole at your job gave you the time off to come here.”

“Jonah?” Peter laughs. “He knows it was for you. He’s still—he may hate Spider-Man, but he loves Iron Man, and he knows we’re family.”

“How nice for me,” Tony says. He looks out at the water again. “You sure they treat you right there, kid? Because I know you wanted to—take time off, from all the—crazy, stressful shit, considering your night job is all crazy, stressful shit—” Tony thinks about the big breakdown in college, and understands Peter wanting to take a year off from getting a ‘real job’, but he doesn’t understand the kid taking pictures for one of the worst goddamn papers in New York. He helped him get the job he wanted, of course, but Tony didn’t understand it.

“They treat me fine,” Peter says, smiling. “And I know—I know you’ve got a job waiting for me—”

“This isn’t about that,” Tony says, waving his hand through the air. “I just worry about you, bud.” He tries to look as wistful as possible. “I’m an old man now. The gray hairs are really popping out tonight, as a clear and present reminder that I will only—”

“Stop,” Peter says, kicking Tony’s knee. “You don’t have any grey hairs because you keep dyeing your hair back when you do find grey hairs. And you’re not old, you were just Iron Man last week—”

“For a mall opening—”

“Not then,” Peter says. “The other time.”

Tony winces. He doesn’t like thinking about the other time. Peter’s still got scars from it and Tony is sure that some of them are emotional. He’s Iron Man for Peter. That’s it, almost always, nowadays. Iron Man is retired, but if Spider-Man needs him, Iron Man is unretired. That’s just how it works. Assholes try to tug Tony Stark back into the action all the time, through kidnapping attempts or blackmail or whatever they think they can manage, but there’s no hanging up the Tony Stark mantle unless he wants to like, fake his own death. And he doesn’t have enough patience for that.

Tony looks at him. “I just want to make sure you’re happy, alright? Because Jameson’s an asshole and he barely uses your pictures and you have enough stress as it is.”

“The Spider-Man photo I’ve got for him next week is like, amazing,” Peter says, taking another sip of his beer. “I hung my camera from the top of a rooftop—”

“How does he think you’re getting these—”

“He doesn’t ask,” Peter says, holding his chin high.

“He’s a moron,” Tony says.

Peter snorts. “Well, it’ll be great. And I’m fine, I promise. You know I’d tell you if I wasn’t.”

They sit in a comfortable silence for a minute or so, and then Peter clears his throat. “So, um. I haven’t, uh, made a purchase or anything, but, uh. I wanted to ask you. Well, I wanted to...discuss, uh, if it would it be—is it too early for me to be thinking about, uh—”

Tony stares at him. “I’ve got no idea where this is going.”

Peter leans forward, his elbows braced on his knees. The waves start to crash and get a little bit more wild behind them, and Tony hears people yelling and celebrating somewhere down the beach.

“Don’t tell May,” Peter says.

“Oh Jesus, Pete, I thought we were past that stage—”

“But I am—considering—asking MJ to marry me after her birthday in September,” Peter says.

Tony stares. And stares, and stares. He feels like he has seven heart attacks. But then he laughs, and leaps to his feet, moving faster than he has in a long time (well, maybe not the recent incident Peter just referenced, but Tony isn’t thinking about that.) Peter beams up at him and Tony tugs him to his feet, pulling him into a hug.

Peter laughs too, hugging him back. “I didn’t even do it yet—”

Tony shakes his head and can’t find words.

There was a time when he didn’t think he’d be able to handle kids. He wanted them, sure, like he wanted a different life, like he wanted his mother not to be dead, like he wanted his father to love him. But then there was Peter Parker, and then, suddenly, things were different. Like a wall had been knocked down and Peter was his contractor, refusing to put it back up but arguing that the room got so much more natural light without it there. There was a time when Peter was dead, when Tony thought he’d screw Morgan’s life up too because he couldn’t save the kid that came before her, but now he’s got them both, now he’s got his whole family, now he, despite what he’s been through and what he’s lost, is finally whole. Yes, the kids are getting older, and he is too. But they’re all alive. They’re thriving, they’re...they’re okay.

When Peter was gone, Tony had lost the concept of milestones. Even with Morgan, he was afraid to count things, mark them off, like that would draw something in to take her away from him too. But Peter’s back, they’re separated from all that hell by time and comfort and possibility, and Tony can see all the memories that brought them here. Everything that has shaped the life he never thought he’d be able to have.

He never knew Peter would be so instrumental. He never knew how much he’d value every single, solitary moment. He’s always known that family doesn’t end in blood because his family has been something he found, and cultivated. But he does believe in fate, despite the hand he’s been dealt on many an occasion, and it was fate that Peter came into his life. It was fate that Peter became his son. Because Tony wants to be there for him, through everything. Every step.

“Tony,” Peter says, holding him a little tighter. “This is—you think it’s a good idea, right? I know you two argue, I mean, the classic rock history argument was unexpected and, like, way intense—”

“No, no, it’s a good idea,” Tony says. “She’s perfect for you.” He knows the group of them are gonna look out the window soon, and see him putting on this very emotional display. But maybe they’ll just chalk it up to Vacation Tony, since they’ve been using that verbiage so much since they got here.

“Okay good,” Peter says. “I...I know. I just need a little help figuring out...exactly how to do it.”

“I’ll help you,” Tony says, still hugging him. That’s not a hug, I’m just holding the door for you. “May will too. And Ned. And Morgan. We all will.”

Peter snorts and claps Tony on the back.

“I love you, kid,” Tony says, too grateful for words that Peter is here, alive, able to make these plans. His life spanning out in front of him. And as long as Tony’s here, nothing will threaten that again.

“I love you too.”