Chapter Text
Family is a strange concept.
Peter Parker knows this better than anyone.
He was always that kid, ever since kindergarten, that would always have to sit out while making Fathers and Mother’s Day cards. He was the kid getting pulled away by teachers for ‘special talks’ whenever the subject gravitated towards family.
Peter always knew his family was different. First, it was his aunt and uncle, which, as the years past and his classmates got older, became less weird overtime. Sure, as little kids, a lot of people were confused as to why Peter didn’t have a ‘normal’ family, but by the time middle school arrived, everyone had grown up enough to pretty much except it.
Then, it was just him and May. Again, a non-traditional arrangement, but most kids were mature enough at this point to barely bat an eye. It was mostly sympathy more than anything, seeing as Ben died halfway through his freshman year, and literally everyone knew about it.
Now, after The Blip, it was probably the strangest family known to man. Tony, May, Happy, Pepper, Morgan and Lucas. And then there was Peter, the trademark black-sheep of the family, the add-on, the misplaced teenager that looks like he was literally lifted from mid-air, and just glued onto an already perfectly fine family.
The thing is, like most things in his life, he feels absolutely selfish for it. He knows it could be so much worse. It could be like the family that Tony’s described to him on occasion, loveless and formal, something cold and so unlike what a family should be.
It’s not like he’s being abused or anything, either. Peter remembers the quiet girl in his seventh grade class, one who sported new bruises on her arms every week and who flinched when he someone would move their hand too fast in her direction. By the time Christmas had rolled around, she was gone, sent off to live with her grandparents. At least Peter’s weird, glued-together family loved him enough to not hit him.
Peter often finds himself wondering if everyone really would be better off if he stayed dead. May wouldn’t have to deal with the kid she never wanted, content with her husband and the child she actually loves. Tony wouldn’t have to pretend to care about him anymore, he could be honest with himself that it was all for sympathy.
Logically, he knows this plan sucks. Tony’s probably already looking for him, ready to lecture him with the classic ‘you’re my kid, too’ and ‘let me help you’ bullshit Peter’s became accustomed to hearing. Because that’s what it was, really, bullshit. Peter wants to believe Tony’s words, wants to so, so badly, but he can’t. It’s all just guilt, he doesn’t actually care for Peter.
That’s what Peter keeps telling himself as he throws everything into his newest backpack, wiping the tears away with his sleeve as he shoves his Spider-Suit at the bottom, piling his day-clothes on top.
Is running away going to solve any of Peter’s problems? Probably not. Is he going to do it anyway out of sheer spite? Absolutely.
He tells himself to just keep going, even when his brain begs him to turn back the second he slips out of the apartment and on the busy sidewalk. He should just go back to the hospital, apologize profusely to May and Tony, and be done with it.
Too late now.
The streets, like any sunny Saturday, are busy. Peter tries not to look suspicious, but that’s pretty hard to do considering his backpack is literally crushing him and there’s fresh stitches on the side of his face. A few people give him a sideways look, but for the most part, he blends in.
A breath of relief (mixed with the overwhelming anxiety at his admittedly stupid decision) is just beginning to form in his lungs when a familiar black Audi rounds the corner, and Peter nearly jumps out of his own skin.
“Shit shit shit.” He whispers, turning around almost comically quick, fast-walking the opposite direction. Peter knows whose in it, considering the crowd of blank-faced people have now stopped to stare wide-eyed behind him.
Peter doesn’t make it very far in his almost pitiful escape before familiar hands grab his arms, not harsh but definitely meaning business. “Going somewhere?”
He turns his head just enough to glare at Tony, who’s staring at him with an unimpressed quirk of an eyebrow. Anger, the same kind he felt at the hospital an hour ago, overtakes him. Despite the fact that it’s probably not going to work, Peter weakly struggles against the hold that’s leading him towards the Audi. “Let me go or I’ll start screaming.”
Tony has the audacity to borderline-laugh. “Just get in the car, will you?”
Peter wants to scream. He wants to struggle and protest and cause a scene, but, for whatever reason, he doesn’t. With a defeated sigh, he opens the passenger door and slides in, annoyed frown not dissipating even for a moment.
When the car pulls away from the curb that the man has not-so-graciously stopped on, Peter quickly notices they’re going the opposite direction from the hospital. “Are you kidnapping me right now?” He asks, more annoyed than concerned.
“Nope. I’m gonna smack some sense into you.” Tony’s eyes don’t leave the road. Then, he adds, “Metaphorically, not literally.”
Peter literally groans, like a child on the verge of a temper tantrum, and slumps back in the seat. “The whole reason I left the hospital was so you would-”
“Leave you alone? Not a chance.”
The glaring only intensifies. “You’re impossible.”
Tony doesn’t have a snarky remark back to that, but he does have something to say about Peter’s impromptu runaway bag. “Can you at least toss your sad excuse for a survival kit in the back? It’s really bringing down my mood.”
Peter rolls his eyes but does what he’s told, silently praying for an escape. With his lighting-fast reflexes, he could probably just jump out and land with minimal injury. But that probably wouldn’t help the clear tension (caused by his own selfishness) between him and Tony, so he stays put.
Soon enough, they’re pulling into a fucking cemetery, and Peter’s eyeballs nearly fall out of his head with how hard he rolls them. “Seriously? You’re gonna bury me alive? Is that my life lesson?”
“Get out of the car, smart-ass.” Tony pulls the keys out, pocketing them and slowly sliding out of his seat. From where Peter’s sitting, he can just barely notice the slightest change in mood on Tony’s part as they pull in. Something in his expression changes, something that has Peter twisting anxiously in his seat.
Peter follows him through the mostly-empty graveyard, trying not to look at the various stones surrounding him. He’s been to the cemetery plenty of times throughout his life, even this one specifically. Just a few rows from the one they’re currently walking through his where his parents and Ben are buried. Guilt twists in his stomach with the thought that because of The Blip, it’s been years since his last visit.
After a minute or two of walking, Tony pauses at a small, unmarked grave. It doesn’t look like it’s anything special, maybe slighter newer than the moss-covered ones around it.
His first thought is that this must be some kind of lesson. “Is this some… some teenage runaway that ended up dead in a ditch a month later, or something?” He asks, annoyance seeping over into his tone once again. If it really is, it’s definitely some sort of cruel discipline.
“Technically,” Tony says, voice soft and missing the snark from earlier. “It’s you.”
“I- what?” Peter pauses, eyes going wide, mouth hanging agape slightly.
Tony sighs heavily, bending down to brush his finger tips gingerly against the cold stone. A look of half-fondness half-sadness crosses his expression, eyes softening as he looks at it the way a parent would look at a baby. “I’m sure you’ve seen the monument for The Blipped, right?”
Peter nods hesitantly. “Yeah, I guess.” The monument (or rather, monuments, considering there was a whole yard full of them) is a group of simple grey stones, all decorated with the names of The Blipped. He has yet to see it in person, but he’s seen the various pictures.
“Right, so, there were some people who went further than that.” Tony stands in a straightened position now, eyes still locked on the empty grave in front of them. “So, there’s a couple hundred actual graves for The Blipped. Obviously, they’re all empty.”
The realization and magnitude of the words softens and strips away the anger that’s been bubbling beneath him this whole time, replaced by this warm feeling. “And you… got one for me?”
“I did.” Tony’s voice has lowered to an almost-whisper, distorted with emotion. “I thought your name just being one of a hundred on some stone wasn’t good enough, y’know? You deserved more. You still do.”
To his horror, tears begin to spring in the corner of Peter’s eyes. His not quite crying yet, but it’s pretty obvious he’s on the verge. It’s not the sad, miserable crying that’s been plaguing him the last couple months, but something more. It’s like the idea of being loved this much, so entirely, overwhelms his brain.
“Listen, Peter,” Any other time, Peter would be having an internal panic attack over the use of his actual name, something that’s almost never said by Tony. “I promise you, you were never replaced. I know it feels like that, trust me, I understand, but you weren’t. We could- I could never replace you.”
He wants to believe Tony, he really does. In fact, every part of his soul is just gripping onto the words, willing them to be true. He wants to keep hearing them until they’re laser-engraved in his mind. But the other part of him still refuses to believe it.
“But… but what about Morgan and Lucas? They’re your… your actual kids.” He mumbles the end, looking down at his feet in shame.
“Peter.” Tony’s voice catches his attention, along with the warm hands on his face. “Look at me, buddy.” He complies. “It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter if your my kid by blood, because your still my kid, okay? I don’t give a shit about DNA, you, Peter Benjamin Parker, are my kid.”
Peter can’t answer through the blur of his own tears, practically choking on sobs, so Tony keeps going. “And it’s not just me. Your May’s kid. Your Pepper’s kid. Your Happy’s kid-”
“Happy hates me.” He murmurs through tears, looking away again. He’s mostly come to except that Happy doesn’t like him. Sure, Peter liked to think they were getting close before The Snap, but it was like ten steps backwards after coming back.
“Happy most certainly does not hate you.” Tony’s voice is soft, almost amused at the mere insinuation. “He cares about you a lot.”
Peter doesn’t have the energy to protest, so he clumsily wipes his eyes, pressing his finger into the lids and willing the tears to stop. They don’t, but Tony’s arms are around him now, pulling him close and holding him there.
Finally, as the tears really start to flow, he can’t stop. Peter sobs, wrapping his arms tightly around Tony’s middle, burying his face into the mans shoulder. He hasn’t cried like this in a long time. The cool air stings his eyes further, the November air making his bare arms feel almost frostbitten.
“I’m sorry.” He eventually whispers, voice wrecked from all the crying. “I’ve been awful.”
“No, kid, you haven’t been awful.” Tony pulls away, thumb swiping the few remaining tears away. “You’re going through something. You’re hurt. That’s not awful.”
In one instant, it’s like the hurt melts away. Not completely gone, maybe never vanished, but with ever second he spends in Tony’s embrace, the pain and anger retreats, like it’s afraid of Iron-Man himself. For the first time in a long time, he just lets himself have this.
After awhile, they finally detach from each other, tears now dried into nothing more than blotches on his cheeks. Tony smiles at him, soft and so full of love, Peter could start crying again.
“Alright, Mr. Parker, we better get back to the hospital. Huh?” The emotional, important tone has disappeared, now replaced by the well-known teasing that Peter’s come to absolutely adore.
“I’m gonna have a lot of apologizing to do.” Peter can’t help but dwell on the horrible things he said earlier, in the heat of fiery anger. At the time, it felt right. It felt like his feelings were finally tumbling out his mouth, freeing in the most awful way. Now, all he feels is guilt.
“Probably.” Tony’s amused face transforms serious when he notices how Peter’s face fall. “Hey, don’t sweat it. May’s not mad, just upset.”
A shit-eating grin forms on Peter’s face. “You realize you sound like a mom who’s all like ‘I’m not mad, I’m disappointed’.”
The man plasters on a faux expression of annoyance, raising an eyebrow. “Oh? You trying to dethrone the sass-master?”
“Who even says ‘sass-master’ anymore, Mr. Stark?” Peter rolls his eyes but lets Tony put an arm around his shoulder, leading them both out of the cemetery and back towards the car. The air is different now, less heavy; no longer weighed down with the demons in his head.
Soon enough, they’re back in the car, on their way to the hospital. Peter sticks his head out the window, letting the wind tangle it. Any other time, he’s be embarrassed of the fact that he probably looks like a dog with his head halfway out the window, but right now, he doesn’t care.
Tony has some old, 80’s hits radio station on. Peter vaguely recognizes the song, but he wisely doesn’t comment on it, since he’ll usually get it wrong and Tony will give him a look of horror. With every passing minute, the knot that’s been stuck firmly in his stomach since July slowly untwists.
When they finally pull back into the hospital parking lot, Tony reaches over for Peter’s hand, giving a reassuring squeeze. As long as he has Tony, he knows it’ll be alright.
Later, after a million apologies, on both Peter and May’s end, Peter’s sitting in the waiting room, waiting for Morgan to be discharged. It leaves him alone with Lucas, foot bouncing with anxiety. As usual, Lucas is staring at him like his short life depends on it.
Peter looks down at him, searching for something to say. What exactly is there to say to a four year old who barely knows him? He opens his mouth, probably to say something about the kids Star Wars themed t-shirt (hey, conversations have to start somewheres), when Lucas makes the decision for him.
The boy pulls a red sucker from his lap, one that Peter didn’t notice when he first sat down. It look a lot like the bowl full of them sitting on the reception desk on the main floor. He probably pulled one from there when Peter was gone. Silently, he hands the sucker to Peter, staring at him intently.
Peter hesitantly takes the candy, eyeing it with a mild suspicion. Lucas just looks at him innocently, turning away from Peter after it’s secured in his hand, gaze now finding the women being wheeled down the hall.
For a long time, he just stares at the sucker. In a weird, probably over-reaching way, it feels like an olive branch. Peter’s ninth grade English teacher would cry at the ‘beautiful metaphor’ that a small cherry sucker is an entire relationship being formed.
Peter doesn’t know what else to say, and the rest of the family is rounding the corner towards them, so he clears his throat, leaning over slightly to catch the four-year-olds gaze.
“Thank you, Lucas.”
He means it.