Chapter Text
Peter, at the ripe age of fifteen, knew he was way past his tucked-into-bed-by-a-parent days. However, he also knew Mom and Dad were still trying to make up for lost time. Thus, he had long accepted his night fate ever since they retreated to the family cabin upstate.
In fact, since they insisted on tucking him in, he decided that he should get the entire bedtime experience — complete with a bedtime story.
"Are you telling a story tonight or am I?" Dad couldn’t continue telling his original go-to bedtime stories when he was younger since he had already learned what makes up the universe, in one form or another. Rather than borrowing Morgan’s storybooks, he settled for stories of his childhood.
The memories his parents held onto for nine years became his bedtime stories. However, upon recognizing that they missed more of it than he had forgotten, he started trading those tales from the first five years of his life with that of the recent nine.
In lieu of answering directly, Peter opted to ask one of his own questions to lead his story. "Dad, remember how Harley met Tasha back at a Stark Expo?"
"Yeah?" Dad response sounded uncertain, like he couldn’t tell where he was going; where he was leading him to.
He couldn’t stop the yawn that escaped him. It had been a productive day. They tinkered in the lab to work on their Baymax’s new design. They ran around the property to encourage Morgan to move more on her walker. (She ran over their feet multiple times, but they still had fun.) His energy was spent.
"We met at one, too." He snuggled closer to his blanket, enjoying how soft the material felt on his skin. "The same expo."
Dad made a sound from his throat. He wasn’t sure if it sounded strangled or if it was just of utter surprise and curiosity.
Peter took it as a prompt to continue. "You saved me from a killer android," he murmured, "and carried me to the paramedics. You said they’d help me find my family."
"I—" He started to say but seemingly decided against it, having thought better of whatever he was about to say. "The kid— With an Iron Man mask— That was you?"
He studied Dad’s expression. However, even with his enhanced senses picking up cues others would’ve surely missed, he couldn’t identify what feeling the older man was conveying with his face. He wasn’t sure if it was just his sleepy-ness impairing his ability to read expressions or if Dad really donned an unreadable one.
Nevertheless, he hummed in affirmation, "Flying with you was awesome."
Dad let the silence stretch as he opted to watch him first with shaking eyes. Peter was reminded of how the former seemingly took in how much he had changed in a span of nine years after he jumped into his arms.
He wasn’t sure why his dad reacted that way to his story. It was one of his most favorite memories from his childhood! He talked about it numerous times before, almost every time the chance presented itself. He couldn’t understand why it’d prompt—
He knew he could just ask. But, somehow, he had a feeling Dad’s response would be something he couldn’t deal with in his current state, with him barely fighting to stay awake and all. He’d just have to file it for another day.
"Your mom would kill me if I take you out for a joyride," Dad eventually commented with a small smile. His eyes suddenly shone under the lamplight.
"It’s okay," Peter accepted the indirect apology. He wasn’t comfortable adding more onto Mom’s stress, anyway, as Spider-Man would most likely maximize her quota for him once she learned. I like swinging better, anyway, he almost wanted to add. "You’ll still be my favorite Avenger even if you can’t take me flying."
His bedtime closed with a forehead kiss that lasted longer than usual and an affectionate "Good night" and "Love you tons."
Peter didn’t dream in his sleep.